by Allan Levine
“Right, whose wife, Anna, was sure he had a second family hidden away.”
Geller laughed. “That’s the case. There was no second family. Lucas was just screwing around with a secretary. Dickens knew the secretary and Lucas so I asked him a few questions. He’s a bit strange. Dickens has been reporting to Jack Smythe, the manager in Vera, on an expansion the company is planning. I don’t have all the details. However, if Mrs. Tillsdale is to be believed, Smythe’s the most popular man in the town. No one has a bad word to say about him. If anyone has a problem, Smythe is the first person they call. Dickens has been meeting with Smythe every few weeks.”
“So what’s so unusual about that?”
Geller lowered his voice. “Smythe’s wife, Mrs. Joannie Smythe, is a real doll.”
Klein nodded. “She’s a doll, all right. Great legs. She’s one of Rae Roter’s close friends.”
“That’s right. Well, according to Mrs. Tillsdale, the Smythes have a lousy marriage. No matter how hard Mr. Smythe works, he can’t seem to satisfy his wife’s needs. She wants more of everything. And that includes in the bedroom. Apparently, Mrs. Smythe has an appetite that can’t be satisfied. While Mr. Smythe is at the office in the evening, Dickens has been seen coming and going from their house—many times. It’s hard to believe that Smythe doesn’t know about it.”
“I can’t imagine Reverend Vivian would approve of that,” said Klein. “Screwing another man’s wife is almost as bad as being a drunk. And I’ve also met Dickens’s wife. She’s tough as nails. If Vivian doesn’t kill him for this, his wife sure as hell will.”
“Wait, there’s more. A day or so before I arrived, none other than Sid Sharp showed up in town. I never saw him, but I know who he is. He was poking around, asking questions about Max Roter and Taylor. He might have also talked to the police.”
“Sid Sharp, you sure?”
Geller nodded. “Yeah, he works for Saul Sugarman, doesn’t he?”
Klein nodded. “He’s Sugarman’s errand boy.”
“What else do you know about him?”
“He’s got a nasty side to him. A few months back, there was a bartender at the McLaren Hotel. Last name was Ellice, as I recall. He was bad-mouthing the Sugarmans. Telling everyone who’d listen that the Sugarmans were crooks. That they were charging too much for their whisky, which was watered down. The story goes that Saul sent Sharp to see Ellice who wound up with a few broken ribs. He left the city soon after. At the time, I asked Lou about it but he claimed to know nothing. Lou’s a decent man, but he is a blind fool when it comes to his brother.”
“So let me finish,” said Geller, his voice rising. “Sharp has also been seen going in and out of the Smythe house—just a few days ago, in fact.”
Klein lit another cigarette. “It’s a great story, Alec, but I don’t see what it has to do with Max’s murder or what’s been going on here. And we still don’t know what’s in those papers or who knocked you out. On the other hand, Mrs. Smythe might know something that could help unravel this. Hell, she might even have information about Frankie Taylor on the night of the robbery. Or she could know if anyone else had it out for Max. I suppose there’s a good possibility that if she’s in the city, Dickens will see her. If we could speak to Dickens, preferably before the police find him, we might be able to figure out if Vivian really is behind the shootings.”
“What if that’s true, Sam? Isn’t it possible that Vivian could’ve ordered Dickens to kill Max? You know the murder has all but halted the Sugarmans’ liquor trade in Vera and a few nearby towns.”
“But for how long? The booze is still locked in the warehouse. Saul’s no fool. He’ll get those shipments started again. If Taylor has been scared off, then I can guarantee Rosen will send in another bootlegger. There’s too much money at stake for him and the Sugarmans.”
“So how do you want to handle it?” asked Geller, leaning forward.
“I want you to plant yourself in the lobby of the Royal Alex, where Mrs. Smythe is staying. With any luck, Dickens might show up real soon.”
Their discussion was interrupted by Sarah’s call from the kitchen that dinner was ready. Mel burst into the living room, grabbing Klein’s hand. “Daddy come,” he ordered.
The light from the setting sun, a mixture of red and yellow, burst into the kitchen illuminating everything it touched. Sarah beckoned Freda and Bernice, both wearing their best white cotton dresses with light blue flowery patterns embroidered at the hems, by her side. She struck a match and lit the two candles in the elegant silver candlestick holders that had once belonged to Klein’s great-great-grandmother in Mezerich, the town in the Pale of Settlement in western Russia where the family once lived. Sarah instructed her daughters to embrace the flames, welcoming the Sabbath, and then to cover their eyes. Together, the three of them recited the Hebrew blessing for the Shabbat candles, proudly led by young Freda who had recently learned the blessings at the Peretz School.
Next, Klein poured each adult a glass of red wine and his children glasses of grape juice and he recited the Kiddush prayer as he did every Friday night. Lighting the candles and reciting the Sabbath prayers was the one religious custom both Sam and Sarah followed, mainly because they felt it was important for their children. Everyone then washed their hands in a bowl of water. Finally, Klein removed the napkin over the two challah loafs, lifted them, and, with his children’s help, said the blessing on the bread. He ripped a piece off for everyone and passed the pieces around the table.
“Now, we can eat,” Klein declared.
“Sarah, everything is delicious,” said Geller. “I can tell you, I feel much better.”
“Here, Alec, have another knish, and more chicken,” said Shayna, piling up his plate with food.
Geller laughed. “She takes good care of me, that’s for sure.”
Sarah had outdone herself. There was cabbage borsht, stuffed roast chicken, carrot tzimmes, kreplach, potato knishes, and, of course, Klein’s favourite: chicken gribenes—pieces of fried chicken fat. She liked to say that if you keep a man content in the kitchen and the bedroom, then you’ll have a happy marriage. In that respect, Klein could hardly complain. Sarah may not have looked or acted like a typical North End matriarch, but she had mastered the art of cooking on par with Klein’s late mother Freda, against whom she would forever be judged.
Alec finished his dinner and traded funny faces with Bernice and Mel across the table. Both children giggled.
“You’ll make a wonderful father someday, Alec … whenever that will be,” Sarah teased him.
“Leave the man alone. He’s been through enough,” said Klein with a grin.
Alec laughed. “All in good time. And I promise you, Sarah, after Shayna, you’ll be the first person I tell.”
Shayna’s face turned a deep red as Sarah and Klein chuckled.
When dinner was finished, Sarah served tea and honey cake for dessert. Klein broke off a piece of brown sugar from the small bowl on the table, wedged it between his back teeth, and sipped his tea.
“Mommy, I want to play outside,” said Bernice.
“Me too,” Mel chimed in.
Sarah considered the request for a moment. “Freda, will you watch them both?”
Freda nodded, proud to accept this responsibility.
“Bernice, Mel, you stay near the front of the house and listen to your sister,” said Sarah.
Both children nodded. “Yes, Mommy,” they said in unison.
As Alec helped Sarah clear the table of dishes—Alec’s past experience in the orphanage made him handier in the kitchen than most men—Klein escorted Shayna into the living room.
“You and Alec are a good fit,” said Klein.
Shayna flashed a large smile. “He means everything to me.”
“Of course he does,” said Klein, lowering his voice. “Shayna, I have a favour to ask of you. I�
�d like you to keep this strictly between us. I’d rather you not even speak to Alec about it.”
Her smile vanished. “I … I don’t know. What is it you want?”
“You’re aware of what is going on with the Sugarmans, with Max Roter’s murder?”
She nodded. “How could I not be?”
“Exactly. And I know you are grateful that Saul Sugarman has offered you a job and that you wouldn’t want to do anything to ruin that. But I have to tell you that not everything is … how shall I put this … kosher with Saul. I believe that he is somehow responsible for what happened to Max and Lou.”
“I thought Reverend Vivian’s the one who planned these attacks. That’s what I heard Mr. Sugarman say. And he was quite firm.”
“You must believe me, Shayna, there’s much more to it than that.”
“So what do you want of me, Sam?”
“It’s simple, really. I’d like you to keep your eyes and ears on Saul. You’re close to him. He’s arrogant enough not to pay attention to you. And I don’t mean to insult you, but you’d agree he’s like that.”
“I do, yes.”
“So over the next few days, maybe the next week, just watch and listen. If you see or hear anything that you regard as suspicious or out of the ordinary, I want you to contact me and me alone. Will you do this?”
Shayna glanced down at the floor. “I don’t know, Sam. It seems dishonest to me. Can I think about it more?”
Klein was about to respond when he heard a shout from the front hallway. The door opened and Freda poked her head in. “Daddy, come here. Some men are talking to Bernice.”
“Some men?”
Freda was about to cry. She pointed outside to the street.
Klein was stunned by what he saw. Parked in front of his house was the black McLaughlin Buick he had seen at the Shaarey Zedek with the two thugs. The taller man was behind the wheel. And the other gangster with the eyepatch was standing beside the car with Bernice in his arms. She was squirming to free herself. Mel stood farther back on the sidewalk.
Calmly, Klein approached the two men. When he reached Mel, he told Freda to come forward and take her brother back to the house. She did so. By the time, she reached the front stoop, Shayna, Alec, and Sarah were also outside.
“Shailek, what is going on?” Sarah cried. “Where’s Bernice?” As Freda and Mel ran to her, she put her arms around them.
“Just stay there, all of you. I’m handling it,” said Klein. Alec began to walk forward. “You, too, Alec, just stay put.” Alec stopped moving but glowered at the man holding Bernice.
“Please put my daughter down,” said Klein. His words were measured.
“Daddy, Daddy,” cried Bernice.
Keeping an eye on the man in the car, whom he suspected was holding a gun, Klein moved towards Bernice, who had tears in her eyes.
“She’s a cute kid,” said the man with the eyepatch. He passed Bernice over to Klein.
Sarah ran forward and took her from him, hugging her closely. “Niecee, are you okay?”
The little girl nodded. “That man isn’t nice. Not nice at all.”
“Who are you and what you do want?” Klein asked the men.
“Yeah, we haven’t introduced ourselves, have we?” said the man with the eyepatch. “You can call me Richie or One-eye Richie. And in the car behind me is Paulie the Plumber. He’s packing so don’t do anything stupid, Klein.”
“I saw you arrive on the train from Minneapolis and then there was that shooting. And again, today, you were at the synagogue. I’m pretty sure whoever was shooting was aiming at you as well.”
“That’s possible,” said Richie. “Don’t you think that’s possible, Paulie?”
“I do,” said Paulie, grinning. “Good thing he keeps missing.”
“You still haven’t said why you are now parked in front of my house and bothering my family.”
“I’m getting to that, Klein,” said Richie, moving closer. “Here’s the thing. I know you’ve been poking your nose into the Sugarmans’ business. Asking lots of questions about what happened in Vera and in the city.”
“We’ve already talked about this.”
“I guess we have.”
“I was hired by Lou Sugarman. He’s the one I answer to.”
“Yes, yes, we know about that. Lou’s not well, as you know. Might not even recover. And didn’t Saul Sugarman fire you?”
“Not exactly.”
“I don’t know what that means, Klein, and really, I don’t give a damn. We want you to stop your investigation into the shooting in Vera and anything else to do with the Sugarmans’ business. Let the police do what they want. You go after Reverend Vivian.”
“Is that who’s been shooting at you? One of Vivian’s men?”
“Difficult to say. In our line of work, we have as many enemies as friends.”
“And what line of work are you in, exactly?” asked Klein.
“Protection.”
“I see. Who are you protecting now?”
“We are here, Sam. We’re here to protect you and your family. Neither of us would want to see any harm come to any of those delightful children of yours or that beautiful wife,” said Richie, smiling. “We know all about her.”
Klein clenched his fists and grabbed Richie’s jacket collar.
Paulie immediately stuck a pistol out the window and pointed it at Klein’s head.
“Everyone take it easy. Klein, we honestly don’t want any trouble,” said Richie, carefully pushing Klein’s hands away. He glanced at Paulie, who lowered his weapon. “We’re just here to give you a friendly warning, that’s it. You’re a smart man. You’ll do the right thing.”
One-eye Richie extended his hand towards Klein, but he would not shake it. “Suit yourself,” he said with a shrug. Richie walked around the front of the car and got in the passenger seat. Paulie started the vehicle and a moment later, the Buick sped towards Salter Street.
Klein’s palms were sweaty. He looked up and noticed Mrs. Fester’s face in her front window. She looked white as a ghost.
Klein turned and walked back to his family, Alec, and Shayna. Bernice jumped into his arms. “Well, that was exciting, wasn’t it, Niecee? I think it would be a good idea for you to not talk to strangers. Can you do that for me?”
Bernice nodded. “No more strangers. That man was scary.”
“He was,” said Klein.
“You okay?” asked Alec. “What did they want?”
“They want me to stop asking questions about the Sugarmans’ booze business.”
“You think Sugarman sent them?”
“Don’t know. But he’s involved with them one way or another.”
“He would never hurt my children,” said Sarah, her voice trembling slightly. “I can’t believe that.”
Klein stared at her and shook his head. “Let’s get the kids inside.” He put Bernice down and she ran to Sarah, who was holding onto Mel’s hand. Freda was right next to her. She and the children went into the house followed by Alec. As Klein walked forward, Shayna, who was standing behind him, grabbed his arm.
“Okay, Sam. I’ll do what you asked,” she whispered. “Those were your kids…”
Klein nodded, lightly grasped her hand, and they both stepped into the house.
By ten o’clock that evening, Klein was exhausted. It had been as busy and trying a day as he had had in a very long time. After the children were in their beds and sleeping and Alec and Shayna had left, Sarah returned to the kitchen to put away the dishes. Deep in thought, Sam lay down to rest in his and Sarah’s bed.
His mind was racing with a dozen different scenarios and questions which he still did not have answers for. Sifting and re-sifting through the many details of this case—Max Roter’s murder in Vera, the possible involvement of the bootlegger Fr
ankie Tayler, the shootings at the CPR station and the Shaarey Zedek Synagogue, and the two thugs, One-eye Richie and Paulie the Plumber—he kept coming back to one focal point: Saul Sugarman. He knew that though he did not yet have all the facts, Sugarman, rather than Reverend John Vivian as the police seemed to believe, was the linchpin to understanding what had thus far transpired. Sarah, and perhaps even Alec and McCreary, who both knew of Sarah’s relationship with Sugarman, would argue that he was inherently biased towards him, that he would never forgive Sugarman for what he had done. That may be so, he thought, but that was not governing his thinking in this case. He only had to uncover the evidence that would prove Sugarman’s culpability.
Sarah walked into the bedroom and was pleasantly surprised to find Klein asleep. She stared at him for a moment, again berating herself for being so thoughtless and impulsive and for jeopardizing their marriage. “Shailek,” she said softly.
Her voice roused Klein. “I must’ve dozed off,” he mumbled.
She sat beside him on the bed. “Please tell me that the children are safe.”
“They are, don’t worry.”
“I won’t. I trust you.”
“Anything else? Or can I go back to sleep?”
Sarah hesitated for a moment. “There is something I wanted to ask you about.”
“I’m listening.”
“That policewoman I met at the synagogue, what was her name?”
Klein’s eyes widened a bit more. “Hannah Nash, why?”
“She seems very nice.”
“Uh, huh.”
“She’s married?” Sarah asked, shifting her legs.
“Her husband died, some years ago.”
“That’s terrible.”
“It is, but I think she’s managed,” said Klein, sitting up. “Why the sudden interest in Hannah?”
Sarah shrugged her shoulders.
“Out with it. What’s really on your mind?”
“I … I think she likes you, Shailek, and I think you like her too,” she blurted.
Klein stood up. “You’re talking nonsense,” he said.
“I don’t think so,” said Sarah, reaching for Klein’s hand. “Why don’t you get out of your clothes? You’ll be more comfortable.” Sarah undressed, slipping on a green lace nightgown.
