Harold Robbins Organized Crime Double Read online

  My aunt picked up a small book from the bench beside her, opened it, and gave it to me. Half the page was printed in Jewish, the other half in English. “This is what he is reading,” she said, her finger pointing to a line. “He reads the Hebrew but you can read the English.”

  The man had paused for a moment while the scroll was turned. Then he began again. His voice had a monotonously soothing, sing-song tone about it.

  “Boruch atto adonoi, elohenu melech ho’olom….”

  I looked down at the book. My aunt’s finger pointed to a line in English. I read it.

  “Blessed art Thou, O Lord our God….”

  This was something I could understand. I shut my eyes and I could see a picture of Father Quinn, kneeling in front of the altar, the soft light of the candles turning to gold the white of his robe. I could hear the soft voices of the choir rising. I could smell the resin and the incense and the warmth of the church. My lips moved involuntarily: “Hail Mary, Mother of God.”

  My aunt touched my shoulder, I opened my eyes startled for a moment. She was smiling softly but I could see the tears sparkling in the corner of her eyes.

  “It’s the same God, Frankie.”

  I could feel the tension flow out of me. Suddenly I smiled at her.

  She was right: the Word meant God in no matter what language you spoke it—English, Latin or… Hebrew.

  When we got home Uncle Morris was there, and my aunt told him where we had been. He looked over at me. “What do you think of it?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” I answered. “It’s pretty strange.”

  “Would you like to go to a Hebrew school to learn more about it?” he asked.

  I hesitated before I answered, and my aunt spoke for me: “I think we had better let him make up his own mind on that question, Morris. He’s old enough now to decide what he wants. Let him think about it and if he wants to go, he can tell us.”

  I was very grateful to her for that. At the moment I didn’t know whether I wanted to go or not. But Aunt Bertha had told me the same thing Brother Bernhard had, and if that was true, I couldn’t see what difference it made whether I went or not.

  “But,” Uncle Morris protested, “He should prepare for his bar mitzvah.”

  Again my aunt answered, with an understanding smile toward me, “It doesn’t really make much difference now. Bar mitzvah won’t make him any more of a man than he is already, and if he feels the need of a faith, I don’t think he’ll have any trouble finding it. He’s already doubly blessed.”

  Those were the last words they ever spoke to me on religion. I was left free to make up my own mind on the subject, and I never gave it more than a passing thought after that. I never went to Hebrew school or to a church or synagogue afterward, but then I never gave much thought to God either. I felt confident that I would be able to deal with Him when the time came for me to have to—just as I would deal with everything else in my life, when the time came and not before.

  17

  You can never bring back old times; that was something I learned then. Though Jerry and Marty and I would still pal around together, we couldn’t recapture the closeness that had existed between us before I moved uptown. It wasn’t because of less camaraderie between us, it was rather that I was in process of normalizing. I was no longer on the outside looking in; I had a family of my own and I liked it that way. I began to learn things about care and consideration for others which I had never known before. But that feeling was directed solely toward my family, and to others outside my family I still kept my original attitude. It was like being two different people—almost. It would have been hard to tell where one set of feelings would leave off and the other would begin. But I didn’t think about it, and, what’s more, I didn’t even know about it at the time—so I didn’t care.

  Things moved along. I was a fair student, no better or worse than any of the others. Not too greatly to my surprise, I drifted into a position of leadership among the other boys. I took this as being quite in order; I always had been a leader. I was more aggressive than most, more forward than the others. I wasn’t troubled by the vague adolescent speculations about sex, and would look amusedly at their attitudes and conversations. I already had passed that stage. Then too, I was a more than capable athlete. I made the basketball team and the swimming team my first year in school. I played basketball the only way I knew—that was to win. To hell with rules of so-called sportsmanship and fair play! They were only for the dumbbells who weren’t fast enough or smart enough to get away with breaking them. Besides, I hated to lose.

  And yet, despite my attitude toward others, my closeness to my family grew as bit by bit they chipped the raw, sore edges from my nature. Little by little the slightly defensive air I carried within myself like a mental chip on my shoulder began to disappear, and soon left nothing but a forward-looking aggressiveness, which in turn became better concealed as I learned to use the social amenities to bend others to my way of thinking.

  The Friday night before the Christmas holiday we had a basketball game between James Monroe High and ourselves, and a dance was to follow the game. I had heard there was some talk about me running for class president, and though I played dumb about it, I was aware of the talk and knew that a great deal would depend on how I showed up in the game tonight whether they would ask me to run or not.

  I went out on the court determined to show to the good. I played a hell of a game—rough borderline playing that I learned so well down on Tenth Avenue. I played to the grandstand to the point of taking the play away from the rest of my team. When the final score came on, we had won and I was the undoubted star of the game.

  I knew some of the boys were a little sore because of what I had heard them say in the showers. I laughed to myself. Let the clucks grumble! If they made too much noise, I’d shut them up. I got dressed and went out to the dance and stood on the edge of the floor watching the crowd for a moment until I caught sight of Marty and Jerry in earnest conversation with the faculty adviser of the G.O. council. I knew that his permission had to be obtained before I could run for class office. Still playing dumb, I walked toward the door, pretending to be on my way out, but making sure I passed them and came into their line of vision.

  “Hey, Frankie!” Marty cried, “Where do you think you’re goin’!”

  “Home,” I said smiling. “I promised my aunt I would—”

  “You can’t go,” he interrupted, “You’re the big moment of the evening. The kids want to see you. Besides, you’re expected at the dance.”

  “By who?” I asked.

  “By the folks,” he said. “It would be a hell of a thing if you walked out on them now. There’s talk of running you for class president next month, and how would it look if you didn’t show up?”

  I laughed inwardly. Just then Jerry came up.

  “Hey, Jerry,” Marty said grabbing him by the arm, “Frankie’s going home.”

  “What for?” Jerry asked, turning to see me. “You sick or something?”

  “No,” I replied, “I’m tired. What the hell! I ran around all evening.”

  “Nuts to that!” Jerry said, “You’re going to the dance. You’re going to be the new class president.”

  “Look here, guys,” I said to them, “How about telling me the score? About this business of being president—who started it?”

  Marty and Jerry looked at each other. Marty spoke. “You see it’s like this: we thought that it would be a good idea. You are the best-known guy in the class. Everyone likes you and you’d be a cinch for the job.”

  “What would I have to do?” I asked.

  “Not much,” Jerry said. “You’d be on the student-teachers advisory committee and would be a big help to the class. Besides, you get certain privileges too. You come to the dance, and later I’ll tell you more about it.”

  “O.K.,” I said. “But first I’d better call home.”

  I did and then went back into the gym. A six-piece band was playing off
in the corner and a bunch of kids were dancing. There was a table set up and some kids were getting punch and soft drinks there. Marty came up to me. A girl was with him; I recognized her. She was a nice kid from my biology class. I didn’t remember her name, though.

  “You know each other,” Marty said to me. “She’s going to run for vice-president with you.” And he walked off and left us.

  We looked at each other. She smiled. It was a very nice smile. It transformed her face into something alive and gay. “Don’t you want to dance, Frankie?” she asked.

  “Oh,” I said awkwardly, “of course! But I’m not so good at it.”

  “That’s all right,” she said. “I’ll help you.” She came into my arms. For a few moments I was stiff, and once I stepped on her foot. But she smiled and said: “Take it easy! Relax!”

  I did. And it wasn’t too bad. At last the music stopped. “That wasn’t too difficult, was it?” she smiled.

  “No.” I grinned. “But you’re too good for me.”

  She laughed pleasantly. “You’ll catch on. “All you need is a little practice.”

  “Would you like some punch?” I asked.

  We walked over to the refreshment table. We said hello to many kids on the way over, but no one called her name and I didn’t find it out then. We danced most of the dances together. Several times I was stopped and congratulated on the game. The dance was over at eleven o’clock and we walked home together. She lived in an apartment house a few blocks from me, and I saw her to her door. We stopped and talked about the dance, and suddenly I realized I had had a very good time.

  It was about a quarter past eleven. “I’ve got to go in now,” she said. “It’s getting late.”

  “Yes,” I said, “It’s getting late.”

  “Good night, Frankie.” She smiled up at me.

  “Good night,” I said. On an impulse I kissed her. She put her arms around my neck; I could smell the clean fresh perfume on her hair. I started to kiss her as I had kissed Julie, but suddenly something stopped me. Her mouth was soft and sweet and gentle—innocent-like. She didn’t press herself to me; her lips were not as fiercely violent as Julie’s. I relaxed. I put my arms around her back. I had instinctively tried to feel her breasts but had stopped before I got to them. The sweetness of her lips and the softness of her cheek were close to me. She drew her lips from mine and laid her head against my shoulder. I held her closely but loosely. The contact of our bodies was not a sexual one; it was a clean feeling, a young feeling, an “it’s-great-to-be-alive” feeling.

  “I don’t know what you’re thinking, Frankie,” she said, “but I don’t do this with every boy I meet.”

  “I know,” I said. Her perfume was in my nostrils.

  She stepped back. “Good night, Frankie.” She went into her apartment and closed the door.

  I took a few steps down the hall. Then I realized I hadn’t found out her name. I went back and looked at the doorbell. “Lindell” it said.

  Suddenly I knew her name. It was Janet Lindell. I walked down the hall whistling.

  18

  During Christmas week Jerry and Marty came up to my house to see me. Aunt Bertha had taken my cousins to the movies. We sat around in the parlor.

  Jerry, as usual, was doing most of the talking. He was trying to convince me that running for class president was a good thing—not that I needed much convincing. “Look,” he said, “it can do a lot for you. You’ll be on the student-teachers committee and you’re given extra credit in civics class.”

  “Sure!” Marty said. “And besides you’ll be a big guy with the crowd. And they’ll listen to you. You’re a natural leader.”

  I liked that. “O.K.,” I said. “What do I have to do?”

  “Not much,” Jerry spoke quickly. “We have your campaign all set. We’ll take care of the details. All you have to do is make a small speech at the introductory rally the Friday after we get back to school.”

  “Oh, no!” I said. “I’m not going to get up and make a speech in front of all those people! Not me! I’m out!”

  “Look,” Marty said, “it’s easy. Why we even have your speech written. I have a copy here.” He took a sheet of paper from his pocket and gave it to me.

  I read it. Halfway through I stopped. “What kind of crap are you guys giving me?” I asked them. “This is screwy. Give this to the other guy if you want me elected. It don’t make sense.”

  “Neither does politics,” said Jerry, “and I ought to know! I heard my old man say so a dozen times. It ain’t what you do or say that counts. It’s how the people like you that gets you in. The best man in the world can’t get elected dogcatcher if he hasn’t got what you call personality. Marty and I’ll coach you in it. You’re the last speaker on the program. We’ll fix it. The other guys will knock the crowd dead trying to make sense. Then all you have to do is get up, say your piece and you’re in.”

  “Yeah, he’s right,” said Marty.

  “All right,” I said, “but if this doesn’t come off, you guys are going to have to answer a lot of questions.”

  “Don’t worry,” they said almost together, “it’ll come off all right!”

  Ten nights in a row I practiced that speech. Jerry and Marty coached me until I was sick of it. They told me where to walk, how to hold my hands, what to wear. Two days before the rally they told me to forget about it until I would make the talk.

  I couldn’t forget it. I thought about it all day during my classes. I lay awake at night thinking about it, and when I fell asleep I dreamed about it. At last the day came. Following their suggestion, I wore a bow tie and a sweater under my jacket.

  I felt very self-conscious as I took my place on the platform with the other candidates. I thought the entire assembly was staring at me. Janet sat next to me. Every few moments she would smile at me and I would try to smile back. But I think I must have looked ghastly.

  The principal made his speech. It was something about the pupils becoming good citizens and practicing democracy, but I couldn’t pay too much attention to him I was so nervous. Then the first speaker got up.

  He promised to give the first-term students the best representation the class ever had, and took about ten minutes doing it. When he finished, the cheerleaders got up and ordered a cheer for him. Then they sat down and the second candidate got up. He promised the same things as the first in about the same length of time. I could see the pupils were becoming fidgety and bored. When he had finished, the cheerleaders led a yell for him, and then it was my turn.

  My heart was hammering, my throat felt all tight. I didn’t think I could speak. I half turned to Janet, she held up both hands to show me her fingers were crossed for luck. I turned and sauntered slowly to the center of the platform. I looked out over the kids’ faces and they all seemed strangely blurred to me. I forced myself to speak.

  “Mr. Principal, teachers, and fellow students.” My voice seemed to echo from the back of the auditorium. “Too loud,” I thought.

  The pupils all looked half startled, as if I had awakened them from sleep.

  “I’m scared,” I said a little more quietly, more naturally. They all laughed—even the teachers. I could feel the tension seeping out of me. I continued.

  “Believe it or not,” I said, “I don’t know why I’m up here anyway.”

  Then everybody laughed. I could feel all the tension go.

  “The other day,” I said, “a couple of students (friends of mine) came up to me and asked: ‘How would you like to be class president?’ and I, like a fool, said: ‘Fine.’ Now I wonder if they were really friends of mine?”

  The audience laughed and some started to applaud. “By Jesus!” I thought, “Jerry is right. They’re eating it up.” I went on speaking.

  “I have just listened to my opponents’ speeches, and I’m beginning to wonder if I will vote for myself.”

  A shout of laughter went up and the students leaned forward in their seats waiting for my next remark. I walked slowly
toward the corner of the platform before I spoke again.

  “After all, if being on the basketball team or the swimming team is any recommendation for a class president (I opened my jacket to let them see the small orange-and-black “W” on my sweater), then you’ve got a darn good ping-pong player on your tennis team!”

  That didn’t go over so well but they still laughed. I walked back to the center of the platform.

  “I don’t know what to promise you if I’m elected class president. My opponents promised you everything I could think of.”

  They laughed and applauded that. I held up my hands to quiet them.

  “Not that I think they’re wrong—they’re absolutely right. I agree with them in every respect. I would like to promise you less homework, more study periods, and shorter school hours but I can’t. I think the board of education would object to it.”

  Laughter and applause greeted that. I stole a quick look at Marty and Jerry sitting in the first row and saw them smiling. Jerry held up his hand, fingers circled, showing that everything was all right. I continued.

  “Now I don’t want to take up much more of your time because I know how anxious you all are to get back to your classes. (Laughter) But I want to assure you, both on my opponents’ behalf and my own, that whoever you may elect will give you the best that is in them, and the most any person can do is their best.”

  I walked to my seat and sat down. The students were on their feet, shouting and applauding.

  Janet whispered in my ear: “Get up and take a bow.”

  “I will if you’ll come with me,” I said. She nodded. I took her hand and together we walked to the center of the platform. We smiled at the crowd. She looked very pretty in her pink dress. I held up my hand and they fell quiet.

  “If you don’t vote for me,” I said, “don’t forget to vote for Janet for vice-president. She’ll be the prettiest and smartest vice-president George Washington High School ever had.”