The Yiddish Gangster's Daughter (A Becks Ruchinsky Mystery Book 1) by Joan Cochran (popular books of all time .txt) 📗

He scoots back in his seat and leans in toward me.

“Then one particularly lousy morning, about a month after I started at the docks, all hell broke loose. A blizzard a couple of days earlier had turned New York into a frozen hellhole and it took two hours to get to work. I was in a lousy mood. We were working on the pier, loading wooden crates—heavy sons of bitches labeled fertilizer—and had a hard time wrapping the cables to lift them.

“We finally finished and stepped away to let the crane operator load the crate onto the ship. Everything went fine at first. But as the crate crossed the ship’s rail, a slat fell off and crashed to the dock. Another slat fell and then another. I was getting nervous, thinking maybe we hadn’t secured the cables tight enough and I’d be in trouble, when a box slipped out from between the broken slats and tumbled to the pier. It broke open and a half dozen machine guns rattled to the ground.”

“I thought you said the crates held fertilizer?”

“That’s how they were labeled. The foreman took a look at the cargo and yelled for everyone to clear out of the area. Next thing I knew, Sammy raced up, grabbed my arm, and forced me to run at top speed from the shipyard. I didn’t know where he came from, but he was the boss so I obeyed.

“His car was parked outside the terminal and we jumped in and took off. I was full of questions but Sammy, Mr. Silent, had nothing to say until we were clear of Jersey City. When he opened his mouth and told me, I was ready to slug him. I’d been loading weapons all morning. An illegal shipment headed for Israel.”

“You had no idea?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “None.”

“Didn’t you wonder why they needed a spy on the docks?”

“Sure. I asked but no one would tell me. And I couldn’t afford to make waves. Most crates were labeled heavy machinery or fertilizer. Turns out I’d spent the month loading weapons headed for Palestine. This Yehuda had arranged for me and Sammy to keep an eye out to make sure none of the longshoremen learned about it.”

My father stops speaking while the waitress serves our sandwiches. I take a bite and spit it out. The meat’s stringy and the bread’s stale.

“Is that what Sammy told you?” I ask once my father peels his eyes from the waitress’s retreating derriere.

“I learned most of it later. I don’t think many people knew then but the U.S. sold a lot of its surplus World War II equipment to the Arabs. The Jews, who were fighting for statehood, got bubkes. At first they had no money. By the time they got some, the U.S wouldn’t ship military hardware to the Mideast. Makes you wonder where their sympathy lay. We heard rumors the British were banking on the Arabs if war broke out after they left. Which, in fact, it did.”

He stops talking and shakes his head. “You didn’t learn this in religious school?”

“I don’t remember it.”

He takes a bite out of his sandwich and chews slowly.

“Maybe I wasn’t paying attention,” I add.

He laughs. “Maybe. The way I heard it, Ben-Gurion—before he became prime minister—convinced a group of rich American Jews to help the Israelis purchase surplus ammunition and weapons-making equipment. It shouldn’t have been a big deal. But the only way Israel could get the stuff was to smuggle it in.”

“And that’s where Lansky came in?”

“Smart girl.” He reaches across the table and taps my forehead. “At the time this was going on, the Mafia controlled the shipyards in New York and New Jersey. And Lansky had friends in the Mafia. So Ben-Gurion’s wealthy friends introduced Yehuda—a gunrunner from way back—to Lansky. And Lansky convinced the Italians to tell Yehuda when weapons were headed to Arab countries. Maybe stop them from reaching their destination.”

“So Lansky helped Israel?”

“Sure he helped. He was a Jew. He lined things up with his Italian buddies, who told the longshoremen what to do. The thing is, a lot of these dockworkers were Italian. They could’ve been fans of Mussolini. Who knows what they’d have done if they knew the cargo was headed to Israel.”

“You didn’t know this while you were working the docks?”

“I knew something fishy was going on. But it wasn’t my place to ask.”

“What happened after the weapons were found?”

“As far as I was concerned, nothing. I hung around New York a few more days. Sammy thought I might be needed. It was all over the papers. Something like thirty crates of machine guns were intercepted on their way to Palestine. I’m not saying I’m glad I worked at the docks that winter. I was miserable. But you got to admit those gangsters were one hundred percent behind Israel.”

I’m not going to debate him on that subject. “So where did your meeting with Lansky fit into all this?”

“Keep your pants on. I’m getting there. The night before I left town, Sammy told me Mr. Lansky would like to meet me. He was going to the theater that night to hear Fleishman and wanted I should come. I took a cab with Sammy and sat at a table with a dozen tough-looking guys. Some, I guess, were Mr. Lansky’s friends but some looked like protection. Sammy introduced me and Mr. Lansky was very nice, asked if I had a wife, kids. I told him yes and he thanked me for my help. Can you believe that? Meyer Lansky thanking me?”

That doesn’t need an answer so I don’t offer one.

“When Fleishman came on stage, everyone was silent, especially the guys at Mr. Lansky’s table. Everyone knew he was a huge fan of the singer. Sure enough, Fleishman wrapped up his act with ‘Yiddishe Mama.’ I was trying to be a tough guy, but I was near tears. And I couldn’t help