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eBook Category: Mystery/Crime
eBook Description: When Gabriel Levine punches out a guy who is being rude to a dancer, then learns the next day the guy's name is Dutch Schultz, retreat seems in order. To avid a gang war Legs Diamond sends Gabe to Saranac Lake to recuperate from tuberculosis. There, the young taxi driver finds himself in a different world, in love with a beautiful woman, and surrounded by people who look up to him. Gabe doesn't konw that even in Saranac Lake, tuberculosis is not his most dangerous enemy.

eBook Publisher: ebooksonthe.net, Published: 2002
Fictionwise Release Date: August 2005

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Available eBook Formats [MultiFormat - What's this?]: eReader (PDB) [244 KB] , ePub (EPUB) [259 KB] , Rocket/REB1100 (RB) [208 KB] , Adobe Acrobat (PDF) [1.3 MB] , Palm Doc (PDB) [234 KB] , Microsoft Reader (LIT) [222 KB] , Franklin eBookMan (FUB) [247 KB] , hiebook (KML) [582 KB] , Sony Reader (LRF) [310 KB] , iSilo (PDB) [192 KB] , Mobipocket (PRC) [242 KB] , Kindle Compatible (MOBI) [292 KB] , OEBFF Format (IMP) [307 KB]
Words: 75505
Reading time: 215-302 min.
Microsoft Reader (LIT) Format: Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
Adobe Acrobat (PDF) Format:  Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud DISABLED
All Other formats: Printing DISABLED, Read-aloud DISABLED
ISBN: 9781594312001

New York City

At ten o'clock on a Spring morning, as the noises and smells of the crowded Lower East Side came in the window. Housewives screamed at the pushcart guys; the pushcart guys tried to stop the gangs of kids from stealing their rotten vegetables.

Gabriel Levine sat on the edge of his rumpled bed, not tumbling yet to the idea of how much trouble he was really in. He ran his hand through his light brown hair, lit a Lucky Strike, drank a shot of bad bootleg whiskey, coughed for almost thirty seconds straight and wondered why naked women walked like ducks.

Like the mahogany beauty coming into the bedroom with a cup of coffee for him. Even with her lithe dancer's body, naked she walked like a duck. In clothes and high heels they walked just great, with everything moving the way it should. But considering everything, Gabe thought, naked ducks had a lot going for them too.

"Here's your coffee, babe," she said, putting the mug on the bed table. Like the rest of the room the table was old and scratched. Two books almost evened up the bottom of its broken leg. Other than the railroad flats he had grown up in, until their new country had killed his father and mother, his father from never understanding and his mother from tired, and his sister had married the first luftmensch that promised to take her out of there, this room was the only home Gabriel Levine had ever known.

The girl sat next to him on the sagging mattress. "You're too skinny," she said. "You're almost six feet, and I bet I weigh almost as much as you do. And you're too pale. Don't you ever get any sun?"

"I lost some weight," he answered, "but I'm okay. And how much sun do you get driving a hack?" But he wondered if the coughing had anything to do with it. Doc Horowitz had told him that he was getting worse, that pretty soon he had to get out of the City, go somewhere in the mountains. Wherever they were.

"How you feeling?" she asked, with concern in her voice that puzzled Gabe.

"Pretty good," he answered. He smiled. "You give a guy a workout. But something's bothering me, something running around the back of my head. Like when you wake up all of a sudden and you don't remember all the money you lost playing poker or on the horses. Then it hits you. Only whatever it is, it's where I can't reach it."

"You don't remember last night?" she asked.

"Sure. I dropped some fares off up in Harlem, the Cotton Club, went in to see if I could scare up some business back downtown, had some drinks and then--"

"And then?" she prodded.

"Jesus, I got in a fight. Now I remember. Some bozo got fresh with you and grabbed your ass and.... A grin pulled up one side of his wide mouth. "And I hit him. I decked him. Son-of-a-bitch, I got in a fight and knocked somebody down. I knocked somebody down."

She stared at him as if she thought he had missed a cue somewhere.

"Some bozo?" she said, her voice rising, "some bozo? You don't know who you hit?" Her eyes were so wide all he could see were the whites. Like Ruby Begonia must look like on Amos 'n', Andy, he thought.

"No. Should I?"

"You're goddamned right you should."

Sounds from the street came into the window. Yelling, screaming, cursing, in Yiddish, Italian, German, and Polish, floated up from the teeming street.

"Because 'that bozo' was Dutch Schultz, that's why. It was wonderful the way you helped me, but you hit Dutch Schultz. The Dutchman was who you hit."

"Oh my god!" Gabe said. "I don't do much right, do I? Why didn't he kill me right there?"

"Oh, he would have, believe me. But there was too much confusion. He was screaming, his bodyguards were trying to get him up off the floor, and I got you the hell out of there."

There was a loud knock at the door. They looked at each other, and then Gabe put on a robe while the girl ran into the bathroom. Gabe opened the door and stepped back. The man was so big that there didn't seem to be any light coming in the doorway around him. Gabe started to say something but the man held up a hand the size of a catcher's mitt.

"Ten minutes," he said. "Fifteen tops. Downstairs."

Gabe closed the door and went back into the bedroom. He sat down on the bed and took a pull at the bottle. He looked up at her as she came into the room. She was partly dressed. Her eyes were wide, staring at him.

"You see him?" he asked her. "You see the size of him?"

She nodded. "I was peeking around the bathroom door," she said.

"He must be one of Schultz's boys," he said. "They're going to kill me, aren't they?" He stared up at her, his hazel eyes narrowed to slits over his narrow face. She sat down on the bed and took the bottle from him, took a long pull and put it back on the bed table

"I don't know," she answered. "I've seen him at the Club, but not with Schultz. He's always with Lucky Luciano. But everybody knows Lucky and Schultz hate each other. So why should Lucky's goon want to see you?"

"How the hell do I know," Gabe said, his forehead creased with deep wrinkles. "To kill me, probably. Anyway, I got five minutes to shower and shave and get down there. Can I see you later?"

"Sure. Call me at the Club tonight if everything's all right. And Gabe--?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks again for helping me. Maybe we can see each other some more?"

"If I live until tonight, sure," he answered, going into the bathroom.

He shaved quickly, nicking himself a couple of times because his hands were shaking and rushed through a shower. He splashed Lucky Tiger on his hair and combed it straight back, no part, like Valentino did in The Sheik, dressed and went downstairs. The huge man was leaning against the door of a black La Salle. He opened the front door and motioned Gabe in. Gabe snuck a look in the back seat, wondering if someone was waiting for him there. He knew, hell, everybody knew, that the Jewish gangs used ice picks, the guineas used garrotes, both easy from the back seat of a car.

The back seat was empty. Gabe let out a long breath, and asked the driver where they were going.

"Shut the fuck up," he responded, the only thing he said the whole trip. He stopped the car in front of the Hotel Astor, which stood high over Times Square like a fat rich lady looking over her estate. Two men in dark suits waited at the curb, not bothering to hide the bulges under their armpits.

"He heeled?" one of the men asked the driver.

The driver laughed. "This punk?" he said, "he never had nothin' but a water pistol his whole life."

One of the men opened the door and Gabe got out. They herded him across the lobby to the elevators and rode to the top floor. And into the first hotel suite he had ever seen, where, like in a William Powell movie, the elevator door opened right into the living room. But that was nothing compared to the shock when he saw the two men sitting at a coffee table, drinks in front of them, their faces showing all the expression of wallpaper.

Meyer Lansky and Lucky Luciano. He had never seen them, just their pictures in the paper, but he knew who they were. Everybody knew who they were.

They were both dressed in dark blue pin striped suits, over white on white shirts and regimental striped neckties. They looked nothing alike, but they were thought of as twins. People said they didn't have to even talk to each other; from the time they were kids on the street stealing pennies from back alley crap games, they could read each others minds. The dark man with the straight black hair and one droopy eyelid, was Luciano. Charley Lucky, the capo de tutti capi. The little man with the deeply lined face and big ears, his face tanned from all the time he spent in Miami and Havana, was Lansky, the brains behind Charley Lucky.

They said around town that Meyer Lansky trusted only Lucky Luciano and Lucky Luciano trusted nobody.

Besides the two at the cocktail table, a half dozen men ranged around the room. They played gin rummy, stood around, or looked out the windows at Times Square far below. They were interchangeable in dark clothes, expressionless faces and guns in shoulder holsters. They appeared to have no interest in the meeting, but each one was ready on request to serve drinks, open a window, or shoot someone--whatever was required.

When he had walked into the suite, the little man with the big ears got out of his chair and extended his hand. "Good morning, Gabriel," he said. "Thank you for coming up," like it had been Gabe's idea to stop by as long as he was in the neighborhood. "This is Charles," nodding toward Luciano, who stood, walked over to Gabe and shook hands, like he was meeting his banker, Gabe thought. "Get Mr. Levine a drink," Luciano said over his shoulder, and one of the gorillas went over to the wet bar and poured some whiskey. He handed the drink to Gabe. "Here, you Jew son-of-a-bitch," he said, "choke on it."

"Easy, Salvatore," the little man said. "Bad temper got us into this mess. Let's not make it any worse."

Bad temper, Gabe thought. Then this was about the fight last night. He had relaxed a little when they gave him a drink instead of shooting him. Now he stopped relaxing. Stopped dead, he couldn't help thinking.

"Tell me Gabriel," Meyer Lansky said, "what do you know about Saranac Lake?"

The question came from so deep in left field that Gabriel didn't know what to say at first. Finally, "I don't know. It doesn't ring a bell. What is it?"

"It's not a thing," Luciano answered, "it's a place. Upstate. You know upstate?"

"I was in Albany once," Gabe answered. "Drove a Senator up there. Is it near there?"

Lansky nodded. "Saranac Lake is another couple of hours north of there. It's mostly for people with TB." He stopped. "We did some checking. You got TB, don't you Gabriel?" he asked.

Gabe nodded. He didn't know how they knew, but they knew.

"Not only a TB place," Lansky went on, "but I hear there's a lot of action up there. Somebody told me it's a cross between a big hospital and a wide-open town. I can't picture that mix, but that's what they say."

"But why would I be interested?" Gabe asked.

"Let's stop the shit, kid," Luciano growled. "One, it's a famous place for getting cured of TB If you don't do something you could be dead in maybe a couple of years." He thought for a minute. "And after last night, if you stay here you could be dead in a in a couple of hours. So there might be better."

Lansky broke in. "Let me put this in perspective, Gabriel," he said. "You see, there's lots going on. And suddenly you're part of it."

"Oh." It was all Gabe could think of to say.

"I'll make this quick. Dutch Schultz wants our okay to kill this new prosecutor. And that would be the dumbest thing we could do. The heat would never let up."

He paused and without any break, Luciano took up the story. "And we can't let that happen. Because it would start a war. And if we have a war here, people like Capone look to pick up the pieces, or Longy Zwillman is licking his chops across the river in Jersey, or the Purple Gang in Detroit would love to move in and everybody all of a sudden got his hand on his gun."

"Schultz wants to kill everybody in sight. Between him and that grizzly bear he's got for a bodyguard, nobody's safe," he went on. "And after last night, they'd be happy to start with you."

Lansky took up the story. "And Legs Diamond is always looking for an excuse to rub out Schultz. They hate each other." He paused, sipped his drink, and said, almost sadly, "Now you're up shit creek, and all just the Dutchman grabs your girlfriend by her black ass."

"You got to leave town, kid." This from Luciano, who almost sounded like he really cared what Gabe did. "But it works out for everybody. We're interested in all the booze that the Bronfmans and their people are sending in from Canada. We know it goes over the border somewhere near this Saranac Lake. You're a cab driver. You could help a lot." He looked at Gabe for a minute, lit a cigarette, and then went on.

"If we go into business up there, you can drive for us. Make sure the stuff gets in from Canada, through little places they call Chateaugay and, I think, Chazy and this Saranac Lake to Albany and here in the City. And maybe get your health back at the same time."

"That sounds great," Gabe said, not sure at all how it sounded, but at least it sounded better than getting shot right here in this room. "I can be ready to go in just a couple of weeks."

"You go this afternoon," Luciano said. He nodded to one of the hoods at the door, who brought an envelope over to him. "Here's your ticket. Your train leaves Grand Central at 5:30. And here's everything you need to know, about where you're staying and like that. And there's some cash in here."

Gabe took the envelope and put it in his pocket without looking at it. He didn't think it would be smart to look like he didn't trust them. As it was, he didn't know whether he trusted them or not, because everything was going too fast for him. The last thing you wanted to do, Gabe thought, was make these people think you didn't trust them. It could really be the last thing you did.

"Look," he said, "I'm sorry about last night. I'm really sorry I started this mess. I'm sorry I caused so much trouble for you. And I appreciate your helping me like this, instead of, uh, instead of.... "He didn't finish the thought, because he didn't want them to start thinking about an instead solution to all this.

"Could I ask you something?" he asked.

"Sure."

Well," he started, slowly, "you already know. About the girl, I mean. The dancer. The one I socked Dutch Schultz over, even if I didn't know it was him."

"So?" Luciano said.

"Well, she's pretty swell, and she's pretty scared about what happened last night. She's afraid to even go back to work, you know? So I wonder if, maybe, if it's okay with you, if she could maybe go with me to this Saranac Lake place. Then you wouldn't have to worry about her. And maybe--"

Lansky put up his hand, stopping Gabe. "Don't worry kid," he said. "We already thought about her. We don't want her getting hurt, so she's going to be a featured dancer in one of our places. Miami, maybe, or Havana. Anyway, it was important to get her out of town before she got hurt. In fact, she's on her way south right now. I'm sorry you won't get a chance to say good-bye." He looked at Luciano who looked back with no expression at all.

Gabe couldn't think of anything else to say, and no one seemed to expect anything. He stood up and shook hands with each of them. He started to leave the room when Luciano called him back.

"You carry?" he asked.

"Do I what?"

"A gun," Luciano said. "You got a gun?" He shook his head in disgust, like he had to ask if Gabe wore shoes.

"No."

Luciano turned to one of the men looking out the window. "Give him a piece," he said. The man walked over to Gabe, reached under his left arm, which made Gabe wince, and pulled out a large revolver. He handed it to Gabe. "Here," he said, "shoot yourself. Save us all the trouble."

Gabe put the pistol in his coat pocket, surprised at how heavy it was. He nodded at Lansky and Luciano and left the room with the two big men who had brought him there wondering how much trouble having a gun was going to get him into.