An Offer He Cant Refuse - By Christie Ridgway Page 0,22

and squinted in Johnny's direction. "You want to talk about the Carusos?"

Johnny had been given Stan's name by the county librarian. She'd assured him that no one knew more about local history, including local mob history, than the old newspaperman. "I thought I mentioned it in the phone call when we set up the meeting."

Stan scratched the liver spots on his bald head, then pulled his hat back on. "You mentioned the Mafia. I assumed you wanted to write another story about Al Capone hiding out in these parts."

Johnny turned his back to set down his own bag. During the phone call, he'd picked up on Stan's assumption that he was a freelance journalist and hadn't corrected him. "I heard the Capone legend's a myth."

Stan shrugged. "Depends on who you talk to. The mob did move in during Prohibition and started some illegal gambling joints. But eventually club gambling was closed down in California and taken to Las Vegas."

"So where do the Carusos come in?" Johnny asked, withdrawing his driver from his bag.

Stan dropped a golf ball to the mat in front of him and used the toe of his shoe to put it in position on the rubber tee. Then he lined up, bony spine and sharp elbows facing Johnny. The swing he took wasn't powerful, but the ball sailed through the air in a smooth arc. The old guy hadn't lost it, Johnny thought, bending his knees and firming his grip to take his own shot. He drew his arms back.

'The Carusos are killers," Stan said.

Johnny's ball flew off his club in a wicked slice. It slammed into the net fencing on his right, then dropped to the ground like a dead man. "I've heard that before," he said to the older man, his gaze on the lifeless ball.

"When the rest of the Palm Springs mob moved on to Las Vegas or were absorbed into what became known as the Mickey Mouse Mafia in Los Angeles, the Carusos stuck it out here and stuck to the old moneymaking standbys - loan sharking, bookmaking, car theft."

They both lined up for second shots. "When did Cosimo Caruso take over the Palm Springs family?" Johnny asked, pitching his voice toward the other man.

Stan's head whipped over his shoulder. "Pipe down." In a maneuver straight out of an old gangster flick, he took sidelong glances in all directions, then let out a breath when he saw that the next nearest golfer was ten yards away. "You can never be too careful."

"Sorry." Johnny's subsequent shot did little better than his first, but he wasn't out here to improve his game. "What can you tell me about... you know who?"

Leaning on his driver like a cane, Stan hobbled closer. "He took over leadership of the Mafia in this area in the 1950s, and he did it in the usual manner, by killing the competition. He was young, and it took him time to become as smart as he was tough, but he managed to do it. You'll find few in Palm Springs who don't admire him in some ways."

'That include yourself?"

Without answering, Stan limped back to his place and took a few more drives that made Johnny's look like rookie stuff by comparison.

"You play on the tour, Stan?" he asked.

The old guy laughed, a dry, wheezy sound that mimicked the breeze shuffling the fronds of the many palms that dotted the country club's rolling fairways. "I'm no closer to pro than Cosimo is to sainthood."

"So what's the secret of his success?"

Stan cackled again and watched two Japanese business-men set up shop a few positions down the way. Then he turned back toward Johnny. "He went legitimate."

"The food company."

The old man nodded. "The gourmet food company, La Vita Buona. Mobsters get sent to prison because they get caught with cash they can't explain. Tax evasion doesn't make as sexy a courtroom drama as robbery, blackmail, and murder, but it puts the bad guys behind bars all the same. With a lawful business, there's all sorts of avenues for money laundering."

"So Cosimo funnels cash through the gourmet food business."

Stan slid a glance toward the businessmen, but they were engrossed in a conversation while cleaning their club heads with cashmere rags. "I didn't say that, exactly."

"But he has gotten rich."

"You ever taste that Tuscan sauce they bottle? It's worth the eleven bucks my wife says she pays for it."

Johnny moved to his bag, exchanging his driver for his two-iron. "Cosimo had a son, Salvatore." When he turned