by Yari Stern
“Starting tonight, we’re in the insurance business. Gas up your tow truck.” Yari turned away from his roommate and reached for the phone.
“How did you find all those people?” Bruce asked as Yari leafed through his black book of names.
“I either sold them a car or worked on theirs. In conversation they mentioned cutting a corner, or came right out suggesting a scam of some type. I always let them lead whenever there’s a dance.”
“I can’t believe that people from around here would risk their jobs or their freedom for a few bucks of insurance.” Bruce crossed his arms in front of him, but his huge belly lifted his elbows almost to his shoulders.
“You’d be surprised what people will do to keep their dough. Money is a powerful drug. The more you have, the more you want.”
“But aren’t you tempting them to break the law? Maybe they’d work things out legally if you didn’t give ‘em that alternative.”
“Nah. They’d just find somebody else.” Yari was momentarily halted as Bruce’s words sank in. It can’t be possible that he’s right, can it? No way. The moron doesn’t know shit from shinola.
“Just pick up the other receiver and listen to this.” Yari dialed the phone. “Don’t breathe. You sound like an obscene call.
“Mr. Abbott, does your car still need to take a vacation?”
“Why yes, Mr. Costello, I’m glad you called,” came the reply. “There’s a payment due on Friday that I’d surely like to avoid. Plus the twenty-one after that!” The voice on the other end laughed with relief.
“Put the car in the driveway, the extra set of keys over the visor. You can file a claim first thing in the morning.”
“Thank you, Mr. Costello. I don’t know how to repay you.”
“Sure you do, Mr. Abbott,” Yari reminded the man. “Leave an envelope with seven bills in the glove box.”
Yari hunkered down on the couch, and propped up a pillow. It was going to be a long night. But whether or not the fruits of his labor would be enough to satisfy Sylvan and Carlo Gambino was still in question.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Cherry Hill, NJ
“Well, well it’s the prodigal son returned. You musta heard I was lookin’ for ya.”
Sylvan washed down a full glass of Rolling Rock, then edged forward on the leather sofa in the living room of his spacious home. Herman amused himself by dealing a new hand of cards, while Jack Trotter attempted to wear a hole in the carpet with his pacing.
“Things didn’t go so well in Florida, Sylvan.” Yari had reluctantly made the trip over to New Jersey to face the man and the music. “I was trying to put something together before I came to see you.” He reached out and gingerly set a wad of money on the coffee table beside Sylvan’s fleshy hand.
Sylvan patted the stack of currency, then thumbed the edge of the bills with plump fingers that moved with the dexterity of a card magician. From the way he tilted his head, the fluttering of dollars was music to the fat man’s ears.
“It’s three grand,” Yari said with as much pride as he could muster.
“That’s the vig, Sylvan said, pushing the pile aside with disdain. “I could get more than that robbin’ a candy store.”
“I can--.”
“Where’s my principal?”
“We never discussed what the interest was going to be.”
“It wouldn’t have amounted to shit if you did what you said you were going to do.”
“I thought I had it all covered with my share from the appliance scam I was working with Ed.” Yari’s lips were parched from the sight of watching Jack walk around the room, playing with his stiletto. “Can I get a drink?”
“What appliance scam?” Sylvan looked genuinely confused as he motioned for Herman to bring Yari over a glass of soda.
“The one you fronted the money for, seventy-five ‘Gs’.”
“I never back Dein on anything. He’s got as much money as I have.” Sylvan shifted his weight to the back of the sofa, accentuating a lack of interest.
“But he said you both got ripped off.“
“Nobody rips us off; we do the rippin’. If you’re dumb enough to fall for his bullshit story, you deserve to get fucked. Didn’t anybody ever tell you to count your fingers after shakin’ hands with him?
“I was a stand-up guy. There’s no reason for him to screw me.”
“Yeah, well if you feel that way, why don’t you go over to his place and take what’s yours?”
“Because he’s got Angelo Bruno on his side.”
“That’s a good reason.” Sylvan nodded at both Jack and Herman. “Now what happened to our deal in Florida?” Sylvan adjusted his pants suggestively, as if preparing Yari for his next task.
“Things went really sour.” The saliva evaporated from Yari’s mouth and tongue. He took a sip from the glass handed to him and fought to continue. “I’m lucky to--.”
“Maybe not,” Jack suggested, while throwing out a sinister laugh.
“I had to leave the merchandise behind. But I’ll pay you back. I promise.”
“The road to hell is paved with good intentions,” Sylvan said. “And besides, I don’t need promises, I’ve got Mister Trotter.” He chucked a thumb at Jack’s stone face.
Yari’s gaze and confidence fell to the thick green carpet. “I lost all the guns in the North Philadelphia riots, then I almost lost my life trying to put another deal together.” He unbuttoned his collar to show Sylvan the marks still readily visible from the attack in the abandoned building.
“Hey, I’m really sorry to hear that. I’d love to give you a break but I got a reputation to protect.”
“Just give me a little time, Sylvan. I’ll come up with the dough.” Yari realized his mistake as soon as it was made; his pleading expression betrayed him. He had shown concern, for his life and his future, and that was like the smell of blood to the sharks circling the room.
“Listen, punk. This ain’t no game,” Sylvan roared. “We’re not playin’ here. School’s out, and your father can’t save your ass. You fuck up, you don’t get a slap on the hand, we cut your fuckin’ hand off.”
“But what about all the talk of sticking together, us against the system?” Yari appealed, knowing that his dreams of freedom and blue skies were permanently suppressed beneath the shadowy dominance of Cherry Hill Fats. He was now an errand boy, a temporary expedient, devoid of lasting value.
“Oh, that. That’s philosophy. You know philosophy, it’s when they teach you how to rationalize the difference between what you do and what you say. Besides, if word ever got out on the street that someone beat me for fifteen large, I’d be out of business.” Sylvan motioned to Herman to bring him another glass of beer.
“What about the deals and profit I brought to the table?”
“That’s yesterday’s news, only good enough to line the bottom of bird cages.”
“But you always treated me like a big brother.” Yari’s voice quivered, then broke. “Can’t you work with me?”
“Sure.” Sylvan tilted a hand holding a yellow legal-size sheet behind his back.
Jack took it and gave it to Yari.
“What am I supposed to do with this?” Yari perused the sheet.
“You’re a smart guy, you figure it out,” Sylvan said, as he and Jack exchanged smirks.
“Collections.” Yari answered his own question. Through deceptions and lies, he had spun a web that had engulfed himself, rather than those he sought to use.
“Start at the top, get to the bottom, at least two a night. They’re all way past due. Bring back the dough or some important body part. I don’t need no more fuckin’ sob stories. I’ve heard all the fairy tales I can stomach for now, including yours.” The drink in Sylvan’s hand exploded as he squeezed the glass. Blood spurted along with frothing beer. “Once your benefit expires, so do you.”
“Sounds like a round-robin cluster fuck; everyone screwing the guy in front of him, hoping that no one’s coming up from
behind to do him.”
Jack Trotter raised his hand to swat Yari’s face. Sylvan backed him off with a head tilt while wrapping his hand with a bar towel and said, “Let me explain in detail what happens if you try to burn me. I’ll come over to your house and fling you across your freshly waxed living room floor. You’ll impale your face on a set of giant moose antlers that will cause your eyes to explode out of your fuckin’ head and bounce on the ground like golf balls off cement. You’ll recoil from the shock, stumble into the kitchen, slip and break your scrawny neck on the tile floor. They’ll put you in a home for the permanently fucked, strap what’s left of your blind, paralyzed body in a wheel chair, and have a monkey spoon-feed you.
“I’ll pay you a visit, stuff my cock in your mouth and come down your throat and you’ll be too blind and crippled to realize it’s not mashed apricot baby food.”
Jack and Herman burst out laughing.
“Why don’t you just kill me?” Yari asked.
“It ain’t like that, kid. We’re just trying to provide the incentive you need to get out of a hole. Nobody ever did anything unless they had to.”
“Yeah. You heard the saying, ‘necessity is the brother of invention,’” Jack said as he pressed Yari against Sylvan in a human vice, then blew smoke in his face from a short, smelly Camel cigarette.
Yari looked fleetingly into Jack’s dead eyes. His deepest fear was for the henchman. For while Sylvan calculated the odds of every action, Jack just reacted, never weighing the consequences, only valuing the retribution.
“You’re in deep, kid. Get outta here and get the job done.” Sylvan nodded toward Jack, who opened the door. Yari involuntarily flinched when he walked through the narrow space they provided.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Ardmore, Pa
“I ran into Annie last night,” Bruce said, standing in the foyer of their rental home. He confronted Yari the moment he opened the front door. “She told me everything. Everything! She said I could have her if I help get rid of you.” Bruce’s face turned blood red. Spittle flew along with erupting rage.
“Annie wants you over me?” Yari was taken aback. “What the fuck do you have that I don’t?”
“I’ve got a steady income, and I’m not going to jail, like you!” Bruce pointed a greasy finger at Yari. “Payback’s a bitch, asshole.” Bruce punched a closed fist against an open palm. “I left the last two vehicles parked illegally on a street in South Philly. They’ll find ‘em in a few hours with your fingerprints all over the steering wheels and doors.”
“Bruce, you’re not being very cooperative. I’ll ask you just once, where are they?”
“Fuck you. You stole the sweetest backside I ever sniffed.”
“Be careful, Bruce, she’ll use you like she did me. You can take that to the bank. Now where are the cars?”
“Where the police will find them quick and easy,” Bruce answered, growing in confidence as Yari remained impassive.
Yari covered the six feet separating them in an instant, hooked a seventeen-inch bicep around Bruce’s neck, and began squeezing the eyeballs out of the fat kid’s head. “We’re going out together to pick those vehicles up and deliver them to Smashie at the crusher.” He spoke ever more politely as he added greater pressure to Bruce’s throat.
“It’s too late,” Bruce wheezed. “We’ll never move the cars before the police get to them.”
“You’d better hope it’s not too late, or the next thing crushed will be your tow truck with you still in it.” The two walked out into the daylight together, one standing erect, the other hunched over in an arm lock.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Mt. Airy section. Phila. Pa.
“Mr. Peter Yellen?” Yari, dressed all in black, asked grimly while standing at the door of the middle class home. The man nodded cautiously.
“We need to talk,” Yari demanded, but his words tailed off. I’m not cut out for this shit. I can’t even convince myself I’m a bad ass.
“It’s late, young man. May I ask what this is in regard to?” The frail individual, with whips of matted-down hair, held himself up feebly in the doorway.
“I represent Mr. Skolnick. He sent me to--“
“Please, keep your voice down. My wife is ill and I don’t dare upset her.” Peter Yellen looked seriously troubled. A face lined with thick creases turned toward the steps leading to the second floor. “Marta has diabetes and the doctors say stress is the worst thing for her. But come in,” the man offered with complete candor as he led the way into the home.
“Can I get you something to eat or drink? We don’t have much but whatever we do, you’re welcome to.” Peter opened the kitchen cabinets, searching for an appropriate offering for a stranger. “We had more in Hungary than we have in America, the land of plenty.” He shook his head at his own cruel joke.
“Then why did you leave there?”
“For freedom!” Peter Yellen answered, his tone rising with certainty.
“You know why I’m here?” Yari wiped the tough guy look off. It wasn’t necessary with a man who looked like he had already beaten himself up better than any collector could.
“Yes, but I already spoke to Mr. Trotter. I explained to him that the five thousand dollars went for my wife’s dialysis equipment.”
“That record’s been played a hundred times. I can’t leave here without the dough.” The scowl returned to Yari’s face as he pushed Peter Yellen against the cheap wall paneling. The man looked surprised but not in the least bit scared.
“It’s not a story. Come see for yourself.” Peter took Yari by the elbow and guided him into the den of the narrow row house. Yari flicked the hand off but continued to follow.
“There.” Peter Yellen pointed to the dialysis machine taking up half the sparsely lit den. “That’s where all the money went, just like I told Mr. Trotter.”
“Jack said you borrowed the money to buy a fancy car.”
“We don’t even own a vehicle. I take buses to work. I was truthful with that man. I told him I would have to stay home and nurse my wife until she was stable. I’m going to work two jobs as soon as Marta can care for herself during the day. One will pay our bills, all the money from the other will go to your boss.
“That’s what I promised him, and I always keep my promises. You can ask the people at the office where I work, or the priest at our church. Everyone will tell you I’m honest.” Peter Yellen twisted his hands together like a man paralyzed by arthritis.
“Why didn’t you just go to a bank?”
“We don’t know from banks. In the old country we were taught to go to our neighbors, not to strangers. These men are always outside the doors at work or on the corner here, offering to help. I feel I know them better than some big business.”
“If I go back empty they’ll take it out of me.” Yari was a man who wanted to be somewhere far away, but still had a role to play. “I’m not willing to die for that money. Are you?”
“Yes…of course!” Peter’s voice smoothed out and a calm pervaded his features. “That is the solution for everybody.”
“What is?”
“Kill me.” The man’s tone never wavered.
Yari stood immobilized.
“It is the only answer,” he said. “Even working two jobs there’s not enough money to care for my wife and send the children to school. I’m worth more dead than alive.”
“I’m not killing anyone, especially you.”
“But don’t you see? If you do not, they will send someone else, like that man Jack. They won’t kill me; they’ll cripple me, to make an example of me. Then I will lose my entire family instead of just my life.”
“There’s got to be a better way.”
“It’s perfect!” Peter breathed a sigh of relief. “You must realize there are things more important than one’s own life. That is trivial compared to family.”
“Don’t ask me to be a part of that.” Yari teetered backward.
“You already
are. You can help Jack and Sylvan continue their business and feed off others, or you can help me and my wife and children. Our blessings will follow you forever. And when other people in our neighborhood learn I died because I borrowed money, they’ll never approach that dirty crew again.
“Here.” Peter reached into a drawer in the cabinet under the TV. “Here is my life insurance policy for twenty-five thousand dollars.”
“If you believe in that way so much, why not do it yourself?” Yari handed the policy back to Peter like it was infected with the plague.
“They don’t issue money if there is suicide. If I die by accidental causes my family collects double. There will be enough to pay off Jack and Sylvan, and the remainder will care for my wife and put my two boys through school.”
Yari stared at a man who represented the opposite of everything he believed in. Yet Peter Yellen was at peace, even when prepared to die, while every thought and feeling in Yari’s body racked him with anguish and confusion.
“I’ve got to go,” he said, turning wretchedly and fleeing for the door.
“Please, please. You’re not like the others. You’re my only hope. If Jack comes back, my family is doomed.” Peter Yellen reached out.
Yari shoved his arm aside.
What am I doing, pushing away good people so I can be closer to monsters? ”Let me think. I’ll call you in a few days. You have my word.”
As he drove apathetically to his next appointment Yari said to himself, That guy would be happier dead than I am alive. I’ve come a long way.
CHAPTER FIFTY
Drexel University. Technology Class. Phila. Pa.
Professor Robin Heartly tapped a pointer on her desk to garner the attention of the class. With stragglers still coming in, she waited…impatiently.