Tasting the Apple

by Sherilyn Decter

  “I’m glad we can help, Joe. My informant and I. You know how I feel. I’ve been watching what’s been happening to Philadelphia these past few years since Prohibition, and it’s devastating. I had thought things were bad last year when we had to deal with Oskar’s death. Now that I’m more aware of the issues, it’s a lot worse than I thought.”

  “I agree, Maggie. And with your Phantom Informant, we now have a secret weapon.”

  Maggie and Frank both look at Joe, startled. “That’s an interesting choice of words, Joe. Phantom Informant?”

  Joe laughs. “I told you the colonel wasn’t good with names for things. It was his idea to call him the Phantom Menace, but thank goodness Mrs. Butler talked him out of it. Phantom Informant was the best we could do.”

  “Well, as long as I don’t have to wear a cape.” Frank huffs. Maggie stifles a laugh.

  Chapter 29

  T he chalkboard is covered with columns of numbers. Professor Galway finishes his lecture. Textbooks are slammed shut and stowed in book bags and briefcases. The scraping and scuffling of pushed-back chairs ensues. Students chat and make plans. At night school, there’s not another class to rush off to, but there are coffee shops, libraries, and parties that pull students away.

  Maggie packs up her books, the latest test, with its bright red B+ in the corner, tucked safely away. She’ll go over the answers tomorrow and try and figure out what she got wrong and how to fix it.

  “Congratulations, Mrs. Barnes. You did well on the exam.” Professor Galway pauses by her desk, his leather satchel in hand.

  “Thank you, Professor. I had a bit of trouble with depreciation.” Maggie notices his freckles dancing across the bridge of his nose.

  “I have some notes on that back at my office. If you like, walk with me. You can borrow them until next class.”

  Student and professor stroll down the hallway. The corridor, with a balustrade on one side and classroom doors on the other, overlooks the vast marble lobby with its grand columns. Sound bounces off the hard stone surfaces and, with classes finishing for the evening, it’s loud with students’ voices.

  “This is a magnificent building. I was terrified my first day, walking up that staircase.”

  “I think the architects wanted people to be awed by the power of education, or perhaps by the magnificence of the original vision of the founders.”

  “Well, it worked. I was definitely in awe.”

  “So, what brings you to my class, Mrs. Barnes? We don’t often get lady students in the Business program.”

  “I run a boarding house and thought that some formal business training would be useful. And I’m looking to pick-up a bit of extra money, doing the books for small businesses.”

  “Why small business? Why not apply to work at one of the big companies downtown? They’re always looking for clerks, and several have women on staff.”

  “No, I couldn’t do that. I have a young son at home, and I need to be there when he gets home from school.”

  Teddy Galway nods. “It must be difficult, juggling family responsibilities with school work.”

  “Oh, isn’t that the truth. I don’t get to open my textbooks until after supper. Although, sometimes, Tommy and I sit at the dining room table and do our homework together, which is nice. And thank goodness Archie is there. He’s a math teacher; always helpful.”

  “Archie is Mr. Barnes?”

  “Oh, no,” Maggie says, blushing. “Archie is one of my lodgers. My husband, Jack, passed some time ago.”

  “I’m sorry for being so personal. Please excuse me. Ah, here we are.” He pauses in front of a solid oak door. Below the nameplate is a basket full of what look to be assignments, and other University correspondence.

  Professor Teddy Galway’s office is wall to wall books. A large desk takes up most of the floor space. He rummages around on his desk, pulling up a sheaf of papers. Maggie notices that the freckles run across the back of his hands, then disappear beneath his shirt sleeves. She blushes.

  “Here it is. These are notes on depreciation I made for a lecture for another class I teach. If you have any questions, please ask. It’s an important concept going forward, so you want to make sure you have a thorough understanding of it.” He smiles, and eyes her encouragingly.

  Maggie’s tummy flips. “Thank you, Professor. I appreciate this. And I’ll return them, next class.”

  Chapter 30

  P hiladelphia is famous, maybe infamous would be a better word, for the Machine. The exquisite integration of power and money at all levels of government, from the Congressmen in Washington to the governor’s office in Harrisburg, right through the mayor’s office to the garbage man on the street. Everybody has their hand in somebody’s pocket. That’s just the way things are done in Philly.

  As a small cog in the great political Machine, Mayor Kendrick, or ‘Freddy’ as he asks all his friends and voters to call him, has been mayor of Philadelphia since the election in ‘24. It’s been a rough eighteen months. Despite running on a platform of cleaning up Philadelphia, Mayor Kendrick is not a reformer, nor even a distinguished Machine politician. He is, however, an inveterate ‘joiner’ of secret societies like the Shriners and Masons. He owes much of his success to his iconic smile. He’d come in on a law and order ticket, heavily financed by the very people profiting from the lawlessness and disorder. No irony there?

  Since the election, Mayor ‘Freddy’ Kendrick has kept peace with the Republican organization which elected him, and paid off the head of the Machine, William Vare, for his support with some dubious decisions regarding the upcoming Sesquicentennial next year. But it’s his nerve-racking experience with Colonel Butler that will be the death of him. Freddy counts the days that he can leave the mayor’s office and run for governor. Lordy, how much more can he take?

  Freddy knows he has only himself to blame. He’d brought Butler in within a few months of being elected. It was a high profile appointment for which he received huge accolades from the press. The part of the city that wanted, and still wants law and order, was wholeheartedly behind him.

  But things are not going as planned. Kendrick had thought that Butler understood that his role was to be more ‘symbolic’ than hands-on. The colonel had enthusiastically taken up the challenge of restoring law and justice to the city with an intimidating energy and sense of purpose. Thousands of speakeasies had been padlocked. It was a revolving door in front of the judges and magistrates to get each speakeasy reopened within days, sometimes hours if there was proper incentive. Although, Freddy admits, Butler’s enthusiasm has been profitable. The closing and reopening carousel is certainly good for business; everybody’s pockets get lined.

  Freddy has no second thoughts when he picks up the phone. He has a job to do, and he does it willingly. It’s part of his obligation to the Machine. Earlier in the day, the Director of Public Safety, Colonel Smedley Butler strode into his office, scarlet cape flourishing. ’Really,’ Freddy had said to his secretary, ‘who wears a cape all the time?’—to inform him that they were going to be raiding The Club Cadix later that night.

  Getting the colonel to give him advance notice on the raids had taken some doing on the mayor’s part. You’d expect a military man, the most decorated marine in America, would have more respect for the chain of command, but that’s not Freddy’s experience. If anything, Butler treats him like a civilian, rather than his superior officer, in this war on crime that ‘Mayor Kendrick’ is supposedly leading. It rankles.

  The mayor makes sure his office door is closed and picks up the phone, getting the switchboard operator to put him through to Captain Copeland.

  “Ralph. Freddy here. I need you to look after something for me.”

  “Sure thing, Mayor. Anything. Whaddaya need?”

  “Butler’s got a raid planned on the Cadix for later tonight. Can you call our friend and give him the heads up?”

  “Sure thing, Mayor. That’s the first I’ve heard of it. Must be an ‘Enforcement Unit N
umber One’ thing. Too bad I’ve been transferred out of the department. I don’t hear everything like I used to.”

  To that, Freddy rolls his eyes. Copeland was a disaster working directly with Butler. Oil and water. He’d had to move him after last year’s debacle with missing evidence and witness tampering.

  “Yes, well, you’re doing a great job at the new precinct. We’re glad to have you there.” He looks up at his secretary who is standing in the doorway, pointing to her watch. “Look, I gotta run. I’ve got a meeting. Just look after this. We’ll talk soon.”

  * * * * *

  Across town, Captain Ralph Copeland leans back in his chair. It creaks in protest. He’s mighty pleased to have just gotten this call. Last year, things between him and Mickey Duffy had gone sideways. He’d been forced to arrest him on a variety of bootlegging charges, and Mickey still seems to hold a grudge. It hadn’t mattered that he’d also made all the evidence disappear and the case got thrown out of court. No, Mickey still holds him responsible for the whole mess. Giving Mickey the heads up on the raid will be a great way to get back in his good books. Maybe he’ll ask again about joining Mickey’s crew, officially. And, of course, a tip about the raid comes with its own reward. His cash flow has really noticed the dip since the transfer.

  He picks up the phone and dials.

  “Hi Gus, Ralph Copeland here. Mickey around?”

  There’s some back and forth that Ralph can’t make out, and Gus attempts to take the message for Mickey in a ‘boss is busy’ kinda way.

  “No can do, Gus. It’s important. Put him on the phone,” says Captain Ralph Copeland.

  Duffy’s growl is audible through the phone. “Copeland. Whaddaya want. Make it quick. I got a hot poker hand, and Mercer cheats.”

  “It’s the Cadix, Boss. Butler’s got a raid planned for tonight. I was thinking—”

  “Crap. Okay.” Mickey hangs up the phone.

  Ralph shakes his head, staring at the silent telephone receiver and wondering if anyone ever says goodbye any more.

  * * * *

  There’s a flurry of activity down at the Cadix. Inventory is loaded into trucks that Mickey’s sent round. Reservations are moved to another evening. It never goes well when the mucky-mucks are embarrassed or inconvenienced, and raids can be so inconvenient. Staff are called and told to take the night off. No sense paying good wages and laying out bail money if you don’t need to.

  By the time the doorman, Earl, moves aside, and Enforcement Unit Number One bursts through the door, the place is virtually empty. The bartender offers to pour the officers a shot before they confiscate what’s left of the good stuff. He and a few waiters are loaded into the back of a paddy wagon and are met at the station by the lawyers Mickey’s arranged for. It’s the middle of the night before everybody gets to go home. A lost night of Club revenue, an expensive night of payoffs. Really, raids are darned inconvenient for everybody.

  Chapter 31

  H enry supervises the loading of liquor at Mickey’s large, brick warehouse. A dirt floor soaks up the oil and grease. Powerful vehicles, known as whiskey-sixes, which the bootleggers use for out-of-town deliveries, take up one side of the warehouse. The other is for storage and distribution, evidenced by tables full of bottles, labels, funnels, and other equipment necessary for processing and packaging. Crates and barrels line the walls and almost reach the high, dirty windows.

  In the center of the warehouse, Henry holds a clipboard of papers containing various orders, checking off the inventory. With the back gate shut, the delivery truck looks like it’s hauling a load of lumber. Boards are stacked tall and roped down. The gate, concealed by the end cuts of the boards, blends seamlessly. Inside, barrels of beer and crates of hard liquor are loaded in order of customer delivery: last in first out. Henry hears the door open but doesn’t turn around, concentrating on confirming each order.

  “Stan! Welcome home,” someone shouts.

  “Hey, Leszek.”

  Henry swings round, praying that he’s heard wrong.

  Stan Leszek walks around the delivery trucks. Guys crowd round, slapping him on the back and punching him in the arm. There’s a childish grin on the older man’s weathered face.

  Henry swallows; trembling hands drop the pencil he has been holding.

  “Is Mickey here? I want to say hi,” Stan says.

  “Naw, he’s at the Ritz. That’s where his offices are now.”

  “Fancy schmancy. The Ritz, eh?”

  “But Mercer’s here. Henry, Stan’s back.”

  “Welcome back, Stan. Sit for a bit. Gus, get Stan a beer, will ya?” Henry shakes Stan’s hand.

  Stan pulls out a chair at the long table in the middle of the room and everyone crowds around. The men leave Mickey’s chair at the end of the table for Henry who, reluctantly, sits.

  “So, when did you get sprung?” “What was Allegheny like?” “Who’s your parole officer?” “Are you coming back to work?” Lots of questions from lots of people. Lots of laughter as Stan fills his pals in on the last three years.

  Stan is one of the original members of Mickey’s crew, and a guy from the neighborhood, but got picked up on a Volstead violation about three years ago. With numerous other offenses, Mickey’s lawyers couldn’t make the charges go away but, with a few well-placed envelopes, they did manage to get the sentence reduced. Stan’s been at a work farm for the past three years, picking apples and mucking out barns; a sweetheart sentence for an old Polish farmer like Stan.

  Henry grips the clipboard. A ring of clammy sweat pools his armpits. No coward, he waits until there’s a lull in the conversation, and takes another swallow. “Stan. We was all shook when we heard about your boy. A real tragedy.”

  Stan grabs his cloth cap off his head. “Thanks, Henry. Boys. It means a lot the way you looked out for Alicja and the kids while I was away.” There’s general murmuring of condolences and support. The crew is close. Stan’s son, Ernie, is now part of the gang. Second generation. Like family.

  Henry stands. “Hey, these trucks don’t drive themselves. We got a timetable to keep. People are expecting us,” he barks. His stomach’s been churning since Stan walked in, and he’s worried that he might throw up in front of the men.

  A couple of guys head off, but not before clapping Stan on the back once more.

  “Come on, Stan. I’ll give you a lift over to the Ritz. I know that Mickey will want to see you himself. And John Bricker and Fingers are there as well,” Henry says.

  “Thanks, Henry.” Stan snags Henry’s arm, turning him around. Henry tenses. “I meant what I said about the family. I don’t know what they would have done without you when Oskar was killed. Alicja told me you’ve been round a couple of times and taken an interest in the boys.”

  Relieved that his secret is still that, Henry slaps Stan on the back. “Stan, I did what anyone else would have done in those circumstances. Now, let’s get you over to Mickey.”

  * * * *

  Standing in the bathroom in the suite at the Ritz, Henry can hear Mickey and Stan talking. Mickey’s a good boss. He cares about his men. He listens to Stan’s stories about being in the joint, and shares some of his own. He says kind things about Alicja, and let’s Stan know that Ernie is a hard worker and is pulling his weight.

  There’s no disguising Henry’s red-rimmed eyes, the grey skin. There’s still a slight tremor in his hands that gives him away. He’s going to need more than Dutch courage now that Oskar’s Pa is home. Imagine, looking into that face every day. He bends and quickly snorts two lines of cocaine. He sniffs again, clearing his nose. His body relaxes. His head clears. It will be all right.

  He washes his hands and goes to sit next to Stan.

  Chapter 32

  T hursday night. Maggie has carefully chosen her clothing, and is now seated in the front row of the classroom. The lecture has been complicated as they move deeper into the complex world of double entry accounting. The bell rings, and the students start packing away their books.
Coats are pulled on, and plans, between some, are made for after class.

  With her coat on, and books cradled in her arms as a shield, she approaches Professor Galway’s desk. It’s been hard to concentrate during the lecture. She’s been thinking about this moment since the last class. “Thank you for these notes on depreciation, Professor Galway. They were very helpful. I have a better understanding of it now.”

  “You’re very welcome, Mrs. Barnes, but perhaps you might still need further explanation?”

  Maggie makes eye contact with the professor. Between them, the air crackles with expectation.

  “I was hoping that I could persuade you to join me for a coffee after class. I might answer any remaining questions you may have. On depreciation.”