Read Online Under the Eye of God by Jerome Charyn - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jerome Charyn
Ads: Link
much credit. I’m one lone bachelor with a dinosaur of a building.”
“Stop it,” Isaac said. “Calder is scared shitless of you . . . and so is J., I suspect. You’re the man behind Sidereal.”
David clapped his very delicate hands; the sound was like an echo from another world. “Bravo,” he said. “I buy up properties, and I sit on them. I never, never sell.”
“How much of the Bronx do you own?”
David picked at his scalp like some man in the middle of a brainstorm.
“You’d have to ask Amanda. She’s the one who keeps count. . . . I would say at least half.”
Isaac could have been sitting with Dr. Mabuse, the mad emperor of the underworld, or with another mad emperor, like Merlin. But this Merlin was a recluse and a landlord.
“And did your own minions torch the Bronx?”
The emperor smiled. “Some of them did, but I purchased most of the properties after they were torched.”
“And what could you possibly gain?” Isaac asked. “The Bronx will never come back. It’s been dying for thirty years.”
“Isaac, Isaac, that’s just a pinch of time. You have to think in centuries if you want to rebuild a borough.”
“But, David,” Isaac pleaded. “You won’t be here.”
“That’s not the point. You can’t create an empire on mortality charts. My strategy is crisp as a church bell. One day, Sidereal Ventures will tear down the Cross Bronx Express and build a highway under the ground. And I won’t put up a maze of shopping malls and warehouses in the old, deserted lots near the Cross Bronx. We’ll have brand-new neighborhoods.”
Isaac began to wail. “Why couldn’t you have told me? I would have helped you swallow up Robert Moses’ fucking tunnel in the sky.”
“Ah,” David said. “But not with Sidereal’s help. And I would have had to step out of the shadows. It was much too risky. I’ll stay where I am.”
That wizard with the narrow chest was the reincarnation of Rothstein. He was Manhattan’s new king of crime. The first AR sat with senators. His whisper went all the way to the White House. He could buy an apartment on Park Avenue, which had a covenant against Jews. Rothstein could bankroll any operation, legal or not. He’d had gambling dens, had owned a piece of the New York Giants, had invested in Broadway shows. That’s how he must have discovered Inez.
“David, are you as secretive as AR?”
The wizard smiled again. “Arnold wasn’t secretive enough. That’s how he got killed. Half the planet knew his steps. He had his own table at Lindy’s, sat there like a clerk. How many times did I meet him there, while he was writing up the day’s receipts on a lick of paper? He would send me out on errands. I’d deliver thirty thousand dollars in a paper sack to some politician or police chief. . . . ”
“But why didn’t you tell me you had your own Inez?”
Isaac had startled the wizard, caught him in a snare. “I don’t visit graveyards, Isaac. Inez is under the ground.”
“But I just said hello to her . . . at Cassandra’s Wall. She has her own helmet of silver hair.”
The wizard’s worry lines disappeared. “Ah, that Inez. She comes with the furniture. She’s a tart.”
“But she didn’t seem out of place with a little band of billionaires.”
“A tart,” David muttered again. “I found her, groomed her, gave her the clothes on her back.”
“Then why is she with those billionaires?”
“Why else? To distract them, to eat out their hearts . . . your lady with the silver hair is my secret agent.”
Isaac didn’t believe the wizard. “What’s her real name?”
“Trudy Winckleman. She was the sensation at a cathouse in Detroit—Isaac, you need all the edge you can when you’re betting a hundred million on one shot.”
Was Manhattan’s king of crime also an imbecile? Wouldn’t those other billionaires have perverted his plans and plied Ms. Trudy Winckleman with hard cash? But Isaac didn’t like David’s tricky
“Stop it,” Isaac said. “Calder is scared shitless of you . . . and so is J., I suspect. You’re the man behind Sidereal.”
David clapped his very delicate hands; the sound was like an echo from another world. “Bravo,” he said. “I buy up properties, and I sit on them. I never, never sell.”
“How much of the Bronx do you own?”
David picked at his scalp like some man in the middle of a brainstorm.
“You’d have to ask Amanda. She’s the one who keeps count. . . . I would say at least half.”
Isaac could have been sitting with Dr. Mabuse, the mad emperor of the underworld, or with another mad emperor, like Merlin. But this Merlin was a recluse and a landlord.
“And did your own minions torch the Bronx?”
The emperor smiled. “Some of them did, but I purchased most of the properties after they were torched.”
“And what could you possibly gain?” Isaac asked. “The Bronx will never come back. It’s been dying for thirty years.”
“Isaac, Isaac, that’s just a pinch of time. You have to think in centuries if you want to rebuild a borough.”
“But, David,” Isaac pleaded. “You won’t be here.”
“That’s not the point. You can’t create an empire on mortality charts. My strategy is crisp as a church bell. One day, Sidereal Ventures will tear down the Cross Bronx Express and build a highway under the ground. And I won’t put up a maze of shopping malls and warehouses in the old, deserted lots near the Cross Bronx. We’ll have brand-new neighborhoods.”
Isaac began to wail. “Why couldn’t you have told me? I would have helped you swallow up Robert Moses’ fucking tunnel in the sky.”
“Ah,” David said. “But not with Sidereal’s help. And I would have had to step out of the shadows. It was much too risky. I’ll stay where I am.”
That wizard with the narrow chest was the reincarnation of Rothstein. He was Manhattan’s new king of crime. The first AR sat with senators. His whisper went all the way to the White House. He could buy an apartment on Park Avenue, which had a covenant against Jews. Rothstein could bankroll any operation, legal or not. He’d had gambling dens, had owned a piece of the New York Giants, had invested in Broadway shows. That’s how he must have discovered Inez.
“David, are you as secretive as AR?”
The wizard smiled again. “Arnold wasn’t secretive enough. That’s how he got killed. Half the planet knew his steps. He had his own table at Lindy’s, sat there like a clerk. How many times did I meet him there, while he was writing up the day’s receipts on a lick of paper? He would send me out on errands. I’d deliver thirty thousand dollars in a paper sack to some politician or police chief. . . . ”
“But why didn’t you tell me you had your own Inez?”
Isaac had startled the wizard, caught him in a snare. “I don’t visit graveyards, Isaac. Inez is under the ground.”
“But I just said hello to her . . . at Cassandra’s Wall. She has her own helmet of silver hair.”
The wizard’s worry lines disappeared. “Ah, that Inez. She comes with the furniture. She’s a tart.”
“But she didn’t seem out of place with a little band of billionaires.”
“A tart,” David muttered again. “I found her, groomed her, gave her the clothes on her back.”
“Then why is she with those billionaires?”
“Why else? To distract them, to eat out their hearts . . . your lady with the silver hair is my secret agent.”
Isaac didn’t believe the wizard. “What’s her real name?”
“Trudy Winckleman. She was the sensation at a cathouse in Detroit—Isaac, you need all the edge you can when you’re betting a hundred million on one shot.”
Was Manhattan’s king of crime also an imbecile? Wouldn’t those other billionaires have perverted his plans and plied Ms. Trudy Winckleman with hard cash? But Isaac didn’t like David’s tricky
Similar Books
