|
 Menu
|
|
|
|
|
Social
|
|
|
|
|
Big Al 6
Contributed by
ramfire
on
Thursday, 3rd May 2007 @ 09:53:09 AM in AEST
Topic:
StoryPoetry
|
I was on the phone again and made contact with Izzy Bernstein. He wanted five grand to let the booze be delivered next week to a warehouse on Third Street.. That was twenty-five percent of my twenty thousand, but it was better than having my feet in cement and dumped in the lake.
I needed to be in Detroit next week to square things with Izzy. That would give Jean and me time to have some fun in Detroit dancing at the Graystone Ballroom where the Cotton Pickers were packing them in. I thought we could catch a hockey game with Reg Noble anchoring the Red Wings.
I called a number where I could reach Lupota.
The phone rang a number of times before he came on the line.
“ It’s your nickel.”
“ Next Thursday on third Street. Eleven o’clock pm.”
“ This about the shoebox?”
“ Yes.” I hung up.
I’d get the other ten grand when the shipment reached Chicago. Casino was fair and never
broke a business agreement. It was death for anyone who did business with him and did.
I made a check out to Ding How’s Emporium, put it in an addressed envelope, sealed and stamped it. I carried it down to the building’s letter drop. In the lobby, the black shoeshine boy caught my eye and gave me a big smile. I walked over to his stand and got up on one of his elevated chairs.
Mister Berger, you always look so spiffy. Your shoes must be the best in Chicago. You want a shine today?”
“Willy, give me one of your fifty cent shines.”
“Yes sir. For fifty cents you get the deluxe shine.”
He got to snapping his rag over the toes of my shoes, polishing them to a high gloss. As he worked he kind of did a jig with his feet.
“Mister Berger, you must make a lot of money. No one ever dresses as snappy as you.”
“ It’s not how much you make, Willy. It’s what you can keep.”
“ That’s the truth, Mister Berger. That’s the truth. The Super just keeps raising the rent on me for this stand in the lobby. I think I’m going to have to move it someplace else.”
“Like where?’
“Union station.”
“ Not good, Willy. There’s too many there already. If you’re serious, I’ll see if I can find you a spot at the Athletic Club. I know a couple of people there and maybe we can work something out that you can afford. How’s that sound?”
“ You’re the best, Mister Berger. Like I tell everyone I know, you’re the richest and best person in whole world.”
“ Not the richest or the best, Willy.”
He’d finished the shine. I got down out of the chair and filled his hand with a five spot. “Remember, don’t take any lead nickels.”
He looked a the bill, his eyes like saucers. “Oh man, oh man! I’ve never got a bill like this before.”
I walked away. At the lobby’s florist shop I bought a new boutonniere, a fresh white carnation, my favorite flower. I went back up to my office and told Jean to shut it down.
“ We’re going to Detroit. No need for you to take the bus to your place. I’ll drive you. Put a few thing in an overnight bag . We catch the six-fifteen out of Union Station.”
“What’s happening in Detroit?”
“ Got to see a man about a dog.”
“ Buy me something pretty in that big city. You know I like red. Buy me a new red dress.”
“ We’ll get a couple of rooms at the Biltmore. If you stay sweet, I’ll get you new shoes too.”
“ She came over pressing her body close against mine. “ You’re my sugar daddy, Big Al. Never say never?”
I pushed her a way. “We’ll stay until Friday.”
The six-fifteen train out of Union Station in Chicago let us out at the Michigan Central Station in the Corktown district of Detroit about Midnight. Above the station was an18-story tower designed to be used as a hotel for commuters. I wanted something closer to downtown.
The waiting room and exit were on the first floor of the tower looking like an ancient Roman bathhouse with walls of marble and Doric columns. We came out onto the street where I flagged down a cab that took us over to the Biltmore Hotel.
I checked us in to separate adjoining rooms. From my room phone I dialed Izzy’s Detroit number.
“Izzy’s not here.”
“ I have a message for him.”
“Who’s this?”
“ Tell him Berger’s in town ”
“Where you staying?”
“The Biltmore, room 204.”
“ He’ll get back to you.”
I hung up and unpacked my carry-on with its bottle of whisky. I carried it and two glasses to the adjoining door giving it a soft rap with my knuckles. Jean opened it and I went in.
Izzy called back the next day in the late morning. He gave an address of a blind pig across the street from Police Headquarters, above a bail bondsman’s office. I was to meet him there at four o’clock that afternoon. This blind pig served reporters and police alike who came there with potato soup and a free lunch if they bought a shot of booze.
I promised Jean I’d take her shopping after I’d seen the man about his dog. She didn’t want to wait so I gave her a couple of c notes to do her own shopping. She had no argument with that.
Copyright ©
ramfire
... [
2007-05-03 09:53:09]
(Date/Time posted on
site)
Advertisments:
|
|
|
|
|
|
Sorry, comments are no longer allowed for anonymous, please register for a free membership to access this feature and more
|
|
All comments are owned by the poster. Your Poetry
Dot Com is not responsible for the content of any
comment.
That said, if you find an offensive comment, please
contact via the FeedBack Form with details, including poem title
etc.
|
|
|
Re: Big Al 6
(User Rating: 1 )
by iloveyoux12 on
Wednesday, 11th August 2010 @ 02:57:52 PM AEST
(User
Info | Send
a Message)
|
| this is good :) |
|
|
|
· 
Poetry
Community
Members
Areas
Reference
Search
Top
Others
