Scrapping With The Mob

By Doug Beaver

Scrapping With The Mob describes the adventures of recent college grad Johnathan Michaels as he goes to work for a scrap metal dealer and how he finds himself entangled with a Las Vegas mob-run casino and all the dangers that come with the territory.

A Midwestern transplant, Johnathan discovers that there are many opportunities

• Language: English
• Publisher: Aspire Publishing Hub, LLC
• Release date: Aug 29, 2023
• ISBN: 9781960758002

Book preview

Scrapping With The Mob

Copyright © 2023 by Doug Beaver

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

ISBN

978-1-958692-99-8 (Paperback)

978-1-960758-00-2 (eBook)

Table of Contents

Preface

Chapter 1Vacation to California and Growing Up

Chapter 2Changes Coming

Chapter 3I Start In the Scrap Metal Business

Chapter 4Getting Accounts and Mexico

Chapter 5Sun Electrict

Chapter 6Crushing Cars and Las Vegas

Chapter 7Car Shopping With Patricia

Chapter 8Our Truck Drivers

Chapter 9Planned Accident

Chapter 10Difficult Times

Chapter 11What a Waste

Chapter 12Problems With a Competitor

Chapter 13Recycling

Chapter 14Making Sure Accounts Get Paid

Chapter 15Prize Fighting Gone Awry

Chapter 16Steak and Ribs and Other Things

Chapter 17Demolition

Chapter 18Cash Can Be a Problem

Chapter 19Delivering Cash

Chapter 20Getting Robbed

Chapter 21Meeting a Real Mobster

Chapter 22A Real Shame

Chapter 23Our Office Manager Lauren

Chapter 24A Meeting at the Lake

Chapter 25Back In the Hospital

Chapter 26I Hated Politicians

Chapter 27Golf Tournament

Chapter 28Going After Competitors

Chapter 29Perks

Chapter 30Cash Can Speak For Itself

Chapter 31Clean-Ups

Chapter 32Getting Threatened

Chapter 33Gun Fire at the Yard

Chapter 34The Desert Housing Project

Chapter 35Troubles Ahead

Chapter 36Out to Get Howard

Chapter 37I Need to Find a New Career

Chapter 38Howard Comes to Tucson

Chapter 39Florence Calls

Chapter 40My Final Time With Howard

Postscript

PREFACE

This book is intended for the entertainment of the reader and any possible resemblance to a known person, being real or imaginary, is purely coincidental. This is a fictional story that takes place in the early 1970’s through the 1980’s. It is about a young man, Johnathon Michales who has his eyes opened about the ways business is done in the Scrap Metal Industry and the connections with the Mob.

Even though there are some factual events, there is no intention to replicate any real person or event. All the persons in this story were made up the Author.

CHAPTER 1

Vacation to California and Growing Up

It was hot in our old Chevrolet with no Air Conditioning as we drove west along the highway towards California. My ten-year-old brother and I punched each other in the back seat of the car for the lack of anything else to do. My family was on a vacation road trip from our home in Nebraska to our family just outside of Los Angeles California. Because of the summer heat we drove mostly at night, and I can still hear the KENNEDY/NIXON Presidential Campaign debate drone on endlessly my parents listened to on the radio. My parents supported Vice President Nixon, but politics were the furthest thing from my mind. There was not much entertainment for a thirteen and a ten-year-old boy. All we wanted to do was get to California and Disneyland and get this ride over.

There were a few diversions. We stayed at a nice motel in Denver, and the next day my mom actually turned on the car heater when we drove over the 11,000-foot summit of the Rocky Mountains. It was Great!

After three days of driving, we reached Las Vegas Nevada. What a place! It sure was different from Nebraska. We stayed at the Millennium Hotel and Casino, and I instantly fell in love with the pool, that was bigger than some of the ponds back home. Little did I realize that as an adult, that this spectacular crazy place would be entwined in my life so deeply as I learned about laundering and not clothes. It was money and the mob running this hotel and casino where my family spent a few days of our vacation many years ago. In fact, I heard later stories that cash carriers were taking paper bags full of money out of the casinos in the middle of the day and no one seemed to pay any attention to them. This apparently continued for years, and law enforcement tried to prosecute those involved, both in Nevada and Chicago Illinois.

The swimming pool was my favorite place, and it was shaped like two figure eights. There were Palm Trees outside the pool and there were cabana bars designed to look like jungle huts. There were lots of kids in the pool while the adults relaxed in lounge chairs wherever they found shade. Waitresses Carried drinks to the adults and sodas for the kids.

Everywhere you looked in the city there were lights of every size and color flashing on and off. The noise, bells ringing, people happily screaming, you name it. The casino smelled of smoke, food, and perfume. There were women in short skirts, high heels, big hair with lots of lip stick. I was sure happy to have the pool!

Two days later we headed at night across the desert to Southern California to visit Aunt Mary and Uncle George, who lived in a suburb outside of Los Angeles. I was trying to sleep, but quickly woke up when my dad found the Los Angeles Dodger Game on the car radio, and for the first time in my life I heard the voice of Vin Scully. He described the vast size of the Los Angeles Coliseum and the side winding delivery of Don Drysdale. Later he told of Maury Wills stealing second base. Next, he mentioned that the wild lefty who strikes out a lot of batters, Sanford Sandy Koufax would be pitching the next game. Even today I can still hear that radio broadcast in my head.

Soon after we drove what seemed to be an eternity from our relative’s home to Disneyland. Never had I seen so many cars and people in one area. In Nebraska the towns were separated by miles of farmland and in Los Angeles the cities were right next to each other.

Back in Bridgeport, Nebraska the population was 8500 people, most who were farmers and good folks. There was a movie theater and bowling alley and schools. An 80-mile trip to Lincoln was required if one wanted to do more. My family were Protestant Anglo Christian Church going people. Besides working in a factory, my dad was the choir director and played the piano at our church. My mom sang like an angel in the choir. There was a lot of church going when we were growing up. Although most of us young kids eventually ended up outside under a faint light bulb shooting baskets in an old hoop, while waiting for some of the longer devotion services to end.

My high school years went by without fanfare. I did play and enjoy being on the baseball team and my senior year the Arizona Wildcats offered me a Scholarship to play baseball and attend college in Tucson, Arizona. Moving to Tucson was like a dream coming true. Tucson was a much larger city, and it did not snow there! Also, just like in Bridgeport the whole town came out and supported the Wildcats, only in a much larger way. The climate was much different, lots of sunshine and cactus grew everywhere! Also, we traveled to several cities like Albuquerque and Salt Lake City. I had not been on a commercial jet until I went to college. I remember years earlier that my dad took us all to a county fair and he let me spend some of my saved-up money to take a quick flight in an old crop duster that lasted maybe ten minutes and cost me five dollars.

I missed home in a certain way but found out that college took up much of my time. There was more studying and baseball practice almost daily. Eating and studying seemed all I had time to do. Before baseball season started, I had my weekends free and was able to do some site seeing, but once the calendar changed to the new year it was books, baseball, studying, eating, and sleeping. I sure did find college more interesting and challenging than high school. In high school I did minimal homework and studying.

At Arizona University it was all up to me. The professors were a lot more entertaining than my high school teachers, and they instilled a desire to accomplish the work and I wanted to do my best. Also, I had to get passing grades or I would lose my baseball scholarship.

My parents called and wrote me all the time my first year. I guess they must have missed me around the house, But they were really glad that I had such an outstanding opportunity and a chance to make something of myself.

I loved college and found out that I could get good grades. Baseball was at a higher level and the players were much better. My freshman year I got beaned by a 90 + mile an hour fast ball from a wild left-handed hurler from New Mexico State. I was later told there was a classic baseball fight when our pitcher Ron Johnson beaned one of their hitters in return, while I was lying on a stretcher in an ambulance. My sophomore year I had a series of leg injuries and played in only 10 games. I was ready to hang up baseball, but if I did, I would lose my scholarship.

Another consideration to stay in school was to stay out of the Army. All the young men not going to college, and not married with at least one kid were getting Greeting Letters from Uncle Sam, and an invitation to go fight in Vietnam. My junior year at Arizona University I actually played injury free. I was glad because my parents had made trips every year. And, finally got to see me play. I remember when my mom first arrived in Tucson, her first question was where I attended church? Now I did go once in a while usually accompanying a good-looking young lady to her church, but I did not attend all the time like my parents did.

Because I had been injured so much my first two years, I had lost the edge I had in high school. I did hit .280 and drove 35 runs, but there were no pro scouts knocking on my door. My baseball skills did not improve my senior year and I finally accepted the fact that I would not wear the Yankee Pin Stripes.

I graduated with a Business Management Degree and a minor in U.S. History. Now I had to do some quick planning as I was not free of the army, and I needed a job to make money. Some students quickly enrolled in graduate programs, and a few even moved to Canada. I had always figured that I would let the cards lay where they fall.

Jobs were scarce as there was a recession and major companies did not want to invest in me with the possibility of my getting drafted. Also, President Nixon had a wage freeze and I figured sales might be the way for me!

Now Phoenix was only 110 miles away and I did get a job offer from a business machine company by the name of Olivetti. It was an Italian company, and they were looking for college grads for office machine sales. Even though I had never sold anything but lemonade and newspapers I was hired by this Canadian Branch Manager who couldn’t stop talking about how good it was to be out of the snow, and how he liked big, tall guys working in the field, (I was 6 ft. 2 in tall).

My territory was Western Phoenix. Every morning I would load my car with typewriters and calculators and drive into an industrial area. I would park my car and go in and out of every business to find if there was a need for one of my machines.

Surprisingly I did sell a few typewriters and calculators. During that time, I started dating a beautiful Hispanic girl who worked in a doctor’s office where I sold a copy machine. A few months later we were married and towards the end of second year with Olivetti my son Brian was born.

One of the places I called on was Illinois Iron and Metal. At the time the name did not seem like much, and every time I went in the secretary would get the boss and he would tell me that they did not use any of my machines, even though the secretary had a calculator on her desk.

For almost three years I called on Illinois Iron and Metal every couple of months. One day my beeper went off and when I phoned in for messages, I was asked to go to Illinois Iron and Metal. The scrap yard, which was a long rectangular yard, with an eight-foot wall around the facility, and had a wrought iron gate in front, parking and offices to the right, and a long warehouse to the left.

In the back was a garage and a dirt lot with empty boxes and other equipment. There were also several trucks parked in the rear. This time when I went into the scrap office and to my surprise I was asked into the office of the owner, Howard Weiss. I had no idea why he wanted to see me?

CHAPTER 2

Changes Coming

I QUICKLY NOTICED that image was everything to Howard Weiss. The first time I met him he wore white slacks, an open white satin shirt with a long collar and I figured he had a pound of gold around his neck, wrist and on his fingers. He was a very gracious host, offering me anything I wanted and even suggested we send for sandwiches. I settled for a Pepsi and sat back on the white leather couch trying not to stare at all the artifacts and awards he had on his walls. He was very active in the community and supported many politicians. In fact, he said how disappointed he was that President Nixon had to resign and that he felt that the President really did nothing that wrong!

Howard Weiss stood maybe five foot eight inches tall and was slightly heavy for his frame, with thick dark brown wavy hair. After some chit chat he finally said, Jerry and I have noticed you always walking the neighborhood and constantly going in and out all the businesses. In fact, did you know I hired a private detective to follow you around one day, just to make sure my judgment of your tenacity was what I thought it was?

Well naturally I was taken back a bit, after all I was not applying to the FBI and since I hadn’t even asked for a job why was he doing all this investigating? Howard continued that he just had to fire his cousin because the cousin had stolen money from him and one of his customers. He went on to tell me that Jerry would like to retire, (I’d later find out he wanted Jerry out), Howard also told me how he had taken the business over from his father, built it up and wanted it to get even bigger.

Finally, after probably 45 minutes of talking, and three times telling whoever was calling his office that he was busy, he got down to the reason why he wanted me to come in. Howard asked, I know pretty much all about you and what would you say about coming to work for me? He continued, You saw those roll-off boxes out in the yard? Do you think you could call on metal producing companies and talk them into putting our equipment in and buying their scrap metal? I answered Yes."

We agreed on a salary, and he told me if I worked out I’d make more money than ever before. He also threw in a company car and credit card. That would work out perfectly because my wife Yvonne had been using her mother’s car and now, we would