He spent his evenings painting model B52 and B17 bombers at home and wanted to be a rock star or a jet pilot, depending on what day you asked.Dellentash became a frequent truant and a straight-D student by his own admission, preferring hustling in local pool halls, “moving swag” and loan-sharking.Dellentash flew to Oklahoma to complete the sale, but learned that the vendor, known as “Flamin’ Eddie,” had been found dead in his bathtub.The plane was a wreck, and in desperation, Dellentash tried to cancel his check.His bank suggested that he take a loan against the title of the plane instead.Remarkably, he left the bank with a check for 0,000 — for a plane worth next to nothing. Dellentash quit his construction job and set up an airplane sales and charter company at Hanger 17 in Teterboro, New Jersey.His father was an Italian-American building contractor with high-rise goals, and his pianist mother was the head of the local Republican Party.Alfred sang in the church choir but regularly stole the “Body of Christ” wine.
Dellentash knew Lenny and his boys flew bales of pot from Mexico, and dropped their load into fields across the Sooner state without even landing. Together, they figured the trap doors would be perfect. Someone finished him off with a revolver, Dellentash recalls.
It is seven o’clock on a humid Los Angeles evening, and business is winding down at a suburban car showroom.
I walk past a team of guys polishing Japanese hybrids with bright white rags, past the twenty-five-cent gumball machines and into the air-conditioned office.
“It was completely illegal,” he says, “but she was very impressed.” This was “Mad Men”-era America, where the pursuit of material possessions and individual happiness reigned free.
“My father arranged for me to work for a construction firm, where I joined the union and sat on a crane doing nothing.