The Hoods (40 page)

We went upstairs. Patsy, Pipy and Jake threw their winnings on the bed. After deducting his expenses, Maxie split it evenly, seven ways.

Max and I fooled around with the Tommy, taking it apart, cleaning it and putting it together again. It was a small army Browning. It weighed about fifteen pounds.

Max said with a chuckle, “I'm getting pretty good with this thing.”

“Average, just average,” I said.

“Why? I aimed for his legs. Don't forget he was a running target. I got eight bullets, four in each leg. If that ain't good shooting, what is?”

“You missed half the shots, Max. You gave a three-second burst. That was more than twenty bullets expended.”

“Okay, okay, Professor. Someday we'll go up in the 'borscht' country and practice up,” Max smiled.

For two days we slept, played cards, ate, drank, read newspapers and listened to Cockeye play the harmonica. It was a lazy, idyllic two-day rest for us and a pleasant recuperative period for Goo-Goo.

Maxie gave the doc a grand for his services and for the use of his house. We hit the road for New York and Delancey Street. The tires hummed on the hot concrete highway. The speed of the Caddy through the scorching heat and the fiery draft from the motor combined to create a sirocco through the open windshield.

“Whew, it's as hot as in an East Side matzoh bakery before Passover,” Maxie commented.

We made the trip in less than two hours. The Caddy pushed its way through the traffic, noise, pushcarts and smells of downtown Manhattan.

“Home sweet home, the good old stinking East Side.”

Cockeye threw kisses out the window in a gleeful mood.

The dark back room of Fat Moe's, with its cool, damp, musty odor of beer, was a welcome relief after our hot dusty ride. We threw our jackets off, slung our holsters on chairs, and stretched out with a sense of release at being home.

Fat Moe beamed as he came in with a cheery, “How you douchin, fellas?”

He looked at Goo-Goo's shoulder bandage. With surprising concern in his voice, he said, “What happened, Goo-Goo boy?”

“Oh nothing much,” Goo-Goo replied carelessly. “I caught a mild case of thrombosis of the blowhole.”

“He caught a lead slug,” Jake cut in drily.

Moe went back to the bar and came in with his welcome bottle of refreshments.

After we drank up, Maxie said to Cockeye, “How about running over to Katz's for some good old non-kosher hot corned beef and hot pastrami?”

“Okay by me,” Cockeye said. “How many? Two dozen?”

“Make it three dozen, assorted, Cockeye boy.”

The sandwiches disappeared fast. Max took out his everlasting box of Coronas and passed them around with the remark, “You guys jumped on those sandwiches like a hot groom jumping his bride on the wedding night.”

“Hey, Max,” Jake said. “One more round, then all right if we take a powder?”

“Sure, sure. I guess you want to see if your joint is still there, hey, Jake? What do you think—Goo-Goo's brother-in-law put wheels under the joint and moved it away?” Maxie chuckled.

“My brother-in-law is okay, I hope, I hope,” Goo-Goo replied.

We had another round of double hookers. The three of them said, “So long,” and left.

Moe came in with his arm around his new assistant. “You guys remember him?”

It was Philip, the old gent with the good penmanship.

I said, “How you doing, Phil?”

“All right, thank you.”

Max said, “Everything okay? You got yourself a room? Satisfied with your set-up?”

“Everything is fine. Just perfect.”

He was smiling cheerfully.

“I got Phil a room with the widow Fanny,” Moe volunteered.

“Benny the bum's widow?” Max raised his eyebrows.

Moe nodded smilingly. “She says Phil is a very nice man, so different from Benny. A real gentleman.”

“A sweet woman, a wonderful cook and housekeeper. I never had such—“ Phil hesitated. He seemed embarrassed. He finally admitted, “Such wonderful conveniences. She would make a wonderful wife.”

“You marry the widow Fanny, and your salary will be raised to a hundred a week.”

Max was a little abrupt and awkward in his role as magnanimous matchmaker. I couldn't help bursting out laughing.

“That was our intention. The lady and I have already discussed it.” Phil's voice carried a tender undertone. “Not that I'm mercenary, but your kind offer makes it more definite. It simplifies the problem.” He smiled gratefully. “Thank you, gentlemen, for all your kindness towards me—and Fanny.” He added with a touch of humility, “As the sweet lady Fanny said when I asked for her hand in marriage, “The Lord taketh and the Lord giveth.'”

“The Lord performs in mysterious ways,” I murmured.

Maxie smiled. He turned to Moe.

“So what else is new? Anything happen? Any calls or anything?”

Phil said, “Excuse me, gentlemen. I'll attend to my duties.”

He left the room.

“Okay, Moe, spill the dirt,” Max said briskly.

Moe sat down. He chuckled to himself. “I got to laugh,” he said apologetically. “You would have pissed in your pants if you saw what I did to them Himmelfarbs.”

“Why, what's with them?” I asked.

“I gave them some knockout drops in their whiskey. They slept for two days out in the alley.

“Very funny,” I commented drily.

Moe changed the subject. “That guy Phil is all right. He's a fast worker.”

“Especially with the widow Fanny,” I said.

Moe chuckled as he wiped the table and walked out.

Max and I went up to the main office the next day to make our report. Phil congratulated us on our “good work,” as he called it. “You boys are 'in,'“ he said. “You'll see soon just what that means. Meanwhile, I have a little assignment for you lads. Something our friend down in City Hall tossed in our laps, unofficially of course.”

He continued in his casual manner. “Yes, City Hall is embarrassed by this situation, this elevator strike. Nobody downtown seems able to handle it. We have to settle it. Too many factions are involved. The public and the newspapers are beginning to raise a clamor. It's purely a favor to City Hall, otherwise it's of no interest to the Combine.”

“None?” I said.

Phil chuckled. “All right, all right. I forgot I was talking to Noodles. You can't hide anything from this guy. Okay, I'll lay the cards on the table. We're going to take the union over for our usual reasons.”

He smiled and nodded to me. Max and I both knew what the usual reasons were: power, loot, and shakedown for the Combine.

Phil continued, “As I said before, we have the blessings of City Hall on this.”

I interrupted. “We didn't see any pickets on the streets. How long is the strike on?”

“The strike is only along Broadway and some of the West Side streets. It started yesterday. We want to stop it before it spreads further.”

Max asked, “Are they organized? Anybody behind them yet?”

“Well, this is what we were able to find out. Mostly it's a disorganized wildcat strike. Somebody has a union charter. I have all the dope here.”

He fumbled in his pockets while he talked. “The union is in the first stages of organization. Naturally there are the usual elements involved, ready to pounce for their share of the booty, in the form of two or three outlaw, irresponsible mobs, a few union officials, and possibly a representative of the real estate interests. They're all in on this deal: to grab whatever they can for themselves. I have definite information these people are going to have a meeting at—” Phil continued to fumble through his pockets until he produced a sheet of paper. He read, “The Eden Garden on Columbus and Sixtieth Street at two o'clock this afternoon.”

“Yeh, we know the place,” I said.

“That's where that guy 'Salvy' and his 'shabonies' hang out,” Max added. “Is he in on this?”

“Yes, he's in on this, the much publicized Salvy. And we want him out of it.” Phil looked at Max and me. “Nothing drastic, just convince him it would be healthy to stay clear.”

“He's pretty notorious, this chap Salvy. He's the chap the newspapers call the indestructible one, isn't he?” I said. “We never met the guy, but from what we hear, he's been shot about five or six times and left for dead.”

“How about the story about him being put under a car, and they rode over him?” Max chuckled, “But they couldn't kill him. They tell how he crawled away like a snake to a hospital.”

“Yeh,” I said, “that was nice gentle Vincent at the wheel of that car.”

“Yes, that's him,” Phil continued, “the reports from our intelligence bureau are that this fellow Salvy pushed out a little mob that had this union. And as the story goes, the little mob that Salvy pushed out, in turn pushed somebody else out.”

“It looks like big things in the air,” Max said in the cab.

We were on our way back to Fat Moe's.

“Yeh, it looks like it.”

I began thinking of the elevator strike and Phil's casual way of throwing it in our laps. But a royal ukase just the same.

“I was thinking of the strike, Max,” I said. “I guess the first thing we do is take a gander later on at the Eden Garden and put the pressure on Salvy to lay off!”

“Yep, that's the first thing to do.”

I looked out the window as we passed Twenty-third Street. I caught the time on the Metropolitan tower clock as it chimed out. It was eleven a.m.

“I suggest we get to the Eden before the two o'clock meeting and grab Salvy and his mob, whoever they are, and lay the law down as a starter.”

“Yep, it's a good idea, Noodles. It's always best to be there first.”

“Yeh,” I grunted.

Traffic thinned out. The driver made good time the rest of the way.

Cockeye had a chair tilted up against the wall and was playing, “What'll I Do.” It had a sweet, haunting melody. Patsy was at the other end of the room. He had most of his clothes off and was punching away on the heavy bag. They looked at us for a moment, but neither stopped what he was doing. There was a bottle of Mt. Vernon on the table. Max poured two double hookers. We sat sipping quietly for a while. Max caught my look. He called out, “Okay, Pat, we got a contract.”

Patsy came over.

“What we got?”

“Phil gave us the elevator strike,” Max answered.

Pat walked away. He started dressing.

Cockeye stopped playing. He asked, “Third Avenue elevator?”

“Office and commercial building elevators,” Max said.

Pat adjusted his holster under his left armpit. “Who's behind this thing?” he asked.

“That Salvy,” Max said.

“That crumb?” Pat said disdainfully. “I know the bastard. Salvy the Snake, they call him. He's a real 'boonyet.' He hangs out in that Eden Garden up on Sixtieth Street. His partner's Willie the Ape.”

“I was up there with a tomato two weeks ago,” Cockeye said. “Big Mike and the Fairy bought the place for fifty grand from this Willie the Ape.”

“The Ape sold out?” Pat asked.

“That's what I said,” Cockeye answered.

We piled into the Caddy, shot across town to West Street. Cockeye dodged recklessly in and out of the truck traffic like a maniac, into Columbus Avenue and Sixtieth Street.

“Goddamn, what a fast ride,” Pat said.

“Are we here already?” Max was astonished. “Cockeye, that was a ride like Peggy used to give us,” Max laughed.

“What do you mean, Max, smooth?”

“Nah, full of fast twists, bumps and grinds.”

From the gaudy canopied street entrance, we walked one flight down. I pushed the door open. Jesus, were we surprised. We expected to find the place deserted at that hour. Instead it was jammed with girls. They were everywhere. They swarmed all over the place.

They wore every kind of costume from G strings to shorts and sweaters, to evening gowns. We were surrounded on all sides by bizarre colors, by the musical babble of female voices, pretty painted faces, soft and shapely hot perfumed bodies. We ate them up with our eyes. In our imaginations we fondled their breasts and caressed their warm naked bodies. For a long moment we stood there. Our masculinity was aroused. Like passion-crazed studs we stared with glazed eyes on a large herd of sleek mares.

I looked at my companions. I'll swear to God Almighty, each of them was in the same state I was in. We stood there in a stiffened, cataleptic state, leering and being leered at.

Patsy made the first sound. It was a long, deep, primordial wolfish “Wo-o-o-o” of longing.

The girls took up the sound. They repeated the “Wo-o-o-o,” laughing and whistling all around us.

“This is Eden,” Maxie exclaimed.

A tall, lithe, middle-aged man came hurrying over from the rear of the room. He walked in a graceful, gliding, effeminate manner.

“Here, here, girls, girls,” he shrilled, clapping his hands sharply together. “What is this abominable commotion?”