Mangrove Squeeze(64)

"The whole idea," the old mobster went on, "is layin' low, right?—and wit' the cops right away it's flashing lights and sirens, motorcades and tear gas. No patience. No subtlety. All 'ey do, they draw attention. The cops, I seen 'em protect a person right ta death ... Guess I shouldn't say that. But hey, wha' do I know? Face it, when it comes to cops, I'm like prejudice."

The others, daunted and inexpert at tactics, moped around the wire mesh table. Aaron rubbed soil from the creases in his knuckles. Suki looked with yearning toward the fresh half-finished plantings. Fred plucked at his damp shirt and lit another cigarette.

Somewhere a motorcycle revved. Then Sam Katz matter-of-factly said, "Sounds to me like the time has come we gotta infiltrate."

It was sometimes hard to tell if Sam was listening. It was always hard to tell if he was following what was said. No one had expected him to weigh in with an opinion. After a baffled pause, Aaron said, "What?"

Sam said, "Infiltrate. Like get inside."

Aaron said, "I know what infiltrate—"

Bert said, "Hol' on. Didn't I say this days ago?"

Suki said, "Now let's not get any—"

But Sam Katz leaned down on his elbows, tugged his Einstein hair and moved slowly, resolutely forward. "Look. Going to the police—no good. Just sitting here—no good. They're going after Suki, we're going after them."

"And who's this we?" said Aaron.

Sam hadn't gotten quite that far. He fiddled with his hearing aid.

Fred surprised himself by speaking up. "Me and Piney. I guess that we could do it."

"Do what?" said Suki. "Am I missing something or is this all a little—"

"No offense," Bert said to Fred, "but no, ya couldn't do it. 'S gotta be somebody that could blend."

Aaron pulled his hair, was abashed to realize it was his father's gesture. "Look, these are killers. There's no one that could blend. Forget about it."

Sam Katz said, "Like us. Like me and Bert."

"Forget it, Sam," said Suki, "it isn't your—"

Sam just then remembered something very stirring that he had heard or read many decades before. He raised his finger grandly and intoned:" 'If I am only for myself, what am I?' I think that's from the Talmud."

"Pop, it just isn't realistic."

Sam Katz shook his head and looked at Bert. "Kids," he said. "They think they have a lock on realistic. Like realistic stops when Medicare starts? They think they're the only ones can accomplish anything."

Bert stroked his fading dog, watched as ghostly hairs came unstuck and fluttered through the table's wire mesh.

"The uncle," he said at last. "Probably an old guy. Maybe near as old as we are."

"But with young guys," Aaron pointed out, "to do the murdering."

Bert and Sam ignored him. Friends, coevals, they were now on a circuit of their own. Sam said, "'S'okay. We find out where he lives—"

"He lives up on Key Haven," blurted Suki, then wished at once she hadn't said it.

"Key Haven," said Fred, picking a tobacco fleck from his tongue. "People up there, they see you hanging around, they call the cops. Me and Piney, we couldn't blend so good up there."

Bert finished Sam's thought for him. "... And we rent a house nearby."

"Bert, Pop," said Aaron, "don't even start—"

"We need a cover," Bert went on.

"Cover?" said Sam. His brain was itching and he was leaning so far forward that his nose was almost on the table.

"A story. Ya know, who we are . .. How 'bout... How 'bout we're a coupla old gay guys."

"Gay?" said Sam. "We gotta be gay?"

"Gotta blend," said Bert. "Dignified old gay guys. Like a sweet old married couple. Partners a long, long time."

Sam Katz thought it over, wound a finger through a tuft of sun-shot hair, and shrugged. "Okay, podnah."

"Not podnah," said the Shirt. "Podnah, that's cowboys. Gay guys, it's partner."

"Look," said Aaron, "there is not a chance in hell—"

His father wasn't listening. He'd stood up from his chair, his fingertips, for balance, splayed across the table. He said, "Okay. Gay guys. Partners. So much planning, I'm exhausted."

Aaron went on even though he was no longer sure who he was talking to. "This is absolutely out of the question."

"Totally," said Suki. "Totally."

Bert the Shirt was scratching his dog like the dog was his own chin. "Infiltrate," he said. "Check 'em out. Me and Sam. Anyone got a better idea, I'm listening."





Not long after Tarzan Abramowitz left Ivan Cherkassky's house, there was a knock at the scoop-faced Russian's door.