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"Thats a point. "
"And whatever theyd of got from peoples wallets, thats small change. "
"You figure the box was that heavy? What do you figure it held?"
Skip shrugged. "Twenty grand. "
"Seriously?"
"Twenty grand, fifty grand, pick a number. "
"IRA money, you were saying earlier. "
"Well, what else do you figure they spend it on, Bill? I dont know what they take in but they do a nice business seven days a week and wheres the overhead? They probably got the building for back taxes, and they live in half of it, so they got no rent to pay and no real payroll to come up with. Im sure they dont report any income or pay any taxes, unless they pretend that playhouse on the ground floor shows a profit and pay a token tax on that. They have to be dragging ten or twenty grand a week out of that place and what do you think they spend it on?"
"They have to pay off to stay open," I put in.
"Payoffs and political contributions, of course, but not ten or twenty K a weeks worth. And they dont drive big cars, and they never go out and spend a dollar in somebody elses joint. I dont see Tim Pat buying emeralds for some sweet young thing, or his brothers putting grams of coke up their Irish noses. "
"Up your Irish nose," Billie Keegan said.
"I liked Tim Pats little speech, and then buying a round. Far as I know, thats the first time the Morrisseys ever set em up for the house. "
"Fucking Irish," Billie said.
"Jesus, Keegan, youre drunk again. "
"Praise be to God, youre right. "
"What do you think, Matt? Did Tim Pat recognize Frank and Jesse?"
I thought about it. "I dont know. What he was saying added up to Keep out of this and well settle it ourselves. Maybe it was political. "
"Fucking-A right," Billie said. "The Reform Democrats were behind it. "
"Maybe Protestants," Skip said.
"Funny," Billie said. "They didnt look Protestant. "
"Or some other IRA faction. Theres different factions, arent there?"
"Of course you rarely see Protestants with handkerchiefs over their faces," Billie said. "They usually tuck them in the breast pocks, the breast pockets-"
"Jesus, Keegan. "
"Fucking Protestants," Billie said.
"Fucking Billie Keegan," Skip said. "Matt, we better walk this asshole home. "
"Fucking guns," Billie said, back on that track suddenly. "Go out for a nightcap and youre surrounded by fucking guns. You carry a gun, Matt?"
"Not me, Billie. "
"Really?" He put a hand on my shoulder for support. "But youre a cop. "
"Used to be. "
"Private cop now. Even the rent-a-cop, security guard in a bookstore, guy tells you to check your briefcase on the way in, hes got a gun. "
"Theyre generally just for show. "
"You mean I wont get shot if I walk off with the Modern Library edition of The Scarlet Letter? You should of told me before I went and paid for it. You really dont carry a gun?"
"Another illusion shattered," Skip said.
"What about your buddy the actor?" Billie demanded of him. "Is little Bobby a gunslinger?"
"Who, Ruslander?"
"Hed shoot you in the back," Billie said.
"If Ruslander carried a gun," Skip said, "itd be a stage prop. Itd shoot blanks. "
"Shoot you in the back," Billie insisted. "Like whatsisname, Bobby the Kid. "
"You mean Billy the Kid. "
"Who are you to tell me what I mean? Does he?"
"Does he what?"
"Pack a piece, for Christs sake. Isnt that what weve been talking about?"
"Jesus, Keegan, dont ask me what weve been talking about. "
"You mean you werent paying attention either? Jeezus. "
BILLIE Keegan lived in a high-rise on Fifty-sixth near Eighth. He straightened up as we approached his building and appeared sober enough when he greeted the doorman. "Matt, Skip," he said. "See you guys. "
"Keegans all right," Skip told me.
"Hes a good man. "
"Not as drunk as he pretended, either. He was just riding it, enjoying himself. "
"Sure. "
"We keep a gun behind the bar at Miss Kittys, you know. We got held up, the place I used to work before John and I opened up together. I was behind the stick in this place on Second Avenue in the Eighties, guy walked in, white guy, stuck a gun in my face and got the money from the register. Held up the customers, too. Only have five, six people in the joint at the time, but he took wallets off of them. I think he took their watches too, if I remember it right. Class operation. "
"Sounds it. "
"All the time I was being a hero in Nam, fucking Special Forces, I never had to stand and look at the wrong end of a gun. I didnt feel anything while it was going on, but later I felt angry, you know what I mean? I was in a rage. Went out, bought a gun, ever since then its been with me when I been working. At that joint, and now in Miss Kittys. I still think we should have called it Horseshoes and Hand Grenades. "
"You got a permit for it?"
"The gun?" He shook his head. "Its not registered. You work saloons, you dont have too much trouble knowing where to go to buy a gun. I spent two days asking around and on the third day I was a hundred dollars poorer. We got robbed once since we opened the place. John was working, he left the gun right where it was and handed over whatever was in the till. He didnt rob the customers. John figured he was a junkie, said he didnt even think of the gun until the guy was out the door. Maybe, or maybe he thought of it and decided against it. I probably would have done the same thing, or maybe not. You dont really know until it happens, do you?"
"No. "
"You really havent had a piece since you quit the cops? They say after a guy gets in the habit he feels naked without it. "
"Not me. I felt like I laid down a burden. "
"Oh, lawdie, Ise gwine lay my burden down. Like you lightened up some, huh?"
"Something like that. "
"Yeah. He didnt mean anything, incidentally. Talking about ricochets. "
"Huh? Oh, Tommy. "
"Tough Tommy Tillary. Something of an asshole, but not a bad guy. Tough Tommy, its like calling a big guy Tiny. Im sure he didnt mean anything. "
"Im sure youre right. "
"Tough Tommy. Theres something else they call him. "
"Telephone Tommy. "
"Or Tommy Telephone, right. He sells shit over the phone. I didnt think grown men did that. I thought it was for housewives and they wind up making thirty-five cents an hour. "
"I gather it can be lucrative. "
"Evidently. You saw the car. We all saw the car. We didnt get to see her open the door for him, but we got to see the car. Matt, you want to come up and have one more before we call it a day? I got scotch and bourbon, I probably got some food in the fridge. "
"I think Ill just get on home, Skip. But thanks. "
"I dont blame you. " He drew on his cigarette. He lived at the Parc Vendome, across the street and a few doors west of my hotel. He threw his cigarette away and we shook hands, and five or six shots sounded a block or so from us.
"Jesus," he said. "Was that gunfire or half a dozen little firecrackers? Could you say for sure?"
"No. "
"Neither could I. Probably firecrackers, considering what day it is. Or the Morrisseys caught up with Frank and Jesse, or I dont know what. This is the second, right? July second?"
"I guess so. "
"Gonna be some summer," he said.
Chapter 2
All of this happened a long time ago.
It was the summer of 75, and in a larger context it seems in memory to have been a season in which nothing very important happened. Nixons resignation had been a year earlier, and the coming year would bring the convention and the campaigns, the Olympics, the Bicentennial.
Meanwhile Ford was in the White House, his presence oddly comf
orting if not terribly convincing. A fellow named Abe Beame was in Gracie Mansion, although I never had the feeling he really believed he was mayor of New York, any more than Gerry Ford believed he was president of the United States of America.
Somewhere along the way Ford declined to help the city through a financial crisis, and the News headline read, "Ford to City: Drop Dead! "
I remember the headline but I dont recall whether it ran before, during or after that summer. I read that headline. I rarely missed the News, picking up an early edition on my way back to my hotel at night or scanning a later one over breakfast. I read the Times now and then as well, if there was a story I was following, and more often than not Id pick up a Post during the afternoon. I never paid much attention to the international news or the political stuff, or anything much aside from sports and local crime, but I was at least peripherally aware of what was going on in the world, and its funny how utterly its all vanished.
What do I remember? Well, three months after the stickup at Morrisseys, Cincinnati would take a seven-game Series from the Red Sox. I remember that, and Fisks home run in game six, and Pete Rose playing throughout as if all of human destiny rode on every pitch. Neither of the New York teams made the playoffs, but beyond that I couldnt tell you how they did, and I know I went to half a dozen games. I took my boys to Shea a couple of times, and I went a few times with friends. The Stadium was being renovated that year and both the Mets and Yanks were at Shea. Billie Keegan and I watched the Yankees play somebody, I remember, and they stopped the game because some idiots were throwing garbage onto the field.
Was Reggie Jackson with the Yankees that year? He was still in Oakland playing for Charlie Finley in 73, I remember the Series, the Mets losing badly. But when did Steinbrenner buy him for the Yankees?
What else? Boxing?
Did Ali fight that summer? I watched the second Norton fight on closed circuit, the one where Ali left the ring with a broken jaw and an unearned decision, but that was at least a year earlier, wasnt it? And then Id seen Ali up close, ringside at the Garden. Earnie Shavers had fought Jimmy Ellis, knocking him out early in the first round. For Gods sake, I remember the punch that took Ellis out, remember the look on his wifes face two rows away from me, but when was that?
Not in 75, Im sure of that. I must have gone to the fights that summer. I wonder who I watched.
Does it matter? I dont suppose it does. If it did I could go to the library and check the Times Index, or just hunt up a World Almanac for the year. But I already remember everything I really need to remember.
Skip Devoe and Tommy Tillary. Theirs are the faces I see when I think of the summer of 75. Between them, they were the season.
Were they friends of mine?
They were, but with a qualification. They were saloon friends. I rarely saw them- or anyone else, in those days- other than in a room where strangers gathered to drink liquor. I was still drinking then, of course, and I was at a point where the booze did (or seemed to do) more for me than it did to me.
When the Sacred Ginmill Closes Page 3