A Tangled Web

By John Edward DeToro

This story takes place during World War II. It is about pride, bigotry, love, and deceit. It sends Vince Romano, an innocent young man, to prison due to false testimony about a one-night affair with a soldiers wife, Valerie Farr, who later cries rape to cover the affair. Through the confessional, a priest, brother-in-law to the allegedly raped married woman, learns the truth about the affair. However, by canon law in the Catholic world, he cannot reveal the truth, even under penalty of law. Arnie Swartz, a press reporter, accidentally hears the alleged confession and reveals it during a new trial, creating doubt as to the charge of rape.

There is much to do with relationships, family, and others, along with romance, violence, intrigue, and jury tampering. A military adventure results in a strong bond between two men of different cultures, who become entangled in the rape jury trial.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Oct 3, 2017
• ISBN: 9781546210580

John Edward DeToro

John Edward DeToro is a freelance writer. His numerous articles have been published in construction industry magazines and in classic and antique car magazines. Pursuing his passion for writing, he has also written two other books, Kiss the Wind and If it’s Pasta, It’s Thursday. John Edward DeToro resides in Richmond Hill, Ontario with his wife, Diane.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

T he year was 1941, it was July and World War II had entered its third year. The Nazi War machine had marched across Europe and Italy had sided with Germany.

Vince Romano was due to be called into the army any day. Single and nineteen, he thought he had the world by the tail ever since he talked his father into buying a 1940 Packard convertible. Cream colored with cherry red leather upholstery, it was an instant eye catcher. Vince was the only child of Atilio and Louisa Romano and they both doted over him. Old Atilio bought the splashy Packard mostly for the boy, as he preferred to drive his old Chevy truck, he said he felt more comfortable in it. Of course, this delighted Vince as it gave him the car about ninety-five per cent of the time……except, that is, when he had to go to the Food Terminal Market every morning, make deliveries, drive his mother on a Sunday to visit a relative or to church for the ten thirty mass.

The Romanos operated a fruit store, they made a comfortable living, but since Italy had joined with Germany, Atilio had felt prejudice from some of the Anglos, in fact, even lost old customers to Farrr’s Fruit Store. The Farrs had erected a huge sign which spelled out in big bold blue letters Farr’s British Fruit Store.

Up until the War, the Farrs had been just existing, their produce couldn’t touch the Romanos, old Atilio knew how to buy and bought only the best. He couldn’t understand how some people would purchase sub-standard produce from Farrs.

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Vince found a parking spot in front of the pool hall and slid the Packard in. Pool halls always appeared mysterious with their painted windows, like something illegal was happening inside.

Hey Vince, someone shouted, over here, wanna shoot a game?

Naw not now Arnie, you seen Reno, he’s supposed to meet me here?

Yea, in da phone boot, answered some kid with a pool cue, he was chalking up.

Vince walked over to the glassed cubicle, rapped on the door signaling Reno he was here. Two minutes later, the booth opened and Reno stepped out. They were cousins, Vince and Reno, and as close as brothers. He wore a white t-shirt and brown trousers, a good looking boy with a personality to match.

Hey Vince, you’re just in time. I got a tip, there’s a couple of broads just settin’ up shop downtown, beer and everything, what say we check it out?

Sure, let’s get Arnie and go.

The three of them piled into the front seat. Vince eased the Packard away from the curb and headed downtown.

Tell us about this joint Reno, asked Vince.

I dunno too much, a guy at work told me he was there last night, got laid and everything. Two bits for a beer, four bucks to get laid.

Hey, sounds good, chirped up Arnie, we better get there before the cops get wise.

Ten minutes later they turned onto Dunn Street.

Look for Hooper’s Drug Store, it’s the apartment above it, the entrance is at the side, said Reno searching the stores as they cruised slowly past the line of parked cars at curbside.

There it is on the corner, pointed Arnie, park around the block Vinnie.

Naw, too close.

This is okay, said Vince stopping half a block farther on.

The trio slipped out of the car and headed toward the store.

Hey Vince, don’t you lock up? said Arnie hanging back.

Naw, there’s nothin’ to steal, besides this is a pretty fair district, nobody’s gonna touch anythin’.

They reached the side entrance and stood there nervously glancing around half expecting to see someone watching.

The identification card above the door bell read SMITH in printed letters. Reno stabbed his finger on the button twice, they waited. The sound of a window opening above their heads caused them to look up. A frizzy looking redhead poked her head out.

Hi fellas, who you lookin’ for?

Whoever Miss Smith is, grinned Reno.

Oh yea, what she look like?

Cut the bullshit, was Reno’s answer, you know what we’re here for.

Hang on then. She slammed the window shut.

The clack, clack of slippers echoed on the stairs, then the sound of a barrel bolt sliding back. She stood in the vestibule with a red velvet kimono wrapped around her, eyeing the three of them.

Come on in, her voice was low and inviting as she stood aside allowing them to pass, then bolted the door again.

The three of them, in single file, Vince leading, climbed the stairs about ten steps to a small landing, then made a left turn and climbed another four or five to a corridor. turn left, she said from the rear of the trio, then go straight down the hall.

The hallway opened into a large room which must have been the living room of a previous tenant who occupied the premises as an apartment.

A glance around the room showed two sofas, a couple of worn high back chairs and a coffee table with overlapping glass water ring marks and a couple of cigarette burns.

What’s your pleasure boys, beer or the hard stuff?

We got the hard stuff, quipped Arnie.

I hope so, she shot back.

Beer will be fine, spoke Vince.

Chris, bring us three cold ones, shouted the redhead.

Chris appeared with three opened beers, none of the boys could take their eyes off her. They sat stunned. Chris was a gorgeous blonde, her hair was done in an upsweep, the latest fashion. She had beautiful brown eyes like a doe. But what held their fascination was that she was clad only in panties and brassiere. She was tall, about five eight, with gorgeous slim legs and when she bent over to hand the boys their beer, her breasts were almost falling out of her skimpy brassiere.

Vince drank in the view, while poor Arnie, his heart began to beat faster. Each took a swig of his beer pretending to be unaffected.

I take it you’re Chris? smiled Reno showing his even row of teeth.

How did you guess, she chortled.

And what’s your name? quizzed Vince nodding in the direction of the redhead.

My friends call my Myra.

Reno found it difficult to take his eyes off Chris, especially since she sat down with her legs crossed and her panties sliding up showing most of her ass on one side. The boys engaged in small talk for a few minutes when, suddenly, Reno stood up and said to Chris, Baby, I got a hard on, let’s get the show on the road.

The blonde stood up and taking Reno’s hand led him from the room down the hall.

Sonofabitch, said Arnie at the same time striking his thigh. He beat me.

Myra rose, crossed to Arnie with a sweet smile, and said, Can I help you? then dropped her kimono to the floor. Arnie’s eyes looked as if they were going to jump out of their sockets. Her skin was the color of alabaster common to redheads, tits that were high with nipples that stuck out like pencil erasers. The auburn triangle between her legs sent visions of delight through his head. She bent over and her tits sent shock waves to his brain as they bumped against his face.

Christ, yes, he replied, his brain ablaze.

She took both his hands in hers, helping him from the sofa. Arnie went willingly like a lamb to slaughter.

Vince was left to himself, staring at the peeling wallpaper in between swigs of beer. No more than a few minutes passed when Arnie reappeared.

So soon? laughed Vince.

You do better then, he answered, zipping up his pants.

Nope, I don’t like seconds.

Just then, Myra appeared in the nude, he had to admit, she had a helluva frame.

How about you good lookin’?

Nope, not tonight, I’m just a passenger.

Before Myra could answer, the sound of Reno’s voice cut her off.

You lousy bitch you.

Then the sound of a slap and a scream and before anyone could respond, Reno appeared tucking his shirt in his pants. He motioned to the boys with a head nod.

Let’s get the hell outa here, he said angrily.

By now, Chris was right on his heels shouting obscenities while screaming at the top of her voice, Honkie, Honkie, and holding her cheek.

Reno, what the hell…. Vince never finished.

He stopped short, a door at the other end of the hall burst open and the doorway was filled with a huge bulk of a man clad in work pants and an undershirt. He was big and must have weighed in at about 250, at least.

Honkie, he hit me, Chris was screaming over and over. Throw him out, pointing to Reno.

For a big guy he moved fast, he lunged at Reno who stepped sideways into a vacant room and, at the same time, stuck out his foot. The big Pollock went sprawling. Reno went to move but the blonde hooker held onto his arm with both hands digging her nails into his flesh and slowing him for the moment. Honkie was on his feet by now and coming at Reno, his face a mask of anger.

Reno shook off Chris, in that split second made a decision, timing it just right, he hoofed the Pollock in the balls. Honkie groaned, his head went down as he clutched his hands to his crotch while his knees buckled slightly. Reno grabbed him by the hair and at the same time brought his knee up into the big man’s face, not once but twice, the sound of bones breaking and then there was blood. Like a tap, the blood gushed all over Reno’s knee, splattered up the wall and onto the floor.

The Pollock let out a scream and fell sideways through the wooden railing stopping only when he hit the landing some six or so steps down, broken rails and spindles falling on top of him like giant chopsticks.

The two hookers were crying.

Honkie, Honkie, please get up, oh Christ.

Come on you guys let’s go, move your asses.

The trio started down the stairs but Honkie was getting up.

Shit, cursed Reno, Nothing stops this bastard.

He grabbed one of the loose balustrades and before Honkie was fully erect smashed him on the side of the neck laying him out cold. They didn’t step over him they stepped on him to get down the stairs. Vince fumbled with the barrel bolt while the hookers were throwing broken spindles at them.

The car was half a block away, the run to it seemed like a mile. They piled into the front seat, Vince had the Packard started and moving before Arnie had the door on his side shut.

It was at least two blocks before anyone spoke, then it was Vince who broke the silence.

What the hell happened in there?

The lousy bitch, while I was washing my hands she scooped my wallet from my pants, she was rolling me!

No shit.

Yea.

The rotten whore.

After Reno waited in the car until Vince brought him a change of pants for the blood stained ones, Vince drove back to the pool hall after which they finished the night with a game of snooker.

CHAPTER 2

R eno Santone was born in Toronto, Canada in 1918 and christened Renaldo Santone. In the late twenties, his father, tired of the severe Canadian winters, took a drastic step and moved his family to Reno, Nevada, where he could continue the one talent he was best at – gambling. A former croupier and card mechanic in the casinos on the French and Italian Riviera, he was unaccustomed to the cold climate along with the menial and degrading jobs offered an immigrant.

For a time, life was good to the Santones in Reno, until his father got himself killed in a casino brawl. His mother, Velma, never took to the Nevada lifestyle of gambling, hookers and other temptations and so returned to Toronto with her young son, Renaldo, to the one remaining member of her family, her married sister, Louisa Romano.

At long last, she found happiness living with her sister and brother-in-law and working in their fruit and grocery store.

Reno grew up with his cousin, Vince, the two became inseparable.

Having been exposed to the environment of gambling, his father had made him wise beyond his years. He could handle a deck of cards like a pro and was capable of running a complete crap game, hence he was nicknamed, Reno.

By some generic quirk, nature had endowed him with an unusual physical strength and agility which had gained him a reputation by the time he was sixteen.

Tall, about six feet, with short auburn curly hair, a rather handsome young man of a normal placid nature not one to look for or to start trouble, but a reputation for always finishing it.

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Once a year at Anderson Park, the Eagles Club held a three day carnival and field day, proceeds to go toward needy families in the community.

Reno was seventeen when his cousin Vince and he drifted over to the carnival one evening. Having wandered around for an hour or two, he spied his mother and his Aunt Louisa standing at the Weight and Age Guesser’s stand.

Velma was a good looking woman of thirty seven with no trace of having been an immigrant her days in Reno removed all trace of an accent.

She was tall, at least five foot eight, quite slim, long black hair with a pale olive skin and carried herself well. She turned more than one male’s head.

As Reno stood next to his mother, a man detached himself from the crowd surrounding the Weight Guesser and slipped his arm around Velma’s waist attempting to propel her toward the weigh scale. He was tall, around six two, but slim with thick wrists and heavy shoulders.

Velma pushed his arm away, the stranger persisted and began to paw her, grabbing her arm attempting to drag her to the scale. In a flash, Reno came between them blocking the way for both of them.

I don’t think my mother wants to go with you.

Out of the way sonny, the stranger pressed forward never letting go of Velma’s arm.

Let me go you clown, she shouted, trying to wrest herself free.

Who’s a clown? You Wop bitches are all alike.

With this, he pushed his hand against her breasts shoving her backwards into the crowd.

And you…, he sneered addressing Reno, it was the last words he would be uttering for the next few hours.

Reno hit him full in the mouth splitting his lips and smashing his front teeth. Before the boor had a chance to recover, three more blows caught him, one on his temple, a left and a right on the nose smashing it with the second punch driving him backwards into the stunned crowd.

Velma screamed in Italian – Corra! Figlio corra! Basta colpo.

With these words from his mother, Reno melted into the crowd, his mother and aunt likewise, leaving the hapless victim with blood streaming from his nose and spitting out his front teeth like popcorn.

Word spread quickly that Reno had laid out a man at the carnival. He half expected the victim to come looking for him. However, the loser was a transient with the carnival, so when the carnies folded up that night he left with them.

And so the awesome reputation Reno Santone was to gain, had been spawned.

There were many other such incidents in Renaldo’s life, but never did he come away a loser. Sure he took his share of punches, but he had two things going for him, his strength and his lack of fear. These two combinations were to make him a dangerous adversary.

CHAPTER 3

V alerie Clarke was blessed with good looks. She was at least a thirty six on a five foot seven frame with a figure and carriage that comes with being a model. Valerie was a natural, she had no formal training and she had a natural attraction to men.

At sixteen, she had her first encounter with a man, the manager of the Winston Theatre, a local movie house. When most girls at sixteen were still developing, Valerie already had. It seemed she went from child to woman sort of overnight.

She tried applying for the job of cashier at the Winston after she found out the regular girl was leaving to have a baby.

Irving Green was manager at the time and when he first met her he knew she would get the job. Irving wouldn’t give her a for sure answer right away, he stalled her, told her to come back later, he’d see what arrangements he could make, in the meantime, go in and enjoy the show.

Irving watched for her at the end of the show and asked her into his office on the pretext of discussing the job. He closed the door behind him and slipped the lock with her back to him.

She glanced around the office mentally admiring the furnishings, a leather couch and matching chair, an ornamental iron floor lamp and a beautiful oak desk, all on an inch thick carpet. Six cokes were sticking out of an ice bucket, the bottles clouded with sweat.

Irving motioned her toward the couch while he popped open two cokes.

Like something in it? he asked.

Like what? she said in surprise.

A shot of rum.

I don’t know, never tried it.

You’ll like it.

Emptying both cokes into two glasses, he produced a bottle from his desk and poured a small amount into each.

Here’s mud in your eye. he said with a wink.

She laughed, I never heard that before.

Oh, that’s an old saying.

She took a swallow and could feel the warmth as it slid down into her stomach.