Funny Boys (33 page)

“I got plans too, Helen,” Mickey said.

“Plans, shplans, dollink. In your head you should have one plan. Run. By yourself. Run now. As far as you can run. Oy, such a boobala. If we had the time I would give you a farewell shtup you could remember for a lifetime. Listen to Helen. I been around these guys forever. Put on your sneakers, sonny.”

She heard a noise and spied Heshy annoying people at the other end of the lobby.

“Bye bye, boychick,” she sighed, then left to get her son.

He felt himself rooted to the floor. He had heard Reles try to reason with Pep at Swan Lake with little result. Besides, he had seen them both in action at his father’s store. These men had no pity for anyone.

P
EP GLARED AT HER WITH COLD, HARD EYES
. S
HE HUDDLED
within her robe, expecting him to lash out.

“I dun good, right, Pep?” Irish said, cutting a glance at Mutzie. “I brung ’em here like ya said.”

“Give him a medal, Pep,” she said, refusing to cower. At any moment, she expected him to beat her. Instead he looked her over like some prize horse.

“You sure are a looker, babe,” he said, showing his good teeth in a wide smile. “Ya gonna do good as one a Gloria’s hookers. Fifty a pop. Maybe double dat.”

She confronted him silently, assessing his attitude, waiting for the right moment to insert her request.

“Dey wasn’t easy to find,” Irish said. “I got ’em in Albany.”

He turned toward Mutzie and chuckled.

“Who’d ya wanna see, the governor?”

For a brief moment, she feared he might have found out.

“Fat chance,” Pep smirked. He shook his head and came closer, but instead of smacking her as she expected, he raised his finger and shook it at her. “No fuckin hooer runs out on Pep, less I kick yaw ass out foist.”

Again Irish and Mutzie exchanged glances. Irish was chalk white with fear. Mutzie braced herself, gathering her courage. She figured it might be the moment.

“I’m really sorry, Pep. I did a very stupid thing. I was lonely. You know what I mean. You left me alone a lot. I missed you, really missed you.”

Pep continued to glare at her, his gaze narrowing.

“You’ve got to forgive me, Pep. Look, the tumler is just a dumb kid. He doesn’t mean a thing to me. He was like. …” She cut a quick glance to Irish. “Like a toy, Pep. That’s all he meant to me. Like a toy. You were always my number one. I swear it, Pep. Only you. So I made a mistake, okay?”

She saw his confusion and wasn’t sure what he expected from her. Suddenly he turned toward Irish.

“Get da fuck outa here, Irish.” He laughed suddenly. “Befaw ya pee in ya drawers.”

“Sure, Pep. Sure. I’m leavin.”

Mutzie watched him leave, bowing and scraping. He quickly disappeared from the room. “Anyting ya want, Pep,” she said. “Anything.”

She opened her robe and Pep looked her over from head to toe.

“You are one great piece, Mutzie. Da right goods. Only we ain’t got time now. We gotta get down for dinnah wid Albert and Frank and Lepke. And I wantcha to walk in dere like a fuckin queen. Dey gotta know dat nobody cuts out on Pep.”

“Sure, Pep. Anything you say.”

He opened a drawer, took out a clean shirt and began to change clothes.

“You got to do me this favor, Pep.”

He did not respond, buttoning his shirt in front of the
mirror. She embraced him from behind and looked at herself and him in the mirror.

“I’ll do anything you ask, Pep. I promise. Anything. I’ll be nice to Albert and anyone else. I promise. I’ll give them the best time ever, but don’t hurt that kid. He’s just a dumb tumler. You know, a lotta laughs. I swear, Pep. On my life. I swear to you. We never did anything. I swear. In fact …” She searched her mind for authenticity. “I think he’s, you know, a fagele.”

Pep stopped buttoning his shirt.

“Ya kidden me?”

“I mean it, Pep. You had it all wrong. He gave me a line of stuff and I was lonely, Pep. It was awful, a terrible mistake. Can you ever forgive me?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered putting on his tie.

She felt she was making headway now. He seemed to be responding.

“So you won’t hurt him?” she asked cautiously.

“Ya want me to kiss him? Make him gimmee a blow job?”

He laughed and she noted that his mood was changing for the better.

“It’s more my fault than his, Pep. Give him a break. He just went along for the ride.”

“I’ll tink about it,” Pep said. “Maybe if he makes Albert feel good, like yaw gonna do lata. Ya know. Lots of laughs. Maybe we only break one kneecap.” Pep roared.

She felt her stomach lurch. There seemed no limit to his cruelty. The fact was that what she was doing filled her with remorse. She could think of no other way out.

And yet, she could not see herself in this debasing role. She could never muster the indifference to pull it off. Never. But if she saved Mickey, she would find a way to endure it. Or worse.

She went into the bathroom and put on her makeup, then opened her closet and picked out a dress. It was then that she remembered where she had put the two thousand dollars. For a moment she was uncertain what to do, but decided finally to transfer the envelope from her shoes to her brassiere. Of course, she had no clear idea of what she was going to do. Of one thing she was sure, she would never be able to live with the knowledge that Mickey might suffer because of her. At this point, she felt trapped, but the money, the idea of freedom that it stood for, did provide her with some last vestige of hope.

Fully dressed, she put her arm in Pep’s and they proceeded out of the room.

“You’re my number one, Pep,” she said as she walked with him down the stairs, her legs wobbly with nervous dread.

A
CROSS THE LOBBY
, M
ICKEY SAW SOME OF THE MEN
H
ELEN
had mentioned. This time neither Lepke nor the Italians had brought women. Beyond them Mickey saw a number of bodyguards, big, beefy, swarthy men with hard cruel eyes, placed within hailing distance. Then he saw Pep and Mutzie come down the staircase. His heart beat so hard he thought it would explode.

Mutzie had put on makeup and was wearing a tight dress with a high neck that showed off her curvy figure. She looked ravishingly beautiful. He felt a sob rise in his chest and dared not speculate what had occurred in Pep’s room and what would be in store for her future. She had her arm through Pep’s and he seemed to be parading her through the lobby, showing her off, conveying the macho message that he had tamed his lady, put her back under his control.

He thought of Helen’s advice. Run! By yourself! No! He would move ahead with his plan, whatever the consequences. Without Mutzie, he could not save himself.

Stepping into the lobby, he forced a big smile and strode over to the men, avoiding Mutzie’s eyes.

“Hey, dere he is,” Albert Anastasia said. “Da funny man. Hey, funny man got a joke fuh Albert?”

Without missing a beat, Mickey had a joke ready. “Hear about the rabbi who opened a discount temple? All you can pray for a dollar.”

Albert laughed. “I love dem Jew jokes. Got any more?”

“A friend visits a rabbi in a hospital. He is covered with bandages. ‘What happened,’ the friend asked. ‘I saw a bear in the forest and converted him. I preached God’s word, read to him from the Torah.’ ‘So why are you in the hospital?’ Rabbi says, ‘I shouldn’t have started with circumcision.’”

Everybody howled, Albert the loudest. Mickey showed his teeth in an empty smile. He exchanged glances with Mutzie, who nodded. He detected the sadness in her eyes. Pep looked at him and snarled.

“Lata, tumler,” he snapped, with a sinister glance at Mutzie.

The grouped moved into the dining room and were shown to a big round table by a fawning Gorlick. As before, Mutzie was seated next to Albert. Pep smiled and put his arm around Mutzie, squeezing her shoulder. Mickey was furious as he followed the group into the dining room.

“You did good, tumler,” Gorlick said. “Keepin Albert happy.”

“He likes Jew jokes.”

“So tell em,” Gorlick said, taking a big puff on his cigar and blowing out a smoke ring, his tell-tale sign of satisfaction.

The waitresses fanned out and began serving the food. He kept his eyes on the group’s table, where the three gangster bosses toasted each other. Mickey stood in a corner of the dining room, waiting for his moment to tumel the crowd. Posted around the room were the steely-eyed bodyguards. Irish looked forlorn, his complexion ashen as he stood near the dining room entrance.

Mickey watched Pep make a big show of his power over Mutzie. He kept his arm over her shoulder as he ate with his free hand. Once, his gaze met Pep’s. It was ominous, frightening. He was gloating, flaunting his power over her. Mickey’s rage percolated deep inside of him. It was time. He strode to the stage.

He desisted from making the usual announcements and spoke, as usual above the conversational buzz of the diners.

“Hey, make funny,” Albert shouted. “What’s da woid?”

“Tumler,” Helen Reles cried.

“Yeah, Toomler.”

Mickey held up both hands attempting to quiet the crowd.

“That’s a famous person over there,” he called out to Anastasia. “How’d your dago?”

The laughter was sporadic. He noted that Albert looked confused.

“You know how you can tell an Italian airplane?” Mickey paused. “It has hair under its wings.”

He saw Anastasia frown and looked around the table. Gorlick shook his head. He seemed to be in pain.

“You know why so many wops are named Tony?” Mickey went on, gesturing to his forehead. “To NY. Get it? Tony.”

He felt himself on a roll now. The audience was paying attention. Anastasia and Costello were frowning, their faces frozen.

“You know why Italians don’t get circumcised. They’re afraid of brain damage.”

The audience howled. Gorlick rushed to the stage and called to Mickey, “Stop this.”

“Let him go, Gawlick. Get outa his face,” someone in the audience yelled. Gorlick froze puffing furiously on his cigar.

“Yeah, let ’im go,” another person in the audience screamed. Others chimed in.

“You know who showed up when Christ was born? Mary, Joseph, Jesus and 32 wise guys.”

“How come Italian men have moustaches?” Mickey went on in rapid-fire delivery. “So they can look like their mamas.”

Anastasia stood up, furious, his face red.

“Fuck you,” he screamed.

The diners turned around. People shouted.

“Sit down. This guy is hilarious.”

“Throw him out,” someone cried.

“You know why Italy is shaped like a boot? You think they could fit all that shit in a tennis shoe?”

As he fired off his jokes, he watched the group table. Anastasia and Costello were standing. The others were trying to quiet him.

“Fuckin Jew bastard cocksucker,” Anastasia shouted.

Some men in the audience moved forward threateningly. Suddenly Anastasia’s bodyguards became active, drawing guns.

“I want that fucking Jew boy’s ass,” Anastasia shouted.

Mass confusion erupted. Bullets were fired at the ceiling. People screamed and were rushing out of the dining room.

“I’m gonna burn this Jew shithole to the ground,” Anastasia roared as his bodyguards made a circle around him to protect him from the now surging crowd.

Suddenly Gorlick’s voice shouted in his ear.

“What did I tell ya about wop jokes, schmuck?”

Before Gorlick could say anything more, one of Anastasia’s goombas hit him in the stomach and he doubled over. As the melee continued, someone shut off the lights and plunged the dining room into darkness. Mickey ran in the direction of where Mutzie was seated. Apparently she had shrugged herself free of Pep’s embrace.

“Mickey, where are you?”

He heard her voice over the din and ran toward it.

“Mutzie. Mutzie,” he cried.

“Where is that sumbitch tumler?” Pep’s voice roared above the crowd.

“Putz.” It was Helen Reles voice. He felt her hand on his arm. “Betta get the fuck outa here, boobala.”

“Where is Mutzie?”

“Ya don’t listen, boychick,” Helen Reles said.

Again he called out for Mutzie.