Steven M Forman
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Eddie The Kid excerpt


Chapter 1A Tall Short Man
Wednesday, September 11, 1974


A tall, thin man wearing dark sunglasses, a wide-brimmed hat, and a floor-length trench coat emerged from a cloud of smoke onto busy Hanover Street in Boston’s North End. His face was hidden by a plain white mask with two eyeholes. The nose and mouth had been sculpted with no openings. Reaching under his coat with his right hand, the masked man removed a sawed-off shotgun, aimed, and fired twice. The first blast blew a hole in Jimmy “Gorgeous” Lopresti’s chest and threw the Mafia capo against the brick wall of the European Restaurant. The second slug blew away his handsome face.

Bedlam erupted on Hanover Street: pedestrians ran and screamed; drivers ducked under dashboards, lost control of their cars, and crashed into each other.

“Goddamn,” said Lopresti’s mountainous bodyguard, Skinny Russo, as he reached for his gun under his suit jacket. The man with the shotgun calmly fired a third time. Skinny’s fat face exploded like a watermelon hitting the pavement at the end of a long drop.

“Whoa,” shouted Jello Damiano, a friend of Jimmy’s. He reached for the gun in his belt, but a fourth blast blew away his hand, his belt, and his bowels.

Four shots, three dead, sixty seconds. Thick smoke enveloped the gunman and he was gone. Moments later sirens shrieked. Someone had called the cops. The panic ended and people filled the streets, walking, talking, and gawking at the dead.

Police detective Eddie Perlmutter and his partner, Mickey O’Toole, arrived on Hanover Street a half hour after the slaughter. Eddie was considered Boston’s best cop, which is all he had ever wanted to be since he was a kid. He was twenty-nine years old, just six years on the force but already a legend. At five foot six and a hundred and sixty pounds he was small for an icon, but he was fearless, ferocious, unbeatable, and incorruptible. He had the analytical mind of a safecracker and the persistence to try every conceivable combination to unlock a mystery. Where others only saw chaos, he saw clues. His moral code was basic: protect the good, disable the bad, and screw the consequences. He had been promoted and demoted six times in six years, a department record.

Eddie and Mickey went straight to the dead bodies.

A cop guarding the crime scene said, “Hey Eddie, good to see you haven’t been demoted again.”

“The day’s young, Jackson,” Eddie said, thinking back to his first week at the police academy when he had knocked out the martial arts instructor and received his first official reprimand.


Monday, March 4, 1968 11:00 A.M.


The instructor’s name was Arvi Sgan. He was a former member of the Israeli Defense Force, a black belt in karate, a judo expert, and a Krav Maga master. He had selected Eddie as his opponent for the introductory self-defense demonstration.

“I heard you were an undefeated amateur boxer, Cadet Perlmutter,” Sgan said. “Is that right?”

“Yes sir,” Eddie said. “But I haven’t boxed in years.”

“Well, let’s see if you have anything left.”




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