Part 22

Fleishman saw a big, handsome man emerge from an office. He recognized him instantly from his pictures. He was Pete Licavoli, and very plainly Licavoli was upset.

“For God’s sake,” the hoodlum said in disgust, “where did you come from?”

“We just thought we’d pay you a visit,” Mack said. “Nice place you’ve got here.”

“Beat it,” Licavoli snarled. “Beat it and I’ll fix you later.”

Mack said, “Okay, boys, let’s get out of here.”

As they drove from the lumber yard, Mack said, “This thing is too good to put off. I’ll arrange for us to see Pete tonight.”

* * * * *

It was 5:40 when Mack and Miller picked up Fleishman at his apartment. They drove to Jefferson Avenue, where Mack parked the car. They walked down a long alley and Mack knocked on a door. They were admitted into an elaborately furnished restaurant which proved to be the private restaurant and hangout of Licavoli and his mob. The furnishings were in excellent taste. There were leather lounging chairs, a bar and the general atmosphere of a country club. Licavoli was seated at a table with one of his lieutenants, Sam Georges. He waved his visitors into seats.

Fleishman left the talking to Mack and Miller as they discussed how much Licavoli should pay to operate unmolested at the lumber yard shipping plant.

“This is the first time we’ve worked in a week,” Georges complained, “and we’re losing money.”

Miller said, “Do you expect me to cry for you?”

The discussion continued through dinner and several rounds of drinks. Finally it was agreed Licavoli should pay $400 a week to be left alone. The mobster pulled out a fat wallet, counted out the money, and handed it to Mack. He stood up and put his hand on Fleishman’s shoulder. “You boys come around any time,” he said. “The drinks are on the house.” And then he left.

In dividing the $400 pay-off, it was agreed that Fleishman would receive $110 and Mack and Miller $120 each, with $50 to be paid to the tipster who had pointed out the Licavoli operation to Mack. The money was divided as the men sat at the table.

In the days that followed, Fleishman’s letters to Lewis were filled with reports of gangster pay-offs. The evidence piled up so rapidly that officials of the Treasury and Justice Departments, Customs Service, and the Prohibition Bureau met in Washington to discuss when and how a crackdown should be made. Elmer Lewis was called from Detroit to take part in the conference.

Lewis urged the conference to keep a tight lid of secrecy on the meeting. He warned that any disclosure that a Customs agent was working undercover in Detroit would be certain to endanger Fleishman’s life. Sooner or later the hoodlums would discover he was an undercover man--and the Purple Gang gunmen would be after him.

But such news is difficult to keep bottled up in Washington. Part of the story, at least, was leaked to reporters. The following morning newspapers were carrying reports that a “big case” was expected to break soon over bribery and whiskey smuggling in Detroit. There was speculation, too, that a shakeup was coming in the Customs Patrol.

When Lewis read these reports, he arranged to take a train back to Detroit. He knew the news stories would be telegraphed to the Detroit newspapers.

At midnight on November 18, Fleishman reported for duty as usual. He was assigned to a patrol with two inspectors to cover the customary run along the River Rouge and the Wyandotte area. They visited the usual haunts, looking for any of the hoodlums who might be seeking an “all clear” signal for moving their whiskey across the river. None of them at the time had read the dispatches from Washington printed in the Detroit newspaper.

Shortly before dawn, the three men stopped in a Wyandotte restaurant for a bowl of soup and a sandwich. The restaurant was operated by Joe Rosen, one of the mobsters, and after a while Rosen came to the table. He whispered into the ear of one of the patrolmen and then hurried from the room.

“What’s going on?” Fleishman asked. “Are we going to get some action?”

The inspector said, “Finish your sandwich and let’s get out of here.”

When they returned to the car, the inspector said, “Joe says at least three undercover men are working on the force and they’ve put the finger on about forty men. The mob is trying to find out who the stool pigeons are. Nothing’s going to move until they do.”

For the next two hours, Fleishman’s companions talked of little else except the bribes they had turned down, and how honest they had been. Fleishman knew their talk was solely for his benefit. They were not good enough actors to conceal their anxiety.

When they finally stopped at a restaurant for a cup of coffee, Fleishman excused himself on the pretext that he had to call his wife. Instead he called the Barlum Hotel and asked for Elmer Lewis.

Lewis answered the phone. Fleishman explained what had happened. “This doesn’t look good to me, Mr. Lewis,” he said.

Lewis said, “Your job’s finished. Now go home and pack your things. Get over here with your wife as fast as you can. You’ll both be safer here.”

Fleishman moved with his wife into the Barlum Hotel and only then did she learn of the role her husband had been playing for more than two months. A few days later, they slipped from the hotel and headed back East in their Model A Ford.

On November 30, eighteen hoodlums were arrested, along with nineteen patrolmen. Two-score other patrolmen resigned. The cleanup was a newspaper sensation.