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Authors: Howard Engel
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pretty distorted picture of what the world was like when Abe wasn’t there to put in some money or some muscle.”
I waited. I didn’t want to fill the pause with another question until I got a good answer to the last one. She went on: “It’s not Abe they hate, you know. It’s what he’s done to them. They couldn’t tell you about it in so many words, but that’s what it is. He’s spoiled them from having ordinary decent lives. Bad enough having a criminal as a father! But having a father who’s as bull-headed as Abe is a combination that’s hard to beat. That’s another thing: Abe hates losing. That goes for bets and for people. That’s why I went to live in Hunter.”
“Where?”
“Hunter. It’s in New York. You know the Catskills?”
“Oh. I think my parents stayed at a hotel in the Catskills. But as you were saying?”
“I’m a sentimental old woman, Mr. Cooperman, and you can discount everything I’ve said, but I know that in spite of everything he has done to hurt them, in spite of everything they’ve done to hurt him, he loves his kids. I know it.”
“But they can’t stand him. I get the picture.” Paulette didn’t respond except by making a face. I thought I’d better move on. “Paulette, I’ve tried to get Lily to talk to me. She won’t play. Do you think you could help me? I know that it’s asking a lot.”
“Not as much as you think, Benny. Lily and I came to an understanding a long time ago. Remember we’ve got a lot in common. Oh, we’ve had a great deal to laugh at over the years about that crazy, crooked bastard we were both married to. I hear what you’re saying and I’ll see what I can do. I can’t be fairer than that, can I?”
I had run out of questions. I knew I could talk to her all day and hear all sorts of interesting stuff about her colourful life, but it wouldn’t get me anywhere except maybe by accident. To finish up, I asked her about Hart’s difficulties about the Triumph that she had mentioned on telephone. She gave me the details and I scribbled a few names on a piece of paper.
Paulette poured another drink for herself and tried to refill my glass, but I covered it with my hand. The last thing I needed on this long day was to be high on top of everything else. I thanked Paulette for her help and paved the way for a return visit when I was deeper into the investigation. She put down her glass long enough to see me out of the house. I could tell that she wasn’t getting all of the company she could accommodate, but it was a busy day. I said goodbye at the front door, and she let me shake her hand, which was the only part of her that looked like it had seen more years than Abe Wise himself had.
SEVEN
In the Diana Sweets, between sips of coffee, I took the book out of my pocket. It looked like a novel, it was the right size for a novel, but it did say “true” on the back and on the front as well, when you really took a second look. Haste to the Gallows was a catchy title. I tried to get some idea of the contents from the back cover. A woman named Mary Tatarski was the subject of McStu’s nonfiction sabbatical. I’d seen the name somewhere recently. Yes, it was the case that Duncan Harvey, a local architect, was perennially trying to get revived. In the centre of the book was a block of black-and-white pictures: a pretty young face in a high-school year-book, a soldier in uniform, a confused-looking middle-aged woman with a kerchief covering her dark hair. There were others, but I was growing curious about the text. I started reading the first chapter and lost myself in it for some time until I felt that I was being observed. It was an uncomfortable feeling. I put the book away. Looking around the restaurant, I saw nothing unusual: lawyers were joking over coffee, storekeepers were unwinding after a bad half-hour with the bank manager. I thought saw a shadow pass across the window. For a moment, had a sense of relief when I saw that it was only
I waited. I didn’t want to fill the pause with another question until I got a good answer to the last one. She went on: “It’s not Abe they hate, you know. It’s what he’s done to them. They couldn’t tell you about it in so many words, but that’s what it is. He’s spoiled them from having ordinary decent lives. Bad enough having a criminal as a father! But having a father who’s as bull-headed as Abe is a combination that’s hard to beat. That’s another thing: Abe hates losing. That goes for bets and for people. That’s why I went to live in Hunter.”
“Where?”
“Hunter. It’s in New York. You know the Catskills?”
“Oh. I think my parents stayed at a hotel in the Catskills. But as you were saying?”
“I’m a sentimental old woman, Mr. Cooperman, and you can discount everything I’ve said, but I know that in spite of everything he has done to hurt them, in spite of everything they’ve done to hurt him, he loves his kids. I know it.”
“But they can’t stand him. I get the picture.” Paulette didn’t respond except by making a face. I thought I’d better move on. “Paulette, I’ve tried to get Lily to talk to me. She won’t play. Do you think you could help me? I know that it’s asking a lot.”
“Not as much as you think, Benny. Lily and I came to an understanding a long time ago. Remember we’ve got a lot in common. Oh, we’ve had a great deal to laugh at over the years about that crazy, crooked bastard we were both married to. I hear what you’re saying and I’ll see what I can do. I can’t be fairer than that, can I?”
I had run out of questions. I knew I could talk to her all day and hear all sorts of interesting stuff about her colourful life, but it wouldn’t get me anywhere except maybe by accident. To finish up, I asked her about Hart’s difficulties about the Triumph that she had mentioned on telephone. She gave me the details and I scribbled a few names on a piece of paper.
Paulette poured another drink for herself and tried to refill my glass, but I covered it with my hand. The last thing I needed on this long day was to be high on top of everything else. I thanked Paulette for her help and paved the way for a return visit when I was deeper into the investigation. She put down her glass long enough to see me out of the house. I could tell that she wasn’t getting all of the company she could accommodate, but it was a busy day. I said goodbye at the front door, and she let me shake her hand, which was the only part of her that looked like it had seen more years than Abe Wise himself had.
SEVEN
In the Diana Sweets, between sips of coffee, I took the book out of my pocket. It looked like a novel, it was the right size for a novel, but it did say “true” on the back and on the front as well, when you really took a second look. Haste to the Gallows was a catchy title. I tried to get some idea of the contents from the back cover. A woman named Mary Tatarski was the subject of McStu’s nonfiction sabbatical. I’d seen the name somewhere recently. Yes, it was the case that Duncan Harvey, a local architect, was perennially trying to get revived. In the centre of the book was a block of black-and-white pictures: a pretty young face in a high-school year-book, a soldier in uniform, a confused-looking middle-aged woman with a kerchief covering her dark hair. There were others, but I was growing curious about the text. I started reading the first chapter and lost myself in it for some time until I felt that I was being observed. It was an uncomfortable feeling. I put the book away. Looking around the restaurant, I saw nothing unusual: lawyers were joking over coffee, storekeepers were unwinding after a bad half-hour with the bank manager. I thought saw a shadow pass across the window. For a moment, had a sense of relief when I saw that it was only
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