The Hoods (24 page)

Maxie answered, “Meet us here at three o'clock tomorrow afternoon with the machine.”

“Agreed,” he replied.

We shook hands. At the door he was the cosmopolite again. He waved, “A rivederci.”

I waved in reply. “Au revoir until tomorrow.”

We sat down. Maxie tossed me a fresh Corona. We lit up. Max was smiling.

“Quite a character, that Professor. He's an actor. Hey, Noodles, you and him would make a team.”

I answered facetiously, “I can't help it if I'm a smart feller.”

Maxie laughed.

I asked Patsy, “Judging from his speech what part of Italy does the Professor come from?”

“You got me, I'm a mountain guinea. Goola tay is the kind of Italian I use,” he answered.

We laughed together.

Moe came in with a tray of doubles. We sat around smoking and slowly relishing our drinks.

Suddenly Patsy exclaimed, “What about Mr. Moore in the closet?”

“Jesus, I forgot all about him,” Maxie said. We all had to laugh at Maxie's unhappy expression.

“It's a lousy thing to laugh about,” Max said. “But what the hell. We'll do right by him yet.”

Moe came in and said, “The Himmelfarbs are out front again. Let them in?”

Just then Cockeye came in through the back door all out of breath. “Them Himmelfarb shmucks led me a goddamn chase.”

Maxie said to Moe, “Let them Himmelfarbs wait awhile.”

He snapped to Cockeye, “What happened?”

“They were ten-dollar bill slap-happy. They went into every store in the neighborhood trying out your samples.”

“So—they were pretty good samples if I have to say so myself,” Maxie chuckled to himself.

Cockeye continued: “They even tried the samples in the Public National Bank.”

We all laughed.

Cockeye said, “But this is going to put a crimp in your laughter, Maxie. I saw them deposit your twenty grand at the receiving teller's window.”

As he finished the sentence, Cockeye burst out laughing. We all laughed at Maxie's sudden expression of woe. He sat there in a state of flux for the moment, scratching his head, muttering, “Hmmm, hmmmm.”

After awhile he said, “What the hell. Let's see what they're up to. Tell Moe to send them in.”

The three brothers came hurrying in, very much excited, tripping over each other in their haste. The eldest had one hand on his heaving chest. He was gasping for breath. His thick lips were wet. Spittle showered the air with each word.

“It was wonderful, marvelous. All the stores, everybody, liked the samples. I even tried to change it in the bank, knowing they're experts. For a minute I was scared, terrible. The teller looked at me and said, 'Nice new bill, Mr. Himmelfarb. Make it yourself?' So, I was afraid. I said, 'No. I got a friend who makes them.' So what do you think, the schlemihl, he says to me? 'Himmelfarb, you go into business with your friend. You'll be a millionaire.' Then he was laughing, the meshuggener.”

Each brother added his excited comment about passing the machine-made ten-dollar bills. They were so overzealous, we didn't have a chance to stick a word in edgewise. Their enthusiasm for buying the machine from the Professor today and starting to print money right away, made one of them stutter, “Time is...”

“Time is paramount,” I prompted.

“What? Yes, yes, that's it, Mr. Noodles.”

“Take it easy, partners.”

Maxie was tapping the table for attention. He repeated, “Take it easy.”

He was smiling at their eagerness. Presently, Max had their attention.

“Gentlemen,” he said. “I can see you're real businessmen. You're smart. You recognize a good thing immediately, but we can't start business until tomorrow. I have made arrangements with the Professor who invented this wonderful machine to be at your loft tomorrow at four p.m., and we will complete the transaction there. Okay, partners?”

They nodded their heads in approval. The eldest one kept gushing with a fine spray of spit. “It's wonderful. Fine, fine.”

Maxie leaned over to get a light for his cigar. He muttered in a low voice, “I need an umbrella for this bastard.”

I whispered back, “How about your twenty grand?”

Maxie nodded. He spoke with apparent lightness. “Himmelfarb, old boy, have you got the twenty thousand in a safe place?”

“Oh sure,” Himmelfarb replied. “I'm a businessman, ain't I? I made a deposit in the Public National, and tomorrow, I make out a check for the full total complete amount to the Professor's name. Yes?”

Patsy and I exchanged glances. I was wondering how Maxie would handle this unforeseen problem, but it was simple for Max. He gave it the direct approach.

“No checks, no bookkeeping. Strictly on a cash basis, or I buy the machine for myself.” Maxie's manner was bold and audacious. “You have the thirty-five thousand cash ready tomorrow positively at four p.m. at your loft. The Professor will be there with the machine. Don't forget, cash, or I go into it myself.”

“Sure, sure. It's nothing. Anything you say, partner. I'll have the cash ready.” Himmelfarb had an ingratiating smile on his face. “Only one thing. Will the Professor give us a demonstration?” He lifted his eyebrows questioningly. “And maybe a guarantee for a year?”

He smiled and looked at his brothers for approbation. They smiled back their admiration at his foresight.

Maxie replied placidly, “You'll get everything: a very good demonstration, and maybe, because I'm your partner, the Professor will give a two-year guarantee.” Maxie stood up. “Okay, gentlemen. That about covers everything. I'm a busy man. Until tomorrow then?”

Maxie walked them to the door in the manner of a busy executive politely shooing visitors out.

We all said, “Goodbye. See you tomorrow.”

“Whew,” Maxie said with a sigh of relief. “Them bastards are a real three-piece set.”

“What three-piece set?” Cockeye asked.

We laughed.

Cockeye took his harmonica out and started playing “Dardanella.”

Patsy shook his head. “Hey, Cockeye, have a little respect,” he gestured with his thumb towards the closet, “for our friend, Mr. Moore.”

Cockeye stopped, tapped his harmonica on his palm. “How's this?” and softly played, “Melancholy Baby.”

Patsy smiled and nodded. “Yep, something sad for the occasion.”

We sat around smoking, drinking and making desultory conversation. Patsy said, “I hear the same Wop plainclothesman is still at it. He's still making pinches on the machines up in Harlem. What's the matter? Can't Frank reach him?”

Maxie shrugged. “Who the hell knows? He's probably looking to make a record of slot-machine arrests.”

Patsy said, “He'll wind up, with his record and all, transferred to the ass end of Staten Island, the shmuck. Oh, well, let the shise in the legal department break his balls with it. That shise is a smart boy, eh, Max?”

“Yep,” Maxie puffed languidly on his cigar. “He's one of Jimmie's bright young men. He'll go places. Borough President, D. A., Mayor, maybe.”

“Talking about places...” Cockeye stopped playing, stood up and yawned. “Let's go someplace, eh, Max?”

“Okay by me,” Max replied with an air of genial unconcern. “I give you three picks—a party at Eddie's Hotel with blonde maid service, we kick the gong around at Joey's place, or we have a nice quiet night at the baths.”

“Eddie's Hotel,” Patsy and Cockeye voted.

“Baths,” I said.

“Okay,” Maxie smiled with a twinkle in his eye. “The majority rules. We go to the baths.”

He laughed at Cockeye's crestfallen expression. “The trouble with you, Cockeye, you want to burn the candle at both ends all the time.”

“Not at both ends, Max,” Cockeye said reproachfully.

Walking out, I said, “Mr. Moore will get lonesome all by himself.”

“Shall we ask him if he wants to join us at the baths?” Maxie replied drily.

I ignored the question.

As we piled into the Caddy, Cockeye asked, “Lutkee's Baths?”

“No. Pennsylvania Hotel Baths. It's clean, quiet, no hoodlums, and no pansies,” I said.

Maxie concurred.

Patsy twisted his head around. “I resent hoodlums being mentioned in the same breath with pansies.”

I said, “Why, Pat? You consider yourself a hoodlum? You're mistaken. We're all kinds of businessmen—diamond merchants and ten-dollar bill manufacturers, that's us.” Cockeye gave me the Bronx cheer.

We felt good the next morning, clean, refreshed and hungry. I asked Moe to fry ham steaks for us with about a dozen fried eggs on top. Cockeye went over to Ratner's for a couple of dozen hot bagels. After we finished our coffee and cigars, Maxie called the main office. He shrugged when he hung up.

“Nothin' with nothin'. All quiet on the western front.”

So, we played klabiash most of the morning. Moe ushered in a few people now and then with their insignificant problems.

Then the rabbi from the shul around the corner came in. In Yiddish he told us a pathetic story about an unexpected death in a very poor family. “No burial plot and no money for a funeral.”

Maxie called the cemetery and told them to charge the plot to us. He gave the rabbi permission to use our funeral parlor and to help himself to a pine box from our storeroom. The rabbi's story reminded me of the like predicament my family was in years ago. I included the hearse and two funeral cars.

The rabbi said, “God bless you gentlemen. I'll say a prayer for you.”

I should have left well enough alone, but in Yiddish I answered, “It really isn't necessary, Rabbi. We're agnostics.”

The rabbi with a philosophical smile replied in the same language, “The more reason for me to pray for you, as once I prayed for your father. Yes, at one time your father spoke like you, and did things like you.”

“He did what things? What do you mean?”

“This may surprise you, my boy,” he smiled indulgently, “but your father was a notorious man in his day, in Odessa.”

“What?” I ejaculated.

“Yes, your father also had a colorful nickname, like you have.”

“No,” I said in disbelief.

“Yes,” the rabbi snapped tersely. “In the ghettos of Odessa your father was called, 'Srulick the Shtarker.' He was a well-known horse thief and smuggler.” He chuckled at my expression of utter bewilderment.

“My father was called 'Israel the strong and tough one' in Odessa?” There was surprise and admiration in my voice.

“Yes,” the rabbi said. “The only reason I'm telling you this is because it seems that that is the only quality you respect in people.”

“How come he changed from one extreme to the other, Rabbi?”

“When we happened to come together to this, our new country, I helped him to change his ways; then, after he had reformed and accepted God, he made an effort to atone for his past sins.” The rabbi walked to the door, he continued talking. “The Bible says, the sins of the fathers—“ He stopped and smiled benignly. “Well, the American expression is, like father, like son. Some day I'm going to change you into conducting yourself like a good Jew. Thank you for everything and sholem aleichem, boys.”

“Come around for a visit, Rabbi, and a little conversation,” I called after him.

“I'll come around for a schnapps and financial aid for a needy case, better,” he chuckled.

“You're always welcome,” I said.

After the rabbi had gone I sat still for quite a while, nursing my drink.

Maxie nudged me. “Shake out of it, Noodles, what are you thinking about?”

“What?” I was deep in thought.

“What's on your mind?”

“Oh—I—was thinking of my father. He was quite a man, what do you know? He was called Srulick the Shtarker. Hey, Max, you know a good place wholesale where I can buy a new large stone for my father's grave?”

“Yep, I know a place. When we have a chance, I'll go with you.”

Jake, the Goniff, Goo-Goo and Pipy came in for a short visit.

Maxie said, “Just the guys I want to see. What are you guys—mind readers?”

Jake shook his head. “No, we just came in for a few drinks and a few bucks. We're as flat as a—”

“Titless broad?” Max finished drily. “How about a little poem first. You got any new ones made up?”

“Max, don't encourage him,” Patsy called out.

“Go ahead, Jake, recite the new one you made up this afternoon.” Goo-Goo nudged him encouragingly.

“All right, all right,” Jake said sheepishly, “here goes:

Mary had a little sheep

She took it to bed one night, to sleep.

The sheep turned out to be a ram Mary had a little lamb.”

We sat there waiting for Jake to continue. He looked at us and shrugged. He was finished.

I groaned, “Oh, no.”

Max said, “Jesus.”

Cockeye laughed, “Don't listen to them, Jake. It was good. You're a poetic genius.”