The Halfway to Hell Club

by MARK J. McCRACKEN

  Shamus opened his Tiffin and exclaimed. “Red flannel hash and eggs! Jesus, Mary and Joseph.”

  “Remember, Shamus,” I said, “that’s Boston Bobby. He would know how.”

  “Well, now I have a place to eat breakfast now.”

  “I would not show up there in a suit. It’s a fisherman’s place.”

  The rest of the morning was spent tugging and pulling on lines, to bring the nets on board. The Sun Dancer has an arm with a block and tackle to bring up the nets, but it is still hard work. Shamus was having the time of his life. We all got excited when we saw the net was bursting. Even Grandpa Mario was pretty happy, and he has been doing this all his life.

  We headed for home as soon as the nets were on board. We arrived at the terminal and offloaded by eleven thirty. At noon sharp, Grandpa Mario was backing the Sun Dancer into her berth at Fisherman’s Terminal. It was like a science with Grandpa Mario; he hates being late for anything.

  Standing on the pier was Kaitlin and her mother, and to my surprise Righty and Lefty were there as well. What was no surprise was that Kaitlin and the boys were arguing about where Dominic DiMaggio would end up in the big leagues. Also no surprise: Kaitlin appeared to be dominating the conversation and winning the argument.

  “There is no way the professor is going to those stinking Yankees. Joe has the ego for six men, and there is no chance he would allow his little brother to show him up. He’ll sign with the Red Sox, mark my words,” Kaitlin said.

  Chin and Loc weren’t giving up so easily.

  “As long as Boston stays in that little dinky stadium, Fenway, they will never compete with New York,” Chin said. “And Yankee Stadium seats more than double the capacity of Fenway. It’s simply a matter of revenue. The Red Sox need to move to a new stadium. Besides, the White Sox, Cubs and Red Legs are in the hunt.”

  Chin was pretty convincing, but eventually the combatants decided the debate was a draw. I gave Kaitlin a kiss on the cheek.

  “You are a lucky man, boss. Good looks, smarts, and she knows baseball.” Loc spoke, but Chin’s head bobbed in agreement.

  Shamus suggested we all go to lunch. Chin and Loc said they had an appointment, but needed to speak to me privately.

  We walked to the end of the pier. Chin did the talking for the pair, as usual. He handed me an envelope.

  “Mrs. Wang wanted me to give that to you. It is the agreed-upon amount of two hundred and fifty per day for the month plus three days that you have been working on this case.”

  “I can’t take this. It’s too much,” I said.

  “Boss, please take it. To Mrs. Wang, that is pocket change. What was important is that you caught her husband’s killer, and fast. That meant the world to her. I have been with the Wang’s for a lot a years, both me and Loc. I’ve never been told to say this to anyone, ever. Mrs. Wang wants you to know that she owes you one.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Don’t say anything, boss. Also, this is from me and Loc: We don’t say anything to anybody about what goes on. I promised you that Jimmy wouldn’t be hurt. You are a good man, and you were straight with both of us. We owe you one, and here it is. This is between us. Jimmy Chan was sold for four hundred dollars to organization in Hong Kong. Mrs. Wang threw him in as a sweetener to a deal. One hour after he left the club, he had a ten-foot length of chain attached to his ankle. The chain was welded to the deck of the freighter. He will live his life washing dishes on that freighter. He can make it to a head, the dishwashing room, and a bed in the supply room. The chain won’t reach to a hatchway or porthole for him to look out of. He may be alive, but he ain’t living a real life anymore. He has an existence. It is the price he will pay for his betrayal. If there is a hell, he is all the way there now. Stupid bastard.”

  “Greed consumed Jimmy. It was his downfall,” I said.

  “You want to know the funny part, boss? The way that Jimmy handled this deal with their son Kuai, Mr. Wang was thinking about retiring and putting Jimmy in charge. He wanted to ride off into the sunset with Mrs. Wang and play with grandbabies.” He shook his head in disgust.

  I laughed. “The best-laid plans of mice and men.”

  “You take care of yourself. And Kaitlin? She’s a keeper, boss.”

  I shook hands with both men. They piled into the Duesenberg and flew off into traffic. Kaitlin and her parents were waiting, and Kaitlin asked what it was they delivered.

  “It was a check from their employer,” I said. “And something far more valuable than that to me: their respect.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  Thursday evening was spent in an important meeting. Vinnie Castellano, Dave Dunderbeck, and Bill Ashwythe and I attended a law-enforcement symposium at my house: beer and poker night. It was a load of fun. I owed it to the FBI guys; this had been a tough case for everyone. Dave cleaned us all out. I felt like a little kid in short pants the way he worked the cards. I thought I was a pretty savvy poker player from years of cards in the Navy. No such luck.

  Friday morning, it was back to business. I was rummaging through my desk trying to find more envelopes. I looked up and Vinnie was there.

  “Follow me, Sean.”

  Vinnie told me I wouldn’t need my hat and coat. We took the elevator to the third floor in silence. I had a feeling.

  We walked into the offices of Morehouse and Wheeler. Crime-lab guys and photographers were everywhere.

  We went to Wheeler’s office. There, sitting in his leather office chair, was Anthony Giovanni. He had been strangled with piano wire.

  Vinnie and I didn’t say anything. What was there to say? We went to the other offices and found the other three thugs, murdered in the same fashion.

  Vinnie shook his head. “I’m not surprised, Sean. Wheeler got sent here to get the mob into those bridge projects, and he didn’t get it done. I guess this is his termination notice from the front office.”

  “Damn. That means right, wrong or indifferent, the DA is going to drop the charges against Connie Morehouse. She walks, but not before collecting the life insurance and the money for the completion of the Oakland Bay Bridge. Plus she gets to keep a two-dollar betting slip. Hell of a note.”

  I had enough and went back to my office.

  I was going to ask Kaitlin to marry me on Saturday. But her mother called me in the late afternoon to tell me that Kaitlin came home sick with the flu. Apparently she was very sick. I called John’s Grill and rescheduled our dinner for a week out.

  The next week I worked a quick case. Some parents wanted their teenage daughter found. Turns out she had lammed off with her best friend. She told the parents of the friend that her parents were out of town.

  Shamus called and asked me to breakfast at the Palace Hotel on Friday morning. One must see the Irish Pope when summoned.

  Thursday afternoon, I went to go pick up the Ford. I thought about calling them last week and have the entire car painted, but that was a lot of money. I was saving for a honeymoon. When I got there, the car looked fantastic. To my surprise the entire car was painted, and it was paid for. Bert the owner told me two big Chinese guys came in and paid for it. They also said the paint job wasn’t even and told him to paint all of it. When I got behind the wheel, I found a note from Chin and Loc. It said there was a small gift in the back seat. I turned around. It was Jimmy’s baseball bat. The note was signed Righty and Lefty, not Chin and Loc.

  Kaitlin was finally over the flu and back to work on Thursday. She said she was better and was looking forward to Saturday night.

  On Friday morning I took the cable car to the office and walked to the Palace Hotel. Unlike the best hotels in San Francisco, the Palace is different in its location, in the heart of the financial district. This hotel is all about business, money and power. The big rich in the area meet here. It is a beautiful hotel, but it has a reputation for being snobby, as I woul
d soon find out.

  I’d never been to the hotel so I went to the front desk to find directions to the Atrium Room, where they serve breakfast. The desk attendant had been working there too long, as apparently he thought himself to be aristocracy. If his nose were any higher in the air he would fall over backward. I stepped to the desk and he first looked me over to see if I was worthy of his service.

  He said, condescendingly, “May I help you, sir?”

  “Yes, where is the Atrium Room?”

  Again he looked me over. Apparently my suit wasn’t expensive enough. “And you wish to find the Atrium Room for what purpose, sir?”

  I was getting irritated.

  “I am meeting someone for breakfast.”

  He looked down that long nose of his again.

  “Perhaps you might be more comfortable at the lunch counter across the street, sir.”

  “No, thank you. I am meeting somewhere at seven in the Atrium Room. Which way is the Atrium Room, please?”

  The phone rang and this dope picked up.

  “Good morning, the Palace Hotel Front Desk, this is Bartholomew, how may I assist you? We serve breakfast in the Atrium Room until nine. Yes, madam, you are most welcome.”

  Good old Bartholomew looked up from the desk.

  “Oh, you are still here.”

  I was almost done with this clown. “The Atrium Room?”

  “Yes, sir, right down this hallway, and the last set of double doors on your left. Enjoy your breakfast, sir.”

  I said thank you and was walking away when I him say, under his breath, “asshole.” I went back to the desk.

  “What did you call me?”

  He was all smiles and smugness. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t call you anything at all.”

  I turned to walk away and swung around and hit him square in the schnozzle. He started to bleed instantly. As he stuffed his snot locker with tissue, he sounded like a whimpering baby.

  “What did you do that for?” he cried.

  “I’m an asshole,” I said.

  The hotel manager came out from a door behind the desk.

  “Oh, my goodness, Bartholomew. You are bleeding all over the register.” He grabbed more tissues to clean the mess.

  I waved to the manager. “Those nosebleeds, it must be the dry air.”

  I found the atrium room and Shamus. We ordered the breakfast special. The waiter apparently had gone to the same finishing school. He seemed like a good guy, though; just a little too dry and stiff for me. The table next to us had a pair of Texans. The waiter asked them to remove their hats. They complied, and asked for a spittoon.

  “I’m sorry, sir. This isn’t a saloon or a bowling alley.”

  Shamus and I chuckled, then Shamus got to the point.

  “What are your intentions, young man?”

  “Boy, you don’t fool around, do you?” I said. “With your permission, I am going to ask Kaitlin to marry me on Saturday. I was going to come over and see you and Catherine after work and ask your permission. You are a little ahead of my schedule.”

  “I had a sense that you were up to something special. I only have one question, Sean. And I’ll be honest: It’s a little hard to ask.”

  “Shamus, when I ask Kaitlin, I plan on handing her two things: an engagement ring and my private investigator’s license. If I am going to get married, it’s time for me to practice law. It’s a lot safer.”

  “It will make Catherine and Kaitlin very happy, my boy. But I have an offer for you. I know you can practice the law anywhere. Standard Oil of California is expanding my office. We are adding over two hundred people. We are exploring for oil in Alaska, the Yukon Territory, the Middle East, and offshore. I have been authorized to hire an in-house counsel and an in-house investigator. I called New York and cleared it with them. I want you to handle the legal and any investigative work that needs doing. You can hire a couple of lawyers and a couple of investigators to work for you. You will work directly for me and will also be responsible for security of the offices.

  “Sean, this job will be safe. You can practice the law, and you get out in the field when you want. Of course, the money is very good. I want you to know I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t want you for the job. I don’t find jobs for future son-in-law’s. This is the right time, the right place, and you, my boy, are the right man for the job.

  “With all that said, yes, marry my daughter. You have both Catherine’s and my blessing. As far as the job goes, think it over. If it’s not for you, I will understand.”

  We finished breakfast and Shamus talked about what a great time he had on the fishing boat. “It feels good to work hard and produce something. My arms are killing me, boyo.”

  We shook hands and off went Shamus to work.

  I stopped by the front desk and waved to the manager, who was all smiles. Bartholomew was standing behind him. His nose looked like he had a cork up each nostril. He smiled and waved. He wouldn’t ever be rude to a customer again.

  I walked back to the office. When I got parked the phone rang. It was Danny O’Day from the U.S. Attorney’s office.

  “Hey, Sean, it’s Danny. Two things. Fred Patton has agreed to be the fish-fry chairman for a year.”

  “Good news. Now we will have Father Mickey off our backs. I’m tired of carrying that guy around.”

  “The other is not unexpected news. I just got word that the local DA is dropping any and all charges against Constance Morehouse.”

  “Danny, you still have the third Chicago shooter who can testify.”

  “No chance of that, Sean. He was found an hour ago in his cell. You’ll never guess how he died?”

  “Wait, don’t tell me. Piano wire?”

  “Give the man a cigar.”

  “Shit” was all I could say.

  CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT

  I had just hung up the phone when my thoughts began to run wild. Something that Vinnie said was stuck in my craw.

  I walked down to Marty’s stand. I exited the elevator and sat on the empty stool. Without asking Marty poured a cup of coffee and slid it across the counter to me. I said nothing.

  Marty smiled broadly. “Cat got your tongue gumshoe?”

  I shuffled the cup back and forth in my hands and didn’t look up.

  “Sean, something is eating you, spill it.” Marty demanded.

  “Vinnie Castellano told me he was transferred out of Chinatown a few years ago because of an article about cop corruption. Madison Cooper wrote the piece. Vinnie thinks his promotion was held up a couple of years because of it. You were in Chinatown back then Marty, what was the story?”

  Marty suddenly looked away in pain. He closed his eyes and held his head down over the counter. He opened them slowly and looked at me long and very hard. His forehead was wet, he was shaking.

  “All right Sean, I will tell you. One rule, you say nothing to Vinnie, not a word, not ever. Okay?”

  I nodded approval.

  Marty drew a cup of coffee for himself, took a swig, and dropped hard on the stool behind the counter. He looked defeated and relieved at the same time.

  “You got to understand about Chinatown, the rules don’t apply there. You walk a beat and get to know people, they get in trouble with powerful people, like the Wang’s, and they ask you to look the other way, and you do, just this once.”

  Marty’s eyes were red and moist. “The next thing you know restaurant owners are picking up your check for a favor. Some cops did favors and they had an envelope handed to them. Me I never took money, but I knew a lot of cops who did, friends, buddies, gees who had my back.”

  Tears were running down his cheeks. “That article ran and the shit hit the fan. Every cop in Chinatown was under the microscope. I got hauled in and questioned. They wanted me to name names, give people up. The word was the mayor and chief wa
nted ten cops to go down for this. They gave me an option to name somebody or take a fall. They gave me twenty-four hours to make up my mind.

  I was scared out of mind, being a cop was all that I was ever any good at. Marty brushed away the tears and took a big slug of coffee. He was re-gaining his composure.

  Later that night I was on patrol when say some street thug smacking some broad around. I ran down the alley, and the gee pulled a roscoe. He fired three times, I fired once and he took it right in the face and down he went. I had two fellow cops behind me. COPS, GOD DAMN IT.” Marty was shaking in uncontrollable rage.

  “I got shot twice, one in the arm, and one in the left leg. It was the leg that was damn near destroyed.

  Marty refilled his cup. “I woke up in the hospital and the chief and mayor were there. They told me they had lined up nine cops that were eligible for pension that would fall on their sword and do the right thing. They told me they wanted me to be the tenth, but that plan went out the window when I got injured in the line.”

  Marty mindlessly wound his pocket watch. “They left it up to me, I could take the rap and get a full disability retirement, or they drop the blame on Vinnie Castellano.”

  “I would have decked the bastard, but I couldn’t move. I told him Vinnie was clean and didn’t deserve any blame at all. The Chief shrugged and said, ten had to go down, and go down hard. Vinnie had a baby for Christ’s sake. He was a good cop, and he was CLEAN.

  Marty shook his head. “I confessed in a written statement, and they agreed to move Vinnie out and get him promoted in twenty-four months. They kept their part of the bargain. The mayor got his ten scalps, and I opened my shop here.

  Marty tossed the contents of his cup in the sink. “Bottom line is, I wasn’t a dirty cop, but I wasn’t exactly clean either.

  I got up from the stool. “Marty, honor and mercy mean a lot in this world. You gave up your place on the force for Vinnie. You can always be proud of that.”