Brooklyn Noir 2: The Classics by Tim McLoughlin Read Free Book Online

on top of her head, with the vegetables on it. You never saw nothin’ like it. I held onto the wheel like I was drownin’. Talkin’ about traps! She went to the St. George Hotel.”
    Elias shook his head. “The tragedy of my life,” he said, “is I was married young.”
    “Two beers,” Palangio said.
    “Angelo Palangio,” Elias said, “yer name reminds me of music.”
    “A guy met her in front of the St. George. A big fat guy. Smilin’ like he just seen Santa Claus. A big fat guy. Some guys …”
    “Some guys …” Elias mourned. “I gotta go home to Annie. She yells at me from six to twelve, regular. Who’s goin’ to pay the grocer? Who’s goin’ to pay the gas company?” He looked steadily at his beer for a moment and downed it. “I’m a man who married at the age a’ eighteen.”
    “We need somethin’ to drink,” Palangio said.
    “Buy us two whiskies,” Elias said. “What the hell good is beer?”
    “Two Calverts,” Palangio called. “The best for me and my friend Elias Pinsker. “
    “Two gentlemen,” Elias said, “who both signed th’ contract.”
    “Two dumb slobs,” said Geary.
    “Th’ union man,” Elias lifted his glass. “ To th’ union!” He downed the whisky straight. “Th’ hero of th’ Irish Army.”
    “Pinky,” Palangio shouted. “Fill ’em up to the top.”
    “Angelo Palangio,” Elias murmured gratefully.
    Palangio soberly counted the money out for the drinks. “Now,” he said, “the Company can jump in Flushing Bay. I am down to two bucks even.”
    “Nice,” Geary said sarcastically. “Smart. You don’t pay ’em one day, they take yer cab. After payin’ them regular for five months. Buy another drink.”
    Palangio slowly picked up his glass and let the whisky slide down his throat in a smooth amber stream. “Don’t talk like that, Geary,” he said. “I don’t want to hear nothin’ about taxicabs. I am busy drinkin’ with friends.”
    “You dumb Wop,” Geary said.
    “That is no way to talk,” Elias said, going over to Geary purposefully. He cocked his right hand and squinted at Geary. Geary backed off, his hands up. “I don’t like to hear people call my friend a dumb Wop,” Elias said.
    “Get back,” Geary shouted, “before I brain yuh.”
    Pinky ran up excitably. “Lissen, boys,” he screamed, “do you want I should lose my license?”
    “We are all friends,” Palangio said. “Shake hands. Everybody shake hands. Everybody have a drink. I hereby treat everybody to a drink.”
    Elias lumbered back to Palangio’s side. “I am sorry if I made a commotion. Some people can’t talk like gentlemen.”
    “Everybody have a drink,” Palangio insisted.
    Elias took out three dollar bills and laid them deliberately on the bar. “Pass the bottle around. This is on Elias Pinsker.”
    “Put yer money away, Elias.” Geary pushed his cap around on his head with anger. “Who yuh think yuh are? Walter Chrysler?”
    “The entertainment this afternoon is on me,” Elias said inexorably. “There was a time I would stand drinks for twenty-five men. With a laugh, an’ pass cigars out after it. Pass the bottle around, Pinky!”
    The whisky flowed.
    “Elias and me,” Palangio said. “We are high class spenders.”
    “You guys oughta be fed by hand,” Geary said. “Wards of the guvment.”
    “A man is entitled to some relaxation,” Elias said. “Where’s that bottle?”
    “This is nice,” Palangio said. “This is very nice.”
    “This is like the good old days,” Elias said.
    “I hate to go home.” Palangio sighed. “I ain’t even got a radio home.”
    “Pinky!” Elias called. “Turn on the radio for Angelo Palangio.”
    “One room,” Palangio said. “As big as a toilet. That is where I live.”
    The radio played. It was soft and sweet and a rich male voice sang “I Married an Angel.”
    “When I get home,” Elias remembered, “Annie will kill a pedigreed pigeon for supper. My lousy wife. An’ after supper I