Funny Boys (18 page)

Both men laughed and moved away.

When he was sure they had gone, Mickey stood up. His knees were weak and his stomach felt as if he had swallowed a basketball. But he found the presence of mind to peek through a crack in the door before emerging into the casino. He noticed Goldstein, Lepke, Costello and Reles already at the craps tables.

Pep and Albert were nowhere to be seen. He rushed out of the casino, intent on finding Mutzie. He must help her. She had to leave this place at once. Go as far away as she could.

“Tumler. Where the fuck you been?” It was Gorlick, red-faced, obviously angry. “You gotta mingle.”

“I don’t feel so good,” Mickey protested, searching the lobby.

“A tumler gotta mingle.”

He wanted to tell Gorlick to take his job and shove it, but he hesitated and in the moment of hesitation he realized that if he was fired there would be no way to help Mutzie.

At that moment, he saw her. She was walking toward the big guest staircase with Albert Anastasia and Pep. His mind reeled. Ignoring Gorlick, he walked quickly across the lobby and blocked their way.

“Hear the one about the head?” he said.

What could he do? His only weapon was the joke, humor, tummeling. Not very lethal.

He exchanged glances with Mutzie, who looked none too happy.

“This guy has a son born with nothing but a head.”

“Dat supposed to be funny?” Pep said.

It was, he knew, a desperate ploy, merely a stall, but he could not hold back. Mutzie started to speak, but Albert interceded. Mickey wished he could find some way to save her from what was happening.

“Den what?” Anastasia asked.

“He don stop,” Pep muttered.

Mutzie looked at him with lugubrious eyes. Mickey continued.

“Goes into a bar, orders two scotches. One for his kid. One for himself. He helps the son drink and suddenly the son sprouts the beginnings of a torso.”

“Jeez,” Pep said. “Turns my stomach.”

“I’m listening,” Anastasia said.

Mickey wanted to string it out.

“Speed it up, tumler,” Pep said.

“The father orders two more scotches. The kid sprouts arms.”

“Go on. I nevah heard this one,” Anastasia said.

“Orders two more scotches,” Mickey continued.

“Two more den two more,” Pep said, shaking his head.

“The son grows legs and is complete now.”

“Two more, right?” Anastasia said.

Mickey nodded. He knew it was futile. Mutzie was trapped.

“Bartender puts two more scotches on the bar. Father and son drink. Suddenly the son falls over backwards dead …”

“Dis is funny,” Pep said.

“Bartender looks over the bar at the dead son … says, ‘He shoulda quit when he was ahead.’”

Anastasia roared.

“Dis is one funny guy,” Anastasia said.

“Take a walk now,” Pep said.

Watching Mutzie, he saw her eyes warning him and a tiny shake of her head. The message was unmistakable. Go away.

Mickey hesitated, watching Mutzie.

“Yeah, take a hike, Mickey,” Mutzie said. It was her mouth talking, not her eyes. Maybe not her heart either, Mickey thought. He wanted to cry with helplessness.

“Ya hoid the lady, putz,” Pep said. He grabbed Mickey and took a handful of shirt in his hand, drawing his face close to his own. “Maybe you wanna go faw a midnight swim.” He pushed Mickey away and the three of them proceeded up the stairs.

Mickey turned and saw Gorlick. He was shaking his head and smirking.

“With his shmekel, he wants to commit suicide,” he said gravely. Mickey straightened his shirt and walked toward where people were congregating. For Mutzie’s sake he had to stay employed.

I
T WAS NEARLY ONE WHEN SHE FINALLY GOT BACK TO HER
room. She was relieved to find that Pep wasn’t there since she was determined to pack up and leave this place. She took her suitcase out of the closet and quickly began to pack.

She felt unclean, humiliated, degraded. Despite all her efforts to put her mind elsewhere as Albert abused her, she could not ignore the images of her degradation. Worse, she had performed her indignities by acting as if she was enjoying them. Such weakness in herself disgusted her. But she was genuinely frightened, terrorized by the thought of being maimed, or worse, if she didn’t comply to his wishes.

Whatever illusions she had had concerning the type of man Pep was, they were shattered by this experience. His looks belied his true self. Inside the handsome package of a man was a ruthless maniac. There was no way to rationalize her predicament. She had made her own bed out of false fantasies and hollow dreams. She was a fool and she deserved her punishment.

“You take good care a Albert, Mutzie,” he told her. “You do dat fuh ole Pep.”

She had nodded consent, even forced a smile, then Albert
had taken her arm and brought her to his room. Once inside, she tried to imagine that she was elsewhere, that she wasn’t the real Mutzie. The woman in this room was someone else, a robot wearing her clothes. Unfortunately, her imagination couldn’t stretch that far. This was simply an act of self-preservation, of survival. She had no illusions about what would happen to her if she disobeyed Pep. It was too horrible to contemplate. She steeled herself to get it over with as quickly as possible. Make believe it’s a movie, she told herself.

Unfortunately, Albert’s sexual appetite was not easily appeased. She had hoped to get it over quickly, but his reactions were slower than Pep’s. It was awful, the most awful thing she had ever experienced in her life. She felt like a piece of dirt.

After a couple of hours, Albert had dozed and she had risen from the bed to get dressed. She had barely stood up when he grabbed her by the hair and pulled her back.

“Where da fuck ya tink ya going?” he shouted.

She started to answer, but he silenced her by pushing her face on his semi-erect penis.

“We ain’t finished yet.”

When he was finally satiated, he told her she was free to go and put a hundred dollars in her hand.

“Getchaself a nice dress, Mutz,” he told her. “Ya been a good fuck. I’m gonna tell Pep.”

Suddenly, as if a bell had wrung in her head, she decided that it was time to go, to escape. She would run, whatever the consequences. She had reached rock bottom, some netherworld run by the devil, a sick, primitive place. She vowed to fight her way back to civilization.

When Albert left, she went back to her room and packed some clothes, leaving everything in the closet that Pep had given
her. She hated the sight of those things. There was no point in crying, she told herself defiantly. Then she illustrated this defiance by taking the hundred dollars that Albert had given her and flushing it down the toilet.

What she needed most now was strength, determination and courage. And speed. She had to get out of here and she knew it wasn’t going to be as simple as it sounded. Where could she go at this hour? Back to Brownsville? Running out on Pep offered a very unhealthy prospect. Suddenly she thought of Mickey. He had tried to help her and nearly gotten himself hurt for doing so.

Suddenly the issue became moot. She heard Pep’s voice in the corridor. He was saying goodbye to Reles. Both men were laughing. She closed the suitcase and put it in the closet, then removed her clothes and got into bed, pretending to be asleep.

“All ovah oily,” Pep said, putting on the light. She kept her eyes closed. Sitting down on the bed beside her he slapped her face to wake her. It was pointless to keep her eyes closed after that.

“Albert like what he got?” Pep asked.

“He didn’t complain.”

“Ya did good, Mutzie,” Pep said patting her arm. “I got real big plans faw you.”

“What sort of plans?” Mutzie asked.

“We gonna see Gloria tomorrow.”

“Gloria?” She had met Gloria briefly and knew what she did. A stab of fear shot through her.

“Hell, Mutzie. What ya got ya can sell. You wanna be a schleper all ya life?”

She sat up in bed. Under the covers, her body trembled.

“How can you do this to me, Pep?” she asked, feeling the tremor in her throat. She seemed barely able to get the words out.

“Cheez. I’m given ya a chance ta make some real moolah. Ya should be grateful ta ole Pep. I give ya a vacation here in da mountains. I buy ya tings. I treat ya like a fuckin princess. What I do ta ya, Mutzie?” His anger seemed to be accelerating. “Hell, I give ya an opportunity, ya spit in Pep’s face.” He got up off the bed and went to the bathroom.

“I can’t do it, Pep,” she whispered when he came back. No matter what, she had decided, there was no way she could do “that.”

“Ye did it wid Albert. Dat hoitcha?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “It did.”

The remark triggered his anger and he ripped away the covers. She was naked. She felt deceived and vulnerable.

“I don see no scars,” he said, grabbing her by the neck just under the chin and lifting her. She gasped, unable to breathe. “But if you wanna see scars, I can make em.” Suddenly a knife had materialized in his hand. He pressed the point against her breast. “Maybe we chop off a nipple. Give ya a little remembrance from ole Pep.”

She felt the cold steel against her breast. A nausea seemed to take hold of her and she gagged.

“Please, Pep. I’ve got to throw up.”

His sense of fastidiousness made him jump away and she ran to the bathroom and threw up in the toilet. She felt totally dehumanized and helpless, like a caged animal whose rear legs had been tied together. Flushing the toilet, she watched the swirling water and wondered if she could drown herself in it. There seemed no point to living. If this was real life, she hated it, hated herself for allowing this to happen. Most of all she hated Pep and wished he would die. She searched her heart for the full impact of her hatred. She longed for the courage to kill him.

She stayed in the bathroom a long time and when she came out he was asleep. He lay on his back, his lips slightly parted. Even in sleep he was handsome. He looked so peaceful, so benign. Seeing him this way, it was incredible that he could be so cruel. Beside him on the night table was the knife he had threatened her with. All it would take was to find the courage to pick it up and plunge it into his heart.

But she couldn’t. Even if it meant survival. It was too foreign to her nature. Violence, she supposed, was not a woman’s thing. A pity, she thought. Pep deserved to die. He was corrupt, evil. If the situation was reversed, he would kill her without batting an eye.

Of one thing she was certain. She had to get away from him. But how? Where would she go? They had informers, contacts. Where could she hide? And if they found her? She moved to the window and looked out over the expanse of lawn to the peaceful lake, moonlight spangling its surface.

The sight calmed her. Above all, she needed to think this through. Perhaps, after awhile, they would forget about her, lose interest. What was she, anyway? Just one of Pep’s whores, a silly romantic who had become entwined, like a fool, in their net.

As she stood there a chill swept her body and her teeth began to chatter. They had seen her as a fly on the wall, unimportant, a nonentity, and they had talked in front of her, said things, although it was difficult now to recall specifics. But they would remember that and wonder what they had said that might incriminate them in some way. It would worry them. They hated loose ends.

Her knees felt weak. She had to think this through without hysteria, without panic. But under no circumstances would she yield to Pep’s wishes, join Gloria’s troop of prostitutes. Oh my
God. The idea of it was making her sick again. She turned from the window and tamped down her nausea.

Tomorrow she would find a way out. She had to. There was no choice. She crept into bed beside Pep, her back to him, hoping he would not reach out for her. His touch, she knew, would make her skin crawl.

She slept the dreamless sleep of exhaustion and when she awoke the low rain clouds hung in the air, adding to her sense of gloom. Thankfully, Pep still slept and she was able to crawl out of bed without waking him.

When she thought about her plight in the light of day, she found that a vague plan had surfaced in her mind. One thing was certain. She did not wish to spend another moment with these people, especially Pep. Remembering that she had flushed the hundred dollars bill that Albert had given her, she rebuked herself for her lack of foresight. Emotion was one thing. Survival another.

Dressing in slacks and a sweater with extra underwear stuffed in her pocketbook, she put a brush through her hair and let herself out of the room. She wished to take nothing that would provide her any memories of this episode in her life. At that point, she told herself, she sincerely hoped she had a life.

There were a few people in the corridor, mostly chambermaids. The Reles boy ran up and down the back stairs bouncing a ball. He was a miniature version of his father with the same cruel, burning agate eyes and shuffling walk.

“Pep’s coorva. Pep’s coorva,” the boy chanted as he stopped to look at her.

The derisive phrase triggered a burst of anger and she grabbed the boy and twisted an ear. He cried out in pain.