“What did you get?”
“Scared shitless! That’s what I got. Breaking and entering is too real for my system. I didn’t like it that one time and it’s lasted me ever since. Abe was different. He didn’t have any nerves in those days. He walked into a house and went through all the drawers like it was his own place and he was looking for his lost car keys. He found a box of jewellery that time. It was a tortoise-shell box. Ain’t that funny? I can still see it! There were some valuable pieces. Abe could tell the good stuff from the fake, which he didn’t bother with.”
“You never went back with him?”
“Not me! Anyway, he soon stopped doing break-ins. The cops were getting more squad cars back then. There were more cops around and they kept a good lookout. That was in the days when they still rattled doorknobs along St. Andrew Street to see if anybody’d knocked off a store. That’s a long time ago, Mr. Cooperman.”
“I thought you said Abe was fearless? What was he afraid of?”
“Some old woman got herself killed by a burglar over on Russell Avenue. The cops kept their eyes open after that. The paper was crying for law and order. In those days it sounded original. That’s when Abe quit doing houses.”
“Didn’t he do them again when the heat died down?”
“Naw. By then he’d discovered the weed. He called it ‘the weed of crime.’ You ever listen to the old Shadow program? I guess you’re too young.”
“You’re talking about marijuana, right?”
“It became big in the sixties. You couldn’t have had the sixties without it. The sixties ran on marijuana. That’s no secret. Abe got some retired farmer with a bad memory to rent him a field or two. That’s where he really got into gear. He had taken four or five crops off those fields before they busted the farmer. And he didn’t say anything. I mean, even if he wanted to snitch, he was too old and senile, he couldn’t do much damage. Stopped Abe’s operation, that’s all. But, by that time, he had other people sticking their necks out for him and he was learning about the import-export business.”
“And after that he never looked back. Am I right?”
Dave nodded and took a sip from a can of Coke. Classic, of course. Through the windows of the restaurant, I couldn’t see Mickey’s car, but I knew better than to think that he had found something more interesting to do. “What’s Abe up to these days?”
“What a limey who works for me calls ‘the lot.’ There ain’t anything he isn’t into. I’m talkin’ girlies, I’m talkin’ hard drugs, heroin, cocaine, crack. I’m talkin’ aliens, graft, protection, numbers and booze.”
“Tell me about the cigarettes.”
“That’s yesterday’s paper. Forget it. But bootlegging, he’s into in a big way.”
He took another sip from his Coke and another helping of fried rice from the big dish sitting between us. “You see, Mr. Cooperman,” he said, using my name for only the third time in half an hour, “Abe knows how to diversify. Mickey Armstrong is his right-hand-man. He coordinates all of the sections. There are some Bay Street lawyers in Toronto who get orders from Abe through Mickey.
“Take drugs for instance. For the last thirty years, Abe’s been bringing dope into Canada from the Pearl Islands in the Pacific off Panama. He’s got an operation in San Miguel that has to be seen to be believed. While the Horsemen are checkin’ out the Medellin cartels, and putting the diplomatic heat on the well-known Colombian exporters, Abe’s dealing easy as you please out of Panama!”
“The Pearl Islands belong to Panama?”
“Sure. They own the real estate. But the movers are all Colombian.”
I nodded, although I’m not sure I grasped all of the details or implications. I wanted to change the subject before my circuits overloaded.
“Tell me about Abe, himself. Is he a killer?”
“Abe? No! Not a face-to-face killer, except for- Yeah, I guess there have been a few times. He-” He broke off abruptly. “He has other people do for him and then only when there’s no other way. Abe likes to see himself as a family man. He treats what’s left of his family like they’re made from Czech glass. His mother lived well into her eighties. I don’t think Abe’s got a mean bone in his body. What I want to say is, he gets no kick from kicking ass, you know what I mean? He’d just as soon live and let live. He’s got an over-developed business sense. He’ll protect his interests when they’re threatened. I’ve seen it happen. When he has to, he’ll hit, hard, fast and smart, leaving no loose ends.”
“Tell me about his family, Mr. Rogers.”
“Call me Dave, for crying out loud. I get ‘mister’ at the bank.” I gave him leave to use my given name too. He was picking at his teeth now, with a toothpick he must have brought with him, since I didn’t see any on the table. “Family? He’s divorced two wives and has a pair of grown kids in their thirties. I don’t know which one hates him most. They’ll dance at his funeral, if you ask me.”
“Good! I think we’re beginning to get somewhere.”
“In his private life, Abe could never get it right. He was Mr. Know-all. You couldn’t tell him anything. And look where it’s got him. Nothing but a big zero! Now, I’m not usually the one to say ‘I told you so,’ but Abe and me have been dating girls since we were in our teens. I could never get that guy to listen to me about women or about kids. Now I’ve got three of the best kids in the world. You couldn’t want better. But they could have turned out as rotten and spoiled as Abe’s did.” At this point, Dave passed me a collection of pocket-weary photographs of his family. I looked, admired and handed them back. He examined the faces in the photographs before returning them to his pocket. “Yeah, they’re good kids.”
“I’m trying to get a sense of Abe’s history, Dave,” I said. “Could you go back to the beginning. Who was the first wife?”
“Paulette. Paulette Staples. Paulette was a waitress at the Di on St. Andrew Street. She worked at the Crystal and the Columbia too, but she was at the Di when Abe first saw her looking like Myrna Loy in the movies. She was a knockout. I mean she was really, you know, built … She … Anyway, Abe got her up the stump before he knew her last name. That was Hart. He was named after Abe’s dead father, the way we do. Hart’s always been a pain in the ass for Abe. He could never do anything right for his old man. He was the kinda kid who shouldn’t have had Abe Wise for a father. He was always putting his foot wrong, trying to get his old man’s attention and then falling on his butt. That was when he gave a damn, before he started feeling his wild oats. Then he did what he wanted and left it to Abe to pay his speeding fines and get him out of the lock-up. Hart’s got a bigger record than Abe has.”
“They hate one another?”
“Amounts to that. Abe can’t see where he went wrong with the kid and hates him for not being easier to raise. I think Paulette divorced Abe because he wouldn’t let Hart take a few falls for himself just to see what it feels like. She moved away to the States for a few years, somewhere in the Catskills, just so she didn’t have to see those two killing one another. She’s back now and still clucking and cooing over that rotten kid like she never left town.”
“And Hart?”
“Oh, he’s still in town. He’s got an apartment on Lake Street, near the Armouries.”
“What does he do for a living?”
“Are you joking or something? Nothing! That’s what he does. Oh, I guess you could say he bought and sold antique cars, but that was never a living.”