Lucky And Meyer And Bugsy

“Nice place ya got here, Johnny,” Siegel said as he stepped from the cab, looking up at the building housing Holmes’ headquarters and glancing around at the neighbouring structures. “Nice neighbourhood, too.”

“It suffices. Please, follow me upstairs.”

Inside the doorway were a number of the most menacing-looking of Holmes’ men. Siegel immediately reached for the pistol in his overcoat pocket. The men recoiled.

“Ben, Ben, there’s no need for that. These are my men and they carry no firearms. No need. In England there’s an unwritten agreement between the constabulary and the criminals: we don’t carry weapons and they don’t carry weapons.”

“What kind a nutty country is this, anyway? Who ever heard of goin’ around without a gun?”

“Puzzling, isn’t it?.” Holmes continued up the stairs as Siegel followed, still intermittently glancing back at the cluster of thugs remaining below.

“A libation?” asked Holmes.

“I thought you’d never ask,” Siegel said, looking around, walking around, and before seating at a table, dusting the chair and the table with a very expensive silk handkerchief which he removed from his breast pocket with an outrageously ostentatious gesture.

“Like I said downstairs, nice place ya got here. Johnny, I know you can afford better.”

“Yes, but I like it here. It’s quiet. Out of the way of prying eyes. With only my eyes allowed to pry.”

“L’chaim, Johnny,” Siegel said as he raised his glass to Holmes, who wasn’t partaking. “Hey, was I nuts or did I see synagogues on the way here?”

“Quite discerning. Yes, at one point, this area was home to a very large portion of members of your faith, mostly from Poland and Eastern Europe.”

“Holy mackerel. Just like New York.”

“Yes; in fact, most precisely like New York. Funny, I had not made the analogy previously,” Holmes said, pondering his omission.

“Well, everyone forgets from time to time. Now lemme see the books,” Siegel said with a mild touch of menace.

“Of course. And I presume you will trust my scribbling?” asked Holmes.

Siegel shrugged, “Who the hell knows?”

From a large, locked wooden chest, something that looked like a pirate’s chest to Siegel, Holmes proceeded to disgorge large, brown accountancy ledgers; each with its own private lock. These he placed before Siegel who was laughing loudly.

“Ben, if I might inquire, just why are you laughing?”

“Johnny, I’m not sure if you’ll get it, but I can tell Meyer and Charlie that you served me locks. Get it?”

Holmes stared blankly.

“Johnny, in New York, remember we used to eat bagels and cream cheese and lox?”

Then it came to Holmes; Siegel had just made a pun based upon an ethnic delicacy.

“Very good, Ben, very good. Perhaps you’d like to peruse the numbers now?”

Siegel finally stopped laughing and began his inspection.

After long and close examination of the ledgers presented and placated, after incisive questioning of Holmes that there were no other records being hidden from his perusal, Siegel was satisfied that Holmes was “on the up and up”.

Holmes had watched Siegel intently as he examined the records and was surprised to observe a man of high intelligence and subtle financial acumen; not just the wisecracking mobster he appeared to be.

“Benjamin, you’ve impressed me.”

“Yeah? How come?”

“You appear to be quite well versed with income and expenditure columns and the veiled intricacies of creative accounting. I’m pleased.”

“Yeah, well ya should be. I’d have had t’ bump you off if you were finagling the books.”

“Yes, you already informed me.”

“But I’m nothin’ compared to Meyer. He’s the real brain. Ever since we were little kids; and I mean little. He was already figurin’ the odds on craps in back alleys on the lower east side when he was eight. The guy’s a real genius.”

“I suspected as much from our dealings in New York. And what about Charlie?”

“Charlie leaves the money stuff to Meyer. Not that Charlie don’t got it in him. He does. Real good. And trust me, Johnny, Charlie will know if you’re tryin’ t’ pull a fast one. But Charlie’s more like the head of the company. Like the dagos call it, capo di tuttocapi; the boss of all bosses. Yeah, Charlie gives the final okays. But he don’t do nothin’ without Meyer and him talkin’ and agreein’.”

“They’re like brothers, from what I could gather.”

“Tighter. Let me tell you somethin’. Meyer is like my older brother. I love that guy like my own flesh and blood. I would do anythin’ for Meyer. But him and Charlie got somethin’ special. I don’t know how t’ put it exactly but they’re so close that Charlie could begin talkin’ and Meyer could finish what he was gonna say. And vice versa.”

“Truly exceptional. But can you answer something that I should have asked in New York?”

“Depends on what it is,” Siegel said.

“This alliance you have, the Jews and Italians. We have nothing like that here. I would have expected that you would have been at each other’s throats.”

“Yeah, we were once. We all came over about the same time and moved into the same streets in downtown Manhattan and in Brooklyn. So we started fighting for territory and we had the mick gangs to fight, too.

“Funny, you would think the Catliks would fight together against the Jews, but maybe it’s because of tight family, I don’t know, but it seemed like the Jews and dagos were fightin’ the micks together.”

“Extraordinary.”

“Yeah, but the clincher was when Meyer saved Charlie’s life when they was kids.”

“Please tell me what happened.”

“Well, it goes back to when Meyer was maybe eight and Charlie was twelve and Charlie already had a gang he was leadin’. So late on Friday afternoon, here comes this little runt Jewish kid. And the kid has his challah money, a nickel.”

Holmes interrupted, “I beg your pardon?”

“Challah money,” Siegel said, as though everyone in the world with half a brain knew what it meant. “Jews can’t cook or bake or do anythin’ on Saturday because that’s our day of rest the Bible said, or somethin’ like that. So the moms would give the kids money to go to the baker on Friday and bring back the challah, the bread, because the moms couldn’t bake on Saturday.”

“Oh, I see. But why didn’t the mothers just bake the bread on Friday themselves and save the money?”

“How the hell do I know? Do I look like a Jewish mother?”

“No, most certainly not,” Holmes said.

“So anyway, Charlie tells his gang to stop this little kike and get the money. So they stop Meyer and tell him to hand over the dough. So what does Meyer do? He’s holdin’ that nickel tight in his skinny little hand and he tells the dagos to go screw ‘emselves. But he didn’t use such a nice word. Well, they start beatin’ on Meyer but as small and skinny as Meyer was, he’s givin’ as good as he’s gettin’.

“Now, Charlie is watchin’ all this and he sees that this kid is somethin’ else, so he calls off his gang and goes over to Meyer who’s bleedin’ and banged up, but he’s still holdin’ on t’ that nickel.

“Charlie looks Meyer up and down and kind of smiles and tells him to beat it and not to come through his street again. Meyer gives Charlie the same look up and down and tells him to go screw himself and walks away. But Meyer is smart enough to know that this dago kid just did him a solid and he won’t forget.

“Now a couple a weeks go by and Charlie is without his gang and he’s swimmin’ in the East River. Some mick guys swimmin’ there see Charlie and they swim over and are tryin’ to drown him when like outta nowhere Charlie feels the micks lettin’ go and he fights his way to the top and sees that Meyer is fightin’ off the micks.

“So now it’s Charlie and Meyer givin’ the micks the business. So the micks swim off, Charlie and Meyer are kickin’ water in the East River and Meyer is smilin’ back at Charlie like ‘Were even, pal.’ And that’s how the whole thing got started.”

“Ben, if it came from anyone else but you, I simply would not believe it.”

“Yeah, well you can take that to the races. Now I gotta send a wire to let Charlie and Meyer to let them know that I ain’t killed ya and the booze is gonna keep comin’ t’ nobody but us. Then I’m gonna take a few days before I go back t’ New York and see if I can meet the King, and see where those dames got their heads cut off. Real culture stuff.”

“Yes, you really must.”

“And I gottaget me some girls. This town is swimmin’ in babes and all are willin’ to go dancin’, if ya know what I mean.”

“Yes, there is a surfeit of young and willing women. The result of the loss of so many of our young and willing men in the Great War.”

“Oh, yeah, I got ya. Sorry about that, Johnny. Anyway, I’m scrammin’ Don’t take any wooden nickels.”

As Siegel walked down those stairs, he stopped at the bottom, where those same men were still standing. He looked up at Holmes.

“Hey, how am I gettin’ back t’ the hotel.”

“No worries; one of my men will bring you back in that same cab.”

“Ya think he can take me t’ where you limeys did all that head cuttin’ off stuff?”

“I’m sure it can be arranged.” Holmes looked down at one of his men, “Andrew, drive Mr. Siegel to the Tower of London.”

The man tipped his right index finger to his cap to indicate “okay” and Siegel followed Andrew out to the cab. As he got in the back with Andrew at the wheel in front, Siegel said, “Hey, pal; how the hell do you guys drive cockeyed like that?”

Andrew shrugged, didn’t answer and began the drive to the Tower.