Chapter Thirty-Three
Eunice
New York, New York
“What is this?” Red Sadie barks as her eyes dart between me and the guard. “You said my lawyer was here.”
The guard steps back and shuts the heavy metal door of the visitation room with a thud. Just as I instructed.
“You were told a lawyer was here for you. I am a lawyer. I’m Assistant District Attorney Eunice Carter.”
Her lips curl into a sneer. “I know who you are. You were there gloating at the raid, and you’ve been nagging to meet with me ever since. You think I’m gonna talk to you?” She swings around and pounds on the door, each rap jarringly rapid, like a jackhammer.
“Miss Kaplan,” I say, my voice cutting through her noise, “you’ll want to hear what I have to say.”
“I don’t.” Her banging grows louder, but I asked the guard to remain in the corridor and not react until I stood before the observation panel.
“You don’t have to say a word. But if you value your freedom, you’ll listen.”
Her fist freezes in midair, and she faces me. “Your lawyer talk doesn’t scare me. I’ve faced worse than you.”
I meet her glare. “I’m not here to scare you. I’m here to tell you the truth. The fifty days you’ve spent here are about to feel like no time at all.”
“Oh yeah?” she scoffs.
“Yes. Because now you’re facing fifteen years.”
My words strike her square in her gut, and Red Sadie’s face drains of color. I slide onto the chair next to the radiator. She hesitates, then slowly lowers herself into the seat across from me. “Fifteen years?” she repeats, her bravado fading fast.
“Yes, because I’ve decided to move forward with your prosecution. I hadn’t wanted to pursue any of the girls or madams, but your silence leaves me with no choice.”
At another time, Red Sadie would have dismissed me with a laugh. But with an exorbitant ten-thousand-dollar bond and fifty days without contact from anyone besides the prison matrons, doubt must be whispering in her ear.
I say, “We’re being pressured to show results from the raid.”
“So you want to send me to prison for your own gain?” She jabs her finger on the table. “No one’s ever gotten fifteen years for this.”
“No one has ever received a ten-thousand-dollar bond, either, but these are different times, Miss Kaplan. We need a high-profile conviction, and prosecuting you will give us the headlines we need.”
Her eyes narrow with disdain. “This is my life, and you’re talking about headlines. Just so you can make a name for yourself.”
“That’s not what I’m doing,” I say. “This is my duty. But if it furthers my career, that’s a bonus.”
Red Sadie folds her arms. “So this is only about winning for you, huh?”
“Winning is what we do in the prosecutor’s office,” I say as I stand and pick up my coat and briefcase. “And since we know all about how you worked directly with Miller and Frederico to place girls, I feel good about our odds of winning your case.”
She was already pale, but with these words, now she looks almost ashen.
I pivot, but before I get to the door, in a softer voice, Red Sadie asks, “How many are you threatening with fifteen years?”
I don’t turn around to face her. “I can’t discuss other cases, but I can say that while you’ve stayed silent, others have been talking.”
“Talking and walking. But how long will they be living?”
Red Sadie, like the other women, is terrified of the men behind the Combination. I want to tell her she will be protected. But in this moment, I have to remain the impassive, unshakable face of the law.
“I’ll be in touch,” I say without looking at her, and knock on the door to signal the guard.
The officer slides the observation panel open, and then, as he unlocks the door, Red Sadie asks quietly, “If I talk…do I receive the same deal as the others? And protection?”
“I didn’t say anyone has a deal.”
Her chuckle is bitter and knowing. “There’s always a deal for a snitch.”
Once outside, I wonder if I should have stayed longer, pressed her harder. Or will it serve us better to let her sit with the fear of being behind bars until 1951?
I make my way to the entry hall. But just as I wrap my coat around my shoulders, the guard calls out, “Mrs. Carter? The prisoner said she’s not finished talking to you.”
My eyebrows rise. I handled it perfectly.
When I return to the visitation room, Red Sadie launches in before I even sit down. “I need to know what I’m going to get for putting my life on the line.”
“We won’t move forward with your prosecution,” I say. “You’ll be free.”
She chokes out a bitter laugh. “Free? To do what? Do you know what they do to girls who talk? I’m sure you’ve heard the stories. Of girls hanging on clotheslines like laundry on rooftops. Of bodies floating face down in the Hudson. What kind of freedom is that?”
“I can make sure you’re safe. I can arrange protection.”
“Protection?” Her eyebrows arch. “By who exactly? The cops? They’re the ones who’ve been protecting me from you. There’s no one out there I can trust.”
“You can trust me. And I’ll make sure you have proper protection. Even a new identity.”
Her laugh is hollow. “Trust the woman who has one foot on my neck and the other halfway up the courthouse steps?”
“You can trust the woman who wants to prosecute the men you fear.” I allow those words to simmer.
She is quiet for so long, I wonder if she’s changed her mind. Finally, she continues in a whisper. “What do you want to know?”
I don’t waste any time launching into my prepared questions: “Your brothel was one of the most successful in the Combination. Tell me about that operation.”
For the next twenty minutes, Red Sadie recounts the rise and success of her brothel under her management. Then she details the changes that came when the Combination swept in.
“I didn’t have a choice,” she says. “The Combination promised protection, no competition, and that none of my girls would ever see the inside of a jail. All I had to do was turn over control of the girls’ schedules to the bookers and hand over a hefty part of my profits.
I only went along because I didn’t want to find myself dangling from some rooftop. ”
She continues with her confection that she was only a victim. Because of Polly, I know that Red Sadie was not only a willing participant, but she was one of the first to sidle up to the Combination.
Then she lays bare how far up the corruption ran: “Everyone’s palms are getting greased—from the beat cops to the precinct captains, and even some of the local political ward leaders. Girls turning tricks? That’s a moneymaking machine for half of this damn city.
“And it’s not enough that the girls are tossed around like rag dolls and treated like stray dogs.
They’re forced to take drugs, to keep them docile.
The Combination sells that stuff right out of my place.
It didn’t matter that I didn’t want none of that,” Red Sadie says, waving her hands.
“But if I were to say a word…” Her voice fades.
“Have you ever been personally threatened?”
“I’m threatened every day. Just by their presence. They come into my house and do what they want. Every time they look at me, I wonder if today’s the day they’ll break my neck.”
Her words make my heart stop, and I want to take a moment to collect myself. But I must remain steadfast. I ask her about the men: Tommy the Bull, Ralph Liguori, Dave Betillo.
Then I turn to the first name Polly gave me. “What about Dave Miller? What’s his role?”
“Miller is the money man. He collects the payments and gives the money to the Boss.”
My pulse quickens. If Miller handles the money, he has to be one of Luciano’s most trusted men.
“And Jimmy Frederico?”
That name makes her recoil. “He’s a killer,” she says with a slight quiver in her voice.
“The others might rough us up, but Frederico handles the ones who end up dead. I’ve never seen him do it, but he laughs about it in front of all of us.
And why wouldn’t he? He knows he’s untouchable. He’s one of the Boss’ top men.”
I inhale. “And who’s the Boss?”
She stiffens. “You know.”
“You need to tell me.”
She purses her lips, crosses her arms, and shakes her head.
“Miss Kaplan?”
Her eyes are glassy with tears. “Once I say his name, it won’t be safe for you or me.” Her fear is no longer a mere shadow between us; it’s palpable.
“Please. It’s the only way we can stop this.”
Finally, she utters the words. “The Boss is Lucky Luciano.”
—
As I step from the elevator to the jail parking garage, I’m thrilled. But I’m already thinking ahead—who might strengthen Red Sadie’s account? I need someone to corroborate what she told me today, because I question whether, as a madam, she alone will be believed by a jury of twelve men.
My mind brims with questions as I reach my car, and then I freeze at the sight. On the driver’s side, red paint is splattered across the door and hood. No message. No symbols. Just paint. It’s so vivid that for a moment, I think it’s blood.
A chill crawls up my spine as I recall Red Sadie’s words—Once I say his name, it won’t be safe for you or me.
Quickly, I scan the garage, and then, slowly, carefully, I glance through the car’s windows. No one’s crouched in the back seat, so I slide in and lock the doors. It takes a few seconds for me to catch my breath. How did this happen here? In the parking garage of the Women’s House of Detention?
In just moments, my elation has curdled into dread. Paint alone cannot be a message, can it? The Mob isn’t known for subtlety. This is probably vandalism. Some kids, out to get a kick. In the parking garage of a city jail.
I crank up the engine and ease out of the garage, scanning every vehicle I pass. At red lights, I check the mirrors and grip the steering wheel—not to drive but to keep myself from shaking.
Thank God it is only a ten-minute ride from the Women’s House of Detention to our offices.
But when I roll into this garage, I don’t feel any relief.
The first man at the entry nods in recognition, but I eye him warily.
I do the same with the man on the second floor.
I can no longer assume the men in place to guard us will protect us.
Anyone, everyone could be on Luciano’s payroll.
It isn’t until I shut the door to my office that I allow myself to breathe. My thoughts churn. Less than an hour ago, I felt such triumph. We finally have a path to Luciano. But the closer we get, the more dangerous this becomes.
I need to speak to Dewey. Quickly.
But when I rush to his door and knock, I say only, “Chief, we have what we need.”
Although I’m tempted, I cannot say anything about the damage to my car.
Fear travels fast, and this news will silence every possible witness, completely slowing down this investigation.
So I focus on Red Sadie and recount my exchange with her.
I give the chief all the details she gave to me: two hundred brothels, two thousand girls, operations spread across all five boroughs. And the name at the top—Lucky Luciano.
“This is just the beginning, Chief. Red Sadie is the first to speak Luciano’s name aloud; I’ll use that as leverage for others.”
“Well done, Mrs. Carter.” Dewey nods, then rises to his feet. “Who will you get to substantiate her testimony?”
I balance his praise with his question, the same one that’s been running through my mind. “We have several other madams in custody. First, I’ll speak to Mildred Balitzer.”
“Balitzer? Isn’t she a junkie?”
“Yes, but she’s been clean since she’s been inside. My gut tells me that she could know a lot. She’s been on both sides, as a prostitute and a madam. And if she isn’t cooperative, there’s Nancy Presser.”
“Another junkie.” Dewey shakes his head slowly.
“And…” I hesitate but then tell the chief about another addict. “Cokey Flo is in custody, too. We missed her in the raids because she was in treatment, but we picked her up a few days ago for pandering.”
“What an array of witnesses—madams and junkies who are madams. Not exactly ideal. I wish we had someone else.”
I nod, but I stay silent. From the beginning, my instincts pointed to Polly Adler, who—given her elevated position among madams—may have been the only one deemed credible.
But she’ll only operate on her terms. Only in ways that will protect her.
So I have to settle for the information Polly has given to me and the madams we have in custody.
“Mr. Dewey, I have a note for you.” Miss Rosse, Dewey’s secretary, steps inside and hands him a piece of paper.
He studies the message in his hands and doesn’t speak until she’s left the room. “Luciano has fled the city again. The men tailing him believe he may have been tipped off. And if that’s true, he knows how close we’re getting.”
My mind leaps to my car…and to Red Sadie! I know the Mob has eyes and ears everywhere, but I left her less than an hour ago. No, Luciano’s fleeing couldn’t be connected to my meeting—could it?
“If he knows we’re closing in, he won’t just run, he’ll vanish,” he says, his eyes still on that note.
“And he could go anywhere,” I say.
“If he makes it back to Sicily, extradition will be nearly impossible.” Finally, the chief glances up. “We don’t have any more time, Mrs. Carter. We’re going to indict Lucky Luciano for a prostitution racket.”