Israel (59 page)

Becky, wrapped in her robe, returned to the parlor. “One thing I forgot to ask. How did Stefano know Benny was engaged?”

Abe couldn't bring himself to look at her. “He's promised to Stefano's youngest daughter.”

Benny Talkin punished the Cadillac on the way out to Sheepshead Bay in Brooklyn. By driving hard he hoped to work some of the anger out of his system. He chafed at the way he'd been summarily summoned to the home of the de Fazios.

He received the note from Stefano the morning after his disastrous blow-up with Becky. Abe had evidently gone to Stefano some time ago, and that visit had resulted in the note that “strongly suggested” that Benny come to Sheepshead Bay this Saturday afternoon to discuss his “serious breach of faith.”

Benny savagely pounded the horn as he passed a battered Plymouth Road King, almost forcing it onto the shoulder. The driver swore at him, and Benny had a fleeting but intensely vivid image of pounding the offending driver's head against the dented, rusted fender of his crummy Plymouth.

Benny had waited twice for Becky at Malden's, hoping for a chance to apologize, to confess how the thought of never seeing her again made him yearn for her.

On both occasions Becky had either stayed late in the store or left by some other entrance. He could have seen her easily enough at home, but Benny had no stomach for that.

Unfortunately, this afternoon it was he who would be cornered. Benny frowned as he drove past the piers lining Gravesend Bay. How it galled to be lectured to about matters of honor and morality by someone like Stefano de Fazio.

And to make matters worse, I deserve it, Benny told himself. The fact that he loved Becky counted for nothing when his own self-interest had kept him from breaking off with Dolores de Fazio.

He'd met Dolores eighteen months before at one of her father's parties. She was in her early twenties, a lanky brunette wtih alluring blue eyes and a tomboyish way. She still lived at home. Benny asked her out a couple of times, but there were no sparks and the relationship languished.

Then there was another party, which led to a dinner date in Manhattan, which led to Dolores' long colt's legs wrapped around Benny's hips as they rutted on his double bed. He had not been the first, Dolores informed him as she reapplied lipstick to her wide, sensual mouth. She'd run with a succession of willing males from the time she was fifteen. Her father knew about none of them, of course.

Benny was a good lover, Dolores informed him. If he was willing, they could get together on a regular basis. Benny needn't fear getting involved too deeply with her, Dolores assured him. After all, he was Jewish.

Benny began calling for her at Sheepshead Bay on a regular basis. He took her to dinner the first few times, but when Dolores confessed that it made no difference to her, they soon dispensed with the restaurant and went directly from Brooklyn to Benny's apartment on the Upper West Side of Manhattan.

She was a sophisticated woman with a quick sense of humor, easy to like, and at some point, mixed in with the laughs, the champagne and the silken texture of her thighs as they tussled on the double bed, Benny decided he loved her. Dolores admitted that she'd begun to feel the same way about him.

Of course that was before he met Becky, before he learned what love could be. He felt more passion holding Becky's hand than he ever had in bed with Dolores.

But eight months ago, when Stefano de Fazio asked Benny to come into his study for a little talk while he waited for Dolores to finish primping upstairs, Rebecca Herodetzky was just some girl from around the old neighborhood.

“Look, I ain't gonna beat around the bush with you,” Stefano began as he moved to pour Benny a Scotch. The Italian was wearing shabby work pants and a cardigan sweater with a hole in one elbow. The old clothes, combined with his thick grey hair, mustache and accent, made him seem totally out of place in the ostentatious luxury of his home. “This kind of thing ain't easy for a father, but on the other hand, I kinda like the fact that she came to me in the first place.”

“What's this about, Stefano?”

“Hah! And me saying I wasn't gonna beat around the bush, right?” de Fazio laughed. “Well, Dolores has told me how fond of each other you two are. I think my daughter has her sights set on you, Benny. I think she wants to marry you.”

“Dolores told you that?” Benny asked in disbelief.

“Hold on. She don't know about this conversation,” Stefano warned. “She'd be furious with me if she ever found out about it. All I'm saying is that if you asked her, she'd say yes, okay? And if you're the man to make my daughter happy, well . . . I'm not one to let religion mess things up. Get me?”

After the initial shock of Stefano's suggestion had worn off, Benny did understand. Like any father, Stefano was anxious to see his daughter happy, but it was Benny's trucking business that had prompted Stefano's suggestion.

All Benny told Becky about his father was true, but he'd left some gaping holes.

For instance, the friends who set Mendy Talkin up with his profitable delivery routes were Benjamin Siegel and Meyer Lansky. In those days there was plenty of territory, and these same men, along with some others, felt sanguine enough about the future to form a crime confederation or syndicate, that alloted each boss his own territory. The Jews were given the job of enforcing the peace, and to do it they formed Murder, Inc.

That was during the thirties. To Lansky, Benny Talkin had always seemed like a good kid. While Benny's father was ailing, young Benny moved to curry favor with Lansky. When Mendy Talkin died, Benny was quick to assure Lansky that his trucks and union contacts would continue to be at Lansky's disposal.

Lansky could easily have prospered without small potatoes like Benny, but Lansky appreciated the fact that Benny was eager to ingratiate himself. Since Benny was useful as a buffer between Lansky and the unions and industries, since he was Mendy's kid and a fellow Jew, he found himself under Lansky's protection.

It was this protection that allowed Benny to hold on to his father's business. No other racketeer, no matter how hungry for trucks and power over the transport unions, would dare to try and muscle in on a protege of Meyer Lansky.

That included Stefano de Fazio, who hungered mightily for wheels. He had to move restaurant and building supplies, and of course there were his bakeries, meatpacking and warehouse holdings. Stefano had trucks of his own and some union connections from his old days as
treasurer of the ILGWU, but nothing that approached Benny Talkin's fleet.

Right now it made no sense for Stefano to attempt to establish his own trucking business; Lansky would move to stop him. Like the other syndicate members, Stefano used Benny's trucks, and a healthy portion of Benny's profits were finding their way into Lansky's coffers.

But if Benny Talkin were Stefano de Fazio's son-in-law, the Italian would take over as Benny's feudal lord. Stefano would have the trucks and contacts he wanted as well as Lansky's share of Benny's profits. Benny knew this because he had wisely asked for Meyer's blessing on his impending marriage, and while Lansky advised against an interfaith marriage, he did not forbid it. Lansky then proceeded to act as Mendy would have in arranging things with de Fazio. In exchange for Benny's trucking business Stefano agreed to make his son-in-law a full partner in all of his holdings.

As Benny drove up the winding driveway bordered with evergreens, he noticed that Dolores' bright pink Hudson coupe was missing. Thank God she wasn't home. Benny sighed to himself as he parked and walked up the cobblestone path to Stefano's front door. He believed himself to be up to confronting an angry Stefano de Fazio, but he had no stomach just now for Dolores' wrath.

The door opened before Benny had a chance to ring the bell. “Come on in,” Gemstones Bucci said. Tony was dressed in golf clothes: brown knickers and a bright yellow sweater with a crimson argyle pattern across the front and back.

Yellow was a bad choice for Tony, Benny couldn't help thinking, it brought out his baldness and the slick sallowness of his homely features. Benny himself was wearing a three-piece suit of dark green worsted. His shirt was mint green Egyptian cotton and his silk tie was the
color of ivy flecked with gold. His shoes were custom made two-tones, the color of strong tea with dark green saddles. Benny considered this to be his lucky outfit. The girls said the greens did something magical to his hazel eyes. Benny figured that it must be so, for so many had said the same thing.

Tony Bucci led Benny through the movie-palace ambience of the big house. The flocked wallpaper, white rugs and red velvet draperies were all unchanged. As usual, Benny felt jarred as they passed from the eye-aching gaudiness of the main part of the house into Stefano's somber mahogany-paneled study.

Stefano was standing by the big window, gazing out at the bay. He turned, nodding to Benny. “Come see. Beautiful view today.”

Benny dutifully moved to the window. The sunlight glittered on the mirror surface of the bay; gaudy boats bobbed in the water, tied to buoys like fat marshmallows.

Benny felt Stefano's hand on his shoulder. “How about a drink?”

“I wouldn't say no.”

“Atta boy. Tony,” Stefano called, “make us some of them—oh, hell, what were they called? You know, that new drink we had at the St. Regis.”

“Red snappers they were called,” Tony said. “I gotta go downstairs for the stuff.”

“Look at you, all dressed to the nines like you was going to work at some bank or something. It's Saturday. You people don't work on Saturday, right? You're making me feel like a bum,” he laughed, gesturing at the ink stains across the front of his old white shirt and at his corduroy trousers, rubbed smooth at the knees and across the droopy seat. Stefano stroked his chin. “I ain't even shaved today. Come on, at least take off that tie.”

Benny demurred. “The tie is what makes it.”

“Yeah, I guess. You got a lot of style, kid. Except of
course for this mess with the women. Except for that, huh, kid?”

Before Benny could reply Tony Bucci returned with a tray laden with a pitcher of tomato juice and spices. He went directly to Stefano's well-stocked sideboard and began to mix the ingredients with vodka.

“Wait'll you try this,” Stefano boomed. “Maurice, the headwaiter at the St. Regis, told us it's the latest thing in Paris.”

Benny suppressed his smile. “They start serving those during the wee hours at the all-night joints in Harlem. They call 'em bloody marys.”

“Hear that, Tony?” Stefano pouted. “And we thought we could impress Benny. Bloody marys, eh?” He chuckled. “No wonder they call 'em red snappers at the St. Regis. Can't have no blood in a classy joint like that. Well, sit down. Make yourself comfortable.”

Benny settled himself into a leather armchair and balanced his glass on the brass-studded armrest while he lit a cigarette, flicking the match into the standing ashtray beside him. My lighter, he thought, Becky still has my lighter. Oh, Becky, how I miss you.

He took a sip of his drink. “It's good.” He nodded to Tony.

“Be a cold day in August I can't mix a drink better than some goddamned nigger in Harlem,” Tony declared.

“I sent my wife shopping with Dolores,” Stefano began. “Maria and my daughter don't know nothing about any of this, and as far as I'm concerned they never will. I don't want Dolores holding nothing against you before the marriage. Get it?”

“I've got to tell you something.” Benny had already rehearsed what he wanted to say. He would get it across to Stefano that this marriage would be a terrible mistake. There'd been so many women in his life. Benny had felt more or less the same vague fondness for them all, including
Dolores. He'd truly believed that there was nothing more to feel for a woman, but then he met Becky. This marriage to Dolores had started out as a marriage of convenience, a business deal; such a marriage was no longer adequate now that he'd fallen in love with Becky.

Of course he couldn't tell Stefano he didn't love his daughter. He had to be diplomatic.

“Stefano, after what's happened I wouldn't blame you if you called off the wedding. I'm not good enough for Dolores,” Benny mourned.

“You hear that?” Stefano asked Tony. “I told you he's a good boy. Benny, you made a bad mistake, but it's an understandable one. I was young myself once. I ain't gonna hold this against you.”

“Really, Stefano. Call it off. I'm not worthy—”

Stefano smiled. “Let me explain something, kid. I mean, your father, may he rest in peace, hasn't been around to show you the ropes. This whole marriage thing, it's for the women, you know? They give you sons—daughters too, of course—but it's the sons that count. Anyway, in exchange for bearing your children they expect a little security, so they invented marriage. Now, what a woman don't know won't hurt her. Just like the cops or the government. For instance, I got enough dough to live in a joint that'd make this place look like a garage, but I don't need to attract attention to myself, right? I got Tony here to juggle my books so it looks like all my profits get plowed back into my businesses. I pay very little tax this way, Benny, and when the IRS comes snooping around they see that I live good, but not too good for what my books tell 'em. Get it? In other words, I'm discreet. In everything. That's how you gotta be. Understand?”

This was not going the way Benny had hoped. “Dolores should find herself a man worthy of her.”

Stefano waved him quiet. “Bullshit. For one thing, there ain't no man worthy of my daughter; for another
thing, the fact that you're so broken up about cheating on her makes you a saint compared to some guys I know. I'll tell you the truth, Benny. 1 ain't so mad at you for cheating on Dolores, 'cause what she don't know can't hurt her. I'm mad because of what you've done to poor Becky. I've known her since she was a little girl. She's an innocent, Benny, and I hear you messed her up but good.”