The Hoods

by Grey, Harry

  “We've been in every joint on the East Side looking for you guys. We knew you'd wind up in this joint eventually.” The lieutenant added with a pugnacious sneer, “Where the hell were you?”

  “You know you can always contact us here,” I said quietly. “What's this, a pinch? What's that letter Maxie's reading?”

  “I'll ask the questions,” the lieutenant snapped back.

  Max finished reading. He lit a cigar. He took a step closer and stared insolently at the lieutenant.

  “This letter, you know what you can do with it? I don't have to answer your questions if I don't want to. All you can do is pinch us, and that's all you can do, I assure you. Nothing else, and you know what I mean, pally.”

  Maxie gave him back stare for stare. Max handed me the letter. I read it.

  “Lieutenant,” I said, “I guarantee we get out of the jug quicker than you can get us in. Evidently you are implying this Salvy is dead. If so, it's too bad. In spite of the letter he was a friend of ours. Another thing, wherever it happened, we weren't there. Let's face it, lieutenant, we have connections and you know those connections reach to the top.

  The lieutenant changed his tactics somewhat. He smiled. “Yes, I know you got connections, but they can't help you on this. This ain't a small rap. You'll need a goddamn good alibi to get out of this one.”

  “As far as I'm concerned, I don't know what you're talking about, lieutenant.”

  Max smiled easily and sat down. He helped himself to a drink.

  “Look, Max, shit me easy. You're not going to act surprised, I hope, and say you don't know Salvy and that punk Willie and another guy were shot and killed in your new joint, the Eden Garden, this morning?”

  “Nothing surprises me, lieutenant,” Maxie said. “Besides, how could we know about anything? We were in a Jersey lock-up since yesterday.”

  Maxie started looking through his pockets. Carelessly he laid his roll of money on the table and kept searching.

  “I have the proof.” I acted indignant and dramatic. “Here it is.” I handed him the receipt for the fine. “Or call up the desk sergeant over at this town,” I added with a smile, “or call up the judge and verify.”

  The lieutenant was trying to read the receipt with one eye; the other was watching Max peel a thousand-dollar bill off his roll. Maxie put his roll away leaving the grand lying on the table. The four bulls had their eyes glued on Max like a burlesque audience watching Gypsy Rose Lee do a strip.

  The lieutenant smiled. Then he chuckled. He knew the score. He shook his head in admiration. “Goddamn.” He went over to the table for a drink, still chuckling to himself. “You sure got yourself an iron alibi. I was sure I had you with your pants down today.”

  Nonchalantly he picked up the thousand and put it in his pocket. “Okay, boys.” The lieutenant nodded to his men. “I guess we'll be on our way.”

  They walked to the door. The lieutenant turned. “Meanwhile, my report will show we couldn't find you men. Get your lawyer to contact the D. A. and convince him he has no case against you, so those goddamn 'wanted' cards at headquarters can be removed from the files.”

  He hesitated. “Thanks—for the drinks.”

  He walked out, chuckling to himself.

  Moe came in with a tray of doubles. He smiled, “Them bastards finally went? How's things?”

  “All right,” Maxie said.

  Without another word, we drank up. The whiskey didn't taste right. It didn't do anything for me. Ordinarily, after a period of tension, one or two double hookers relaxed my taut nerves. This time it was flat. It did nothing.

  I looked at Max. He, too, seemed on edge. He caught my eye. I wondered if he guessed how I felt. He gave me a sympathetic smile.

  I said, “I'd like to get away for awhile, a little trip.”

  “Eve?” Max asked.

  “Yeh, she's down in North Carolina.”

  “I'll find out. Maybe we'll all take a break for a couple of weeks.”

  “That's a good idea,” Patsy said.

  “That's a goddamn good idea. Monticello for me,” Cockeye said.

  Max nodded. “Tomorrow I'll find out.”

  We were disappointed. The office told us to hang around town for a couple of weeks. There were too many units taking vacations at the same time.

  I called Eve down in North Carolina. I spoke to her for about an hour. She was lonesome. She wanted to come up. I told her not to. I would pick her up, and we would go to Florida from there. She was delighted.

  Days passed. We couldn't get away even though there was nothing much to do. Two weeks later we re-opened the Eden Garden. We spent most of our time there. It was a lot of fun, what with the entertainers, good food and plenty to drink.

  We had a skilled bartender who knew his business. He had tended bar at some of the finest hotels in the city before Prohibition. I was beginning to acquire a taste for mixed drinks, so, after most of the patrons had gone, I would linger with my foot on the rail, sampling all sorts of concoctions of his.

  One night at about three a.m., as I stood at the bar facing the entrance, I saw Eddie come bursting through the door. He stopped and looked around. I waved. He came rushing over, excited and out of breath. This was out of character for the usually phlegmatic Eddie.

  I said, “What's the matter, Ed, your hotel on fire?”

  “Where's Max?” Eddie panted. “Both of you come along with me. I got my car outside.”

  We hurried down to the other end of the room where Max was sitting with one of the showgirls. I motioned with my head. He stood up and came toward us.

  “What's cookin'?” he asked.

  “Come on,” Eddie said briskly. “I'll tell you guys all about it in the car.

  Eddie shot west on Fifty-Ninth Street, up West End Avenue, then left into Riverside Drive.

  “What the hell's it all about?” Max asked.

  “You guys got to get rid of a stiff. But quick,” Eddie said.

  “Jesus,” Max said, “is that all?”

  “Yeh,” I said, “what's all the rush and secrecy about?”

  “The stiff ain't going to get up and beat it before we get there, is he?” Max said.

  “What's it all about, Ed?” I said.

  “Well, I'm not supposed to talk. It's strictly a hush-hush affair. That's why I was given the contract. If it leaked out, it would blow City Hall and state politics wide open. The stiff is a big shot.”

  “Okay, Ed,” I said, “big shot or little shot is all the same to us.”

  “The worms don't know the difference either,” Max said.

  We arrived. Eddie parked his car. We walked into the newly built apartment house. The doorman hesitated about letting us go up. He called the apartment on the house phone. When he received the okay, he apologized to us.

  “You understand, gentlemen—this unusual hour.”

  We went upstairs. The door was ajar, and a tall man was standing guard in the doorway. He gave Max and me a sharp look as we entered, the characteristic once-over of a trained police officer.

  Sure enough, Eddie said, “How are you, inspector?”

  The inspector answered, “How are you, Ed?”

  Then I recognized him. I had seen him around.

  Max and I glanced at each other; we didn't like to be involved with a police inspector on a job of this sort. Even though he was in the know and on the payroll, it was too risky. We believed in the axiom: never trust a cop.

  The inspector led us into the living room, which was large and luxuriously furnished. There were two or three steps leading down. I spied the stiff lying on the floor at the far end, covered with a white bedsheet.

  I motioned Eddie into a bedroom. There was a man sitting on a chair. He turned his terrified face away as we entered. I recognized him. He was a prominent lawyer and a big Tammany politician.

  I whispered to Eddie, “Get that goddamned inspector the hell out of here.”

  “He's okay,” Eddie said. “He's in on this.” />
  “I don't care how okay the bastard is, get him out of here,” I insisted. “We don't want any part of him.”

  Eddie shrugged. “I'll see what I can do,” he said.

  We walked back into the living room. The inspector was standing guard over the covered body. The stiff's right hand had slipped out from under the sheet. I noticed the index finger was smashed, as if it had been caught in a door, years back. The finger next to it was circled with a yellow metal Masonic ring. The inspector noticed it at the same time I did. He bent down on one knee and twisted it off. The inspector's hands shook as he put it in his pocket.

  He said nervously, “I want you fellows to remove this body immediately. I have to go along to see—”

  Maxie interrupted him. “We'll pick the time when to remove the stiff, and you can't come along.”

  “You can't wait, it's dangerous to have him around. He has to be done away with immediately.”

  The inspector took off his hat and wiped his forehead. He continued putting his hat on and taking it off with trembling hands. He looked at us, ill at ease.

  “We're not removing him now,” I said.

  “That man's wife—” the inspector jerked a fluttering thumb toward the bedroom, “is coming in from the country this morning.”

  I shrugged.

  The inspector floundered in a quavering voice. “You have to—you have to—get him out quick. This is dynamite. It will break things wide open, all the way to the top.”

  Eddie, Max and I went into a huddle in a corner.

  “We're doing this our way, in our own sweet time,” I said to Eddie.

  Max said, “Get the goddamned inspector the hell out of here!”

  “I can't,” Eddie said. “I don't know how. That guy is in the middle of it, and he's supposed to go along with the body to make sure everything's okay.”

  “Well, he's not going along, Ed. That's definite,” I said.

  “We don't need him around. Everything will be okay without him.”

  “I can't help it, Noodles,” Eddie said. “He's got to tag along. That's orders.”

  I looked at Maxie. We agreed.

  I said, “I don't care what your orders are. The sonofabitch doesn't come along.”

  Max said, “Who gave you this contract?”

  Eddie hesitated. “The office,” he said.

  “Who, specifically?” I asked.

  “I'm not supposed to say.”

  “Whoever gave you the orders should know we do things our way,” I said.

  “Yep, and you can tell 'em so,” Max said.

  Eddie shrugged.

  “Tell the inspector to take a powder,” Max said.

  “Okay, okay,” Eddie grunted.

  Eddie walked over to the inspector. The inspector stood his ground.

  “No—no,” he murmured.

  He came over to us. “I'm sorry, fellows,” he said, “I can't leave. I'm here to see that nobody gets a look at his face.”

  “We're not interested who he is. We don't care if he's Jimmy Walker or the President of the United States. To us he's just a stiff. Don't worry,” I continued. “We won't look at the guy. Nobody will.”

  “I gotta go along,” he insisted.

  “Well, we don't handle it then,” I said.

  Eddie came over.

  “Don't worry, inspector, they'll handle it okay,” he said.

  He gave us a long look. He walked out of the apartment in anger.

  “He's sore,” Eddie said.

  “So let him use vaseline,” Max said.

  Max and I walked over to the stiff. I uncovered him. He was a distinguished looking guy even in death. He was middle-aged and about six feet tall. He looked familiar.

  I said to Max, “I seen this guy around.” I looked closer.

  “Yeh,” I said, “I seen him all over Broadway. He likes the girls. He's a chippie chaser.”

  I turned to Eddie. “This guy is a judge or something?”

  Eddie nodded. “This guy was a Supreme Court judge,” he said.

  I looked at his wound. It was a bullet hole in the abdomen. Blood was still trickling to the floor.

  I said to Eddie, “See if there is any adhesive tape in the bathroom and get me some rags.”

  Eddie came back with a towel and a quarter-inch tape. I tore up the towel and plugged up the hole. The guy was still warm to the touch as I taped all around to hold the bit of towel from falling out.

  Eddie whispered, “Can you get him right out?”

  “No, not at this hour,” I said.

  “That guy's wife—” Eddie jerked his thumb towards the bedroom, “is coming in from the country this morning.”

  “Find out what time she's coming in,” Max said. “We'll try to get him out before she arrives.”

  Eddie went into the bedroom. He came back. “The guy said you got to get the stiff right out,” he said. “His wife is coming back early.”

  “The hell with him,” I said. “How does it look for a rug cleaner to pick up a rug at four in the morning?”

  “Yeh,” Eddie said, “it would look suspicious. But you got to get rid of him fast.”

  “Don't worry, Ed,” Max said. “We'll get rid of him.”

  “Even his disappearance will be dynamite,” I said. “He isn't like the ordinary unknown guys we handled. The cops and papers will never let up. He's too prominent.”

  “Well, we can't do anything before eight o'clock,” Max said, “so we may as well take a powder.”

  Eddie stayed in the house with the attorney. Max and I left.

  CHAPTER 40

  We drove directly to Thompson Street. Pete was in his shop busy with his new enterprise, printing United States postage stamps. They were stacked in regulation sheets, on a large table.

  “Right off the presses,” Pete chuckled. “How do they look to you?”

  I took a sheet in my hands.

  “Here's the McCoy.” Pete handed me a sheet of stamps from his desk. “Can you tell the difference?”

  I compared the sheets.

  “They look alike to me.”

  I handed the sheets to Maxie.

  “Perfect,” Max said.

  “I got me some of the best engravers,” Pete chuckled, “direct from the Italian Mint.”

  He took us into his little storeroom. There were little bins all along the walls. He was proud of his stock. One wall of bins was completely filled with phony labels for every domestic and foreign whiskey and beer on the market. Other bins were filled with United States revenue stamps, bogus Mexican currency and counterfeit United States bills of every denomination.

  “Some day,” Pete boasted, “I will put out a batch of dough that the T men themselves won't be able to tell the difference.”

  “Has it ever happened?” I asked.

  “No, but some day it will. That's the dream of every guy in this racket: to print the perfect bill.”

  “When that happens, call us up,” Max chuckled.

  “Yeh, I will,” Pete laughed.

  He took a death and burial certificate out of a bin and sat down at his desk.

  “Male or female?” he asked.

  “Male,” Max said.

  Pete filled them out and stamped them.

  We said, “So long,” and left.

  We drove up to the Eden. Patsy and Cockeye were alone in the place with the twin dancing team. We interrupted something. We closed the place, and the twins took a cab.

  We went to Lutkee's Baths, had a few hours sleep, a quick rubdown and a cold plunge in the pool.

  We were in the funeral parlors at seven-thirty. Cockeye and Pat left to pick up Klemy's rug cleaning truck, with instructions to meet us at the Riverside Drive address.

  Max and I put a large burlap rug cover in the Caddy. I put a long needle and a ball of heavy twine in my pocket.

  Eddie opened the door of the apartment. He looked tired and wan.

  “That bastard made me more nervous than the stiff did,” Eddie said.


  We looked at the lawyer. He was a disheveled, terror-stricken sight.

  He watched as we rolled the stiff into the rug.

  In a plaintive, dazed sort of way he murmured, “That's a five-thousand-dollar Chinese rug.”

  We ignored him. We wrapped the burlap all around. I sewed the ends securely together. We found a cut glass decanter half full of whiskey. Max and I helped ourselves to a drink. We sat around smoking for about twenty minutes until Pat and Cockeye showed up. They were dressed in the uniform of a rug cleaning company.

  The freight elevator wasn't high enough. The operator had to lift the wire top of the car to get the rug in.

  Max and I stood a distance away and watched Patsy and Cockeye struggle to put the awkward, bulky object into the truck. They finally succeeded and were about to drive away when a cop walked over. Max and I hurried to see what he wanted.

  The cop was arguing with Cockeye that the bundle extended beyond the rear of the truck.

  “You got to get a red flag on the end of that thing. That's the traffic regulation,” he insisted.

  I sent Cockeye back up to the apartment to get a piece of red cloth from a dress or coat. He came down with a piece of red silk from a dress. He tied it to the projecting end. We followed the truck downtown.

  Rosenberg was all alone in the parlors. There was a funeral scheduled for later in the day. The body was ready in the chapel.

  Max told Rosenberg to take off part of the day.

  I didn't like the way Rosenberg said, “Okay, if you want me to,” as if he suspected something. I decided to have a talk with Max about him later on.

  Max was busy calling the cemetery. Patsy went around the corner to get the hearse out of the garage while Cockeye backed Klemy's truck to the back door. He and I carried the burlap covered roll inside. I cut the outer covering. We unrolled the rug and put the stiff in a pine box.

  A half-hour later the body was on its way, with Patsy driving the hearse. It was followed by Cockeye in the Caddy with a few old men, paid mourners, solicited from the schul around the corner.

  We sat in the office waiting for Rosenberg's return.

  Max said, “So the stiff looked familiar?”

  “Yeh, I've seen him in restaurants on Broadway. They whispered that he was a judge or something. I never met the guy.”