by Grey, Harry
I was thinking of the time when Max, with grandiose altruism had given a speakeasy to Jake the Goniff, Pipy and Goo-Goo which would net them a weekly income of twelve hundred dollars a week. It was picayune compared to what this man could do for us. A grandiose gesture by this man could give us a territory as large as the state of Jersey with its lucrative rackets which ran into millions of dollars. One “kind” word from him and a police commissioner, a supreme court judge, a mayor or governor were accepted. It was, in fact, his “kind” word that put Jimmy Walker in office.
Frank repeated, “You guys want more territory?”
Maxie smiled and said, “We're satisfied, Frank. We're doing pretty good. Everything is okay. We would rather continue as we are, in our home neighborhood.”
He patted Maxie on the back affectionately. “Fine, fine. As long as you boys are happy, I'm happy. One of the reasons for having you up this morning is that I really wanted to look at you, in person.” He looked us over, smiling broadly. You couldn't help warming up to the guy. “I leave for my vacation at Hot Springs,” he continued. “I left a little bonus down at the office for you boys. It's an extra dividend. A little something personally from me to you. Business is good.”
He said it with a pleased expression.
We all thanked him. He put his hands up saying, “It's nothing. No thanks, please.” He continued talking, “I got a contract for you guys. I want you to run down to...” he mentioned a fashionable South Jersey seaside resort. “Down there is a local politician. He's operating a large gambling casino. All right, I let him operate, I don't bother him. This is the point. So the crumb takes advantage of my kind nature: he makes believe to the gambling public that the casino is mine. That isn't all. His equipment is crooked; that is where it is no good to me and the Combination. The big gambling crowd, you know, the big money men in this country, have confidence in my places. It's taken us a lot of years and sweat to build that up through fair play and honest equipment. Any casinos that I am connected with, the public knows they get a run for their money. I run them on the level. Now, making it look like the casino is mine, he gets the trade, then swindles them with his crooked equipment. You boys can understand that this is very bad. These people who are cheated travel around, and they have friends—and the story goes around and around.” He gestured, waving his arm in a circle. “So on account of him my reputation and all our casinos can get loused up.”
He paused as he took a drink. Then he went on in his slow, rasping voice. “Either close him up or take the casino from him. I sent a 'kind' word that I'd buy him out at a fair price. It's no dice with him. I picked you boys to handle this tough contract.”
There was a directness in his manner as he continued: “You boys are smart. You never miss up. Anything you need for this contract, more men, money, anything, call the office. The contract is yours, all yours.” He waved to all of us. “Take care of the crumb.”
He gave each of us a smile and another lingering, firm handclasp. He walked with us to the door making affable conversation on the way.
The elevator was waiting for us. A uniformed man held the door. Frank waved from his open doorway. “Good luck. See you soon.”
We waved back and said, “So long, Frank.”
As we drove downtown to the main office, Cockeye said, “I'll be goddamned. Every time we see the Boss, he lifts me up. He has something.”
I said, “Yeh, he has what you call a magnetic personality.”
“I remember my old man telling a story,” Patsy cut in, “how he saw the king in the old country riding in his carriage and the old man took his hat off and bowed. The king smiled and waved back. My old man said he felt lit up for days.”
I said, “Mostly this aura is a lot of crap. It isn't so much their personalities—it's what they possess. It's their immense power that gives people that feeling of awe. It's not they themselves. Not that Frank hasn't got something. He has a personality. Otherwise he would never be up on top where he is. But as far as kings and other royalty are concerned—well, they are full of unadulterated crap.”
Maxie said, “You only say it because it's true, Noodles.”
Cockeye couldn't get parking space on Broadway. We left the Caddy around the corner and walked back. We took the elevator up to the office.
The office occupied an entire floor. Maxie walked over to the pretty receptionist. He gave our names and said, “We want to see P.C.”
She picked up her phone with a coquettish smile for each of us, as if to say, “That's all I can give you boys. Just a smile. Make the most of it.”
She whispered into the mouthpiece. Then she turned to us and said, “Go right in. I guess you know your way.”
She smiled her beautiful smile again.
I said, “You shouldn't. It's too devastating.”
She arched her eyebrows and smiled more beautifully than ever.
Cockeye sighed, “I'd give her a C note any day.”
“Your mind's always in the gutter,” I said.
Cockeye replied, “No. In bed.”
We walked in through the door, waving and shaking hands with the men at the desks. The rest of the office force was male. The place was humming with all the activity of big business in motion.
Maxie knocked on a heavy wooden door. A genial voice called out, “Come right in, boys.”
A man of average height and build rose from the chair behind the desk. Everything about him struck me as average, until I came closer. Then I saw his clothes. It was hard to define what there was about them that caught the attention, something that would make Adolphe Menjou, supposedly the best-dressed man in the world, envious. He had a shrewd, good-looking face.
This was the big brain behind the Boss and the Combination. The entire criminal organization was his idea. Very few people knew that he was Frank's equal partner in many deals and enterprises. He was modest. He kept in the background. He was the power behind the throne. Years back, he had been one of the partners in a large Wall Street brokerage firm.
How are you, Maxie?” Dandy Phil asked cordially. “And you, Noodles?” He was busy shaking our hands. “Glad to see you, Pat. And how's my friend, Hymie?” His manner was brisk, but at the same time, friendly. “Frank gave you the assignment of straightening out that gambling casino in Jersey?”
“Yeh. We got all the dope, Phil,” I replied.
“Okay. That's fine.” Phil smiled. “Call me if anything unforeseen happens, or if you need anything at all.”
Maxie nodded. “Sure thing, Phil.”
Phil continued: “Of course, we can use extreme measures on this thing, but you know my stand on that: avoid violence wherever possible, unless it is inevitable, a last resort.”
I said, “We understand perfectly how you and Frank feel about these things.”
Dandy Phil went behind the desk, opened the drawer. He took out a long thick white envelope. He tossed it carelessly on the table saying, “I guess you know about this. A small token from us to you boys in appreciation.” He shook our hands in the manner of a busy executive politely dismissing visitors. He walked us to the door. “Keep in touch, boys,” he said. “So long, boys. Good luck.”
We said, “So long, Phil.”
As we passed the receptionist, she raised her head from the fashion magazine she was reading, smiled charmingly and said, “'Bye, boys.” We blew kisses at her; she blew kisses back at us with her fingertips.
“Phil is so different from Frank, hey, Noodles?” Maxie said.
“Yeh, he's more the planner. Frank is the doer.”
CHAPTER 22
We slid into our customary places in the Caddy, Cockeye at the wheel, Patsy alongside of him, Max and I in the rear. Cockeye stepped on the starter.
“What's the next stop?” he asked.
“The garage,” said Max. He took the envelope out of his pocket and ripped it open.
Cockeye said, “Hey, Max, don't keep us in suspense. How much?”
Maxie looked in the
envelope, and said in a solemn tone, “Well, what do you know?”
Cockeye excitedly jerked his head around. “What?”
“There's a pink dismissal slip in here saying your services are no longer required.”
We all laughed at the incredulous expression on Cockeye's face. He muttered, “You big bastard, that gag stinks.”
“But you went for it,” Maxie chuckled, counting the money in the envelope.
He was counting the money fast, on his lap, with the dexterous finger movements of a bank teller.
“Thirty weeks' extra pay.” Max had finished counting. He gave a pleased nod. “Sixty grand, not bad. Fifteen grand apiece.”
Cockeye chuckled happily. “Santa Claus came early this year.”
Max divided the money in four stacks, picked one up and lightly tapped Cockeye on the head with it. “Here you are, my Cockeye friend. Buy yourself some charlotte russes.”
Cockeye stuck his hand out and put the money in his pocket gleefully, saying, “Merry Christmas.”
Maxie smilingly handed Patsy a stack of money. Patsy kissed it, and put it in his pocket, saying, “A Happy New Year.”
Max handed me mine, “Here you are, Noodles. Buy yourself a Hershey bar.”
“With gold almonds?” I smiled.
Cockeye drove down the ramp into the garage. We got out.
Maxie said, “Cockeye, put a pair of overalls on, so you won't get your clothes dirty when you creep under the car. Take the harness off, boys.” He was addressing the rest of us. We followed Maxie's example. We took off our jackets, and unslung our shoulder holsters. Maxie rolled our guns and harness together in a canvas bag. “Okay, Cockeye, in the box— Just a minute.”
He turned to me. “Hey, Noodles, in case we get stopped in Jersey by the cops as happens on occasion,” his tone was slightly sarcastic, “and we get frisked, don't you think that six-inch piece of cutlery in your pocket will be embarrassing? What will you tell the cops? You're a surgeon, and that's your operating knife?” Max grinned.
“I forgot about it, Max,” I said, tossing it to Cockeye. “Just as you forgot the gimmick up your sleeve, I'll bet.”
“Yep, you're right, Noodles. It sounds funny but I'm aware of it all the time, yet I never know I got it on. I feel lost without it.”
He rolled up his right sleeve, unhooked the spring, and handed the .32 to Cockeye.
“I guess you're that way with the shiv.”
I nodded. “Yeh, habit,” I said.
We had a long steel box welded and securely hidden under the chassis. Cockeye crawled under the car. He put the bag of stuff into the box, crawled out and removed his overalls and washed his hands. You ain't taking the lead sprayer, Max?” Patsy asked.
“No, I don't think it'll be necessary. First we look the joint over. If we need it, well—we'll send for it.”
We took the Staten Island Ferry to avoid the Jersey traffic and the cops. The Caddy rolled swiftly down Hyland Boulevard. Cockeye took the Perth Amboy Bridge and shot over to the highway leading to the shore resort.
We stopped at a diner not far from New Brunswick for hamburgers and coffee. Afterwards, Patsy took the wheel. Cockeye took out his harmonica. Max and I sprawled comfortably in the back seat. The Caddy hummed along the straight highway.
We sped through the night, arriving at the resort early in the morning. It was still dark. We checked in at the biggest hotel on the ocean front. A bellhop parked the Caddy in the hotel garage. We had two adjoining suites, which Cockeye described as “some classy layout.”
“How about a swim before we hit the hay?” Maxie asked.
“How?” Patsy asked. “We got no suits.”
“What's the matter? Can't we go like the old days, bare ass?” Maxie asked.
He smiled. “Okay, Cockeye's getting modest. We go in our B.V.D.'s.”
After our dip, we lay on the beach, smoking and looking at the stars. The beach was deserted. Max and Patsy took their underwear off to dry. The only sound we heard was the rolling of the surf. Boy, this is the life, I was thinking. A far cry from the crowded, hot, smelly East Side. The fresh, gentle breeze was invigorating. It was swell lying here free, with hardly a stitch on. I felt uninhibited.
Cockeye stood up and yawned.
“Well, how about a little shut-eye? This damp air stinks, for my money.”
Patsy said drowsily, “Don't be a shmuck. Lay down, this air is good for you.”
“You're overruled, Cockeye,” Maxie murmured lazily. “The trouble with you is you're so used to the stink of the East Side, fresh air is strange to you. We take a little nap here. Make believe you're sleeping in the sand down at Coney Island.”
He turned over. In a minute he started to snore.
Cockeye obediently stretched out on the sand, mumbling querulously, “What the hell we paying the hotel for those rooms if we're not using them?”
That was the last sound I heard for awhile. I just lay back thinking: look at us, all pooped out from a little motor jaunt. We're getting soft. We used to take a non-stop ride to Chicago, Louisiana, Florida, or do a little chore for the Combination up in Canada like it was nothing.
We had the reputation of being iron men—plenty of activity in those days when the Combination was first organized. Boy, am I goddamn sleepy. It must be this ocean air.
I guess I dozed off. We must have been asleep for hours. I began feeling warm. In my drowsy state, I thought I was in the baths, lying under a sunlamp. It was getting hotter by the minute.
I heard female voices exclaiming, “This is disgraceful.” I seemed to hear a man laughing. A girl giggled and some more voices said, “It's a shame. Somebody should call a policeman.”
At the word policeman, I opened my eyes and looked around.
There were little groups standing around at respectful distances. Some were glaring, others were laughing at us. I hurriedly reached for my pants.
“Hey, Max. Hey, Max,” I whispered.
Max jumped up, startled, and looked around. He grabbed his pants, kicking Patsy and Cockeye awake. We hurriedly put our pants on. We stood up feeling foolish, holding our shoes and stockings.
Maxie muttered, “This is stinko.”
We plowed through the sand to the rear entrance of the hotel. As we passed the first group of women, Maxie bowed and solemnly said, “Sorry, ladies, but you'll have to excuse us. We're nature lovers. We're members of a nudist colony.”
One of them yelled after us, “Why don't you practice your cult in the woods? You should be arrested, you silly nature lovers.”
The rest jeered after us.
Maxie said, “I feel goddamn silly.”
“Yeh, me, too,” I said.
We went up to our rooms and lay down in comfortable beds. There were awnings on the windows which kept the sun out. The rooms were on an upper floor, overlooking the ocean. The salt breeze coming in was refreshing. It kept the rooms cool. It was quiet; we slept all day.
It was almost dark when I woke. My watch said seven p.m. Maxie was still asleep on the bed next to mine. I lay looking at him. He was snoring softly. His face was completely relaxed, and it still had an innocent boyish look in spite of the brutal, rigorous life he had led. Yeh, we led. We'd been pretty close as far back as I could remember. Through thick and thin as Horatio Alger used to say. Yeh, we certainly understood each other. Well, why not? We were brought up together. We did the same things, thought about the same things, all our lives. I'd bet he and I could converse without using words, just by a glance, a lift of an eyebrow, a twist of the lip, a movement of an arm, a tap of the foot, by a series of ordinary gestures which would be missed by the uninitiated. Gesticulatory conversation. That's a pretty good phrase to spring when I'm conversing with an erudite person. Yeh, it'll make him think I'm smart, a guy with a college education.
Goddamn, why the hell didn't I continue my schooling? I could have been a lawyer, maybe. Like that shise. What the hell, that's life. The other guy's grass is always greener. So the
guy has an education. What the hell does he get? Twenty-five bucks for a slot machine arrest? I spent more than that almost every night, on a piece of chippy.
That Dixie Davis: he's making a buck with the Dutchman. Yeh, but not on his law business.
Yeh, you take most of these guys that completed their education— we can buy and sell them. We make more money in one week than they make in an entire year. With their college education! Sour grapes. What's the use of kidding myself? I wish I'd followed that red-headed principal's advice. What was his name? Yeh, O'Brien. He was a pretty good skate. Maybe I could have taken up journalism like my kid brother. Yeh, I could have been a writer maybe.
Maybe someday I will write a book. Yeh, maybe twenty or thirty years later. Maybe this era we're going through will sound interesting to the new generation. That's if I live long enough to tell it. I chuckled aloud.
CHAPTER 23
Maxie stirred and opened his eyes.
“What time is it, Noodles?” he asked.
“Seven twenty,” I told him.
Maxie got up. He went through the bathroom into the adjoining bedroom. He woke Patsy and Cockeye. Then I saw him go to the phone. I heard him say to the operator, “Send up a couple of boys.”
I laughed and said to Maxie, “The operator will think you're a queer, asking for a couple of boys like that.”
Maxie smiled. “Okay, I see what you mean.” He said into the mouthpiece, “I meant, send up a couple of bellhops and the hotel barber, Miss. I assure you we're normal, if you're interested.”
I could hear the bang she gave the phone. I saw Maxie rub his ear.
Five minutes later there was a knock on the door. Patsy opened it. A well-dressed man wearing a slouch hat well over his eyes walked in. He looked us over shrewdly. He had a wide-awake intelligent appearance.
Maxie looked him up and down insolently and said, “I phoned for a barber. You don't look like a barber. I asked for a couple of bellhops, and you don't look like a couple of bellhops. What's on your mind, pally?”
