Big League Dreams (Small Worlds)

by Allen Hoffman

“Gut Shabbos,” Boruch Levi and Sammy said simultaneously.

  “Gut Shabbos,” she answered nervously, the Sabbath greetings failing to alleviate her discomfort.

  “Boruch Levi, Inspector Doheen has been here twice to see you. He came by after you had left for the synagogue, and I told him to come back a half hour ago. He did, but you still weren’t home. I didn’t know what to say.”

  As she spoke, she wrung her clean Sabbath apron in her agitated hands.

  “What did he say?” Boruch Levi asked.

  “He said that he must see you at once, even though it’s your Sabbath. He’s across the street at the chief’s house, waiting for you.”

  “Did he say what this is all about?”

  “No, just that you should come as soon as you can.”

  “If I’m not home by ten, leave the key under the mat and lock the door,” Boruch Levi announced.

  “But you haven’t even made kiddush yet,” Golda protested in her resigned but anxious manner.

  “We heard kiddush at the Krimsker Rebbe’s tonight. Sammy will pronounce the blessings for you. Leave a plate on the table,” he ordered.

  “Yes,” she answered, but he was already halfway down the steps. She never could understand her husband’s penchant for goyim with guns; the thought of all those brass buttons made her stomach quake. Not that it took very much for that to happen. What were they doing praying with the Krimsker Rebbe? Wasn’t one rabbi, especially a bootlegger, enough for a family? As worried as she was about having her husband outside the house on the Sabbath, she was pleased to have Sammy alone so she could find out what they had been doing at the Krimsker Rebbe’s. The rebbe and his wife were such strange holy people. She wondered whether they had seen the reclusive rebbetzin. But it was the Sabbath, and at the thought of her once hot chicken soup growing cold, she pursed her lips, shaking her head slowly from side to side in dismay.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  WORRIED ABOUT THE CHIEF’S HEALTH, BORUCH LEVI swiftly angled across the lawn. The chief was no youngster and really had no business at headquarters until he was stronger. Although the chief’s house was only across the street and three doors down, Boruch Levi walked so quickly that when he stepped off the curb, he was practically running. Why shouldn’t he? He loved the chief. Michael O’Brien was what an Irish policeman should be: courageous, loyal, hard-drinking, warm-hearted but tough as nails, and an understanding father to his men.

  As Boruch Levi approached the first-floor apartment, he thankfully noted that there was no great rush of activity. The only official car parked on the street was Doheen’s. Just in case the chief was resting, Boruch Levi knocked very softly. When no one answered, he knocked slightly louder. Mrs. O’Brien opened the door and welcomed him with her usual sad, slightly fearful smile; having a man leave every morning to patrol the streets with a gun on his hip was not like having a husband drive off to the junk shop. Boruch Levi nodded with a sympathetic understanding that he bestowed on very few.

  Doheen motioned for him to enter the dining room and then put a finger to his lips as Boruch Levi walked past the wide entrance to the parlor. Inside, the chief, in bathrobe and slippers, was dozing in his favorite easy chair with the newspaper crumpled in his hand. Boruch Levi nodded and joined the naturally dour inspector, who tonight wore an even gloomier expression than usual.

  Respectfully avoiding the chief’s chair at the head of the dining room table, the inspector positioned himself where the absent chief’s right hand should have been. The two men pushed themselves slightly back from the table so they could face each other. Doheen gently put a brotherly hand on Boruch Levi’s knee.

  “We have a problem,” he said softly.

  Boruch Levi realized that it was serious; a full scowl gripped his solid features.

  “What’s wrong with the chief?”

  The inspector shook his head. “It’s not the chief.”

  Without relinquishing his scowl, Boruch Levi elevated his eyebrows in interrogation.

  “Your brother-in-law, Bernard the cripple,” the inspector said, as if he were delivering condolences.

  “Barasch? I mean Bernard?” Boruch Levi questioned.

  As if wishing to spare his friend the details, Doheen simply nodded.

  “What happened?” Boruch Levi asked. “Was he in an accident?”

  “I’m afraid he’s mixed up in some bad business,” he answered and paused.

  “With the gambling?” Boruch Levi ventured.

  “Yes. On the way home I stopped by his bookie, and right away I knew something was wrong. I make them all nervous when I come in, but when I mentioned your brother-in-law, he started squirming like an eel. It turns out that your brother-in-law had just walked in and put down two thousand. After your visit this afternoon, that stimulated my curiosity, and I took a little ride around town. I came across four other shops where he had placed an identical bet. In all, ten thousand dollars in cash.”

  “Ten thousand dollars?!” Boruch Levi repeated in shocked amazement. “In cash?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid so,” the inspector said, withdrawing from his inside jacket pocket a fat yellow envelope. He opened the flap to reveal the thick stack of crisp new bills inside. “Hundred-dollar bills all the way through. An even hundred.”

  “He’s been betting like that?” Boruch Levi asked. The scowl had returned in its full sour majesty.

  “No, that’s just the thing. Until today, he’s never bet more than a hundred dollars. Usually no more than twenty, sometimes fifty. But never anything like this.”

  Inspector Doheen tapped the envelope for emphasis. As surprised as Boruch Levi was, and he was very surprised, he couldn’t quite believe that Malka had given that sum to Barasch, especially since she was worried about his squandering small amounts. Where had Barasch Limp Legs come up with such big money? The police probably didn’t know that yet.

  “What in the world was he betting all this money on?”

  “Well, that’s just the thing. He put it all on tomorrow’s ball game.” Here the inspector paused for emphasis. “On the Detroit Tigers. All ten thousand dollars on the Detroit Tigers. I know you don’t follow the game.”

  No baseball fan, Boruch Levi didn’t comprehend who or what the Detroit Tigers were, much less what the odds should be, but he knew very definitely that Barasch Limp Legs didn’t know any more than he did. Someone else, however, most certainly did.

  “Does this have anything to do with Matti Sternweiss?” he asked in undisguised contempt.

  “I’m afraid that’s the real problem. Do you remember those two young detectives who were in my office this afternoon? One of them had just come back from Chicago, where a grand jury is sitting and investigating last year’s World Series.”

  Boruch Levi nodded, signifying that even he had heard about that affair.

  “Well, it was fixed all right, and some of the jokers who did it are beginning to sing some very interesting songs, as they usually do to try and avoid imprisonment. Much of what they say has to be discounted—it’s just so much slanderous malarkey—but there have been persistent rumors about Matti Sternweiss meeting with some of the big Jewish syndicate gamblers in the East. That didn’t mean much to the young detective, since Sternweiss doesn’t gamble himself, but it rang a bell with me because of what you had said. And now this.”

  Again he tapped the bulging yellow envelope.

  “I put two and two together and came straight here to the chief. It’s a bad situation.”

  “A very bad situation,” the chief announced from the doorway, with a distasteful expression on his noble face.

  Doheen and Boruch Levi both stood up, but the chief waved them back into their seats. Boruch Levi sat down, but Doheen helped seat his superior with all the gentle solicitude of a nurse. In recognition, Michael O’Brien nodded his handsome silvery gray head.

  Although the bandage on the chief’s hand was smaller —it had been an enormous gauze mitten—he looked old and shuffled when he w
alked. Boruch Levi felt ashamed that he was causing this wonderful man such discomfort.

  “Very bad, indeed, Boruch Levi. They shouldn’t mess with the game. Why it’s the national pastime, sacred it is! If cards, dice, and horses aren’t enough for them, why it’s too bad. One of yours was the ringleader in Chicago, and now this in our town. That wouldn’t look good. Would it now?”

  The chief shifted in his chair as if such despicable, unpatriotic behavior physically pained him. Although Boruch Levi did not move a muscle, he felt equally uncomfortable. His unease, however, was slightly ameliorated by a towering rage and a desire to break every bone in Matti Sternweiss’s baseball-playing body and mangle a few of the remaining straight ones in his fool brother-in-law’s.

  “What does the chief suggest?” Boruch Levi asked.

  “Well, the best thing would be for our home team the Brownies to win. In an honest sport, however, that’s impossible to assure. But we have to be certain that they’ll play their hearts out and that nothing suspicious will happen. And we must be certain that there is no heavy betting on the Tigers; that way no one stands to gain even if the Brownies should lose, and consequently nothing is suspicious. You must get Sternweiss to convince the syndicate that it is all off so they don’t bet. Those kinds of bets are usually made at the last minute, so if you get through to him, there should be time.”

  Boruch Levi nodded.

  “You can tell him that we know everything. If you like, you can tell him that if something fishy happens tomorrow, we’ll put him behind bars,” Doheen said.

  The chief nodded in vigorous agreement.

  “It’s the national pastime, and we aren’t going to let those punks ruin it!” the chief exploded in a cry of indignation. Then he added more calmly, “We have a problem, Boruch Levi. You know how I admire your concern for family. But we all have a problem. The St. Louis Browns belong to all of us. Why, the very reputation of our fair city is at stake, isn’t it?”

  “I’ll talk to him, all right,” Boruch Levi said with all his stubborn determination.

  “Sure you will,” the chief responded optimistically. “That’s why Doheen brought this directly to me. We can save everyone a lot of embarrassment and trouble.” Then he dropped his voice and continued in his warmest paternal tone, “Boruch Levi, I don’t have to tell you what you mean to us.”

  The chief held up his bandaged hand in salute. “You’re one of us, and we want to protect you, just like you looked after us.”

  Boruch Levi modestly lowered his eyes.

  “It’s true, and we know that we can rely on you,” the chief concluded.

  Doheen nodded in agreement.

  “I’ll take care of it,” Boruch Levi responded, accepting the chief’s charge with a solemn dignity.

  “Now take back all that money before it goes astray,” the chief said jocularly.

  Boruch Levi looked at the money but made no attempt to retrieve it.

  Doheen cleared his throat. “Chief, Boruch Levi doesn’t handle money on his Sabbath,” the inspector reminded him.

  “Ah, that’s a fact. Excuse an old man’s forgetting. Well, Doheen can keep it safely enough. I trust him more than I do myself, so you’re no worse off than I am.”

  All three smiled at the chief’s self-deprecating witticism.

  “Wait—then you can’t ride either, can you?” the chief asked solicitously.

  “Sternweiss lives in the neighborhood, and I think he’ll be home with his mother tonight.”

  “Good, but if you need any help, if you want to see someone or speak to someone who isn’t in the neighborhood, just let Doheen know and he’ll take care of it.”

  Doheen nodded agreeably.

  “We have every confidence in you, but if it’s very tricky and you can’t solve it, then the police force will have to act at once in its official capacity. We have no choice. Doheen will remain here with me to find out how you make out. If you need our active intervention, don’t hesitate. After all, I can’t risk going anyplace dangerous without you, my boy! We have every confidence in you, don’t we, Doheen?”

  “Absolutely,” the inspector said energetically.

  “Thank you,” Boruch Levi replied, deeply moved.

  The chief reached out his good hand and warmly squeezed Boruch Levi’s strong left hand.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  TRYING UNSUCCESSFULLY TO TEMPER HIS SCOWL, BORUCH Levi stepped into the hallway. Mrs. Sternweiss was genuinely flattered to find at her door the wealthy religious community leader, even with his usual scowl. She prayed in Boruch Levi’s synagogue and appreciated his importance in both the Jewish and goyish worlds. But it was Boruch Levi’s piety that particularly impressed her. There were other rich Krimskers in St. Louis, but unfortunately they were no longer very religious. In Krimsk he had been a poor little nothing—less than a nothing really, a half-orphan, and not very pious.

  In America Boruch Levi had become very well-to-do, and amazingly enough, his religious and moral development matched his financial achievements. A friend of the most important men in the city, he wasn’t the least embarrassed to observe the Sabbath publicly. Why, he even used his influence with the police department to have them deliver good pre-Prohibition whiskey to the synagogue. The patrolmen threw their great blue overcoats with the rows of brass buttons over the small kegs so no one should see what they were carrying. His Sufnitz wife, Golda, who made herself a little too simple for Krimsker tastes, was a very fine housekeeper. He had no choice but to marry a non-Krimsker. How could he have married someone who knew him and his family in Krimsk? No, he couldn’t be blamed for that; indeed, he had never forgotten Krimsk. When Matti’s father had died, Boruch Levi was in the house before nightfall to ask if they needed any help with the funeral arrangements. A friend like that was worth having.

  Mrs. Sternweiss hoped that he might have some influence on her son. Yes, Matti was a good boy and always made sure to join her for Friday night’s Sabbath dinner. Sitting in the chair of his late father, may he rest in peace, he made kiddush beautifully—when he was in town. Often, however, Matti was away. In fact, he wasn’t in town because he wasn’t very observant. And he wasn’t very observant because he was a baseball player, which in itself wasn’t so bad. Not that she understood it. It certainly wasn’t as dignified as standing behind the counter in a kosher butcher shop or even running a store, but it was, thank God, an honest living. He didn’t steal from anyone, and the goyim were all impressed.

  No, that Matti’s baseball kept him from observing the commandments wasn’t the worst thing. As an old-fashioned mother she would have enjoyed a religious son, but this was America, and what could you expect? The younger generation went their own way. But even in America you had a right to expect grandchildren, didn’t you? And that’s why Mrs. Sternweiss objected to baseball. Matti was forever traveling, and he never got a chance to meet any Jewish girls. In Krimsk, Mrs. Sternweiss would have turned to a matchmaker. There were even a few in St. Louis, but they were for old people and new arrivals. None of the younger folk, much less a professional ballplayer, would dare use one. She needed an influential friend, both traditional and modern. No doubt Boruch Levi understood a widow’s and orphan’s needs. Why else would this good man have come if not to make a match?

  “Forgive me for disturbing your Sabbath meal, Mrs. Sternweiss, but I would like to speak with Matti.”

  “We’re just finishing. Would you like a glass of tea with a poppy seed cookie?”

  “No, thank you. I would like to speak to him now.”

  “Maybe you have someone for him to see?” Mrs. Sternweiss asked, aware that the question was inappropriate, but after all, Matti was an only child, now orphaned of his father. If Boruch Levi had left the Sabbath table to arrange an introduction personally, it must be someone very special, and the mother was dying to know.

  “Yes, I do,” Boruch Levi answered, a note of surprise softening his flat business tone.

  “Thank you, Boruch Levi
, I can’t tell you how appreciative I am,” she said. “I’ll call him at once.” In her enthusiasm she quite literally began calling his name before she had even arrived at the entrance to the dining room.

  A few moments later, Matti appeared, surly and distrustful. That suited Boruch Levi just fine; he didn’t extend the short catcher any Sabbath greetings, much less a hand.

  “Boruch Levi does have someone for you to see, darling, don’t you, Reb Boruch Levi?” Mrs. Sternweiss reassured her balky son in the most cheerfully didactic manner, as if she were addressing a very bashful, small child.

  “Yes, I do,” Boruch Levi affirmed.

  “Who’s that?” Matti asked suspiciously.

  “The Krimsker Rebbe.”

  “The Krimsker Rebbe?” Mrs. Sternweiss exclaimed incredulously.

  “Yes,” he answered.

  “Does he know someone?” she asked. Before Boruch Levi had a chance to clarify her question, however, Matti curtly asked, “Why?”

  “Very pressing community affairs,” Boruch Levi replied, and then added, “We have a problem,” repeating Doheen’s repetition of the chief’s words. He felt on safe ground quoting the chief.

  “Oh,” Mrs. Sternweiss said in disappointment. “The Krimsker Rebbe.”

  “Would you please bring Matti a jacket?” Boruch Levi suggested.

  Matti waited until she had disappeared into his room. As soon as he thought she was out of hearing, he asked aggressively, “What’s this all about?”

  “Community affairs; we have a problem, and you’re going to help us solve it.” He enjoyed adding to Matti’s discomfort by keeping him in the dark.

  “I have a game tomorrow, and I shouldn’t be running around tonight. If you don’t tell me what this is all about, then I don’t go,” Matti threatened.

  “Oh, you’ll go,” Boruch Levi taunted him.

  “I don’t think so. He’s not my wonder-working miracle man,” Matti said sarcastically.

  “Oh, you’ll go, all right. And if you don’t want to walk through that door, I’ll put you right through that wall and drag you by your ears,” Boruch Levi announced.