It was now three minutes to ten, and Ricco was telling Celia to bet her ace.
Oh, please, Benny thought, if there is a God in heaven, please let The Jackass break his leg.
“Hundred for the ace,” Celia said.
“I’ll see you,” Morrie Goldstein said.
“Benny?”
“Raise it a hundred,” Benny said.
“What’ve you got there, a lousy pair of jacks?” Celia said, looking over at the open jack of diamonds.
“Be three of them on the next card,” Benny said, and grinned.
It was two minutes to ten.
“Two hundred to you, Angie,” Ricco said.
“Call.”
“I’ll take a chance too,” Ricco said, and anted, and then turned to the player on his left. “What do you say, Ralph?”
“What the hell,” Ralph said, and put his two hundred in the pot.
“Here we go,” Ricco said, and began dealing.
He gave Benny his third jack just as the hands on Celia’s kitchen clock reached the hour. Benny closed his eyes, and opened them again in the next instant, when the kitchen door was kicked in. A tall skinny man with a nylon stocking pulled over his face (always a goddamn nylon stocking, Benny thought, and sighed) and a stupid white hat pulled low on his forehead and a forty-five automatic pistol in his fist, barged into the room and said, “Don’t nobody move,” the automatic covering the table like a cannon over the Strait of Gibraltar. Nobody moved. Everybody knew better than to move because, with the possible exception of Celia, each of the players in the game had occasionally been on the other end of a cannon pointing at somebody, and they knew it was prudent not to move in such circumstances. So the tall skinny man with the stocking over his head moved swiftly around the table and scooped up all of the money there — exactly fifty-two thousand dollars, since at least some of the players were just as dishonest as Benny and had brought into the game less than the required admission stake. The man with the stocking over his head put all of the money into a large A & P shopping bag, and then backed toward the door, still waving the automatic.
He slammed the door behind him.
Benny Napkins wanted to weep.
Detective Lieutenant Alexander Bozzaris was heading up the street for Celia Mescolata’s apartment — where he intended to bust the card game unless the players took up a collection in his honor — when he saw a tall skinny guy running in his direction. The guy had a nylon stocking pulled over his head and a shopping bag in his hands. It looked as if dollar bills were spilling out of the shopping bag. Bozzaris right away figured something was up.
“Stop!” he yelled. “Police!”
11: Dominick the Guru
Dominick was wearing a plaid shirt, blue jeans, brown cotton gloves, and black track shoes, his usual working uniform. In his right hand he carried a black leather bag containing the tools of his trade, namely: a hand drill and bits of various sizes, a jimmy, a complete set of picklocks, several punches and skeleton keys, a pair of nippers, a hacksaw, and a crowbar designed so that it could be taken apart and carried in three sections. Slung over his left shoulder was a laundry bag full of various items he had collected that night. The combined weight of the two bags made it somewhat difficult to negotiate the iron rungs of the fire escapes running up the rear wall of the building. But then, every occupation has its hazards.
Dominick had cased the building for three weeks running, and had decided that tonight, Thursday, would be a good time for a hit. Thursday night was maid’s night off, which meant that a lot of the tenants went out to eat, which further meant that their apartments would be empty for long stretches at a time. Dominick was a careful worker and did not like to be interrupted unexpectedly. It was now a little past ten-thirty, and he had worked three apartments already and was thinking that perhaps he ought to head for home. But he was still feeling energetic and, in fact, invigorated (it was funny the way breaking and entry could buoy up a man’s sagging spirits), and so he decided to rip off one more place before retiring for the night. The apartment he chose was on the tenth floor rear, with the fire escape just outside a darkened window. The room was not air-conditioned; the window was wide open. Dominick could only assume that the tenants were out-of-towners who had just moved to New York.
He crouched on the fire escape for a long time, peering into the room. The door leading to the rest of the apartment was closed, and so it was impossible to tell whether or not anyone was in one of the other rooms. But he could hear no sounds, could see no telltale sliver of light showing in the crack at the bottom of the closed door. He eased himself into the room and padded across it in his track shoes. He put his ear against the door and listened. He could still hear nothing. Satisfied, he took a small flashlight from his pocket and looked around.
The room was a bedroom, not the master bedroom, worse luck. Single bed against the wall, framed print over it. Worthless. Dresser on the opposite wall, small alarm clock on its top. Likewise worthless. Easy chair and ottoman near a closed door, probably a closet. Dominick opened the door and flashed the light inside. Three empty wire hangers. Great. On the shelf over the bar, a fishing creel and a man’s gray fedora. He was beginning to think he should have quit when he was ahead, and was moving toward the door again, about to explore the rest of the apartment, when he heard voices in the corridor outside. He ducked quickly into the closet, barely getting the door closed before the lights in the room snapped on.
“Why can’t I stay up to watch Johnny Carson?” a boy’s voice asked.
“Because it’s time you went to bed,” a woman’s voice said.
“My mother lets me stay up till twelve,” the boy said.
“That’s a lie. Besides, your mother isn’t here.”
“It’s the truth, I swear.”
Boy, what bullshit, Dominick thought.
“Could I have a glass of milk?” the boy asked.
“You’ve already had a glass of milk,” the woman answered.
Tell him, Dominick thought. Put the little bastard to bed.
“I want you to say your prayers and then get under the covers,” the woman said.
Dominick heard some movement outside, probably the kid shuffling over to the side of the bed and getting on his knees. Boy, what bullshit, he thought.
“Now I lay me down to sleep,” the boy said, “I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take. Bless Mama and Papa.”
Dominick shrugged. Some more shuffling outside, the sound of bedsprings creaking as the kid climbed in.
“Good night now,” the woman said.
“Good night,” the boy said.
Footsteps going to the door.
“I forgot to take off my watch,” the boy said. “I don’t like to hear it ticking when I sleep.”
Good, Dominick thought. Take it off and kiss it good-by.
Footsteps coming past the closet to the bed again. Footsteps going from the bed across the room to the dresser. Footsteps going to the door again.