Being in the re-write/editing stage for my novel Breaking Point, I have had some flashes of inspiration. However, the following I'm not sure whether to add, whether it adds to the story but felt it worth writing down and speculating on no less (and Meyer Lansky I chose because he was a big mucker in the New York Underworld in the 1940s):
Frank and Al walked into the club and saw him sitting at the table, a small man with a long nose, too much lip and not enough chin but one impressive head of thick black hair. They recognised him in an instant.
“Meyer Lansky,” Frank said as he and Al approached his table, producing their badges as they did. “Detectives Roebling and O’Malley, NYPD.”
“How can I help you, officers?” was the affable response.
“We’d like a word with you, Mr. Lansky,” Al added.
“Sure,” he smiled, and asked his companions to give them some space. “What is it you want to discuss?” Lansky asked when the detectives sat.
“You’ve no doubt heard about the shootings in Harlem recently,” Al said, “and we were wondering how much you know about it.”
“I know that Leo Killeen and his sons have one or two friends in Harlem, and four white guys and one schvartz catchin’ some lead in Harlem does seem fishy, but what’s it got to do with me?”
“Is Nathan Zimmerman a friend of yours?” Frank asked.
Lanksy’s face soured. “That skin-poppin’ schmuck? He’s nothin’ to do with me.”
“Wasn’t he associated with your good friend Charlie Luciano for a time?”
“He approached us both lookin’ for work, and we told him we had nothin’ for him. I sensed somethin’ about him was a little off, and Charlie said to me he was a hophead, so we want nothin’ to do with him. You can’t trust a guy like that.”
“So you wouldn’t have sent him after Leo Killeen or any of his family or associates?” Al asked.
“I regularly do business with Mr. Killeen, he’s a friend of mine, he’s a mensch, and so was Martin.”
“‘Mensch’ means he’s a stand-up guy, a good man, a man of honour and integrity and strength,” Al explained to Frank. “I have Jewish friends,” he then said to Lanksy.
“I was gonna say, I’m impressed by an Irishman who speaks at least some Yiddish.”
“Well, where my people come from, ‘mensch’ just means ‘man’,” Frank said.
“I thought you might be German, Detective Roebling.”
“Yeah, but don’t worry Meyer, I think Hitler is a complete arsehole too, and so does my son who’s fighting him.”
“And I hope your son comes home in one piece Detective Roebling.”
“Thanks Meyer.”
“And Detective O’Malley, I wish your brother a speedy recovery.”
“Thanks.”
“And just so you know, Martin Killeen was a friend of mine, as is his father, and your brother, and if it was in me to have someone killed young Vincent would have gone unharmed, he was just a kid, and as you’ll attest, Detective O’Malley, you never give an Irishman just cause for revenge.”
“Meyer Lansky,” Frank said as he and Al approached his table, producing their badges as they did. “Detectives Roebling and O’Malley, NYPD.”
“How can I help you, officers?” was the affable response.
“We’d like a word with you, Mr. Lansky,” Al added.
“Sure,” he smiled, and asked his companions to give them some space. “What is it you want to discuss?” Lansky asked when the detectives sat.
“You’ve no doubt heard about the shootings in Harlem recently,” Al said, “and we were wondering how much you know about it.”
“I know that Leo Killeen and his sons have one or two friends in Harlem, and four white guys and one schvartz catchin’ some lead in Harlem does seem fishy, but what’s it got to do with me?”
“Is Nathan Zimmerman a friend of yours?” Frank asked.
Lanksy’s face soured. “That skin-poppin’ schmuck? He’s nothin’ to do with me.”
“Wasn’t he associated with your good friend Charlie Luciano for a time?”
“He approached us both lookin’ for work, and we told him we had nothin’ for him. I sensed somethin’ about him was a little off, and Charlie said to me he was a hophead, so we want nothin’ to do with him. You can’t trust a guy like that.”
“So you wouldn’t have sent him after Leo Killeen or any of his family or associates?” Al asked.
“I regularly do business with Mr. Killeen, he’s a friend of mine, he’s a mensch, and so was Martin.”
“‘Mensch’ means he’s a stand-up guy, a good man, a man of honour and integrity and strength,” Al explained to Frank. “I have Jewish friends,” he then said to Lanksy.
“I was gonna say, I’m impressed by an Irishman who speaks at least some Yiddish.”
“Well, where my people come from, ‘mensch’ just means ‘man’,” Frank said.
“I thought you might be German, Detective Roebling.”
“Yeah, but don’t worry Meyer, I think Hitler is a complete arsehole too, and so does my son who’s fighting him.”
“And I hope your son comes home in one piece Detective Roebling.”
“Thanks Meyer.”
“And Detective O’Malley, I wish your brother a speedy recovery.”
“Thanks.”
“And just so you know, Martin Killeen was a friend of mine, as is his father, and your brother, and if it was in me to have someone killed young Vincent would have gone unharmed, he was just a kid, and as you’ll attest, Detective O’Malley, you never give an Irishman just cause for revenge.”
What do you all think?
