Read Online The Iron Will of Shoeshine Cats by Hesh Kestin - Free Book Online
Authors: Hesh Kestin
Tags: Fiction, Coming of Age, Crime, History, Young men, New York (N.Y.), Jewish, organized crime, Nineteen sixties, Gangsters, Jewish criminals
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probably themselves they don’t got a heart. With you it’s like Robin Hood or something.”
“You’re saying I rob from the rich to give to the poor?” Shushan said.
“I’m not saying one way or the other, Mr. Shushan,” Kennedy said. “I’m saying how people react. Okay, maybe there’s an element of, you know, the man’s a hoodlum. But it’s like he’s
our
hoodlum. Them dagos, they don’t have the sympathy of the working man.”
“And the working man, Mr. Cats,” Cohen said. “That’s who is going to be your jury.”
“And there’s going to
be
a jury because you two working men arrested me, isn’t that right?”
“Aw, that is so unfair, Mr. Shushan,” Kennedy said. “We arrested you because it’s our job. It’s like saying a fisherman has something against an individual striped bass. Or a hunter against a particular deer.”
Terri cleared her throat so vigorously it was like a call to order, then stood. “If it’s all right with Bambi here, I’ve got patients to see. It was so nice meeting the men who arrested my brother.”
“She’s just kidding,” Shushan said. “She kids too. We kid each other. Nobody is holding any grudges or bad feelings. Isn’t that right, Esther?”
Terri nodded. “I always find it odd how nice some people can be to those who hurt them. I see it every day in my practice. People come in and they’ve been maimed by the people they love. I guess it’s not so much of a stretch to love the people who maim you.”
The two cops went white, Kennedy especially, the color draining from his face almost perceptively, like wine out of a clear bottle. “That’s not it at all,” he said. “You got us wrong.”
“Maybe,” Terri said. “But all I know is that if my brother goes away it’s you two who sent him there.”
“Not at all, miss,” Cohen said. “That’s for the DA and the judge and jury. We’re just agents of the... of the...”
“The system,” Shushan said. “It’s okay. I never expected different. So you two guys, you have another drink. And you, Joe College, you make sure my sister gets to her place. This is a rough town. A person could get mugged on the street. Ain’t that right, officers? And with these two dicks up here with me the odds are even worse. So take a walk with my sister, kid.”
“Sure,” I said, standing. “If that’s what you—”
“I want what you want, kid,” Shushan said from his crate on the floor. “Just make sure you come back. You know what else my mother said?”
“No,” I said. “I don’t.”
“On n’est jamais si malheureux qu’on croit, ni si heureux qu’on espère.”
The accent was queer, but I got it.
One is never as unhappy as one thinks, nor as happy as one hopes.
To the cops it was Greek, or maybe Yiddish.
8.
In the nineteen-sixties the Upper East Side of Manhattan was hardly a dangerous place. It was in fact the best neighborhood in the city, with leafy streets, museums, elegant shops, drugstores with real soda fountains—the amenities of a village with the resources of a major city. Your neighbor might be an Astor or Rockefeller—or a Feinberg, O’Rourke or D’Angelo. On Lexington Avenue you could eat
sole meunière
served by a waiter named Sol at a restaurant called El Sol and right next door get your shoes resoled. Bankers and brokers lived here, but also bartenders and shop-owners and floor-walkers in the midtown department stores. By all odds it was the safest neighborhood in the city, not least because it was the richest, with more cops per resident than anywhere in the five boroughs. It was also the least racially mixed. Germans lived in the eighties, Czechs in the nineties, but the number of resident non-whites was so low the student body of the Upper East Side’s public elementary schools—the neighborhood was sprinkled with private academies—had the racial profile of a segregated white grade school in Selma, Alabama. Suspicious doormen seemed to be everywhere, a
“You’re saying I rob from the rich to give to the poor?” Shushan said.
“I’m not saying one way or the other, Mr. Shushan,” Kennedy said. “I’m saying how people react. Okay, maybe there’s an element of, you know, the man’s a hoodlum. But it’s like he’s
our
hoodlum. Them dagos, they don’t have the sympathy of the working man.”
“And the working man, Mr. Cats,” Cohen said. “That’s who is going to be your jury.”
“And there’s going to
be
a jury because you two working men arrested me, isn’t that right?”
“Aw, that is so unfair, Mr. Shushan,” Kennedy said. “We arrested you because it’s our job. It’s like saying a fisherman has something against an individual striped bass. Or a hunter against a particular deer.”
Terri cleared her throat so vigorously it was like a call to order, then stood. “If it’s all right with Bambi here, I’ve got patients to see. It was so nice meeting the men who arrested my brother.”
“She’s just kidding,” Shushan said. “She kids too. We kid each other. Nobody is holding any grudges or bad feelings. Isn’t that right, Esther?”
Terri nodded. “I always find it odd how nice some people can be to those who hurt them. I see it every day in my practice. People come in and they’ve been maimed by the people they love. I guess it’s not so much of a stretch to love the people who maim you.”
The two cops went white, Kennedy especially, the color draining from his face almost perceptively, like wine out of a clear bottle. “That’s not it at all,” he said. “You got us wrong.”
“Maybe,” Terri said. “But all I know is that if my brother goes away it’s you two who sent him there.”
“Not at all, miss,” Cohen said. “That’s for the DA and the judge and jury. We’re just agents of the... of the...”
“The system,” Shushan said. “It’s okay. I never expected different. So you two guys, you have another drink. And you, Joe College, you make sure my sister gets to her place. This is a rough town. A person could get mugged on the street. Ain’t that right, officers? And with these two dicks up here with me the odds are even worse. So take a walk with my sister, kid.”
“Sure,” I said, standing. “If that’s what you—”
“I want what you want, kid,” Shushan said from his crate on the floor. “Just make sure you come back. You know what else my mother said?”
“No,” I said. “I don’t.”
“On n’est jamais si malheureux qu’on croit, ni si heureux qu’on espère.”
The accent was queer, but I got it.
One is never as unhappy as one thinks, nor as happy as one hopes.
To the cops it was Greek, or maybe Yiddish.
8.
In the nineteen-sixties the Upper East Side of Manhattan was hardly a dangerous place. It was in fact the best neighborhood in the city, with leafy streets, museums, elegant shops, drugstores with real soda fountains—the amenities of a village with the resources of a major city. Your neighbor might be an Astor or Rockefeller—or a Feinberg, O’Rourke or D’Angelo. On Lexington Avenue you could eat
sole meunière
served by a waiter named Sol at a restaurant called El Sol and right next door get your shoes resoled. Bankers and brokers lived here, but also bartenders and shop-owners and floor-walkers in the midtown department stores. By all odds it was the safest neighborhood in the city, not least because it was the richest, with more cops per resident than anywhere in the five boroughs. It was also the least racially mixed. Germans lived in the eighties, Czechs in the nineties, but the number of resident non-whites was so low the student body of the Upper East Side’s public elementary schools—the neighborhood was sprinkled with private academies—had the racial profile of a segregated white grade school in Selma, Alabama. Suspicious doormen seemed to be everywhere, a
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