Stephen Solomita - A Piece of the Action

“We’ll talk on the way,” she announced, pushing past him.

Moodrow was stunned. Not by her attitude, which he’d more or less expected; it was her outfit that left him openmouthed. She was encased from head to toe in a bright yellow slicker with a matching hat that swooped down in back to cover her collar. Moodrow didn’t know who’d owned the raincoat before she’d gotten her hands on it, but he was positive that she hadn’t bought it new. It was so big the bottom seam dropped to the tops of her galoshes. The sleeves, even rolled up, covered all but the tips of her fingers.

“Greta,” Moodrow said, “could you please come back here for a minute.”

Already halfway down the hall, Greta stopped and turned to face him. “If you don’t mind, please, I’d like to get this over with,” she said.

“Me, too, Greta. Which means we should go in there with some kind of a plan. Do you know what you’re going to say?”

Amazed, he watched a shudder run through Greta Bloom’s body. The situation was tearing her apart. He wondered, briefly, if she’d eventually forgive him. Greta had a reputation for holding a grudge to the bitter end.

“What you should think about,” he said, “is how you’ll feel if we don’t find Jake Leibowitz at the end of this rainbow. If you go through with it and fail.”

“Stanley,” Greta declared, planting her fists on her hips, “you’re nothing but a bully.”

Moodrow shrugged. “You already said that, Greta. And it might actually bother me if I wasn’t a hundred percent convinced that you’d never do this, not even if I put a gun to your head, unless you knew it was right. You wanna blame me, that’s fine. But let’s get Jake Leibowitz, okay?”

“We’ll talk as we go,” Greta insisted.

“Can we at least take our time about it? Do we have to run?” Moodrow, at that moment, knew he’d be going into the Leibowitz apartment with Greta. He knew he’d be doing some of the talking, too. Despite everything, Greta simply wasn’t tough enough for the job. Well, he’d brought a little surprise with him. A kicker to sweeten the pot.

“We’ll talk as we go,” Greta repeated, turning away.

Moodrow hustled after her, following her down two flights and out into the street before she ran out of gas.

“All right, Stanley, I’m too old to run. Tell me your scheme, already. One thing I’m sure is that you got one.”

“Ya know, Greta, it would’ve been nice to do this inside. Where it’s dry.”

The January thaw was definitely over. It was raining steadily and the temperature was in the high thirties. Moodrow watched the rain bounce off Greta’s slicker for a moment, then launched himself into it.

“I spoke to the detectives who caught the Leibowitz case. I know it sounds unbelievable, but they suspect that Santo Silesi was shot deliberately. You understand what I’m saying, right? Not in self-defense, but deliberately. Now, I’m not the judge and jury here, but I have a real strong feeling that we’re not gonna convince Sarah Leibowitz to give up her kid by appealing to her conscience. We’re gonna have to offer her something, something she can understand. That something is gonna be her son’s life.”

“You’re God, Stanley? You can give life?” Greta began to walk, staring down at her feet as she stamped through the puddles.

“You’re gonna tell her that he knows too much, that the cops want to kill him as much as the mob. He’s only got one chance at survival and that’s to give himself up to the right man.”

“Should I guess who that is?”

“It’s not a joke, Greta. What I’m telling you is close to the truth. If the mob finds him first, Jake’s dead. We’ll be lucky to find the body. Now, maybe the cops haven’t actually been told to gun him down, but if he puts up any resistance the neighbors’ll think World War Three broke out. And if he runs, nobody’s gonna bother with a warning shot. They’ll kill him before he takes a step. Jake Leibowitz only has one chance at survival and that’s to surrender.”

“Surrender for what? So you can send him to the electric chair? Maybe I didn’t have your education, but this I don’t call survival.”

Moodrow put a hand on Greta’s shoulder, stopping her long enough to allow a milk truck to plow through an enormous puddle.

“Thank you, Stanley.”

“You’re welcome.”

They crossed the street in silence, stepping onto the opposite curb before Greta spoke again.

“What makes you think you can protect him? If so many people are trying to kill him?”

“I can get him down to the precinct in one piece. That takes the cops out of it. Once he’s booked, I’ll go over to the DA’s office and put myself on the record. I’ll tell them I know Jake Leibowitz’s life has been threatened by members of organized crime. If I’m on the record, the city’ll have to protect him. Plus, the press is bound to get its hands on the story and that’ll put even more pressure on the city. I …”

“Stanley, I’m against capital punishment. Did I ever tell you this?” Greta looked up at him for the first time. “It’s decades, already, I’ve been against capital punishment. Since before the Rosenbergs. As far as I’m concerned, the death penalty is legalized murder.”

Moodrow reached out and took Greta’s hand. “I have to admit that when I first hatched this scheme I was looking forward to putting you on the spot. I thought the situation was funny. It’s not funny, now. Look, Greta, you’re about the only family I have left and I don’t want Jake Leibowitz bad enough to lose you in the process. We can’t be sure that Sarah Leibowitz knows where Jake’s holed up. Or that she’ll tell us if she does know. Let’s forget about it. Somebody’s gonna get Jake Leibowitz. It doesn’t have to be me.”

Greta continued to stare into Moodrow’s eyes for a moment. “Is it true?” she finally whispered. “If I help you, will I be saving his life?”

“Jake Leibowitz has killed at least four people. Two of them were mobsters and two others were operating under mob protection. You’ve been living down here long enough to know what that means. Now add the fact that every cop on the Lower East Side has a photo of Jake Leibowitz in his pocket. They’ve all been told that he’s wanted for multiple homicides and that he’s armed and that he’s extremely dangerous. Remember what I told you about Pat Cohan? He tried to cover up the murder of Luis Melenguez and he didn’t work alone. You don’t have to be a genius to figure out that Cohan and his buddies are as anxious as the mob to see Jake Leibowitz dead and gone. Look, Greta, all I’m really asking you to do is get Sarah Leibowitz to listen to me. And all I’m gonna do is offer her a simple proposition. If she tells me where he’s hiding, I’ll do everything I can to bring him in alive. If she can talk him into surrendering, I’ll guarantee his safety.”

“But, Stanley, the electric chair …”

“Between the trials and the appeals, it’ll be two or three years before he has to take the last walk. You remember the old saying? Where there’s life, there’s hope? Maybe Jake’ll get lucky and draw a judge who’s against capital punishment. Maybe the governor will decide to commute his sentence. Maybe the legislature will abolish the death penalty altogether. But if he’s dead, maybe doesn’t enter into it. If he’s dead, they put him in a box, dig a grave and lower him down.”

Greta turned and began to walk again. The rain poured off her bright yellow hat. Moodrow watched it run down her back and drop onto the sidewalk. At least she wasn’t heading for her own apartment.

“Let me go in alone,” Greta said after a moment. “I think it would be better if I went in by myself.”