Neil Knight Private Dick

Coca Cola

The phone call with Maria Campana had gone about as well as he could have expected.

He had relayed to her that he knew the identity of the man who had beaten her in the public garage without discussing the specifics of the events leading up to the assault.

When she asked the inevitable 'why' had she been beaten Neil had to admit that he had no answer for that question yet.

"It's what I'm paying you for Mr. Knight. The why. The who is simply a nice-to-know. I have a need-to-know, and that's the 'why'. Why the fuck did a shitbag supersized border rat beat me?"

"That's what I want to know. Don't waste my money or time with check-ins until you have information worth sharing."

And with that the line went dead.

He had to admit, the investigation was pretty thin at this point.

He knew Maria Campana was in some sort of relationship with Leilani Perez and that Angel Secundino / Frankie Hopeless had followed them from the restaurant and had assaulted Mrs. Campana.

He knew Maria had come to see him afterwards to engage him to find out who and why she had been beaten; why the message was sent.

And he also knew that Leilani Perez had either spent the night at the Campana residence or had come over very early that morning to be with Maria.

He also knew the person who beat her up was working for Vinnie Fuentes, leader of the Loper gang.

Where was the thread?

Maybe a walk with the Hounds of Baskerville would help. He called out to them and they came running. He clipped the leashes on their collars and headed out the door.

Giuseppe Antonio Malafronte had arrived on Ellis Island from Bisceglie, Italy on October 23 1929 with a small bag of dental tools and the clothes on his back. It was at this immigration depot where he married Isabel Mildred Lalli, his love from his hometown with whom marriage had been forbidden.

Their union would ensure that Mildred, now four months pregnant, would enter the country as an 'honest' woman.

According to an archived New York Times article they were one of four couples married that morning between 10 and 10:30 am. A 'Mrs. Stucklen', in charge of all female employees at the Immigration Center, acted in all ceremonies as the matron of honor with an unnamed young inspector, of German descent, volunteering to act as the best man, on the condition that he be allowed to kiss each of the brides in turn.

Marriages at Ellis Island were uncommon, but not unusual. Marriage brokers in NYC often arranged marriages between immigrants and U.S. citizens to either hasten their citizenship OR to facilitate the emigration process. Quite often immigrants were met on Ellis Island or at the dock by the prospective mate and the broker, who would insist that they be married immediately, as both his reputation and his broker fee were at stake.

After successfully passing through Ellis Island, the new couple stepped onto the streets of New York. That Wednesday, lower Manhattan bustled with the sort of commercial activity spurred onward by waves of speculation in the financial district, as it was widely believed that the stock market would continue to rise forever.

Giuseppe and Isabel stopped at a street vendor and bought their first meal, a bright red apple from upstate New York, crisp and delicious, and a square of Vermont cheddar, a sharp and bitter cheese boasting of strong sulfur tones. The peddler suggested a coca cola drink to 'wash it down'. The young groom had made the purchase with twelve cents American currency. For although he had arrived with only the clothes on his back, it didn't mean he was penniless, as sewn into the lining of his coat was more than ten thousand US dollars, about four times the middle-class income for 1929, and in his pants pocket he had a few coins and twenty-two American dollars, more than a day's wages for that era.

Giuseppe knew how to plan, and he knew how to save. He had been preparing for this trip for more than six years. America was the land of opportunity, and he wasn't about to miss his chance to cash in on the 'roaring twenties'.

But for this day, his marriage day, a romantic at heart, he picked up a copy of the small guide 'Going Places With Rian James', published four times each year by the Brooklyn Daily Eagle, and flipped through the book looking at the authors recommendations for the best eateries in New York City. Even this immigrant from Italy understood that James knew all the "in" places, the haunts of celebrities, the exclusive, the ribald and the well-to-do.

As reported, the author was truly a 'man of the people's tastes' as the best New York restaurant, according to James, was not at a high-class hotel or Madison Avenue establishment. No. Rian James selected Feltman's, on Coney Island, the originator of the hotdog.

Before Nathan's there was Charles Feltman's Ocean Pavilion, serving more than five million customers a year, selling 40,000 Red Hots a day, and was considered the largest restaurant in the entire world in the 1920's.

So the couple hopped on the subway and, for the reasonable fare of ten cents, headed out to the 'Nickel Empire" on an unusually mild Thursday afternoon where they supped on Coney Island hot dogs, drank from bottles of coca cola, the drink advertised as the 'pause that refreshes', and walked the boardwalk, stopping from time to time to watch the beachgoers, possible only because that sandscape had been opened up to the public in 1923. Everywhere he looked it seemed that people were sipping on a coca cola.

As the day turned into early evening, the footsore couple checked into the Hotel Eleanor, a large establishment facing the Atlantic. It seemed only fitting as they had completed their ocean crossing mere hours before. Outside the crowds had begun to thin and the waves to calm in contrast to the historical events of the day, when wave upon wave of panicked investors sold investment shares that precipitously dropped the prices of blue-chip stocks, impacting the fortunes of countrymen and country for years to come.

The following morning the hotel diner was awash in the financial news of the day before. The front desk was humming as guests checked out, one after another, in a rush to get to their brokers or banks. When the newlyweds reached the clerk, he was rattled and disturbed, and offered the couple a half rate should they stay through the weekend. With nowhere else to go Giuseppe accepted, but, understanding the power of money, not before negotiating an even lower rate. The interaction complete, the clerk offered the couple a coca cola 'on the house'.

For the next few days they had Coney Island to themselves. A virtual ghost town paradise with plenty of time to think.

And he thought a lot about what everyone seemed to be drinking everywhere he looked since he had arrived in this country.

And then he bought four hundred and twenty shares of Coca Cola stock at a price of nineteen dollars per share because the company had $6.5 million in cash and no debt with sales trending upwards, paying large dividends to its shareholders. His instincts proved correct. In five years his investment had increased five-fold, and with inflation running in the negative numbers he was worth even more.

In today's dollars, Giuseppe Antonio Malafronte was worth over one million simoleons in 1935; in the middle of the Depression. Have a coke and a smile...

It was times like these when Salvadore Malafronte, still stinging from his loss to Tony Riganti one year earlier, found comfort and strength in the memory and foresight of his grandfather. Of course, the inheritance helped salve the pain as well.

Riganti. Even thinking the name twisted his stomach. Oh, how he'd love to bury that son of a bitch.

And then the phone rang, and the private eye asked to meet him.