by Mario Puzo
Frank bawled me out for my lack of business instinct. I was too nice a guy, I had to be tougher or everybody would take advantage of me. But he was wrong. I was not as nice a guy as he thought or the rest of them thought.
Because I was looking ahead. Just using any kind of minimum intelligence, I knew that this racket had to blow up someday. There were too many people involved. Hundreds of civilians with jobs like mine were taking bribes. Thousands of reservists were being enlisted in the six months’ program only after paying a substantial entrance fee. That was something that still tickled me, everybody paying to get into the Army.
One day a man of about fifty came in with his son. He was a wealthy businessman, and his son was a lawyer just starting his practice. The father had a bunch of letters from politicians. He talked to the Regular Army major, then he came in again on the night of the unit’s meeting and met the Reserve colonel. They were very polite to him but referred him to me with the usual quota crap. So the father came over with his son to my desk to put the kid’s name down on the official waiting list. His name was Huller and his son’s name was Jeremy.
Mr. Hiller was in the automobile business, he had a Cadillac dealership. I made his son fill out the usual questionnaire and we chatted.
The kid didn’t say anything, he looked embarrassed. Mr. Hiller said, “How long does he have to wait on this list?”
I leaned back in my chair and gave him the usual answer. “Six months,” I said.
“He’ll be drafted before then,” Mr. Hiller said. “I’d appreciate it if you could do something to help him.”
I gave him my usual answer. “I’m just a clerk,” I said. “The only people that can help you are the officers you talked to already. Or you could try your congressman.”
He gave me a long, shrewd look, and then he took out his business card. “If you ever buy a car, come to see me, I’ll get it for you at cost.”
I looked at his card and laughed. “The day I can buy a Cadillac,” I said, “I won’t have to work here anymore.”
Mr. Hiller gave me a nice friendly smile. “I guess that’s right,” he said. “But if you can help me, I’d really appreciate it”
The next day I had a call from Mr. Hiller. He had the ersatz friendliness of the salesman con artist. He asked after my health, how I was doing and remarked on what a fine day it was. And then he said how impressed he was with my courtesy, so unusual in a government employee dealing with the public. So impressed and overcome with gratitude that when he heard about a year-old Dodge being offered for sale, he had bought it and would be willing to sell it to me at cost Would I meet him for lunch to discuss it?
I told Mr. Huller I couldn’t meet him for lunch but I would drop over to his automobile lot on my way home from work. He was located out in Roslyn, Long Island, which wasn’t more than a half hour away from my housing project in the Bronx. And it was still light when I got there. I parked my car and wandered around the grounds looking at the Cadillacs, and I was smitten by middle-class greed. The Cadillacs were beautiful, long, sleek and heavy; some burnished gold, others creamy white, dark blue, fire engine red. I peeked into the interiors and saw the lush carpeting, the rich-looking seats. I had never cared much about cars, but at that moment I hungered for a Cadillac.
I walked toward the long brick building and passed a robin’s-egg blue Dodge. It was a very nice car that I would have loved before I walked through those miles of fucking Cadillacs. I looked inside. The upholstery was comfortable looking but not rich. Shit.
In short, I was reacting in the style of the classically nouveau riche thief. Something very funny had happened to me the past months. I was very unhappy taking my first bribe. I had thought I would think less of myself, I had always so prided myself on never being a liar. Then why was I so enjoying my role as a sleazy small-time bribe taker and hustler?
The truth was that I had become a happy man because I had become a traitor to society. I loved taking money for betraying my trust as a government employee. I loved hustling the kids who came in to see me. I deceived and dissembled with the lip smacking relish of a peasant penny ante lago. Some nights, lying awake, thinking up new schemes, I also wondered at this change in myself. And I figured out that I was getting my revenge for having been rejected as an artist, that I was compensating for my worthless heritage as an orphan. For my complete lack of worldly success. And my general uselessness in the whole scheme of things. Finally I had found something I could do well; finally I was a success as a provider for my wife and children. And oddly enough I became a better husband and father. I helped the kids with their homework. Now that I had stopped writing I had more time for Vallie. We went out to the movies, I could afford a baby-sitter and the price of admission. I bought her presents. I even got a couple of magazine assignments and dashed off the pieces with ease. I told Vallie that I got all this fresh money from doing the magazine work.
I was a happy, happy thief, but in the back of my mind I knew there would come a day of reckoning. So I gave up all thoughts of buying a Cadillac and settled for the robin’s-egg blue Dodge.
Mr. Hiller had a large office with pictures of his wife and children on his desk. There was no secretary and I hoped it was because he was smart enough to get rid of her so that she wouldn’t see me. I liked dealing with smart people. I was afraid of stupid people.
Mr. Hiller made me sit down and take a cigar. Again he inquired after my health. Then he got down to brass tacks. “Did you see that blue Dodge? Nice car. Perfect shape. I can give you a real buy on it. What do you drive now?”
“A 1950 Ford,” I said.
“I’ll Jet you use that as a trade-in,” Mr. Hiller said. “You can have the Dodge for five hundred dollars cash and your car.”
I kept a straight face. Taking the five hundred bucks out of my wallet, I said, “You got a deal.”
Mr. Huller looked just a little surprised. “You’ll be able to help my son, you understand.” He really was a little worried that I hadn’t caught on.
Again I was astonished at how much I enjoyed these little transactions. I knew I could stick him up. That I could get the Dodge just by giving him my Ford. I was really making about a thousand dollars on this deal even by paying him the five hundred. But I didn’t believe in a crook driving hard bargains. I still had a little bit of Robin Hood in me. I still thought of myself as a guy who took money from the rich only by giving them their money’s worth. But what delighted me most was the worry on his face that I hadn’t caught on that this was a bribe. So I said very calmly, without a smile, very matter-of-fact, “Your son will be enlisted in the six months’ program within a week.”
Relief and a new respect showed on Mr. Hiller’s face. He said, “We’ll do all the papers tonight, and I'll take care of the license plates. It’s all set to go.” He leaned over to shake my hand. “I’ve heard stories about you,” he said. “Everybody speaks highly about you.”
I was pleased. Of course, I knew what he meant. That I had a good reputation as an honest crook. After all, that was something. It was an achievement.
While the papers were being drawn up by the clerical staff, Mr. Hiller chatted to some purpose. He was trying to find out if I acted alone or whether the major and colonel were in on it. He was clever, his business training, I guess. First he complimented me on how smart I was, how I caught on quickly to everything. Then he started to ask me questions. He was worried that the two officers would remember his son. Didn’t they have to swear his son into the Reserve six months’ program? Yes, that was true, I said.
“Won’t they remember him?” Mr. Hiller said. ‘Won’t they ask about how he jumped so quickly on the list?”
He had a point but not much of one. “Did I ask you any questions about the Dodge?” I said.
Mr. Huller smiled at me warmly. “Of course,” he said. “You know your business. But it’s my son. I don’t want to see him get in trouble for something I did.”
My mind began to wander. I was thinking how p
leased Vallie would be when she saw the blue Dodge: Blue was her favorite color and she hated the beat-up old Ford.
I forced myself to think about Mr. Hiller’s question. I remembered his Jeremy had long hair and wore a well-tailored suit with vest and shirt and tie.
“Tell Jeremy to get a short haircut and wear sports clothes when I call him into the office,” I said. “They won’t remember him.”
Mr. Hiller looked doubtful. “Jeremy will hate that,” he said.
“Then he doesn’t have to,” I said. “I don’t believe in telling people to do what they don’t feel like doing. I’ll take care of it.” I was just a little impatient.
“All right,” Mr. Hiller said. “I’ll leave it in your hands.”
When I drove home with the new car, Vallie was delighted and I took her and the kids for a drive. The Dodge rode like a dream and we played the radio. My old Ford didn’t have a radio. We stopped off and had pizza and soda, routine now but something we had rarely done before in our married life because we had had to watch every penny. Then we stopped off in a candy store and had ice-cream sodas and I bought a doll for my daughter and war games for the two boys. And I bought Vallie a box of Schrafft chocolates. I was a real sport, spending money like a prince. I sang songs in the car as we were driving home, and after the kids were in bed, Vallie made love to me as if I were the Aga Khan and I had just given her a diamond as big as the Ritz.
I remembered the days when I had hocked my typewriter to get us through the week. But that had been before I ran away to Vegas. Since then my luck had changed. No more two jobs; twenty grand stashed away in my old manuscript folders on the bottom of the clothes closet. A thriving business which could make my fortune unless the whole racket blew up or there was some worldwide accommodation that made the big powers stop spending so much money on their armies. For the first time I understood how the war industry bigwigs and industrialists and the army generals felt. The threat of a stabilized world could plunge me back into poverty. It was not that I wanted another war, but I couldn’t help laughing when I realized that all my so-called liberal attitudes were dissolving in the hope that Russia and the United States didn’t get too friendly, not for a while at least.
Vallie was snoring a little, which didn’t bother me. She worked hard with the kids and taking care of the house and me. But it was curious that I was always awake late at night no matter how exhausted I was. She always fell asleep before I did. Sometimes I would get up and work on my novel in the kitchen and cook myself something to eat and not go back to bed until three or four in the morning. But now I wasn’t working on a novel, so I had no work to do. I thought vaguely that I should start writing again. After all, I had the time and money. But the truth was I found my life too exciting, wheeling and dealing and taking bribes and for the first time spending money on little foolish things.
But the big problem was where to stash my cash permanently. I couldn’t keep it in the house. I thought of my brother, Artie. He could bank it for me. And he would if I asked him to do it. But I couldn’t. He was so painfully honest. And he would ask me where I got the dough and I’d have to tell him. He had never done a dishonest thing for himself or his wife and kids. He had a real integrity. He would do it for me, but he would never feel the same about me. And I couldn’t bear that. There are some things you can’t do or shouldn’t do. And asking Artie to hold my money was one of them. It wouldn’t be the act of a brother or a friend.
Of course, some brothers you wouldn’t ask because they’d steal it. And that brought Cully into my mind. I’d ask him about the best way to stash the money the next time he came to town. That was my answer. Cully would know, that was his metier. And I had to solve the problem. I had a hunch the money was going to roll in faster and faster.
The next week I got Jeremy Huller into the Reserves without any trouble, and Mr. Hiller was so grateful that he invited me to come to his agency for a new set of tires for my blue Dodge. Naturally I thought this was out of gratitude, and I was delighted that he was such a nice guy. I forgot he was a businessman. As the mechanic put new tires on my car, Mr. Hiller in his office gave me a new proposition.
He started off dishing out some nice strokes. With an admiring smile he told me how smart I was, how honest, so absolutely reliable. It was a pleasure to have dealings with me, and if I ever left the government, he would get me a good job. I swallowed it all up, I had had very little praise in my life, mostly from my brother, Artie, and some obscure book reviewers. I didn’t even guess what was coming.
“There is a friend of mine who needs your help very badly,” Mr. Miller said. “He has a son who needs desperately to get in the six months’ Reserve program.”
“Sure,” I said. “Send the kid in to see me and have him mention your name.”
“There’s a big problem,” Mr. Hiller said. “This young man has already received his draft notice.”
I shrugged. “Then he’s shit out of luck. Tell his folks to kiss him good-bye for two years.”
Mr. Huller smiled. “Are you sure there’s nothing a smart young man like you can do? It could be worth a lot of money. His father is a very important man.”
“Nothing,” I said. “The Army regulations are specific. Once a guy receives his draft notice he can no longer be enlisted in the Army Reserve six months’ program. Those guys in Washington are not that dumb. Otherwise everybody would wait for his draft notice before enlisting.”
Mr. Hiller said, “This man would like to see you. He’s willing to do anything, you know what I mean?”
“There is no point,” I said. “I can’t help him.”
Then Mr. Hiller leaned on me a little. “Go see him just for me,” he said. And I understood. If I just went to see this guy, even if I turned him down, Mr. Hiller was a hero. Well, for four brand-new tires I could spend a half hour with a rich man.
“OK,” I said.
Mr. Hiller wrote on a slip of paper and handed it to me. I looked at it. The name was Eli Hemsi, and there was a phone number. I recognized the name. Eli Hemsi was the biggest man in the garment industry, in trouble with the unions, involved with the mobs. But he also was one of the social lights of the city. A buyer of politicians, a pillar of support to charitable causes, etc. If he was such a big wheel, why did he have to come to me? I asked Mr. Hiller that question.
“Because he’s smart,” Mr. Hiller said. “He’s a Sephardic Jew. They are the smartest of all the Jews. They have Italian, Spanish and Arab blood, and that mixture makes them real killers, besides being smart. He doesn’t want his son as a hostage to some politician who can ask him for a big favor. It’s a lot cheaper and a lot less dangerous for him to come to you. And besides, I told him how good you were. To be absolutely honest, right now you’re the only person who can help him. Those big shots don’t dare step in on something like the draft. It’s too touchy. Politicians are scared to death of it.”
I thought about the congressman who had come in to my office. He’d had balls then. Or maybe he was at the end of his political career and didn’t give a shit. Mr. Miller was watching me carefully.
“Don’t get me wrong,” he said. “I’m Jewish. But the Sephardic you have to be careful with or they’ll just outwit you. So when you go to see him, just use your head.” He paused and anxiously asked. “You’re not Jewish, are you?”
“I don’t know,” I said. I thought then how I felt about orphans. We were all freaks. Not knowing our parents, we never worried about the Jews or the blacks, whatever.
The next day I called Mr. Eli Hemsi at his office. Like married men having an affair, my clients’ fathers gave me only their office numbers. But they would have my home number, just in case they had to get in touch with me right away. I was already getting a lot of calls which made Vallie wonder. I told her it was gambling and magazine work calls.
Mr. Hemsi asked me to come down to his office during my lunch hour and I went. It was one of the garment center buildings on Seventh Avenue just ten minutes away
from the armory. A nice little stroll in the spring air. I dodged guys pushing hand trucks loaded with racks of dresses and reflected a little smugly on how hard they were working for their paltry wages while I collected hundreds for a little dirty paperwork, at the crossroads. Most of them were black guys. Why the hell weren’t they out mugging people like they were supposed to? An, if they only had the proper education, they could be stealing like me, without hurting people.
In the building the receptionist led me through showrooms that exhibited the new styles for the coming seasons. And then I was ushered through a little grubby door into Mr. Hemsi’s office suite. I was really surprised at how plush it was, the rest of the building was so grubby. The receptionist turned me over to Mr. Hemsi’s secretary, a middle-aged no-nonsense woman, but impeccably dressed who took me into the inner sanctum.
Mr. Hemsi was a great big guy who would have looked like a Cossack if it had not been for his perfectly tailored suit, rich-looking white shirt and dark red tie. His face was powerfully craggy and had a look of melancholy. He looked almost noble and certainly honest. He rose from his desk and grasped my hands in both of his to greet me. He looked deep into my eyes. He was so close to me that I could see through the thick, ropy gray hair. He said gravely, “My friend is right, you have a good heart. I know you will help me.”
“I really can’t help. I’d like to, but I can’t,” I said. And I explained the whole draft board thing to him as I had to Mr. Hiller. I was colder than I meant to be. I don’t like people looking deep into my eyes.
He just sat there nodding his head gravely. Then, as if he hadn’t heard a word I’d said, he just went on, his voice really melancholy now.
“My wife, the poor woman, she is in very bad health. It will kill her if she loses her son now. He is the only thing she lives for. It will kill her if he goes away for two years. Mr. Merlyn, you must help me. If you do this for me, I will make you happy for the rest of your life.”
