Mobsters Page #12

VITO NOTO:

I know this girl works for Seventh

Avenue Fashions as a bookkeeper.

LUCIANO:

And you're pokin' this sister so

sweet, she's gonna help you nab the

payroll?

Everybody laughs but Vito.

VITO NOTO:

They got some old man who picks up

at the bank every Friday.

LUCIANO:

I looked at the job last year. That

geezer ain't workin' alone.

VITO NOTO:

I figured we could hit 'em on Thirty-

First Street.

LUCIANO:

Traffic's crazy at that hour. How

you gonna get out of there?

Vito has no ready reply. Joe the Boss leaps in.

MASSERIA:

This business is about taking risks.

LUCIANO:

Calculated risks. But Boss, this one

don't calculate.

Charlie's contradiction of the Boss sends a wave of concern

through the room.

LUCIANO:

If there's a war, we're not gonna

win it our troops in the slammer.

Masseria thinks a moment, then nods decisively in agreement.

MASSERIA:

That's right. You bastards won't do

me no good in jail.

CUT TO:

INT:
LUCIANO'S APARTMENT - NIGHT

CLOSE on Lansky as he sits on the sofa, fiddling nervously

with a glass of Scotch. Luciano regards him curiously.

LUCIANO:

Come on, what's the problem?

Lansky shakes his head "no". Shrugs noncommittally.

LUCIANO:

Meyer.

LANSKY:

It's nothin'. I'm gettin' married.

LUCIANO:

Married? To Anna?

(kidding)

You ain't got her in trouble?

LANSKY:

No. We ain't even...

LUCIANO:

Well, good. Woman like that you don't

have to keep an eye on.

LANSKY:

Guess I'm not a single type guy.

LUCIANO:

Whatta ya mean? It's great!

Charlie lifts his glass for a toast. As the glasses click,

Meyer's drink splashes over the rim and dribbles down the

side of the glass. Meyer wipes the glass with his hand, then,

finding nothing to wipe his hand on, drys it on his pant

leg.

LANSKY:

We're going to Atlantic City for the

honeymoon.

LUCIANO:

I'll talk to Nucky. Get you set up

like the f***in' Prince of Wales.

LANSKY:

I been thinkin'...

LUCIANO:

Good. 'Cause every time you start

thinkin', we end up makin' money.

LANSKY:

We need to put together a meet for

the whole country. We all got the

same problems. We could talk. Meet

the guys we don't know. Lift a few

with the guys we do.

LUCIANO:

Like a party for all our friends.

LANSKY:

Italians, Jews, Irish. One big party.

Course, some guys don't get along.

Charlie smiles.

LUCIANO:

Like Don Maranzano.

LANSKY:

And if we don't invite Maranzano, we

can't invite Masseria. Guys don't

wanna be choosin' sides.

LUCIANO:

I'll handle the Boss.

LANSKY:

So we end up with everybody but the

two Bosses, at our meet. We ain't

sayin' we're the leaders, but we're

leadin'.

LUCIANO:

How soon can we pull this off?

LANSKY:

I'm gettin' married in six weeks.

I'll already be in Atlantic City

which is probably the best place to

do it anyway.

Charlie shoots Meyer a judgmental look.

LUCIANO:

Your honeymoon, Meyer?

LANSKY:

Might as well put the time to use.

INT:
A JEWISH TEMPLE - AFTERNOON

An utterly terrified Meyer Lansky stands under a chupa in

front of an Orthodox rabbi, next to his bride, Anna. Lansky

stamps his foot down on the glass, sealing the marriage.

CUT TO:

INT:
ANNA'S FAMILY'S APARTMENT - EVENING

Gangsters mix uneasily with exemplars of middle-class Jewish

respectability. At the door, Anna's parents greet Joe

Masseria. As he moves on, Anna's Mother whispers to her

husband.

ANNA'S MOTHER

Who is Meyer to have such friends?

Anna's Mother nods to Masseria.

ANNA'S MOTHER

Look at his hands. A common butcher,

fat from too much meat.

Anna's Father shrugs.

ANNA'S FATHER

Mama. Meyer's a man of liberal

sensibilities.

FROM A CORNER OF THE LIVING ROOM

Gay stands with Charlie, eyeing Anna piteously.

GAY ORLOVA:

You could have stopped him.

LUCIANO:

Ya never tell a guy about a broad.

GAY ORLOVA:

So you all make the same mistakes?

LUCIANO:

Gives us something in common.

Gay plucks Charlie's champagne glass from his hand.

GAY ORLOVA:

I wish I could disagree.

As Gay leaves in search of a refill, Charlie spots Masseria

chatting with Tommy Reina. Masseria breaks away from Reina

and marches over to Charlie.

MASSERIA:

Tommy tells me that Capone's coming

in from Chicago.

LUCIANO:

He's trying to make it.

MASSERIA:

He'll think something's wrong I ain't

there.

LUCIANO:

He'll know you were smart enough to

stay away, Boss.

MASSERIA:

What the f*** does that mean?

LUCIANO:

You know that if you come, we gotta

invite Maranzano.

MASSERIA:

So f*** him. I don't care anymore.

Let him come.

LUCIANO:

So he can talk to all the families

behind your back? Maybe have his own

meet at 3:
00 AM under the goddamn

boardwalk? No. You're too smart for

a sucker play.

Charlie leans in to whisper a confidence.

LUCIANO:

You're so big, you don't even have

to come to the meet. You have your

number two run it for you.

Masseria nods in affirmation.

MASSERIA:

And that shitloader Maranzano don't

even get a f***in' invite.

Charlie taps himself on the chest.

LUCIANO:

Don't I make the Boss look good?

Masseria laughs and slaps Charlie across the back.

CUT TO:

EXT:
THE BREAKERS HOTEL - ATLANTIC CITY - DAY

A long black limousine pulls up the circular drive.

IN THE LOBBY:

WASP families, arrayed in Summer pastels, take tea under the

potted palms. Charlie, Gay, Meyer, and Anna, dressed in

darker, more conservative attire, approach the registration

desk. Meyer steps forward, straining to mimic the Anglo-Saxon

manner.

LANSKY:

Mr. and Mrs. Michael Land. We're in

the Presidential Suite.

The Clerk betrays himself with a slight, condescending smile.

REGISTRATION CLERK

Of course, Mr. Land. If you could

sign in please. And you, sir?

Charlie catches the Clerk's attitude, but plays it cool.

LUCIANO:

Mr. and Mrs. Charles Luther.

REGISTRATION CLERK

(slyly taunting)

You wouldn't be related to the Bryn

Mawr Luthers, now would you?

Charlie fixes the Clerk with a murderous stare.

REGISTRATION CLERK

I suppose not. They're quite fair.

OUTSIDE THE HOTEL

As Siegel exits the lobby, an over-chromed white Dusenberg

pulls up. Al Capone sticks his head out the back window.

AL CAPONE:

I ain't stayin' in a hotel with no

f***in' kike!

Capone steps out of the car, decked out in a flamboyant style.

Bugsy gestures for Capone to cool it.

AL CAPONE:

Wassa matter? Some Ziegfeld shiksa

you're bangin' convert ya?

SIEGEL:

Didn't Nucky tell you about the deal

with the hotel?

AL CAPONE:

Yeah. Yeah. Got me a new name, and I

wore my funeral suit so they'll think

I'm a f***in' Senator.

INSIDE THE LOBBY

Capone struts up to the front desk, trailed by enough luggage

to sink Cleopatra's barge. Impatient, Capone bangs on the

bell. The Clerk turns around to face the counter, his eyes

widening in disbelief at the vulgarity of Capone's attire.

He leans over the counter to take in the whole view. Capone

beams.

AL CAPONE:

Had it custom made.

REGISTRATION CLERK

So comforting to know there's only

one.

Capone extends a hand across the counter.

AL CAPONE:

Mista Albert Caper.

The Clerk reluctantly shakes his hand.

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