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

which Landauer doesn’t know about, and pay Landauer off with our earnings. I don’t like it. But I don’t have any better ideas so tell him to go ahead.”

I’m so wrapped up in the story that my stomach contracts at the thought of his meeting Landauer again.

“Weren’t you scared?”

“You bet. But Landauer wasn’t the type of man you could hide from. He’d find out sooner or later. So the next day, Louie and me show up at the Sands and find Landauer at his cabana. He’s there with his wife and kids, doing the family shtick, and motions us to the bar. It’s a gorgeous day. Everyone’s in bathing suits except us two schmucks. Landauer’s in this cabana outfit, polka-dot shorts and matching shirt, and we’re in black suits, sitting at a tiki bar, shvitzing like pigs and begging Landauer’s forgiveness.”

“Was he surprised to see you?”

“Didn’t seem like it. Though I think he’s going to punch Louie one when Louie tells him about our protection racket. But he agrees to the payoff. We work three more months, deliver the protection money to Landauer. A week after we’re square, Landauer gives us the boot.”

By this time, it’s dark out. Yellow bug lights in black metal fixtures throw urine-tinted rays over the building’s front porch. The bulbs are supposed to keep bugs away but mosquitoes circle my ankles and I reach down to scratch. Steam condensing in the night air forms a tar-scented fog that hovers over the parking lot. Two residents rise from their lawn chairs and shuffle inside. Tootsie’s quiet and, when I turn to him, his shoulders are shaking. At first I think he’s laughing. Then he brings the handkerchief to his face.

“Dad, are you okay?” I put a hand on his shoulder. I’ve never felt this mixture of tenderness and contempt for him before and it frightens me. It’s unsettling to realize the man I envisioned as a tower of strength was so vulnerable.

He takes a few deep breaths and lets them out in long sighs. “Becks, darling, I swear to God, I didn’t know. Louie saved my life, he was my best friend. I loved him like a brother.” He’s pleading but I don’t understand why.

“What happened?”

He hangs his head and stares down at his lap, studying it like a chessboard. “A few months after Landauer fires us, Florence shows up at the house.” He nods toward Mrs. Karpowsky. “She was a fireball then, a real redhead. She’s banging at the door, screaming like a crazy person. You never heard a lady use such language. When I open the door, she beats my chest with her fists. Finally, I grab her hands and force her into a chair. Your mother makes her a cup of tea. When she settles down, she tells us what happened.”

He shakes his head. “I should have known.” He sobs suddenly, loudly. It’s a high-pitched gasp that cuts through the humid night air and draws the attention of a nurse who leans against the porch’s wrought iron railing, having a smoke. I motion that everything’s fine.

“Dad, it’s okay,” I whisper and put my arm around his shoulders. I wait for him to collect himself. I don’t how to respond. Can this be my father, the gentle man who refused to spank my sister and me no matter how badly we behaved? He never mentioned any of this—his friend Louie or gangster connections—before. I can see where his story’s going and fight the urge to cut him off. It’s like easing on the brakes as I approach a fatal highway collision. I don’t want to look but I can’t tear my eyes from the dreadful scene.

“Florence says that the night before, when Louie doesn’t come home, she calls the police. The cops tell her it’s too early to file a missing person’s report so nothing happens. The next afternoon, same day she comes to us, she says a fisherman found Louie’s body floating in Biscayne Bay. He’d been shot through the chest. When she tells me this, I run into the bathroom and throw up. This is my best buddy. The guy saved my life and survived the allied invasion. To end up like that?”

My father takes a deep breath and holds his fist to his chest. I reach for his hand but he pushes it away.

“Florence thought I ratted on Louie. She’d never look at me after that. I don’t blame her.” He raises his head, then drops it in his hands. “Later, I heard Landauer found out Louie had double-crossed him. He’d held on to the cash and receipts he’d collected from our customers. Landauer ordered Louie’s murder.” He takes a deep breath. “Thank God Florence was a good-looking dame. She didn’t stay single long. Married Karpowsky a year later, had kids with him. He did well, spread his money around town. She was okay.”

“Did you get another job?”

“I was fine.”

“So you left the mob?”

My father shrugs. “I wouldn’t call it that. But yes. More or less.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You stuck around after your partner was killed?”

“None of your business.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means what it means. I stuck around a little longer. Got out. And started my own business with your Uncle Moe.”

“Did Uncle Mo . . . ?”

“Enough already with the questions,” my father interrupts. “I’m beat.”

“But Dad, you can’t just drop that on me.”

“I said enough.” He gets a familiar set to his jaw, the lines on either side of his chin etching out a square of resolution, and I know he’s through talking. He raises himself from the chair, an arduous task that involves leaning forward with his hands braced on the arms, pushing off and waiting for gravity to propel him forward. On other nights, I’d give him a hand. Tonight I don’t. I’m too appalled at what he’s told me.

My father a hoodlum? A numbers runner? It’s an outrageous concept. I knew he’d gone into the restaurant supply business with Uncle Moe after my