“She’s ambitious, Bunny. She’s already got one lined up and she’s not even graduated yet,” Edith says, bragging about her friend.
“Just one so far. Our neighborhood grocer. He’s the only one brave enough to have a woman look after his books. But Edith helped me with the wording of the advertisement. She’s so clever. So I expect the ad will bring in a few more, and I’m going to go knock on a few doors of the businesses on Marshall Street.”
“Makes sense, start with who you know.” Mickey continues to regard Maggie while he eats his soup. “Business is tough. Lots would say too tough for a woman, but I think that you might have what it takes, Mrs. Barnes. Yes, indeed.” Mickey turns to his wife. “And you, Edith. What have you been up to?”
“Beyond helping Maggie pick out a dress, not too much. I’ll get Hilda to help put the room to rights after lunch. It looks like a bazaar up there right now.”
The two gals smile at each other.
“How about you, Mr. Duffy. Are you having a busy day?” Maggie says.
“Same as usual. I’m a businessman, so there’s too much red tape and too many rules. Although maybe not the business rules you’ll be learning about at your university.”
“Oh Mickey, you big tease. I’ve never known you to follow any rules.” Edith winks at Maggie.
“Oh, you’d be surprised. I got rules I have to live by. Same as anyone else. They’re a little harder to figure out sometimes, and sometimes they change without notice, but rules is rules.”
“How interesting, Mr. Duffy. Like what?”
Mickey leans back and pulls a cigar out of his breast pocket. He snips off the end and moistens the other end in his mouth. Striking two matches, he carefully burns off the tobacco leaves from the end. When it’s done, he draws in, causing it to glow. One puff, exhale. Two puffs, exhale. He smiles a satisfied smile. “A man does love a good cigar.” He takes another drag. “You know I ship goods, right?”
“Mickey?” Edith gives a warning glance to her husband.
“That’s all right, Kitten. I’m sure Mrs. Barnes here is somewhat familiar with my business. I know how close you gals are, and I’m sure I must have mentioned something or other about it along the way.”
Maggie has a quick flashback to being tied to a chair in his warehouse and gives a small shudder. She sees from Mickey’s small grin that he’s noticed.
“Now, as I was saying, there are boundaries or sales territories. They’re imaginary and change from time to time. Sometimes neighbors don’t agree on where the boundaries are, but they’re there. I can’t cross the line and go into someone else’s territory. There isn’t free movement of goods and services, just a bunch of little kingdoms.”
“So what happens if you cross?” Maggie asks. She’s getting caught up in the story, and the opportunity of poking her nose into new areas of bootlegging business is irresistible.
“It depends. It could be because you’re stupid or don’t know better. Then somebody will whack you on the side of the head to get your attention and explain the rules to ya. Sometimes though, it’s because you’re greedy and going on to somebody else’s turf is on purpose, and then you just get whacked.” Mickey rolls the ash end of the cigar in the heavy crystal ashtray.
“Whacked,” Maggie says, her voice small with just a hint of a quaver. Mickey’s story is a brutal reminder of who he is.
Maggie’s hands start to tremble. What am I doing? I shouldn’t be having this conversation. Whacked. Like Eugene. Like I could have been.
“Mickey Duffy. You’re being crude. You’ve upset Maggie. Stop it now.” Edith plants two hands on either side of her plate. She half rises out of her chair.
Mickey smiles a slow, lazy smile; a predator playing with lunch. “Shall I explain more of the rules, Mrs. Barnes?”
“Mickey. I mean it. Stop. Now.”
“I’m fine, Edith. Really. Thank you, though.” Maggie says quietly. Edith sinks back into her chair.
Maggie raises her head. I’m tired of being afraid. Nobody messes with me. Never let an animal sense fear. “Actually, Mr. Duffy, I am interested. Please continue. What other business restrictions do you face? And do they all have such serious consequences as being whacked? Perhaps I should write a paper about it for school.”
Mickey throws back his head and laughs. “You are some kinda dame, Mrs. Barnes. Some kinda dame. My apologies for egging you on.” Shaking his head and chuckling, he gets up from the table. He moves around and kisses Edith on the forehead. “I gotta get back downtown. Hang on to this one, Edith. She’s one in a million.”
Chapter 37
R abbits, cards, silver dollars: all disappear and reappear. The crowd loves him. Maggie is enthralled. If only the magician could make my problems disappear so easily.
Maggie gives her regrets for not staying later—she’s thoroughly enjoyed the performance—she prepares to take a taxi home. It has been a long day and a long night. Mickey seems to think that they are best friends now and enjoys baiting her. He would pull his chair close, and she would scoot her chair away. He has chased her halfway around the table before she put her foot down, literally, stomping it in frustration. She feels like slapping the grin off his face, but realizes that it is time to let things go. Frank had told her some Bonaparte quote about going before your enemies with confidence; otherwise, you inspire them to greater boldness.
The cab arrives and she climbs into the rear seat. Greater boldness is not something I need from Mickey Duffy.
* * * *
Edith, Mickey, and the entourage remain, the evening being young for the smart set. More champagne is opened, a bottle of premium Canadian whiskey appears, and Mickey, shadowed by John Bricker, disappears to make his rounds among the packed crowd.
Bleary-eyed, Edith squints at her companion. Earlier, she and Henry had indulged in a bit of cocaine, and are now on the mellow, downward slide of the euphoria. It is so handy having a gangster like Henry for an accomplice, both in keeping the cocaine a secret from Mickey, as well as making it easy to maintain a steady supply.
“So, Henry? Who’s that girl I keep seeing hanging around?” Edith runs her finger around the edge of her glass, staring into the distance. The frantic pace of the nightclub swirls around the table, which is encased in a bubble of detachment. “Don’t see her here tonight.”
“What girl? There are always lots of girls.”
“Long, blonde hair. Very pretty. Very young.”
“You must mean Delores. Delores Bailey. Her brothers work for Mickey sometimes.”
“Ah, her brothers work for him. Isn’t she kinda young to be hanging around? How old is she, anyway?”
“Heck, I don’t know. Maybe thirteen? Maybe fourteen? I spend more time with her brothers.
“Henry. She’s just a baby.”
“Delores ain’t no baby, baby.” He laughs at his joke and reaches over to pour himself another drink. He waves the bottle at Edith.
“Nah, I’m good.”
“So, is Mickey interested in this Delores?”
Henry closes his eyes.
“Henry?”
“Yeah?”
“I asked you if Mickey is interested in Delores.”
“Mickey’s only ineresh-ted in you, Edith.”
Edith turns to Henry and frowns. “Really. That’s rubbish, and you know it, Henry Mercer.” She takes the bottle and refills her glass. “Where is the damn man anyway?” Edith asks, looking around the room for Mickey.
She gives Henry a gentle push. “Where’s Mickey?”
“I don know. I’m not hish bodyguard, Edith. Thas Bricker’s job. I did that once before and look where it got me. Splash.”
“You’re babbling, Henry.” Edith reaches out and grabs at the jacket of a passing waiter. “We need more champagne.” Edith looks at Henry’s glass. “And another bottle of whiskey, please.”
Mickey appears behind the waiter, putting a hand on the server’s shoulder. “Cancel that. I’m taking you home, Edith. I thi
nk that you need to lie down for a bit. Mercer? Can you manage to get home?”
Henry waves. “Sure, Boss. I’m good. Splash.” His head falls to the table.
Mickey grimaces in distaste. He releases the waiter. “Get Mr. Mercer into a cab, will ya?” he says, peeling off some bills.
“Come on, Kitten. It’s time to go.” Mickey lifts Edith up, throwing her arm around his shoulder and wrapping his other arm around her waist.”
John Bricker steps forward. “Need a hand, Boss?”
“I’ve got her. Just go get the car and meet us out front.”
“I wanna go dancing,” Edith demands.
“Yup, let’s go,” Mickey answers, leading her toward the door.
“Halloooo.” Edith waves at people she knows on her way out. She stumbles on her high heels. “Oopsie daisy.”
Mickey frowns and keeps her moving toward the door. “Almost there, doll. Keep going. We’ll head home, and you can sleep this off.”
“And where are you going to be sleeping, Mickey Duffy?” Edith sways, pushing against him, trying to look him in the eye with an unfocused gaze.
“Come on, Edith. Home we go.” The coat check girl comes around with Edith’s wrap, and the two of them get Edith into the back seat of the Duesenberg. “Take her home, John. And then come back for me. I’ll be here a while longer.”
“Sure thing, Boss. I’ll make sure that Hilda gets her tucked in.”
“Thanks, John. Good night, Edith.”
“Wait. Mickey.” Edith’s slim, white arm flutters out the open car window. “I thought you were coming with me.”
Mickey opens the rear door and rolls the window up. He leans in and gives her a peck on the cheek. “Not tonight, doll. I’ll see you tomorrow. Have a good sleep.” He shuts the door, turning back toward the front door of the club, where the music is spilling out onto the street. He loops his arm around the coat check girl. “Come on, Trixie. Hey, you’re cold. How’s about I get you warmed up?”
Chapter 38
S itting in a bar is thirsty work, even if you’re a spirit—not the liquid kind. Frank’s on a stool by the phone. It’s nine in the morning; the place isn’t open yet. The manager restocks shelves while Frank admires the fake wall that slides up and tucks away in the ceiling. It has posters on it advertising pre-Prohibition brands. When it’s down, it looks just like an ordinary wood paneled wall. But at opening time, the wall slides up and back and, voila, fully stocked, mirrored bar-shelves. A bit of surprise company, and the wall slides down again, hiding the liquor from inspectors’ eyes.
At ten, the manager opens the front door to let in a few waiting patrons. Still no call. At eleven, a few more regulars drift in, and the bartender arrives. The manager heads along a hallway to his office and Frank follows, anticipating the call will come to the manager rather than the bartender. It both amuses and depresses Frank that he can sit—invisible to the manager—in the chair opposite the man.
Shortly after 11:30, the telephone rings. The manager lets the telephone on his desk ring; keeps working on his ledgers. The bartender knocks, opens the door, and pokes his nose in.
“Sorry to interrupt, Boss, but you got a call. The fella says his name is Ralph. Says it’s important.”
“Ralph? Sure, thanks.” He reaches for the telephone and speaks into the mouthpiece: “Patterson here. Hiya, Ralph, how’s it going?
Frank smiles, Captain Ralph Copeland?
The manager continues. “When?”
Frank leans in and tries to hear the voice at the other end. He listens intently and recognizes the police captain’s voice.
The manager ends the call. “Shit. Okay, I gotta go. We got inventory to put away.”
* * * *
When Frank and Maggie arrive at the Precinct, Joe puts her into one of the interrogation rooms. Frank slips between them.
Maggie reads from her notes. “The call came in at eleven thirty-five. The bartender answered it and then told the manager that a fella named Ralph wanted to talk to him. The manager called him Ralph. Then he said When? and rang off quickly because he said he needed to put away inventory. The manager told the bartender to close up no later than two, and they’d stash the stuff in the basement. They carried six cases of liquor downstairs and hid them behind a shelf that swings out. The shelf holds restaurant supplies like canisters of ketchup and jars of pickles. Behind it is a small storage room. My partner—the informant, I mean—said that he recognized the voice as belonging to Captain Copeland, whom he’s familiar with.”
“Good work, Maggie. A very professional report. So, Ralph Copeland. I thought he’d learned his lesson after the Duffy arrest last year. They moved him out of Unit One and over to the Eighth Ward. I wonder how he knew we were raiding Boo-Boo’s joint. Unless we have a stoolie in Unit One.”
“Maybe a secretary or a clerk? The bulletin would have been typed, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes, I suppose so. Hmm. The raid is on for later tonight but, now that they’ve been tipped off, we’ll need to plan another raid. Which means the colonel will have to go and brief the mayor again, which will tick him off. We’ll listen in on Copeland’s telephone after we get the details on the new raid worked out. We can have one of our Unit One officers on the switchboard, and another near Copeland’s office just in case it’s someone inside his command. Darn. This raises more questions than answers them. I was hoping we’d be able to wrap this up quickly.”
“Is there anything more you need from my partner or me? I want to, ah, get back and brief the Phantom Informant.” Maggie smiles to herself. Silly name.
“No, I think we’ll need to do everything in-house now, as I don’t suppose he has connections inside the department?”
Maggie glances toward the Inspector.
“I could sit in Copeland’s office. But don’t say anything until we’ve had a chance to talk. It would only pose difficult questions about how I could sit there,” Frank says.
“I think we’re good. But Joe, is it possible to let me know when you’re planning the next entrapment raid? Just in case my partner has any ideas of how we might be able to assist.”
Chapter 39
I t’s a sad sight at the bottom of the stairs: two battered suitcases and a cardboard box full of books and miscellany. Today is Joe’s last day in the Barnes’ household. Maggie keeps wiping her eyes with the corner of her apron.
Joe’s like a brother to her. She almost turned him away two years ago when he’d shown up in response to her first advertisement for lodgers. But he had reminded her of Jack, so she said yes, against her better judgment at the time, and she’s never regretted her decision.
Today he moves on. Maggie is serving cake, coffee, and lemonade. A bit of a bon voyage party. The wedding is next weekend; Joe’s moving into the new house to get a head start on painting and repairs.
The guest of honor sits in Frank’s chair. Frank stands by the entrance to the dining room, delighted that Maggie asked him to attend.
Tommy holds a small package he’s wrapped himself. “Sergeant Kelly. I’m going to miss you living here with us, even though I can sometimes hear you snore, when you’re sleeping and I’m not.” Everyone chuckles. “I picked this out for you, but Mother paid for it.”
Joe unwraps the gift. “The Adventures of Tom Sawyer. That’s grand, Tommy. I’ll think about you when I’m reading it. Thank you so much.” Joe holds the book up to applause. Tommy gives him a big hug and smiles shyly at the room.
Archie steps up next. “Joe. Even though you’re a copper, and sometimes we haven’t seen eye to eye on things, I wanted to let you know that I’ve enjoyed living here with you. I’m looking forward to the nuptials, and got you this to celebrate your first night in your new house.” Given Archie’s irritating pestering that he’d subjected Joe to since they moved into Maggie’s, there are a lot of nervous glances between those assembled.
Archie smiles smugly as Joe unwraps a bottle of illegal whiskey. “Thanks, Archie. I’d expect nothing
less from you.”
“You know it’s perfectly legal to drink this in the privacy of your home, don’t you?” Archie says with a smirk.
“Yes, it is. But I won’t ask you where you bought it. Which isn’t.”
The group laughs nervously.
Clive steps up next. “Ah’m a newcomer here, so don’t have any funny stories. But I did want to say thank you for making my first days and weeks here so enjoyable. I love hearing your yarns over dinner, and I wish you and your intended the best of luck.” With that, he steps forward and shakes Joe’s hand.
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