The Hoods (26 page)

Maxie smiled. “You're getting smarter by the minute. Can you get a little truck?”

Jake replied, “Yeh, we can borrow Klemy's, the rug cleaner's.”

Maxie chuckled, “Klemy loans everybody his truck, doesn't he? Someday he'll get his ass in a sling.”

“We did him plenty of favors,” Pipy said.

Goo-Goo asked hopefully, “Can we clip the joint while we're there?”

“I don't know.” Maxie seemed doubtful. “I'll tell you what. Don't touch any material or finished goods, but if you find any dough, it's yours.”

Jake said, “Thanks, Max.”

I looked at the goniff to see if he was sarcastic. He wasn't; he meant it.

Max said, “Okay, get started.”

Jake turned to Goo-Goo and said, “Go up to Klemy's house and tell him we want the truck.”

Goo-Goo snatched a hurried drink and went on his way.

While we waited for Goo-Goo to come back with the truck, Pipy and Jake exchanged hurried and excited whispers. Pipy insisted, “Ask him. Ask him. Go ahead, you ask.”

I finally said, “What's on your mind, Jakie boy? Talk up; don't be bashful.”

“I'm not bashful, Noodles.”

Jake cleared his throat and hesitated a moment; then in an apologetic tone, blurted out, “Pip and I were talking.”

He hesitated again.

Max prompted, “About what?”

He took the plunge, “We would like to go into that business,” pointing to the box.

Max was puzzled. “What business?”

“Crap-paper manufacturing business,” Pipy cut in eagerly.

“Jesus Christ!” Maxie said in disbelief. “Is it possible?”

I was thinking—boy oh boy! Here we have a couple of real East Side hard-boiled knock-around guys, guys that know every swindle and conniving racket that was ever pulled, and they're falling for one of Maxie's unpremeditated gags. Barnum was right.

Maxie asked incredulously, “You guys want to invest money in that thing?”

Jake and Pip nodded.

Jake said, “Sure, Maxie. We got a little dough,” he added with slight hesitancy, “the dough you gave us, and we thought we could borrow the rest of the dough from you.”

Maxie, with an effort, suppressed his hilarity. “I tell you what,” Maxie said musingly. “This crap-paper manufacturing business is no good for you guys. It's a legitimate business. You guys ain't cut out for a legit business. Besides, there's a depression on—every business is lousy.”

“Even the subways are in a hole,” Patsy cut in.

“Yeh,” Cockeye added, “even the Palisades are on the rocks.”

Maxie said, “Them gags are so old they stink out loud.”

“He's jealous, Pat,” Cockeye said, “because he didn't think of them.”

“I'll tell you what I'll do.”

Maxie walked around, his head bent, his lips puckered in thought. He stopped and looked at Jake and Pipy. His face lit up with a broad affectionate smile. He consulted with me. I nodded agreeably. “Sure it's okay with me,” I said.

He turned to Jake and Pipy. “I'll give you something down your alley, something you guys can depend on to make a buck.”

With the grandiose air of a baron granting largesse to old and faithful servitors, he said, “Starting from now, the 'speak' on Broome Street belongs to Jake, Pip and Goo-Goo. Tell Izzy the manager to give you the keys and if there are any questions, tell him to call me. I didn't think you guys cared to go into business. How about it. Okay?”

Maxie asked if it was okay. It was as okay as for a struggling young tyro to be given the lead at the Met. A speakeasy to them was the pinnacle of success.

Jake's voice choked with emotion.

“Thanks, Maxie, Noodles. Thanks a lot, fellers,” he said.

Little Pipy hurriedly wiped his nose with his sleeve. He seemed overcome.

“Goddamn! Wait until Goo-Goo hears about this. Thanks very much, fellers.” He looked at us, affection in his eyes.

“I'll hear about what, Pip?”

It was Goo-Goo. He came shuffling in. He looked around curiously. “I got Klemy's truck outside.”

Pipy put his arm around Goo-Goo's shoulders. “Goo-Goo, we're in business. Maxie, Noodles and the boys just gave us the 'speak' on Broome Street.”

Goo-Goo's eyes grew dangerously larger as if they were going to pop. He swallowed hard and started coughing violently. Jake patted him on the back.

He said, “Take it easy. Take it easy.”

Finally Goo-Goo managed to stammer a “Thank you, fellas.”

Max turned to me and asked, “What's the score on that Broome Street 'speak', Noodles?”

I took my little book out and turned to the page marked, “Speaks.” I went down the line where I had the Broome Street data and said, “It does approximately twenty-eight hundred dollars on beer and whiskey per week, approximately four hundred gross on the slot machines. After all expenses for help, fix, rent, and miscellaneous, there's about twelve hundred dollars a week net profit.”

“O.K., boys,” said Max, “it's all yours. Keep the same help; keep the joint clean and respectable.” He looked at Jake sternly. “And no rolling lushes.” He glared at Goo-Goo and Pipy; waving his finger under their noses, he admonished, “No whores in the joint.”

Jake said, “I promise you we keep the joint clean, Max.”

“One more thing,” Max continued, waving his finger sternly. “You got yourselves a racket that should earn you about four hundred bucks a week apiece. Salt some of it away for a rainy day. Prohibition won't last forever. Remember, don't go pissing it away. Okay, then, get started with that thing.” He gestured with his thumb to the box. “Now be careful with it. The machinery inside is delicate,” he warned as Pip and Goo-Goo handled the box roughly. “You got your stuff to open the factory door?”

Jake looked at Max chidingly. “What do you think we are—amateurs?”

He took out a ring of master keys and dangled them in the air. There seemed to be about twenty-five, all shapes and sizes. “And Pipy's got another set. I'll bet we can open any door in New York in ten minutes, without a jimmy, and if we got to jimmy the joint, Goo-Goo's got the best jimmy in the trade.”

“Okay,” Max said, “okay. I just wanted to be sure you had your equipment with you. Now don't forget. Get that other box at Himmelfarb's and bring it here. It's very important.”

Jake said with an impatient wave of the hand, “Okay, I won't forget,” and they walked to the door. Jake turned around and remarked, “It looks like we're carrying a coffin.”

I said somberly, “Goodbye, Mr. Moore.”

Jake turned. “What?” he asked.

“Nothing,” I said.

They went out the door.

The job took longer than we expected, but they were bright and cheerful when they came back carrying a box between them.

“How did it go?” Max said. “Any trouble getting into the factory?”

Jake said, “As much trouble as getting into Peggy's. Anything else we can do, Max? Otherwise we'd like to run over to our 'speak'.”

Jake said it with a shy, proud smile.

Maxie smiled back. “Okay, Jakie,” he said. “Have Izzy call me, and I'll give him the okay if he questions you.”

The three of them said, “Thanks, fellas.”

They must have flown to Broome Street. Izzy was on the wire a few minutes later asking if it was okay.

Maxie said, “Yep—yep. The joint is theirs, and tell Jake I said to give you a twenty-five dollar raise.”

Max hung up, and turned to Cockeye and Patsy. Pointing to them both he said, “You and you are volunteering to bring the box to the Professor, okay?”

I said to Max when we were alone, “What do you think? There may be a comeback from the Himmelfarbs. They aren't the type to keep quiet on a fifteen-grand loss.”

Max answered with a grin on his face.

“What the hell can they prove? As far as anybody is concerned, we got rooked for twenty grand on the deal ourselves,” he said. “The Himmelfarbs may guess we were in cahoots with the Professor, but they got no proof. They haven't even got the money machine as evidence. Besides, they got a new problem that will keep them busy— what to do with Mr. Moore.”

Maxie puffed away on his cigar, his chair tilted back, his eyes closed, a peaceful expression on his face. I thought he was falling asleep.

He stirred slightly and murmured lazily, “You know, Noodles, worse comes to worse, them Himmelfarbs can go into the toilet paper manufacturing business.”

“Call the club right away,” was Moe's greeting as we came in the next morning.

Max raised his eyebrows significantly to me. “I thought so,” he said. “Did he say what for?” He turned to Moe.

“Nope,” Fat Moe shook his head. “He didn't say, all he said, it was very important. He called twice this morning.”

Maxie gulped his hooker and called the district Tammany leader at the club. After a moment's conversation he hung the receiver back on the hook, a puzzled expression on his face.

“Let's shoot over, it's urgent.”

We walked right into the leader's inner office without knocking. He was sitting behind his desk, a worried expression on his face. He waved us to chairs scattered around the room. We brought them close around the desk.

Max said, “What's up?”

“Well, I got two calls this morning. One from Center Street—”

He looked at us to see if we were impressed.

Max said, “So?”

“And I got one from police headquarters. The other one came right from the D.A.'s office.”

Max said, “So? What else?”

“I just want you guys to know I'm on the job.”

Max said, “Okay, we know you're on the job. So, what else is new?”

“All right, Max, I'll tell it to you as I got it from both places. It's a queer, mixed up story about these Himmelfarbs you asked me to keep a lookout for. For a friend of yours, you said, Max.”

Max and I exchanged glances.

I said, “Well what happened with them crumb buns?”

He looked at me intently.

“Well, when the Himmelfarb brothers arrived at their factory this morning, they walked over to a box they claim had a special piece of printing machinery in it. The machine did not work. They opened the lid to look inside. There was no machine in the box.”

He paused for dramatic effect. “What do you guys think was in the box?”

“What was in the box?” I asked with simulated interest.

“A body was in the box.”

“A dead body?” Max asked without cracking a smile. “So what else is new?”

“Yes, a dead body,” the district leader said sarcastically, looking sharply at Max. He continued in the same tone. “Of course, you lads know nothing about it, especially as the corpse died a natural death,” he chuckled, “natural deaths being out of your line.”

“Yep, so what else is new?” Max asked drily, “where do we come into the story, or do we? Did they say what this machine was supposed to print?”

“You guys are in the story all right. Don't worry. No, they didn't say what the machine was supposed to print. Well, anyway the elder Himmelfarb is in the hospital, shock or heart failure or something; the other two told the cops a queer disconnected story involving you lads.” 'How are we involved in this ridiculous thing?” I asked.

“They claim they bought the box through you fellows.”

“We get blamed for every queer thing that happens on the East Side,” I said plaintively.

“Yes, Noodles, how true,” the leader eyed me keenly. “Well, fortunately the corpse died a natural death, so there won't be much trouble on that score, and the Himmelfarb's are very evasive in explaining what type of printing machine it was—so, I guess it won't take much to squash any interest the D. A. or the cops may have in this case.”

“How much?” Max asked taking a roll of bills out.

“A couple of those Cleveland portraits will do it.”

Max peeled off two one-thousand-dollar bills and tossed them on the desk.

“Not that we know anything about this silly Himmelfarb story. This dough is just for general good will,” he said.

The leader chuckled. “Yes, for good will, but not the good will of the Himmelfarb brothers.”

Max stood up. “Well, what else is new?” he asked.

The leader smiled and shrugged. He walked out to the street with us. As we drove away he shouted after us, “Well, what else is new?”

“Now he's needling me with that, 'well, what else is new?'“ Max said ruefully. “Yep, he feels okay; he's two grand to the good!”

“He splits part of it with the cops and D. A. He don't keep all of it,” I said.

“Yep, I guess part of it he turns over to them, but I guarantee you, it's a small part,” Max said drily.

“Yeh, I guess so,” I agreed. “It goes to show you the power of a buck.”

“Yep, you're right, Noodles, it goes to prove you can buy anybody with a charlotte russe.”

“Yeh,” I said.

“Yep,” he said.