Friday the Rabbi Slept Late (22 page)

“I called you together about this business of the temple down in the Chilton area. It’s got me worried. I was in the Ship’s Cabin the other night and heard some talk down there that I didn’t like. I was sitting in one of the booths, so I wasn’t seen, but there were the usual loafers that you find around there, nursing a beer and talking to hear themselves, mostly. They were saying that this rabbi must have done it, and that nothing was being done because the police were being paid off by the Jews; that Hugh Lanigan and the rabbi were great friends and were always at each other’s houses.”

“Was it Buzz Applebury who was doing most of the talking?” asked George Collins, an expansive, smiling man. “I had him out to the house a couple of days ago to give me a figure on painting the trim and he was talking that way. Of course, I laughed at him and called him a damn fool.”

“It was Buzz Applebury,” admitted Macomber, “but there were three or four others there and they seemed to be in pretty general agreement.”

“Is that what’s troubling you, Carl?” asked Heber Nute. He was a fidgety, irascible man who always appeared to be angry about something. The skin on his bald head seemed stretched tight and a large vein quivered with his annoyance. “Goddam, you can’t pay any attention to that kind of character.” He sounded indignant that he should have been called to discuss so unimportant a matter.

“You’re wrong, Heber, this wasn’t just one crank like Applebury. The others seemed to think it was reasonable. This kind of talk has been going around, and it can be dangerous.”

“I don’t see that you can do very much about it, Carl,” observed Collins judiciously, “short of just telling him he’s a damn fool the way I did.”

“Doesn’t seem to have done any good,” observed Nute sourly. “Something else is bothering you, Carl. You’re not one to get worked up by the likes of Applebury. What is it?”

“It’s not just Applebury. I’ve had remarks passed by other people, customers in my store. I don’t like it. I’ve heard it all along, ever since the case broke. It quieted down a little when they picked up Bronstein but it’s got worse ever since he’s been released. The general tone is that if it isn’t Bronstein, then it has to be the rabbi, and that the case against him is not being prosecuted because he and Hugh Lanigan are friends.”

“Hugh is all cop,” asserted Nute. “He’d arrest his own son if he were guilty.”

“Wasn’t it the rabbi who got Bronstein off?” asked Collins.

“That’s right, but people don’t know that.”

“Well, as soon as they find the real killer, it’ll all quiet down,” said Collins.

“How do you know it won’t be the rabbi?” demanded Nute.

“For that matter, how do we know they’ll find the killer?” asked Macomber. “An awful lot of cases of this type don’t ever get solved. And in the meantime, a lot of damage can be done.”

“What kind of damage?” asked Collins.

“A lot of nastiness can be stirred up. Jews tend to be sensitive and edgy, and this is their rabbi.”

“That’s just too damn bad,” said Nute, “but I don’t see that we have to use kid gloves just because they’re sensitive.”

“There are over three hundred Jewish families in Barnard’s Crossing,” said Macomber. “Since most of them live in the Chilton area, you can figure present market value on their houses at around twenty thousand dollars apiece. Many didn’t pay that, but that’s what they’re worth in today’s market on average. Our assessments run fifty percent of market evaluation. That’s three hundred times ten thousand, which is three million dollars. Taxes on three million dollars is a lot of taxes.”

“Well, if the Jews should move out, then Christians would move in,” said Nute. “That wouldn’t bother me.”

“You don’t cotton to Jews, do you, Heber?” asked Macomber.

“No, I can’t say that I do.”

“How about Catholics and colored people?”

“Can’t say as I’m overpartial to them either.”

“How about Yankees?” asked Collins with a grin.

“He don’t care for them either,” said Macomber, also grinning. “That’s because he’s one himself. We Yankees don’t like anybody, including each other, but we tolerate everybody.”

Even Heber chuckled.

“Well,” Macomber went on, “that’s why I asked you to come tonight. I was thinking about Barnard’s Crossing and what a change there’s been in the last fifteen or twenty years. Our schools today are as good as any in the state. We’ve got a library that’s supposed to be one of the best in towns of this size. We’ve built a new hospital. We’ve built miles of sewers and paved miles of streets. It’s not only a bigger town than it was fifteen years ago – it’s a better town. And it was these Chilton people that did it – Jews and Christians. Don’t kid yourself. These people in the Chilton area, the Christians I’m talking about now, they’re not like us here in Old Town. They’re a lot more like their Jewish neighbors. They’re young executives and scientists and engineers and professional people generally. They’re all college graduates and their wives are college people, and they expect their kids to go to college. And you know what brought them –”

“What brought them,” said Nute flatly, “is being half an hour from Boston and near the ocean for the summer.”

“There are other towns that are on the ocean, and none of them have done half the things we’ve done and every one has a higher tax rate,” said Macomber quietly. “No, it’s something else, maybe the spirit that Jean Pierre Bernard, that old reprobate, brought with him and left for us. When they were hunting witches in Salem, several of them came here and we hid them out. We’ve never had a witch-hunt here and I don’t want one now.”

“Something has happened,” said Collins, “something definite that’s bothering you, and I don’t think it’s Buzz Applebury shooting off his mouth, or remarks by your customers either. I never knew you to take any sass from customers. Now what is it, Carl?”

Macomber nodded. “There’ve been telephone calls, crank calls, sometimes late at night. Becker who has the Lincoln-Ford agency was in to see me about making a bid on the new police cruising car. That’s what he said he came for, but during the conversation he managed to mention that the president of their temple, Wasserman, and Abe Casson – you know him – they’ve been getting calls. I spoke to Hugh about it and he said he hadn’t heard, but he wouldn’t be a bit surprised if the rabbi wasn’t getting a lot of them too.”

“There’s nothing we can do about that, Carl,” said Nute.

‘I’m not so sure. If we could give everybody in town the idea that we, the Selectmen, were dead set against this kind of thing, it might help. And since most of it seems to be centered on the rabbi – although if you ask me he’s just a handy excuse so Buzz Applebury can make himself a big shot – I was thinking we might use this nonsense the Chamber of Commerce instituted two or three years back, the business of blessing the fleet at the beginning of Race Week, to show we don’t approve of what’s going on. Now Monsignor O’Brien did it one year and Dr. Skinner did it one year –”

“Pastor Mueller did it last year,” said Collins.

“All right, that’s two Protestants and one Catholic. Suppose we announce that Rabbi Small is going to do it this year.”

“Dammit, Carl, you can’t do that. The Jews don’t even have a boat club. The Argonauts have a lot of Catholic members and that’s why they asked Monsignor O’Brien. As for the Northern and the Atlantic, they don’t have any Catholic members, much less Jews. They wouldn’t stand for it. They even kicked about having the monsignor.”

“The town does a lot for the yacht clubs,” said Macomber, “and if they were told that the Selectmen were unanimous about this, they’d damn well have to stand for it.”

“But dammit,” said Nute, “you can’t ask the yacht clubs to let a Jew rabbi bless their boats, no more than you could ask them to let him christen one of their kids.”

“Why not? Who blessed them before the Chamber of Commerce dreamed this up?”

“Nobody.”

“Then the boats don’t require any blessing. And I haven’t noticed that they’ve been making any faster time since we started blessing them. So the worst anyone could say was that the rabbi’s blessing wouldn’t do any good. I don’t think it would either, not any more than the pastor’s or the monsignor’s. But I don’t suppose anyone would argue that it would hurt.”

“All right, all right,” said Nute. “What do you want us to do?”

“Not a damn thing, Heber. I’ll go see the rabbi and extend the invitation. Just back me up if we ran into trouble with the rest of the Board.”

Joe Serafino stood at the entrance to the dining room and checked the house. “Good business, Lennie,” he remarked.

“Yeah, it’s a nice crowd.” Then without moving his lips the headwaiter added, “Note the fuzz – third table from the window.”

“How do you know?”

“I can smell a cop, I know that one anyway. He’s a state detective.”

“Did he speak to you?”

Leonard shrugged his shoulders. “They’ve been around you know, ever since that business with the girl. But this is the first time one of them came in and ordered a drink.”

“Who’s the woman with him?”

“Must be his wife.”

“So maybe he wants a little relaxation.” Suddenly he stiffened. “What’s the kid doing here, that Stella?”

“Oh, I meant to tell you. She wanted to see you. I told her I’d let her know when you came in.”

“What’s she want?”

“I suppose she wants to talk to you about a regular job. I can give her the brush-off, if you like. Tell her you’re too busy to see her tonight and that you’ll call her.”

“Why don’t you do that. No, hold it. I’ll talk to her.”

He left the doorway and began to meander among the tables, stopping every now and then to greet an old customer. Unhurriedly, without looking in her direction, he maneuvered to the table where she was sitting. He said, “What’s the score, kid? You come to ask me about a job, you don’t sit at a table.”

“Mr. Leonard said I should. He said it would look better than waiting in the foyer.”

“All right, what do you want?”

“I’ve got to speak to you – in private.”

He thought he detected a threatening note in her voice, so he said, “All right. Where’s your coat?”

“In the checkroom.”

“Get your coat. Do you know where my car is?”

“In the same place you always keep it?”

“Yeah. You go there and wait for me. I’ll follow along.”

He continued his rounds of the tables until he reached the kitchen door. He drifted on through and a minute later was hurrying through the parking lot.

Easing in behind the wheel he said, “All right, what’s on your mind? I haven’t got much time.”

“The police came to see me this morning, Mr. Serafino.”

“What you tell them?” he said quickly. Then he realized his mistake and, almost casually, asked what they wanted.

“I don’t know. I wasn’t home. The woman I live with, they spoke to her. They left a name and a phone number I was supposed to call, but I told her if they should call back, to say I hadn’t been home all day. I wanted to talk to you first. I’m scared.”

“What are you scared about? You don’t know what they want you for.”

In the darkness he could see her nodding her head. “I got an idea, because they asked her if she knew what time I got home, you know, that night.”

He shrugged his shoulders in an elaborate gesture of unconcern. “You were working here that night, so they got to question you. They questioned everybody in the place. Just routine. If they come back again, tell them the truth. You were afraid to go home alone that late at night, it being your first time here, so I drove you home and left you oft about a quarter-past one.”

“Oh, no, it was earlier, Mr. Serafino.”

“Yeah? One o’clock?”

“I looked at the clock when I came in, Mr. Serafino. It was only half-past twelve.”

Now he was angry – angry and a little frightened. “You trying to pull something, sister? You trying to put me in the middle of a murder rap?”

“I’m not trying to do anything, Mr. Serafino,” she said stubbornly. “I know it was half-past twelve when you dropped me off at my house, a little earlier even, because it was half-past when I got in. I’m not very good at lying, Mr. Serafino, so I thought maybe if I were to go to New York – I got a married sister there – and try to get a job, like in a show, if this was just a routine checkup like you say, they might not bother with me if I wasn’t around.”

“Well, you got a point there.”

“I’d need a little expense money, Mr. Serafino. There’d be my fare, and even if I could live with my sister – and I think maybe it would be better if I didn’t, at least at first – I’d still have to pay her board and room rent.”

“What’d you have in mind?”

“If I got a job right away, it wouldn’t have to be so much, but I ought to have maybe five hundred dollars to be safe.”

“A shakedown, eh?” He leaned toward her. “Listen here. You know I had nothing to do with that girl.”

“I don’t know what to think, Mr. Serafino.”

“Yes, you do.” He waited for her to speak, but she remained silent. He changed his tone. “This business of going to New York – that’s no good. If you were to disappear, the cops would get suspicious right away. And they’d find you, believe me. And five hundred bucks – forget about it. I don’t have that kind of money.” He drew out his wallet and took out five ten-dollar bills. “I don’t mind giving you a stake. And if you need it, you can count on a ten-spot now and then – but nothing big, you understand. And if you behave yourself, I can maybe work you in on a regular job at my club. But that’s all. And when the cops ask you what time you got in that night, you’ll say you don’t remember, but it was late, probably after one. Don’t worry about not being a good liar. The cops will expect you to be flustered.”

She was shaking her head.

“What’s the matter?”

In the dim glow from the club’s electric sign he saw a smug little smile on her face.

“If you didn’t have anything to do with it, Mr. Serafino, I don’t figure you’d give me anything. And if you did, then what you’re offering is not enough.”

“Look, I had nothing to do with that girl. Get that through your head. Why am I doing this? I’ll tell you. Any guy who operates a nightclub, he’s fair game for the police. They can raise hell with him, see? If they start bearing down on me, my business goes to pot. That Bronstein guy that they picked up and then let go, he sells cars. So if he finds it hurt his business, he drops his prices or gives better trade-ins for a little while, and that’s all. But if the same thing happened to me, I’d have to close up for good. And I’m a married man with a couple of kids. So it’s worth a few bucks to me to avoid trouble. But that’s all.” She shook her head.