The Hoods (65 page)

“You told him to give us knockout drops,” he muttered. “I'll strangle you.”

He tripped over Mendy and fell on his face. He lay there. I was about to dash out when I spied the gun protruding from Trigger's pocket. I stooped for it, it was caught in the lining of his pocket. I pulled the gun and the lining out together.

I heard a step behind me. I whirled around. Muscles grabbed my arm in an excruciating grip. It felt paralyzed. The gun fell out of my hand. I dashed out to the front bar. Muscles leaped on top of me. He flung me to the floor and grabbed me by the throat. The patrons ran into Delancey Street, shrieking.

I saw Moe break a whiskey bottle over Muscles' head. It dazed him for the moment. I kicked out and got him in the belly. I struggled to my feet and staggered out into the street into the immense crowd gathering around the door. Muscles made a dive for me. I fell to the sidewalk with him on top of me. A screaming bystander was under me. The blood from the crack on his head was all over me.

The crowded street was in an uproar. It seemed as if thousands of men, women and children were running in wild panic in all directions, screeching, “Police! Police! A man is being murdered!”

Muscles had his hands around my throat. I was beginning to see black dots and sharp flashes in front of my eyes.

I thought this was the end.

As in a dream I saw Moe leaning over him with another whiskey bottle that flew into thousands of pieces as it hit Muscles' head. I struggled to my feet, knocking, screaming, frightening people out of my way. I looked around, Muscles was right behind me. Blood was pouring from him. His blood was all over Delancey Street.

I staggered into a bakery shop and held the door shut. It was as if I had burst into a crowded chicken coop. Like startled hens, the cackling, shrieking women shoppers went flying in all directions.

With a shower of broken glass Muscles came crashing through the door.

The women ran out to the street, screaming frantically.

I dived behind the counter. I spied the big bread knife.

I had it in my hand just in time. I swung it at the face of the charging Muscles. The point caught his right upper cheek and ripped it open to his mouth. His cheek was actually hanging over his chin. I could see his back teeth through the side of his face. He ran bleeding and screaming down Delancey Street, with me after him, swinging the big bread knife, yelling like a maniac, “I'll cut you into small pieces.”

Screaming, panicky people darted in all directions out of our way.

“Bastard,” I raved as I slashed furiously. I ripped a slice of his coat off his back. I slashed out again. The point ripped the back of his neck.

I heard running feet behind me and a voice shouting, “Drop that knife, Noodles, or I'll shoot.”

I stopped and turned. There was the neighborhood cop pointing his gun at me.

I saw he meant business. I dropped the knife; it clattered to the pavement.

“You there, come here.” The cop shouted at Muscles.

Muscles staggered dazedly over, holding up his hanging cheek. Hundreds of people crowded around us.

“I finally caught you in the act of committing murder, Noodles; this rap you'll never beat.”

The cop looked at Muscles' bleeding head and cheek.

“You butchered this guy good. You people stand back,” he waved to the crowd. “Somebody call an ambulance,” he said.

He walked behind me to frisk my back pockets.

With a murderous incoherent yell that seemed to come out of the opening at the side of his mouth, Muscles sprang for me. The cop jumped between us. The terrific force that Muscles put into the grab for me knocked the gun out of the cop's hand and hurled the three of us, including five shrieking bystanders, sprawling into the gutter. It was a mad scramble.

How Muscles got possession of the big bread knife, I don't know, but there he was stabbing the air wildly around me as I twisted and turned, rolling with the cop in the filthy gutter of Delancey Street. I saw the cop's gun against the curb. I slid face forward, grabbed it and pulled the trigger in the general direction of the knife-swinging dervish.

The first slug hit him in the belly. He fell in the gutter on his face. I pumped one more into him. My hand was shaking. It missed, ricocheted into a bystander, who fell to the ground screaming. Muscles began pleading and crying, “Oh, oh, I can't stand the pain. Please finish me off, Noodles—please.”

I walked up close to the dying Muscles. I took careful aim and shot Muscles clear through the head.

I pointed the gun at the charging cop and yelled, “I'll kill you, too, you bastard.”

He stopped. I waved the gun at the crowd. They pushed back out of my way.

I started running, not knowing in what direction, the cop and the yelping, howling pack right after me. It seemed as if thousands of people took up the ear-splitting shout, “Catch Noodles, the murderer.” It seemed as if thousands of hands were reaching out to grab me, to tear me to bits. Delancey Street vibrated with the howling of a bloodthirsty mob.

A taxi had stopped in the middle of the street. The driver was standing on the running board with the motor running.

I was on top of the startled driver before he realized it.

I poked the gun in his chest and shouted, “Beat it before I blow a hole right through you.”

He jumped like a jack rabbit. I dived into the driver's seat. I jammed the shift handle into first, second and third and went careening across Delancey Street, the tires screeching. I passed the Clinton Street Station House. A horde of blue coats ran into the middle of the street shouting and emptying their guns after me. I made a left turn under the Williamsburg Bridge to go uptown. I remembered, as in a crazy dream, hitting and upsetting pushcarts in my wild ride up a narrow street. It was a miracle that I made the open street of First Avenue.

I left the cab at First and Fourteenth. I ducked into a movie house where I stayed until the place closed. Then I grabbed a cab to Joey, the Chinaman's place.

The moment I was in Joey's presence I felt safe and relaxed. I said to him, “A private room, Joey. I'm on the lam from everybody, the mob, cops, everybody.”

“Don't worry, Noodles,” he answered. “I'll put you in a room that nobody will find.”

I lay on the cot. Joey lit the lamp under my pipe. All the distress, pain and uneasiness floated out of me with each puff of the wonderful moist vapors. Gentle peace seeped into my blood with each puff of the good smoke and was carried all through my body. Then dreams, colorful and strange dreams, through the sweetish vapor of the pipe.

Suddenly, somebody grabbed me. The hands that held me, shook me violently and an insistent voice pressed on me.

“Wake up, Noodles, wake up. They're downstairs. Wake up.”

I shook my head dazedly. I saw Joey's frightened face. He was pleading, “For God's sake, wake up, Noodles.”

“Jesus, what a pipe dream,” I murmured.

I sat up.

“What? What? What's up?” I asked.

“Get up, Noodles, quick,” Joey said.

I heard the shouting and the noise of revolvers going off downstairs.

“They're here,” Joey said in a tense hurried whisper. “Mendy, Trigger and two others.”

I jumped off the cot in alarm.

“Quick, follow me,” he whispered frantically.

I followed Joey down the fire escape through a narrow alley into a cellar. The other end of the cellar led to another alley at the end. We were two blocks away from Joey's house. I peered down the street. It was empty.

“Better leave town,” Joey said breathlessly.

“Thanks, Joey,” I said.

I scurried down the street. I hurried west. I walked in the shadows, close to the buildings. I hit Broadway. I had the shakes. I slowed down to catch my breath. I tried to pull myself together. What should I do? Where shall I go? Yeh, I got to get out of town, but how? Between the cops looking for me and the Combine, no train or bus station would be safe. That would be the first place they would watch, a terminal.

I saw the subway station a block away. Yeh, that's okay. I ducked down the stairs and caught a train going uptown. I rode all the way up to 181st Street. I walked up Broadway a few blocks, into an all-night diner. Trucks were parked outside. I had hamburgers and coffee.

When I noticed a driver walk out, I sidled up to him. I said, “Can I hop a ride with you, pal?”

“Yeh,” he answered, “if you give me a hand.”

“Sure thing,” I said eagerly. “Where you going?”

“Going to Hastings to deliver a load of case goods. When we get there, yuh going to help me unload?”

“It's a deal.”

I got in alongside of him. I breathed in deep as we rolled up Broadway and out of the city. I tried to push the fear out of my mind, but it was useless. I digested yesterday's harrowing experiences over and over. I got the shakes again just thinking of what had happened. And what might happen.

A national alarm will be sent out for me, from two sources. Which source would be more efficient in the search for me? The cops, or the Combine? Can I evade the cops with their direct connections with every city, state and Federal police group?

It wouldn't be too hard. But how could I keep away from the blasting guns of thousands of hoodlums who had already received their orders to drop me dead on sight?

Yeh, every mob in every city had received its orders. I knew how efficient the Combine was. The big cities wouldn't be safe. But I'd use my noodle. I'd keep to the jerk towns and the open country until things cooled off. The driver was humming to himself. It was daylight as the big Mack rolled into Hastings.

“Made pretty good time, hey, Bud?” the driver said, with a self-satisfied smile.

In spite of my aches and pains, I kept my promise. I helped him unload.

I said, “Thanks, pal.”

I walked down the street. The driver headed back to New York.

I took stock of my possessions. My wallet contained close to four hundred dollars. That was enough for my present needs. I wouldn't touch that hundred grand I had in the Bank of the United States. It was in a safe spot. Yeh, I wouldn't touch it. I was smart to leave my money there.

First, I'd better get some appropriate clothes if I intended to play the part of a gent of the open road. I walked north on the main street of Hastings. I spied an Army and Navy store. It was closed. I hung around for an hour until it opened. I bought high, sturdy walking shoes, work pants, shirt, jacket, socks, underwear and a cheap slouch hat. I spent thirty-two dollars for a complete change. I smiled to myself when I thought of the times I had spent more than that just for a good Stetson.

I walked out of the town along the Hudson River. When I came to a secluded spot where the bushes overhung the river I undressed, I washed myself with river water and changed into my new outfit.

I still had the cop's gun. One bullet remained. I took it out and flung it into the river. The gun I put on a big rock. Then with a heavy stone I pounded it until it broke into many pieces. Each piece I tossed in a different direction into deep water. The clothes that I discarded I buried in a hole among the dense growth of river bushes.

I walked jauntily to the Albany Post Road with a fresh feeling of hope and confidence. Near Harmon on the Hudson, I went into a small grocery and bought two tins of boneless and skinless imported sardines, a loaf of white bread, a quart of milk and five Hershey bars.

I walked along the river a short distance above Harmon into a small peaceful grassy open space protected by a thick growth of trees. With a new-found feeling of contentment and leisure, I sat down in this glade. I opened a tin of sardines and made two sandwiches. They disappeared very quickly. I hadn't realized I was that hungry. I contemplated eating the other can of sardines and the rest of the bread, but I decided on a Hershey bar and the milk instead. Two bars of chocolate melted in my mouth. The cool milk tasted like some sweet nectar. I tried to remember the last time I had drunk a glass of milk. I couldn't for the life of me, it was so many years ago.

I stretched out on my back with my arms under my head. All the aches and tiredness flowed out of me. I felt safe and at peace in this sanctuary. Yeh, peace is wonderful.

Well, you see I am here, after all the years, to tell the story. But how I got away, where I holed up—that's another story and you will understand why I can't tell that now.