The Yiddish Gangster's Daughter (A Becks Ruchinsky Mystery Book 1) by Joan Cochran (best authors to read .TXT) 📕

funeral. I almost fell off my chair. Turns out your mother knows his wife. Ethel Pollock belonged to her Hadassah chapter. They became friendly when Mrs. Pollock hosted a Hadassah luncheon and your mother, such a sweetheart, was the only one who showed up.”

“Why didn’t the other women attend?”

“Mrs. Pollock told your mother the old yentas snubbed her because of her husband’s business associates. She didn’t say the Jewish mob, mind you, but your mother figured it out. Ethel swore her husband was no longer involved in the game, but it didn’t matter. The Hadassah ladies didn’t want to knows from her.”

“You think Mom knew before she went?”

“She was a generous person. I wouldn’t be surprised.

“What could I do?” Tootsie continues. “I hadn’t told your mother about that night in the casino, and I sure as hell wasn’t saying anything about recognizing Boom Boom. So that Sunday we went to Congregation B’nai David for the funeral. I sent your mother inside to grab a seat while I had a cigarette. I was standing in front of the shul, minding my own business, when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned and almost jumped out of my shoes. It was Itzhak Cohen. He was in slacks and a polo shirt and it was obvious he wasn’t heading into the temple.

“ ‘Can you offer my condolences?’ he asked. I hadn’t heard him talk before and was stunned by the falsetto that came out of this thick-chested ape. I was too surprised to do anything but nod. See, I didn’t know that he was responsible for the hit on the deceased, but I had my suspicions.

“ ‘I can’t go in,’ he said. ‘I’m a Cohen,’ he told me then waited. When I didn’t say anything, he tapped himself on the chest. ‘A kohanim. Can’t go near the dead. It’s Jewish law. We can’t defile ourselves.’

“I’ve heard about that.” I say as I take a left off Dixie onto Bird Road. The street is lined with trees and, I guess, birds, but I don’t hear them. “They’re the Jewish priests, right?”

“Right. I’d heard of the kohanim too, but none of this bull about not going near a dead body. All the same, I was not going to argue Talmudic fine points with a big cheese from the syndicate. I told him I’d do it, and he got into the Cadillac idling in front of the temple and took off.”

“Did you tell her?”

“I had to. I’d given my word. But I didn’t want to upset Mrs. Pollock. I decided to postpone the message until after the funeral when we made a shiva call.

“We went to her house after the service. Your mother and I were the only ones who stayed for more than five minutes. People wandered in, had a quick cup of coffee, and left without more than a sorry to the widow. Even so, it was a half hour before I got my break. When your mother went to the powder room, I delivered Cohen’s message including the part about his being a kohanim.

“I felt sick about it but I was worried about Cohen finding out if I didn’t. Ethel Pollock stared at me a long time, her eyes wide and lower lip trembling. Then her eyes narrowed. That’s when I realized what an idiot I was. I wasn’t sure Cohen killed Pollock. But if he hadn’t, he probably got another goon to do it. It disgusted me, his acting like some holier-than-thou yid, a big shot kohanim who’s so devout he can’t come near a dead body. Not even one whose hit he ordered. And he got me, the moron, to do his bidding.

“I was so ashamed I couldn’t meet the woman’s eyes. I apologized, found your mother and left.”

“Was Cohen arrested for the murder?” I ask.

“Are you kidding?” Tootsie says as we pull into the Marmelstein driveway. “Boom Boom took the rap. When he got out, the mob set him up with a drift fishing business in Hallandale. Itzhak was convicted of tax evasion years later. Did a couple of months.”

I turn off the engine. “So how’d he make enough money to get an aliyah?” I ask. Only the biggest contributors or most active members of a synagogue are given aliyahs—the honorary Torah readings and ark openings.

“He went legit. They all did, eventually. He opened a chain of men’s clothing stores in Fort Lauderdale.”

“And you? What’d you do then?”

“I told you. Your Uncle Moe and I opened the store. Went legit.” He glances my way, then shifts his eyes. “After what happened to Pollock, I knew it was time to get out.”

We leave the car and climb the steps to the Marmelstein’s front porch. As I push the doorbell, Tootsie grabs my arm.

“Not a word of this to the Marmelsteins,” he whispers. “I wouldn’t want anyone to think your mother associated with gangsters.”

Mrs. Marmelstein opens the door and we step inside before I can read his expression. Tootsie gives her a big hug before she leads us into the dining room where her husband, son, and daughter-in-law sit at a white linen-draped table. Sabbath candles blaze in silver holders and a braided challah rests, uncut, on a crystal platter.

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32

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Tootsie

The stormy look that sweeps Shoshanna Marmelstein’s face as I reach to hug her would turn a lesser man to stone. I struggle to suppress a smile. Honest to God, I can’t help myself. It’s nice of the old broad to invite me for dinner but it’s obvious I’m there through the grace of Becks. If my daughter sees how charming I am to Bernice’s old friend, maybe she’ll be more forgiving.

I chat about the stock market with Syd Marmelstein while Shoshanna goes to the kitchen to get dinner. In the meantime, Becks catches up with the Marmelstein’s boy, Scott, and his wife, Ruth. The three went to high school together and run down a list of old friends, catching up on who’s married and who’s divorced. Becks seems animated,