by Paddy Kelly
“Great. Redbone, do me a favour, will ya? Go upstairs and tell Louie ta call me at this number, you ready?”
“Shoot, Cool Breeze.”
“Murrayhill 7 2391, 2391. Got it?”
“Like fleas on a dog, brother. Hey Doc, you still want me get a hold’a that sign-painter fer ya new winda?”
“Nah. Little short’a green right now. Talk ta ya later.”
Doc continued his improvised surveillance of Kitty’s and noticed that Lansky was doing nearly all the talking. His curiosity was piqued. He looked around and found a matchbox on the ground. Breaking it up, he jammed a piece into the hook lever so it would still ring even though he was holding the receiver in his hand pretending to talk. The small café had only a single front door and the façade consisted of a large painted sign affixed to the wall above the picture window. He removed the matchbox on the second ring.
“Doc?”
“Yeah, Louie. Look, I’m at midtown at – ”
“Redbone told me. You okay? What’s up?”
“I’m fine. I’m watching some guys in a restaurant. I want you to come up here, I’ll wait.”
“You figure there’s time, Doc?”
“Yeah, they don’t look like they’re in any hurry to order. Grab a cab. If I’m not here, stay glued to the booth across the street. I’ll call ya there. Got it?”
“Roger, wilco, Doc! Captain Marvel to the rescue!” Louie hung up.
I swear that guy’s only got one oar in the water, thought Doc. Doc approached Bloomingdale’s and entered through the 59th Street entrance. Leon wasn’t hard to find. As soon as Doc saw him, he remembered the football scholarship Redbone talked about.
“Excuse me, you Leon?”
“Who wants ta know?”
“I’m a friend of your uncle, Redbone.” Leon continued to sweep purposely towards Doc.
“So?” The six foot four, muscular athlete remained unimpressed.
“I’m a PI. I could use your help.”
Leon stopped sweeping and stood upright to look down at Doc. Jesus! My neck already aches from looking up, Doc thought.
“Oh, so you that guy likes goin’ around peepin’ in ladies bedrooms at night?”
“No. That’s the other guy, my ex-partner.”
Leon continued to glare at Doc, remaining motionless, indicating that the clock was running.
“Look, I’m on to something. I need a closer look, but I can’t get too close.”
“Oh, so you want me ta do it ’cause nobody will notice me.
That it?”
This ain’t gettin’ any easier, thought Doc.
“Leon, how long are your breaks?”
“What?”
“Tell me, how long are your breaks?”
“Fifteen minutes, why?” Leon was suspicious but couldn’t finger the scam.
“You make what, thirty-five cents an hour?”
“You figure I‘m some sorta’ chump? I make fifty!”
“Fifty cents, okay. All I need ya to do is go down the block ta Kitty’s. Ya know it?”
Leon shot him a look as if to say, ‘Did my mother drop me?’ Leon knew all too well the pretty Puerto Rican waitress who floated around in Kitty’s.
“There are three men sitting by the front door. The guy in the middle is the only one I know. I need the other two guys and anything else you can pick up.” Doc reached into his trouser pocket and fished out a twenty. He offered it to Leon. “There’s a week’s pay for fifteen minutes work, and ya get to look at a cute waitress.”
“Hey, Mr D!” Leon’s voice boomed across the lunch counter to a small, middle-aged man working on books. “I’m going on break!” Leon took the twenty, undid his apron and set his broom near the corner.
“Go in through the back door,” Doc offered.
“Som’a dem buildin’s pretty old. How you know there’s a back door?”
“That building was built after the Triangle factory fire, that means they had ta go by the new code. Gotta have one.” Leon and Doc set off for the stairs.
An old man who was sitting next to Mr D and losing a fight with a BLT sandwich, commented about how there was no respect from the hired help any more. Not like in the old days. Mr D invited the old man to tell Leon that he couldn’t go on break.
Upstairs on the south corner of 59th and Third, at Leon’s request, Doc traded the twenty for two fives and a ten and then remained on the cold corner while Leon sought out the back entrance to Kitty’s.
“Who the hell is that?” The three hundred pound man with the four day growth on his face, standing behind the counter, asked Rosie the waitress as he watched the tall, black athlete sweeping the floor. Rosie stuffed her newly earned five dollar bill into her left bra strap and answered the repulsive looking grill cook.
“He eez my brother. He on part-time for a leetle while.” Rosie continued to draw coffee from the chrome-plated forty cup urn.
“Your brother?” he stated in disbelief. Rosie finished her chore and began to walk away.
“Yeah. My mother had a ding for de choofer.”
As Leon swept closer to the table he found that the conversation was easily discernible owing to the sparse crowd in the café.
“Gurfein, quit worryin’ about bein’ seen! Nobody knows you up here!” Polakoff was annoyed at losing time from the office in the first place. Having to tolerate Gurfein complaining about being seen every five minutes only aggravated the situation.
“Lucky will do this thing, I’m tellin’ ya without a doubt. He’s very patriotic. He even tried enlisting, but got a medical rejection,” Lansky reassured the Assistant DA.
“Whata you think?” Gurfein addressed Polatkoff without using his name. Leon could sweep for a long time in the same general area, but not forever.
“You heard it same as me. This is his school chum tellin’ ya he’ll do it. What more do ya want?”
“I want ta know I can trust him!” snapped the assistant DA.
“Trust him?” Lansky was irritated by a DA broaching the subject of trust but, as throughout the meeting, he maintained his composure and spoke in a level, controlled tone.
“If it weren’t for this man sitting here, Mr Gurfein, this meeting never would have happened, because he is the only one we trust to deal with you.”
“Don’t pretend we’re cut from the same cloth, Lansky! one important difference between people like you and people like us.”
“If there’s only one difference, Mr Gurfein, then we’re more similar to one another than I thought.”
Gurfein didn’t respond. Instead, he looked over in Leon’s direction. The time on Leon’s meter ran out, and he swept around the room and made his way towards the back door. After thanking Rosie for the broom, Leon headed back to the corner where Doc was waiting.
“Well, the guy not doin’ so good at tryin’ ta look invisible’s name is Gurfein. I couldn’t get the other guy’s name.”
“What was the point of the conversation?” Doc was stamping his feet and had the fur collar of his bomber jacket up around his ears. The temperature had dropped considerably.
“They were talkin’ about some guy named Lucky.”
Doc stopped stomping his feet and got that dog-looking-in-the-mirror-for-the-first-time look. “Sounded like they was talkin’ ’bout breakin’ him outta jail or somethin’.”
Doc peered around the corner to see Louie standing in the phone booth stomping his feet. “Anything else?”
“No, that’s ’bout it. They was too busy arguin’ about the difference between the two of them.”
Doc laughed to himself. Toss up there.
“I owe ya one.”
“No problem. Anytime you got a twenty you don’t need, let me know.”
Doc caught Louie’s attention as he crossed Third Avenue to the pizza place catty-cornered from where he and Leon were standing.
Louie came inside with Doc to warm up, and they both stood watching the front door of Kitty’s.
�
�Hey Doc. Nice day for a stake-out, huh?”
Doc held up two fingers to the guy behind the counter who prepped two slices. “Yeah, what were they doin’ before you came over?”
“Well they still haven’t eaten. Just sittin’ there talkin’. Almost looked like they were fightin’ over somethin’.”
“They’re not there ta eat.”
“What’re they doin’ in a restaurant then?”
“Makin’ some kinda deal.”
“You know ’em?”
“Two of ’em. There’s a DA and one of ’em’s Lansky.”
“Meyer Lansky? Shit! Looks like we’re in the Majors.”
As the implication slowly seeped through to Louie, a broad smile swept across his pudgy face.
“You look like Sylvester in the first reel of a Tweety Bird cartoon. What the hell you grinnin’ at?” Doc asked.
“You tailin’ these smucks wouldn’t have anything to do with your father, would it?”
“This ain’t about my father. Besides, who said anything about tailin’?”
The guy slid the two slices across the top of the glass display case. “I know you, Doc. This is gonna get more interesting.”
“It’s already more interesting. But first I need you to make a phone call.”
“Phone call! Did you call Nikki yet?”
“No, not yet. I got distracted.”
“C’mon, Doc! What’s the problem? No guts, no air medals!”
“Good! Here’s your chance to win an air medal, because you’re about ta call her.”
“ME? Doc, you ain’t askin’me ta fix you up!”
“Fix me up? You got me in deep enough as it is. I don’t need you fixin’me up.”
“I don’t want to call her, Doc! I’d be lost for words.”
“Just make the call, Cupid. Tell her I need her to get Ira off…” Doc reached for the pizza.
“What…?”
“… early! Tell her things are okay with Norma. She’s waitin’ on him for supper. Now go.” Doc pointed to the phone booth in the back of the pizzaria. Louie moved away from the window. “And don’t get creative!” Doc warned.
“Third District Headquarters. How may I direct your call?”
Louie talked as he ate. “Nikki? This is Doc McKeowen’s partner, Louie Mancino. He asked me ta give you a call.”
“Why didn’t he call himself? No guts?”
“No, no. It ain’t like that! We’re on stake-out and he can’t get to the phone just now, so…”
“But you could?” Louie was out of his league. The hell with etiquette.
“Look, I got a message. Tell Ira’s boss that Ira needs ta be home tonight for dinnertime. Doc say’s everything’s okay with his wife. Got it?”
“Tell Doc that’s fantastic news, and I don’t know Ira’s boss, but Shirley does, and I’m sure she’ll help us out.”
“That’s great, Nikki.”
“Anything else, Louie Mancino?”
“Yeah. I’m not supposed ta say nuthin’, but he talks about ya all the time.”
“Oh, he does, huh?” Nikki wasn’t taken in for a second, but she was enjoying the ride.
“Honest, every day. He’s been meanin’ta call, but we’re on this really big case, see and he’s such a sweet guy. He’s so considerate of others. There’s this old guy in our building…” Louie rattled on until he was hit in back of the head with a wadded-up coffee cup. He turned to see Doc signalling him to sign off. Doc pointed out the window and threw a dollar bill on the counter.
“You take the DA, he’s the guy in the brown coat. I’ll take the other two. And be careful, damn it!” Doc sensed Louie’s apprehension. As they watched the threesome part company outside Kitty’s, Doc patted Louie on the back. “Just relax and act natural, okay?” Louie nodded and they walked away from each other. “Hey Louie! See ya back at the Skull Cave!”
Louie smiled.
Doris had the following day off, so she didn’t object when Louie told her he’d be at Doc’s late that night. Doris liked Doc and didn’t think much of his wife for bailing out on him when things got rough. Louie was put through the wringer every night when he came home regarding Doc’s progress in the romance department, and although he was annoyed by the constant questioning, Louie loved her all the more for her concern.
Doc had been in the office waiting for Louie for the better part of an hour and had been sipping the same drink while sketching out a flow chart. A half dozen crumpled pieces of paper littered the floor and Doc had just reached up for the bottle of Jameson when he heard a strange echo in the hall.
The Emerson had been playing the war news and as he turned down the volume, the echo grew louder. He smiled and sat back down, recognising the off-key voice instantly.
Seconds later, Mancino entered and stood in the doorway as he finished singing the last verse of, Don’t Sit Under the Apple Tree.
“Evenin’, Maxine,” Doc said with a smirk. Louie struck a pose like a pin-up as he finished his number. Then he walked over and sat down at his new desk.
“Funny, you don’t look drunk.”
“Oh, I ain’t drunk. Yet. I had a coupl’a beers on the way over. But I sure wouldn’t mind a taste a the old Scottish.”
“It’s Irish, Louie. Not Scotch.”
“Whatever it is, beats the hell outta getting’ drunk on Amaretto!”
Doc poured Louie a drink and set the glass on the desk.
“If it’s not too much trouble, you wanna tell me why you’re on cloud nine?”
“Louie the almost PI did not lose his subject.” He pointed at Doc as he spoke.
“Good man! Where’d he wind up?”
“You’ll never guess!” Louie might as well have been in his cups. It was the post-revelation euphoria experienced by great men of science, philanthropists and explorers. Those who have not only discovered an extremely significant and vital piece of information, but realise that they have, by their discoveries and contributions, become destined to alter the course of human events.
“The DA’s office?”
“Nope!”
“C’mon, Louie. I don’t wanna play games. This thing’s really got my curiosity up.”
“I know. That’s why when I tell you, you’re gonna have a cow!” Louie’s euphoria was contagious and Doc was starting to feel better than he had in a long time. Louie lifted his glass.
“When Mary had a little lamb the doctors were surprised. But when old McDonald had a farm, that really took the prize!”
“You sure you ain’t drunk?”
“Alright, damn it. I’ll give you a hint.” Louie fell forward on his chair and leaned both arms on the desk as he began to sing. “I had the craziest dream last night.”
“Ah… Helen Forrest, Forrest. He went upstate and into the forest!”
“Now who’s drunk? Jesus, Doc! Where’s the last place on earth you’d expect him ta go?”
“Okay, Louie. I give up. Where?”
“Number nine-zero Church Street!”
“A DA? You’re shittin’me?” Doc sat forward in his chair.
“I wouldn’t shit you, Doc. You’re my favourite turd. Now, how about another drink before my fuckin’ arm falls off?”
“Louie! Tell me you ain’t been drinkin’!” Doc poured him another one.
“I’m not drunk Doc. But if I ain’t drunk in about an hour, it ain’t gonna be from lack’a tryin’.” Louie shot the whiskey back.
“My little fat protégé found a connection between the DA, the US Navy and the Mob!”
“Yup!” Louie reached into his jacket pocket and produced a small notepad. “Subject entered building, see item thirteen.” He flipped several pages. “Item thirteen, address number ninety Church Street. Shall I continue?”
“No, I believe you. But now we have to find out why.”
“Well, first off, who was the guy with Lansky you were followin’?”
“Name's Polakoff. Lansky’s lawyer apparently.”
“So
whatever they were doin’, Lansky figured he had to have his lawyer there.” Louie was being a PI.
“Right. But why?”
“Cuttin’ a deal?” he suggested.
“Not in a million years. Besides, he’s not in any trouble, at least none that’s made the papers.”
“I remember hearin’ that he ain’t legal. A Russian alien or somethin’. Maybe they’re lookin’ ta deport him?”
“Not likely. He‘s been here too long. Even so, he’d be dealin’ with INS, not the DA.”
“Squealin’ on somebody?”
“Lansky? That’d be like you goin’ on a diet and showin’ up at a gym.” Louie was not amused.
“Shit, Doc. I can’t figure it! Give me another drink.” Doc poured Louie and himself another one and then made a suggestion.
“Let’s put it to bed for a while and talk about something else. Maybe it’ll come to us.”
“Good idea, Doc. Let’s talk about why you ain’t called Nikki yet.”
“Jesus, Louie! What, is it your mission in life ta get me fixed up with somebody?”
“Doc, what the hell ya afraid of? She’s smart, unattached, sounds sweet as apple pie, on the phone anyway. And I’ll bet she’s cute. Is she cute, Doc?’
“Yeah, she’s cute.” Doc smiled at the sudden image of Nikki’s face that popped into his head. “As a matter of fact, she’d give Lauren Becall a run for her money.”
“Okay, then!” Louie downed his drink. “Let’s check the universal babe-o-meter. Brains, a ten. Availability, a ten. Personality, a ten.” Doc was increasingly amused by Louie’s floor show. “And looks? Makes your dick harder than Chinese arithmetic!”
“Does your mother know you talk like that?”
“Shit, Doc! My mom’s Sicilian, she taught me to talk like this!”
“It ain’t just about sex, ya know.”
“I realise that it ain’t just about sex, Doc! But it’s mostly about sex! At least in the beginning. Hell, sex and love’s the only real things men and women got in common. It’s the only thing we really need each other for!”
“You ever thought about writin’ a column?” Doc sensed the whiskey was kicking in and so egged Louie on by pouring him another one.
“Not really.” Louie got up to pour himself another drink then realised his glass had already been charged. “But I used to give advice to farmers about breedin’ chickens.” He swallowed his whiskey then poured again. Doc took possession of the bottle.
