drove the van out of the garage and down the street and no vehicle followed the van. Though if there was a mole, what did it matter that no one followed? Looking at the name and address on the slip of paper, she made a phone call and ordered a check on the sniffer.
“
I gotta break my ass for a miracle to save my kid
,” Zookie had said.
So did the Boss.
Her mother was born a deaf-mute. Her father was a numbers runner. She grew up using sign language to communicate with her mother. She learned that her father worked for a syndicate that employed hundreds of runners, men who picked up small bets from shop owners, clerks, taxi drivers, tobacco stores, cops, pimps, whores, firemen, and truckers—all gambling $2 and up on picking the last three figures of the day’s trading at the Stock Exchange. The figures were published every day in the last edition of the newspapers.
She shared a small apartment in Washington Heights with her mother and father. Specialists were too expensive, demanding money in advance to treat her mother, to try to get her to hear or speak.
And you could live without hearing, without speaking. Cancer… She knew the hell Zookie was living in.
She was a hatcheck girl when her father keeled over from a heart attack. The next day her mother died from the shock. A week later the double funeral, paid by Barney, who drove her to the cemetery. Max the Mouthpiece got her the job with the legitimate half of Pegasus in the Dispatch Department for $300 a week.
What her mother could never do because of lack of money, the Boss was determined to do for the deaf-mute baby she adopted at the orphanage. She’d named the baby Samantha, after her mother. The three hundred dollars weekly went to a nurse who knew sign language, to rent and to food. Several promotions followed. The raises went to specialists. No matter how many times she was told Samantha would never hear or speak, Rebecca kept paying, kept insisting they keep trying. Upped to Assistant Dispatch Chief. Truckers who hauled pianos and furniture soon dropped their resentment toward the female over them. When she was put in charge of Dispatch, the truckers threw her a party. Word flew through the legitimate half of Pegasus that Rebecca knew how to treat her people. They felt at home with her. They trusted her.
Word of this trust reached Max who offered her a thousand a week as assistant to the boss of bagmen in Manhattan. Max trusted her. If she turned it down the conversation had never taken place. Bagmen? The only conscience she had was her daughter’s health. Rebecca accepted the job, spent every penny on new specialists. When her superior retired, Rebecca Plummer became boss of bagmen at $3,000 per week with a fat bonus every six months. She kept spending all her money on Samantha.
In a medical journal she read about Bill Wilson, a deaf-mute who partially licked it and was willing to help others. Bill was 26. He worked closely with Samantha, using his experience to help her. When Samantha was 23, she married Bill.
The Boss picked a bigger apartment that they all lived in. She knew that Samantha was in good hands. But she kept bringing in doctors. All her bonuses went right to the most expensive specialists. She bankrolled Bill and Samantha to Europe to contact specialists there and hunt for a miracle no matter how much it cost. The news was always bad but the Boss never gave up.
She never would.
The light blinked. On the monitor Max was waiting. She pushed the floor button. The door slid open. Max came in. He was pinching the bridge of his nose. He looked pained.
The Boss knew it was about Paul.
“I need an aspirin,” Max said. “Bad headache all day.”
She gave him a pill from her bottle. He swallowed it dry.
“I could’ve told you on the phone, Rebecca, but this news…I wanted to tell you to your face.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “The throne okayed you handling all five boroughs. You’ll of course keep Manhattan as your main
“
I gotta break my ass for a miracle to save my kid
,” Zookie had said.
So did the Boss.
Her mother was born a deaf-mute. Her father was a numbers runner. She grew up using sign language to communicate with her mother. She learned that her father worked for a syndicate that employed hundreds of runners, men who picked up small bets from shop owners, clerks, taxi drivers, tobacco stores, cops, pimps, whores, firemen, and truckers—all gambling $2 and up on picking the last three figures of the day’s trading at the Stock Exchange. The figures were published every day in the last edition of the newspapers.
She shared a small apartment in Washington Heights with her mother and father. Specialists were too expensive, demanding money in advance to treat her mother, to try to get her to hear or speak.
And you could live without hearing, without speaking. Cancer… She knew the hell Zookie was living in.
She was a hatcheck girl when her father keeled over from a heart attack. The next day her mother died from the shock. A week later the double funeral, paid by Barney, who drove her to the cemetery. Max the Mouthpiece got her the job with the legitimate half of Pegasus in the Dispatch Department for $300 a week.
What her mother could never do because of lack of money, the Boss was determined to do for the deaf-mute baby she adopted at the orphanage. She’d named the baby Samantha, after her mother. The three hundred dollars weekly went to a nurse who knew sign language, to rent and to food. Several promotions followed. The raises went to specialists. No matter how many times she was told Samantha would never hear or speak, Rebecca kept paying, kept insisting they keep trying. Upped to Assistant Dispatch Chief. Truckers who hauled pianos and furniture soon dropped their resentment toward the female over them. When she was put in charge of Dispatch, the truckers threw her a party. Word flew through the legitimate half of Pegasus that Rebecca knew how to treat her people. They felt at home with her. They trusted her.
Word of this trust reached Max who offered her a thousand a week as assistant to the boss of bagmen in Manhattan. Max trusted her. If she turned it down the conversation had never taken place. Bagmen? The only conscience she had was her daughter’s health. Rebecca accepted the job, spent every penny on new specialists. When her superior retired, Rebecca Plummer became boss of bagmen at $3,000 per week with a fat bonus every six months. She kept spending all her money on Samantha.
In a medical journal she read about Bill Wilson, a deaf-mute who partially licked it and was willing to help others. Bill was 26. He worked closely with Samantha, using his experience to help her. When Samantha was 23, she married Bill.
The Boss picked a bigger apartment that they all lived in. She knew that Samantha was in good hands. But she kept bringing in doctors. All her bonuses went right to the most expensive specialists. She bankrolled Bill and Samantha to Europe to contact specialists there and hunt for a miracle no matter how much it cost. The news was always bad but the Boss never gave up.
She never would.
The light blinked. On the monitor Max was waiting. She pushed the floor button. The door slid open. Max came in. He was pinching the bridge of his nose. He looked pained.
The Boss knew it was about Paul.
“I need an aspirin,” Max said. “Bad headache all day.”
She gave him a pill from her bottle. He swallowed it dry.
“I could’ve told you on the phone, Rebecca, but this news…I wanted to tell you to your face.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “The throne okayed you handling all five boroughs. You’ll of course keep Manhattan as your main
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