47th Street is a closed community. Everyone knows each other. If you say something about someone to somebody else, you can be sure whatever you said will be filter through several layers to come out much worse than what you had originally had stated to the first person. Best in most cases to say nothing, however Richie Boy’s partner at the Plaza had screwed me out of $3000 and then stiffed me on money and bounced checks. Said I fucked up on the banks. None of it was true. He just didn’t have the money in his accounts. He could have told me that and I would have been fine. Instead he made me out to be a scumbag. Even after I set them up for a $1 million sale. I had found the customer. I had found the stone. Richie Boy’s partner recognized none of it. He was a classic piece of shit.

“If I see him in a room, I will give him two minutes to leave, otherwise I’ll stick a fork in his eye.” I told this to Richie Boy’s father. Manny came from Brownsville. Mike Tyson’s old neighborhood. No one knew how tough it was there. Only people like Tyson and Manny, who counseled, “Better you say nothing.”

“I’m only saying it to you, because you can keep your mouth shut.” I was hot. Hot enough to walk over to Richie Boy’s partner and do something crazy. Only I was leaving for Thailand to see my kids. Two months in the Orient with my two wives. I didn’t need any trouble. Both women were trouble enough, so I said to Manny, “I’m going to be cool. I won’t speak to the piece of shit. He won’t get a fork in the eye. End of story.”

I thought that was the end of it, except Richie Boy’s partner saw me on the street. I blanked him like a dog. He called up and asked if we had a problem.

“No problem.” I hung up the phone. I don’t speak with pieces of shit. It makes life easier. The previous owner of our exchange was the same. Howie and I shot every Monday night at the shooting range on 20th Street. He never tolerated liars other than me, because I told good stories. I don’t think he ever liked Richie Boy’s partner either, however business was business. Money makes for strange relationships and Richie Boy’s
partner telephoned our office several times in the next few days. I never answered the phone. I told everyone else to field the call. None of them wanted to answer either. Richie Boy’s partner was a piece of shit to them too. Manny fielded the call. he would speak to anyone. I told him thanks. I didn’t want to make any trouble before I left.

But some people can leave well enough alone and the next morning Richie Boy tapped me in the chest with a pen, “I want you to be good to him. I make money with him.”

“Really?” His partner had shorted everyone for cash, but I was on the wrong side of the equation. I was a goy. Then again I was a math major in university. I could add and subtract and no matter how Richie Boy painted his partner, he was still a donkey in my eyes. I kept my mouth shut. This was 2009. Jobs weren’t easy to hold. Later I mentioned Richie Boy’s comment to Manny.

“What are you going to do?”

“Nothing.” It was the best tactic.

“Nothing?” Manny was a starker. That meant a tough guy in Yiddish.

“Whatever I do won’t change the fact that Richie Boy’s partner is a piece of shit.” I had forgiven Richie Boy. We went back 30 years. That time outweighed his partner’s bad. Only by a little, but enough to cool me down.

“Can you keep your mouth shut?” Manny was a peacemaker.

“As long as he keeps out of my face. No problem.” I didn’t like thieves.

“Then that’s the end of the story.”

“So it would seem.” I liked Manny. He was 79. People like him are hard to find. People like Richie Boy’s partner are all too easy. He was lucky that I was in a good mood. Anyone would be going on vacation for the rest of the summer. Especially if I didn’t have to make nice to a piece of shit. Call me a bad boy, but that’s who I am.