by Grey, Harry
Patsy asked maliciously, “What's the matter, Moishe? Wife lump you up?”
I shoved a chair towards him and said, “Sit down, Moishe. Have a drink and tell us your troubles.”
He bowed gratefully with the drink in his hand. He said, “Ah,” in appreciation after he drank up. Then he sat down with a groan and mumbled through his swollen lips, “Wife trouble? No,” shaking his head to Patsy.
Cockeye asked laughingly, “So who decorated you so fancy, your mother-in-law?”
Moishe turned and looked at Cockeye. He shook his head sadly. “Veh is mir,” he said. “My mother-in-law I can handle. It's business troubles. I got into an imglick.” He rocked back and forth in woe. “It's awful. I borrowed five hundred dollars from Nutchy to meet a payroll. I am so mixed up with interest. I already gave back to Nutchy eight hundred dollars, and he still says I owe him six hundred more. All I complained to him was, 'Enough is enough, Nutch,' and this is what he answered me.” He tapped his head and his eye. “Six hundred more, he said, or he would break both my hands and feet. What can I do?”
He looked helplessly at us as he continued rocking back and forth in misery. “I ask you for protection. I don't want to go to the police. I'm afraid to go.”
“How did you happen to come to us?” I questioned.
“I told my troubles to the leader from the Tammany Club, he said maybe you boys would help me.”
He looked at our faces trying to read sympathy in them. He tried a pathetic pleading and flattery.
“Everybody says you're such fine fellows, maybe you boys can help me? Please? Talk to Mr. Nutchy to stop hitting me, maybe?”
Cockeye doubled up with laughter.
“Good old Nutch. That's Nutchy, the Shylock from Thirty-First Street, all right. He has no heart.”
The old man stared at Cockeye. He was confused and hurt at his laughter.
Maxie reassured him. “You did right by coming to us, Moishe. Never go to the police. Nutchy buys them off with a charlotte russe. They won't help you.”
Patsy said, “I thought Frank sent word around town for them Shy-locks to pipe down.”
I said, “Yeh, so I heard. But this Nutch is greedy. He don't take orders, it seems.”
“They stink on ice,” Patsy said, “all them Shylocks.”
“Yep, it's a lousy racket,” Max agreed. “It gives every other racket a bad name. Why the hell don't they cut it out?”
“For the big dough that's in it,” I said.
“Yep, I guess so,” Max said. “What do them bastards charge for a loan, about a thousand percent interest, ain't it?”
“Yeh, even more than that. How they compute their interest, nobody knows,” I said. “They charge interest on top of interest. At the end of a year it could total ten thousand percent.”
“Them bums want more than their pound of flesh,” Patsy said. “They're worse than that guy, the original Shylock from Venice.”
I looked at Patsy. I was surprised at the way he put it. I wondered what he implied. I said, “Just for the record, Patsy old lad, this Nutch is an Italian.”
Patsy laughed at me, “I knew he was a wop. I'm surprised at you, Noodles. A bastard is a bastard no matter what he is.”
Maxie said, “Yep, we're all bastards. You're getting too sensitive, Noodles.”
“Yeh, I guess so,” I said.
I smiled over at Patsy. He gave me a wink.
“How come you businessmen up in the garment center borrow from Shylocks?” Max asked. “Aren't there enough banks to borrow from?”
The old man looked at Maxie in embarrassment. He seemed ashamed of the reasons that led to his present predicament.
“No collateral, hey, Moishe?” I asked.
“Yes, I got no rating, no nothing,” he mumbled.
“What kind of business are you in?” I asked.
“I'm a zipper contractor; you know, an assembler.”
“Any dough in it?” Max asked.
The old man shrugged his shoulders. “How can I make money, fighting for business against a feller with fifty million dollars like Mr. Talon? He has better machines. He makes a better product. He buys cheaper. He sells cheaper. He gives thirty and sixty days credit to his customers. My customers want the same credit, so I sell the bills receivable to factors. They take away the little profit I make. Then I'm desperate. I need money. I mortgage the little machinery I have to another factor. I'm all right for a week. Then I'm desperate again. The telephone company is going to stop my telephone. The landlord wants his rent. I need goods to work on. I got to pay Ruby and Itzik, my workers. And I got to bring home a piece of bread to my wife and children, too, no? Oy, ziz bitter, bitter.”
He swayed back and forth, holding his head. “Now it's this imglick with Nutch. What can I do? Jump off the roof?”
“The age-old plight of the small businessman,” I murmured. “Equal opportunities for the Moishes and Talons of the world.”
Max whispered to me, “This Nutch don't take orders. Then maybe we got to give him a working over? That way it's not too good either, if we can avoid it.”
He pursed his lips in thought for a moment. “Maybe we'll handle him another way. Tell me, Moishe,” Max asked, “has this Nutch got plenty of kupper?”
“Yeah. I think so, Mr. Max. They say he has heavy kupper. He lends out thousands and thousands every day.”
“Okay,” Maxie said. He made a quick decision. “Seein' he don't take orders, I'll give it to the bastard where it hurts him the most—in the pocketbook. How much does he say is coming to him, Moishe?”
“Six hundred dollars,” he answered.
Maxie leaned over, whispered to Cockeye and handed him a key. I wondered what Max was up to. Cockeye looked at Maxie in disapproval and shrugged his shoulders. He took the key and went out.
Max leaned over and whispered to Pat and me. “I'm going to give Nutch a friggin. I'll have Jake and Pipy work a diamond switch on him.”
He looked at me for approval.
I chuckled. “Do you think he'll fall for it?”
Max shrugged. “We'll try, what have we got to lose?”
Pat and I nodded assent.
He turned to our guest. “Have a drink, Moishe. When Cockeye comes back, I'll straighten you out.”
Maxie patted him on the back quietly.
Moishe said, “Thank you, Mr. Max.” He sipped his drink slowly. He looked at us from his troubled eyes. We went back to our game with Moishe sitting nervously by, watching.
Half-hour later Cockeye came back, handed Maxie the key and a small crumpled piece of tissue. Max unwrapped it. A large glittering stone fell on the table. One of our stones from the diamond heist. Maxie handed it to Moishe.
“Here, take this stone, Moishe. It's worth at least two grand. Give it to Nutch. Tell him your good friend Jake gave it to you. Jake has no cash but lots of diamonds. Besides being payment for what you owe him, make Nutch give you at least a few hundred dollars in cash. You understand what I'm saying?”
The old man nodded. “Yes, yes, I understand.”
“You keep the cash he gives you, that's for yourself.”
Moishe looked his gratitude. “Someday I pay it back.”
“Forget about it,” Max said. “I guarantee his eyes will pop out when he sees the stone.”
Maxie smiled at the thought. “Now pay attention, Moishe. This is important. He will ask you where you got it. Now remember the name. You tell him you got it from Jake the Goniff from Broome Street. He probably knows him well. Tell him that Jake's got more to sell. He's looking for a buyer, to sell cheap. Do you understand?”
Poor old Moishe. He sat there nodding his head, trying to hold the tears of gratitude out of his eyes.
He finally blubbered, “How can I thank you, Mr. Max? You're so good to everybody. God bless you.”
Maxie said gruffly, “Never mind the thanks. Just remember to tell Nutch, Jake the Goniff gave you the stone, and he's got plenty more he wants to sell cheap. That's t
he important thing.”
Moishe nodded his head humbly.
“Yeah. I won't forget. I'll tell him that I got it from Jake the Goniff from Broome Street, Mr. Max.”
Maxie patted him on the back and walked him to the door.
He turned to Cockeye. “Dig up Jake and Pipy and tell them I want to see them right away.”
Cockeye went out on his errand. We continued our card game.
About an hour later, Cockeye walked in followed by Jake the Goniff, Pipy and Goo-Goo. Maxie smiled.
“I see you got your whole mob with you, Jake.”
“Do you mind, Max?” Jake asked.
“Do I mind? Since when did you get so polite? Sit down and have a hooker.”
At the invitation Jake and his friends broke into smiles. They drank up.
Patsy ribbed, “Hey, Jake, you mean to say you come around here without a poem or a riddle?”
Jake broke into a grin. “Yeah, Pat, I was just going to tell one.”
“What kind of poem, from Broome or Delancey Street?” Cockeye asked.
“My own poem. I made it up myself.”
Jake's pride was hurt. “It's a combination poem and riddle.”
“Okay, let's get it over with,” Max said.
Jake did not need any further invitation. He recited with gestures.
“The postman came the first of May.
The fireman came the following day.
Nine months later there was hell to pay.
Who fired the first shot, the blue or the grey?”
Jake anxiously awaited my criticism.
“Not bad if you made it up yourself.”
“Honest I did,” Jake said seriously.
“Okay, Jake, you know that everything you've got you stole from somebody else, including your poems.”
Maxie took his roll out, peeled off three C notes and tossed them one apiece. “Here's a retainer, boys,” he said. They took the dough eagerly.
Jake beaming from ear to ear said, “Thanks, Maxie, this sure comes in handy. I'm as flat as a titless broad. What's up? What's percolating, Max?”
“You guys know Nutchy the Shylock?”
“Yeh, we know the bastard. He's no good,” Jake replied. “He's the kind of guy who talks through both sides of his mouth and whistles 'I frig you truly.' I tried to hit him up some time ago. 'No dice,' he said. He don't do business with no goniffs, only honest people. He's tighter than the rear of a fat woman in slacks.”
“Yeh,” Pipy cut in, “he stinks on ice. We know him. He'd sell his grandmother for a Hershey bar.”
“With or without almonds?” Cockeye asked.
“He goes in for hair pie,” Goo-Goo added.
“Okay, Okay, cut it,” Maxie said. “You guys can give a guy a pretty good recommendation. Okay. Pay attention. Nutchy is going to get in touch with you boys. Does he know where you hang out, Jake?”
“Everybody knows Jake the Goniff hangs out on Broome Street,” he proudly replied. “What's the setup?”
Maxie explained, “You guys are supposed to have given Moishe, the dress contractor, a diamond worth two G's because he was in trouble and he is a friend of yours. Now get this. You fellows were supposed to have been on a heist. You clipped a hundred grand worth of sparklers, and you're looking to unload the stuff. Get it?”
The Goniff seemed puzzled. “Yeh, but where's the gimmick?”
“The gimmick is this,” Maxie leaned over the table tensely. “Pipy pulls a switcheroo on Nutchy, get it? I'll supply the setups!”
Jake the Goniff chuckled delightedly as he slapped Pipy on the back. “Fast Fingers Pipy is a natural to take that Nutchy with a switcheroo. How much shall we ask Nutch for the rocks?”
“Twenty grand,” Maxie replied.
“I'm dying to see that Nutchy's face when he finds out he got clipped for twenty grand,” Pipy laughed.
“After Nutchy contacts you, come right over here, and I'll have everything ready for you guys,” Maxie instructed.
After a few more hookers they left, feeling pretty good.
We went over to Luigi's and had a good Italian dinner.
While we were eating, a kid came in with the late editions. Max bought a paper. It carried the entire story. We wondered why the story was held over one day. “DARING DAYLIGHT DIAMOND ROBBERY.” The story said that one hundred and fifty thousand dollars worth of diamonds had been stolen and that seven masked men had been involved in the stickup, each one carrying a machine gun, making their getaway in two big cars.
I said smiling, “A typical eyewitness version. They had some mob in on that heist. They must have tripped over each other.”
Patsy laughed. “I wonder if it was anyone we know.”
“Not likely,” Max said mockingly. “How would we know any cheap heist men?”
Next morning, as Moe was fixing ham steaks and eggs for our breakfast to go with hot bagels from Ratners', Jake the Goniff, Pipy and Goo-Goo walked in elated.
“Okay,” Jake said. “Nutchy got in touch with us. After that goddamn story in the papers, he fell for it, balls and all.”
“Yeh, especially when he kept looking at the sparkler Moishe gave him, and I said we got a bagful, and we'd give him the load for twenty grand,” Pip chuckled. “He wants to make the deal up on some flat at West Fifty-first Street at eight o'clock tonight. Is that okay, Max?”
“Yep, it's okay,” Max said, his mouth full of ham and eggs. “You boys want something to eat?”
“Yeh, yeh. Kosher ham, that's my favorite breakfast fruit,” Jake said.
They sat down with us. Moe cut up some more ham and tossed it on the griddle.
We washed our breakfast down with double hookers. Maxie tossed us each a Corona Corona.
As we lit up he said, “Cockeye, you go over to Sammy the jeweler on Grand Street and tell him I want fifty nice-size zircons, and tell him to give you two absolutely the same little cotton bags with draw strings. Now remember, they positively must be two. And, some tissue papers. Okay? You got it?”
“Yeh, yeh, I got it,” Cockeye grumbled. He went out puffing his cigar. Maxie turned to Patsy and handed him a key.
“You know what I want you to get in Eddie's safe?”
Patsy nodded and said, “Okay, I get it,” and left.
“You know, Maxie, that flat we got the date with Nutchy up on West Fifty-first Street belongs to a guy named Oscar,” Jake said.
“Yeh, Max,” Pipy cut in. “I think that's Oscar, the fence.”
“Well, it adds up,” I said. “Nutchy probably is going to sell it to this fence.”
“Yeh, I'll bet,” Jake said. “Boy, he's sure a sharp operator, that Nutch.”
“He's sharp, all right, sharp as a matzo and twice as crumby,” Maxie said drily.
Moe continued bringing in double hookers and the party got a little congenial. Time went quickly. Before we knew it, Cockeye came in from Sammy's with the zircons and the two little bags. Max spilled them on the table.
“Jesus! They sparkle like the real McCoy,” Jake commented.
“Yeh. They're pretty good imitations,” I said.
Patsy came in shortly and took envelopes out of his pockets. Maxie tore open the little envelopes and put the diamonds in a little pile on the table. Pipy leaned over closer.
Maxie turned to Pipy and said, “No demonstrations of your art, Pipy boy. Don't let your fast fingers play tricks, or I break them off one by one. Okay?” Maxie gave me a wink. He began wrapping each stone individually in tissue paper. Pipy looked hurt.
“After all these years,” he said. “You know, Max, I wouldn't clip you.”
Maxie continued wrapping the stones and putting them in the little cotton bags.
“I just wanted to remind you, that's all.”
I helped Maxie get the bag with the genuine stones ready. We fixed up the zircons in the same way. I put both bags on the table.
I said, “Hey, Pip. Let's see how good you are, give us a demonstration.”
&nb
sp; Pipy picked up the bag of imitations and left the real bag of diamonds on the table. He walked around nonchalantly, then walked slowly back to the table. He picked up a glass and put it down close to the bag of genuine diamonds. He sat down and smiled.
“Well? What the hell you waiting for?” Max asked, puzzled.
We all looked at Pipy. We, too, were puzzled.
“Okay,” Pipy replied, “they're switched.”
Incredulous, I examined the bag on the table.
“Goddamn,” I said admiringly. “How'd you do it?”
I looked again to make certain it was no mistake. Pipy had switched the phonies for the genuine. I repeated, “How did you do it?”
“Like this.” Pipy pushed an ashtray near the bag, flipped his cigar ashes in. There was an almost imperceptible flash of a hand and Pipy turned around and smiled. “Simple.”
Doubtfully Maxie walked over and looked in the bag. A look of respect came over his face. “You have developed into a real artist, Pipy boy.”
Pipy said proudly, “What did you think? Don't forget, I'm a soup school graduate.”
“Yeh,” Jake said sarcastically. “A graduate of Sing Sing, too.”
“And a post-graduate, too,” Goo-Goo cut in. “He's been up the river so many times, we call him showboat.”
Pipy snorted, “That's an old Joe Miller gag.”
We went back to our game. Pipy kept practising the switcheroo.
I was paying more attention to Pipy than to the card game. His long, deft fingers fascinated me. I have seen pickpockets and switch artists in action, but this Pip was a master. I was watching a superior craftsman in action.
They hung around until it was time for them to go to their appointment with Nutch at Oscar's flat on Fifty-first Street.
As they were leaving, Max said, “If you guys run into any trouble, call up. Well be waiting here until you get back. Make it a snappy deal.”
“There won't be no trouble. We can handle this Nutchy,” Jake spoke with confidence. They swaggered out.
Time passed. We were beginning to get slightly anxious. I took the whetstone out of the table drawer, spit on it, and began drawing my knife slowly back and forth across it. I had acquired the sure movements of a barber sharpening his razor. Cockeye took out his harmonica and played “We took Bennie for a ride in the country.” Patsy took out his rod. He had a ridiculous habit of wiping each bullet carefully with his fresh handkerchief. Maxie paced up and down, puffing on a cigar.
