NOVEMBER 22, 1934
I WAITED OUTSIDE LAZAR’S penthouse. Idecided to stake the place out. There was that smartass doorman, all full of himself like he was c**k o’ the walk. Nerts to him. He didn’t do anything but open the door for rich people. I waited. It seemed like the right time when I saw a gorgeous dame with getaway sticks to die for walk in. I recognized her. She was one of ours. I had known her once. In the biblical sense. I walked up to the doorway.
“Yes, sir, may I help you?” the doorman said.
Then he was down on the ground. One good punch. Well, all right, maybe he didn’t need to be kicked in the groin and the ribs all those extra times. But it seemed like the thing to do.
When I kicked in the door to his apartment, Lazar and Kumaree were sitting in his little living room pit,
