Funny Boys (17 page)

“Long time no see,” he said as she slid primly into her seat. Albert looked up at her and smiled and immediately placed his leg next to hers and his hand on her thigh. She looked up at Pep, smiled, and put her hand on Albert’s thigh. Had she any choice in the matter?

Jean Harlow would consider it all an act. If Jean Harlow could, why couldn’t she?

E
XCITEMENT RAN THROUGH THE DINING ROOM LIKE AN
electric charge. The big boys were at the hotel. Frank Costello, Albert Anastasia and Lepke Buchalter, the three biggest fish of all.

Naturally everybody was nervous. Mickey was doubly nervous since Mutzie was in their company, which only increased his jealousy and his revulsion. How could such a beautiful, sweet person be in the company of those gangsters?

His anger made him short-tempered and he had to fight with himself to be funny. Gorlick had told him to skip their table on his nightly round of tumeling, but he could not resist the temptation to be there, as if to show Mutzie that he was alive, a somebody in his own right. She had smiled and winked at him, a friendly gesture, but it also told him that apparently all was well and that Mr. Strauss did not believe the rumors about Mutzie and him carrying on.

“You see,” Mickey told Gorlick after the show with Mutzie. “No problem.”

“So far.”

“Everybody loved it. And they loved Mutzie. She’s a natural.
All the big boys. You saw. Anastasia was in stitches. Lepke and Costello loved it, and those boys don’t smile much.” He paused and searched Gorlick’s face. “So I stay?”

“So far,” Gorlick said again. “Doesn’t mean people won’t talk. That Helen Reles didn’t look too happy.”

“She’s just a gossip.”

He did not tell Gorlick about her advances.

Everybody knew that a big meeting was in the offing and there was considerable speculation among the help. The combination controlled all the rackets in Sullivan County: the gambling, the prostitution, the shylocking … everything. Something very important must be happening.

He made his usual after-dinner announcement about the events for the next day, including the Simon Sez session and other events for the kids.

“And folks,” he thought of saying. “We have here the top crooks and gangsters in the nation. The inimitable Frank Costello, the mob celebrities Albert Anastasia and Lepke Buchalter and those fabulous killers Pittsburgh Phil, Kid Twist and Bugsy Goldstein.”

As he spoke, he saw Mutzie rise and leave the table. She looked strangely troubled and unhappy. It could be his imagination, he decided, but he could not chase the idea from his mind.

Then he saw Pep get up and leave the table as if to follow her. He, too, looked as if something was wrong and it filled Mickey with anxiety. Maybe Helen Reles made some remark that had set things off. Or Mutzie had suffered some kind of intimidation or insult. What was it his business? he rebuked himself. Who was he? Her self-appointed protector? But he could not chase the feeling.

Unable to restrain himself, he followed Strauss when he left the dining room. But when he got to the lobby, he saw no one.
Then, suddenly, he saw them. The tall man seemed to be forcing her to walk with him, holding her unnaturally under the arm as if she were resisting him. Mickey quickly ducked behind a pillar in the lobby and watched them move out through one of the French doors to the porch.

His instincts had definitely been correct. Something was awry, rousing his sense of panic and danger. He came to the French door and eased it open. They were only a few yards away, slightly hidden in the shadows. They were locked in a tight embrace, which surprised him, and then he felt embarrassed over his proprietary interest in her welfare. She was, after all, another man’s woman. He had no right to interfere. Still, observing them for a moment, the embrace seemed unnatural, although he didn’t know why. A tremor of jealousy shot through him. How could she? A involuntary groan escaped from him. Pep raised his head, turned toward him and squinted into the darkness.

“Get da fuck outa here,” he cried.

Mickey stood still and moved deeper into the darkness. He didn’t think Pep had recognized him, and something compelled him to remain. Instead of going back through the French doors, he opened and closed them then flattened himself against the wall and hid in the shadows. He watched them, not daring to breathe. In the cool silent night air, their voices carried.

He could not make out every word, but the gist of it was clear. A chill shot through him. His lips chattered. His stomach knotted. What he heard horrified him, filled him with anger and loathing. She was to be passed around like a piece of meat. It was sadistic and inhuman. Don’t, Mutzie, he pleaded silently. Don’t let them do this to you.

They walked by him on their way back to the lobby, passing within barely inches as they moved through the French doors. He
could smell her perfume. He wanted to strike out at this terrible man for what he was doing to Mutzie. Fortunately, he resisted the compulsion, but he resolved that he must find a way to get her out of Pep’s clutches.

But resolve was one thing, execution another. He felt totally helpless. Too upset to eat, he could not go back into the dining room. It would be impossible for him to muster any humor. Behind the dining room were the gambling rooms with their rows of shiny slot machines and two tables, one for craps and the other for blackjack. The dealers and supervisor were quietly chatting and smoking in a corner of the room.

He waved to them, forcing a smile, but he had no desire to talk to them. Instead he moved through the casino to the private room reserved for high-stakes card games or high-level meetings. On one end of the room was a long oblong polished mahogany table. On the other was a grouping of leather furniture, a couch and three easy chairs.

He had often come here to relax on the couch during the day when he didn’t feel like taking the long walk to his room. He threw himself face down on the couch. He wanted to cry. In fact, when he blinked, moisture dripped from his eyes onto the couch. If he was crying, it was out of anger, frustration and despair. Poor Mutzie. Poor him for loving her. Why couldn’t he be indifferent, unaffected?

The fact was that there was no way to intrude. He would only make it worse for her. He tried to imagine himself confronting these gangsters, fighting them with the only weapon he felt strong enough to muster, moral courage. He snickered at his naïveté. Moral courage? Raise his hand to protect her, even his voice, and they would crucify him. From what he had heard and what he had seen with his own eyes, they were capable of the most cruel acts.
Hadn’t he just watched Strauss show Mutzie a painful hint of what he had in store for her if she didn’t obey him?

His mind raced for solutions. None came. Then, suddenly, he was aware of voices in the room. It was not long before he recognized them. Although he could not see them, they were obviously seated around the table. This was the business meeting that was the real reason for them getting together. The back of the couch faced the table. As long as he was still, they could not see him. But if one of them rose and walked to that end of the room, he would be visible.

For the first few moments of the meeting, he was too frightened to make sense out of their voices. Then it occurred to him that if he was suddenly discovered, even now with the meeting just begun, his life wouldn’t be worth a plug nickel. Above all, he urged himself, he must stay calm, tamp down hysteria, keep his wits about him, think of this chance encounter as an opportunity. He heard laughter in his mind as he ridiculed himself. Some opportunity. An opportunity to sleep forever in a casket. It was only then, after the first flush of terror dissipated into mere abject fear, that he began to listen.

“Dead to rights,” a voice said. “He’s skimmin. One faw him. Two faw us.”

“Cheez, Albert.” It was Reles speaking. “Gagie. He don show nothin. Lives like a pig.”

“A hozzer,” Bugsy Goldstein said. “I seen da inside a his place. He got his stask locked away somewhere.”

“Whaddaya tink, Frank?”

“I tink we gotta do him, Lep.”

“Twenty yeahs I knowed da fuck,” Reles said. “My right arm I’d give him. It hoits. Da man’s a fuckin teef.”

“Punk shitface.” It was Pep’s voice.

“We give him dis territory on yaw recommendation, Kid.” It was Lep’s voice.

“Fuckin teef,” Reles said. “I’m embarrassed, Lep. Wois, I’m ashamed.”

“How much ya figger?”

“Twenty, thirty grand he took off us.”

There was a long whistle.

“People do dat, dey got no respeck for da organization,” Lep said. He spoke softly, with an undercurrent of indignation. “I always liked Gagie. But we can’t take dis insult. We gotta have da discipline in da organization. We gotta make an example.”

“Human nature,” Frank said. He seemed to speak with the greatest authority. “Whatsamatter with people.”

“Youse is right. We gotta do him.”

Mickey lay on the couch, listening, petrified. If he was discovered now he would also have to be “done.” His stomach churned loudly. He wondered if they heard as he forced himself to stopped breathing.

“Pep’ll handle it,” Reles said.

“Pep does good woik,” Lepke said. “Da best.” There was a long silence. “Bad business,” he continued. “We had to do tree last week. We’re real proud of ya, Pep.”

“Nobody does it like Pep,” said Frank. “Neat, clean. No muss.”

“Maybe we give Pep a raise on dis one,” Albert said.

“Yeah,” Lep said. “Double on dis one, Pep. Say five long faw yaw end.”

“If you guys insist. Da old price was good, too.”

“Don matter. Pep does it faw love anyhow,” Reles said chuckling. “Right, Pep?”

“I enjoy my woik,” Pep said.

“Make da fucker squawk before he goes,” Bugsy said. “Double crossers are da woist kind.”

“Da woist,” Reles said. “A friend fucks ya it’s da woist.”

“Da question is when,” Lepke said. “Frank, Albert and me gotta be outa here.”

“Say Monday den,” Pep said. “I’ll stay ovah. We do him Monday night.”

“I gotta go wid ya, Pep,” Reles said. “Point a hona. We growed up togedda. Went to chader wid me. We did jobs togedda. Hell, he help me do Tommy Da Mick, Jack Moonface, and dat odder guy. Da wop.” Mickey heard a nervous gasp. It was Reles.

“It’s awright, Kid,” Albert said. “Right, Frank? Deys family.”

“We’re all brudders,” Frank said. “Wops, kikes, micks.” He laughed and the men joined in. “The woild’s changin though …” There was a long pause, as if the men were waiting for something more to come from Frank’s mouth. A gangster’s Sermon on the Mount, Mickey thought, too frightened to put a humorous spin on the idea. “Prohibition was nice clean fun and good business. Hell, everting was wide open den. Ya knew where ya stood. Tings are different now. We got refawmers. When ya get refawmers like Dewey and La Guardia and dem people on, da take get greedy. You watch. Someday da govament’s gonna takes its piece. People got a natural feelin faw vice. Days gonna come when dere gonna legalize vice. Da ponies, da numbers, craps, cards. Maybe even broads. Drugs, too, someday.”

“Nothins fawevah, Frank,” Lep said. “Even da unions. What we gotta do is make hay while da sun shines. It ain’t gonna shine fawevah.”

“People don understand dat we really are da good guys,” Albert said.

“We give a … a structcha,” Lep said. “We go, foist ting ya
know a bunch of assholes start killing each udder in da streets like fuckin animals.”

“Dat ain’t civilized,” Anastasia said. “To be civilized you gotta have a code.”

“And da code says we do Gagie,” Lep said.

“So me an Abie does Gagie on Monday night,” Pep said. “We invite him out to Gorlick’s for dinner. Send a wheelman. Right, Abie? Real buddy buddy. Den we drive him back to his house. Only we don’t.”

“Swan Lake is a good deep lake,” Pep said. “Nobody goes.”

“Dat’s where we put whatzizname last year, right Pep? Da one we went tru da apple orchard.”

“Boinstein’s Orchard,” Pep said. “I rememba.”

“Was dat Schmutz Parker?” Reles asked.

“Naw. Dat was Benny Gold. Rope job. He was a fatso. Fish did good wid old Benny.”

“Pep nevah fegets,” Reles said.

“Ya gotta rememba who ya do,” Pep said. “And weah ya put dem.” The men laughed.

“So Monday den,” Albert said.

“We got someone up heah faw wheelman?” Pep asked.

“Dat redhead putz,” Reles said. “He woiks faw Gawlick. Day call him Irish. I got him keepin an eye out. He wants a job to prove hisself.”

Irish, Mickey thought bitterly. Mickey was certain that it was Irish that had stirred up trouble for Mutzie.

Suddenly Mickey heard chairs move. The men were rising.

“Ya still interested in my knish, Albert?” Pep said. He sounded barely inches from where Mickey lay on the couch. Again, Mickey stopped breathing.

“Fuck yeah,” Albert said. “She know huh stuff?”

“Carta make liva pills?” Pep said laughing.

“Diden seem too anxious,” Albert said.

“She’s anxious now, Albert,” Pep said. “Gives ya a problem slap huh aroun.”

“Oh, yeah. Hell, I may slap huh around even if she give me no problem.”