The Bootlegger's Confession

by Allan Levine

  “Exactly. That’s Saul Sugarman. You can’t trust him.”

  “That may be true. But you must move past this incident with Sarah, Shailek.”

  “It was more than an incident.”

  “Forget about it. I know you love her. And the children…”

  Klein touched her arm. “Believe me, I’m trying.”

  “Sam, nice of you to visit,” said Lou Sugarman as two nurses wheeled him into the room on an iron bed. “But as I keep telling the doctor, I’m ready to go home.”

  “Mr. Sugarman must remain here for a day or two at least,” said one of the nurses. “He has a nasty bump on his head from falling on the ground and he’s had surgery. He must rest.”

  “Goyishe kop” muttered Lou.

  “I think it’s your kop that has the problem,” Rivka said, kissing his forehead. “Now, don’t be so stubborn. Just listen and do as you’re told.”

  He smiled. “Your sister is a real prize, Klein, do you know that?”

  “Yes, I’m aware of that. A real prize.”

  “Enough, you two. Are you in pain, dear?”

  “Not in the least,” said Lou, grimacing.

  “Mr. Sugarman, as I said earlier, must get some rest. A few more minutes and then I’m going to have to ask you both to leave,” said the nurse.

  Lou glowered at the nurse. “Can you please leave us, now? And shut the door.”

  “Don’t be rude, Lou,” said Rivka, turning to the two nurses. “I promise we will leave him shortly so that he can get proper rest.”

  Lou waited until the nurses left the room. “So what do you know, Sam?”

  Klein hesitated. “You’re sure you’re up to talking about this now?”

  “I’m fine. A bit of a headache and sore, but otherwise okay. So please go ahead.”

  “All right, Lou, have it your way. The police believe the shooter is one of Reverend Vivian’s men, George Dickens. He was seen leaving the library across the street from the synagogue, possibly carrying a rifle.”

  “But you don’t believe them, do you?”

  “No. The reverend is determined to ruin you and anyone else involved in the liquor business. But murder? I just don’t think so.”

  “So who the hell’s trying to kill me?” Beads of sweat began dripping down Lou’s face.

  “That’s a good question, Lou. What is it that you’re not telling me?”

  “Nothing, Sam … I swear … it…” More sweat formed on Lou’s face which was now white. “Where am I? What am I doing here?” He grabbed Rivka’s arm. “Tell Saul not to go through with it … too dangerous.”

  “Not to go through with what, Lou?” asked Klein.

  Lou tried to say something else, but his words were slurred. His eyes rolled back and he looked like he was about to pass out.

  Rivka ran to the door. “Nurse, come quickly! There’s something wrong.” A few seconds went by but the nurses were nowhere to be seen. “Please, one of you, go get a doctor,” she pleaded the constables.

  One of them ran down the hall and less than a minute later returned with a doctor and the two nurses.

  “Mr. Sugarman, can you hear me?” the doctor asked. There was no response. The doctor touched Lou’s forehead and examined his eyes. “His pupils are dilated. He’s out cold,” said the doctor, looking at Rivka. “It’s likely from the fall on the ground. He needs to rest, but I’m hopeful Mr. Sugarman should regain consciousness soon.”

  “When exactly will that be?” Rivka asked, her voice quivering.

  “It’s difficult to know,” said the doctor.

  “That doesn’t sound reassuring. Could he … die from this?”

  “As I said, Miss Klein, we need to wait and see.”

  “My God, Sam,” cried Rivka, covering her face with her hands.

  “Don’t worry. Lou’s strong. He’ll recover,” said Klein. “Come, let me take you to my place for dinner and then I’ll bring you back.”

  “I can’t leave him. What if he wakes up? He’ll want to see me.”

  “Miss Klein. We’ll watch him closely. And if there’s any change, we can telephone you. Just leave us the number.”

  Rivka hesitated for a moment and then nodded at Klein. “What if Rae and the other members of the family come here? I should be here.”

  “If anyone comes, we will ensure they are duly informed of the situation and tell them to contact you,” the nurse replied. “I assume the constables will continue to stand guard. Mr. Sugarman’s in good hands.”

  Rivka thanked the nurse for her kindness and reluctantly left the room holding onto Klein’s arm. As he helped his sister down the hall, Klein wondered about what Lou had said: “Tell Saul not to go through with it … too dangerous.” True, Lou was delirious, yet Klein sensed there was real meaning in what he said. What was he referring to? What was “too dangerous?”

  From the moment Klein had accepted this assignment he had the gnawing feeling that there was a piece of the puzzle that Lou had omitted telling him. At once, Klein knew the solution to this dilemma, but he didn’t like it. Either he could wait for Lou to recover—though there was no certainty of that—and ask him to explain further. Or, he could press the only other person who had the answers: Saul Sugarman. That could be problematic, if not impossible, he thought, since Saul clearly detested him as much as he detested Saul. He would definitely require McCreary’s assistance and subterfuge if he was to unravel this latest twist.

  By six o’clock, the sun had cooled slightly, though the high humidity made it muggier than usual for mid-June. Klein and Rivka paused for a moment as they exited from the hospital’s main entrance when they saw Rae Roter and another woman coming towards them. Klein immediately recognized the red-headed woman he had seen at the funeral, Rae’s friend from Vera. Behind Rae, Klein could see Saul Sugarman parking his Rolls-Royce.

  Rae had the appearance of a woman who had been beaten down by the harsh reality of the past week. Her hair was slightly tousled and the lines on her face were accentuated. Beyond that, the lively spark that so endeared her to her many customers was nowhere to be seen.

  Rae took one look at Rivka’s worried face and knew immediately that something bad had happened. “What is it? How’s Lou? Is he dead?” Instinctively, her left hand touched her heart and blood pulsated through her body.

  “He’s not dead, Rae.”

  “Thank God.”

  “It is serious, however. They had brought him back from surgery and he was fine. And then, as Sam can also tell you, he began sweating and talking without making sense and then he passed out. The doctor says it’s probably from hitting his head after he was shot. But he is hopeful that with rest Lou will wake up soon. I’m trying to be strong.”

  “And you have been,” said Klein, reaching for his sister’s hand. She smiled warmly at him.

  Once she fully processed the seriousness of Lou’s situation, Rae’s face turned pale and she teetered slightly. Her friend grabbed onto her.

  “Joannie, I’m so glad you’re here with her,” Rivka said, turning to Klein. “Sam, this is Rae’s friend from Vera. Joannie Smythe.”

  Joannie helped Rae to a nearby bench and sat her down. “You’ll be fine, dear. Just rest a second.”

  “Jack Smythe’s your husband?” Klein asked her.

  “That’s right. And you must be Sam Klein. Rae has told me all about you. Even my husband has heard of you. I think your name’s been in the newspaper a few times.”

  Klein offered her a half-smile. While he admittedly savoured the local fame that came with his work—the knowing looks he received on the street, the whispers he heard as he walked by, and the occasional complimentary beer and whisky at a Main Street bar—it could also be a liability when he wanted to be unseen.

  Klein did find Mrs. Smythe appealing—with that figure it was difficult not to. He
wondered if she might have some relevant information about Max’s murder, something she failed to tell the provincial police because she thought it wasn’t important. From Klein’s perspective, it was in such seemingly insignificant details that cases were often solved.

  “Might we speak at some point, Mrs. Smythe, about what happened in Vera?”

  “Of course, though I don’t know how much help I can be. Both Jack and I spoke to provincial police officers. However, I’ll be staying for a few days at the Royal Alexandra Hotel. We can arrange to meet there if you wish in the next day or two.”

  “I’ll contact you at the hotel, then,” said Klein.

  Saul Sugarman strode up to Rae. He ignored Klein, who did the same. Sam decided that it might be wiser just to watch Sugarman, rather than antagonize him. As much as it troubled him, seeing Sugarman’s confident manner even as he stood in front of the hospital chatting with his sister, Klein could understand why many women, Sarah included, were captivated by him. Klein could not precisely put his finger on it, but Sugarman definitely had a natural magnetism, albeit of the unsavoury variety. Yet Klein knew all too well from his days at Melinda’s that some women were easily ensnared by such men, only to regret it later.

  “You’re saying he might die,” said Sugarman, his voice rising.

  “Don’t yell at me, Saul. I’m only telling you what Rivka has told me,” said Rae.

  “Mr. Sugarman, can’t you see that you’re upsetting her,” said Joannie Smythe, grabbing Rae by the shoulders. “She’s been through so much.”

  Sugarman turned to Rivka. “Could you please tell me what’s happened.”

  With tears in her eyes, Rivka reviewed the details of Lou’s surgery and the events of the past hour.

  “I know he’ll recover,” said Sugarman. “He must.”

  Listening, Klein sensed Sugarman’s genuine concern for his brother. Perhaps he did have one or two redeeming qualities.

  “Did he say anything before he passed out?” Sugarman asked.

  Rivka glanced at Klein for a moment. “As a matter of fact, he did. He whispered, ‘Tell Saul not to go through with it … too dangerous.’ Does that make any sense to you? The doctor said he was delirious.”

  Sugarman’s eyes narrowed and his face became almost as pale as Lou’s had been. “I … I have no idea what that could mean. Pure nonsense.” He turned to Klein. “Can we speak for a moment?”

  Klein nodded and he and Sugarman walked off to the side.

  “What is it you want?”

  “The police believe that Reverend Vivian is behind these attacks and I agree with them. It must be him. I wouldn’t be surprised if he engineered Max’s murder as well. There can be no one else.”

  “Interesting,” said Klein, rubbing his chin.

  “While I respect McCreary’s skills and those of the police, I want you to stop Vivian any way that you can. Do you understand what I’m saying?” His tone was almost desperate.

  “Yes, I think I do. But I thought you wanted me off this case,” Klein said coolly, trying not to seem like he was enjoying Sugarman’s discomfort as much as he was.

  “I’ve changed my mind. I’ll pay you two thousand dollars. Do we have a deal?”

  Klein’s eyes widened. “That’s a lot of money.”

  “It is, so what’s your answer?”

  “I’ll find the shooter.”

  Sugarman beckoned Rae and Rivka to join him and the three of them headed for Lou’s room. As Klein watched him walk away with the women, he was almost impressed with Saul’s guile. As much as he hated him, he had to admit that Sugarman was no fool. Still, in Klein’s view, Saul was too anxious, too certain that Vivian was the chief culprit. Klein did not believe what Lou had said was “pure nonsense” at all. On the contrary, seeing Sugarman’s reaction, he was quite certain that Saul knew exactly what Lou had been talking about.

  12

  Klein was half a block from his house when he heard the excited shriek of his three children: “Daddy’s home!” Freda, Bernice, and Mel bounded out the door and rushed into Klein’s out-stretched arms. He hugged them all and then lifted up Bernice and Mel. Freda grabbed onto the back of his jacket as they made their way back to the front step where Sarah was sitting, waiting for them on the stoop.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Klein noticed the round face of Mrs. Gertie Fester, their neighbour from across the street, pushed up against her front window. As was her custom, Mrs. Fester was keeping watch. Not much happened on Cathedral Avenue without Mrs. Fester knowing about it. Sarah often exchanged pleasantries with her. She had lost her husband Ralph, a tailor, a few years ago. She had no children and loved doting over the Klein kids. But Sam found her a nosy, if harmless, busybody. Recently, during his dispute with Sarah, Mrs. Fester had given him nothing but disapproving stares.

  “Children, you’re going to smother your father,” said Sarah.

  “We love Daddy,” yelled Bernice.

  Klein shrugged. “What can I say?”

  “How’s Lou?” asked Sarah.

  “Not good, I’m afraid. But the doctor hopes he’ll recover. We’ll have to wait until tomorrow.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, truly I am. But I have something that might cheer you up.”

  “I know, I can smell the roast chicken from here. It’s my mother’s recipe.”

  “No, not the food, though you’ll like what I’ve made. Come in and you can see for yourself.”

  Klein followed Sarah into the house and there sitting on the living room couch was Alec Geller, somewhat banged up, and Shayna Kravetz by his side.

  “Alec, what are you doing here? I thought you couldn’t travel for a few more days,” said Klein, warmly shaking Geller’s hand.

  “The doc let me go. Said I was fine as long as I promised to rest. So I took the next train and then Sarah suggested I surprise you.”

  “Well, it’s a good surprise. And I’m glad you’re back.”

  “Yeah, I’ve heard what’s been going on from Shayna,” Geller said, taking her hand and squeezing it lightly. “The shooter tried again at Roter’s funeral for God’s sake. It’s a damn good thing he keeps on missing.”

  “Bad luck or bad aim, I’m not certain which. But Lou was hit in the arm and is in rough shape. Saul’s been more fortunate,” said Klein, glancing at Sarah. She immediately looked away.

  “Mr. Sugarman was very upset after the shooting at the station. I can only imagine how angry he must be now,” said Shayna.

  “He’s angry all right,” said Klein.

  His sarcastic tone was not lost on Sarah. “Please, Shailek, be good. We have company,” she whispered in Klein’s ear as she excused herself to tend to the children and the food in the kitchen. “Come, Shayna. If you can tear yourself away from Alec for a minute, you can help.”

  Shayna smiled and trailed after Sarah into the kitchen where, by the sound of it, an argument had erupted between Freda and Bernice.

  Klein took a seat on the chair opposite Alec. “You think Shayna knows anything more about what Sugarman is up to?”

  Geller shrugged. “I’m not interrogating her, Sam. All she told me is that since the incident at the station, Sugarman has made several long distance telephone calls to New York. And he’s been having one tirade after the other around the office, as she said. I honestly don’t think she knows what is going on, if anything. I can speak to her more about it, but in my own way.”

  “We need to know who he called. Rosen, I imagine, but I’d like to be certain.”

  “Did you ever receive a reply to your telegram to Rosen about what happened in Vera?”

  Klein pulled out a piece of paper from his jacket pocket and handed it to Geller. “Read it for yourself. He’s saying nothing.”

  Alec glanced at the telegram. “‘No information about Vera. Best to leave it alone. Rosen.’ What the hel
l does that mean? If he has no information, why is it ‘best to leave it alone?’”

  “Good question. The police—who, I have to say, have been accommodating—as well as Saul Sugarman insist that the shootings in the city, maybe even in Vera, are connected to Reverend John Vivian. They’re taking him at his word that he wants to put the Sugarmans out of the liquor business. One of his men, George Dickens, was seen leaving the library across from the Shaarey Zedek with what is thought to have been a shotgun. And this Dickens was in Vera when Roter was killed.”

  Geller sat up straight. “I know. I was told that as well … and more.”

  “Go on,” said Klein, lighting a cigarette.

  “The woman whose house I stayed at and who nursed me back to health, Mrs. Tillsdale, knows just about everything going on in the town.”

  “Including who murdered Max Roter?”

  “No, I’m afraid not. Like everyone else, and that goes for the officer I met from the provincial police, she thinks it was this bootlegger named Taylor, Frankie Taylor. According to Mrs. Tillsdale, he’s real trouble. Nasty and dangerous. Ever since Roter and the Sugarmans started dealing with him about six months ago, he’s been a problem. Got into a fight with another customer at a diner because he said the man, a fifty-year-old farmer, stared at him the wrong way. Taylor punched him twice in the face. The police questioned him about the incident but the farmer, for whatever reason, refused to press charges or cooperate.”

  “I imagine Taylor threatened him,” said Klein.

  “Probably. He shows up every week or so, usually late at night, to pick up a load of booze from Roter’s warehouse. Then, he drives across the border into Hampton where the cases are loaded on trucks headed for Minneapolis, maybe as far as New York.”

  “For Rosen’s operation, I presume?”

  “That’s what I heard, yes.”

  “So what about Dickens?” asked Klein, crushing out his cigarette in a glass ashtray.

  “Dickens, as you’re aware, works for the Standard Grain Company. In fact, I met him once briefly about six months ago when you had me trailing that grain broker Donald Lucas.”