Mobsters Page #6

ROTHSTEIN:

I'm glad you came down. I prefer to

do business face to face.

Rothstein and Johnson settle into chairs opposite the sofa.

CHARLIE:

When my money moves, I go with it.

ROTHSTEIN:

I trust Mr. Johnson filled you in on

the revisions.

Indignant, Tommy comes up in his seat.

TOMMY REINA:

Revisions? He didn't say nothin'!

Charlie silences Tommy with a gesture.

NUCKY JOHNSON:

There's been another offer at forty

thousand.

CHARLIE:

We have a deal.

NUCKY JOHNSON:

You asked for an extension.

CHARLIE:

And when you gave it too me, I knew

you were hurtin'.

ROTHSTEIN:

Scotch is a very valuable commodity

these days.

CHARLIE:

Mr. Rothstein, Can I be frank? You're

a gambler, and I know you've had

losses. I also know you could sell

to Maranzano or Masseria for fifty

G's, but nobody sells to those guys

once. So if ya really got another

buyer, and ya wanna welch, I ain't

gonna beef.

NUCKY JOHNSON:

Ya wanna queer the deal? Be my guest.

But show some goddamn respect! This

ain't some Guinea pimp you're talkin'

to here! This is Arnold Rothstein!

THE MAN WHO FIXED THE F***IN' WORLD

SERIES!!!

Rothstein gestures for Nucky to cool down.

CHARLIE:

I ain't mad. I ain't even surprised.

But I can't let ya f*** me. On the

other hand, if ya got needs beyond

the thirty-five, I'll advance it to

you against our next deal on the

same terms.

ROTHSTEIN:

Could we step outside?

CUT TO:

INT:
HOTEL CORRIDOR - DAY

Charlie follows Rothstein into the elevators.

CHARLIE:

I got my partner in there!

ROTHSTEIN:

I cannot bear to look at that hideous

suit one minute more.

CUT TO:

INT:
WANAMAKER'S DEPARTMENT STORE - DAY

Charlie stands before a mirror in a private room, as a tailor

fits him. A salesman enters holding a grey pinstripe.

Rothstein, sitting to one side, doesn't approve.

ROTHSTEIN:

That's a suit for a man grubbing for

money, not one who has it.

The salesman nods and exits. Rothstein turns to Charlie.

ROTHSTEIN:

I have exclusive deals with four

distillers in Scotland, and ships

under contract to bring ten thousand

cases a month onto the Jersey coast.

I need distribution, but I won't do

business with Maranzano or Masseria.

All their talk of honor only indicates

their misplaced interest in power

rather than money.

Charlie inspects his new, elegant profile in the mirror.

CHARLIE:

Their asses are here, but their

f***in' heads are still in Sicily.

ROTHSTEIN:

Precisely. We are the true

entrepreneurs, and Prohibition is

the greatest opportunity we shall

ever have. America is begging to be

taken like an overripe virgin, but

they're still fighting over the crumbs

of Little Italy.

CHARLIE:

We'll start small. When we got 'em

lined up, we increase the supply a

bit at a time. Only sell the best

stuff. And keep the price high, 'cause

ya know how folks hate the taste of

cheap booze.

ROTHSTEIN:

An intelligent plan, Mr. Luciano,

but listen to me well. It can be

ruined in a single careless moment.

Keep your feet on the ground and

your high opinion of yourself under

your hat.

CHARLIE:

Don't worry. I got friends to take

care of that.

CUT TO:

INT:
A MIDDLE CLASS APARTMENT - NIGHT SUPER: TWO YEARS LATER

In a candlelit dining room, Meyer Lansky sits opposite ANNA,

a girl of curiously old-fashioned appearance. As her parents,

exemplars of Jewish respectability, relax back into their

chairs, doting on the couple as the maid clears the dishes.

ANNA'S FATHER

Produce. Produce is a livelihood. In

thirty years it's never disappointed

me. Good times and bad, people gotta

eat.

Meyer nods dutifully, as Anna watches him admiringly from

across the table.

ANNA'S FATHER

Produce sent my Anna to private

school.

Anna's father knocks on the table.

ANNA'S FATHER

Mahogany. Produce.

ANNA'S MOTHER

Enough produce.

He can't resist a final shot.

ANNA'S FATHER

There's always room for a new man.

Outside the window, a car horn sounds. Meyer looks around.

ON THE STREET BELOW

Luciano, Siegel, and Costello wait in a car. Meyer runs across

the street and climbs in.

CUT TO:

INT:
CHARLIE'S APARTMENT - NIGHT

Costello, and Lansky wander through the living room. Awed by

the restrained good taste of the furnishings. Noel Coward

might live here.

LUCIANO:

Rothstein put me on to this place.

SIEGEL STANDS BY THE BEDROOM DOOR

Its precise art deco lines softened by the moonlight glow of

a scallop-shell lamp on the wall over the satin-covered bed.

SIEGEL:

Jesus. How's a guy supposed ta f***

in a joint like this?

THE GUYS:

Huddle around a coffee table in the living room, as Charlie

fills three glasses with champagne and passes them around.

LUCIANO:

Meyer just finished the books.

LANSKY:

A million bucks. In the last six

months.

Charlie walks to a large rosewood wardrobe, and pulls it

open. A BURST of confetti explodes from within, followed by

the rude honk of noisemakers. A gorgeous showgirl in the

briefest of glittering costumes steps out to the wild cheers

of the guys. Followed by another, and another. Meyer squirms

as a leggy blonde slides onto his lap and runs her tongue

along his neck.

CHARLIE STANDS TO ONE SIDE, ALONE AND CONTENT

while the others pour champagne down each other's throats.

CUT TO:

BUGSY AS HE STUMBLES DRUNKENLY OUT THE FRONT DOOR

a girl under each arm. Charlie closes the door behind them

and surveys the living room. No serious damage done.

IN THE DIMLY LIT BLACK MARBLE BATH

Charlie lays back into the foamy bubbles. Lifting a cigar to

his mouth, he inhales, then lets the smoke drift lazily out

of his mouth. He picks up a champagne glass from the side of

the tub and sips. For this moment, utterly content.

DISSOLVE TO:

INT:
GAMBLING CLUB LOBBY - NIGHT

CLOSE - on a waterfall of silver dollars cascading from a

marble maiden's bowl into the coin-choked pool below. A tony

crowd in evening wear passes around the fountain and on into

the club.

DON MARANZANO:

moves through the lobby, a bit self-conscious in this crowd,

yet still a man of noble bearing.

INSIDE THE CLUB:

Charlie leans back against the bar, surveying the customers

clustered around roulette wheels and cocktail tables. A fine-

featured Young Man stands next to Charlie, trying to get the

attention of the bartender. Charlie snaps his fingers, and

points out the fellow to the bartender. The Young Man tries

snapping his fingers, without much success.

BOBBY CLOWES:

Guess I just wasn't born to it.

Charlie shrugs. Bobby extends a hand.

BOBBY CLOWES:

I'm Bobby Clowes. Kansas City.

LUCIANO:

Charlie Luciano.

BOBBY CLOWES:

You ever been near a meat packing

plant? My father makes a couple

million per, but the smell in his

office is enough to make you puke.

LUCIANO:

Got the same problem with my pop --

garlic. Nothin' you can do.

BOBBY CLOWES:

The goddamned bastards.

LUCIANO:

Tell me about it.

CHARLIE AND BOBBY

sit at a table in a corner of the club.

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