“Moshe, why are you limping? Did you hurt yourself?”
Moshe held up his hand and shook his head. “You wouldn’t believe it, Agnes.”
“What I have heard lately, Moshe, nothing would surprise me.”
“You and me both,” he said, knocking and opening the door simultaneously.
“Good morning, Arnold,” Moshe said to Arnold sitting at his desk.
“Good morning, Moshe. What’s with the limp?”
“Solomon did this to me,” Moshe snarled.
“What do you mean?”
“He came to me in my dream and smacked me with his cane.”
“And you woke up with the injury?”
“Yeah, and you should see the bruise. It’s purple,” Moshe said unbuckling his belt and pulling his pants down to show Arnold.
“Wow, that’s serious,” Arnold said, looking at Moshe’s beefy, black and blue thigh.
“He did this to me in my dream, Arnold.”
“It’s time you learn how to fight back, Moshe,” said a voice from behind him.
Moshe turned, and saw Gray.
“Gray, I didn’t see you,” Moshe said.
“It’s time to see Noa,” Gray said taking a step toward the door and gesturing for Moshe to follow.
“Who?” Moshe asked.
“Come, I’ll tell you on the way. Arnold, is it all right if we borrow your car?” Gray asked.
“Um, sure, no problem,” Arnold said, throwing up his hands.
At the traffic light, Gray stopped the car. Moshe looked over to Gray, who had his window open even though the weather was hovering around forty degrees.
“I’m freezing, Gray. Can you close your window a bit?”
“Of course, sorry, Moshe,” he said rolling the window shut.
“Now can you tell me where we are going?”
“To see Noa.”
“Who is that?” Asked Moshe.
“Noa will show you how to live in both worlds.”
“I thought you were teaching me.”
“I can only show you the very basics. Noa will open your mind to moving about in the dream world.”
“How do you know this person?”
“She taught me what I couldn’t learn on my own.”
“Who is she?”
Gray glanced over to Moshe and said, “She’s a descendant of the Jewish mystic Francesa Sarah of Safed, from the sixteenth century. Every eldest daughter since, in this long line of women, were teachers of how to live in the dream world.”
Moshe paused for a moment, and then said, “Gray, why do you sweat all the time?”
“Ah, finally, you’ve asked.” Gray smiled.
“You’re always sweating, even when I’m freezing.”
“The sweats happen when you spend more time in the dream world than in the awakened world.”
“Lately I think this is the dream world,” Moshe said, finishing with a sigh.
“Excellent, Moshe! Once you understand that the two worlds are not much different, then you can travel between both with ease, just like me.”
“You speak of this so casually, yet you seem to travel between the awakened world and the dream world effortlessly, except for the sweating,” Moshe said with a smile.
“All of us dream every night, Moshe, so there’s plenty of time to practice,” Gray said, as he pulled into a parking spot on Queens Boulevard.
The elevated train rumbled above as Moshe lifted his aching body out of the car. Gray walked up to a glass door that was obscured with aged white paint. He pressed the bell on the wall and the door’s lock buzzed open.
“Come, Moshe, it’s time to meet Noa.”
Chapter 52
As Niko sipped her coffee, Myron thought how lovely she looked in her blue silk nightgown embroidered with colorful butterflies, that he bought for her at Bergdorf’s. They were sitting by a large window, overlooking the freshly fallen snow blanketing the gardens of Gracie Mansion.
“I love how the snow makes everything look so perfect,” she said, cradling her cup between her hands, like an eggshell.
“I like it too,” Myron said, looking at himself in the mirror and adjusting the knot of his tie.
“Tell me, Myron, what’s it like being mayor?”
Myron walked over and took a seat at the front edge of the chair facing Niko. He exhaled a long breath before he said, “I don’t know, Niko, I think I may be in over my head.”
Niko placed the teacup down and asked, “Why do you say that?”
“You know your father’s the one who put me in office.”
Niko shook her head. “That’s not true, Myron. He may have supported you and financed your campaign, but you were the person people voted for. You were the one who gave campaign speeches to hundreds of groups, day after day. You were the one who debated the former mayor and gave countless interviews to the press. It is you, Myron, who the people of this city believe in, not my father.”
Myron sat back in his chair, allowing his stiff posture to relax into the upholstery. “I suppose that’s true,” he said.
“Of course it’s true and I am proud to be here with you as you begin your journey. You’re going to be a great mayor. So stop worrying so much and don’t let my father rattle you. Show him the respect he deserves and you’ll be fine,” she said reaching for his hand and squeezing it.
A knock at the door interrupted them.
“Excuse me, sir, you have a call. It’s your father.”
“Okay. Thank you, Edward,” Myron said. He stood up and walked over to the phone on the nightstand.
“Hello, Pops, is everything all right?”
“Listen, Myron, I had a dream last night.”
“What was it?” Myron asked quietly and turned his head away from Niko.
“You’re not alone, are you?”
“No, but that’s okay, just tell me.”
“Are you with the gangster’s daughter?”
“That’s right, Pops.”
“Well, you best just listen. There’s going to be a hit on Mickey Coppola.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“Don’t act alarmed. It’s going to be tonight at Antonio’s.”
Myron glanced over to Niko, who seemed preoccupied with a magazine.
“Do you know by whom?” Myron asked, quietly.
“Have you heard of Carmine Rizzo?”
Myron knew this name. He was one of the mob bosses he met at Antonio’s the night of his mayoral win celebration. “Yes, I know who he is. Is that it?”
“That’s all I saw. Are you going to warn Mickey?”
Myron looked over to Niko and said, “Not sure. I need to think about it.”
“Think about what, Myron? You must warn him. Getting rid of Mickey won’t make your life easier, don’t fool yourself. The other bosses will step in once Mickey’s gone.”
“I understand, Pops,” he interrupted his father. “Let me go. I’ll speak with you later,” he said, and hung up.
Myron sat in his office at City Hall staring at the phone. He churned over in his mind the benefits of not telling Mickey. If Mickey was gone, then he would have no one to answer to. He was certain that the commissioner would support him and help keep the other bosses from infiltrating influence into his office.
On the other hand, he didn’t want to hurt Niko, especially after she demonstrated that she could provide him with the emotional support and practical guidance he craved, not to mention assuming the role as a mediator between Mickey and himself. She deserved to be protected from the heart wrenching grief of losing a father. Myron picked up the phone and dialed Mickey’s number.
Later that evening, Myron walked into Antonio’s.
“Mr. Mayor, what an honor to have you joining us tonight. Please follow me,” Antonio said.
“Good evening, Antonio. I’m assuming I will find Mr. Coppola in the back.”
“Yes, please, this way,” Antonio said, as he led the way through the crowded restaurant.
Myron was recognized by the patrons who greeted him enthusiastically as he followed Antonio past the tables, and through the door marked Private.
“Mr. Mayor, I am thrilled you can join us,” Mickey said, as he entered the smoke filled room.
“Good evening, Mickey,” he said, shaking hands as the gangster rose from his chair.
Still seated at the table, waiting to greet the mayor, was Carmine Rizzo.
“Carmine, it’s nice to see you,” Myron said, reaching over to shake Carmine’s hand.
“What’s this, Mickey? I thought we were having a private meeting?” Carmine asked, his face turning red.
“Come on now, Carmine, don’t be upset. You know we need the support of our mayor for our businesses to prosper,” Mickey said.
Carmine slid his chair back and pushed his hand against the table to lift his fat body to his feet and said, “I’ll go use the john.”
“Of course, Carmine,” Mickey said.
The door closed, and Mickey patted Myron on the shoulder. “It’s obvious something was planned. How did you know about the hit?” Mickey whispered.
“Let’s just say, I have a good team,” Myron said with a smile.
“Indeed you do.”
“Are you out of danger?” Myron asked.
“Oh, did you think he would try to kill me here?” Mickey said.
Myron shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“It would happen outside, after dinner. Probably as I was getting into my car.”
“Did Carmine leave to call off the hit?” Myron asked, nodding toward the door.
“Maybe. My men are watching him now.”
Myron felt his stomach loosen at Mickey’s assurance that there would be no violence tonight. Just as that thought was ruminating in his head, he heard multiple gunshots and screams.
Myron quickly rose and started for the door. Mickey grabbed his forearm.
“It’s best to wait here for a minute,” Mickey said.
“What the fuck is going on, Mickey?”
“Carmine should know better,” Mickey said.
“People saw me coming in here, Mickey. This is fucked up,” Myron said, rubbing the back of his neck.
“You worry too much, Mr. Mayor. Those people are my people,” he said pointing, “and no one saw you walk in here tonight, as long as I say it’s so.”
Myron stared at Mickey, then said, “Is this the thanks I get for saving your life?”
Myron stood up and opened the door. To his right, he saw Carmine’s legs. He stepped closer and saw the rest of his hefty body sprawled between the bathroom and the hallway. Blood was seeping out of bullet holes and spreading onto the floor.
Myron looked down and saw he was standing in Carmine’s blood with his alligator shoes. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
He turned, walked to the first table, grabbed a white cloth napkin, and attempted to wipe the blood off the bottom of his precious shoes. None of the patrons had moved from their tables, and no one dared speak as they watched the mayor finally give up the cleaning, drop the blood soaked napkin, and march out of the restaurant, leaving a trail of bloody footprints along the wooden floor behind him.
Chapter 53
There was a frenzy of activity as Arnold walked into One Police Plaza. Mob hits typically caused an uproar, especially since the commissioner proclaimed that his department was committed to putting an end to the mob’s influence, and violence.
When Arnold called to ask if the meeting was still on, he was told that there was a mob hit and he should get downtown as soon as possible. An hour later he was climbing the wooden staircase to the top floor and walking down the double wide hallway to the commissioner’s suite of offices. As he reached the end of the corridor the door opened and Frank appeared.
“Arnold, you’re here. Quickly, come in,” Frank said, holding the door open.
“What’s going on, Frank?” Arnold asked.
“Come, let’s sit,” Frank said, pointing to the two chairs arranged by the window with a spectacular view of the Brooklyn Bridge.
“What’s this I hear about a mob hit?” Arnold asked.
“We found Carmine Rizzo’s body floating in the East River this morning.”
“No shit?”
“Well, that’s where he ended up, but the deed was done at Antonio’s Restaurant up in the Bronx.”
“How do you know that?”
“The mayor told me.”
“Wait a second, doesn’t Mickey own that place?”
“That’s right,” Frank said putting his hands behind his head.
“Did he do it?”
“Looks that way.”
“Are you bringing him in for questioning?” Arnold asked.
“The mayor told us not to.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Myron told me, ‘Hands off Mickey Coppola.’”
“Did he say why?”
Frank stood up and leaned against the window, watching the morning traffic over the bridge. He turned to Arnold and said, “He was there when it happened.”
“He was where?” Arnold asked.
“The mayor was at Antonio’s last night when the hit went down,” Frank said, sitting back down.
“Are you serious?”
Frank nodded.
“Does the press know about this?”
“Not yet. According to Myron, Mickey has promised to keep his presence a secret.”
Arnold shook his head. “This certainly complicates things. This will make Myron more inclined to protect Mickey.”
“We need to change course if you’re going to have any chance of beating Myron in the next election. We need a way to slow him down.”
“What are you thinking?” Arnold asked.
“We need someone we can trust in the mayor’s office.”
Arnold nodded, “Do you have someone in mind?”
Frank smiled, and said, “Actually I do, Arnold.”
“Who?”
“Your secretary, Agnes.”
Arnold laughed. “You’re joking.”
“No, she’s perfect. I know that Myron has been unhappy with his personal secretary. He’s been asking me if I know of someone. I recommended Agnes, and he seemed interested.”
“Why would I let Agnes go work for him. Plus, she would never agree. We’ve been together for twenty years.”
“She’s been unhappy after you lost your City Councilman seat and has been looking for a new job,” Frank said.
“That’s not true, Frank. Where did you hear that?”
“I know it’s not true, Arnold, but we need a reason for her wanting to leave you,” Frank said.
Arnold let out a big sigh. “All right, Frank, let me ask Agnes what she thinks about it.”
“Why don’t you ask her right now?”
“Now?” he asked, shrugging.
Frank got up, and walked over to his desk, and pressed the intercom button. “Hi Millie, can you please send Agnes in.”
Arnold stood up as the door opened and Agnes entered.
“Agnes, what are you doing here?”
“I’m about to cross the street and go into City Hall for an interview with the mayor. Wish me luck, Arnold,” she said with a huge smile.
Arnold looked at Frank, and then back to Agnes, and said meekly, “Good luck, Agnes.”
Chapter 54
It had been nearly ten years since Solomon had seen her. Now she was sitting a few feet away from him at a table at Charlie’s with a young man, probably a boyfriend. Solomon swirled the ice around in his nearly empty glass of scotch and replayed in his mind his first dream about Rebecca.
He walked down the hallway of the New York Public Library and into the main reading room. A librarian was pushing a cart stacked with many books. She picked one up, looked at the label on the binding and slid it onto the shelf.
She was young and pretty and Solomon approached her. He tapped her on her shoulder. She turned around and smiled. “How can I
help you?”
“Where can we be alone?”
She took his hand and said, “This way.”
Solomon followed her to a spot along the end of a long row of bookshelves, where a sofa sat against the wall. They sat down and Solomon said, “Kiss me.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck and brought her lips to his.
Solomon gently kissed and caressed her, until he was lost in their lovemaking.
The moment he awoke from the dream, he decided when morning came he would go pay a visit to the New York Public Library on 5th Avenue in Manhattan.
With a burst of energy he hadn’t felt in a while, but still with the aid of his cane, he bounded up the stairs, in between the two majestic lion sculptures holding guard. He found his way to the main reading room and that was when Solomon saw the librarian from his dream.
He recognized her instantly by her auburn hair and large green eyes. She was helping a young male college student with a project. He patiently waited for her to finish, before he approached her desk.
“I was wondering if you could help me?” Solomon said.
“That’s what I do,” she said looking up with a smile.
Solomon looked at her name plate on her desk. “Rebecca, that’s a pretty name.”
She tilted her head and said, “Thank you.”
“Rebecca, I am here to do some research on a book I am writing on a new concept called lucid dreaming.”
“I’ve read about that,” she said wagging a finger at him. “That’s being aware you’re dreaming, isn’t it?”
“That’s right. You know about it?”
“I am a librarian, sir.”
“I didn’t mean to insult you, Rebecca. It’s just that not many people have heard of it.”
“Can you really be lucid in your dreams?” she asked.
Solomon couldn’t resist her charm, and he shared a few things he knew about the dream world.
“Are you awake in your dreams, Solomon?” she asked.
“I am.”
“What’s it like?”
“You can do anything you want, once you’ve become aware.”
“Can you fly?” she asked, with her bright eyes sparkling in wonderment.
“You can fly into the clouds, and even up to the stars, if that’s what you want.”
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