Tasting the Apple

by Sherilyn Decter

  A flash of red as a northern cardinal streaks past, settling in the tree on the boulevard. I would like some of that. Someone who makes me feel extraordinary, bursting, I’m tired of being a sparrow or a wren, small and beige.

  Chapter 62

  T he ironing long since put away, Maggie puts the finishing touches on supper. Dinner will be late, the whole day gone topsy-turvy. She’d had to boil potatoes again, having first put in sugar instead of salt. And the dessert she’d baked earlier in the afternoon was in the garbage—salt instead of sugar. Edith’s dilemma and decisions keep swirling in her mind.

  Tommy hovers underfoot, his mouth watering. Clive and Archie are in the living room, ensconced behind newspapers. Dick is having a nap before dinner, done in from covering the raid on the Ritz. Nothing like a group of disgruntled patrons who are friends with the Inquirer’s publisher to make for a long day of interviews and follow-up.

  Aggressive banging at the front door disrupts the calm.

  “What the?” Archie stands up, tucking the newspaper under his arm to answer the door. “Hang on. Hang on. I’m coming,” he mutters.

  He barely has the door open when he’s shoved aside and Mickey Duffy storms into the house. “Mrs. Barnes. Mrs. Barnes,” he shouts, pushing his way past Archie and into the living room. Maggie comes out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. She sees Tommy cowering in the corner and moves to stand between him and Mickey.

  “Mr. Duffy. What are you doing here?”

  “Where is she? Where’s Edith?” Mickey grabs her by the arm, shaking it.

  “Hey, bub. Back off,” Clive says, grabbing Mickey’s arm and pulling it away from Maggie. “I think you need to go,” he says, still holding onto Mickey’s arm.

  “What’s going on?” Maggie asks, backing away from Mickey.

  He looks at her. His eyes are wild. “It’s Edith. She’s gone. She’s packed up a bunch of her things and left.”

  Maggie shakes her head. “Mr. Duffy, she’s not here. I don’t know where she is.”

  Mickey takes a step toward Maggie. Clive adds some force to Mickey’s shoulder. Archie backs up Clive. Dick comes into the room, suspenders hastily pulled up over his undershirt, hair still disheveled from sleep. “Maggie? What’s going on?”

  “Mr. Duffy was just leaving.” Maggie steps close to Mickey. “I don’t know where she is, Mickey. Really, I don’t.”

  With a cry, Mickey throws off the restraining hands and heads toward the door. “Please, for God’s sake, call me if you hear anything.” He slams the door behind him.

  * * * *

  Mickey clenches the steering wheel in both hands until his knuckles are white. Earlier, he’d come home from staying overnight at the Ritz. He’d needed to watch Henry. Between the booze, the drugs, the beating, and the guilt, he was in a bad way.

  When he got home this morning and went upstairs he had found Edith’s bedroom in disarray. Hilda had said that she’d just left with two suitcases and her travel case. Many of her clothes were gone, as were the items from her dressing table, and her jewelry. A quick phone call to the bank confirmed that her account was drained.

  Mickey was sure she would have gone to the Barnes dame. The train station. If she’s heading out of town, she’ll be at the train station.

  He double parks the car at the front doors of the station, then races inside. The porters are yelling at him, and he can hear a whistle blowing. He runs through the crowd, trying to see her. There? No. There? No. “Edith,” he calls out, again and again.

  Ahead, he spies her, slowly turning toward him, Tony Giordano by her side.

  Mickey pushes through the crowd. Tony steps in front of Edith, hand beneath his coat. An action Mickey mirrors.

  “Mickey. Tony. No. Stop.”

  “Edith, what the hell is going on? I came home and you’d packed up and left. And where the hell do you think you’re going? With him?”

  “Back off, Duffy. Edith’s mine now,” Tony says.

  “Look, Edith, we need to talk.” Mickey looks around. He can see police working their way through the crowd. He grabs Edith’s arm and drags her toward the Men’s Room. Tony grabs her other arm. She’s a rag doll pulled in both directions.

  “Edith, please. Two minutes. Please. Tell me, why?”

  Edith shakes Tony’s grip from her arm. “Fine. I suppose I owe you that much. But our train leaves in thirty minutes.”

  Edith pushes open the Men’s Room door, and Mickey and Tony follow.

  Once inside and alone, Edith whirls to face Mickey. “I would have told you last night. But you weren’t home. Again. Who were you with this time?”

  “That’s not important.”

  “Not important?” She slaps his face, panting. “Well, I think it’s important. I’m tired of living like this, Mickey. Forgotten until it’s time for you to come home and change your shirt.”

  Mickey stands still, the handprint on his cheek bright red.

  Tony takes hold of Edith’s arm. “Edie, honey. Don’t. Think of the baby.” Edith misses the smirk that Tony shoots Mickey.

  “What?” Mickey roars. He staggers back.

  “Yes, that’s right. I’m carrying Tony’s baby. The thing you could never give me.” Defiant, Edith glares at him, her chin thrust forward.

  “Edith,” Mickey slumps against the edge of the sink.

  He looks at Tony. “You’re a real Eye-talian bastard.”

  Tony reaches inside his coat again. “I guess all it took was a real man, Duffy.”

  Mickey’s jaw clenches. He looks Tony up and down with cold, flat eyes. “Relax, Giordano. I ain’t going to shoot you. Or you, either,” he says, nodding at Edith.

  Mickey steps toward Edith. “You betrayed me, Edith. With this, swinia. Or maybe I should say, maiale, seeing as you’re Eye-talian. How’s my pronounciation, pig? You know he’s a dirty cop, right? Just another greedy pig at the trough.”

  Edith and Tony watch Mickey. Mickey steps close to Tony, his muscles tense. “So, you think you can waltz outta Philly with my wife in your pocket? It ain’t happening, eye-talian. Let me spell it out for ya. Right here, right now, it’s you and me and our darling dame. Outside this room, I’ve got men waiting. Outside the train station, I’ve got more men waiting. In New York and Chicago, I’ve got even more men waiting. You get my drift? Capisce?”

  Tony glares at Mickey.

  “Mickey, please,” says Edith.

  Mickey raises his hand. “Just a moment, doll. You gotta let Tony do some thinking. Am I right, Tony? Time to rethink the plans. Maybe you get outta here, maybe not? Maybe the kid’s yours, maybe not. Maybe you get Edith, maybe not. There’s a lotta dames in Chicago. Whatcha gonna choose, Eye-talian? The only thing you can know for sure is my guys will get you.”

  “You bastard,” Edith says, fists balled at her sides. There’s murder in her eyes as she glares at Mickey.

  Mickey never takes his eyes off Tony. “Ah, I see that Tony is beginning to think things through. Look, Tony, despite what Edith may have told you, I’m a fair man.” Mickey begins to put his hand inside his coat, and Tony pulls a gun. “Hold on. I’m just going to reach inside my coat for my wallet.”

  Edith is mesmerized by Mickey as he starts counting off dollar bills. “To help pay for your ticket out of town, and then some. Think of this as safe passage, Tony. How much is that worth?” Mickey never takes his eyes off Tony as he counts out a stack of bills. “A C-note? A G-note? Not enough? More? Oh my, Edith, you are expensive.”

  Mickey extends the fan of bills toward Tony. “This should be enough to get you started and then some.”

  Edith’s eyes remain riveted on Tony’s face.

  “It’s a sure thing, Tony. One way or another, it’s a sure thing. My guys or the dough. Your choice.” Mickey gives the money another shake, giving Tony a sly smile.

  Not looking at Edith, Tony takes the money, puts it in his pocket, and pushes past Mickey out the door.

  “You bastard. I hate you.” Edi
th says, sobbing. She looks at the Men’s Room door, now closed. She looks at Mickey. There’s a look on her face that Mickey doesn’t understand.

  “A dirty cop is always about the money, doll.”

  Edith launches herself at Mickey. She slaps his face and then rakes it with her claws. “You bastard. He loved me. He loved me. You took away my chance.”

  Grabbing at her hands, he struggles with her to keep her from hurting him or herself. Suddenly she stiffens.

  “Edith?”

  She’s in his arms. She looks up, a tear-stained face, creased in panic. “Mickey. Oh no.”

  Mickey looks down, puzzled. Still holding onto his shoulders, she steps back and looks down. He follows her gaze. Slowly, a small thread of red trickles down her leg, a splotch on her dress blooming. Edith sags in Mickey’s arms.

  “Nooooo,” she wails.

  Mickey swings her up off the floor, cradling her in his arms. “Hang on, Kitten. It will be okay.”

  He bellows, “Gus,” who opens the door, staring inside. “Get the car, Gus. We need to get Edith to the hospital.”

  Edith clings to Mickey, sobbing.

  “Shush, Kitten. I love you. It will be all right.”

  Chapter 63

  W ith all of yesterday’s drama of Edith announcing her getaway plans, and Mickey bursting into Maggie’s home, today is a relatively calm, ordinary day. Maggie’s done a bit of mending, worked on clients’ books, and cooked a lovely supper that everyone but Dick is currently enjoying; his spot is empty.

  I thought, with Joe gone, we’d finally have some predictability at dinner, but reporters and police seem to keep the same schedules. They’re both actors in the same production. I wonder when I’ll hear from Edith? She and Tony must be in Chicago by now.

  Halfway through dinner the front door opens, and within minutes Dick Beamish slides into his chair. “So sorry I’m late everyone, Mrs. Barnes—Maggie. There’s so much going on at the paper with the body of that policeman being found in the river. Did you hear about it? And, the mayor has finally been able to run Colonel Butler out of town. I almost didn’t make it home.”

  Maggie asks questions while she passes him food. “What? Butler gone? The mayor’s tried this before, Dick, and it’s never worked. What makes you think that it will be different this time?”

  “Money and power, Maggie, that’s what’s different. When Butler tried to close the Ritz, it spooked all the mucky-mucks in town. I mean, it’s one thing to close some speakeasy across town you’ve never heard of, but to close the fancy hotel where your daughter will be getting married? Where you like to sit and enjoy a whiskey with other captains of industry? Nope, they put their foot down. Right down on Smedley’s neck. Our publisher was one of them. There won’t be any rallying cry from the newspapers this time. The colonel is gone. And no one is happier than Mayor Kendrick. Except maybe the bootleggers.”

  “I can’t imagine it’s going to stick. The people trust him, Dick,” Archie says.

  “Kendrick’s betting he can buy his way back into the people’s good will; certainly by the time the election rolls around. Or he can buy the election. But he’s not going to be able to do either without backers. The raid on the Ritz Hotel was Butler’s Waterloo. Struck too close to home for the mayor’s supporters. The mayor had to choose between the cash of his donors or a fickle public. It looks like he’s betting on the money.”

  “Money talks, again,” Archie says.

  “Always, Archie.” Dick says.

  “Don’t his donors support Prohibition?” Clive asks.

  “For other’s maybe, but not if it impacts them personally.”

  “So what happens next?” asks Maggie.

  “Now that Butler’s out, it looks like they’re bringing in Elliot to run the police department. The padlocks are off the Ritz, and it’s business as usual at the hotel. The manager’s thousand dollar fine has been rescinded.”

  “Elliott? Who’s that?” Maggie asks.

  “George Elliott. He’s been the Colonel’s assistant. Never part of the inner circle that I can tell, but not the mayor’s man, either. He’ll be a neutral pair of hands until Kendrick finds a replacement.”

  “I wonder what this means for Joe? He and Colonel Butler worked closely together,” Maggie says.

  “I’m sure enforcement efforts will scale back, as will the pursuit of corruption. Too many squirmy things under the rocks they’re turning over. It’s better not to look,” Dick says between mouthfuls.

  “I like worms,” says Tommy.

  “I wonder if Kelly worked with the policeman they found in the river,” Archie asked.

  “You know, I think I heard that the guy they found was a captain who used to lead Enforcement Unit Number One before he transferred to the Eighth ward. So Joe probably did. Maybe I’ll give him a call. It might add a bit of color to the story,” Dick says.

  “Surely you don’t mean Ralph Copeland?” Maggie puts her cutlery down, her face pale.

  “Yeah, I think that’s what his name was.”

  “Oh no.”

  “Wasn’t he the dirty cop on Mickey’s payroll? There was a mention of it in the papers a while back. Something about missing evidence?” Archie looks from Maggie to Dick.

  “Colonel Butler arrested him, but Mickey got off when the witnesses and evidence went missing. Poor Colonel Butler. I was so impressed with him when I heard him speak at the rally the last time the mayor tried to fire him,” Maggie says. “And some of his other initiatives targeting police corruption have been quite innovative.” I doubt whether this Mr. Elliot will be interested in keeping Operation Minnow going.

  “Butler’s heading back to the Marines. He was always a fish out of water here. He made a lousy civilian. I think he’ll be happier back in the military. Everyone there knows who and when to salute,” says Dick.

  “Oh, Dick, I don’t think that’s fair. The cards were always stacked against him. He thought he was brought in to fix things, but the mayor and the Machine only wanted window dressing,” Maggie says.

  Archie passes Dick the basket of rolls. “It couldn’t have been easy for a man like that to be a new pair of drapes.”

  * * * *

  Joe brings in more empty crates and stacks them on the desk in Colonel Butler’s office. The two are packing up his office. The framed medals have come down off the wall and are wrapped carefully in paper. Books and personal correspondence is packed away. A few photographs and clippings, citations from various community organizations, are all neatly stacked inside the boxes now sitting on the floor by the door.

  They stand back and survey the small pile. “There’s not much to show for all the fire and fury of the past two years, eh Kelly?”

  “You’ve made a huge impact on the city, sir.”

  “Kind of you to say, but we both know my train will have barely left the station before they start picking at the seams and it all starts to unravel. As an experienced and decorated soldier, you’d think that I’d have learned that most fundamental of lessons,” says Butler, shaking his head.

  “Sir?” Joe keeps tying up the boxes.

  “Never fight a war on two fronts. While I was battling the bootleggers and moonshiners in front of me, the politicians and the police were stabbing me in the back.”

  Joe shakes his head. There’s not much he can say to lessen the brutal sting of those words. Truth hurts.

  “You know, Kelly, the irony is that I’m not much different than those bootleggers and racketeers we’ve been chasing.”

  “Sir?” Joe holds the scarlet cape that was hanging on the back of the colonel’s door.

  “Leave it. Or keep it as a souvenir of the past two years together. You’ve stood by me, Kelly, when others didn’t. You’re a good man.”

  Joe folds it and sets it aside.

  “Two years. You know, Kelly, I’ve spent thirty-three years and four months in active military service. I’ve fought battles on foreign soil against enemies that sought to bring harm to Am
erica. I’ve served in the Philippines, China, and Central America. I thought I was there defending democracy but, really, for those in power, it’s always about the money. America looking for a bit of economic leverage, a bit of profiteering. So you could say that, during those three decades, I spent most of my time as high-class muscle for the politicians in Washington, for Big Business, for Wall Street, and the bankers. And now, with this latest posting, I can add the notorious Philadelphia Machine to the list. I’ve shaken down countries during wartime, and private enterprise during peacetime. You could think of me as sort of a racketeer, a gangster for capitalism.”