Secret Isaac by Jerome Charyn

padre. He would hang ribbons on female detectives who had fired their guns at some nigger thief. He would shake his jaw and pronounce statistics of doom at the closing of a precinct.
    Otherwise he was at his club, sitting in a corner with bankbooks in his pocket. He knew the names by heart. Gertrude MacDowell. Nosey Flynn. Molly and/or Leopold Bloom … Where was Jamey O’Toole that would show up at the Mayor’s house with a bankbook for John? Should he cry to Dennis Mangen, the Special State Pros? Dennis, find me this O’Toole. I’m lonely for the names in a little book . Why were his brothers at the Dingle so secretive? Were they frightened of the great god Dennis? Couldn’t they come to John? He was their headman, the first Son, and the Commissioner of Police.

15
    M OSES Herzog arrived at Kennedy. He tore his passport to bits. A king and a worm had broken the First Dep. He got out of Dublin with his tail in his ass.
    Isaac hid out at his hotel. Phone calls were coming in from his office. Isaac went down to Centre Street, where he could sit in the dark, listen to the scurry of the rats. The cops on duty at the old Headquarters were genuflecting to him. Why? They’d never missed him before. They had a certain terror in their eyes, an awe of him. A miracle passed while Isaac was in Dublin doing futile work. Mayor Sam had won the primary from his hospital bed. He’d smacked Rebecca between the eyes. The Irish came out for Becky Karp, but the “blues” and the Yids went for Mayor Sam. Isaac was lord of the primaries. He’d gathered in the votes for Sam with his talks in the synagogues, his lectures in the clubs. The Dublin idiot, Isaac Sidel, owned New York City.
    â€œHizzoner” was recuperating inside Gracie Mansion. He’d been asking for Isaac. “Where’s the lad?” The First Dep had to rush uptown. It was a madhouse near the old Mayor. The deputies who had deserted Sam months ago crowded the master bedroom. They would have gotten into bed with Sam, under the big chandelier. “Hizzoner” had to drive them away. He was much less senile after the primaries. “Isaac, they laugh at us in Chicago. We deserve a better Commissioner of Police. I’m making you the new PC.”
    A year ago you couldn’t have separated Tiger John and Sam. “Hizzoner” wanted a PC that he could wrap around his thumb. But John had become a hindrance to him. John was an unpopular “Commish.” John might lose City Hall for Mayor Sam.
    â€œYour Honor, I won’t sit at Headquarters like a loyal mole. Thank you, I’ll stay where I am.”
    â€œIsaac, you’re not a baby anymore. You can’t keep wandering around in old suits.”
    Isaac would avoid Gracie Mansion until winter came. “Hizzoner” had a habit of forgetfulness. The First Dep would creep out of Sam’s head in a day or two. Let those rebels who had gone over to Becky find a new Commissioner for Mayor Sam.
    Isaac was coming out of his Dublin sloth. He went to Roosevelt Hospital to see Annie Powell. Annie wasn’t on the hospital’s lists. “What the hell do you mean?” Isaac growled. “She was here two weeks ago with a broken face.” The residents, the nurses, and the guards couldn’t keep Isaac from going through the hospital. Annie wasn’t in the wards. She wasn’t in a private bed. “Christ, do sick girls vanish from these fucking rooms?”
    A doctor located her discharge slip. “Annie Powell walked out of here.”
    â€œWhen?”
    â€œLast week … she got her skirt from the closet and disappeared.”
    â€œI suppose that happens all the time,” Isaac said. “Losing a girl like that. You didn’t have anybody to stop her?”
    â€œWe don’t run a prison, Commissioner Sidel … we can’t lock people to their beds.”
    She was at her whore’s station on Forty-third Street,