“When?”
“Tomorrow night. Slickfingers Sam got topped by her and the Micks are blaming the Bowery Boys – payback, you know.”
Betty nodded to show she understood. “Keep your noses clean, boys.”
She turned away again.
“Hey lady!” Hell Cat Harry called out again. Betty turned back.
“Thanks.”
She smiled and waved him off, then set off for home. Alone.
Betty wheeled slowly along Liberty Way, weaving in and out of pedestrians aided by the occasional trill of her bicycle bell. It was a leafy street on a beautiful day, bursting with morning bustle. The Military District of Fort Hamilton was only a few blocks from the East River, where The Narrows met Gravesend Bay. Huge warehouse buildings lined one side of the road, opposite a small park on the other. Here, munitions factories operated twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, creating the metal materials and ammunitions needed for war. It was nearly tea-break time for the thousands of women working the twelve-hour day shift, and Betty meant to catch some of them before they went back to their machines. The trouble was, she didn’t know where to start and wouldn’t have much time.
She pulled up in front of the building Adina had told her about. It was a Boeing sub-assembly manufacturer. Inside, fighter bombers were being meticulously assembled, piece by tiny piece. Betty’s contact, an old friend of Adina’s by the name of Mrs. Jemima Collins was the floor supervisor and had sent Betty a letter of permission to stop by and speak to the workers. It had been a hard sell; security was tight, and to anyone else, Adina’s name was treasonous. Betty hopped off her bicycle and set it against a tree for extra support. She had two large boxes strapped on the back rack underneath her oversized cosmetic case and a brand-new note pad ready to take orders. If she was going to play her part as Avon Lady today, she may as well make a good show of it. Betty waited, watching the doors, wondering whether to knock, or wait for the women to come pouring out for a moment of fresh air before they turned back to their drills and rivet guns.
“You look lost,” a voice called, from behind her. Betty turned. A young woman was leaning against a maple tree, the sole of her polished boot up against the bark. She was wearing a blue military uniform with an Eisenhower jacket and, Betty noticed with surprise, slacks. “If you’re looking for a job, you’d better come back later,” the woman said. “Mr. Anderson, the hiring boss, is a real wet sock. Wait for Mrs. Collins at the dinner shift. Black hair in a bouffant, you can’t miss her. She’ll put you on.”
Betty smiled. “You sure know a lot about this place.”
The woman shrugged. “My friend works here. Whenever I’m in town I seem to spend half my time hanging out here waiting for her to take a break.”
“You’re a fly-girl,” Betty exclaimed, noting the silver winged badge above her breast pocket. The Women Airforce Service Pilots, or WASP’s as they were called, were an elite group of civilian pilots that tested and ferried military aircraft stateside. Betty had heard of them, but never actually met one. “Goodness, how exciting!”
The young woman grinned. “I’d rather be flying them than building them.”
“I’ll bet!” Betty offered her hand. “Mrs. Betty Jones.”
“Mavis Aldridge.” The woman shook Betty’s hand and leaned back again against the tree. “I’ve gotta be honest, Mrs. Jones. You don’t look like the type to get your hands dirty. It’s hard work behind those walls.”
“It’s Betty, please, and trust me darling, looks can be deceiving.” Betty smiled. “But as it is, I don’t need a job. I’m here to sell cosmetics. I’m an Avon Lady.” Betty gave Mavis a dazzling smile, then reached into her cosmetic bag and pulled out an envelope. She waved it gently. “Your friend Mrs. Collins already gave me the all clear to come in today and speak to the girls. I have free samples.”
“Free cosmetics?” Mavis let out a low whistle. “They’ll eat you alive. It’s all we can do to get a decent mascara at the moment. Most of the gals use boot polish.”
“That’s why I’m here, darling. Here –” Betty dove into the cosmetic bag strapped to the back of her bicycle and pulled out some samples. “Mascara, pot of rouge and a red lipstick. The staples for any woman in uniform.”
“Gee, thanks,” Mavis stuffed the samples in her pocket. “But save the lipstick for someone else,” she handed it back, “We get issued with one to match our threads – Montezuma Red.”
“Oh, of course you do, how silly of me to forget. Elizabeth Arden?”
“That’s the one.”
“Stunning shade.” Betty turned to look at the doors. “Will they have a break soon, do you know?”
“In a few minutes.” Mavis glanced at the closed doors, then winked. “Better get your armor on, there’ll be a stampede. Especially with your bag of tricks on offer.”
Betty laughed. Mavis was confident and quick-witted with a spark of mischief. Betty liked her immediately.
“So, are you flying in or flying out?”
“Flying out tomorrow. I’m based in Houston. Normally I’d head straight to 42nd Street and catch the first flight back to base, but there’s been a change of plans. I’m waiting for a P-51 that needs delivering to Great Falls tomorrow. So, I get a rare day off.”
“You seem awfully young to be flying around the country.”
Mavis rolled her eyes and smirked. “I train men younger than me to fly into battle. Trust me, there’s not a bomber I can’t manage.”
“Bravo, darling,” Betty cheered. “Tell me, how on earth did you get into such a thing?”
Mavis smiled and leaned back against the tree. “I got bitten by the flying bug when I was a kid. My grandpop had a farm and used to take me out on his crop duster. I took the stick when I was twelve. Paid for my civi flight training in Houston by driving a school bus and as soon as I heard Uncle Sam was looking for pilots I jumped at the chance. We get the same military training as the men, you know; drill, navigation, engineering and acrobatics and all the rest of it, then after six months of flight training, we girls get the winter runs in an open cockpit because the boys are too important to freeze their backsides off. Not that I mind so much.” Mavis shot Betty a wicked smile. “Last summer I rode clear across the country on my 500cc. The year before, I flew a hot air balloon across the Rocky Mountains. What’s life without a little adventure, hey?”
“Flying alone? It sounds awfully dangerous.”
Mavis considered this for a moment. “It’s no picnic sometimes,” she said, “and we won’t all come out of it alive, that’s for sure. Mostly I do ferry work, flying bombers from one end of the country to the other, but we also test the new bombers to make sure they stay in the air. We train the new recruits and tow aerial targets for anti-aircraft artillery practice. Now, that’s taking a leap of faith, I tell you, letting those boys follow me for target practice – some of them are greener than a pecan tree when they start. Not after I’m finished with them though.” She smiled at Betty, a little wistful. “I don’t know what I’ll do when the war ends, and the boys all take their jobs back though. The thought of spending my days in a kitchen with a couple of rug rats at my ankles just doesn’t sound like me, you know? And I’d rather live on the moon than keep house for a man with nothing else to satisfy my imagination.” She raised an eyebrow, watching Betty’s reaction carefully. It was a shocking admission for a young woman and Mavis clearly expected disapproval in Betty’s reply. “That probably appalls you, Mrs. Jones. It sure appalls my mother.”
“Absolutely not,” Betty smiled. “You’re destined for other shores, Mavis, I can tell. And look at you, you’re a trailblazer, flying across the skies like that. Who knows, maybe one day women will fly to the moon because of girls like you.” Mavis laughed at the unlikelihood of such a prospect. “But for me,” Betty continued, “I honestly can’t think of a more perfect life than spending happy days at home with my children. But life, it seems, has other plans for me.”
> “Trouble on the home front?” Mavis asked, her eyebrow raised.
“Trouble on every front,” Betty sighed, catching herself off guard. She wasn’t usually so open about her private life, but there was something about this young woman that she trusted.
“That sounds like a story.”
“One I’m afraid I can’t tell.” Betty grinned. “But it has its moments. I’m not averse to a good adventure every now and then either.”
The great double doors of the factory suddenly opened.
“Grab your girdle,” Mavis said, looking up, “here they come.” And she was right. Hundreds of women began streaming out of the doors, carrying cookies and lighting cigarettes as they chatted, filling the paths and greenery to trip across the road into the small park where they could soak up a few minutes of sun. They all wore matching blue coveralls, with their hair styled and tied up in scarves and snoods, their faces bright with powder and red lipstick. It struck Betty that these women were the personification of wartime patriotism. Bright young things with strong, capable hands, stepping fearlessly into the jobs their husbands and fathers had left behind to fight for. Betty threw her mind out, scanning the stream of thoughts as fast as she could, determined to track down the group of Russian girls that Adina had told her about before they disappeared back into the factory after their break. But try as she might, there were just too many. She was going to run out of time.
Betty noticed Mavis watching her with a quizzical look.
“Perhaps you can help me with something?” Betty ventured. “I’m doing a little, let’s say, investigation, to help a friend of mine.”
“I thought you were selling cosmetics?”
“Oh, I am. But this is something else. And it’s rather urgent, for a policeman friend of mine.”
“A real investigation?”
“Yes, like I said, I’ve got trouble on every front at the moment.”
“That does sound like a story.”
“Quite. The thing is, I really need to speak to some Russian women that I believe work here. Do you happen to know where I could find them?”
“Are they in some sort of trouble?” Mavis asked, concerned.
“No trouble at all. I just have some questions, like I said.”
Mavis looked at her critically. “You are a dark horse, aren’t you Mrs. Jones.” She grinned. “Well, alright. Let me think. There is a large group that work on the wings sub-assembly. Irina speaks the best English; she might be able to help you. Blonde girl with big blue eyes.” Mavis turned, looking through the crowd. “I can’t see her anywhere – hang on, there. She’s just coming out now.”
Betty turned back to the doors to see a group of women emerging. In the center, a tall blonde woman with sideswept pin curls was speaking. Her workmates were laughing.
“Thank you, Mavis, you’re an absolute doll,” Betty said. “I need to catch them before they head back in.” She kicked up the stand on her bicycle and took it by the handles. “It’s been lovely to talk to you, good luck on your flight tomorrow.” Betty paused. “You know, this may sound odd, but I have the distinct feeling I’ll be seeing you again.”
Mavis grinned. “I was just thinking the same thing. Perhaps we’ll share an adventure.”
“Perhaps we will,” Betty said, thoughtfully. She winked at Mavis, then turned and began pushing her bicycle toward the Russian girls. She looked back as she walked. The young WASP was turning away now, greeting a woman in blue coveralls with dark hair curled in a chignon. The friend she had been waiting for. Betty shook her head, smiling. She always liked a good adventure.
She turned her attention back to the job at hand – trying to track down any information she could about the elusive Vladimir Malinov, The Tin Man.
“Avon Calling!” Betty called to the Russian girls, waving and smiling as she approached. “I have free samples for everybody!”
She disappeared under a swarm of eager young women.
*
Ten minutes later, Betty had five pages of new clients and a dozen young women hanging on her every word. Her boxes of free samples were nearly empty.
“You know, you’re absolutely right, sweetie,” Betty said, snapping shut a foundation powder. She searched through her bag to find an alternative. “Your skin is awfully dry – I blame this winter wind – so you really need something with a little moisture to keep you looking hotsy-totsy. Ah, here it is! We can’t have you hiding that pretty face on account of the weather. Try this one. It’s a pancake – quite a soft color that I think will suit you well.”
A short woman with her hair in a black snood took the foundation. “How much?” She asked in a thick Russian accent. “It’s just – I haven’t a dime until payday –”
“No cost, Karine, darling, don’t you fret,” Betty shushed. “It’s just a sample. And I’ll write your color down for next time. I don’t get this one in as often and I’d hate for you to miss out.”
Karine beamed and ducked away, replaced immediately by a red-head with pin-curls.
“Lonnie’s the name,” she cut in, “do you have one of them lash brushes? And I’d kill for a bit of mascara. That coal dust I mixed up makes my eyes water.”
“The things we do for long lashes,” Betty sighed, diving back into her case. “Take this one, darling, and here’s a brush.”
“Oh, you’re the best! You know the drug store sells out the day they arrive and I can’t afford the ones at Macy’s.”
“That’s why Avon brings it to you, Lonnie, darling. There’s no need to go scurrying around for cosmetics during war time. I’m at your service – after all, Beauty is Duty, dear!”
Betty turned back. “Now, Irina, surely I can tempt you with something else? I have a bottle of bath oil with a lavender scent. It’s just the ticket after a long day on your feet.”
“I don’t know, Mrs. Jones. I have already taken so much.”
“And you’re welcome to it.”
“But I have nothing to offer you.”
“Actually,” Betty lowered her voice, “there is something you could help me with. No payment, I just need a quiet word with you.”
Irina looked around. Her friends were all distracted comparing their new cosmetics.
“Of course, Mrs. Jones. What is it you need?”
Betty stepped aside, drawing Irina closer. She lowered her voice.
“I’m trying to find out what I can about a particular man. You see, my friend needs to track him down, and this man has been rather evasive so far.”
“What man is this?” Irina asked, her eyes narrowing.
“His name is Vladimir Malinov. People call him The Tin Man. I was hoping you may have heard of him.” Betty didn’t need to hope. At his name, Irina bristled. She shot a look at her friends, a few feet away.
“Why do you want to find this man?” Irina asked. “He is bad news.”
“I know he is. That’s why I want to find him. He’s done terrible things and he must be punished.”
“By who? You? Are you with the police?”
“Not exactly.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Please, Irina. Can you tell me where I can find him?”
Irina shuddered. “I do not know where he lives, I have only heard of what he’d done –” She broke off again, looking over to her friends. Betty followed her line of sight.
“Does one of your friends know where I can find him?”
Irina shook her head.
“Please, Irina,” Betty put her hand gently on the blonde woman’s arm. “Darling, this is desperately important.” Irina frowned, hesitated, then turned away.
“Manya! Podoydi syuda na minutku,” she called over the chatter.
A woman with deep brown eyes broke her conversation and looked across at Irina. With a wave, she left the group and pushed through with a hesitant smile.
Irina addressed her in Russian. Betty assumed that either Irina’s frien
d did not understand English as well as she did herself, or perhaps she thought it granted them more privacy from Betty’s ears. As Irina relayed Betty’s request for information, the other young woman grew tense. Her lips formed a hard line and she looked critically at Betty. Finally, she spoke in Russian. Though Betty could understand Manya’s thoughts perfectly well, she smiled politely, as Irina began to translate.
“She says you are looking for an extremely dangerous man, Mrs. Jones.”
“Please explain to her that I’m aware of that. Despite it, I need any information she can give me about him.”
With a sigh, Irina translated. For a moment they argued, then Manya seemed to relent, and began to speak. Irina turned to Betty and began to translate.
“She says, ‘We have been in this country for one year. My father owned a restaurant near the East-side docks. It was his life’s dream to come here and open this restaurant and he worked very hard to do so. Not long after he opened, some men came around. The Tin Man was one of them. He said the gangs in the area were very violent and this Tin Man wanted protection money to keep them from making trouble for us. My papa refused. Soon after, we had a robbery. Then someone threw bricks through the front window. The Tin Man came back and convinced my father that he must pay him. He said he would take care of things.” Manya paused. Her eyes were hard. “Every week he demanded more and more money. The restaurant was barely getting by. Papa told him ‘no more’ and said he would go to the police. He thought the Tin Man was behind the robbery. They were trying to scare him into paying. Tin Man’s men – one night they beat my papa.” Manya’s eyes glistened, but still she pushed on. “Still he refused. He is a proud man, Mrs. Jones. A strong man. He does not like to be pushed around.” Manya took a deep breath. “Then another night, he did not come home from work. My uncle and I went to look for him. He was not at the restaurant. We were so worried. When he didn’t return by sunrise, we called the police.”
Lady Vigilante (Episodes 16 – 18) (Lady Vigilante Crime Compilations) Page 9