Solomon considered the particular qualities a partner would need in order to run a city-wide syndicate. Such a candidate must be a seasoned professional in both the business and political worlds, and not easily intimidated by the other bosses trying to push in on the territory.
Then a name popped into Solomon’s mind that caused him to smile. He got to his feet and walked over to the end of the bar.
“Ralph, I need to make a call,” he said, reaching for the phone nestled in between piles of old telephone books, newspapers and magazines. He lifted the receiver and dialed the number for City Hall. An operator at the switchboard connected him to the mayor’s office.
“Hello Agnes, it’s Solomon. Can you put my son on the phone?”
“Sure thing. Just give me a minute. He’s saying goodbye to the commissioner.”
“Okay,” he said.
A few minutes later, Agnes said, “I’m putting you through now.”
“Hey, Pops.”
“Myron, listen. I’ve been thinking about our discussion this morning and I have someone in mind. He will need some convincing, but I don’t see how anyone would turn down such an opportunity.”
“Who is it?”
“Arnold Lieberman, the guy who owns the Paradise on the Grand Concourse.”
“Arnold Lieberman? He’s the one who mocked us at that fund raiser. Plus, I hear he’s planning to run against me for mayor, and he hates us. ”
“That’s perfect. We know how to deal with hate,” Solomon said.
“That we do. So how do you propose we convince him to partner up?”
“The same way we always do. We offer money and power.”
“I don’t know, Pops, he was a councilman.”
“That’s why he’s perfect. No one would expect anything illegitimate from him. He has a pristine reputation.”
“He’s very close with the cobbler.”
“Don’t worry about the cobbler. I’ll be dealing with him soon.”
“You really think he’ll agree?”
“I think so. It’s not hard luring a politician with the bait of money and power.”
“Sounds good, Pops. Let me know how it goes.”
After Solomon said goodbye to his son, he called for a taxi. The excitement had given him a burst of adrenaline that he hadn’t felt in a long time. As he slipped into the backseat, the cabbie asked, “Where to?”
“The New York City Public Library on Fifth Avenue,” Solomon said.
Solomon took the steps to the entrance of the library with renewed vigor. His body felt, for a brief moment, pain free. His bones didn’t ache and his back wasn’t sore. Arnold had agreed to meet with him and the prospect made him feel twenty years younger. What a way to put a cherry on top of a lifetime of achievements. But in the meantime, he was going to see Rebecca.
Their sexual encounters in his dreams had been the best of his life. She had brought him to spectacular climaxes he hadn’t thought possible. He looked forward to discussing them with her in their private hideout, downstairs in the research room.
Solomon saw her walking across the large reading room as he entered. She was patting her forehead with a handkerchief. Maybe she isn’t feeling well, he thought.
As he approached her, Solomon noticed that she was sweating. Then he realized what was happening. She wasn’t sick, she was sweating because of her time in the dream world. Solomon wondered if she was aware of the condition.
He waved his hand and caught her attention. She waved back. Solomon pointed to the floor, indicating that he would be going downstairs and wait for her. She acknowledged with a quick nod of her head.
Solomon didn’t wait long. Rebecca appeared only a few minutes later and she was still sweating.
“I see you have the sweats,” he said.
“It started last week.” She leaned in closer and said, “I’m glad you finally came. I was worried about it.”
Solomon nodded. “That’s normal. There’s nothing to be alarmed about. When you’re awake in the dream world for a period of time, your nervous system adjusts and you get the sweats when you’re awake.”
She wiped her brow and the back of her neck with her hanky, and reached out and touched Solomon’s forehead. “Why don’t you sweat?” she asked.
“For some reason, I don’t,” Solomon said, but knew from Henryk that rasha do not experience this dream world side effect.
“Lucky you,” she said and smiled. “I thought I was going through early menopause.”
“Is it too much for you? Would you like to take a break?”
A smile danced on her lips as she said, “Are you kidding me? I can’t wait for next time.”
He lifted an eyebrow, and asked, “Tonight?”
Rebecca’s eyes sparkled, and she replied, “Yes, tonight.”
Chapter 77
“Hello Agnes, it’s good to hear from you,” Arnold said, cradling the phone receiver to his ear and leaning back in his chair.
“Listen, Arnold, I only have a few minutes.”
“What is it? Is everything all right?”
“I eavesdropped on a conversation between Myron and his father Solomon.”
“What did they say?”
“With Mickey Coppola dead, Myron thinks it’s time to take control of the entire city.”
“He already has control. He’s the damn mayor for god’s sake.”
“Not that kind of control. He wants to run the building contracts, the trash pickup, the parking lots—you know, mob stuff.”
“He can’t do that, and be mayor at the same time,” Arnold said.
“That’s why Solomon’s coming to speak with you about. They want you to run the businesses until Myron is out of office.”
“Solomon did call me. He left me a message asking if I wanted to be a wealthy man. I answered truthfully. After all, who doesn’t?”
“You should have said no. When are you speaking to him?”
“He’s coming today, this afternoon.”
“What are you going to do?” Agnes said.
“At this point, I guess I’m going to speak to the man. But why would they want me, of all people, to run their businesses?”
“Solomon said it’s because you’re honest and trustworthy.”
Arnold laughed. “That’s a good one. Those mobsters want a Boy Scout as a partner.”
“Apparently so,” Agnes said with a chuckle.
Arnold walked down the aisle of his beautiful theater. It truly was an architectural wonder. But beyond the pride he had in owning such a property, the movie business hardly covered the mortgage, payroll, taxes and the maintenance.
The words from Solomon about making him a wealthy man sounded like music to his hears. Sure, he would talk to the old man, and see what he had to say.
“Ah, there you are.” A voice came from a set of double swinging doors.
Arnold turned from the stage and saw Solomon enter the theater.
“Mr. Blass, wait, I’ll come to you,” Arnold said.
Arnold walked up the sloping aisle to where Solomon stood. “Do you mind talking here?” he said gesturing to the last row of chairs in the theater. “I don’t want you to have to climb the stairs to my office, since the elevator is still out.”
Solomon hobbled across a few seats, hooked his cane on the back of one in front of him, and sat down. Arnold took the aisle seat, leaving an empty seat in between himself and Solomon.
“I have to say that I was surprised by your phone call. The last time I saw you was when you were here during the campaign event for our former mayor, where I had a few unflattering comments about you and your son during my introduction.”
“That you did. But no harm done. Myron won, your guy lost, and you lost your job as councilman,” Solomon said, with a slight lift of his eyebrows.
Arnold sighed. “Why are you here?”
Solomon looked around at the elaborate details of the theater. “This is a beautiful place.”
“You didn’t
come here for a tour,” Arnold said impatiently.
Solomon nodded and said, “Okay, I’ll get to the point.” He grabbed his cane and rested his hands on top. “I can only imagine that you’re not going to become a rich man running a movie theater, even one as luxurious as the Paradise.”
Arnold nodded and said, “This is true. The upkeep for this place is four times the cost of a regular cinema, and we still charge the same price for a movie ticket.”
“That’s what I thought,” Solomon said with a smirk.
“Are you proposing to buy me out?”
Solomon scratched his chin. “That’s not what I came here for, but perhaps that may be possible.”
This remark caused Arnold to sit up in his chair and ask, “Then what is it?”
“I’m sure you know what happened to Mickey Coppola.”
Arnold nodded. “I read the papers.”
“Well, with Mickey and that scumbag Carmine Rizzo gone, there’s opportunity.”
Here it comes, Arnold thought.
“We want to set you up in the business,” Solomon said.
“The business? What does that mean?”
Solomon grunted and said, “Do I have to spell it out for you?”
Arnold stood up and took a few steps down the aisle and turned around. He put a finger to his lips, trying to act surprised, and then pointed at Solomon. “You’re talking about organized crime.”
“I’m talking about making more money than you could ever imagine. Plus you’ll have the protection that the other bosses don’t have. The risk is minimal.”
“I’m assuming you’re referring to your son, when you say protection?”
Solomon nodded. “Of course. With the power of the mayor’s office behind him, he can squash any troublesome investigations.”
“You know I was planning to run for mayor in two years?”
“That’s the funny thing about making plans, they always seem to be changing,” Solomon said, as he pushed himself to standing with his cane and made his way toward the double swinging doors. “You think about it, Arnold. I’ll be back to discuss the details with you in a few days.”
Arnold watched the doors swing closed as Solomon passed through them. He sat back down in the seat and stared at the painted clouds and stars on the ceiling.
Plans do change. Twenty minutes ago I was convinced that I was going to kick Solomon out of here with such a crazy offer of working with him and Myron. But perhaps the offer is something I can take advantage of. I need to talk to Agnes.
Arnold put his hands behind his head and smiled.
Chapter 78
“Come in, Moshe, I’ve been waiting for you,” said Noa.
Moshe entered her apartment and saw Sammy sleeping on the sofa.
“Will he be here tonight?” Moshe whispered.
“Don’t worry about waking him. Once he’s out, nothing wakes him up,” she said, as the E train pulled into the station, rattling the apartment windows in their frames and nearly shaking the potted plants off the window sills.
“Why do you live here, Noa? It’s so noisy.”
“The rent is cheap, and I’m used to it. And you know, Moshe, in my dream world, my life is quite luxurious,” she said with a smile.
“I suppose it is,” Moshe said, putting down his small valise.
“Come, let’s sit by the window and talk.”
Moshe sat down by the open window, while Noa filled a glass of water from the kitchen sink tap.
“Can I get you a nosh?” Noa asked, handing the glass to Moshe.
“No, I ate with Leah. I think she’s getting suspicious of these overnights. I’m running out of excuses. I told her that I was going to sleep at the shop since I needed to work late.”
“That would sound suspicious to me too,” Noa said, as she took a seat across from him.
“I know. That’s why I’m getting tired of this. I hope tonight I can put an end to the sneaking around, and the constant sweating. My customers are constantly asking if I’m sick and it’s hard to work without sweat dripping on the shoes. After tonight, I’m done with this dream world.”
Noa patted Moshe’s hand resting on the table. “That’s the plan. Tonight you’re going to find the rasha and take him to Gehenna.”
“You think I’m ready? The dream world still seems to take me places I can’t control. How will I be able to take Solomon somewhere against his will?”
Noa nodded and opened the window a little more than a crack, allowing the winter air to cool them down. “Your previous encounters have prepared you for this. You told me how you burned his arm when you touched him.”
Moshe nodded. “It was like my hand was a hot iron,” he said holding up his palm.
“That is how you will take him. Grab him somewhere on his flesh.”
“But he can fight back. He hurt me with his cane,” he said pointing to his leg.
Noa nodded. “It won’t be easy, but it must be done, Moshe.”
“But Solomon will have something to say, or think about this too.”
“Moshe, don’t forget the most important asset you have, that makes you uniquely qualified.”
Moshe exhaled and said, “That I’m tzaddik?”
Noa nodded. “That’s right. The Almighty has chosen you to be his hand among us. You will need to call upon this gift and see this done.”
Moshe nodded and said, “I understand.”
“Good, let’s eat something, and get you into bed.”
“I told you, I already ate.”
“You need to eat what I prepared for you. It will help you dream.”
Noa served Moshe a plate filled with walnuts, almonds, cheese and tuna fish. She also gave him a glass filled with cherry juice.
Moshe gestured to the food and asked, “This will help me dream?”
“Yes, it’s what we eat and drink when we want to go deep in the dream world. I think Sammy was picking at it before you came. That’s why he’s in such a deep sleep,” she said pointing to him sprawled out on the couch with an arm dangling off the side.
After Moshe finished eating he made his way to the bedroom. He removed his clothes and climbed into bed. He could hear the E train pulling into the station. After a while, as the noises of the city blended together, his eyes turned heavy, and he fell asleep.
“Moshe, stop hiding and come out. We need to go home now, it’s almost Shabbos,” Clara said.
“Here I am, Mama,” he said, popping out from under a wagon, where he and his friend Max were playing.
“Good Shabbos, Mrs. Potasznik,” Max said.
“Come, Max, we will take you home.”
“Can Max do Shabbos with us?” Moshe asked.
“If it’s all right with his mother.”
Moshe and Max looked at each other and laughed.
As the three walked out of the market square, a booming voice stopped them.
“One moment please, Mrs. Potasznik. Those boys need to come with me.”
Clara and the boys turned and saw Captain Berbecki marching toward them. His gloved hand was pointing at the boys. “They were stealing again. Isn’t that right, Moshe?”
Moshe looked up to his mother and said, “No, Mama, we weren’t stealing.”
The captain grabbed the boys by the coat collars and dragged them away.
“Let go of me.” Moshe struggled, and reached around and touched the captain’s arm.
The captain yelled and released the boys. His bulging eyes looked at his arm and saw the sleeve of his coat was burned away and his flesh was scalded. “What did you do to me?”
Moshe backed away as the captain pulled his club from his belt and swung it at Moshe, barely missing striking his shoulder.
The captain stared at his seared arm again and said, “I will kill you.”
When he looked up, he was no longer the captain, it was Solomon walking toward him with his cane held high, ready to strike. Moshe, who was no longer a child, stood his ground. Solomon swung and str
uck him hard on his arm, knocking him down.
Moshe struggled to get to his feet. He tried to lift his arm but couldn’t. The pain was too severe, it felt like the bone was broken. He reached out with his good arm and grabbed Solomon by the neck. He could feel the skin burn at his touch.
Solomon screamed, dropped his cane and tried to dislodge Moshe’s grip upon his throat.
“Let me go,” Solomon insisted.
Moshe looked at Solomon, his left hand welded to his skin, and said, “It is time for your soul to be extinguished into the fires of Gehenna.”
As the words were spoken, darkness enveloped the tzaddik and the rasha. The earth beneath their feet vanished. They floated within a black void.
“Why are you doing this to me, Moshe? I am an old man. My time is at an end. Let me die peacefully.”
“Solomon will die, but the soul of the rasha will live on unless it is brought to Gehanna,” Moshe said.
“I am not rasha, Moshe. I’m just a man who wants to make a life for himself and his family. Why am I being punished?”
“For your wickedness upon those too weak to fight back.”
A streak of lightning flashed across the darkness for a moment, just enough to see the ashen face and bulging eyes of Solomon.
A cool wind rushed by. They were moving. A flicker of light appeared in the distance. The light grew brighter, the coolness turned warm.
Moshe dragged Solomon by his neck toward the light. The light expanded into a red glow. Below them hung black and gray clouds, charged with bolts of lightning. The clouds parted, exposing the curdling river of blood of Gehanna.
Solomon’s eyes filled with tears and he pleaded, “Don’t do this, Moshe. You’re a good man.”
“I do this not as Moshe, but as tzaddik.”
“Please spare me. I’ve fallen in love with a beautiful young woman. She has changed me,” he said, with tears welling up.
Moshe looked down at the hordes of flesh eaters swimming in the river of blood. Their skinless arms reached toward them, begging for the new soul to be dropped in.
“I just want to die a natural death. I am not rasha, my soul is good.”
“You are rasha. Your soul must be extinguished.”
The Righteous One Page 24
