Every Little Crook and Nanny

5: Cockeye

“Who is it?” a voice said.

“It is I, Benny Napkins.”

“Just a second,” the voice said. A flap in the door flew open. Cockeye’s best eye appeared in the revealed circle. The flap dropped into place again. Benny heard the lock being turned, the night chain being taken off. The door opened.

“How you doing, Ben?” Cockeye said.

“We have a problem,” Benny answered immediately.

He stepped into the loft, and Cockeye locked and chained the door behind him. The loft was immense. It had until recently been occupied by a sculptor whose latest project had been modeling parts of the human body in larger than life-size scale. When he’d moved out, he had left behind some of his earlier experimental work, and as a result the loft was crowded with enormous noses of every shape — hooked, pug, straight, flat, aquiline, broken, bobbed, and bulbous. Nose flaps gaped from ceiling and wall, bridges thrust from pedestals, nostrils lay in plaster heaps on the floor. As they picked their way through the remnants overhead and underfoot, Benny had the distinct impression that someone was breathing down his neck. He was relieved when they reached the rear of the loft, where Cockeye’s printing press stood alongside the metal table on which he did his engraving. Opposite that, in a nook formed by the peculiar architecture of the loft, Cockeye had set an old sofa and a scarred coffee table. A hot plate rested on a long shelf overhung by a huge sculpture of what surely had to be the ugliest nose in the entire world.

“Is that all this guy ever made?” Benny asked. “Noses?”

“He done belly buttons, too,” Cockeye said. “But he took them with him when he moved.” Cockeye paused. “Well, no, he left one hanging in the bathroom.”

“What was the idea?”

“I don’t know,” Cockeye said, and shrugged. “I guess he was maybe going to put them all together one day and have this very large statue.”

Benny looked up at the nose again.

“You recognize that nose?” Cockeye asked.

“No,” Benny said. “Whose nose is that?”

“Snitch’s.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“I’m serious. Snitch was up here one day sniffing around, you know, as is his habit. This was before this artist guy was all moved out, he was still running around picking up belly buttons and things. He takes one look at Snitch’s nose and a light bulb goes on over his head. ‘I got to do your nose!’ he yells. So he gives Snitch five bucks just to sit here on a stool with his nose in the air.” Cockeye looked up at the nose. “You didn’t recognize it, huh?”

“No, not in that size,” Benny said.

“It’s the proportions in life that render things meaningful,” Cockeye said, solemnly studying the nose. “You want some coffee?”

“I could use a cup, thank you,” Benny said.

Cockeye went to the hot plate and set a kettle on it. “It’s instant, is that all right?”

“Yes, that’s fine.”

“Well, what brings you here?” Cockeye asked congenially, leaning on the engraving table.

“I need fifty thousand dollars,” Benny said.

“That’s a large order,” Cockeye answered. “How soon do you need it?”

“Immediately.”

“In what denominations?”

“It wasn’t specified. Small bills, I would guess. That’s the usual demand.”

“Who’s placing this order?” Cockeye asked.

“I don’t know the name of the party.”

“One of our fellows?”

“I wouldn’t think so.”

“Because I could maybe give a larger discount if it was one of our own fellows, you understand.”

“What are you currently getting for fifty thousand dollars in small denominations?” Benny asked.

“One-tenth of one per cent,” Cockeye said, “or exactly fifty bucks.” He paused. “Depending on the risk. If there’s a higher element of risk, my percentage is perforce higher.” He paused again. “May I ask to what use this money will be put?”

“It will be used to pay a ransom demand.”

“Oh-ho,” Cockeye said. “And who’s been snatched, may I ask?”

“Carmine Ganucci’s son.”

Cockeye’s mouth fell open.

“Uh-huh,” Benny said.

“Ganooch’s son?” Cockeye said, appalled.

“The very same.”

“Who would do a crazy thing like that?”

“Some crazy person, who do you think?” Benny said, and rose from the couch and began pacing back and forth near the printing press. “Ganooch is in Italy right now, thank God. If we can get the kid back before he hears anything about...”

“Ben, I’m not so sure I want to get involved in anything that has to do with Ganooch’s son.”

“You are involved,” Benny said.

“Involved? Me? How?”

“Because I came to you. Nanny came to me this morning...”

“Oh, Nanny, huh?” Cockeye said.

“Yes, Nanny. She came to me, which is how I got involved. Now I’m coming to you and that’s how you’re involved. If God forbid something should happen to Ganooch’s son...”

“God forbid,” Cockeye said, and rolled his best eye heavenward.

“... anybody who was involved will wish he was not, I can tell you that.”

“I already wish I was not,” Cockeye said.

“Yes, so do I,” Benny said, “but that’s one of life’s little ironies.”

“What is?”

“That sometimes the fellows with the least involvement are the ones who get the most involved. If this, for example, should come to the attention of some of the fellows higher up...”

“God forbid,” Cockeye said, and again rolled his best eye.

“So let’s just get the thing done, get the kid back, and hope this all blows over before Ganooch returns. That’s the best we can hope for.”

“I can have the bills for you by tomorrow at this time,” Cockeye said.

“Good. Do you require a deposit?”

“Not from an old friend like you.”

“What have you been working on lately?” Benny asked conversationally.

“Dollar bills,” Cockeye said. “There’s not much of a markup on them, but you do a bigger volume. Have you seen my recent work, Ben?”

“No, I haven’t,” Benny said. “As a matter of fact, I’ve never seen any of your work. But I’d certainly like to.”

“I was running some bills off when you came in,” Cockeye said. He walked to the printing press. “Let me show you,” he said. “Then we can have our coffee.”

He lifted a fresh dollar bill from the platen. “It’s still a little wet,” he said, “be careful.” With the pride of creation gleaming in his best eye, he handed the bill to Benny. “Have a look,” he said.

Benny looked at the bill. It seemed like very nice work. He blinked his eyes and looked at the bill again, more closely this time, and suddenly he did not feel like staying for coffee, suddenly he realized that getting Ganooch’s kid back would be a lot more difficult than merely delivering fifty thousand dollars in counterfeit bills to those crazy maniacs who had taken the boy. Transfixed, he continued staring at the bill, his telephoto gaze zooming in on the picture of General George Washington:

“What do you think of it?” Cockeye asked, beaming.

“Well,” Benny said, “it’s a wee bit off, don’t you think?”

“Really?” Cockeye said, and studied the bill. “Where do you think it’s off?”