The Man Who Robbed the Pierre by Ira Berkow

Author:Ira Berkow
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: TRUE CRIME/General
Publisher: Diversion Books
Published: 2014-07-07T16:00:00+00:00

22

In a dimly lighted corner of the Port Said, a crowded Middle Eastern nightclub located on the West Side of Manhattan, Bobby Comfort stepped into the dark telephone booth, slid onto the stool, and shut the wood-framed glass door. The fan and an overhead light switched on automatically.

Using a phony credit-card number, he placed a call to Millie. The phone in his home three hundred miles upstate rang several times. Finally, Millie answered.

“For a minute I thought you weren’t home,” said Comfort in his raspy, emphatic voice.

“I’m home,” she replied. There was an unmistakable bite in her voice. “Where are you?” she asked. “I hear music.”

“I’m at the Port Said,” he replied. “How’s the baby?”

She brushed off his obvious attempt to change the subject.

“You’re going to do more of that stupid business, aren’t you?” She was practiced enough after ten years with her husband to camouflage her words on the phone.

“It’s a card game,” he said.

“If it’s cards, how come you’re at the Port Said?”

“Dropped by for a few minutes, that’s all,” he replied.

To Millie the Port Said meant Sammy the Arab, and Sammy had nothing to do with playing in card games.

Suddenly, the crowded cabaret exploded with shouts. Colored streamers burst into the air. Balloons floated up. Through the glass door Comfort saw revelers hug and kiss, and he heard the muffled sounds of the gypsy band strike up “Auld Lang Syne.”

“Happy New Year, Millie,” he said. “This is the last time we’ll be apart on New Year’s. I promise.”

There was a pause, and a crackle of long-distance wires.

“I’ll believe it when it happens.” She added, “But be careful, and remember the baby needs a father—and I need a husband.”

After they said their good-byes, Comfort returned to his table, now occupied by Doc and two friends—Walter Leavitt and his wife.

Leavitt ran a big wholesale fur operation in midtown, and had excellent connections in the diamond center that were helpful to Comfort and Sammy when the occasion required.

Comfort sipped his Scotch and water and looked around the club. It was heavy with smoke. The band loudly played its amplified music. As usual, the night’s entertainment included a comedian, a singer, and several belly dancers. Between acts some of the men in the audience—in the tradition of the Middle East—stepped onto the stage to attempt a Greek folk dance. One of these men, Comfort noticed, now climbed onto the small bare stage. Adhering to tradition, he began his heavy-legged dance, then nonchalantly tossed a handful of dollar bills over his shoulder—to be picked up later by the band.

Comfort was struck by the man’s money fluttering to the floor. The scene only served to remind him of his own repeated foolish gestures in the past—the giving away of hundreds of thousands of dollars.

It would be different after tomorrow. Millie was right. Living from day to day was over.

Comfort exhaled a Kent and then watched the smoke curl toward a revolving red ceiling light.

“Hey, everybody drunk yet?” It was Sammy, with Diana.

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