I parked at the curb and hiked up the landscaped path that sliced through the half-moon lawn. Kate answered the doorbell in white silk pajamas with a surprised look on her face. It was as startling to look at her beauty as it had been the first time. Her long hair was aflame with morning sunlight as it curled and flowed over her small shoulders. She looked like a calendar artist’s idea of a modern, well-to-do housewife greeting her husband after a long day.
“Woody...?” It was more a question. The babe was flabbergasted. “How’d you get my address?”
“Hello, Kate. You should’ve read my business card; it says ‘Investigations’.”
“Woody, come in, please. Let me take your hat.”
“Tell you the truth, doubt I’ll be here that long.” She closed the leaded glass door and showed me to a sitting area, a very swank place. Her full, erect breasts told me she was skin naked under that flimsy outfit.
“Who was that at the door, dear?” A nicely dressed middle-aged woman with stylishly cut graying red hair was standing in the hallway.
“Oh, Mother, it’s a business acquaintance. Weren’t you going to tend to your roses?” The woman disappeared down the hall toward the inner house.
“Mother’s feeling much better today. She loves to work in her garden when she can.”
I had seen no reason she shouldn’t feel good except, maybe, from carrying around fifty extra pounds. Cancer, my big ol’ butt!
“Woody, can I get you a cup of coffee?”
“Jack Daniel’s neat would be good.” It was a little early for some, but that situation beat all. Didn’t think I was going to like how it unfolded.
She got me two fingers from the mahogany bar and sat down. I stood with my hat in hand.
“Woody, for some reason, Joe Gallo likes you.”
Shit a brick! I didn’t think things could get any more wrapped around the axle. That announcement prompted me to toss back the booze. I walked over to refresh my own. I went hollow.
“So, Kate, how long you been mixed up with Joe Gallo?”
“I met Joe when I was eighteen and turning tricks in Manhattan dance rooms. Joe wasn’t much more’n a kid, himself, but he was smart and he was somebody. Of course, he takes what he wants, but I never had a thing before he started taking care of me.”
Man, I had thought this doll was a barnburner. I got hip fast. She was just another birdbrain with a little polish. Those stooges had been stringing me. They took me for a sucker, but good. Guess I was in pretty good company with the DA’s Office.
“This has been an interesting week. Exactly who’s been pulling the strings, Miss Margolies?”
“I think you know. It’s got ‘a be pretty obvious.” She got up and poured herself a cup of coffee, sat back down and lit a fag with her platinum pencil lighter.
“I guess you’re right - only guy came out ahead in the mess, Crazy Joe.”
“Don’t call him that!” Now she had a coffee stain on her white pants. “It’s not right. Joey knows what he’s doing; don’t you see that by now? When he told me to get on the inside with that pig, Rossi, I couldn’t believe it, but now look. Joey knows what he’s doing.”
“Yeah, I gotta hand it to him. Looks like he knows which way is up.” They ran the con on me and got the bulge on Rossi. Now that I was booted to the bimbo’s game, I’d get their weasel deal mapped out. When I did, I planned to stick it straight up Crazy Joe’s ass. I saw no use cluing her in, though.
“So, I guess your story about extorting all that money for the books your father kept for Rossi was bull.”
“What books? Some father, that bastard can burn in hell!” Kate Margolies, gangster moll, laughed and blew smoke from her Old gold.
“Just tell me one thing, Kate, why’d you want to meet me at Dempsey’s last Tuesday?”
“Joey wanted me to check on you – kind a’ see what your frame of mind was. He’s had tabs on you for a while. I didn’t get all this,” she waved her flowing silky arm in a slow half circle, “by not being helpful to Joey Gallo. I personally think he wants you to work for him. You could be a rich man.”
“So, look, Kate, I see how things shape up. I was concerned and wanted to stop in and see you. I’m gonna have to cut out now.” I tabled my glass and started walking to the door. She caught up and put her hand on my arm.
“You’re a stand-up guy, Woody. I think I see why Joey likes you.”
‘Miss Margolies, your head’s so far up yours, that you see nothing but darkness.’
“See ya, Kate,” was what I said. The situation had become a drag and put me in a dark mood, but I wanted the chippy thinking everything was copacetic. I stopped half way down the stone drive and broke open a fresh deck of Luckies. ‘Man, this broad really thinks who she is’. I lit a pill and inhaled deeply to free my nostrils of her perfume.
The breeze off the Atlantic had the tang of ozone. Rain was in the forecast. I stared at the mounting clouds in the blue sky and wondered how I’d ever gotten dizzy for that dame. I thought the trip to Far Rockaway was going to be for biscuits, but it sure wised me up.
Heading the Studebaker west, I realized I was in the vicinity of McDermott’s Bar, just north of the airport. It was a landmark for me, the first place I got drunk in New York. I found George Brannon tending an empty bar. Pushing sixty, he was just starting to show his age. George served with the Marines fighting bandits in Nicaragua in the 1920’s and came home to take a shot at being a prizefighter. He was smart enough to know he didn’t have it. He ran his own gym for years and still trained young fighters.
“Morning, George. How’s everything goin?”
“Hey, Wood. Bout like you’d expect working for a broke-dick sailor.”
Bull McDermott, the bar owner, was a retired Navy Chief Petty Officer. He had manned the small landing craft taking Marines ashore during the grisly Pacific Island Campaigns in World War II. Bull was six foot four with a heart to match.
“Georgie, I’m right back here in my office. I hear every friggin word you say. Hawarya, Woody? You doon okay?” George smiled big and wiped the bar.
“Shore am, Bull. Just stopped by to wash down the trail dust.”
***
I got back onto Wythe Avenue about two o’clock. As I was putting the key in the office door, I smelled coffee and looked through the door glass. Gina sat at her desk, chewing gum and beating up on that old Underwood. My pulse fluttered as she looked up when I walked in. She was pretty as a picture.
“You ain’t gettin the two hunnert back, Woody.” That’s my girl!
I told Gina, that since she was there, and I was very glad she was there, to keep the place running. I was going to take a drive over to the DA’s Office in Manhattan.
“There’s a payday waiting. I’ll probably just see you tomorrow morning. Welcome back, kid.”
As I started down the stairs, I heard Gina crank up the radio as always. The Drifters were jamming about who gets the final dance.
I mentally added the ‘cha-cha-cha’ as I pushed the metal fire door open into the alley. Hot dam! I was feeling good.
I stopped on the way and picked up a bunch of flowers for Rita Mae Riley. Parking at the DA’s building was a lot easier when you’re not ducking a manhunt. I took the flight of stairs to the second floor two at a time shaking the rain off my trench coat. The second floor was where most of the Assistant DA’s hung their hats.
Dan Logan’s door was down the hall to the right. When you went through it, you were in Rita Mae’s small office. In there, on either side was a door leading to an ADA’s office. Logan’s was on the left of Rita Mae’s desk.
She looked up from her mill when I walked in. “Hi, Woody!”
“Hey, Rita Mae. You’re looking... delicious today.” No more truth was ever spoken. She had on a short jacket over a lacy white blouse that didn’t even try to hide the casabas. She was a looker, but I knew she had to speak eventually.
“Thanks, I try to look nice. Never know when my fella’s gonna drop
by.” That voice - an octave higher and only a hound dog could hear it.
“Well, here I am, and these are for you.” She stood to take the bouquet; her impossibly small waist created a perfect hourglass. Then she turned and walked a few high-heeled steps to put them in a vase. Watching her calves bunch with each step, I made a mental note; I needed to give her a call. I sat on the corner of her desk and lit a Lucky with her desk lighter, a miniature Empire State Building. I hefted the thing in my right hand - a serious weapon.
“Woody, they’re so pretty. I’ll get them in water.”
“Sweetie, I only have a minute,” I lied. I jerked a thumb at Logan’s office. “Is the boss in?”
“Oh, he’s in Harlem. Don’t think he’s coming back in today. Said he’d be at the gym this evening.”
Dan and some wheel chair buddies had taken to playing wheel basketball at Park Gym on the South Campus of City College up in Harlem. I thought about trying to catch him there, but decided against the drive all the way up to West 135th Street in the rain.
“Okay if I leave him a note?”
“Shu-wa, Woody. Here’s a pad.”
I asked him if he wanted to meet at Zucca’s tomorrow for lunch - good meatballs. About 1:00? I got a different slant on some old news. Call if you want to do something different. Don’t forget the payroll. I signed it Woody, tore the sheet off the pad, folded it once and handed it to ‘Miss Cantaloupes, 1960’.
“Thanks, Rita Mae. You know, we got to get together.”
“You know we do.” She had a dimple when she smiled.
I walked back to my car humming ‘Lollipop Guild’. I stopped by Dempsey’s for a few hooks and to mull over the series of events surrounding Joey Gallo. I say mull over, but truth was, I wasn’t 100% sure what had happened. Was Gallo smart enough to pull the wool over the eyes of both the government and the mob? I didn’t think so, but I was going to find out.
I got back to the Taft early, grabbed a hot shower and found sleep came easy.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
(Tuesday, June 21, 1960.)
I was up early and took my time with a cup of java and a newspaper at the Taft Coffee Shop. I was plenty rested and probably would have hung around longer if a reporter I knew hadn’t tried to be my table buddy. He worked the police beat and knew I did work for the DA’s Office. He was looking for a different angle on the Joey Gallo story. I didn’t tell him I was too. What I did tell him was that I didn’t get city politics much less mob politics. I folded my paper and gave him the brush.
The streets were wet; the air was clean. The City had exhaled. When I walked through the office door, Gina was pouring herself a cup of coffee.
“Good morning, Sweet Pea. You look swell today”. She looked beautiful.
“Morning, Woody. You don’t look so bad yourself. At least you don’t look like you slept in a gravel driveway.”
I poured a cup of joe and lit a pill. “Thanks, Babe. You know how to sweet talk a guy.”
She set her coffee on the desk and marched straight over to me. To save the contents of my cup, I set it down quick when she cocked her right arm. She came down with a hammer fist on my chest that would’ve gotten thumbs up from Jack Dempsey, himself. Then she threw both arms around my neck and tried to finish me off with a naked strangle hold.
“Oh, Woody, I don’t want to see you get hurt. I couldn’t stand it if anything happened to you. I love you.”
“Sweetie, whooooaaa. Calm down. Nothing’s going to happen to me. I feel like a million bucks today. What’s got you shook up?”
She hung on a while longer then pointed to a piece of crumpled typing paper on the corner of her desk.
“That was stuck in the outside door this morning.”
I walked over and picked it up. Somebody had scrawled, ‘Stone, time to decide. Play ball or be dead’.
“Gina, that’s just some crack-pot. Don’t worry your pretty head about it.” Crazy Joe Gallo...
“Sounds plenty serious to me.”
“Well, it’s not... You love me?”
“Sez who?”
“You just did.”
“Did not.” She sat down, picked up her cup and blew across it. “Sure wish you’d talk to Mr. Moisuk about his case. He called twice yesterday.”
“That’s the hardware guy in South Side, right?”
“Yeah, the one who doesn’t trust his pahtna.” She patted the Moisuk File laying right there on her desk. “You want I should get you a fried egg sandwich?”
“No, thanks, Hon. Got ‘a meet Dan Logan for lunch in a couple a’ hours. Any calls?”
She told me about Moisuk again. And a Shirley had called from Arma Studebaker in Flatbush. My dash clock had come in. I always wished I had gotten one when I bought the car. I finally got around to ordering it two weeks earlier when I was having the oil changed. The one option I did get on the new car was a replaceable oil filter. I remembered that all military vehicles seemed to have them.
“It’ll take an hour to install if you make an appointment. She said to remind you they’re open until eight on the weekend, if that would be more convenient for you. So, what’s Shirley’s story? She talks like Mae West.”
“She’s a character, Gina.” What she was, was man-hungry. Except most men her age were looking for a sunny spot on a park bench.
Arma had a swell dealership. The front of the building, around the big display windows, was covered in cobalt blue tile, very modern. They said the only place in the world that color tile was made was on Catalina Island off the coast of Southern California.
Another perk of car service at Arma Studebaker was their location. They sat right across Flatbush Ave from Scotty’s Pastime, a cool, dark place to grab a drink.
Gina stood to go use the pencil sharpener. She struck a pose, one hand behind her head and one on her hip. “Why don’tcha... come up and see me sometime,” in her best vamp voice.
‘Hot Dam! In the movies, this was the part where the hero bit his knuckle out of frustration. Luckily, the thought of Shirley’s hair bleached to a color unknown to science cooled me down.
“Cute... How’s about giving Mr. Moisuk a call. Tell him I’ll stop by his store in an hour or so. Gonna be fifty up front.”
I took my cup to my desk, easing past the guest chair with dumbbell. I pushed the window open, breathed the brand new air and plopped in my old oak chair. I realized that, on some level, I had been impressed with the way Gallo pulled off his scam. He’d rolled all sevens and come out on top.
Then he had made it personal. Maybe he didn‘t leave that threatening note, but that’s how one of his goons interpreted his orders. There was going to be one less turd in the punchbowl when I got done. I lit a Lucky and stared out at my brick wall. It wasn’t going to be eggs in the coffee, but I planned to nail that greasy son of a bitch.
I told Gina I’d check in by phone later and headed out to find the Moisuk & Tomski General Hardware Store on South Side. It wasn’t hard; it was two doors down from the Post Office on Myrtle Avenue. The hundred-year-old brick three story had huge storefront windows, each with roll-down steel shutters that could be locked in place.
I expected to meet some crotchety old fellow, a guy whose misgivings about his partner’s honesty were due as much to age as to anything else. When I asked for Mr. John Moisuk at the counter, I was taken back to an oak door with ‘Eli Moisuk’ painted on the frosted glass window. The same door stood a few yards to the left. That one bore the name ‘Sol Tomski’.
The interior ceiling was 10 feet like the outer store. The office was finished with dark antique three-inch vertical boards, but appeared to have all modern conveniences. The furniture was blonde wood - curved the way the Swedes like it.
The slight, balding man that got up from the nance looking desk to extend his hand did seem a little crotchety, but he was just a few years older than me. Anxiety tics tugged at the corners of his mouth as he offered me a chair. I sat down tentatively, not trusting the strength of somethin
g so dainty looking.
“Mr. Stone, thank you for coming by. I presume that all this will be confidential.”
“Absolutely, Mr. Moisuk. I couldn’t stay in business any other way. I’ve reviewed the information you gave to my secretary. Just to be clear, what is it that you want me to do?”
“What I’d like you to do is kill David Tomski.” His tics would alternate then dance together.
“Don’t you think that’s a little drastic for skimming the till?” I asked lightly hoping he was kidding.
“Skimming the till and screwing my wife, Faye. I certainly didn’t want to tell that part to your secretary.” Then his left eyebrow took off with a mind of its own. Uh-oh, no predicting what course these cases would run.
I took out my notepad. “Is David Tomski your business partner?”
“Well, he’s half owner. All he wants to do is sell the place so he’ll have more money to piss away. We inherited the store from our fathers about six years ago after I got home from Korea. You may have seen their names on the office doors. They’re both widowers, so they retired and moved to Israel to help rebuild the Homeland.” I nodded barely knowing what he was talking about. Guess he realized he’d gotten off track.
“I’ve worked in this store since I was 12 years old - all through college. David’s never lifted a finger except to wag it in my face about unloading the business.”
“I get the picture. Did you catch your wife with Mr. Tomski?”
“Not intimate like you mean, but anymore he and Faye can’t be in the same room without his hand on her ass. That putz doesn’t even have enough respect for me to try to hide it!”
“I see. How long have you and Faye been married?”
“Eleven months. Our first anniversary is the 15th of next month.”
I took down some addresses and phone numbers and asked where David Tomski could be found when he wasn’t in the store.
“HA! He’s never in the store. Not that I want that schmendrick around. You can usually find him playing cards or betting the ponies at Dominic’s at Remsen and Clinton just west of Columbus Park.”
I got my up-front money, told him I’d be in touch and took my hat towards the door.
The Case Of The Little Italy Bounce (Woody Stone, Private Investigator Book 1) Page 19