BAGELNOSE GOES TO COLLEGE

(c) 2021 by Stephen Shaiken

Every neighborhood has one: a person struggling to escape the prison of their being. In Macbeth Heights, where I grew up, that person was Kenny Pelko. The Kenny Pelkos of the world spend their lives trying to fit into spaces where they do not belong, like a man trying to squeeze into a suit that is too tight.

Pelko was a short, stout lump of a fellow, built like a fire hydrant.  His head was too big for his squat torso, his limbs too short,  his eyes small and close together, his ears too small. Thin lips were fixed in a perpetual scowl that made him look like a rat.

It was his nose that drew the most attention, a puffy, bulging proboscis resembling a bagel set upright like a wheel. He was called Bagelnose, but only behind his back. 

Macbeth Heights was one of hundreds of New York neighborhoods. No one knew why a working class redoubt was named after a Shakespearean character, and a murderous psychopath at that.

The streets of Macbeth Heights were lined with older American cars. The people dressed in cheap clothing, their ill-fitting garments the uniforms of life’s also-rans.

A New York City cop once told me, “Macbeth Heights is where life’s losers wind up.” I never found reason to doubt him.

Almost four hundred working class families lived in a clump of four apartment buildings perched atop a steep hill. The sole college-educated resident in the development, an engineer, asserted that the construction and materials used were of the lowest quality and would age prematurely. Indeed, within a few years pieces of brick chipped away, window frames cracked and warped, and the lawns sported more weeds than grass.

The developers of these apartments expended no effort on public relations, and the four Stalinesque buildings bore the elegiac titles of Buildings One, Two, Three, and Four. The residents of each tended to graft hidden meaning onto their building number. Those in One claimed superiority over Two, Three, and Four. Doug Plotkin of Building Four argued that the higher the number, the better the residents. “They checked everybody out before they assigned apartments, and the best people got sent to Four,” he declared. 

My family lived in Building One. Our neighbor, Mr. Goldberg, swore that only the best people were sent there. 

“Why else would they call it Building One?” he asked.

In a community of smart, young Jewish people striving to better themselves, Bagelnose, of Building Three, stood out as as the dolt. He was always in the slower classes and showed none of the intellectual curiosity that propelled the rest of Macbeth Heights youth into more affluent lives. Bagelnose possessed no discernible skills aside from brute force. He was accepted by some, disliked by many, respected by none.

Bagelnose had one close friend, Max Flugel, known as The Weasel, or just Weasel. Max  feigned friendships, then incited others to torment his alleged friends. The Weasel could insult a person mercilessly in public when surrounded by his bully minions, but when it suited him, reignite the friendship. I did not spend much time with Weasel. He was my age, but a year behind me in school, as I had skipped a grade in junior high. This made me a year younger than most fellow seniors, a big difference as a teenager.  

Max was short, thin, and buck-toothed, with beady eyes, and swarthy skin inherited from his South American mother. His parents took frequent trips, leaving Max an empty apartment, which enabled him to throw parties, where he recruited the bullies who did his bidding. I was never invited to any of the parties but was occasionally bullied.

Weasel often encouraged Bagelnose to commit assault and battery, though Bagelnose needed no enticement. He was infamous for jumping victims from behind, or punching them in the gut without warning or provocation. Anyone but Weasel might be a victim.

I avoided Bagelnose whenever possible. When in proximity, I kept an eye out for telltale signs of an imminent outburst. He would fidget, crane his neck, and snap it down to his chest like a snapping turtle in the midst of a seizure. In the most severe cases, he bit his fingers, hands, or upper arms. I often feared he would bite me. Bagelnose always had a ready excuse for his assaultive behavior, sometimes self defense, or a slur on he or his family, but no one ever believed him. Bagelnose was forever telling lies.

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In 1966, Bagelnose and I were seniors at different high schools. I attended a prestigious special school for high achievers, and Bagelnose the local high school. He claimed to be in their college preparatory program, although no one in the program recalled seeing him in any classes. It was rumored that Bagelnose was enrolled in the General Studies program, a  simple and basic program for students not deemed college material.

All graduating seniors in Macbeth Heights aspired to admission at one of the respected New York City public colleges, extraordinarily competitive, because they were excellent schools and tuition was free. As a senior in a special school, I could count on acceptance at the public college of my choice. 

I decided against joining my fellow Macbeth Heights seniors at City College in Upper Manhattan, allegedly the crown jewel of the system. Most  had served stints as Weasel’s bullies, and I wanted them out of my life. On my City University of New York application, I checked the box for Queens College, confident I was  the only one choosing this campus. I did not inform any other neighborhood seniors, fearful  one might decide to switch their preference to Queens.

In truth, it was doubtful they gave any thought to which college I attended. By the start of our  senior year we had developed a mutual disinterest in each other. No tears were shed by anyone when we drifted apart. I was Bob Dylan, anti-war, pre-Earth Day environmentalist, caught up in the Civil Rights Movement. They were cardigan sweaters, Four Seasons, aspiring to homes in the suburbs, where there would be no black people. Bagelnose and the Weasel were huge racists, and often taunted me about my pro civil rights feelings. 

Unbeknownst to me, Bagelnose announced that he had applied to Queens College, though no one took him seriously. For most of my senior year I was unaware of his claim, or what it held in store for me.

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In early April, just after Passover, the decision letters arrived. Rumors swirled about what type of envelopes signified acceptance and which foretold rejection. Beginning the last day of March I returned home from my after-school job and checked the mail, looking for the official word. It finally came in a perforated document which I promptly ripped open. It was an acceptance at Queens College. Despite my ongoing confidence, I felt great relief.

I walked outside my apartment building, looking for someone with whom I could share my good fortune. I felt so good  that just about anyone aside from Bagelnose would do .

I walked only a few score feet when I spotted a knot of my peers gathered along the sidewalk, my friend Shaul among them. Shaul was a quiet fellow who feared no one. We were friends since kindergarten, and he was the only friend with whom I still occasionally exchanged Yiddish phrases.  On more than one occasion Shaul intervened to spare me from assault by Bagelnose or other bullies. After that, Bagelnose wouldn’t start trouble with Shaul around. 

Next to Shaul was Martin Krazloff, a lanky, lantern-jawed senior at the local high school, a spindly figure who stood six foot one. He was given the monicker “Manny” because of his long, narrow face and thin body, which looked like it could be folded up and carried away. His physique indeed suggested a praying mantis. Krazloff was prone to speaking in a faux British accent, in imitation of William F. Buckley, for whom he expressed great admiration. He occasionally represented himself to strangers as the scion of a wealthy family, once claiming to be a Rothschild. He often wore expensive sport coats, which I later learned he shoplifted from upscale department stores in Manhattan. We had been friends through junior high, but when I was accepted at my special high school and he was not, the friendship cooled.

Mixed in the knot was Bagelnose, gesticulating as he spoke with Albert Robinson, the only fellow in Macbeth Heights uglier than he. Everyone called him Brooks, after the great Baltimore Oriole third baseman, Brooks Robinson. Our Brooks had a face that could stop a clock, pimply and snaggletoothed, with eyes set too deep and a nose that protruded like a broken pipe. Brooks walked around with his shirt tails hanging out, and pants that never fit right. He thought nothing of passing gas anywhere, anytime. It was questionable how often he bathed or showered. To this day when I think of Brooks, what comes to mind are the smells of fart and body odor. 

I was surprised when Weasel greeted me.

“So, you joining the boys at City?” he asked, in a tone implying he knew the answer. Perhaps my mother told his mother, I thought.

“No, Max,” I gleefully replied. “I’m going to Queens. You’re the first person I’ve told”

“Congratulations That means you’re going to be seeing a lot of Bagelnose,” Max retorted. Max alone could use that name in the owner’s presence. I learned only then what Bagelnose had been claiming for months. I did not believe it, and certainly did not want it to be true. 

Bagelnose heard Weasel and turned towards us. 

“I wouldn’t be seen with this guy,” he snorted, jabbing a stubby finger in my direction.

Knowing Bagelnose’s propensities, I moved back several steps. He once jumped me from behind while I was leaving a candy store, and on another occasion punched me in the stomach while I stood in line for a movie. I was never unaware of any deep seated animosity he held towards me in particular, and assumed he was angry at the world. This time he specifically directed his outrage at me. 

“It’s a big campus,” I replied. “We don’t ever have to see each other.” 

The Weasel laughed. I didn’t

“So what’s next?” he asked  “You have to sign up for classes or get some orientation?”

“Both,” I replied, looking over my shoulder at Bagelnose. “They said I would get a catalogue in June. Orientation is in August. Then we register for classes.”

“Well, I’m really happy for you,” Weasel said. “I’ll be checking in with you.

“And Bagelnose too,” he added.

Bagelnose bit down on his upper lip and moved his shoulders up and down. Never a good sign, I thought.

“It’s really nice of you to be so happy for me, Max” I said. “I have to go upstairs and finish some homework.”

“See you around,” Max called out as I walked towards Building One. 

“Bagelnose, say goodbye to your classmate,” he added. 

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Over the next few months, when I passed the neighborhood crowd, we sometimes exchanged greetings, and other times ignored each other. If Bagelnose and The Weasel were together, the latter was sure to ask me about Queens College.

 “Bagelnose says he hasn’t gotten anything from Queens,”  Weasel told me when I encountered the two of them standing at the bus stop. “You hear anything?”

“Sure Max, I got the catalogue last week. I’ve been looking at classes,” I replied.

“Bagelnose hasn’t heard anything,”Max responded.

“I’ll have to call them tomorrow,” Bagelnose interjected, glaring at me with burning eyes.

“You can look at mine if you like,” I volunteered. I didn’t know why I said that, and  immediately realized I should have kept quiet.

“I don’t want nothing to do with you.” Bagelnose barked.

“Now, now, Bagelnose,” Max said, patting Pelko on the shoulder. “He’s just trying to be nice to a classmate.”

Bagelnose stuffed his hand in his mouth as he clamped his teeth on his fingers.

“I’ve got to go,” I announced. “See you around campus,” I called out to Bagelnose as I briskly walked away. I asked myself why I had to make that comment. The idea was to avoid conflict with that psycho. 

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Graduation came and passed, and we entered the last real  summer of our youth. The fortunate few were hired as waiters in Catskill Mountain resorts, the runner-ups as camp counsellors. The rest of us were left to scramble for whatever summer work we could find. As a final gift, my high school placement office found a job for me in the stockroom of a local hospital. It was a short bus ride away from home, and while the work was tedious and physically draining, it paid well, and was only thirty hour a week. As an added bonus, lifting countless boxes of saline solutions and other IV fluids built up muscles which I fantasized might allow me to deliver strong blows to the faces of Bagelnose and the Weasel, thoughts kept to myself.

A good portion of my spare time that summer was spent planning my schedule for the Fall. In the pre-computer era, students had to draft several alternative schedules, and incoming freshman were never assured of their first choices. I passed hours substituting English Literature for Contemporary Civilization, and Art Appreciation as an alternative to Music. I had heard somewhere that if a freshman chose German instead Spanish or French, they  could have whatever class they wanted. I reasoned that would also allow me to read Kafka and Hesse in the original.

Chance encounters with my neighborhood peers were unavoidable despite my best efforts. They congregated nightly in a spot I had to pass whenever I left home. Crossing paths with Weasel and the others was inevitable, and especially unsettling if Bagelnose was in their midst.

One evening Weasel greeted me with a smile and invited me over for a few words. I complied out of either politeness or fear that he might sic Bagelnose upon me.  

“Still working on your schedule?” he asked. “Must be a bitch,” he added.

“I’ve had worse happen,” I replied each time, my exchanges with Bagelnose in mind.

“Why don’t you and Bagelnose compare notes?” he asked. “Come on, Bagelnose, tell him what courses you’re trying to squeeze in.”

Bagelnose squirmed and said nothing.

“Speak up, Bagelnose,” Weasel ordered. “This man does not have all night.”

After a pause, Bagelnose squeaked out a reply.

“Chemistry and biology,” he said.

I heard a few chuckles among the crowd.

I wanted to ask if he had taken college level calculus in high school or passed the math examination required for chemistry, or, but self preservation restrained me.

“I have a great idea,” Weasel said. “My folks are out of town this weekend. I’m having a party. How about the two of you come over with your papers and work together on this stuff?”

This was the first time Weasel ever extended me an invitation, which I promptly accepted without thought. I would finally experience what had been cruelly withheld.

Bagelose demurred.

“I may have date this weekend,” he stated. “I’ll let you know tomorrow.”

“What do you mean, might have a date?” Albert Robinson chimed in. “Either you do or you don’t.”

From the corner of my eye I saw Bagelnose place his finger in his mouth.

“I have to go now,” I announced. “Thanks for the invite, Max. See you tomorrow.”

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Saturday was a hot New York day in late June with fuzzy blue skies and a soft yellow sun. I spent part of the day going over class schedules and pondering how to avoid Bagelnose if he came to the party. His presence had not been considered when the invitation was accepted, nor were Weasel’s motives. I considered not going, but my good friend Dale Horlick, nicknamed Horse, counseled otherwise.

“You’ve never been to one of Weasel’s parties,” he reminded me. “He usually has lots of girls there. Now that you’re about to be a college man, they’ll be crawling all over you,” he said authoritatively. He emphasized that he would be there with me.

Horse was a good friend, and like Shaul, not easily cowed. Like Shaul, he had intervened to spare me attacks by Bagelnose and the rest of Weasel’s bully brigade. He once gave Bagelnose a bloody nose, but let Weasel off with a warning, because Max broke down and cried after seeing Bagelnose run off with fingers clutching his odd-shaped nose, blood seeping between his stubby fingers. When Horse spoke, I listened. We agreed to go together.

That evening, Horse came by my apartment and we walked to Building Two. Horse rang Weasel’s doorbell. Brooks Robinson opened it,  gave us a lopsided smile and waved us in. I held my breath as I passed Brooks.

“Weasel will be glad to see you,” to told me. “Bagelnose may not be so happy.”

“I thought he wasn’t coming,” I replied. It didn’t sound good.

“Oh, I guess his big date fell through,” Brooks said with  a grin.

I saw Weasel in the living room,  talking with Manny Krazloff, Doug Plotkin and some young ladies . When Weasel spotted Horse and I, he rose to greet us.

Before Max could say a word, Bagelnose barreled across the room. He placed a hand on my shoulder and started to push me back.

“You get out!” he yelled. “You got no business here!” His face was red and there were drops of spittle glistening across his upper lip.I felt my stomach tighten and a slight wave of nausea came over me. My grand introduction to Weasel’s party scene was about to be demolished, possibly ailing with me.

Horse instinctively moved between us, glaring at Bagelnose. I saw Shaul emerge from the crowd. I wasn’t afraid with him close by. 

Max the Weasel ended the trouble.

“Pipe down, Bagelnose,” he ordered as he placed an arm around my shoulder. “He’s here as my guest. Anyone who gets into Queens College deserves some respect. Same respect we’re giving you.”

Bagelnose stamped his foot so hard I feared he would go through the floor.

“Screw you all!” he screamed, his face beet red.

He stormed out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him. 

Everyone stood silent for a moment and then Albert “Brooks” Robinson spoke.

“He’s not really going to Queens College, is he?”

Max The Weasel turned to me.

“What do you say?” he asked.

“Next time you see him, ask him for his registration number,” I replied.

I immediately regretted saying this.

Like all incoming freshman, I had received a letter with a code starting with the first letter of our last name, followed by two numbers, then another letter and another two numbers. If Bagelnose had really been accepted, he would rattle off something similar that started with the letter P for Pelko. 

If Bagelnose failed this test and found out who set it up, I would need Horse and Shaul with me around the clock.

Horse had brought a six pack of Coke and he offered me a can. I opened it and sat down on the couch, next to a somewhat pudgy girl with a trace of acne on her face. I recognized her as Laurie, a high school junior from Brooklyn who had been the girlfriend of Shaul’s good pal Henry Merkel. 

Henry was Shaul’s next door neighbor, few years older than us. Since graduating high school, he worked for the City as a mechanic. He had his own car. Henry was always friendly to me, and had given me several rides to the subway station. Henry claimed to have had carnal knowledge of Laurie, but in those days, it was common to make such false boasts. Bagelnose also claimed to have lost his virginity, which was greeted with universal derision. I doubted Henry, and assumed without question that Bagelnose was lying. 

Shaul insisted that Henry would not lie to him. Not long before this party, Shaul confided to me that after Henry tired of Laurie, he had enjoyed her favors. I never doubted Shaul.

Laurie started the conversation.

“I heard you say you were going to Queens.”

I told her I was and I looked forward to it.

“I’ve never gone out with a college guy,” she said. 

I did not know how to respond, so I changed the subject. We chatted for a while, idle talk of little consequence or meaning. Just before the party wound down, when no one was watching, I asked for her phone number. Neither one of us had pen or paper, so she repeated it a few times while I memorized it. I have always had a near—-flawless memory.  As soon as I got home I wrote it down, down, impressed with my courage.    

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A week later I was at home after dinner when the phone rang. My mother picked it up and called out my name.

“It’s Max Flugel from Building Two,” she announced, as if there were a Max Flugel in some other building.

I took the receiver. Max the Weasel had never called me before. I didn’t even know he had my phone number.

“Bagelnose says his number is one thousand two hundred fifty three,” he said, carefully enunciating each syllable of the number. 

I paused for a moment. I feared Bagelnose as much as I despised him, but Max had invited me to his party where I had enjoyed myself and gotten my first telephone number .

“Any letters?” I asked.

“Nope,” Max replied. “Made sure there was nothing else.”

“No way,” I replied. “No way at all.”

“Thanks,” Max said politely. “See you around.” He hung up.

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I heard nothing more from Max. I once saw Brooks Robinson and Doug Plotkin walking on the other side of the street and Brooks called out “Say hello to Bagelnose at Queens!” They both laughed. 

Shaul informed me that Max was organizing a Labor Day affair in Rockaway Beach. The idea was to rent out a bungalow or two, and party through the weekend. He told me that Bagelnose was advising everyone not to invite me. 

“What did you ever do to him?” he asked.? ”Get into Queens?”

I had no answer and just shrugged. If Bagelnose intended to hurt me he had failed.

I was preoccupied with something else.

My parents and brother took a road trip to visit relatives in Florida. Since I had a job, I could not join them. For the first time in my life, I had the apartment to myself, for two entire weeks

The day before my family left, I retrieved the paper with Laurie’s number and called her. We chatted for fifteen minutes, and she agreed to visit me the following night, when my family would be somewhere between New York and Florida.

The next two weeks transformed me from a naive young boy to an experienced young man. I had a far more experienced teacher. I stole some condoms from the hospital pharmacy and Laurie showed me how to use them. She was a pudgy and unattractive girl but in my mind, I was sleeping with Bridget Bardot. Laurie came by every night after work, and a few times stayed over. 

I promised Laurie I would keep our dalliances secret, but I told Horse and Shaul, demanding strict confidence. I never knew if they told anyone.

My parents came home and life returned to normal. I had a few telephone conversations with Laurie, and then we lost touch. 

A week or so after my fling, right after Labor Day, I began the arduous task of registering at Queens College. In order to avoid the draft, I was required to enroll in a certain number of classes. Freshman came last and had to grab whatever crumbs were left.

As I approached the patio between Buildings One and Two after a long day at Queens, I saw a small crowd gathered. I had no way to avoid them so I smiled and walked past them.

Max the Weasel called out to me.

“How’s school?” he asked.

“Trying to register,” I replied. “Driving me crazy.”

At that moment Bagelnose charged up to me, his malformed nose inches from my own.

“You get away from me,” he shouted. “You didn’t come to our Labor Day party. Think you’re too good for us just because you’re in Queens College?”

“No one ever told me about it,” I replied, terrified that he was about to explode. Then I saw Shaul and Horse, and my fear subsided.

“Besides,” added, “Why would I think that? You’re going to Queens too.” Once again, it dawned on me that keeping my mouth shut around Bagelnose was always the wisest option. I didn’t understand why I could not follow my own sound advice.

“Not quite,” Max gleefully interjected. “Tell him what happened.”

Bagelnose stood still as a pond for what seemed like an eternity. A bright pink glow came over his face. He clasped his hands before him as if to hold them in place before he spoke. Every facial muscle was tight. Then he spoke in a strained voice.

“It was my father. He graduated Illinois State and wanted me to go there even though I wanted Queens. Last week he made me hop on a plane to see if they would let me in at the last minute. They would not, and I missed the registration at Queens, so I can’t go there either.”

It sounded like he had memorized this speech.

I could have  mentioned late registration, where he could still find some classes, but not while  Bagelnose glared at me with eyes like burning red coals. I bid everyone goodbye and left.

Shaul and Horse walked me to my apartment.

I heard Brooks yell, “What airline did you fly, Pelko?” 

“Never know with Bagelnose,” Shaul said as we left the crowd behind.

“He’s pissed because with you were around, his story fell apart,” Horse added.

“No one ever believed him anyway,” Shaul said. “”Max just wanted trouble between you and Bagelnose. That’s what he does. Looks like he succeeded. Good thing you won’t be seeing much of Bagelnose anymore. 

“Bagelnose’s mother told mine a while ago that he was not accepted anywhere,” Shaul continued. “He might take night classes at Staten Island Community College. He’s on their waiting list. I think he wants to be a cop now.” That was news to me, as I never heard of a Jewish kid who wanted to be a cop. In Macbeth Heights, that job belonged to the Irish.

“He’s too dumb to be a cop,” Horse opined. “There’s a test.”

“Well, maybe after a while he’ll stop being so be pissed at me,” I told them, more a hope than a prediction.

“Unless he finds out you got laid before he did,” Shaul said. He and Horse laughed.  I did not.

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Bagelnose’s social status eroded as we marched towards graduation. We  male seniors already saw ourselves as college men, a stature that demanded a change in behavior. Bullying and demeaning were out, wit and sophistication in. Most could easily make the transition.

Not Bagelnose. His unrestrained violent nature and limited intelligence had no place in this new world order. Without academic achievement and worldliness, Bagelnose could no longer function as a peer. Max the Weasel no longer called upon him, and even modified his own style to fit the new wave. He stopped making racist comments. Bagelnose had outlived his usefulness to everyone, Max included, included, and had no place in the reconstituted pecking order.

Two weeks after Bagelnose’s Queens College explanation, his situation had deteriorated beyond any hope of redemption. He was unquestionably the Town Fool. Doug Plotkin called him “the world’s dumbest Jew.” His bullying role was cancelled, and he became the stuff of which laughter is born. His public appearances grew increasingly infrequent, and by the early frosts of November, Shaul told me had disappeared from sight. I still lived at home, but never saw anyone else except Shaul and Horse, and that grew increasingly infrequent. Within a year, Bagelnose had largely absented himself from my thoughts and memories.

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The years were good to me. My time at Queens College was as hoped. Friendships lasting to this day were formed on its pleasant campus. 

I lost contact with everyone from Macbeth Heights except Shaul. He moved to rural Vermont my junior year at Queens. In those days, long distance calls were expensive, and Shaul was not a letter writer, so our contact was limited.

I did travel up to New England to visit Shaul a few years after graduation from Queens College. We spent several glorious days smoking weed and listening to music.

One night, while  we were sitting on his couch, very stoned, Led Zeppelin playing in the background, Shaul brought up Bagelnose. I hadn’t thought about him in years.

“Remember I told you that Bagelnose would be pissed if he found out you got laid before him? Definitely true,” Shaul said.

“One night just before he dropped out of sight for good, we were outside talking like guys do, and I told him about me and Laurie. 

“Problem was, I didn’t know he had started seeing her and they were engaged,” Shaul continued. 

“He started taking swings at me, yelling that I was lying.

“I told him he could believe what he wanted but maybe he ought to ask her,” Shaul continued. “I had to give him another bloody nose, just like Horse once did, and just like that time, he ran off holding onto it with his fingers, like he thought it might fall off, or something.

“That was the last time I saw him,” he added. “They got married and moved away. But I hear he’s still crazy with jealousy, and wants to beat up anyone who ever touched his wife.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” I asked.

Shaul coughed out a lungful of smoke.

“Didn’t see any reason to worry you,” he said. “Bagelnose was gone. Let sleeping dogs lie. But don’t worry, I never told him about you.”

“Do you think he could have found out?” I asked. I believed my best friend’s word, but worried he had inadvertently let Bagelnose know of my past frolicking with his wife. The thought of Bagelnose once again  made me feel uneasy,  just as in the past. Knowing that he harbored hatred towards any man with intimate knowledge of Laurie haunted me. Bagelnose could be the kind of psycho who holds a grudge for years until it explodes within them like a volcano spilling deadly lava in its wake. Crossing paths with him was unlikely but not impossible. How often do we run across someone by happenstance we thought we would never see again?

“I didn’t tell him,” Shaul repeated. “That’s all I can say.”

That didn’t comfort me. We were talking about a violent and possibly deranged man. Once a psychopath, always a psychopath. What if he had found out some other way?

“Anyway, you haven’t seen him in what, ten years? Probably never see him again,” Shaul said. “I hope not, anyway,” he added.

That night I dreamed of a beet-red Bagelnose gnawing on his hand as he chased me through the streets of Macbeth Heights. The memory of the dream stayed with me all that next day.

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Five years after my visit with Shaul, I encountered Max Flugel at New York’s La Guardia Airport. I had last seen him the day Bagelnose gave his fatal explanation. I was on my way home to California. and Max was off to see his parents, who had moved to Florida. He invited me to join him for a beer. We sat down at a small bar in the terminal.

I was lawyering by day and writing by night. I hadn’t sold my first screenplay. Max was a newly minted MBA. 

“Baruch,”” he proudly informed me, referring to the City University’s respected business school. “Got my B.A. There too.

“You were Queens College, of course?”  

“Me and Bagelnose.” I said as the waitress delivered our beers in frosted glasses.

“Bagelnose,” Max called out as he hoisted his glass. I raised mine and we clinked. “Haven’t thought about that loser in years.”

“I thought you guys were friends,” I said.

Max threw me a puzzled look.

“Friends? I just felt sorry for the poor schmuck,” he stated. “Such a liar,” he added.

“You know, once it got out that you were going to Queens, his game was up,” Max continued. “No wonder he was so pissed at you. How did he expect to get away with it with you around? Someone was bound to apply to Queens. Bet he never thought of that. And it didn’t take much to get you to help get out the truth. You never liked him at all, did you? He was always giving you a hard time. Payback must have felt good.”

I took a long slug of my beer.

“Anyone know where he is these days?” I asked.

“We never saw or heard from him after he graduated high school,” he said. “Heard he applied to be a cop and got turned down.”

“Of course,” I replied. “He was a psycho. Guy like that is not getting a gun.”

Max laughed.

“You’ll never guess who he married,” he said.

I let him tell me.

“Imagine that,” Max said, shaking his head. “Marrying the town pump. Ugly but hot, I have to say.” 

“You ever get any?” he asked.

“Never,”Never.”” I replied. With a gentleman, what happens between the sheets stays between the sheets.

“Good for you,” Max responded. “Bagelnose was insanely jealous. Came to blows with Shaul over Laurie. He’d kill you if he thought you did her, even after all these years. You being the cause of his downfall,” he added.

“Here’s to the Bagelnoses of the world,” Max toasted as we again clinked glasses.

I looked at my watch. I had ten minutes to get to my gate. I thanked Max for the beer and we shook hands, but did not exchange phone numbers.

I shouldn’t have told Horse and Shaul, I thought as I waited to board. But then again, Laurie could have told him, I reasoned.  There was no way to be certain I would never going to be caught in Bagelnose’s crosshairs. 

The beer made me sleepy, and I dozed off on the plane. I awoke when we were landing. I sensed I had dreamed, but could not remember a thing. A knot lodged in my stomach, painful, like a Bagelnose sucker punch. 

THE END