Read Online As Time Goes By by Michael Walsh - Free Book Online
Authors: Michael Walsh
Tags: Fiction, Media Tie-In
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cer tainly put on no airs. There was a violin shop on the ground floor and four levels of flats above it. Next door was a kosher wine shop—still legal, despite Prohibi tion. Around the corner was a movie theater and a gro cery store.
"It's nice," said Rick. That was not entirely a lie; it was nicer than his place.
They stood on the sidewalk for a moment together, sharing the same thoughts. The daughter of Solomon Horowitz deserves better than this, thought Rick, surprised; the daughter of Solomon Horowitz is going to get better than this, thought Lois, determined.
They walked up two flights of stairs to the third floor. Rick later learned that Solomon Horowitz had an aver sion to living either on a low floor, where someone unwelcome could climb through his window, or on the top floor, where someone equally unwelcome might descend from the roof. In business he liked to play things right down the middle, and that was the way he lived as well.
Lois rapped on a door near the head of the stairs. "It's me!" she said. "I'm home."
Rick could sense that he was being observed from the peephole, just for a moment, and then the door was opened and Lois stepped across the threshold. "This is Mr. Baline," she said. "I fainted on the el. He helped me up. Be nice to him."
The next thing he knew he was face-to-face with Solomon Horowitz, the Beer Baron of the Bronx.
A short, stout man with the iron grip of a steelworker looked at him as if he were eyeballing a dray horse. Horowitz was about five feet five inches tall and must have weighed close to two hundred pounds, very little of it fat. He wore a rumpled blue serge suit, a white shirt unbuttoned at the collar, and a loud floral tie. His shoes were off, and as Rick couldn't help noticing, his socks had been darned once or twice. To look at him, you'd never know he was one of the most successful gangsters in New York.
"A man who does mine a good turn has done me a good turn," he said. "And him I reward. You mar ried?"
"No."
"Like music?"
"If it's good."
"Drink?"
"As much as the next guy."
"You a lush?"
"Not yet."
"Got a head for business?"
"Depends on what it is."
"Can you handle yourself in a fight?"
"Sure."
"Ever use a gun?"
"No, but I'm willing to learn."
"Are you a coward or a fegeleh?"
"No."
"You want to shtup my daughter?"
"Daddy!" cried Lois.
Rick looked at her. Her eyes told him not to, so he looked back at Mr. Horowitz. "No," he lied.
"Good; that you can forget about. I'm reserving her for a rich shaygets." Horowitz resumed his interroga tion: "What's your father do?"
"Never met the man."
"Dead?"
"That's what they tell me."
"Mother?"
"Only one."
"You afraid of anything besides her?"
"Just being a loser."
"You get along with the shvartzers?"
"Well enough," he said.
"You looking for a job?"
"You could talk me into it," said Rick.
"Nightclub work okay?"
"You bet."
Solomon Horowitz looked Yitzik Baline up, down, and sideways.
"The cut of this one's jib I like," he finally an nounced. "Unemployed I can always use. See me to morrow, this address." With that he began to close the door in Rick's face.
From behind her father's back, Lois blew him a kiss. "Good night, Ricky," she said. "See you again someday."
As he waved good-bye to her, he realized that he had forgotten all about his mother's knish. Right then and there, he knew he was in love.
C HAPTER S EVEN
New York, July 1931
The milk trucks came over the rise in Bedford Hills at dawn, just as Tick-Tock had said they would.
"Here you go, kid," Solly said to Rick, handing him the revolver. It was a blue steel Smith & Wesson .38, primed and ready, with all six chambers loaded, and the way the daylight glinted off it, you could practically shave with it.
Rick nodded confidently. "Thanks, Solly," he said. This was his first armed action, and he was ready for it
It was six-fifteen on the morning of July 4,1931, and already it was hot and humid and stifling. The milk trucks belonged to
"It's nice," said Rick. That was not entirely a lie; it was nicer than his place.
They stood on the sidewalk for a moment together, sharing the same thoughts. The daughter of Solomon Horowitz deserves better than this, thought Rick, surprised; the daughter of Solomon Horowitz is going to get better than this, thought Lois, determined.
They walked up two flights of stairs to the third floor. Rick later learned that Solomon Horowitz had an aver sion to living either on a low floor, where someone unwelcome could climb through his window, or on the top floor, where someone equally unwelcome might descend from the roof. In business he liked to play things right down the middle, and that was the way he lived as well.
Lois rapped on a door near the head of the stairs. "It's me!" she said. "I'm home."
Rick could sense that he was being observed from the peephole, just for a moment, and then the door was opened and Lois stepped across the threshold. "This is Mr. Baline," she said. "I fainted on the el. He helped me up. Be nice to him."
The next thing he knew he was face-to-face with Solomon Horowitz, the Beer Baron of the Bronx.
A short, stout man with the iron grip of a steelworker looked at him as if he were eyeballing a dray horse. Horowitz was about five feet five inches tall and must have weighed close to two hundred pounds, very little of it fat. He wore a rumpled blue serge suit, a white shirt unbuttoned at the collar, and a loud floral tie. His shoes were off, and as Rick couldn't help noticing, his socks had been darned once or twice. To look at him, you'd never know he was one of the most successful gangsters in New York.
"A man who does mine a good turn has done me a good turn," he said. "And him I reward. You mar ried?"
"No."
"Like music?"
"If it's good."
"Drink?"
"As much as the next guy."
"You a lush?"
"Not yet."
"Got a head for business?"
"Depends on what it is."
"Can you handle yourself in a fight?"
"Sure."
"Ever use a gun?"
"No, but I'm willing to learn."
"Are you a coward or a fegeleh?"
"No."
"You want to shtup my daughter?"
"Daddy!" cried Lois.
Rick looked at her. Her eyes told him not to, so he looked back at Mr. Horowitz. "No," he lied.
"Good; that you can forget about. I'm reserving her for a rich shaygets." Horowitz resumed his interroga tion: "What's your father do?"
"Never met the man."
"Dead?"
"That's what they tell me."
"Mother?"
"Only one."
"You afraid of anything besides her?"
"Just being a loser."
"You get along with the shvartzers?"
"Well enough," he said.
"You looking for a job?"
"You could talk me into it," said Rick.
"Nightclub work okay?"
"You bet."
Solomon Horowitz looked Yitzik Baline up, down, and sideways.
"The cut of this one's jib I like," he finally an nounced. "Unemployed I can always use. See me to morrow, this address." With that he began to close the door in Rick's face.
From behind her father's back, Lois blew him a kiss. "Good night, Ricky," she said. "See you again someday."
As he waved good-bye to her, he realized that he had forgotten all about his mother's knish. Right then and there, he knew he was in love.
C HAPTER S EVEN
New York, July 1931
The milk trucks came over the rise in Bedford Hills at dawn, just as Tick-Tock had said they would.
"Here you go, kid," Solly said to Rick, handing him the revolver. It was a blue steel Smith & Wesson .38, primed and ready, with all six chambers loaded, and the way the daylight glinted off it, you could practically shave with it.
Rick nodded confidently. "Thanks, Solly," he said. This was his first armed action, and he was ready for it
It was six-fifteen on the morning of July 4,1931, and already it was hot and humid and stifling. The milk trucks belonged to
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