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Updated: June 28, 2025
It was precisely one o'clock the following day when Morris Perlmutter seated himself at a table in the rear of Wasserbauer's Café and Restaurant. "Yes, sir, right away!" Louis, the waiter, cried, as he deposited a plate of dill pickles on the adjoining table, at which sat a stout middle-aged person with a napkin tucked in his neck. "Koenigsberger Klops is good to-day, Mr. Potash," Louis announced.
"Twenty twenty-five years ago a feller could get a meal down on Canal Street for a quarter understand me which it was really something you could say was remarkable. Take any of them places, Gifkin's oder Wasserbauer's. Ain't I right?" "Did you used to went to Gifkin's?" Abe asked. "I should say!" his vis-
"A feller what goes to a bank looking for accommodations," Zudrowsky replied, "naturally don't put on his oldest clothes, y'understand, but anyhow, Noblestone, if you would be around here at half past twelve to-morrow, I will see that Harry gets here too, and we will go down to Wasserbauer's and meet the feller."
"First, I seen Moe Klein, of Klinger & Klein," he went on. "Moe says he seen Mendel Immerglick, in the back of Wasserbauer's Café, playing auction pinochle with a couple of loafer salesmen at three o'clock in the afternoon, and while Moe was standing there already them two low-lives set Immerglick back three times on four hundred hands at a dollar a hundred, double double."
That feller's idee of entertaining a customer is to go into Wasserbauer's and to drink all the schnapps in stock. I bet yer when Walsh gets through, he don't know which is the customer and which is the bartender already." "You got to treat a customer right, Abe," Morris commented, "because nowadays we are up against some stiff competition.
Wasserbauer's got a few good specialties on his bill-of-fare that don't improve with waiting." "All right," Mr. Small said. "If that's the case go ahead and have your lunch. I won't detain you none." He put his hand on Abe's shoulder, and the little procession passed into the store with Abe and Mr. Small in the van, while Frank Walsh constituted a solitary rear-guard.
Not only did Walsh hand out cigars to the big man, but also he proffered them to the person who sat next to him on the other side. This man Morris recognized as the drummer who had been in Wasserbauer's with Frank on the previous day. "Letting him in on it, too," Morris said to himself. "What show do I stand?" The first of the preliminary bouts began.
They covered the distance from the stairway to the store door so rapidly that when they reached the sidewalk Frank and his customers had not yet arrived in front of Wasserbauer's. "The little feller," Morris hissed, "is the same one what was up to the fighting. I guess he's a drummer." "Him?" Abe replied. "He ain't no drummer, Mawruss.
Abe exclaimed, and then, for the first time since he saw the silk foulards, he remembered Interstate Copper. "I was to Wasserbauer's Restaurant for lunch," Morris continued, "and in the café I seen that thing what the baseball comes out of it, Abe." "The tickler," Abe croaked. "That's it," Morris went on.
"It's already two o'clock, so I guess, Abe, you would be liable to get him in the back room of Wasserbauer's Café. Him and a feller by the name Feinson and that lowlife Rabiner plays there auction pinochle together." "But ain't he got no office, Mawruss?" Abe asked. "Sure, he's got an office," Morris replied. "He's got it desk-room with a couple of real estaters on Liberty Street, Abe.
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