Chapter 74
Myron sat at the bar at Antonio’s sipping his second whiskey.
“I’m sure he will be here soon,” said Antonio, wiping the bar top with a wet dishcloth.
He looked at his watch. Mickey was now twenty minutes late for their two o’clock meeting. He wanted to get up and leave, but the FBI had set up their surveillance and were now sitting in a van on Arthur Avenue, hopeful to listen to the potentially incriminating conversation. At least that was the plan.
Myron had never heard a word from Niko about the recording device. Maybe she didn’t know what it was when she ran her fingers across his chest. Perhaps he just imagined she was telling her father about the recorder, when he saw her whispering in Mickey’s ear at the Stork Club. But regardless, his anger prevented him from reaching out to her and she made no attempts to contact him either. Perhaps that was the end of it, he thought.
He looked at the ice cubes swimming in his glass and swirled them round and round. The warmth of drinking the two glasses so quickly caused him to sweat, or maybe it was the anxiety of waiting for Mickey. He stood up and walked toward the back of the restaurant to the bathrooms.
He washed his hands and splashed cool water on his face. Myron looked at himself in the mirror. He ran his hand over his bald head and felt stubble. Dammit, I should have shaved, he thought.
Myron stepped out of the men’s room and nearly walked into Mickey.
“Jesus, Mickey, I didn’t see you.”
“I gotta piss,” he said, pushing his way past Myron.
Myron returned to his seat and glanced over to a man sitting at the other end of the bar, nursing a beer.
“Mr. Mayor,” the grizzled stranger said, lifting his bottle as a salute.
Myron nodded and felt a hand patting his back. He turned to see Mickey taking the barstool next to him.
“How’s it going, Mr. Mayor?” Mickey said.
“Fine,” he said, looking at his watch.
“Sorry I’m late, Myron, I had an issue I had to deal with.”
“All right. Let’s get to it. I have a city to run.”
“Sure thing, Myron,” Mickey said and lifted his arm to get Antonio’s attention. “Antonio, a whiskey please.”
Both men clinked glasses, and Mickey said, “What do you Jews say? Chaim?”
Myron shook his head and said, “L’chaim.”
“L’chaim,” Mickey said, clinking glasses with Myron.
“Okay, Mickey, let’s get to the reason while I asked you here.”
“You have my attention,” he said, sipping his drink.
Myron looked at the man at the other end of the bar and said, “Maybe we can talk in the back room?”
Mickey glanced down the bar and pushed back and stood up. “Hey Antonio, we’ll be in the back.”
“Sure thing, Mickey,” Antonio said.
Myron followed Mickey towards the back of the restaurant. He pulled on his shirt collar, releasing the heat from under his layers of clothing. Here we go, he thought.
The first thing Myron noticed as he walked into the private dining room was the white table cloth. He ran his hand across the surface as he sat down and wondered how Antonio was able to keep the cloths so perfectly white.
Mickey took the seat across from Myron and folded his hands on the table and said, “Okay, tell me why we’re here?”
“I made a decision,” Myron said, and let the words hang there for a moment.
Mickey opened his palms, gesturing for him to continue.
“I want to give you the Coliseum contract.”
Mickey slammed both palms on the white cloth and shouted, “Myron, you’ve come through.”
“Not so fast, Mickey. I said I want to, but there are a few obstacles standing in the way.”
“Tell me what’s the problem. I’m sure we can figure out a solution.”
Myron held back a smile, not wanting to give away any clues to raise Mickey’s suspicions. “I’m getting pushback from Frank.”
Mickey leaned back against his chair, shook his head and said, “You’re the fucking mayor. Tell him to take a flying fuck.”
“I wish I could. But he’s holding a bit of leverage on me.”
Mickey nodded and frowned. “And what would this leverage be, Mr. Mayor?”
Mickey rubbed the back of his neck, cocked his neck, and said, “I don’t know how to say this, but um…”
Mickey held up his hand, gesturing for Myron to stop talking, and said, “Let me guess. You’re fucking my daughter.”
“You know?”
“Of course I know. Even Niko knows I know. She came to me and begged me to let her see you. For some reason she likes you. Actually, I think it’s more than like. So I thought, why not. My daughter could do worse than dating the Mayor of New York City.”
Myron shook his head and said, “I’m shocked. After what you said to me…”
“That I would cut off your balls and shove them down your throat.”
“Yeah. that.”
“If you hurt my daughter, Myron,” Mickey said, wagging a finger at him.
Myron smiled and said, “This is easier than I thought it would be.”
“Go tell the commissioner to fuck off and get me that contract. And don’t worry, Myron, there will be a nice piece put aside for you.”
Suddenly gunshots rang out.
Myron nearly jumped out of his chair. He opened the door and stepped into the doorway, where he heard two more shots.
“What the fuck?” Mickey said, appearing just behind Myron.
“Are you in there, boss?” a voice shouted.
“I’m here. What is it, Tony?” Said Mickey.
“I shot this guy in the bar. He’s dead.”
“I’m coming out. Put your gun down,” Mickey said.
Both Mickey and Myron stepped into the main dining area of Antonio’s and there lying in a pool of blood was the man who toasted Myron with his beer bottle.
Myron bent down to look at the man’s face and looked up to Tony and asked, “Why did you shoot him?”
“I looked in the window from the street and I saw this guy listening to your conversation by the door. I thought I should check it out. When I approached him, he pulled a gun and told me to back off. As I reached for my firearm he shot at me but missed. So I put two into his chest.”
Mickey bent over to get a better look and pointed. “Is that a badge?” He knelt down, pulled the dead man’s jacket back, and exposed an FBI badge clipped to his belt.
“Maybe you should tell me, Mr. Mayor, why an FBI agent was here?” Mickey said.
Myron’s heart pounded hard against his ribcage.
Mickey reached over and took Tony’s gun and pointed it at Myron and said, “You’re clever, Myron, but not clever enough.”
Myron took a step back, but Mickey closed the gap. He jammed the gun hard into his stomach. “I should kill you now.”
A commotion was heard at the front doors and in barged Agent Malone with his gun drawn and aiming at Mickey. “Put the gun down,” he ordered.
“Fuck you,” Mickey shouted and fired at Malone.
Malone simultaneously fired back. Myron watched Mickey spin around and nearly get knocked off his feet. He was shot and stumbled toward the back of the restaurant. Agent Malone was not hit, and advanced on Mickey with his gun positioned to fire again.
“Put your weapon down,” instructed Malone.
Mickey was bleeding. He held the gun in one hand and held onto the wall with the other. Somehow he managed to stumble toward the back of the restaurant, and into the private dining room. Agent Malone followed.
Another gunshot rang out and a heavy thud was heard. Myron slowly walked back and cautiously peeked into the room. There was Agent Malone standing over the dead body of Mickey Coppola. Blood was splattered across the table, down the walls and was pooling on the floor next to Mickey’s dead body. A bizarre thought caused Myron to wonder, how was Antonio going to remove the blood sta
ins from the white table cloth?
Chapter 75
“Are we paying for this?” whispered Leah.
Moshe shook his head and said, “Arnold has agreed to pay for the entire funeral, the least we can do is take out a few friends who came to pay their respects to Gray.”
“Who is that sitting next to Agnes?” Leah asked, pointing to Noa, sitting at the other end of the table at the Fordham Diner.
“That’s Noa and sitting next to her is her boyfriend, Sammy.”
“Her boyfriend? She looks old enough to be his grandmother,” Leah said.
“Quiet, Leah, don’t be rude.”
After everyone placed their order Arnold picked up his water glass and said, “It’s a little too early for a real drink, but I would like to say something about the man we all came to know as Gray.”
A round of approving nods, and hands reached for the glass tumblers.
“I came to know Gray as someone who one day just showed up at my office. He said he wanted to help me out with things. I told him I didn’t have a budget to pay someone for things. But he said he didn’t want to be paid. Try me for a few days. If you don’t want me around, just tell me and I’ll be gone. That was two years ago, and during this time he helped me with repairs at the theater, picking up supplies and giving Agnes extra help when needed,” Arnold said with a smile and looked over to Agnes who nodded.
Arnold paused for a moment before he said softly, “It wasn’t until the day he was shot that I learned of the true purpose of Gray’s mysterious presence, which was not just to do things.”
Moshe shook his head, trying to signal Arnold not to continue the story. The only person at the table who had no knowledge of what he was about to say was Leah, and the last thing he wanted was to have to explain the craziness to her.
Arnold got the message, and quickly changed his toast. “Apparently Gray came to show all of us how we can be better people and help each other. He was a real mensch.”
Moshe stood up, raised his glass and said, “Here’s to Gray, a wonderful man. We will miss him.”
As he took his seat, Leah lifted her hand and started pointing. First to Noa, then Sammy and finally to Moshe. “You two have the sweats, just like Moshe.”
Moshe shook his head. “Not now, Leah. Ruth is bringing our food,” he said, trying to change the subject.
“Stop it, Moshe, we just ordered,” she said, and turned her attention to Noa and Sammy.
Leah wagged her finger at Noa and Sammy and asked, “I’ve been asking my husband for weeks now, what’s with the sweats? Are you sick? Is this some contagious disease that we’re all going to get, and start sweating in the middle of winter?”
“That’s funny,” Sammy said, pointing back at Leah.
Noa pushed Sammy’s hand down and shook her head.
“There’s nothing wrong with your husband, Leah, or with me, or Sammy. We’ve been practicing being awake in our dreams, which has the effect of making us sweat when we’re awake. It’s nothing to be alarmed about. I’ve been sweating nearly my entire life,” she said and took a healthy gulp from her water glass.
Moshe exhaled, hoping Leah wasn’t going to ask any more questions. Then she turned to him, gave him a big smile, and asked, “So Moshe, what have you been dreaming about?”
Moshe looked at Leah and said, “Nothing important. Just trying to save the city from evil.”
She put her arm around Moshe and leaned over and gave him a kiss on his cheek and said, “That’s a good one. Moshe the Cobbler is saving the city from evil.”
There was a moment of silence at the table, with all eyes collectively staring at Leah and then the laughter came. First Leah, then Agnes, and soon everyone was nearly doubled over.
“That’s the funniest thing I ever heard,” Leah said, trying to catch her breath.
Toward the end of the meal, when coffee and dessert were being served, the conversation turned to the recent killing of the gangster Mickey Coppola.
“It must be a frenzy down at city hall, Agnes,” said Arnold.
“Myron’s been a nervous wreck. You would think that he would be basking in the glow of taking down the city’s most wanted criminal,” Agnes said.
“What’s he worried about? I hear his popularity has reached over sixty percent,” said Arnold.
“I think he’s upset about his breakup with Niko, Mickey’s daughter,” Agnes said.
“Who cares if he’s depressed. The city is a better place without that gangster,” said Noa.
Agnes nodded. “That’s true. But he’ll need to figure things out if he wants a second term.”
“Oh, he’ll be a shoo-in for reelection,” Arnold said.
“You’re right. I’ll vote for him,” Sammy said.
Noa elbowed him hard.
“Hey, what was that for?”
Noa shook her head and gestured to Arnold. “Mr. Lieberman is running against him,” Noa said.
“Oh, I didn’t know. My apologies. I will vote for you,” Sammy said, as his sweating face turned beet red.
“That’s fine, Sammy. I appreciate your vote, if I can get that far,” Arnold said.
As people shared their farewells, Noa leaned into Moshe and whispered into his ear, “Tonight’s the night.”
Moshe jerked his head back and looked at Noa. “For what?”
Noa glanced around, and saw Leah saying goodbye to Agnes and answered, “Tonight is the night you take the rasha to Gehenna.”
Moshe stood there and stared at Noa, unable to speak. Leah pulled on his sleeve, trying to get his attention, and said, “Moshe, take me home. I’m tired.”
During the ride home, Leah rambled on and on about Sammy and Noa. “I don’t understand how they’re a couple. She’s so much older…”
But Moshe tuned her out, obsessed instead with what Noa had told him, that tonight in the dream world he would forcibly take Solomon and extinguish his eternal soul into the fiery pit of Gehenna.
When they pulled into their driveway Moshe realized that he had no memory of how he drove home, and he couldn’t repeat one word of what Leah had said. All he knew was that he was about to risk his life in order to remove a disturbance in the dream world, and in turn eliminate a ninety-year-old gangster in the awakened world. He shook his head and thought, my life is not my own.
Chapter 76
Solomon awoke, and pushed his tired, aching body out of bed. He grabbed his cane, sitting in the corner a few steps away, hobbled to the bathroom, and splashed cool water on his sleep-encrusted eyes. He dried his face, slipped on his bathrobe, and made his way into the kitchen.
While the coffee was percolating he retrieved his morning newspaper from outside. He was just tucking the folded Daily News into the deep pocket of his robe and turning back toward the front porch when he saw Myron, sitting in a rocking chair.
“Myron, what are you doing?”
“I’ve been waiting for you to wake up, Pops,” he said, standing up.
Solomon stepped onto the porch, opened the front door and said, “Come inside, it’s freezing. The coffee should be ready.”
In the kitchen, Solomon filled two mugs and handed one to his son, who was already seated at the table, then asked, “To what do I owe the pleasure of a visit by the mayor of this illustrious city?”
Myron reached over for the sugar bowl and sprinkled a spoonful in the steaming coffee.
“I haven’t seen you since Mickey was killed. I thought we should talk.”
Solomon shrugged. “He got what he deserved.”
Myron sighed, and said, “That I know. So far, under my watch, the city has lost two of its most notorious bosses: Mickey Coppola and Carmine Rizzo.”
“You’re cleaning up the city. You should have no trouble getting reelected.”
“Thanks, Pops, but that’s not what I came to talk to you about,” Myron said, and stood up and walked over to the window and looked out onto the bay. He turned and looked at his dad and said, “I was thinking that
the other bosses will try to take advantage of the power vacuum in the city.”
“That’s probably true,” Solomon said.
Myron rubbed his thumb across his lips and added, “We should fill the void before someone else does.”
Solomon looked up, tilted his head, and asked, “You’re the mayor. You also want to be a mob boss?”
Myron shrugged. “This mayor gig won’t last forever.”
Solomon nodded slowly and started to wag his finger. “To do this, you’re going to have to set up shell companies so nothing can be traced back to you. After all, you can’t be seen awarding lucrative contracts to yourself. First they’ll impeach you, and then you’ll get twenty years in Attica.”
“That’s what I want to talk to you about,” Myron said, now wagging his finger back at his father. “What if we were able to get someone to partner with? You know, to oversee our interests in construction, garbage collection, parking lots, things like that. We’ll advise as silent partners, with an understanding that when I’m done with being mayor, we take back control of the operations. In the meantime, I can direct some hefty contracts this person’s way.”
Solomon smiled. “I’m impressed, Myron. I like it. But you would need someone with serious business skills, as well as someone you can trust.”
“I was hoping you had someone in mind,” Myron said.
“Still coming to me for answers, Myron?”
Myron smiled. “Always, Pops. You are my guiding light. Where would I be without you?”
Solomon squeezed Myron’s shoulder and said, “Let me think about it. I’ll call you later.”
Solomon spent most of the afternoon at Charlie’s Oyster Bar. It was a good place for him to ruminate about what Myron had told him. With both Mickey and Carmine gone, there was the opportunity of growing an empire that could stretch across all five boroughs. If only he was ten years younger, the joy such power would bring to him. His consolation was that at least Myron could reap the rewards.
The Righteous One Page 23