David Larson - The Last Jewish Gangster: The Early Years

EDITORIAL REVIEWS

When it comes to gangsters, Michael Hardys the real thing. This is a captivating and different kind of true-crime story.

Nicholas Pileggi, Author

Wise Guy

Casino

What a story this isa vivid picture of a real gangster with a code of honor. It makes me glad Ive been lucky enough to stay on Michaels good side.

Nick Taylor, Author

Sins of the Father

A Necessary End

American Made

The Last Jewish Gangster is a fascinating character study of an unapologetic gangster. David Larson masterfully weaves this tale in Michael Hardys own words, resulting in a powerful, detailed story of a mobsters life.

Cathy Scott , Los Angeles Times bestselling True Crime author

The Killing of Tupac Shakir

The Murder of Biggie Smalls

Murder of a Mafia Daughter

Death in the Dessert

The Millionaires Wife

I met Michael J. Hardy (Hardin) on the day he threatened to kill my client in 1978. A lot of bad guys threaten to kill people, but rarely mean it. This book is hauntingly real and engrossing as David Larson channels Michael Hardy.

Logan Clarke, Private Investigator

Michael J. Hardy is difficult to forget...or avoid. Larson entertains with a fluency equal to John Grisham.

Lisa McCombs, Readers Favorite

A heck of a story to tell, but with enough regrets to sink a ship.

Chris Fischer, Readers Favorite

A candid confession from a true criminal. Larson permits readers a peek into the psyche of a ruthless gangster.

Romuald Dzemo, Readers Favorite

The first-person narration gave an individual touch... personal and genuine.

Farridah Nassozi, Readers Favorite

A fascinating glimpse into gangster Michael J. Hardy. One of my favorite books in recent times.

Gisela Dixon, Readers Favorite

You will feel as if youve fallen into a fictional world of crime.

Tracy Slowiak, Readers Favorite

A sympathetic look at a despicable character...who charms the reader as the story goes on. A unique flavour of the criminal psyche.

Anne-Marie Reynolds, Readers Favorite

I did not want to put it down...the story ended too soon.

Jessyca Garcia, Readers Favorite

THE LAST JEWISH GANGSTER Volume One published by:

WILDBLUE PRESS

P.O. Box 102440

Denver, Colorado 80250

Publisher Disclaimer: Any opinions, statements of fact or fiction, descriptions, dialogue, and citations found in this book were provided by the author, and are solely those of the author. The publisher makes no claim as to their veracity or accuracy, and assumes no liability for the content.

Copyright 2022 by David Larson

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

WILDBLUE PRESS is registered at the U.S. Patent and Trademark Offices.

ISBN 978-1-957288-23-9 Hardcover

ISBN 978-1-957288-22-2 Trade Paperback

ISBN 978-1-957288-21-5 eBook

Cover design 2022 WildBlue Press. All rights reserved.

Interior Formatting/Cover Design by Elijah Toten

www.totencreative.com

ACKNOWLEGEMENTS

To Nick Pileggi, for bumping into Michael Hardy in 1980 and for your continued encouragement and inspiration.

To Jimmy Blatt for saving Michaels ass in 1991, again in 1998, and for taking our call in 2014.

To Theresa. Always there, always patient, always present. This could not have been done without you.

To Shirley, Michaels mother. Without your neglect, your son would have never become a fearless gangster.

To Beta Writers MeetUp.

Your dogged tenacity in challenging my storytelling, forced me to become a better writer.

And, to Michael J. Hardy, who by all accounts should have died decades before, or rotted away in a prison cell. That until the end, you possessed such extraordinary wit and recall is amazing. That you allowed this author into your life to capture your voice on paper is a wonder.

You passed away January 2, 2016, but you will not be forgotten, this book, a testament to that.

And, how can I ever forget Lord Chancellor of the Manor, your companion until the end?

Preface

Meeting Michael J. Hardy

A gray closely trimmed Van Dyke beard jutted out from a massive jaw belonging to the gangster in front of me. He took off his aviator sunglasses, exposing dull gray eyes that had seen too much. His bald head shined in the restaurants dangling orange-coned lights.

How ya doin? were the first words Michael J. Hardy said to me in his thick Brooklyn accent, a cautious smile on his face.

We shook hands, his grip firm, while he sized up everything about me.

I nodded. Fine.

I didnt notice his wheelchair until he moved its joystick spinning it aside and backing up with the skill of a teen playing a video game. He motioned with his hand toward a chair at a handicap-accessible table by the front door of Lil Bs Restaurant on El Cajon Boulevard in San Diego.

Siddown, he commanded as polite as he knew how.

I took the seat, plopping my zippered black writing binder on the aqua Formica table. He sat across from me, positioned to watch anyone who entered or exited. A faded Hawaiian-print short-sleeve shirt tried to cover his massive girthI guessed 300 pounds. Black sweatpants clung to thin legs that ended in tan orthopedic shoes that would never wear out. A huge brass Star of David hung from a thick silver chain around his bulging neck. I thought he might be eighty years oldI was off by ten years.

I picked up the menu and glanced it over, full of names for fifties diner food. Anything youd recommend?

Yeah. Everything. Theresall be back in a minute.

Whos Theresa?

My wife.

Someone married you?

I took a business card from my shirt pocket and slid it across the table to Hardy. Four months earlier I beat out 137 people to adapt a romance novel by best-selling author Brenda Jackson into a screenplay. That gave me enough confidence in my writing to get business cards.

He picked it up and snapped the thick paper, a slow grin crossing his face as he read it aloud. David S. Larson. Author. I became real to him at that moment.

Check this out. Hardy leaned in; his intensity jacked up to a nine out of ten. I worked with this fuckin guy in Hollywood. He promised hed write my book and get me a movie deal. His tone suggested I might do the same.

What happened?

Did you kill him?

He jabbed a thick index finger toward me, like he was poking that guy in the chest. Nothin. Fuckin Bobby Debrino. He snorted. I think he was just scammin Nick the whole time.

Who are these people?

His eyes checked to see if I was offended by his language or his anger. The simple nod I gave told Hardy I could handle it.

Nick Pileggi asked Bobby to work with me. Ive known Nick over thirty years. He sensed I didnt know Nicks name. Nick wrote the books for Goodfellas and Casino and worked on the movies with Scorsese. He took a sip of coffee to let me dwell on that for a moment.

Scorsese? Goodfellas?

I bobbed my head. Wow.

Bobby Debrino had the same name as a good friend of mine from Brooklyn that I pulled jobs with when I was eighteen. I thought that was some kinda sign, you know, if you believe in that kinda stuff.

Hardy looked over my shoulder and his eyes brightened. I turned to find a woman, maybe sixty, opening the door. Long dark hair, thin, no makeup, pretty, smokers dull teeth when she smiled. She walked past me, took Hardys hand, and bent to kiss him on the cheek. I stood and she stuck out her hand.