The Hoods

by Grey, Harry

  “Where's Salvy? Let's wait for him,” the big guy said.

  “We can make decisions without him,” I said. “How is it going at your end?”

  “Without Salvy? All right—if you think it's all right. Did Salvy tell you I want this thing to run another two weeks at least? So I can make it look tough to my associates and get some decent assessments from them?”

  He rubbed his hands, a smile of satisfaction on his face. “This time it's going to be a big bundle. There'll be enough for all of us. Even that young boy. Hey, good-looking,” he called to him. “How would you like about four—five thousand for yourself?”

  “Drop dead, you bastard,” Jim said.

  “How do you like that for an answer? Oh well, that's what I like in my boys: spirit. But not too much of it. Yes, don't show too much of it, or I'll have Salvy throw you out of the organization.”

  “Salvy ain't throwin' anybody.”

  Jim looked at me.

  I nodded and smiled, “Go ahead, Jim,” I said. “You tell him.”

  “Salvy has been thrown out himself,” Jim said with malice.

  “Who threw who out without my permission?” The big guy glared around the table.

  The Ape guffawed and gestured with his thumb at us. “These guys.”

  “These gentlemanly boys?” the big guy said, looking at us.

  “Gentlemen, my ass,” Max said.

  Salvy came out of the toilet. I didn't like his new look. I signaled Max. Max watched as he came closer.

  The big guy saw Salvy.

  He said, “Hello, Salvy, what's this I hear? You let these guys push you out?” He baited. “How come?” He chuckled, “Of course, it makes no difference who I pay off.”

  “I'm still in. You pay me off,” Salvy snarled. “I got men out on the street, workin this strike. I got to pay them. Nobody ever pushed Salvy out of anything.”

  He stood there, wild. Suddenly an ice pick appeared in his hand.

  Max had his gun out. He pointed it at Salvy. “Drop that ice pick, you stupid bastard,” he growled.

  I could tell Salvy had given himself a needle by the wild look on his face. He had the temporary crazy courage of a junky. His beady eyes narrowed into knifelike slits.

  I stood up and smiled at him.

  “Salvy, take it easy. Put that thing away,” I said.

  I walked up to him, my thumb on the button of my knife. His eyes were heavy with hate.

  He hissed at me, “You friggin bastard, keep away,” like a snake.

  He spit at me. It caught me full in the face. I slashed out at his hand. My knife was longer and quicker than his ice pick. My blade slashed in between his fingers. The point went into the palm and right through to the back of his hand. His pick dropped to the floor. He stood there for a split second amazed and shocked. I jerked my knife out and wiped the blade on his yellow suit. His hand was dripping. He looked at it and began shrieking again, “Bastard! Bastard!”

  Maxie walked over and whacked him on the side of the head with the butt end of his .45.

  He writhed and shuddered a few times on the floor, then lay still. I felt his heart. It was beating.

  I said, “He's okay.” I ripped his shirt off and bandaged his hand.

  “Okay,” Max said, “we did enough screwing around for one day. Now we get down to business. You,” he motioned to Jimmy, “sit down.”

  Jim sat down.

  “Okay, you, sit down and listen—”

  He motioned to the big guy. The big guy sat down, but he didn't listen. He began talking.

  “A fine piece of work,” he said, nodding to the prostrate figure. “You're the type of guys I want on my payroll. Action, that's what I want, action. Put people in their places where they belong. People are getting too smart and uppity these days with their goddamn radical ideas and things. Especially all these goddamn foreigners, these lousy Jews, these goddamn Niggers.”

  Maxie was going to clip the bastard. I signaled him to take it easy. I needed him. His cooperation would facilitate things. Even so I couldn't refrain from asking, more out of curiosity than satisfaction:

  “Hey, fat shmuck with ear laps, don't you know most of us here are Jewish? Even Salvy recognized that.”

  The big guy said, “I didn't know you were Jewish.” He smiled, But that makes no difference to me. I have many Jewish friends and business associates, in fact one of my partners is Jewish. You got to meet him.”

  “We want this strike settled today,” I said. “This is the package I want you to recommend to your group.”

  I gave him the details I had promised Jimmy. He sat there red-faced, shaking his head. He stood up.

  “What are you talking about? Are you fellows working for me or for the union?” he asked.

  “For the union,” Max snapped, “but you'll take orders from us just the same.”

  “No, I won't,” he said in a huff. “Where do you fellows think you are? This is still America, you know. We do things here in the American way.”

  Maxie took a step in his direction.

  I said, “Nix, Max.”

  I turned to the big guy.

  “You illegit, sanctimonious bastard, when it serves your purpose, you wrap the flag around yourself, don't you?”

  He didn't answer. He turned around and started to walk away. Patsy grabbed his arm and twisted it behind him and marched him back to the table.

  “Let the shmuck go,” I said.

  He flicked imaginary dirt off his arm and glared righteously at us. He walked away.

  At the door he turned and shouted at us.

  “You fellows want a fight, you'll get it. I'll do things the businesslike way. I'll hire strikebreakers and guards through a private detective agency. In one hour I'll have them in every building.”

  Maxie clattered with his feet, pretending to go after him. The big guy turned and ran out. We heard him hurrying up the stairs.

  Max and I looked at each other. I shrugged.

  “We should have beat his brains out,” he said.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “What do we do?” Fitz asked.

  “Continue pulling them out,” I said to Jimmy. “Tie up every building you possibly can. Keep your membership perked up.”

  “It's tough. They're broke. The guys on the picket lines haven't even got coffee money,” Jimmy said. “But I'll keep them in line.”

  I took out my dough. I tossed him four five-hundred dollar bills. “Buy your men some coffee,” I said. “If you need more, let me know.”

  He looked at the money in his hand unbelievingly. “Gee, this is big money,” he said. “Thanks, a couple of guys need a small loan of a few bucks. Is it all right?”

  I said, “How come they're so broke? They're only out a couple of days?”

  “They're always broke; they don't make a living wage,” Jim said.

  I gave him a grand. “Spread it around, there's more where this came from,” I said.

  What did I care? I knew on an assignment like this, or, for that matter, on any assignment, Max or I put in a tab for twice the amount we laid out. Then we'd split the difference among the four of us.

  “Here, you fellows take this address down in case something important comes up.” I gave Fitz and Jim the address of Fat Moe's. “Give me the phone number and address of your local, Fitz,” I said.

  He gave it to me.

  “Well, I guess we may as well go out and see what's doing on the street,” Jim said.

  “Yeh,” I said. “And there's no necessity for coming back to this joint either.”

  “Yes.” Jim smiled for the first time.

  We shook hands.

  Fitz and Jim left. Willie the Ape came over.

  He said, “I know who you are. I could tell by the way you handle the shiv.”

  “Yeah?” I said.

  “You're the guy they call Noodles the Shiv from Delancey Street.”

  “Nah, you got me wrong, pal,” I said. “I'm Chief Potch-in-Tauchess
from Mulberry Street.”

  I looked coldly at him. “What else is on your mind?”

  “Nuthin much. Only I want to say I'm not like Salvy; I got respect for people, for the Combination.”

  “You'll live longer that way,” I said, “and so will he.” I nodded to the prone figure on the floor. “Can't you teach him a little of your good sense? To have respect for people, so he won't get banged around?”

  “Nah, you can't teach him anything; he's worse than the Crazy Mick. Besides, he takes the needle.”

  I shrugged. “That's his business.”

  “The Snake, he never forgets,” the Ape smirked.

  I walked over close to him. “So he never forgets? So what next?” I said.

  “I want to make a deal for him and me.”

  “We don't make deals with nobody,” Max cut in.

  I was curious. “What's on your mind?” I asked.

  “Me and the Snake, we got three buildings. We do shylocking, and a little booking there—horses and numbers. The big guy from the association, the guy who just left, Crowning, he's the real estate agent of those buildings. If the union organizes those buildings, the big guy won't let us do business there.”

  “What buildings are they?” I asked.

  He mentioned three immense loft buildings in the garment center.

  I shook my head. “No dice; everything get's organized, especially that district.”

  “We make two-three gees out of them buildings every week. The Snake won't like it.”

  “So he'll lump it,” I said.

  “He won't like it,” the Ape repeated gloomily.

  “Look, you stupid bastard,” Max growled, “we could give you, the Snake and the Fairy 'the business' right here and be done with it. No witnesses or nothing.”

  “I didn't mean nothin, honest, fellers. I told you, I got respect. You say no good, it's no good. I take orders. There's no harm askin, is there?”

  I heard a grunt from the Snake. He sat up. He looked around dazedly, and rubbed his head.

  Max said, “Now remember, both you guys, lay off. No horseshit from either of you.”

  The Ape nodded. The Snake just looked dazed. We walked out. The Fairy looked after us.

  CHAPTER 33

  We drove downtown on Broadway.

  I looked out through the window. I saw the first picket line. I nudged Max and pointed.

  He nodded, “Yep, I guess we better get started. Hold it, Cockeye.”

  Cockeye pulled up to the curb.

  Max said, “I'll just give it a quick once over.”

  He was gone five minutes. When he got back, he said, “The elevators are being worked by strikebreakers.”

  “Who's in, a mob or an agency?” I asked.

  “Detective agency,” Max said. “To me it looks like this guy Crowning had them lined up all the while.”

  “Let's go up to the union office. Maybe we can get some dope up there,” I said.

  The office was a few blocks away. Max and I went up. Nobody of any consequence was in. Only a few strikers waiting for instructions. The girl told us where we could find Fitz and Jimmy. After twenty minutes scouting around, we found them in a picket line. They were a bit discouraged.

  Jimmy said, “We pull the men out, but as quick as we pull them, they're replaced. It don't look too good.”

  “Don't worry, Jim,” I said. “You got an idea where the strikebreakers come from?”

  Jim shook his head.

  Fitz said, “Maybe they're from that bastard, Bergoff.”

  “Well, we'll find out,” I said.

  “And put a stop to them,” Max promised.

  “We'll break their heads, them boonyets,” Patsy added.

  We walked away. Max looked at me.

  “How about we join the police department, Max?” I suggested.

  “Yep, just like in the old days. That's a good way to find out things,” Max smiled. “I wonder if them 'potsies' are still laying around.”

  “Yeah, they must be,” I said. “That closet hasn't been cleaned out in years.”

  “Well, we'll see,” Max said.

  When we arrived at Fat Moe's, Max walked directly over to the closet. He picked up the exercise mat. He called out, “Yep, there it is. Cockeye, get that box of 'potsies' out of the bottom of the closet.”

  “Like the good old days. Cops one day, revenue agents on a raid the next. Remember, I used to ask who the hell we going to impersonate today, chicken inspectors?”

  Patsy laughed.

  Cockeye laid the cardboard shoebox on the table. He said, “How about being whorehouse inspectors, Max?”

  Max dumped the box upside down without comment. He scattered an assortment of shiny badges on the table. “Today,” he said with affectation, “we are going to be members of New York's lousiest.”

  “We going to be plain cops?” Patsy asked.

  “How about making me a police captain, Max?” Cockeye cut in.

  “You guys start from the bottom, then maybe I'll promote you to captain later in the day,” Maxie said.

  He picked up three nickel-plated regulation patrolman badges. He tossed one to each of us. For himself he picked out a shiny yellow metal police lieutenant's badge. As he put it in his pocket, he assumed a gruff basso, “I'm Lieutenant Broderick and I want you plainclothes men on your toes today.”

  “Up Broadway, Patrolman Cockeye,” Maxie called out as he seated himself next to me on the back seat.

  “Kish mir in tauchess, Lieutenant,” Cockeye said.

  “That's what I want from a member of New York's lousiest, that kind of respect,” Max said.

  We rolled up Broadway. Groups of people were gathered at the entrances to loft and office buildings. Pickets with big sandwich signs were walking up and down in front of the buildings. It had grown into a general elevator and building maintenance strike.

  “Yep, this is our meat,” Max said. “Okay, Cockeye boy, pull over,” Maxie directed.

  We parked in front of a tall office building. We passed the pickets when we entered the building. They looked at us curiously. Then they shouted after us, “You lousy finks!” Somehow, I felt guilty as we walked into the elevator.

  The elevator was crowded in spite of the strike. It was being operated by a short stocky strikebreaker. By the time the elevator reached the top floor, only two husky passengers besides us remained.

  The operator looked suspiciously at us and said, “Top floor, all out.”

  Maxie said, “How about these two guys?”

  One of the husky men, through the corner of his mouth, said pugnaciously, “What's it to you, wise guy?”

  Max took out his badge. “I'm Lieutenant Broderick, Police Department. Who are you men?”

  The guy apologized, “I'm sorry, Lieutenant, I should have recognized you. We're from the Thespus Detective Agency.”

  Max said gruffly, “Let's see your credentials.”

  They showed cards signifying their employment by the agency.

  Maxie examined them carefully. “Okay, they're in order, but no violence from you men will be tolerated under any circumstances. Understand?” Maxie said it with exaggerated sternness.

  “Yes, Lieutenant,” they replied meekly.

  “Okay, operator,” Max said briskly. “Down and make it express.”

  “Yes, sir,” he answered with alacrity.

  Walking out of the building into the Caddy, the pickets again shouted after us, “You lousy finks!”

  Maxie laughed, “Hey, Noodles,” he said, “listen to your meek nebishes.”

  Others shouted after us. “You friggin bastards.”

  I laughed sheepishly, “They must be a new breed.”

  Every few blocks we went through the same pattern. The setup was the same—a strikebreaker as operator and goons as guards all from the Thespus Detective Agency.

  We sat in the car on a side street for awhile, thinking what to do next. Cockeye and Patsy made one or two suggestions which we disc
arded without comment.

  For want of something better to do, I followed the enticing movements of a shapely smartly dressed miss swinging down the street. I wasn't the only one.

  Cockeye said, “What a figure, what a pair of shafts.”

  “She's probably a dress model,” Patsy said.

  She reminded me of my date. I speculated on her measurements. I'll bet my date's a twenty waist and a forty bust, I thought to myself.

  “What are you smiling at? Thought of something good?” Max asked me.

  “Yeah, I'm thinking of something, something damn good,” I laughed.

  “Okay, spill it,” Max said.

  “I got to turn it over first,” I said smiling, “in my mind.”

  “Don't sleep on it,” Max grunted.

  “I hope to,” I mumbled.

  “What?” Max asked.

  “Nuthin,” I said.

  “Oh, I thought you said something,” he said.

  We lit fresh cigars. We sat saying nothing, just watching the girls pass by. I was hoping nobody would think of anything to do that would keep us out late tonight.

  To forestall them I said, “The best thing to do, in my opinion, is to see if we can put this agency, this Thespus detective agency, out of action for the duration of the strike. And the best time to put them out of action is early in the morning. Sort of get them unawares. When they first open up for business. What do you think, Max? We got to keep those elevators idle. Make the pressure of the complaints of the stranded tenants count.”

  Max considered it for a moment. He scratched his head.

  “Well—yep—it sounds okay, I guess.”

  He was uncertain.

  I followed up, “Yeh, I think it's the best bet, Max. If we stop them from sending out men, we got it pretty well licked. We take a ride over to Eddie's and tell him to have a couple of hundred 'zulus' ready to break the heads of the strikebreakers we can't reach. Have the office contact the deputy commissioner to move the cops out of the area so Eddie's 'zulus' can have a clear field for action.”

  “Yep, that I like, Noodles.”

  Max slapped me enthusiastically on the back. “You still got the ole noodle working on all sixteen, ole kid, ole sock.”

  “Yeh,” I grunted modestly.

  “Smart feller that Noodles,” Cockeye laughed as he swung the Caddy away from the curb.