When I get to the Mixing Plant everything seems quiet. On the east side of the building a single light burns over a gray metal door. A quick look around doesn’t reveal anyone lurking in the shadows so I walk up and knock on the door three times, wait a beat and then two more. I’m about to knock again when there’s the short scrape of metal, revealing a pair of eyes staring back at me from a peephole in the door, “What’s the password?”
“Owl”, I reply and offer my best imitation of an owl. “Hoot, Hoot.” The peephole slams shut and the door squeaks open. The fella on the other side of the door is half a mountain. Looks like he should be down in the ring instead of at the door but it makes sense putting muscle on the door. He holds out his hand and I give him 5 bucks. He looks from his hand and back to me. I sheepishly hoot at him again. Unsurprisingly he’s not amused and tells me to fork over another 15 or scram. I dutifully produce the bills, trying to look as harmless as I can. Pointing down the hall he says last door on the left and turns away, immediately forgetting that I even exist.
Walking down the hall I pass a few other doors before reaching the end of the hall. When I try the handle I find that the door is locked. I look back up the hall but the gatekeeper has his nose buried in the paper. Far be it for me to disturb a man who’s reading so I try the other door. It opens and I hear the sound of voices. Moving towards the voices I distinctly hear the sound of Bill’s voice saying, “Just leave me alone.” It’s a plaintive tone and before I can do anything else my feet take me into the room.
I experience a moment of confusion as I find myself face to face with Matty. I guess I know why he was being cagey with me on the phone. I give a slight shake of my head, hoping that Matt picks up on the meaning. He continues on with bluster asking if I’m lost or if I’m here to fight. I tell him I musta got turned around and that I’m just here to watch. He tells me I better get outta there before somebody decides to throw me in the ring. I put up my hand placatingly and back out, heading for the other door. The hangdog look on Bill’s face is haunting and it feels like a punch in the gut.
The mook at the end of the hall doesn’t notice me coming out of the wrong door. So far so good I guess. I use the secret knock on the locked door and that gets me in. Real crowd noise washes over me and it looks like there’s about 60 people here. They’ve got an honest to goodness boxing ring setup with chairs and all. It’s dingy and dirty and the light’s not great but here it is. This gets me to thinking, this isn’t some Johnny come lately, fly by night bullshit. There’s a lot of work that goes into something like this. There’s gotta be a good number of people that know about this. Seems like the kinda thing that would be hard to hide. It doesn’t mean that Sullivan’s in on it, especially if he’s delegated most of his authority to Jackson. Being the mayor has got to keep him busy after all.
I scan the crowd before moving towards the ring, I don’t know how dangerous this might be and I don’t want any more surprises. They’ve got hustlers taking bets and giving odds, there’s a window to cash out, they even have cigarette girls walking around and drink servers. Definitely a professional operation. I’m surprised to see Sharleen Woodard here. Things at Imperial must be worse than even the papers have made it out to be. Seems like a bad way to try and keep the business afloat.
Maybe not unsurprising is the fact that Vinny DeRossi is here. Best to steer clear of him, that’s a complication that I don’t need. My eyes drift upwards and I can see they have what amounts to a balcony set up. I stop dead in my tracks as I see not only Mr. DeLuca but also Frank “Concrete” Billioti. From what I’ve heard Billioti doesn’t make public appearances unless it’s something important. “Fuck!” I mutter under my breath. This is getting more complicated by the minute. Maybe the fact that they’re here is unrelated, neutral ground for a meeting perhaps. I could only be so lucky. I grit my teeth, pull down the brim of my hat and try to find a spot outta of eyesight of both DeRossi and the Bosses.
I circle around and find a spot so that I have my back to the balcony. The guy a seat or two away from me is furiously scribbling in a notebook. I get the feeling he might be a reporter so I strike up a conversation with him. He’s about thirty-ish so I ask him where he served. He said he didn’t and goes on to explain that he was shot in the foot because he was sticking his nose where it didn’t belong. We banter for a bit keeping it light and then the bell rings and two guys come walking out to the ring from the back.