Maria's Girls (The Isaac Sidel Novels)

by Jerome Charyn

  “Don’t you get it, Sal? The melamed doesn’t have to wrinkle you.”

  “I’m already wrinkled.”

  “Listen, you can’t walk the streets. If you surface, your own captains will kill you.”

  “I can hire a coupla cannons.”

  “And those cannons will kill you. You’re marked, Sal. It’s all over.”

  “The Nose is still mine,” Sal said.

  “I’m taking him off the market,” LeComte said. “The man’s a danger to everybody. I’ll send him to some halfway house in Atlanta where he can sit for life.”

  Sal started to laugh. “You can’t find the Nose, can you?”

  “We’ll find him,” LeComte said.

  “And you can’t figure who he’ll hit next. The mayor of Atlanta, the melamed, or you yourself.”

  “He’s in his own shitstorm. He can’t crawl anywhere without my help.”

  “And what about the shitstorm I’m in? I’m not living in any of your halfway houses.”

  “We’ll find the right solution,” LeComte said.

  Sal twisted around and stared into LeComte’s eyes. “Who’s going to be my babysitter?”

  “Margaret,” LeComte said.

  And Sal could have cried. “Did you have to bribe her with some silver?”

  “Shh,” Margaret said, bathing him in perfume.

  Isaac felt lost without his Family. He couldn’t locate the right tribe at One PP. He had the Irish, but they’d all gone gray around the ears. Being in their company was like being at his own wake. He tried not to think of Margaret. The wind howled against the glass on the fourteenth floor. The sun arrived, and Isaac was in the thick of spring. His Delancey Giants were scheduled to play the cardinal’s Manhattan Knights in the North Meadow. And the Commish was much more excited about that game than any of the material that passed in front of his desk, even though it was the Bomber who piloted Isaac’s Giants. Harry was the Giant’s horse.

  Isaac looked up and saw his own first deputy commissioner.

  “Thanks, boss,” Sweets said.

  “Why are you thanking me?”

  “For giving up the Rubinos.”

  “I didn’t give up anything. The melamed threw me out of his clan.”

  “I don’t care,” Sweets said. “I’ll light a Jewish candle for him.”

  “You only light candles for the dead.”

  “It’s my candle, boss.”

  And the black giant disappeared from Isaac’s office. But Isaac didn’t have any peace. One of the downtown brokers of the Democratic Party, Saturnino Gomez, had made an appointment to see him. Gomez was president of the Harry Truman Club and an ally of the schools chancellor, Alejo Tomás. He’d been an outfielder with the Chicago Cubs for a week in 1954. Isaac envied Saturnino that one little week. And he tolerated all of Gomez’s intrigues because of that.

  “We want you to run for mayor,” Saturnino said.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. The chancellor hates my guts.”

  “He’s not a problem. He can be convinced to like you … he knows about your work in One B.”

  Isaac had been doing penance. He’d visited the schools in Marias district, he’d attended sewing classes like one of the pupils, he’d talked to Maria’s girls about the anarchy of lower Manhattan. He had no practical advice. He was a visionary, like Maria had been.

  “Get married at fourteen,” Isaac had said to the girls. “Go for it. But don’t drop out of school. Question your teachers. Don’t let them fill you with lies. You were put on this earth to dance, to make love, not to become money machines, not to sell your body and your mind. If you have to steal to feed yourself, then steal, but don’t take any pleasure from it.”

  School principals had to tolerate the Pink Commish. The girls fell in love with Isaac, brought him apples they’d baked with their own hands, and Saturnino Gomez wanted him to become the next mayor of New York.

  “Rebecca can’t win.”

  “But she won’t like it if you pit me against her.”

  “Tough. She’ll never get the Latino vote … the Newyoricans are crazy about you,” Saturnino said. “You’re our candidate.”

  “What will the Republicans do?”

  “They’re feeling out Martin Malik. He’ll kill Rebecca at the polls. The iron judge of the Police Department. We need you to fight the Turk.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “Don’t think too long. We might have to kidnap Malik from the Republican camp.”

  Gomez left. Isaac wouldn’t give up his rooms on Rivington Street for Gracie Mansion. He’d have to kiss babies, woo builders like Papa Cassidy, demand toilets for the poor. He’d survive better at One PP.

  His chauffeur brought him uptown to Diana’s building. But when he arrived at her duplex, a funny little man met him at the door. Isaac handed him his hat.

  “I’m not the butler. I’m Milan Jagiello. I live here.”

  The apartment was flooded with musicians. There were tubas and bass fiddles on every sofa. Isaac had to navigate around them to get near Dee. But Diana was out of bed. The bruises had disappeared from her face. She hugged Isaac. There was nothing vague in her eyes. She’d recovered from Maria and that punching party Sal’s men had prepared for her.

  “Dee, it’s a madhouse.”

  “Milan lost his lease. I had to take him in.”

  “And his whole bloody orchestra?”

  “Why not? I like having them here. It’s lonely without Caroll.”

  “The kid hasn’t come back?”

  “He’s not a kid.”

  “I’ll break his bones,” Isaac said.

  “You’ll do nothing.”

  “He must be living at Sherwood Forest. Ah, Dee, I messed your life …”

  “I’m fine,” Diana said. “It was the man in the wheelchair. He cured me. Sal Rubino. One of his bully boys carried him up to my bedroom. I was in a fog that morning. He started to cry. He touched my face … I had a chill.”

  Isaac groaned. “Sal the faith healer.”

  “No, Isaac. It’s much simpler than that. He was very kind.”

  “The man’s a snake.”

  “My father’s getting married,” Dee said.

  “We were talking about Sal.”

  “His new bride is Delia St. John. Papa’s furious. Cardinal Jim refuses to marry him at St. Pat’s. I might not attend the wedding. I’m older than she is.”

  “You can’t be sure about Delia.”

  “She’s also Caroll’s mistress.”

  “Not anymore,” Isaac said. I’ll talk to Caroll.”

  “Don’t you dare. Leave Caroll alone.”

  Isaac cursed himself on the way down to the lobby. He’d driven Delia into Papa Cassidy’s arms, and he couldn’t deliver Caroll. He dismissed his chauffeur and entered the Park at Woodmans Gate. The North Meadow was packed. Isaac saw his Giants and the Manhattan Knights in their long red stockings. Cardinal Jim was chatting up the umpire. He had a monsignor in the coaching box. He had priests with baseball bats. And his Knights had the smooth look of golden boys. They hadn’t lost a game in two seasons. The Giants were a bit bedraggled, like the Bomber himself, who had stubble on his face.

  “I can’t sleep,” Harry said, as Isaac approached.

  “Ah, we’ll steal Jim’s pants.”

  “I’m not interested in Jim’s pants. I have two catchers with broken thumbs. And my outfield hasn’t clicked. I’ve been away from the diamond too long. I can’t breathe … will you coach these kids if I fall on my ass?”

  “I’m with you, Harry,” Isaac said, and he caught the cardinal winking at him. “I’ll be back.”

  Isaac met with Jim under the wire roof behind home plate. “What about a friendly wager?” the cardinal asked. “Your lads are much improved.”

  “But I don’t have the Church’s cashbox behind me.”

  “Wouldn’t involve the Church in this,” the cardinal said. “I could lend you a few dollars, love, out of my own pocket … o
r you could always borrow from the melamed.”

  “That’s unkind,” Isaac said. “There are no money matters between the melamed and me.”

  “I’ve been hearing different,” the cardinal said. “I was told that the melamed had pensioned you off to the Police Department.”

  “Then I’m a charity case,” Isaac said. “But I’ll bet a hundred on my boys.”

  “A hundred dollars? Aint that steep?” And Jim’s eyes sparked in his head. He clapped Isaac’s hand. “It’s done.” And he returned to the Manhattan Knights.

  Isaac felt like some orphan, with a team that was his and also wasn’t. He hiked up to the stands behind first base. His Giants took the field. The Knights were a head taller, but they couldn’t seem to solve the Giants’ curious shift. The Bomber had arranged his boys in a zigzag pattern that smothered whatever ball the Knights could hit. Isaac began to enjoy himself after the second inning. And then he discovered a face down on the field, behind the catcher’s cage. It was Teddy DiAngelis, the Nose, watching Isaac and the Giants. Isaac’s innards shrank. He could almost feel the ghost of his worm pulling at him.

  He came down off the stands like some trampoline artist walking on twisted boards. He passed the cardinal, who was screaming at his Knights because they couldn’t uncover that elusive hole in the jagged infield of the Delancey Giants. He passed the Bomber, who rocked on his feet, and got to Nose.

  Teddy Boy laughed with his button eyes and imbecilic bliss. “I could sock the cardinal,” he said. “I could take out five or ten of your brats, Mr. Isaac.”

  “What the hell for?”

  “To make you unhappy … you turned my people against me.”

  “You have no people,” Isaac said. “I’ll walk with you, Nose, anywhere. But leave the cardinal and these kids alone. You don’t have any grievances against Jim.”

  “I’ll take the cardinal,” Nose said. “And then I’ll take you.”

  “Not a chance. I’ll chew off your head.”

  Nose stared at Isaac. The thought horrified him. “Say good-bye to this world.”

  “I don’t need good-byes.”

  Nose had his Glock, and pushed it against Isaac’s ribs. “Come with me, mister.” He led Isaac away from the diamond and into the north woods.

  “Ask God to forgive you.”

  “He wouldn’t.”

  Nose seemed troubled. “You gotta ask.”

  And then Isaac saw Caroll. Kid, why haven’t you gone back to your wife? And with him was Barbarossa. They must have followed Isaac from the playing fields. Ah, he was living with chaperones.

  Nose turned his eyes like the gadgetry on a tank and found the two detectives. He clutched Isaac to his body and removed most of himself as a target. “I’ll kill this man,” he said. “I’ll kill this man.”

  Caroll wavered. Barbarossa shot Nose in the tiny patch of forehead that was available to him. Isaac heard the crush of bone. But Teddy Boy didn’t fall. His knees dipped. There was blood on the side of Isaac’s face. Nose had been glocked in the head, and he wouldn’t sit down. He shot Barbarossa. He tried to shoot Caroll. But Caroll dropped to the ground, crept around Isaac, and emptied his service revolver into Nose, who danced with the force of each bullet, hugged himself, as if he could wipe away his wounds, waltzed deeper into the woods, clutched at the sky like some circus bear, and pitched facedown into the grass.

  “How’s Joe?” Isaac demanded. “How’s Joe?”

  “Pissed,” Barbarossa said from the ground. “I cracked his head and nothing happened.”

  It was the cardinal who arrived first from the playing fields. He’d listened to all the little devilish explosions and ordered the umpire to stop the game.

  He looked at the blood on Isaac’s face. He looked at Caroll. He looked at Barbarossa and the corpse in the grass. “Sonny,” he said to Isaac, “you planned the whole thing. Did you have to upstage my Knights with a shootout in Central Park?”

  He looked at Barbarossa again. “Jesus God,” he said to Caroll. “Will you call an ambulance?”

  31

  It was Medal Day on the steps of City Hall. A patrolman from Brooklyn South blew taps. Isaac couldn’t control himself. He cried and cried. He always felt like a buffoon on Medal Day. It was Sweets who had to protect the Pink Commish.

  “What am I going to say to all those widows?” Isaac asked.

  “You’ll say what you have to say.”

  It was Sweets who was chairman of the honor board, Sweets who wrote the citations for the living and the dead. And Isaac had to sing about all the heroes to mothers, fathers, widows, children, and wives.

  He stood near the mayor and Cardinal Jim. He gripped the podium that had been placed at the top of the stairs. He wanted to swoon. The First Dep was behind him, clutching the seat of Isaac’s pants. Isaac’s mouth opened, but he couldn’t deliver his own phantom speech.

  The cardinal had to rescue him. “Boyo,” he whispered in Isaac’s ear, “move your arse.” He nestled into Isaac’s space and stared at all the onlookers. “Dear Heart, it’s a sorrowful day and a proud one for the City of New York. A policeman who was killed or injured in the line of duty tells us something—that there still is a line of duty, and that each day men and women officers risk their lives to uphold this line. I come here not as the honorary chaplain of the Police Department, which I am, but as an adopted son of your City, as a mourner and a celebrant, and a surrogate for the commissioner, Isaac Sidel, standing at my side, who was wounded at the start of winter, and risked his own life but a few scant weeks ago, by drawing a maniacal killer away from a crowded field of young lads in Central Park until two of his finest men, Detectives Brent and Barbarossa, could destroy this maniac. Barbarossa was wounded in the gun battle. This aint the first time. He’s the most decorated cop in New York. And it was Brent who fired the last shots … but your commissioner, who has seen other cops fall, is much too noble a man to speechify while his cops have gone to the grave. So I will have to do it. I’ll bear the burden. I’ll be the one who tells you that your lads didn’t die in vain. They protected God and New York from heathen criminals, they held the line. …”

  There was clapping and crying. The mayor hugged Cardinal Jim, who edged away from the podium and whispered to Isaac once again. “Sonny, you still owe me a hundred dollars.”

  Isaac didn’t answer. Rebecca tugged on the microphone, addressed the audience, but she didn’t have a cardinal’s music. There was no lilt to her voice. She was in a town where the mayor was only one more puppet within a narrowing arc. It didn’t matter that she’d memorized all the citations, that she presented the medals of deceased officers to their widows with a mayor’s kiss, that she pinned metallic bars on the chests of officers who’d earned the combat cross.

  The audience watched Isaac, not Rebecca Karp. He shook the hands of decorated cops. Barbarossa had five other bars on his chest. He wore a blue bag, with one of his arms in a sling. He looked like a total misfit in his uniform. My best boy. And when Caroll came up to him with his own blue bag and the gold-and-green bar of a combat cross, Isaac felt ashamed. It was Caroll who had to finish Isaac’s business and whack out Teddy Boy. And he couldn’t stop crying.

  “Jesus,” Jim said, after the presentations. “Will you get a grip on yourself? You’re a grown man.”

  “I don’t owe you a hundred. The game was canceled.”

  “Because of you and that rotten corpse.”

  “Nose was a good Catholic,” Isaac said. “Not a heathen. He prayed all the time.”

  “Heathens can pray,” the cardinal said. “The Lord is deaf to them.”

  Isaac was gloomy until he saw Diana. She’d come to celebrate Caroll, that lost husband of hers. Make the peace, Isaac muttered, but he’d stopped trying to interfere. He wasn’t so welcome in their lives. Ah, he’d have to get some ping-pong lessons and play the ghost of Blue Eyes.

  But Isaac saw another ghost, the ghost of a very old man in an impeccable dark suit and a shirt that was bl
azingly white. It was Izzy Wasser, he who’d had the stroke. But the melamed seemed to dance on the steps of City Hall. He had much better balance than the Pink Commish. And he wasn’t ashamed to appear among so many cops.

  “I couldn’t come to the funeral,” Isaac said. “It wasn’t proper.”

  “Isaac, you didn’t miss much. Those lousy medical examiners mutilated Nose at Bellevue. We had a hard time getting the body back. Our lawyers had to ask and ask.”

  “Iz, I don’t make the rules. Nose got caught in a criminal investigation, dead or alive.”

  “It was a very small funeral,” the melamed said. “Considering Nose was a government spy. Whatever pals he had in the witness-protection program didn’t come. Eileen cried for the baby.”

  “And you?” Isaac asked.

  “Me? I didn’t shed a tear … maybe we shouldn’t talk in front of all the brass. I wouldn’t want to compromise you on Medal Day.”

  “It’s okay, Iz. You kicked me out of the Family. I’m clean. But I was wondering how Nose knew I’d be at the baseball diamond. He was never that bright. He had to have a steerer.”

  “And you think the steerer was me.”

  “I didn’t say that, Iz.”

  “I’m clairvoyant,” the melamed said. “Sonny boy, I can read your eyes. You have a terrific imagination. But it happens that you’re right. Nose called Eileen. I got on the wire. I told him your whereabouts. I have your itinerary, Isaac. Just in case …”

  “You pointed the finger, Iz.”

  “Not so fast. I paid a visit to LeComte. I let him know all about the baby’s intentions. And LeComte called Barbarossa. So you see, Isaac. It was all taken care of … I had to get rid of Nose. He would have menaced us sooner or later. And Jerry didn’t have the heart.”

  “And what if I didn’t survive your little game plan?”

  “You always survive,” the melamed said.

  He danced down the steps of City Hall and into the upholstered cave of a limousine. Isaac lost most of his vertigo. He could have sneaked up behind Barbarossa and knocked him around the ears for being LeComte’s little man. They were probably laughing in their socks over at Justice. Had Caroll been part of the caper?