Joshua: A Brooklyn Tale Part 11

"Where'd you hear that?"

"What difference does it make? You don't believe it noways."

"That's right, I don't!"

"Good! So let's get down to business. First, you owe me, and I intend to collect on that debt."

"I still got the money. I can go get it."

"I'm sure you can, but I ain't that dumb. I let you go now, I'm gonna have to come looking for you all over again, and I don't got time for that. Now, I also believe there's some interest due. And last, there's a little matter of loyalty-it don't look good for business if I let someone get away with what you did, understand?"

Only too well, Joshua thought. "So, what are you gonna do?"

"What am I gonna do?" he mimicked. "I ain't gonna do nothing. Fact is, I already done it." More laughing. "You see, Peanut, my man, I know where your little girlfriend is. Like I said, I know everything. Get my meaning?"

Joshua knew Big Bob wanted more than to simply kick the s.h.i.t out of him. "Where is she?" he asked.

"She's safe, for now," Big Bob answered, as he looked out the alley, across the street toward the hookers. He turned back to Joshua with another wicked smile.

One day I'm going to kill you, Joshua thought; "What do you want?" he said.

"You sure you wanna do business? You know, that girl is a lot safer with me than with her daddy. At least with us, she makes good money for doing that sort of thing."

Bones laughed hard.

"What do you want?" Joshua repeated. He tried to stay calm, despite what he'd heard about Celeste's father.

"Looks like the boy wants to do business," Big Bob said to Bones.

"Seem so," Bones replied.

Big Bob was pensive for a moment. "This here's what I want from you. Listen now, so there ain't no misunderstanding!" He looked at Bones who nodded and echoed, "No misunderstanding!"

"First," Big Bob began, "I want my five hundred dollars. Second, I want an additional five hundred dollars interest..."

"But I ain't got..."

"Don't interrupt me, boy!" He looked at Bones. "I think we might have to teach the boy some manners."

Bones nodded again.

"Now, where was I?" Big Bob mused. "Ah yes, the third thing-your disloyalty. There are many ways to make you pay for that." He stuck his face in Joshua's, and pressed his forefinger into Joshua's chest. "Many ways," he repeated. "But I'm in a generous mood tonight, so I think I'll just tack on another five hundred dollars."

Joshua's face burned.

"Yes, another five," Big Bob said again. "What's that come to?" he asked, looking at Bones.

"One Thou-sand Five Hun-dred Dollars," Bones proclaimed.

"That sounds about right," Big Bob confirmed.

"Where do you expect me to get that kind of money?" Joshua asked.

"I hear your Mama has a rich boss, the same boss your girlfriend's daddy has. I also heard this man once paid a lot of money to get you out of trouble with the police. He'll pay again to get you out of this."

"What if he won't?" Joshua asked.

"If he don't," Big Bob said, leaning in to Joshua's face, "then your little girlfriend's gonna have to work it off in trade! Get my meaning?"

Loud and clear, Joshua thought.

"Now, you get going and round up the money. You got twenty-four hours, not a minute more. Tomorrow night, at this time, I want you to walk up and down the sidewalk. I'll find you. Any cops or surprises, deal's off, and the girl stays with me." He looked at Bones, adding, "That wouldn't be so bad, she's a nice looking thing."

It was close to one in the morning when Joshua entered the front door of his building. He had been dwelling on Big Bob's a.s.sertions about Celeste and her father, which made some sense in light of Celeste's recent behavior. He walked through the lobby, and took the stairs to the bas.e.m.e.nt. He came to the Williams' door, rang the bell, and waited.

Through the s.p.a.ce under the door he could see that the lights were on, and figured they were still awake, waiting for news about Celeste. The door opened and Mr. Williams' face appeared.

Williams, who had probably been expecting the police or even Celeste herself, appeared shocked. He instinctively grabbed Joshua by the shirt, pulled him inside, and threw him across the room. Joshua knocked over a lamp and some other ornaments, landing hard on the wooden floor. The lamp came down on his head and fell to his side.

"What's going on?" Mrs. Williams yelled, running from the kitchen. She saw Joshua on the floor, and was about to help him.

"Stay where you are!" Williams demanded. "I'm gonna teach this boy a lesson."

Joshua was lying face-down; the room was spinning; he felt nauseous. He vaguely heard a woman yelling, "No, No!" but it was hard to hear anything above the ringing in his ears. Through blurred vision, he was barely able to see Williams come at him a second time. He tried to get up, but couldn't.

Williams lunged through the air. Joshua managed to turn on his side to avoid getting crushed, causing Williams to also land on the floor. Joshua saw that the impact had weakened Williams, and tried once more to hoist himself up. But Williams' arm reached out and held him down, though the man's face was also on the floor.

Joshua saw the solid bra.s.s base of the broken lamp about two feet from his eyes. He reached and grabbed hold of it, feeling it was heavy enough to be useful. Without hesitation, he swung it with all his strength and smashed it into the back of Williams' head. Williams' hold loosened, then went limp.

Joshua pulled away.

Williams wasn't moving.

Joshua figured Williams was unconscious, and was about to drop the lamp. But he couldn't, he had to make sure that Williams would never again bother Celeste. He had to finish the job. All he knew was madness as he raised the lamp and delivered the final blow.

CHAPTER 16.

Rachel Weissman and Esther Mandlebaum tried to be inconspicuous as they stood across the street from the main entrance of the Kingsbrook Jewish Hospital. They'd been waiting several hours, and Esther was growing impatient. "Just a few more minutes," Rachel pleaded, "I'm sure she'll be coming out soon."

Rachel was referring to Doctor Marcia Schiffman, the wondrous young resident Rachel saw as possessing all the things she wanted for herself. Over the past few months, Rachel had replayed her encounter with Doctor Schiffman for Esther ad nauseam until, finally, Esther had agreed to see for herself what the big deal was. Of course, Esther thought Rachel was crazy, these plans of becoming a doctor and all, but figured that she should at least humor her friend. After all, Esther had crazy dreams of her own.

"Look! There she is," Rachel exclaimed as Doctor Schiffman emerged from the hospital. "Wait! Stand over here, or she'll see us!" It was too late; the girls had done a poor job at hiding, and Doctor Schiffman happened to be looking their way. Rachel was nervous, but figured the doctor wouldn't recognize her; it was so long ago.

But Marcia Schiffman's face lit up when she saw Rachel. It was hard for her to forget the young Hasidic girl who showed so much interest. Rachel saw Schiffman's smile from across the street, and felt embarra.s.sed.

"Oh, Gut'n himmel, G.o.d in heaven, she's coming this way," Rachel said. "What if she suspects we've been spying on her?"

"Don't worry so much, dear," Esther said. "We haven't been spying on anyone. We've just been out for a stroll."

Rachel knew that the excuse was lame; this side of the neighborhood had changed much over the past few years; it was no place for Hasidic girls to be "strolling." But Rachel also knew that Esther could pull off almost anything.

"Hi," Doctor Schiffman said, approaching the girls.

Rachel said a faint h.e.l.lo, looking to Esther for help. Doctor Schiffman saw that Rachel was anxious. "I remember you," Schiffman said, pointing a friendly finger at Rachel, "but I must apologize; I don't remember your name."

"Rachel Weissman," Rachel answered, trying to conceal her nervousness.

"Yes, Rachel with the broken ankle," the doctor remarked, smiling.

Rachel prayed for Esther to jump in. "This is my friend, Esther Mandlebaum, the one whose steps I fell on," Rachel said. She turned to Esther: "This is Doctor Schiffman, the doctor who took care of me."

"Ah yes," mused Schiffman, recalling the details of Rachel's accident. "Nice to meet you," she said.

"Nice to meet you," Esther responded.

"What brings you girls around here?" the doctor asked.

"Oh, we were just out walking," Esther answered. "We come by this way all the time."

Rachel nodded in agreement. Marcia Schiffman nodded too.

"And we should be getting home," Esther added, glancing at her wrist.w.a.tch. "It's almost dinner time."

Rachel looked at her watch and concurred.

"Well, if you do this much walking, your ankle must have healed nicely," Schiffman observed.

"Oh, it has," Rachel said, feeling foolish.

"I'm glad," the doctor said, "but I think you girls should let me drive you home. It's getting late and you probably shouldn't be out walking these streets at this hour."

Rachel looked at Esther.

Esther shrugged her shoulders, but Rachel knew she was disappointed. The original plan had been to stop by the park on the way home. But it was late, and Doctor Schiffman was right about walking the streets.

The three of them huddled into a two-door Datsun. The ride was short. Rachel and Esther were quiet, but Marcia Schiffman struck up small talk about what the girls were learning in school. When they pulled up in front of Esther's house, Marcia Schiffman said, "It was nice meeting you, Esther."

"It was nice meeting you, too, Doctor Schiffman," Esther replied.

Rachel followed Esther, and also exchanged good-byes with Schiffman. The girls walked toward the house, when Rachel suddenly stopped, turned around, and called out to Schiffman as the car was about to pull away.

"What are you doing?" asked Esther.

"Wait here a minute!" Rachel said, running back to the car.

Rachel leaned through the pa.s.senger window. "I was just wondering," Rachel began nervously, stopping to catch her breath. "I was... wondering if I could come by the hospital to visit some time?"

"You mean to volunteer?" Schiffman asked.

"Something like that."

"Well, that's an excellent idea. The hospital is always looking for young volunteers. Let me give you the phone number of the director of volunteers. I'll talk to him and tell him to expect your call. I'll even try to get you a.s.signed to me in the emergency room. You'll like it, there's always a lot going on, a lot to learn."

Rachel didn't know what to say. She was beside herself. The thought of working closely with Doctor Schiffman was overwhelming, a dream come true, and a step closer to her ultimate aspiration of becoming a doctor. The only problem would be convincing her parents. But she couldn't think about that just yet, she would deal with it later. For now, all she wanted to think about was this wonderful day.

Paul Sims sat in the study hall, breaking his teeth over a page of Talmud. The schedule in the yeshiva was grueling: up at five, breakfast at five-thirty, religious studies at six, prayer at nine, Talmud cla.s.ses at ten, lunch at twelve. Afternoons were for secular subjects, and evenings were for reviewing the morning's Talmud lecture.

He was finding it difficult to stay awake. His mind raced with thoughts of Rachel Weissman. The last time he saw her was a week earlier, when the Rabbi had invited him for Shabbos dinner.

Suddenly, his parents came to mind. Strangely, he missed them. He had to admit that absence did do something to the heart after all.

He also missed the creature comforts of his Hewlett Harbor home. It was difficult adjusting to the tiny dorm room with the linoleum floor and squeaky beds. The worst thing was sharing with a roommate, especially one as saintly as Meir Rosenzweig, the upper cla.s.sman he'd been paired with. It was policy in the yeshiva to team up freshmen with veterans, thereby a.s.suring proper influences at all times.

Meir was two years ahead of Paul and, like all students at Yeshiva O'havei Torah, from a non-Orthodox home. He was tall, with a scraggly beard covering much of his face, and tortoisesh.e.l.l gla.s.ses. He was also soft-spoken and likeable, two characteristics Paul appreciated. What Paul didn't appreciate was not being able to lie in bed at night, think about Rachel, and indulge in a little harmless masturbation. For such was not so harmless in the sanctified world of the yeshiva.

There were a few occasions on which he'd managed to steal some time alone in a bathroom stall, but he always had to be quick about it, for there was the constant danger of someone barging in. He knew he would have been better off not thinking about her. All it brought him was frustration. But he couldn't help it.

All in all, yeshiva life took some getting used to. He was determined, however, to do what he had to do, anything to make him more acceptable to Rachel Weissman. In that, he was single minded.

CHAPTER 17.

Elija Williams was buried on Thursday, May 20, 1965. Present at his funeral were his son Jerome, his wife Mary, Alfred Sims, Loretta Eubanks, and several other tenants from his building. Reverend Jameson Sharp officiated, and the reverend's family was also in attendance. Celeste Williams was nowhere to be found, and Joshua Eubanks was being held in the juvenile division of the Brooklyn House of Detention.

The magnanimous Mr. Alfred Sims secured an attorney for Joshua-a specialist in criminal law-at his own expense. Joshua felt uneasy about Mr. Sims' occasional involvement in his life. He also didn't want a lawyer. He was planning to plead guilty and accept his punishment.

Mr. Arthur Rothman, the lawyer, had introduced himself to Joshua in the prison conference room the morning after the killing. Rothman was short and stocky, sharply dressed, with thick salt and pepper hair, deep brown eyes, and a cleft in his chin. "You're mother's employer, Alfred Sims, has asked me to look into this case and see if I can represent you," was the first thing he said.

Rothman placed his briefcase on the table, removed a legal pad and some other papers, and took a fancy black fountain pen from the breast pocket of his three piece, charcoal-gray suit jacket.

"I don't need any lawyer," Joshua stated, "and I don't need favors from some white guy just because my mama works for him!"

"I suppose you're planning on defending yourself," Rothman responded.

"No I ain't. I did what I did, and that's that. No two ways about it. I don't need a trial or a lawyer. I'm ready to go to jail."

Rothman leaned over the table and brought his face closer to Joshua's. He lowered his tone to a whisper and responded, "Oh yes, I understand, you want to be a martyr. You killed your girlfriend's daddy, and now you feel bad about it, so you want your just desserts. You want to take what's coming to you, so you'll feel like a man, and your girlfriend-wherever she is-will think you're a man. And when you get out-if you ever do-the two of you can march into the sunset, and everything will be okay because you'll have paid your debt.