Tasting the Apple

by Sherilyn Decter

  “Maggie, it’s a slippery slope, compromising your principles. Today, it’s a little bit, and then the next time it’s a bit more. The next time a bit further yet. Then one day you look around and you are miles away from where you started, and you have no idea how you got there. What would you tell Tommy, when he asks you about how you can afford a bicycle? That gangster money bought it? That the money is only a little bit dirty? Really, Maggie, I expected more from you.”

  Maggie hangs her head. “I know. I know. I should send them all a note back saying no. I was just hoping you’d say yes, Inspector.”

  “It’s not up to me, Maggie. You have a conscience. You know where this would lead. But you have to make your own decision.”

  “You’re right. I think that I’m going to have to talk to Mickey. He’s the one that’s encouraging this. He’s like the snake in the Garden of Eden.”

  Later, Maggie lies in bed. The house is quiet. Everyone else is asleep, dreaming their sugarplum dreams. But Maggie tosses and turns, unable to find the answer that will let her mind rest so that she too can dream.

  Staring at the ceiling, Maggie imagines the hole in the roof that started all this. It’s patched now, the ceiling repainted. But somewhere under that paint and plaster, beneath the tar paper and new shingles, is the gap that let the rain in.

  I need to keep a roof over our heads. This house is everything to me, and I could lose it. What was the point of all that struggle; the watered soup, the sacrifice, the lodgers? I did what I needed to then, so why give it up now? Tommy’s counting on me. What would Tommy think, watching that banker nail a For Sale sign to the front veranda? But what am I prepared to sacrifice to save the house? I promised Jack I’d look after our boy.

  Maggie pounds the pillow, trying to find a comfortable spot, gazing at the moon shining in the window.

  What is a house? Shelter. Memories. Security. Home. Mine. Can I toss all that away because I’m squeamish about how people make their money? The money they want me to count? In this day and age, is that even reasonable? Certainly, the bank doesn’t care where their deposits come from. Howard doesn’t ask about how money was earned as he hands over a bag of apples at the grocery store.

  Maggie’s staring at the ceiling again, the covers tucked around her chin.

  Maybe the solid roof Tommy needs to grow up under isn’t made of wood and shingles but of integrity and strength. What is a roof, anyway? I would have loved Jack even if it was a canvas tent over our heads. That’s what’s important. Not this silly roof. But Tommy’s just a little boy. It’s different. What am I prepared to lose? Can I give up the house? Can I afford to keep it? I guess that’s the question, isn’t it? What am I prepared to lose?

  Chapter 58

  O nce again, District Attorney Samuel Rotan, Captain Beckman from Enforcement Unit Number One, and Colonel Butler are gathered to review progress on the corruption campaign. Sergeant Joe Kelly takes notes from his seat in the corner.

  “Congratulations on your re-appointment, Smedley. It looked like it was touch and go there, before the big rally,” says Sam.

  “Thank you. Once the mayor saw the level of public support we have, he had no choice. He’s a man with aspirations to live in the Governor’s Mansion, so he needs the support of the public. The Marines are getting impatient that I may never be returning to active duty, but I assured them I need one more year to really win this war.”

  “I hear through the grapevine that your meeting with the magistrates did not go well. I thought that you would be able to get more support there.”

  “As did I, Sam. We had unanimous support at our initial meeting last year, but that has gradually faded under pressure from the bootleggers and others profiting from illegal liquor sales.”

  “How bad is it?”

  “You probably know better than I, but I estimate that only four of the original twenty-four magistrates are cooperating. We lost all one-hundred and seventy-one liquor cases in September; magistrates refused to prosecute. In October, it was another hundred and fourteen cases. Even more egregious, the magistrates involved also declared themselves to be opposed to Prohibition. I’m expecting the numbers from the remainder of the fourth quarter, but I doubt that it’s any better.”

  DA Rotan shakes his head. He’s familiar with the numbers and what they mean for their effort to clean up the city. “And it’s not just the magistrates. The juries themselves are traitorous, mixing maudlin sentiment into their verdicts. If it weren’t for the strong support of Judges McDevitt and Fahnestock, we’d have no support on the bench at all.”

  Colonel Butler wears an unfamiliar look of defeat. “The loudest opponent is Magistrate Carney, who is actively working to undermine our legal cases. He’s overturned legitimate warrants on technicalities.”

  “I heard he threw out over three hundred warrants.”

  “He said that if the ‘defective’, his word not mine, warrants were tested in courts, the indictments would be quashed, or there would be a need for new trials. Therefore, he wouldn’t even sign them. There are days when it seems hopeless.”

  “I’ve heard that Magistrate Carney has declared open war on you and your initiatives. He’s a dangerous enemy. Very well connected within the Machine.”

  “We’ve already had several run-ins. Although I had the most unusual meeting with him recently where he was quite vocal on his position that Volstead was only being enforced amongst the poor and working class peoples of Philadelphia. That if you had money, you could skirt the rules. Carney claimed that it was class warfare.”

  “That seems a bit much. I’ve never pegged Carney as a soft-hearted liberal, although certainly the rich don’t seem to be as affected by our crackdowns.”

  “So, you think that there’s merit in Carney’s accusations?”

  “I’m saying that you must have balance. Justice wears a blindfold for a reason, Smedley. What of your other initiatives?”

  “It’s a revolving door of suspensions. The Civil Service Commission is reinstating officers as fast as we can suspend them. I’m taking matters out of their hands and having hearings at the departmental level by Boards of Inquiry, with punishment recommended to me personally to implement. Hopefully, we can escape the grasp of the political machine.”

  “I’m surprised the mayor let you get away with that.”

  “Only on disciplinary matters, but not dismissals. That still resides within the jurisdiction of the Commission. But with the fines we’re imposing, we’re certainly getting their attention. Many choose to resign than lose a year’s wages.”

  “And our Operation Minnow?”

  “It continues, although we’re slowing down. First, there was uncertainty regarding my appointment, and then some of our undercover operatives were unmasked. We’re rotating our civilians to ensure that they are not identified, but it’s a numbers game. While it lasted, we were getting good results from our minnow pipeline, and some of the officers we’ve charged are turning in their superiors. Ultimately, though, it will be shut it down.”

  “Tell me, did you find out who was leaking information about the raids?”

  Butler looks hard at his colleague. “Yes. That tap has been shut off, firmly.”

  “So it’s a race to the finish line, then. You’re battling the judges, the politicians, the bootleggers, and the police. Will you be able to win the war before you become a casualty yourself?”

  * * * *

  Joe, on an undoubtedly fruitless errand to get some warrants signed at the courthouse, sees William Vare come out of Magistrate Carney’s office. He recognizes Vare as the powerful Republican that runs ‘The Machine’ in Philadelphia. Nothing happens without his approval, and he has his fingers in many pies.

  Joe slows, considering the implications of what he’s seen. The comments from the meeting he was just at are echoing. He is just coming abreast of Carney’s door, when the man himself bursts out, running into Joe.

  “Excuse me, Magistrate Carney.”

  �
��Watch where you’re going, Sergeant.” Magistrate Carney dusts himself off. His law clerks trail after him.

  * * * *

  Joe knocks and waits for permission to enter Colonel Butler’s office. “You asked to see me, sir?”

  “Yes, Sergeant. We’re going to bring padlock proceedings on the Ritz-Carlton, and I need you to run this paperwork over to the departmental lawyer.”

  “The Ritz, sir?”

  “Yes. I think we may have a convert on our hands. Magistrate Carney came to see me about an unfortunate situation he experienced last night. He brought his law clerks with him so that he could swear out an affidavit immediately, which was darn convenient and considerate of him. He was attending a party at the Ritz in Rooms 201 and 202.” Butler consults the report on his desk. “And there was drinking with socially prominent people present. He reported it to the police and a wagon was sent round about one in the morning.”

  “There seems to be plenty of time between when the Magistrate arrived at the party and when he decided to call the police,” Joe says with a wry grin.

  “Yes, quite. Many of the guests had left. His memory is a bit spotty. But he did eventually contact the police, and that’s what matters. I went down there myself, after Carney left my office, to arrest the Ritz manager. They’ve fined the manager a thousand dollars.”

  Joe whistles at the amount, “That’s a lotta clams,” and then catches himself as Colonel Butler frowns at his impertinence.

  “And now I wish to padlock the entire hotel.”

  “This morning, sir? I just sent a couple of officers round there to bring in Mercer. He’s always hanging out in Duffy’s suite at the Ritz.”

  “The padlocks won’t affect guests who have booked rooms. The officers shouldn’t have any trouble bringing him in for questioning. No, it’s just the social areas: the ballrooms, the bar, the restaurant. I intend on making a dramatic statement about egalitarian punishment; the rich pay the consequences of Prohibition violations as well as working people.”

  “It’s a dramatic step, sir. Especially over the holidays. I’m sure there are lots of parties booked at the Ritz. Shutting them down will certainly generate some headlines and calls into the mayor’s office.”

  “Well, let them call. Starting today, we’re going to go after the big hotels and fashionable clubs for violations with the same degree of enthusiasm that we’ve been pursuing the speakeasies. We’re going to shut off the booze into these establishments.”

  “You don’t think it might be reaching too far, sir? The mayor has been supportive of your initiatives up to a point. But this may be the excuse he needs to rally support to replace you.”

  “Nonsense, Kelly. We’ve fought that skirmish. The newspapers will stand behind me, again. As will the voters.”

  “But what if the Inquirer has booked a Christmas party of their own? And what about all those swank New Year’s Eve events? Who will have the loudest voice? Voters or donors? You’re stepping into untested waters, sir, attacking the swells in their own backyards. Perhaps you should discuss this with District Attorney Rotan? Why don’t I give him a ring?”

  “I told you we have the support of Magistrate Carney himself. The rich have to pay the piper, too. No, this will go ahead as I’ve planned. You have your orders, Sergeant. Dismissed.”

  Chapter 59

  T he elevator door slides open. From inside the elevator, Maggie sees Gus and Fingers sitting in chairs leaning against the hallway’s wall. Maggie freezes. The elevator door starts to close with her still inside.

  “You can do this, Maggie. I’m right here,” Frank says. He’s right behind her.

  “I don’t think I can, Inspector,” she whispers. They remain in the elevator.

  “You can. You have to.”

  She jabs the button to reopen the door, takes a deep breath, and steps into the hall.

  Last year, these two men had abducted her, treated her roughly, and terrorized her. She can still remember the feel of the hood over her head and the foot on her back as she lay helpless, bound and gagged, on the floor of the car.

  She takes a small step forward.

  Gus and Fingers watch intently, waiting to see what she’ll do.

  Maggie walks down the hall. The two men stand.

  “I need to talk to Mickey.”

  “Mrs. Barnes? Does he know you’re coming?”

  Maggie shakes her head. “No, he doesn’t. But I need to talk to him.”

  Gus disappears into the hotel room, leaving the door ajar.

  “Hey, Boss. That Barnes dame is outside. Says she needs to talk with you.”

  From where she stands, Maggie can make out a group of men playing cards at the table.

  “The place is a wreck, and I’ve got company. Tell her I’ll meet her downstairs in the coffee shop. No wait, it’s still closed from the raid. Tell her I’ll meet her in the lobby and we’ll go across the street to that café. And somebody call housekeeping and get this place cleaned up. What a bunch of pigs. If Mercer gets back before I do, tell him to sit tight. I want to find out what happened with the cops down at the station. The same goes for that lawyer I sent with him.”

  * * * *

  Sitting in the lobby, Maggie watches the elevator door. Frank sits in a chair next to her. Her heart pounds as Mickey steps out and crosses to meet her.

  “So, Mrs. Barnes, what brings you to the Ritz?”

  “Mr. Duffy, I would like to talk to you about a recurring problem I seem to be having that you seem to be at the center of.”

  “I’m all ears, Mrs. Barnes. Unfortunately, we had some police attention this morning and the hotel café is closed. Let’s go across the street and we can talk privately.”

  Once at the café, Mickey sits down in the chair opposite her. His bodyguard and driver, John Bricker, at the next table.

  Maggie reaches into her handbag and pulls out the envelopes, tied together with string. She lays them on the table between them.

  “These arrived yesterday. I think that you prompted them. I want it to stop, Mr. Duffy. I have no interest in working for these people.”

  “But Mrs. Barnes, I was only trying to help. You said that you were having a rough time getting clients, and Edith mentioned something about an impatient banker. I thought a word from me in certain ears would help.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Duffy. But that kind of help I don’t need. I thought I did. In fact, I thought long and hard about accepting these offers. But at the end of the day, I couldn’t do it.”

  “You’re a very stubborn woman. You should reconsider. These represent good income for your business, Mrs. Barnes.”

  “I know. Believe me, I know.” Maggie thinks of the letter that will be coming from the bank soon, looking for this month’s mortgage payment. These businesses represent a way out of the trouble she finds herself in. I know I’m not strong enough to pull this off. Sure, today I can say no. But could I say no tomorrow? I’m not so sure. So best that we have an understanding.

  She shakes her head and pushes the letters toward him. “Take them. You don’t need to stick your nose in my business, Mr. Duffy.” Maggie stands, gathering up her purse and gloves.

  “Mrs. Barnes, wait. There’s something I’d like to talk to you about while you’re here.”

  Maggie looks toward the entrance of the coffee shop, then back at Mickey. She sits again.

  “I’m sorry for sticking my nose in your business. Especially because we are supposed to have a certain understanding about noses,” Mickey says, tapping his.

  Maggie looks at him, puzzled.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You promised to keep your nose out of my business. Remember?”

  Maggie goes pale. “Yes. How could I forget?”

  “Well, I hear that the police have some info about one of my associates. A Mr. Henry Mercer.”

  Maggie starts at the name.

  “Ah, I see you know who that is. Mrs. Barnes, when will you learn?” Mickey says, shaking his
head and frowning at her.

  “A couple of cops barged into the suite first thing this morning and hauled Henry downtown. They said they wanted to question him about the murder of Stan Leszek’s kid. Heck, that was almost two years ago already. He doesn’t know nuthin ‘bout that. He’s not going to talk. In fact, I’m expecting that the lawyers have sprung him already.”