Sinner's Ball by Ira Berkowitz Page B

lesson. Guinea works the Brooklyn docks. Longshoreman. A liquor shipment came in a few days ago. Scotch. Brandy. High-priced shit.”
    â€œNot the stuff you sell here.”
    â€œNot even close. Headed for that la-di-dah liquor store on Fifth. I was supposed to get five cases. Wound up with four.”
    â€œYour workout ends here.”
    Nick’s voice was low and his eyes had a psycho sparkle. “I don’t tell you how to handle your business, and you don’t tell me how to handle mine.”
    â€œThis time I do,” I said.
    Nick walked up to me so close I could count the bits of gray stubble on his cheeks.
    â€œDon’t fuck with me, Steeg. Not in the mood.”
    I didn’t move.
    â€œMakes two of us,” I said.
    After a few seconds of mulling things over and weighing the odds, Nick backed away.
    I helped the guy to his feet and told him to make tracks. He mumbled his thanks and wobbled out the door.
    The sound of quiet applause came from a booth in the back.
    My brother was in the house.
    â€œNicely done, Jake,” he said. “The Righter of Wrongs has struck again.”
    â€œGood to see you finally came out of the attic and rejoined the world.”
    He slid out of the booth and walked up to me.
    â€œIt was
my
booze,” he said.
    â€œSince when did beating someone to death become your spectator sport of choice, Dave? I remember when you did your own dirty work.”
    His eyes went flat.
    â€œWhat’s bothering you, Jake?”
    â€œYou and your kid.”
    His eyes, still flat, squinted slightly at the corners.
    â€œWhat’s that supposed to mean?” he said.
    â€œI just had an interesting little chat with Benny Kim.”
    â€œThe slant fruit guy?”
    â€œThe Korean businessman.”
    â€œWhatever.”
    â€œSeems that there’s been a rash of car heists in the neighborhood lately.”
    â€œSo? What’s that got to do with me … or Anthony?”
    â€œAnthony and the chimpanzee who works for him drive up to Bennie’s store in Bennie’s car. Anthony sits in the car while the monkey goes in and lays it out for Benny. He wants his car back, it’s gonna cost him. Benny tells him to fuck himself. The monkey takes umbrage and kicks the shit out of him.”
    Dave stroked the pebbled patch on his cheek.
    â€œBoys’ll be boys.”
    â€œYou set the rules a long time ago, Dave: Lay off the locals; you take care of them, they take care of you. Well, these guys are local. Live in the neighborhood.”
    He smiled and patted me on the cheek.
    â€œYour problem is you take things too seriously,” he said.
    â€œOr maybe the direction your life has taken has screwed up your brain.”
    â€œDon’t go there.”
    â€œIf not me, who?”
    â€œHe’s my son.”
    â€œBut he’s not you,” I said.
    â€œThat remains to be seen.”

12
    T he more I thought about it, the less I liked about Martine Toussaint’s story.
    A twenty-buck-a-pop streetwalker climbs the greasy pole out of prostitution. Then, like Saint Paul on the Road to Damascus, she has an epiphany. And devotes her life to helping working girls go straight. Then she convinces a bunch of rich guys to come along for the ride. With nothing but good works on their minds, they front the money. Enough to pay for a brownstone and a lifestyle Martine could only dream of when she was selling her body at the tunnels.
    What it had to do with Dave, I didn’t know. But it didn’t add up.
    The clerk at the lower Broadway office of the Attorney General’s Charities Bureau was deep into a conversation on her cell phone. Something about a rat bastard namedTony who wasn’t going to get away with whatever the hell he had done … a second time.
    â€œExcuse me,” I said.
    She threw me a disgusted look and showed me her back.
    About a minute later she swiveled her head around and, discovering I was still there,