AUDIOBOOK
About
One of the most integral members of that criminal underworld was Arnold Rothstein, the archetype of the old school mobster. He was intelligent, charming, well-spoken, grotesquely wealthy, and a sharp dresser, often pictured with a patterned bowtie and a flat-top fedora snugly fit over his receding hairline. And yet, he was nothing like the stereotypical mobster; Arnold was not a drinker or smoker, and he was not one to be tempted by illicit substances. He was a notorious high roller, with pockets holding wads of $100 bills, but to the casual eye, he was just another dapper, well-mannered gentleman who frequented the tracks and casinos after a long day at the office. In addition to his aversion to the aforementioned vices, Rothstein never chewed gum or cursed (at least in public). He snacked on figs and fruits, and he was equipped with an insatiable sweet tooth. Affectionately nicknamed the "Cookie Monster" by his loved ones, Rothstein adored cookies of all kinds – which he washed down with a glass of milk every evening before bed – and constantly ate cakes, pies, and all sorts of desserts.
One of America's most infamous mobsters, Meyer Lansky, was also one of the most mysterious, a perplexing, yet inexplicably intriguing individual with multiple reputations. To his admirers, he was in many ways the ultimate genius and survivor within the callous and cut-throat world of 20th century organized crime. Even in adulthood, Meyer was smaller than most, standing anywhere between 4'11" to 5'4", and weighing 136 pounds at his heaviest. He was not merely an intellectual – he was worldly and wise, one who often doled out advice akin to poetry to his children and grandchildren, his gravelly voice oddly soothing. At the same time, he had all the stealth and cunning of a sphinx, and while remarkably even-tempered, gangsters twice his size dared not cross him.
One of America's most infamous mobsters, Meyer Lansky, was also one of the most mysterious, a perplexing, yet inexplicably intriguing individual with multiple reputations. To his admirers, he was in many ways the ultimate genius and survivor within the callous and cut-throat world of 20th century organized crime. Even in adulthood, Meyer was smaller than most, standing anywhere between 4'11" to 5'4", and weighing 136 pounds at his heaviest. He was not merely an intellectual – he was worldly and wise, one who often doled out advice akin to poetry to his children and grandchildren, his gravelly voice oddly soothing. At the same time, he had all the stealth and cunning of a sphinx, and while remarkably even-tempered, gangsters twice his size dared not cross him.