The Hoods (31 page)

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.

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?”

He smilingly answered, “I work for the hotel.”

“House detective?” I guessed.

“Yes, I suppose so,” he grinned good-naturedly.

He looked like a nice guy who knew the score.

Max said curtly, “So I repeat, what's on your mind, pally?”

“No offense, gentlemen. Just a few questions, and I will run along.”

He gave us an apologetic smile.

Max said impatiently, “Okay, okay. What's on your mind?”

“First,” he said with the same apologetic smile, “the desk clerk overlooked the hotel rule: no baggage, payment in advance.”

Maxie took his roll of bills out with a chiding, “Tsk, tsk,” and started counting. “A thousand, five thousand? How much do we owe you?”

The house detective looked in astonishment at the money in Maxie's hand. To him it probably appeared a tremendous amount. He said, visibly impressed, “I see that can be taken care of easily enough. Any time it's convenient for you gentlemen, pay the desk clerk downstairs.”

Maxie laughed. He said, “Okay. What else is on your mind?”

The house dick seemed to be lingering.

“Our next problem, so to speak, is that bathing suit episode down at the beach, or should I say no bathing suits?”

Max said, “Okay. That won't happen again. It was just a social error.”

“I thought so. I could see you boys aren't that type.”

Cockeye put his hands on his hips and said, “Whoops, my dear.”

We all laughed in a friendly way. The house detective said, “You asked the girl to send up the barber. It really isn't customary to send one up unless you're sick or something, but in your case,” he grinned, “I'll get him up here. Now, your request for a couple of bellhops—”

Max said, “We wanted them to do some shopping for us, some fresh underwear, some soup and fish...” Underwear can be bought.”

He was tapping and rubbing his nose in thought, “But for a bellhop to go out and try to buy four suits of evening clothes at this hour...” He walked around the room still rubbing his nose and smiling to himself. “Really, it can't be done.” He hesitated, puckered his lips in concentration. “I tell you boys what. There's a Mr. Schwartz, a tailor, a few blocks down the street who rents out evening clothes. Would that be all right, rented suits?”

Max said, “Okay, what's the difference? We rent them. You take care of it. Get this Schwartz up here to take our measurements.”

Maxie took a hundred dollar bill out of his pocket and said, “This is for your trouble. Buy yourself some charlotte russes.”

The man looked at the bill in disbelief. He smiled and shook his head. “Really, really, it isn't at all necessary,” in the same manner as a girl saying, “Please, please don't,” but meaning, Do it some more, I like it. Force me.

“Put it in your pocket. Forget it,” Max said gruffly.

“Thank you. Thanks very much. Anything else I can do for you boys? Just say the word.”

A hundred bucks seemed a lot of money to the guy.

Max, shaking his fist in the air, as if rattling dice, asked, “Where can we play an interesting little game of indoor golf?”

The house detective hesitated.

There's only one place, on the outskirts of town—”

He mentioned the name of the casino Frank had given us. He continued, “The place is wide open. Anybody in evening clothes is permitted.”

It seemed when he was lost in thought he had a habit of rubbing his nose. That's what he was doing now. “On second thought, better keep out of there. This I only tell my friends. The place is crooked. You'll never get a fair shake of the dice in that place.”

“What the hell. So we drop a few bucks,” Max said. “What's the address?”

The house detective wrote it down on a piece of paper. “I hate to send you guys there.” He looked at us with a friendly smile. “You guys are okay with me. You see, it's a pleasure to steer the high and mighty society bastards to get clipped, but you guys,” he repeated, “are okay with me.”

He shook his head. He didn't like it.

Maxie said, “Don't worry, pal. We'll take care of ourselves.”

He said, “Well, it's your money. All right, then, I'll have the barber and the tailor come up right away. Thanks, boys. So long,” he said.

We said, “So long.” He left the room grinning.

Max said, “Nice guy.”

I echoed, “Yeh. Nice guy.”

Max turned to Cockeye. “Go down to the garage and get our hardware from under the car.”

Cockeye said, “Okay” and left.

A few minutes later the phone rang. It was the barber. He apologized for the delay saying he had a customer. He would be up in half an hour.

Ten minutes later there was a knock on the door. I opened it.

An elderly, distinguished looking man walked in.

“You gentlemen want to be fitted for evening clothes?” he asked.

“You Schwartz?” Max asked briefly.

The man replied, “I am Mr. Schwartz, the tailor.”

He took a tape measure, a pencil, and a notebook out of his pockets.

“Four suits?” He looked around the room seeing only three of us.

I said, “One guy will be right in.”

“How about shirts, ties, shoes, cuff links? I have everything else you may need for rent,” he smiled. “I can fix you boys up complete. Soup to nuts. Ten dollars a day for everything. Even socks. Fifty dollars deposit on each outfit. Is that all right?”

Max said, “Okay, Pop.”

The old man mumbled to himself resentfully in Yiddish, “Pop? Lusz dir poppin in kopf.”

I said, 'That ain't nice, Pop. We understand Jewish.”

The old man smiled benignly. “Landsman? Jewish boys? You don't look like it. I really didn't mean to swear at you, my boy. I don't like when people call me Pop. I'm not so old, am I?”

The old man looked well over eighty. I said, “You don't look a day over fifty, Mr. Schwartz.”

“Well,” he said, looking wistfully over his specks, “a little older, maybe.”

He smiled at us. We all smiled together. He was a nice old guy. He went busily to work, measuring us up. He jotted the figures in his notebook while humming a little “lideleh” to himself.

Cockeye came barging through the door. He didn't see the old man on his knees in the corner taking Patsy's trouser measurements. He dumped the contents of the canvas bag all over the bed. Four big .45 calibre revolvers, Maxie's .32 with the thin spring attached, four leather sling holsters, a few extra boxes of bullets, my six-inch switch knife lay scattered on the bed, staring the old man in the face.

He got off his knees. He gazed somberly at the collection. Then gravely at us. Sadly he said, “Gangsters?” He shook his head in sorrow. “Jewish gangsters, it's disgraceful.” Disappointed, he went back to measuring Patsy's pants.

He looked like a smart old codger. He interested me. I led him on in conversation. Jestingly I said, “Mr. Schwartz, we're not all Jewish gangsters. He's an Italian gangster.”

I nodded my head at Patsy.

Patsy smiled and said to me in Jewish, “Lieg in dred, momser.”

The old man smiled at Patsy's correct Yiddish intonation.

After he had taken all our measurements, he said, “I'll call my shop from here. It's faster that way. I'll give the sizes to my boys who are working for me.”

“Your sons?” I asked.

“No, they are two smart colored boys.”

He got his shop on the wire. He read them all the data from his notebook.

We waited around for the stuff to arrive. The old man said it would take at least a half-hour for his boys to pick everything out of his large stock. He sat down on a chair. He seemed exhausted.

“I'll smoke a cigarette and rest here. All right with you boys? I'm not in the way?”

Maxie said, “It's okay, Pop. Go right ahead.”

The old man scowled. “Pop? Soil dir poppin in kopf.”

We all laughed at his comical irascibility.

The old man continued: “All right, so I'm Pop. If I'm a Pop, so I'll take an old man's privileges. I like to talk. I'm entitled, yes?”

“Go ahead,” I said, “you're entitled.”