A Piece of the Action

fruitless, as such efforts usually did, and by the time Moodrow decided to head back to Kate and Greta Bloom, his feet were swollen tight against the sides of his shoes. Trudging up Avenue B, he looked down at his almost-new wing tips and silently wished for the black brogans he’d worn as a patrolman.

Well, he thought, at least Jake Leibowitz hasn’t skipped town. Moodrow had met Paul Maguire for dinner (taking the opportunity to phone Kate and make sure Greta was coming over) and heard the news about Joe Faci. While both had agreed that it couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy, Faci’s execution meant that two new elements would be added to the picture.

Now, Dominick Favara and his people would have to go after Jake Leibowitz. It was a matter of honor. The same principle, honor, apparently applied to the 6th Precinct as well. The crime had been committed on their turf. The manner in which it had been committed (in full view of witnesses; in full view of the victim’s wife) guaranteed a vigorous investigation.

“You know the captain over there?” Maguire had asked.

“Bettino.”

“Yeah, a hard-ass if there ever was one. He hates the word ‘Mafia,’ thinks they bring all Italians down. I went over to the Six around four o’clock and the suits wouldn’t talk to me. The word is Bettino wants the bust for himself. He’s decided that Jake Leibowitz compromised the honor of the Sixth Precinct. His precinct.”

“Wait a second. What makes him so sure Jake Leibowitz was the shooter?”

“He’s got witnesses, Stanley. It happened early this morning while people were going to work.”

“Jesus, this guy is crazy. It’s like he’s jumping off the roof.”

“That’s right. It’s just a matter of who’s gonna play sidewalk.”

Moodrow, within sight of home, felt his energy level rising. He was looking forward to this confrontation. Greta Bloom loved to function as Stanley Moodrow’s conscience. Now, it was his turn.

He took the first steps two at a time, then reconsidered when his feet screamed in protest. Maybe, he thought, I can’t afford to move out of the Lower East Side, but if I watch my pennies, I might be able to afford an elevator building.

The door to his apartment opened before he could turn the key in the lock. Moodrow looked down at Kate’s smiling face and broke into a huge grin. He’d been preoccupied all day, but now that they were face to face, he could scarcely believe his good fortune.

“How’d it go today?” Kate asked.

“It went and it’s gone.” Moodrow, spotting Greta perched on his living room sofa like a bird of prey, settled for a chaste kiss instead of the somewhat more lusty greeting bouncing around in his imagination.

“Are you hungry?”

“Not really. But I’d take a cup of coffee. I’m gonna be up for a while.”

“There’s coffee on the stove. I’ll warm it up.”

“Thanks, Kate. My feet are killing me. I don’t think I could make it to the kitchen.”

“Stanley,” Greta called, “for me you don’t have a ‘hello’?”

“For you I have much more than a ‘hello.’ ” Moodrow dropped into an overstuffed chair and slowly removed his shoes. “I’m not takin’ off the socks, because I don’t wanna see the blood.”

“If you take off the socks, we’ll have to evacuate the premises.” Greta, smiling, pinched her nose.

“Look at it as a genteel version of the third degree. You give me what I want, I’ll wash ’em.”

“Nu, so what is it you want? I don’t mean to kvetch, but I’m an old lady and I need my sleep. It’s ten o’clock, already.”

They were interrupted by Kate returning with a mug of coffee for Moodrow and a cup of tea for Greta. “Am I allowed to stay for this?”

“Allowed?” Moodrow snorted. “We’re not discussing the country’s nuclear secrets here.” He waited for Kate to sit down, before continuing. “Tell me something, Greta,” he said mildly. “Do you know Sarah Leibowitz?”

“Oy,” Greta moaned, “so this is what you want.” She leaned back and folded her arms across her chest. “You’re a bully is what you are. I’m glad your mother isn’t here for this.”

“Cut the crap, Greta.”

“Stanley,” Kate broke in, “is that necessary?

“As a matter of fact, it is necessary. I’m tired and my feet hurt. I don’t wanna be playing Ring-Around-The-Rosie until it’s time to get up tomorrow morning.”

“Stanley,” Greta said, fingering a lace doily spread over the arm of the couch, “do you know your mother made this? She was a wonderful seamstress. She could make anything.”

“Cut the crap, Greta. Do you know Sarah Leibowitz? A simple answer will do here. Yes or no?”

“I see her on the street, I recognize her. I see her in the shul, I nod hello. Is this knowing? Does this make us landsleit?”

“You belong to the same temple?”

“Yes.”

“And when you nod to her, she nods back?”

“I’m not saying no.”

“That’s ‘knowing,’ Greta. It’s enough for what I have in mind.” Moodrow sipped at his coffee, turning away from Greta to wink at Kate. “You having fun?” he asked.

“I think I will be,” Kate responded. “As soon as I figure out what’s going on.”

Moodrow turned back to Greta without commenting. “Did you know the rabbi went to see the police?” he asked.

“I heard. At the market someone mentioned this.”

“The cops were going to hold her for the gun. They were going to charge her with a violation of the Sullivan Act and hold her as a material witness. The rabbi had a talk with the captain and now she’s sitting in her own apartment. She won’t talk to anybody. Won’t even deny that she knows where her son is. As soon as a cop gets within ten feet of her, she starts screaming. Or she throws things. Or she grabs her head and moans in pain.”

“It’s not an act, Stanley. She’s a very nervous woman.”

“Greta, does she clean her house in the morning? Make her bed? Take a shower? Does she cook? Go to the market?” He paused for an answer, but Greta merely shrugged, her eyes widening. “I don’t know why, Greta, but I’m convinced that if she can do all those things, she can answer a few questions.”

Kate shifted her chair closer to Moodrow and Greta. They were staring at each other so intently, Kate felt like she was watching a movie. “I don’t see what this has to do with anything? She’s nervous. She’s not nervous. What difference does it make?”

“He wants I should be a stool pigeon is the point,” Greta huffed. “It’s against my principles.”

“What do you mean, ‘a stool pigeon’? Do you know where Jake Leibowitz is hiding?”

“He wants me to convince my friend to inform on her own son. He should bite his tongue.”

“Your friend?” Moodrow said. His face was blank, his small features immobile in his huge skull. “Sarah Leibowitz is your friend?”

“She’s not a friend friend,” Greta protested. “Stanley, please, I’m begging you. All my life I fought against the cops. I’m telling you we had battles with the police. Informing was the worst crime you could commit. It was worse than murder. I’m an old lady. I can’t change.”

Moodrow leaned back in the chair and managed a quick smile. “Greta, you run into Rosaura Pastoral lately?”

“This is not right.”

“Does she still talk about her ex-boarder? She ever mention Luis Melenguez?” He leaned forward, slapping his palms on his knees. “Maybe now that Melenguez’s widow has gone back to Puerto Rico, you don’t give a shit anymore.”

“This is not right.”

“But why should you care? Sarah Leibowitz is Jewish. She belongs to your shul. Luis Melenguez was just another Puerto Rican immigrant. You have to have loyalties, right? You have to make choices. Isn’t that what you told