by Paddy Kelly
“What the hell are you two guys doin’ here?”
“We got somethin’ ta talk to ya about. Somethin’ big.” Lansky was there to do the talking. Polakoff was there as one of the concessions to Commissioner Lyons.
“Hold it! Why ain’t there no guards wit you two?”
“You’re gonna love this! Not allowed!” Lansky backhanded Lucky’s shoulder as he gave him the unique news.
“What? Are you kiddin’ me or what?” There were only two chairs in the room, so Meyer knocked on the door, and told the guard to bring another. A few minutes later the disgruntled guard returned with a chair.
“So what’s the story?” Lucky pressed Meyer.
After catching up on current events in the City, Lansky explained to Lucky about the Navy’s operation and Socks Lanza’s involvement to date. Particularly the details about having limited influence and bringing suspicion on himself by working with the Navy. Haffenden was only mentioned as the Commander, and the operation was never mentioned outright.
Even though Meyer Lansky was a Russian Jew, his Sicilian was very good compliments of Lucky and their younger days east of the Bowery. They switched back and forth between languages, partially to talk about things in regard to the Unione operations and their current status, and partially to see how far they could push Polakoff.
After Lucky had been completely briefed about the Navy’s request, he sat back and folded his arms.
“There’s just one thing I gotta know.”
“What’s that?” Polakoff finally spoke.
“There’s a deportation order out on me ta go back ta Sicily. If these clowns decide they don’t want me here no more, and the Fascists win the war, that means I’ll be executed. Especially if they find out I been helpin’ youse guys!”
Polakoff didn’t give a damn one way or the other. In fact, he didn’t understand why Lucky used the phrase, “helping youse guys.” He would only be helping the Navy. What Polokoff failed to understand, as did everyone on the DA’s side of the case, was that Lucky had learned to think like them. There were no ‘innocent bystanders’ when it came to the government. Different circus, same clowns.
“Lucky, we were told absolutely no deals. You’re still in for the full sentence. No parole, no help, that’s it,” Polokoff explained.
“I’m not askin’ for a deal. I’ll do it for my adopted country. I hate that shit hole I came from, you know that. All I’m askin’ is that we keep dis ding strictly under wraps!”
“You think the United States Navy is in a hurry for the American public to find out they’re workin’ with organised crime? Don’t worry about it,” Polakoff reassured Lucky.
“Yeah, wouldn’t look too good, the government dealin’ with a crook, huh? Somebody might get the wrong idea,” Meyer added. He and Lucky laughed, Polakoff didn’t.
“Alright, look. Send Joey Socks up here, I’ll tell him what needs doing. And Meyer, spread the word fer them to lay offa Joey. Tell them he was doin’ it fer me in the first place.”
“That’ll mean a lot, Charlie.” Luciano now switched back to Sicilian.
“And tell him don’t worry. He ain’t gonna get indicted. Anything else?”
Lansky smiled and nodded. He answered back in Lucky’s native tongue. “Things went alright on Bank Street,” he relayed to the Boss.
“Primo.”
The first of many meetings was over.
Chapter Eighteen
Doc eventually called Nikki and after he beat around the bush for a while, she came out from behind her defences and they agreed to a date. It was arranged they would meet at Doc’s office that evening around seven and go from there.
Nikki tipped the cab driver and, with a puzzled look on her face, entered Harry’s. Doc had only given her an address, and so she didn’t understand why she was now in a candy store, an unattended one at that.
“Excuse me… hello. Anyone here?” She called out a second time but only heard the muffled lyrics of I Don’t Get Around Much Anymore emanating softly from a radio sitting camouflaged somewhere on a shelf. Other than that, there were no signs of life.
She ventured closer to the centre of the shop, just as Harry finished removing his wooden leg and sat up from behind the counter.
Nikki screamed when a grizzled old man suddenly appeared between the candy bars and potato chips and Harry, not having heard her come in, was obliged to return the greeting. After a few minutes, once calm prevailed and heart rates had returned to normal, they struck up a conversation.
“YOU MUST BE NIKKI!” Harry yelled loudly.
“YOU MUST BE HARRY,” she shouted back. “NICE TO MEET YOU.”
“LIKEWISE.” They shook hands over the Hershey bars.
“WHERE CAN I FIND DOC? ”
“UPSTAIRS. THIRD FLOOR ON THE LEFT.”
“THANK YOU, HARRY. NICE TO HAVE MET YOU.”
“LIKEWISE, MA’AM.” As she passed through the door to go upstairs, Harry shook his head. “Pretty girl. Shame about her hearing.”
On the third floor, Nikki found the office door open, knocked gently and let herself in.
“Doc, you here?”
Louie came out from
Louie came out from behind the partition. “Nikki Cole?” Louie was finishing off a quart of Breyer’s cherry vanilla ice cream, on a break from his studies.
“Hi. Louie?” She extended her hand.
“Louie, Louie Mancino. Doc’ll be right back. Have a seat.”
She thanked Louie but declined the chair and looked with interest at the items scattered around the room. She began to form her first real impressions of Doc when her eyes fell on the bullet holes which marked the wall adjoining the front door.
“Termites, huh?”
“Ahh, yeah,” Louie answered with false pride.
“What happened?” Nikki asked staring at Louie. He walked over to his table, sat back in his chair, and put his feet up. Louie soaked it for all it was worth.
“Just some guys, tryin’ ta get tough. It happens.”
“Anyone hurt?” Nikki couldn’t help but wonder what she might be letting herself in for.
“Nah.” Louie detected uneasiness and sought to change the subject. “So, you work for the Feds?”
“I’m a receptionist.” She wandered over to the trophies on the shelf. The photo of the brunette was lying face down. Louie became nervous, and suddenly wished Doc would show up. He winced to himself as Nikki stood the picture upright.
“Who’s this?”
A cascade of possible answers flooded Louie’s mind. Doc’s sister, his mother-in-law, his ex-business partner. “Janet. An old girlfriend named Janet,” he blurted out. Dodged the bullet on that one, Louie thought.
“M-A-R-Y. Tell me. Where you come from, how do they spell bullshitter? L-O-U-I-E.”
Louie winced again.
“She’s his ex,” he said resignedly. “Only don’t tell him I told, huh? He needs ta tell ya himself. She kicked him in the head a pretty good one.”
“What happened?”
Louie hesitated to answer. “I really don’t feel too good talkin’ about Doc’s personal stuff an all.”
She sensed his discomfort and didn’t push it, but in the end womanly curiosity won out. “Word of honour, Louie. Won’t breathe a word of it.”
Louie adjusted his posture and decided to give Nikki the Reader’s Digest version of Doc’s marriage.
“No deep, dark secrets. It was a mixed marriage that didn’t work out.”
“Howd’a ya mean, ‘mixed’?”
“Conflicting gods. Different religions. Hers were green with little pictures of presidents on them, his were non-tangereenneable.” Nikki looked at him quizzically.
“Non-tangereeenable?”
“Yeah, you know. Things that can‘t be touched.” Louie was proud of his five dollar word.
“Okay. What was it?
“Loyalty. He took that ‘Till death do us part’ stuff seriously.”
“And she tho
ught it was just words? I’m beginning ta get the picture.” Nikki knew how hard it was to be forced apart. To not have any control over losing your spouse. Her attention turned to the photo of the man with the black ribbon taped to the upper right hand corner of the frame. She noted the names on the trophies were all the same, McKeowen.
“This Doc’s father?”
Louie was determined not to discuss Doc’s Dad with her. “Yeah, he was. Nuthin’ personal. That’s Doc’s territory.”
She noticed the memorial plaque and the black framed obituary column. As she began to read the article, footsteps echoed in the hall. Nikki turned to look over her shoulder as Doc came in. Louie shook his hand and gave the thumbs-up to Doc.
Nikki looked stunning. Doc had not realised how striking her natural good looks really were at the reception desk on Church Street. He had been too preoccupied with her sharp wit.
Although she wore a nondescript, dark green dress with shoulder pads, and her auburn hair in a Page Boy, Doc immediately realised she really could give Lauren Becall a run for her money. Her steel blue eyes sparkled when she smiled.
Doc changed out of his bomber jacket into a sports coat and when he emerged from behind the partition Louie smirked and Nikki shook her head back and forth. Doc conceded to the consensus of opinion and changed back into the jacket and his dark blue Negro League baseball cap.
Louie went up behind Doc as he and Nikki were leaving.
“Compliment the dress!” Louie whispered in Doc’s ear.
“Thanks, Mom,” Doc whispered back.
Downstairs, Harry yelled goodnight to the couple and Nikki yelled back. Doc stared at the two of them as if they had a screw loose and as soon as they were outside he spoke to Nikki.
“What the hell was that?”
“Oh, Louie was nice enough to tip me off about Harry bein’ in the war an’ all.”
“Harry lost his leg in the war?” Doc informed her, still confused.
“Yeah, I know. Louie told me. That and how working around the artillery made him lose his hearing. He should get benefits for that or something, ya know!”
“Harry was in the Signal Corps! Not artil…” He didn’t finish his sentence. He didn’t have to. He understood and then wondered what Louie had told Harry about Nikki. Little prick.
“What?” Nikki asked.
“Nuthin’, ferget it. Where do you wanna eat?”
“I don’t know. But I’m starvin’! I didn’t have time for lunch.”
“We could have something light, see a movie and then go to dinner?” Doc suggested. “Casablanca just broke at the Loew’s.”
“Took the words right outta my mouth! Where to?”
They began to walk across town towards the Loew’s Theatre on 14th Street and planned on a sandwich before the show.
“Unusual weather we’re havin‘, ain’t it? So the paper said.” Nikki sought to break the ice and ease into the awkward part of the date where the boy and girl feel compelled to talk about… nothing.
“The weather guy on NBC said we’re due for a blizzard in the next few days.” Doc returned the volley.
“So, what are some of your favorite movies, Mr PI? I suppose you go in fer those detective stories and whodunnits?” Nikki said teasingly.
“I hate those things. Hats, trenchcoats. Always goin’ around hidin’ in the shadows. Damn picture always crooked on the screen. Looks like the camera guy is drunk or somethin’. And another thing I don’t get. Where do they get off shootin’all those guns off all over the place like Randolph Scott or somethin’? I tell ya, wish I could find a six shooter with ten shots!” Doc snickered at his last remark.
Nikki was amused at his passionate film review. “So how do you really feel?”
“I don’t carry a gun. They get people hurt.”
Nikki stopped laughing and thought about the photo.
“How ’bout you? Whatta you like?”
“I just saw Cat People a little while back. Very different! I liked it.” Doc hadn’t gone to see it because it sounded a little too artsy. Not exactly off to a flyin’start, he thought.
“Pride Of The Yankees! There’s a movie ta get yer blood up, huh?” he tried again. Nikki hadn’t seen that one. She thought it looked a little too sappy. Not off to a good start, she thought.
“Tortilla Flats?” Nikki tried again.
“Steinbeck! The best.” Doc’s favourite writer.
“No, that was Spencer Tracy and Hedy Lamarr!”
“Oh! Acomedian, huh?” They both relaxed a little more and the subject came around to comedy and comic films. Doc was pleased that Nikki liked the Marx Brothers and Nikki was pleased when Doc said that he liked Chaplin. They laughed and relaxed even more as they entered a pizza parlor on East Twelfth and both agreed that Now Voyagerwas probably the worst film either had ever seen.
“Buona sera, Eddie. Due slice e due coke, si prega di.” Doc spoke to the man behind the counter in the white tee-shirt and apron, and they took a table in the back.
“I’m impressed!” Nikki told Doc as they waited for their order. “Have you been to Italy?”
“Hell, I hardly been outta New York. My mother was from Palermo. Came over before the last war.”
“Maybe after the war you’ll get ta take a trip over?”
“I’d like that.” The slices came and after they had eaten, Nikki began to talk again.
“That was sweet what you did for the Birnbaums.”
“They’re good people. We should live so long.”
“Do you think about how long you’ll live?”
“I try not to. I don’t think I wanna know the answer.”
“What you do is dangerous, isn’t it?”
“Not really.” Nikki gave him that would-you-tell-me-even-if-it-were-look.
Doc reassured her. “No, really! It’s rare someone pulls a gun or a knife. Mostly we tail people, find things out. I’ve only had one murder case.”
“Did’ja solve it?” Nikki asked with genuine enthusiasm. Doc looked at her eyes and smiled.
“No. Not yet.” There was a pause in the conversation and it became apparent to Doc that Nikki was mustering courage to broach a subject.
“Can I ask you something, Doc?”
“Sure what is it?”
“What happened to your Dad? I mean, what really happened?”
This was so completely unexpected that Doc had to adjust.
“I read about it in the papers last year, and when I saw the photo in your office I couldn’t believe it was the same guy.”
“You think my father sold drugs to prostitutes?” Doc asked in an irritated tone.
“I don’t know… no!” Nikki was gripped with a sudden sensation of awkwardness. “Oh hell, Doc! When it was all over the papers no one could believe a senior cop could do somethin’ like that, but there’s some pretty crooked cops, ya know? And now that I’ve met you… hell, I don’t know what I think.” Nikki slid down in her seat with a sense of deep regret at having surrendered to her curiosity.
Doc tried to remain patient, and for some reason felt that maybe it was time to come clean. To finally talk about this thing and maybe get it off his chest.
“My father was a great cop. But a lousy politician. He could never understand how the DAand the higher-ups could know about the drug houses and the guys who ran them, and let them walk around in the open as if they were common, decent citizens. He’d been working on this idea for a bunch of cops who would train just to go after the drug guys. Ya know, talk to stoolies, stake out the houses, get all the info they could. Then start takin’ them out one by one until it was too expensive for them to operate.”
“That’s a helluva idea, Doc. Did they do it?”
“He pushed like hell, and it got through the chief okay, but when it got to the D A’s, they stepped on it. He fought back and the upshot was that if they could prove themselves, the DAwould think about backing them. Well, it just so happened that they were planning a raid that week. Word lea
ked to the department that there was a house where they stored large quantities of heroin, and that except for one or two torpedoes standin’ guard at a certain time, it was wide open.”
“That was the place on East 34th?”
“Yeah. So they get there, everyone knew my dad would go in first. So it was him and a guy named Russo as back-up. Everyone else surrounded the house. And that was it. Like the papers said, over two hundred bullet holes, two cops killed and the drug guys got away.”
“What about the heroin?”
“Wasn’t any. Never was. It was a set-up ta show the city that the “ idea of flat-foot beat cops forming raiding squads was stupid and dangerous.”
“What makes you think it was a set-up?”
The word came down that the hide-out would only be lightly armed. Two hundred bullet holes ain’t exactly lightly armed. The DA just happened to show on the scene. The DA has no business anywhere near a raid scene, ever. Unless he’s got some kinda personal stake in it. Then the giveaway. No drugs anywhere. I went back in the next night. Spent the entire night searching for anything that might show there were drugs there at one time. Nuthin’, clean as a whistle.”
“They set that up just to kill your father?”
“No, not really. That was just an added bonus.”
“So why the hell was the DAso against this drug fighting squad idea?”
“The fastest pipeline to the governor’s office is the DA’s office. But you need backing. Backing from the right people, and the right people’s money. If this raid squad of my father’s caught on, the profit margin would be drastically reduced and these ‘right people’ would only be able to drink champagne and eat caviar five times a week instead of seven. Know what I mean?”
Nikki reached across the table and took Doc’s hand. “Jesus, Doc, That’s a pretty deep hole. Sorry about bringing it up.”
“It’s okay. I’m glad ya did. I haven’t really talked about it with anyone and it was kinda eatin’me up inside.”
“Not even Louie?”
“No. But, that night when I asked him to break into the house with me, he didn’t hesitate for a second.”