Howard Engel: A City Called July

“This town should have asked you a month ago.”

“And there’s Nathan,” added my father.

“Who’s Nathan?”

“He’s the other brother. He’s the youngest, some sort of artist making statues. He has a workshop or studio you call it, someplace near the Bolduc yard on Facer Street.”

“He took Doris Feinberg all over it,” Ma added, “but she didn’t see anything she liked. She tried to give him a tip for just looking. Doris says he’s expensive.”

“Is that the whole family, then? Sid, Larry and Nathan?”

“What is this, Benny: Twenty Questions?” Ma asked.

“He’s on a case,” Pa shrugged, like he was in on it from the beginning. “Being tight-lipped,” he explained.

“Sid Geller’s in with a bad bunch, I hear,” said Ma, looking at the irises.

“What bunch is that?”

“I’m just repeating gossip. That’s the sum total of what I know. So, I can’t help you there. Is it Sid you’re investigating, Benny?”

“Wait, wasn’t there something in the Beacon about Larry?” Pa was the quiet member of the family, but he didn’t miss much.

“I’m doing a job for Rabbi Meltzer and Saul Tepperman. It’s hush-hush right now, but I’ll be able to take you into my confidence by the end of the week.”

“Benny,” Ma said. “You look so serious when you say that.”

“I’m only your father. Do you think you’re adopted?”

“Maybe before the end of the week.”

“As if we have to wait, Benny. Everybody knows that Larry Geller’s a crook. His teeth are so real they look false.”

“Ma, I don’t know why I try to keep things from you”

“That’s right. I always find out, don’t I? I’m just a little juvenile delinquent that’s what I am.” Pa looked at my mother like he was about to move out. I beat a hasty retreat after reminding them I’d see them as usual on Friday night.

The Bolduc Yard began about a quarter of a mile before a gate made a break in the chain-link fence. Inside I could see heavy, earth-moving equipment, trucks looking massive on great wheels, sheds made of corrugated iron, hangars sheltering mountains of sand, wooden frames, steel scaffolding and a range of cement in bags piled higher than the largest of the yellow earth disturbers. Everything bore the stencil: BOLDUC. The gate itself was built so that it would admit vehicles twice as high as the fence. It stood open first thing on Thursday morning as I steered the car into a clearing and parked in front of what looked like the main office. The car was dotted with mustard-coloured stains from the puddles I’d splashed through. I walked around two more on my way to a boardwalk leading to the door.

The outside suggested that I might find a dozen barrels of assorted nails on the other side of the door, but I was wrong. It was a modern office inside with coloured plastic IN and OUT trays, banks of cabinets and files, desks with pretty girls behind them. Any roughness implied by the exterior had been smoothed away with wallboard streaked to look like real wood, but unable to fool a four-year-old.

“Mr. Geller is expecting me,” I said to the first face to look up from her typewriter.

“Mr. Cooperman, is it?” she asked, and I wondered whether the whole office knew my name and the reason for my visit.

“That’s right.” The girl was already opening the gate and holding it so I could follow her to the door at the rear of the office. She knocked and went in for a second, then came out to show me the rest of the way.

Sid Geller was a huge man cramped into a small compass. He should have been six feet five instead of five feet six. It would have given more scope for a body that seemed to be bursting with energy even as it slouched in a high-backed leather swivel chair. He was wearing a three-piece, lemon-coloured business suit which set off a pink shirt and purple tie. The sun came through a window to his left, leaving no detail of the outfit to the imagination. His head was big, dark and I could find no trace of a neck. The face was darkly tanned, the eyebrows nearly meeting above a large squarely centred nose. The wide mouth was smiling as I came into view, and the figure rose from his chair; Sid Geller came towards me with his hand outstretched. When he finished with my right hand I was glad I’d broken off piano lessons at an early age. He motioned me to a chair, and as I pulled it over the bare floor, I saw that Geller’s shoes and trouser cuffs were spattered with the same mustard-coloured mud that marked the Olds outside.

“Well, now, Mr. Cooperman. Can I call you Ben? I hate all that formal crap. Call me Sid, and let’s get right down to it. You said over the phone that it was about Larry’s disappearance. What do you know? Are you buying or selling? Ruth told me she’d let you get your foot in her door. That’s the only reason I’m talking to you, see? Ruth is going through hell, so I don’t mind doing what I can to help out. I can talk to you as the rabbi’s representative and be done with it. When some schmoe from the community comes asking after Label-that Larry to you-I can tell him I already gave.” He laughed at his own joke and I joined in to try to soften his steamroller methods. If he didn’t shut up, I’d never get to ask a question. When I tuned in again, he was taking off with more of the same. “But I’m warning you, Ben, Label’s my goddamned brother and I’m not going to do dirty on him. You get me?” I got him and told him so. He lit up a cigarette that looked like he’d rolled it himself, and leaned back until the chair squeaked. Above him was a framed photograph of the Flatiron Building in New York with a skeleton of girders showing through the front. I tried a question.

“What do you know about the trouble your brother’s been involved in?”

“Nothing. Next question?”

“Back to the first one. You mean that Larry’s taking-off came as a complete surprise to you?”

“Sure, if I knew he was leaving, I would have tried to stop him. For Ruth and the kids’ sake. I didn’t know he was involved in all this crap with his trust funds. Why should he tell me? When he was a kid he took my bike without asking and when he punctured the back tire he filled it up with a length of garden hose so I wouldn’t know. Can you beat that? I knocked him into the middle of the next week when I found out. He knew what to expect from me. I’d be the last man in town Label would trust. Not that I’d turn him in; I’m his brother after all. But I never minced words with him when he was asking for it. Most of the time we were on good terms. But when he did some jackass stunt, he heard about it from me first. You can bet on that.”

He placed his dark palms on the desk blotter and leaned on his arms. There was sweat on his forehead.

“When you heard about his confidence scam was he still around?”

“When I heard first, it was from a little guy who owed me. Never mind his name. He came asking for advice. He explained what had happened and I could see the game Label was playing. Only usually lawyers don’t get in that deep and don’t get caught. It was the economy that was against him. He should have levelled with me. I might have helped. I could have put him in the hospital, that’s what I could have done, and he’d thank me for doing it.”

“How long was that before he skipped out of town?”

“Couple of days. I told him I wanted to talk to him. He knew what it was all about, told me he couldn’t talk then, but promised to come and see me on the Wednesday.”

“That was the day he disappeared?”

“Yeah, that was the day. I didn’t know he was playing such a big game. That kid brother of mine got away with over two million. Crazy bastard. Can you beat it?”