The Hoods (53 page)

Solly was sitting in our Caddy.

“The silencers and the rest of your stuff is under the back seat.” He got out and said, “So long. Good luck.”

He walked down the street to a waiting car. I picked up the back seat. Our four rods were there, with the silencers already attached. I distributed them. We put them under our coats. We drove slowly to New York. It was four a.m. when Cockeye parked half a block from the Eden.

A figure slouched over to the Caddy. I had my rod aimed at his head. It was Jake the Goniff.

“They're both down there, with another guy,” Jake whispered.

“Who's the other guy?” I murmured.

“I don't know, I never saw him before,” Jake whispered.

“The hell with him; he's got to go, too,” Max said coldly. I looked at Max. Max shook his head. His face was stony.

“The three got to go.” His voice was acid.

“Here's the key; they got the door locked,” Jake said.

Max took it. “Okay, Jake, scram,” Max said.

Jake scurried down the street.

Cockeye remained behind the wheel with the motor purring.

We filed down the steps, holding our rods.

Max noiselessly unlocked the door.

I slowly and quietly closed it.

We saw the three of them. Their backs were turned. Salvy and Willie were counting money on the bar.

The stranger was watching them.

We tiptoed on the rug.

They were too engrossed with the money.

We were right behind them.

Max was behind the Snake.

I was behind the Ape.

Patsy was behind the stranger.

We had our rods an inch behind their heads.

They saw us in the mirror, three pairs of horrified eyes.

We blasted the three together.

It was one muffled bang.

Three big holes appeared in the backs of three heads.

Three pairs of hands clutched the bar for support.

“Once more,” Maxie said.

Three arms with guns were raised.

There was another muffled bang.

Three pairs of hands let go of the bar.

Three writhing bodies sank to the floor.

“To make sure,” Maxie said.

Three arms with guns were raised again.

There was one more muffled bang.

Three dead, dead, dead, motionless bodies lay on the floor.

We walked upstairs with the smoking rods under our coats.

“Back to Jersey,” Maxie said.

Cockeye put the Caddy into first. She rolled smoothly down the street. Cockeye put the Caddy into second. She shot faster down the street. Cockeye put the Caddy into third. She flew away from murder into the night.

On the boat, at about the middle of the river, we edged over to the rail and threw our guns into the middle of the Hudson River.

We parked the car a block away from the station house.

Solly was waiting for us.

“Okay?” Solly said as he got into the Caddy.

“Okay,” Maxie answered.

Solly drove away.

Singly, keeping in the shadows, we walked down the street into the alley.

Quietly we walked down the steps to the iron door and into the building, feeling our way to our cell in the dark.

The cell door was unlocked. We walked in. A few minutes later, we heard footsteps. They stopped at our cell. We heard a key lock our door. Then the sound of the steps disappeared down the hallway. The four of us sighed deep sighs. I lay down on a cot. None of us spoke a word.

At seven a.m., a cop brought us some lousy coffee and dry toast.

At nine-thirty we were standing before the Magistrate.

“How do you plead, guilty or not guilty to operating a horseroom?” he droned.

“Guilty, your Honor,” I said.

“A hundred dollar fine for each one of you or ten days in jail.”

Solly stepped up to pay our fines.

I said to the clerk, “We want receipts.”

“Income tax?” the clerk asked, smiling.

“Yeh, that's it,” I said. “Please put the time and date on.”

Outside, Solly was waiting with our Caddy.

He handed us our money. I returned the money he had laid out for our fines.

We drove back to New York.

Maxie opened the door to the back room of Fat Moe's.

We walked right into the waiting arms of the Four Horsemen. They were sitting around our table drinking double hookers. “We were waiting for you lads,” one of the big guys at the table said.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, lieutenant. What's this, social or business?” I asked, trying to act unconcerned.

“Strictly business.” The lieutenant gave me a sharp look.

Maxie glanced at the bottle of Mt. Vernon they had on the table.

The police lieutenant caught his glance.

“Oh this?” He picked up the bottle. “I know you got the McCoy here. You don't mind if we indulge, do you?”

“No, go ahead, lieutenant. All you want,” I said.

The lieutenant said sarcastically, “Thanks,” refilled his glass, gulped it down and commented, “This is okay stuff. Now—” he hesitated, smiling. “How do you say it in Yiddish, Max? Tachlas, yeah, yeah. Let's get down to tachlas.”

It sounded odd coming from an Irish police lieutenant. His manner changed. His pleasantness and smile were purely superficial. He handed Max a letter.

“I finally got you bastards,” he said. “This just came in by carrier pigeon.”

These four police officers were known from the Bronx to the Battery. They were nicknamed the Four Horsemen. They were vicious bastards in the sense of being rough to law-abiding citizens and hoodlums both. They glorified in brutality for brutality's sake. They tried to give the impression that they were honest and zealous police officers. We knew them to be phonies.

They were bag men for themselves and higher-ups. They shook down speakeasies and bookmakers, allowing their cousins and brothers-in-law to operate illegal enterprises under their protection. They operated as we did, on the muscle, only they had the advantage: they had the law on their side. They had a crime syndicate all their own. We didn't hold them in too high regard, because anybody, as a last resort, could buy them with a charlotte russe.

If they had thought for a moment they could get away with lumping us up without a fight, they would have tried it long ago, but they were chary. They knew it would be a battle royal. Therefore they had kept their hands off us. Of course, there were some honest police officers during that era, but this group definitely was not in that category.

“We've been in every joint on the East Side looking for you guys. We knew you'd wind up in this joint eventually.” The lieutenant added with a pugnacious sneer, “Where the hell were you?”

“You know you can always contact us here,” I said quietly. “What's this, a pinch? What's that letter Maxie's reading?”

“I'll ask the questions,” the lieutenant snapped back.

Max finished reading. He lit a cigar. He took a step closer and stared insolently at the lieutenant.

“This letter, you know what you can do with it? I don't have to answer your questions if I don't want to. All you can do is pinch us, and that's all you can do, I assure you. Nothing else, and you know what I mean, pally.”

Maxie gave him back stare for stare. Max handed me the letter. I read it.

“Lieutenant,” I said, “I guarantee we get out of the jug quicker than you can get us in. Evidently you are implying this Salvy is dead. If so, it's too bad. In spite of the letter he was a friend of ours. Another thing, wherever it happened, we weren't there. Let's face it, lieutenant, we have connections and you know those connections reach to the top.

The lieutenant changed his tactics somewhat. He smiled. “Yes, I know you got connections, but they can't help you on this. This ain't a small rap. You'll need a goddamn good alibi to get out of this one.”

“As far as I'm concerned, I don't know what you're talking about, lieutenant.”

Max smiled easily and sat down. He helped himself to a drink.

“Look, Max, shit me easy. You're not going to act surprised, I hope, and say you don't know Salvy and that punk Willie and another guy were shot and killed in your new joint, the Eden Garden, this morning?”

“Nothing surprises me, lieutenant,” Maxie said. “Besides, how could we know about anything? We were in a Jersey lock-up since yesterday.”

Maxie started looking through his pockets. Carelessly he laid his roll of money on the table and kept searching.

“I have the proof.” I acted indignant and dramatic. “Here it is.” I handed him the receipt for the fine. “Or call up the desk sergeant over at this town,” I added with a smile, “or call up the judge and verify.”

The lieutenant was trying to read the receipt with one eye; the other was watching Max peel a thousand-dollar bill off his roll. Maxie put his roll away leaving the grand lying on the table. The four bulls had their eyes glued on Max like a burlesque audience watching Gypsy Rose Lee do a strip.

The lieutenant smiled. Then he chuckled. He knew the score. He shook his head in admiration. “Goddamn.” He went over to the table for a drink, still chuckling to himself. “You sure got yourself an iron alibi. I was sure I had you with your pants down today.”

Nonchalantly he picked up the thousand and put it in his pocket. “Okay, boys.” The lieutenant nodded to his men. “I guess we'll be on our way.”

They walked to the door. The lieutenant turned. “Meanwhile, my report will show we couldn't find you men. Get your lawyer to contact the D. A. and convince him he has no case against you, so those goddamn 'wanted' cards at headquarters can be removed from the files.”

He hesitated. “Thanks—for the drinks.”

He walked out, chuckling to himself.

Moe came in with a tray of doubles. He smiled, “Them bastards finally went? How's things?”

“All right,” Maxie said.

Without another word, we drank up. The whiskey didn't taste right. It didn't do anything for me. Ordinarily, after a period of tension, one or two double hookers relaxed my taut nerves. This time it was flat. It did nothing.

I looked at Max. He, too, seemed on edge. He caught my eye. I wondered if he guessed how I felt. He gave me a sympathetic smile.

I said, “I'd like to get away for awhile, a little trip.”

“Eve?” Max asked.

“Yeh, she's down in North Carolina.”

“I'll find out. Maybe we'll all take a break for a couple of weeks.”

“That's a good idea,” Patsy said.

“That's a goddamn good idea. Monticello for me,” Cockeye said.

Max nodded. “Tomorrow I'll find out.”

We were disappointed. The office told us to hang around town for a couple of weeks. There were too many units taking vacations at the same time.

I called Eve down in North Carolina. I spoke to her for about an hour. She was lonesome. She wanted to come up. I told her not to. I would pick her up, and we would go to Florida from there. She was delighted.

Days passed. We couldn't get away even though there was nothing much to do. Two weeks later we re-opened the Eden Garden. We spent most of our time there. It was a lot of fun, what with the entertainers, good food and plenty to drink.

We had a skilled bartender who knew his business. He had tended bar at some of the finest hotels in the city before Prohibition. I was beginning to acquire a taste for mixed drinks, so, after most of the patrons had gone, I would linger with my foot on the rail, sampling all sorts of concoctions of his.

One night at about three a.m., as I stood at the bar facing the entrance, I saw Eddie come bursting through the door. He stopped and looked around. I waved. He came rushing over, excited and out of breath. This was out of character for the usually phlegmatic Eddie.

I said, “What's the matter, Ed, your hotel on fire?”

“Where's Max?” Eddie panted. “Both of you come along with me. I got my car outside.”

We hurried down to the other end of the room where Max was sitting with one of the showgirls. I motioned with my head. He stood up and came toward us.

“What's cookin'?” he asked.

“Come on,” Eddie said briskly. “I'll tell you guys all about it in the car.

Eddie shot west on Fifty-Ninth Street, up West End Avenue, then left into Riverside Drive.

“What the hell's it all about?” Max asked.

“You guys got to get rid of a stiff. But quick,” Eddie said.

“Jesus,” Max said, “is that all?”

“Yeh,” I said, “what's all the rush and secrecy about?”

“The stiff ain't going to get up and beat it before we get there, is he?” Max said.

“What's it all about, Ed?” I said.

“Well, I'm not supposed to talk. It's strictly a hush-hush affair. That's why I was given the contract. If it leaked out, it would blow City Hall and state politics wide open. The stiff is a big shot.”