McNally's caper

A PROBLEM OF VIOLENCE

Across the street from my apartment house, and down the block a few doors, was a French restaurant called Chez Morris.

Morris was a rough, tubby guy from Brooklyn who looked like a longshoreman, which he once was. There are about 100 authentic French restaurants in Manhattan, and I’d guess the Chez Morris ranked about 101st. You entered through a long, narrow bar where patrons without reservations waited until a table was available. But after 10:00 the bar became the gathering place of regulars from the neighborhood.

Morris, the owner, knew everything: old baseball scores, sports records, gambling odds, lyrics to ancient songs, casts of forgotten musicals, the vice-president under Coolidge. Morris could settle any argument, and his word was law. He also took bets now and then and handled a few cartons of bootleg cigarettes.

I timed my arrival for a few minutes after 10:00 in the evening. I figured the regulars wouldn’t yet be clogging the bar, and I’d have a chance for a private conversation with Morris.

‘Hey, Jannie,’ he said in his raspy, waterfront voice. ‘Long time no see. How you been?’

‘I’m not going to tell you,’ I said. ‘Why should we both be miserable? A double brandy, Morris.’

‘What’s with the brandy?’ he said. ‘I never known you to dip your nose in anything but white wine. Something wrong, Jannie?’

‘Ah, hell,’ I said. ‘I got mugged last night, and I still got the shakes.’

I held out a hand and trembled the fingers convincingly.

‘Son of a bitch,’ he said bitterly. ‘You’re the third in the neighborhood this month. You get hurt, God fabbid?’

‘No,’Isaid. ‘Just the shit scared out of me.’

‘I can imagine,’ he said. ‘But you weren’t hurt?’

‘No, nothing like that. Just took my wallet. A little over a hundred. Didn’ttouch my credit cards. I guess I was lucky.’

‘You get a good look at him?’

‘What can I tell you? A kid with a knife.’

‘The lousy creep,’ he growled and moved away to wait on a new customer.

‘What did the cops say?’ he asked when he came back.

‘The cops,’ I said scornfully. ‘They took my statement and promised nothing. What can they do? A hundred muggings a night. The animals are taking over. Morrie, I just felt so helpless. He had a knife, and I had nothing. He made me reach into my shoulder bag for my wallet. I swear if I had a gun in there, I would have shot him in the balls.’

‘Just what he deserved,’ Morris said virtuously. ‘Your honest citizen, he can’t carry a gun. The assholes can carry an arsenal.’

‘Morrie,’ I said, staring into his eyes, ‘I’m not going to get mugged again. Not without putting up a fight, I’m not. Do you know how I can get a gun?’

He froze. ‘Aw, babe,’ he said, ‘you don’t want to do that. So what if you plug a guy trying to rob you? Then you’re in trouble with the law.’

‘1 don’t care!’ I told him furiously. ‘I want to be able to fight back. Listen, maybe the next guy will rob me and try rape as a little bonus. Morrie, can you help me? Help me get a gun?’

Again he moved away to wait on another customer. When he came back, he leaned across the bar. I leaned toward him.

‘Well, listen,’ he said in a growly whisper, ‘I think you’re doing the wrong thing. I mean, maybe you miss, and the bentnose decides to shoot you or cut you up, God fabbid.’

‘I’m willing to take my chances.’

‘You know how to handle a piece?’

‘I can learn. Point it and pull the trigger — right?’

‘Well, yeah. Something like that. If your mind is made up, Jannie, maybe I can do something for you.’ ‘How much?’

‘Fifty, a hundred, more,’ he said judiciously. ‘It depends on the iron. Let me get in touch with this guy I know.’

‘When can I meet him?’

‘Drop by tomorrow night,’ Morris said. ‘Or give me a call. I’ll try to have some word for you. You’re absolutely positive you want to do this, Jannie?’

‘Absolutely,’ I said firmly.

‘Okay.’ He nodded. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’