04 May 09
The Cathy Licavoli Caper
Two Tonys - A whacker of men and Mafia associate serving multiple life sentences for murders and violent crimes. Left bodies from Tucson to Alaska, but claims all his victims "had it coming." Recently diagnosed with liver cancer, and is in chemotherapy fighting to prolong his life.
Back in 2006, I asked Two Tonys if he had ever run into any celebrities on his Mafia rounds.
“Yeah,” Two Tonys said. “I’ve gotta story for ya. Pete Licavoli – a mob boss from Detroit – retired out here in Tucson. He brought his crew with him, includin’ me.
I getta call from Pete’s son, Michael Licavoli, sayin’, ‘My fuckin’ sister ran off with a fuckin’ band. Cathy’s only sixteen. My ol’ man and the ol’ lady are goin’ bonkers. We’ve gotta find her.’
I asked him, ‘What band? Where were they playin’ at?’
He told me, ‘The Dollhouse.’
I called the owner of The Dollhouse, Barry – a motherfucker who, later on, we ran outta Tucson by puttin’ a bomb under his car – and asked him to call his bookin’ agent to find out where the group went. He called back and said they were playin’ next in Orange County, California, so Pete Licavoli gets me and Michael tickets to fly out there right away.
We know she’s hangin’ out with some rock ‘n’ rolla called Shaky Walls. He thought he was a Beatle, a blooty Beatul. He had the hair, the John Lennon boots, all that shit.
We called our connect in L.A., Terry Dean a.k.a. Freddy Few, an Englishman who we knew in Detroit. He was a good-lookin’ fella, a legit male escort for actresses and stuff, a floor walker at the Playboy Bunny Club. Terry says he’ll pick us up at the airport.
We get off the plane – and who’s there to pick us up? – Terry’s wife, Evelyn Silvers, the ex-wife of Phil Silvers, Sergeant Bilko. And she’s got all five of Bilko’s kids with her. She says, ‘Terry couldn’t make it. He’s at a meetin’. I’m supposed to take you back to the house.’
So here we are, two guys out to take care of business, in character, on a mission, and we’re cruisin’ down the freeway with five kids singin’, ‘McDonald’s is our kinda place.’ And we’re lookin’ at each other like to say, What the fuck kind of shit is this? while playin’ the role, gigglin’ with the kids and shit.
We pull up at her place in Beverley Hills, and there sits a Tudor fuckin’ mansion, with cut grass, and a Mexican gardener mowin’ the lawn and shit. It’s Phil Silver’s house. She got it in the divorce.”
“Where was Phil?” I asked.
“Runnin’ around L.A. and shit, you know, bein’ Sergeant Bilko. Finally Terry shows up and runs us down to some club in O.C. in his Lincoln. At twenty to nine who comes in the joint, but Shaky Walls and Cathy Licavoli. Michael grabs his sister, and tries takin’ her to the car.
She’s screamin’, ‘No, Mikey! I love Shaky! I don’t wanna go home! We’re in love!’
Shaky – the blooty Beatul – is standin’ there with a goofy look on his face. The tall skinny motherfucker doesn’t know what time it is. So I grab him – not rough stuff – I just grab him and say, ‘Hey, pal, lemme tell ya how the cow ate the cabbage. If ya know anythin’ about this girl, ya know who her pop is, and she’s only sixteen. Listen, if we’ve gotta come back, you’ll never see us comin’. And I can guarantee ya one thing: you’ll never be able to tie your shoelaces again much less play that guitar, Elvis.’
He didn’t want trouble. He was coppin; deuces all over the place, sayin’, ‘She told me she was eighteen goin’ on nineteen. Wah-wah-wah.’
We took Cathy Licavoli back to Beverly Hills, and me and Michael were gonna spend the night at some flea-bitten motel on Sunset Boulevard. But Terry decides to take us to dinner at La Dulce Vida.
We go there – me, Michael, Cathy, Bilko’s ex-ol’ lady – and it’s a nice fuckin’ joint, and everyone knows Terry and Evelyn there.
We’re on our way to a booth, and I hear Terry go, ‘Hi, Peter! Hi, Peter!’ I look across the room, and I see Peter Lawford goin’, ‘Hi, Terry! Hi, Terry!’
We sit down, and Terry says, ‘Look over there. It’s George Raft.’ He was the guy who always played a gangster in the movies. He had distinct aquiline features.
Raft had been a guest of Pete Licavoli in Tucson. Michael had met him, so he says, ‘I’m gonna fuckin’ go say hi to George Raft,’
I said, ‘I’m goin’ with ya,’
So Michael tells him, ‘I don’t know if you remember me, but I’m Pete Licavoli’s son, Michael. I met you at the ranch.’
Raft says, ‘I remember your dad. How is he?’
They small-talked for two minutes, but the motherfucker didn’t even ask us to sit down. So we went back to our table, and Michaels was slightly pissed.
After the meal, Terry takes us to a club called The Daisy. The one where O.J. met his wife who he had whacked. We sit down. Music’s playin’. It’s lit like a nightclub.
Then Terry points out a big football player, a black guy, Jim Brown, whose with some broad, and says, ‘Guess who that broad is?’ We dunno, so he says, ‘Tina Sinatra, Frank Sinatra’s daughter.’
Michaels had a few drinks. He’s a little schnockered. He’s got his Italiano whiskey muscles up, and for some fuckin’ reason, he gets it into his head, that the daughter of the famous ol’ crooner shouldn’t be messin’ round with a black guy, Jim Brown, who’s a big bad motherfucker. A black guy and an Italian broad was a no-no in his eyes. So Michael starts loud-talkin’. Sayin’ stuff like, ‘If her father could see her now.’
And I’m thinkin’, Oh no. Goddamit. Michael’s gonna get this place in an uproar.
Back then we called a gun a schubetzo. I’m strapped, and I’m thinkin’ Jim Brown’s gonna hear this drunk motherfucker, and he’s gonna do a number. Nothin’s gonna stop Brown other than a .38 in the jaw, which there’s absolutely no need for ’cause he’s only dancin’ and havin’ a good time. And so what if he’s pokin’ Sinatra’s daughter? I’m hopin’ I’m not gonna have to whack any motherfucker in The Daisy. It’d be all over the fuckin’ news.
Michael’s still loud-talkin’, and just when it looks as if all hell’s gonna break loose, Terry had the good sense to hustle us outta the fuckin’ joint.”
“So was Pete Licavoli pleased you saved his daughter from Shaky Walls?” I asked.
“He was ecstatic, but he never so much as gave me an attaboy. All he cared about were the visions in his head of his wayward Mafia princess marryin’ a Mafioso. That’s how they unite their families.”
Click here for Two Tonys’ previous blog
Our friends inside appreciate your comments.
Two Tonys is dying from cancer. You can send well wishes for Two Tonys by emailing email@example.com or posting them below. To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity.
Shaun P. Attwood