“Because my source tells me they are running it through a pipe that runs inside the sewer line. The full-strength beer is piped off-site to a secret location. In all likelihood, it is being bottled or put into barrels there and shipped out from the secret depot.”
Frank is nodding.
Joe leans forward. “That’s amazing. Do you know where?”
“My source hasn’t had the opportunity to dye the beer and so hasn’t been able to find where it’s going. Where the eventual end-spigot is located.”
Maggie looks to the Inspector to see if she has forgotten anything. He leans forward and says to her alone, “It’s probably somewhere close by so that the quality of the beer doesn’t decrease during the piping process. The brewmaster there is very proud of his suds and wouldn’t sell an inferior product.”
Maggie relays the information to Joe, handing him a piece of paper. “Here’s a list of potential nearby businesses that should be considered for the terminus.”
Joe rubs his hands. “Maggie, this is incredible information. Of course, I’ll need to meet with your source to confirm it all.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible, Joe. He’ll only speak with me. We did discuss whether he would be able to come forth, and we both felt that it was too soon.”
“A second-hand confidential informant through a civilian, eh? That’s a bit unorthodox, but I think I can convince Captain Beckman and the colonel that it’s worth pursuing. Even if it’s to confirm what you’ve said.”
“I like to think that my source is working ‘incognito’ for the police.” Maggie smiles at the Inspector, who nods with a satisfied smile beneath his generous mustache.
“I’ll follow up with this first thing tomorrow and let you know how it goes.” Joe runs his hands through his hair. “Imagine, piping beer through the sewer system. What will they think of next?”
Chapter 24
J oe takes notes from the corner of the meeting room. As the colonel’s right-hand-man—aide-de-camp as Butler calls him—Joe’s been privy to the plan that the colonel is now laying out. District Attorney Samuel Rotan, Colonel Butler, and Captain Beckman, head of Enforcement Unit Number One, are gathered around the long table in the meeting room at the Precinct listening to Colonel Butler explain about his campaign to confront corruption within the police force. Joe feels an associated pride with the plan; it’s very comprehensive and features multiple stages.
“We are going to fight this battle on three fronts, gentlemen. The first line of the advance will be overt, with warrants for investigations into members’ bank accounts amongst other things. Officers have been making purchases of cars and houses that greatly exceed what they can afford on their salaries. We need to confirm where the extra money is coming from. It can’t all be inheritances or winnings from the track. And while we’re at it, I am going to move ahead with the obvious infraction of police officers serving while drunk. If liquor is illegal, the fact that they are imbibing to the point of intoxication while on duty cannot be tolerated.”
Sam Rotan nods. Captain Beckman looks less sure. Joe is already familiar with the colonel’s thinking. It’s going to cause a lot of upset amongst the ranks, but can’t be avoided. Discipline is important.
Colonel Butler consults his notes. “The second advance, the center axis of the Unit’s assault, is covert. We have mounted an operation to entrap corrupt officers with undercover operatives. Working with police partners, we have established a network of civilian recruits whose targets are the small beat cops on the street. We catch them shaking down our undercover operatives and then get them to roll over on their superior officers. We have a web of corruption gentlemen, and we need to deal with it.”
Joe smiles. Maggie is an exceptional addition to the Minnows, and it’s only a matter of time before she lands her first fish.
“Still with me, gentlemen?”
Heads nod.
“Finally, if this is going to go forward, we are going to need the public behind us. As the third advance, I will put at least two public speaking engagements daily into my calendar, starting on Monday. I’ll meet with church groups, the Chamber of Commerce, ladies leagues, schools, whoever will have me. If we can get a vocal outpouring of support through the newspapers and the public, the politicians and legal community will have no choice but to comply with our efforts.” Colonel Butler closes the file folder. “Your thoughts, gentlemen?”
“I like the three-line attack, Smedley. I think it’s the first time anything like this, on this scale, has been tried. Whether it will work? Who can say? I can say that Kirkland won’t be happy,” says DA Rotan.
“Mayor Kirkland is wedded to me. Right now, he can’t fire me without a storm of protest. At least publically, he has to support my efforts. As does the governor, and our State and Federal politicians. As long as the people stand behind us, Kirkland will have to pay lip service to the plan.”
“What about the budget, sir?” asks Captain Beckman.
“We’ll have to do it all within existing resources, Captain. But I don’t foresee significant additional expenses. I am going to be purchasing some high-performance pursuit cars, which should distract the Treasurer and Council from looking too closely at our other line items. I think that we can bury the expenses within our existing budget allocation.”
Joe raises his head from his notes at the mention of the vehicles, and grins. He’ll need to take one of those speedsters out for a spin. He’s seen the specs, and while the engine is working hard at forty-five miles per hour, it can reach sixty when pushed. Sixty!
“And, of course, the publicity about going after the bootleggers with better equipment will certainly appeal to the public as well,” says Captain Beckman.
“Exactly. I have a few other innovations to bring out when we need them, as well. I am planning to upgrade our communications systems: put lookouts at the major entrances into the city and equip them with radios and telephones tied into a single dispatch center. When the lookouts identify the bootleggers hauling hooch in or out, we can pursue.”
That was new information for Joe. He loves the idea. They’ll be one step ahead of the bootleggers. And with those fast cars, there are going to be some exciting nights ahead.
“What about jurisdictional issues, Smedley?” DA Rotan asks. He knows the courtroom headaches that can cause.”
“We will coordinate with our sister police forces outside city limits. Of course, we need to respect jurisdictional issues because the Federal Prohibition efforts are so poorly funded. I think we’ll have to rely on the local police for assistance.”
Sam Rotan nods. “This is very exciting, Smedley. I would add that you’ll need to get the magistrates onside quickly, and the union. It’s not just good enough to haul corrupt officers into court; you’re going to have to make the charges stick.”
“I agree, sir,” says Captain Beckman. “We already have a conviction issue with the speakeasy owners. I was reviewing last year’s statistics, and just over ten-thousand people were arrested on charges of running speakeasies. Do you know how many were convicted? Four percent. Only four-hundred people. And most of those received nothing more than a light fine.”
Colonel Smedley Butler scowls at the Captain and the DA. “Four percent gentlemen. We can do better, we have to do better than that. That will be something the public pressure will help with.”
“Are you going to call a press conference and lay this out for the newspapers?”
“No. I think that I’ll let the results speak for themselves. I’ll be out speaking to public groups so there should be plenty of opportunities for reporters to question me. A formal press conference would involve the mayor, and I want to keep Kirkland and City Council as far away from this as possible.”
The other men nod in agreement.
“Our challenge is not knowing who to trust. Anyone can be a target. Beckman, you and your troops are the sharp point of the spear. Let me know what you hear.”
“Yes, sir. You c
an count on us.”
Butler stands. “Good, then we agree. Dismissed. And Sam, thank you for coming. I always appreciate your advice.”
As the other gentlemen file out, Joe clears his throat, catching Captain Beckman’s attention. “Kelly?”
“Sir, could I speak with you? I have information about a brewery that needs further investigation.”
Chapter 25
J ust because Mickey is in Atlantic City doesn’t mean the suite at the Ritz is empty. Earlier that night, there had been a great band playing in the ballroom downstairs, and it seemed natural that the party would move upstairs.
The Presidential Suite is crammed with people: some of them Mickey’s crew, some just hangers-on attracted by the glamor of partying with racketeers and gangsters. A couple of the musicians have followed the crowd upstairs and are busy warming up their instruments. Edith is also in the suite, having been downstairs in the ballroom celebrating a friend’s birthday.
The bar is fully stocked. Edith has appointed herself in charge of the phonograph. Daddy’s not home so let the party begin.
Edith searches the records to see what to put on next. “Well, hello, pretty lady,” says a low, slow voice behind her. Edith turns. Tony Giordano looks like a million bucks in a flashy three-piece suit. What catches her eye is the wild pattern on his silk tie. Oh my, and those big brown eyes ringed with long, dark eyelashes. Valentino eyes.
“Well, hello yourself, smooth-talker. You have anything you want to listen to?”
“As long as I can hold you in my arms, I’ll listen to anything.”
“I presume you mean for a dance?”
“Of course. What else would I mean?”
She knows his slow smile is meant just for her. Edith’s heart does a double beat as she puts something on the turntable and lowers the needle.
Bessie Smith begins to croon ‘St. Louis Blues as Tony sweeps her into his arms. “Perfect,” he says, breathing into her ear. “Come, let’s dance.” He leads her out to the middle of the room. Other couples join in and soon the make-shift dance floor is crowded with couples.
Tony leans in and slowly kisses the side of her neck. Edith recoils. “Tony. No. Not here. Behave, or we’ll have to sit down.”
He pulls her close, and they start to dance again. “Then behave it is, Edie. I’m a patient man. I can wait.”
He twirls her around the dance floor, pulling her in tight to avoid the other dancers. “These are swell digs, Edie. Duffy must be doing well for himself.”
“Why are we talking about Mickey? I thought you only had eyes for me?”
“True enough, doll. I’m just saying that Duffy is one lucky guy. This beautiful suite, a beautiful car, an even more beautiful wife. I hope he appreciates it, is all.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“I believe in making my own luck. I knew a priest who was always talking about fortune siding with him who dares, Edie. Feel like taking a dare, doll?”
“Tony, you are a bad, bad man,” Edith purrs as she snuggles in closer.
Off in one of the adjoining bedrooms, Henry is pushing a straightback chair under the doorknob. Lying on the bed waiting for him is a stunning dame. She has the confidence of a pro skirt, but these days it is hard to tell. These days, all the dames seem to have confidence. If they see something they want, they take it.
With the door secure and privacy assured, Henry tries to yank off his tie and unbutton his shirt, clumsy with drink.
She purrs her words as she gets in close to pull at the knot. “Here, let me help with that.”
Out on the make-shift dance floor, the record comes to an end, and the musicians from downstairs step up with a trombone, a trumpet, and two saxophones. The Lindy Hop leaves Edith out of breath and laughing, and she collapses into a chair. Tony, her dance partner, leads her out of the chair, seats himself, then pulls her onto his lap.
“A smooth move there, sheik. But I need a drink,” says Edith.
“What’s your poison?” asks Tony.
“Can you mix anything fancy?”
“Depends on how fancy you want it,” he says.
“Then let’s start with a Tom Collins and see where we go.”
The Lindy Hop turns into the Charleston, which turns into the Fox Trot, which turns into the Texas Tommy.
Behind the closed bedroom door, Henry lies contented, his head resting on his arm. The woman is sitting on the side of the bed rolling her stockings back on.
“That was delicious, handsome. How about a bit of dessert?”
“Shouldn’t you be taking clothes off if we’re going to have dessert?” he says, reaching toward her.
“Not that, silly,” she says, giggling and slapping at his hand. She stands and roots among the clothes still on the floor, holding up her handbag triumphantly.
“Care to join me for a bit of snow candy? It’s pretty sweet stuff,” she says with a wink.
She taps out two lines of cocaine on the edge of the dresser; looks at him expectantly.
“Ladies first,” he says, watching her carefully. Following her lead, Henry quickly snorts up the second line.
“Damn,” he says.
“Yeah, I know.” She giggles. “More?”
* * * *
A hotel room after a party is a sad place indeed. Empty bottles, stray bits of belongings, an overturned chair. Edith sits beside Henry on the sofa. They are the only ones who remain, except for the couples secreted away in the two bedrooms.
An exhausted Edith leans her head against the back of the couch, a smile on her face. It’s been a special night, and she doesn’t want it to end; doesn’t want to go home to her big, empty house. Tony had left earlier, a bit pouty to be departing alone, but Edith is a married woman. This is Mickey’s suite. And there are boundaries to be respected. For now at least. There is always the next time.
Henry rests too, eyes closed, a smile on his face. His night has been special as well. He’s discovered that heaven and peace can be found by following a line of white powder.
“You look happy,” Edith murmurs. “Have a good night?”
“Exceptional.”
Henry shifts on the couch. Edith falls sideways, her head on his shoulder.
“Exceptional is always good,” she murmurs.
“How ‘bout you? Did you have an exceptional evening?”
“Oh yeah. Very exceptional,” Edith answers sleepily.
“I guess we’re just a couple of exceptional people. Say, do you want a drink or something?” Henry looks around the room blearily. “I’m sure there’s still something left to drink.”
“Can you make a Tom Collins?”
He laughs. “Not likely. How about a whiskey neat?”
“Whatever you’re pouring.”
Her head adjusts from his shoulder to the sofa cushion. When he returns, the two sip their whiskey.
“You know, Edith, Mickey’s a good pal of mine. He’s out of town, so I kinda feel like I should be keeping an eye on you. You’re not doing anything you’re going to regret later are ya? Or anything I’m going to regret?”
“Oh, Henry, don’t be such a wet blanket. I know what’s up. I’m not going to do anything wrong. Especially under your nose. I was blowing off a bit of steam tonight, with the dancing and all. Mickey’s honor is still safe. Gosh, it’s just been ages since I had that kind of fun.”
Henry takes a deep breath. Her words are the right ones, but there’s something in her smile that makes him nervous.
“You know, Henry, I don’t think I’ve seen you this relaxed in a long, long time.”
“You may be right, Edith. It has been a long time. I guess I didn’t realize how heavy a weight I was carrying until I set it down for a bit.”
“I’ve known you as long as I’ve known Mickey. If you ever need to talk…”
“I’m not much of a talker, Edith, but thanks.”
“A friend said she heard a psychiatrist—you know, those head docs—say talking is cathartic. I thin
k that means it’s good to talk,” says Edith.
The whiskey is warm to the throat.
“Did I ever tell you I had a kid brother?” Henry asks.
“No, I don’t think I knew that. A couple of sisters, but I didn’t realize you had a brother. What happened?” asks Edith.
“Influenza. Like a lot of kids in Philadelphia that year. It ripped through families. No one was spared, especially in our neighborhood. We were poor folks. Crowded together. No money for medicine. Half-starved to begin with, so it didn’t take much to make us sick. Were you here then?” asks Henry.
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