Inherit the Mob (40 page)

“For this you need young actors,” said Harry Millman. “For example, I could see what’s-his-name, Robert Redford, playing me.”

“Redford’s a goy,” protested Feinsilver.

“He’s half Jewish,” said Millman, “same as Cary Grant. Besides, so what, this is show biz.”

“How about Jack Nicholson as me,” yelled Kasha Weintraub.

“Yeah, and I could be Steve McQueen,” hollered Zuckie.

“McQueen’s dead, shmuck,” said Sleepout Louie.

“Dead? When did that happen?”

Suddenly the air was thick with the names of movie stars past and present. Flanagan listened for a moment, and then held up his hand for silence.

“You guys are missing the point,” he said. “This isn’t about then, it’s about now. I’m talking HBO, a two-hour film showing you lovable gents to the American public. You know, people have the wrong idea about gangsters. This way, we can set the record straight.”

“And after the movie, what?” asked Feinsilver.

“The sky’s the limit,” said Flanagan. “A regular network show, guest shots on Johnny, Mishpocha T-shirts. By the time I’m finished with you guys, they’ll be putting up statues in Central Park.”

“Speaking of statues, how about the statue of limitations?” asked Indian Joe.

“Good question,” said Flanagan. “I’ll refer it to our attorney.”

“Since when do we have an attorney?” asked Feinsilver.

“Since this morning,” said Flanagan. “I’m pleased to announce that Mishpocha Films has retained the services of one of New York’s finest lawyers, ex–police captain Bernard Threkeld.”

“Boatnay?” said Morgan. “Boatnay gonna be your lawyer?”

“It’s a day of surprises,” Flanagan said merrily. “Don’t worry, Morgan, this deal is strictly legit. Besides, I need someone I can trust.”

“John Flanagan, you one amazing white man,” said Morgan. “OK, in that case, count me in. Onliest thing, who am I supposed to play—Buggsy Siegal?”

“Nope, you play yourself, just like everybody else. Interracial is in this year—look at
The Cosby Show
.”

Slowly, Bad Abe Abramson rose from his seat. He cleared his throat, and the others fell silent. “Give the boys and me five minutes to talk this over,” he said.

“Sure,” said Flanagan. “I want a word with Gordon anyway. We’ll take a walk, be back in a few.”

“How about it, Velvel, are you in?” asked Levine.

Gordon shook his head. “I’m a foreign correspondent, not a movie star,” he said. “I’m going back overseas.”

As soon as they were outside, Gordon turned to Flanagan. “Jesus, John. Do these guys know that they’re gonna be working for Spadafore?”

“Not for Spadafore, for me,” said Flanagan. “Mishpocha Films, Inc., is an independent company. My arrangement with Luigi is between me and him; it doesn’t concern them.”

“Until the next gang war, or the next grand jury. I thought you loved these old guys, John. You can really be a prick sometimes.”

“I do love ’em,” said Flanagan with a grin. “Not that this is about me loving them, but since you bring it up, OK. They need five minutes to decide? Bullshit, they don’t need five seconds. They’re in there right now jumping up and down. I’m keeping the gang together, giving them something to live for.”

“And yourself.”

Flanagan nodded. “That’s right. And myself. But this is about more than having fun now. Spadafore’s all alone—no sons, no Sesti, just me. When the old bastard croaks, we’ll have a real shot at taking over the business.”

“You will, maybe; I’ve had enough. Look, we were lucky to get out of it this time, but I’m not pushing it. I’m sorry, you’re on your own, John, but that’s the way it is. I told you the other night I was going back to the paper, and I meant it.”

“Yeah,” said Flanagan with a grin. “You told me, and I told Luigi. Funny, he got it right away, and he doesn’t even have a Pulitzer.”

“Got what?” asked Gordon.

“That you’re my protection. You know how, in the movies, when the good guy’s got something on the bad guy, and if anything happens to him, a letter with all the information automatically goes to the cops? Well, you’re my letter. Something happens to me, you get Luigi.”

“What?”

“In the paper. Shit, that’s the only thing he’s afraid of these days anyway. I, ah, told him that was the reason you were going back.”

Gordon stared at the grinning Flanagan. “I don’t believe this,” he said finally. “You’re using me to threaten Luigi Spadafore. And you did it without even telling me.”

“I just told you,” said Flanagan. “Look, you were ready to risk your ass for twenty percent of some foreign operation from Carlo Sesti. Well, I’m offering you a better deal—twenty percent of everything. And you don’t have to lift a finger, just be yourself. Besides, you’ll be in Beirut. What’s the problem?”

Gordon paused, considering. No matter what he told Spadafore, the old man would never believe him. And, over the past few weeks, he had revised his opinion of Flanagan. With Boatnay and the old buzzards in the other room, he just might pull it off. The way he saw it, he had no choice. “Twenty-five percent and it’s a deal,” he said, extending his hand.

“Twenty-five percent it is,” said Flanagan, taking Gordon’s hand in his and pulling him into a bear hug. “You’re a made man of the Mishpocha now, Velvel—your uncle Max would have been proud.”

For a moment Gordon struggled against the hug. Then, without really intending to, he threw his arms around Flanagan’s narrow back, pulled him close and kissed him on the cheek.

“Hey,” said Flanagan, “What the hell was that for?”

“For you, chief,” said Gordon. “You mind?”

“Mind, hell,” said Flanagan with a grin. “I’m a sucker for a happy ending.”

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I would like to thank my agent, Esther Newberg of ICM, for her help and support, my friends Danny Sanderson and Arthur and Harriet Samuelson for their encouragement and editorial advice, and, finally, my editor, David Rosenthal, for his invaluable contribution on this book.

ALSO BY ZEV CHAFETS

Double Vision

Heroes and Hustlers, Hard Hats and Holy Men

Members of the Tribe

Devil’s Night: And Other True Tales of Detroit

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Zev Chafets was born in Pontiac, Michigan, and moved to Israel at the age of twenty in 1967. He is the author of
Double Vision, Heroes and Hustlers, Hard Hats and Holy Men, Members of the Tribe
, and
Devil’s Night: And Other True Tales of Detroit. Inherit the Mob
is his first novel. Chafets is currently the editor of
The Jerusalem Report
and lives in Tel Aviv.