Among the Living by Jonathan Rabb Read Free Book Online

man laughed to himself. “Oh, I don’t know. Why would you have yourself standing in the middle of an empty warehouse at near two in the morning? I said not to worry. No one sees those papers except the Italians on the boat. They gotta have something to show their folks back home. Dropped off, signed, paid in full, that sort of thing.”
    “I see …” Jesler continued to glance through the pages. “I’m not sure I should sign anything.”
    “You’re not?” The threat had such a carefree quality to it. “I guess Jimmy didn’t explain well enough what we got going on here. This makes, what … your third pickup?”
    “Third. Yes.”
    “Then you know how things work, at least on this end.”
    “I thought I did.”
    “Go on and flip to the back pages.” The man waited. “You see that signed import form there, that tax registration? Either of them got your signature on it?” Jesler shook his head. “No,” said the man, “they don’t. But they’re signed all the same. Know why we need them? ’Cause the Italians need to see them. And your name’s gotta be there right along with everyone else’s. That way the Italians can put it in some file back in Rome and keep on sending us the merchandise. You getting it now? No reason for them to wonder if some Abe Jesler is actually paying the import fees or the registration tax. No reason for them to talk to anybody at the port.” The man watched Jesler but he wasn’t waiting for an answer. “All the Italians need to know is that Abe Jesler is a part of it, that this Jesler is gonna keep on being a part of it. We all need to know that. And everybody gets to stay happy.”
    Calvin appeared at the back of the truck and hopped down with four small boxes held against his chest. He placed them in the cart. The man held out the pen. Jesler took it and signed.
    “Oh,” said the man, “and there’s some extras this time out. The fella in the tax office needs a little more cash up front. Couldn’t be helped. Thought it’d be best if I come down and tell you myself.”
    “Extras,” said Jesler.
    “Nothing you can’t handle.”
    “How much?”
    “Hundred and fifty.”
    “Hundred and fifty?” The rawness returned to his voice; Jesler wondered if it had ever left. “That’s almost two dollars a pair.”
    “I guess it is. That’s not a problem, is it?”
    Jesler knew there was no point in pushing back, but damned if he was going to let himself give in so easily again.
    “It depends,” he said.
    “Depends?” This time there was nothing to veil the threat. “Depends on what? You think it’d depend for Sussman or Wagger? Maybe it don’t have to be Jews getting the advantage on the merchandise here.”
    “Except the Jews are the only ones willing to pay.”
    It was a dangerous few seconds before the man laughed again. “Well, ain’t that just the way.” He folded the papers and placed them in his pocket. “My associate Jimmy tells me you folks made Savannah. Rag sellers, meat grinders, now ladies’ shops and city markets. That’s quite a thing. So I guess you’re just keeping up traditions, aren’t you?”
    Jesler pulled the envelope from his pocket and handed it to the man.
    “You can get me that extra hundred and fifty by Wednesday.”
    The man pocketed the envelope as a second truck pulled into the warehouse. Its lights spilled along the far wall before coming to a stop. A young black man, the one from the store this afternoon, stepped down from the cab. He, too, had a chest that strained against his shirt, but here it was all muscle.
    “Sorry I’m late, Mr. Jesler. There was a confusion at the booth.”
    “Don’t worry about it, Raymond.” Jesler imagined the “confusion”: the man at the gate, keeping a thick hand on Raymond’s chest, holding the “boy” in his place, and feeling the power beneath the black, black skin, and all Jesler feltnow was his own helplessness and a pen in his hand. “Just get yourself up in the back and