Operation Underworld (23 page)
“He had a whole team of them. I can have somebody look them up for you later. But they won’t do you any good. You’re wasting your time.”
Haffenden ignored the advice. “What’s the procedure?”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you. There isn’t one. With Lanza, we were dealing with a free man. Luciano will never see the light of day again. You’re dealin’ with a crook of a different colour!” Hogan smirked at his own joke but Haffenden was in no mood to shadow-box.
“Look, Hogan, I’m gonna make this thing happen with or without you. So skip the bad jokes and give me the chain of command.”
Hogan was irritated but running out of excuses to stall. “Commander Haffenden, understand what you’re up against. Since you have to go through his lawyer, or lawyers, you’ll have to let them in on your little op. Then, convince them to lend a hand. They’re no doubt gonna bitch about money, and when you tell them they gotta do it outta the goodness of their hearts, they’re gonna disappear like a bunch of drunk sailors on payday. Next, if you somehow miraculously convert them into believers and they see the light, they gotta convince Luciano, who can neither be believed, depended on, or trusted in any way shape or form.” Hogan began to pace the floor as he spoke.
“Don’t pull any punches, Hogan. Tell me what you really think.” “The best is yet to come! At this stage of your little safari, you’ve got to convert Commissioner Lyons, the state prison commissioner, and sell him into your travelin’ roadshow. Now, he will no doubt run it by the Governor, who by the way just happens to be the man who put Luciano where he belongs.”
“So what you’re tryin’ to say is…”
“Good fucking luck, Commander.” Haffenden tried not to flinch.
“So where do I find the name of one of the lawyers?”
“I’ll have Gurfein reference it for you and give your office a buzz.”
“That’s all right. I’ll wait,” Haffenden said firmly.
Hogan had no idea how far he could push Haffenden. However, at this point he calculated that the officer was willing to go the whole way to call his bluff. Or, worse yet, he had all the backing he needed to accomplish his goal. The DA was finished playing political chicken.
“I think I remember a name. Polakoff, Moses Polakoff.”
Haffenden continued to take notes. “How do we get a hold of him?” he enquired.
Hogan buzzed his secretary. Afew minutes later Gurfein entered the office and handed a slip of paper to Hogan.
“If you want to save some time, we can call him now and try to set something up.”
“Yes, that would be helpful, only don’t tell him I’m here or what this is about.”
Gurfein placed the call and it went through right away. However, after that it was an uphill battle. When Polakoff was told it involved Luciano, he declined right away. As far as he was concerned the case was closed. He complained about taking it all the way up through the Supreme Court and having lost. Finally, he fell back on the excuse that he really didn’t know Lucky that well, that he only acted as his lawyer along with the others and that he really wasn’t interested in approaching Lucky about anything.
Haffenden got the gist of the conversation and wrote a message to Gurfein while he was listening to Polakoff make his case to the DA’s assistant. It suggested that Polakoff use an intermediary to contact Luciano. After five more minutes, Polakoff was persuaded. Round one to the Navy. However, Polakoff emphasised two points. One, that the contact would remain nameless for now, and two, that he, Polakoff, would make no guarantees.
Just before Lanza was about to embark on the first peaceful night’s sleep he’d had in three weeks, the phone rang. It was Big Jimmy. Socks was quick to relay that he was no longer in business with the Feds.
“So Jimmy, are we okay or what?”
“Yeah, Socks. That’s real good news.”
“But are we okay?”
“You mean like okay okay?”
“Yeah, like okay okay!”
“Yeah Socks, we’re okay. There’s just one ding we gotta get straight between us though.”
“What’s that, Jimmy?” he asked with trepidation.
“You don’t tell nobody I asked you fer diss! You got that?”
“No problem, I swear! Now what the hell is it you want at two-fuckin’-thirty in the a.m.?”
“I want you to go back ta that joint on Mott Street, Morrelli’s, and get me that recipe fer Cannolies. Ya know, the big ones wit the extra cream. Can you do that, Socks? I’ll wack anybody ya want. No charge!”
“I’ll see what I can do, Jimmy. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Doc sat at the kitchen table while Mrs Birnbaum excused herself to get a fresh package of tissues. He explained to her what he had found out about the mysterious behaviour of her husband, but it didn’t seem to sink in right away and the tears kept coming. Although he was happy at the way things turned out, he was very uncomfortable in the presence of a crying woman. Any woman.
“You mean to tell me my Ira isn’t playing hoochie-coochie mit da bimbo?” she sobbed in between tears.
“No, Mrs Birnbaum, he’s not. As a matter of fact, according to my notes… ” Doc took his notepad out and made sure his client couldn’t see the blank pages as he flipped through them. “He’s working on something very special. Very hush-hush.” Mrs. Birnbaum appeared more composed as she went to the stove and prepared some tea.
“Why he is suddenly doink this on Pearl Harbor?”
“That’s when we had to mobilise the military, Norma. That’s when the shi… that’s when things started to get crazy.” Suddenly she began to cry again. Christ! Doc thought to himself. You give them bad news, they cry, you give them good news, they cry! Doc had no idea what to do, so he stood up.
“Mrs Birnbaum… Norma, are you okay?”
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m so reliefted.” She walked over to Doc and hugged him as she cried uncontrollably, allowing her two weeks of pent-up emotions to escape. “I’m so reliefted, yet I’m so ashamed dat I didn’t trust him!”
Doc held her at arms length as if she were a baby with a loaded diaper as he floundered for words of comfort.
“I don’t know vhat I vould do vithout my Ira.”
Doc helped her back to her seat and squatted down in front of her. Holding her hand, he explained.
“Norma, it’s all over. It was just a big misunderstanding. Talk to Ira tonight. Tell him what you told me, okay?”
“Tell him I didn’t trust him? He vould die!”
“I don’t think so, Norma. I think you’ll be surprised at how he acts.”
“Ya dink?” she reluctantly enquired.
“More than I dink! What? Ya dink I don’t know from love?” They both laughed. “Maybe do something nice for him. Make you feel better, too.”
Jesus! Doc the marriage councillor. Louie would die laughing! It was time to leave.
“I have to go, Norma.”
Norma composed herself. “My Ira! A secret agent!” she said proudly.
“Well, I don’t know if I would… ”
She looked up at him. “Vat, Mr Macquen?”
“Nothing, Norma. You just have a big surprise for Ira tonight when he gets home, and enjoy the evening.”
“Ven he gets home! Dare is no way to know when he is getting home!”
“Don’t worry, I think I can help. He’ll be home for supper tonight.” Doc finally had an excuse to call Nikki.
“I haven’t paid you, Mr Macquen! I’ll get my cheque book.”
“Norma, that’s alright. Put it in the mail.” Doc’s protest was too late. Norma was back in a minute with the chequebook. She wrote and chatted like a schoolgirl talking about her first date. Doc fought back the smile.
“Supper! Dat’s the perfect idea! Ve have some candles and I make him his favourite! Pigs’ knuckles and black bread!”
“Norma! I thought you and Ira were Kosher?”
“Kosher smosher!” She bent forward as she handed Doc the cheque and whispered in his ear. “He dinks I don’t know from him and his friends sneakik off to York Street to that goim delicatessen once a month! I know! But I don’t say nuthink. Who he’s hurtink?” As she stood up straight she issued a warning. “You don’t say nuthik about pigs’ knuckles!”
“Cross my heart and hope to die.”
Once again he protested when she handed him the cheque, trying to explain that he really didn’t do anything but follow her husband for a day. She persisted and Doc suddenly had a horrible premonition that she might start crying again, so he accepted the payment. Mrs Birnbaum thanked him three more times before he finally managed to get through the door.
Once outside in the midday sun, Doc decided to walk for awhile, and think about his future as a PI. With no new commissions on the horizon, things didn’t look good. He reckoned that once he reached the south side of the park he’d call Nikki.
As he was thinking things over, he passed a garbage can, stopped and took Norma’s cheque out of his pocket. He didn’t feel good about taking so much money for this job in the first place, but when he thought about what he’d said to Louie, he had to do it. He tore it up.
Ira got a helluva a surprise when he got home.
Doc used to wonder why his father always took long walks when he was troubled. It had been a while since he had done it himself. By the time he walked to 58th and Third from the Birnbaum’s, he not only felt completely relaxed, but comfortable enough to call Nikki and ask her to talk to Ira’s boss about letting him get home early tonight – and maybe he just might accidentally let drop he had nowhere special to be on Saturday night.
However, the love gods were not smiling on Doc that morning. Shortly after entering the phone booth, while rummaging through his change in search of a nickel, his attention was caught by three men sitting at a side table in a small restaurant across the street. The guy on the left was unknown to Doc; however, the one sitting at the centre of the four top was the famous Meyer Lansky, Lucky Luciano’s best friend and partner since childhood. The figure which made the picture so curious was the man trying so desperately not to be seen.
“Doc, where you at, man?”
“Midtown, Redbone, on the East side.”
Redbone was talking to Doc from his improvised
Redbone was talking to Doc from his improvised office in the basement of 1929. Sitting in between the drainpipes of the utility room and sipping his mid-morning, regular coffee, Redbone spoke to his favorite tenant. His telephone was a discarded receiver wired to the primary telephone junction box on the wall.
“What’s you need, Doc?” Redbone always spoke in a slow, comfortable rhythm.
“Doesn’t your nephew work up here somewhere, Redbone?”
“What’s the name’a the joint you at?”
Doc peered across the street. “Kitty’s Koffee Kafé, all spelt with K’s.”
“Must be somebody don‘t know no English!”
“Must be, brother. Ya know it?”
“Never hoid of it, Doc. What’s it near?”
“I’m right in the middle, between 58th and 59th, near the Queensboro. Ah… about a block from Bloomingdale’s.”
“Bloomingdale’s, das it. Leon works at the lunch counter at Bloomingdale’s. Da won downstairs.”
“Great. Redbone, do me a favour, will ya? Go upstairs and tell Louie ta call me at this number, you ready?”
“Shoot, Cool Breeze.”
“Murrayhill 7 2391, 2391. Got it?”
“Like fleas on a dog, brother. Hey Doc, you still want me get a hold’a that sign-painter fer ya new winda?”
“Nah. Little short’a green right now. Talk ta ya later.”
Doc continued his improvised surveillance of Kitty’s and noticed that Lansky was doing nearly all the talking. His curiosity was piqued. He looked around and found a matchbox on the ground. Breaking it up, he jammed a piece into the hook lever so it would still ring even though he was holding the receiver in his hand pretending to talk. The small café had only a single front door and the façade consisted of a large painted sign affixed to the wall above the picture window. He removed the matchbox on the second ring.
“Doc?”
“Yeah, Louie. Look, I’m at midtown at – ”
“Redbone told me. You okay? What’s up?”
“I’m fine. I’m watching some guys in a restaurant. I want you to come up here, I’ll wait.”
“You figure there’s time, Doc?”
“Yeah, they don’t look like they’re in any hurry to order. Grab a cab. If I’m not here, stay glued to the booth across the street. I’ll call ya there. Got it?”
