“Had a baseball through the window yesterday,” Donny said, nodding toward the broken glass. “Turns out, the little scamps are quite the home-run hitters.” He turned to the two men fitting the glass. “Leave it now for a bit, boys.” Immediately, the men took off their gloves and left the room.
“Well, it’s a mighty good thing you’re doing, Mr. and Mrs. Jones,” Mayor Sutherland said. “I always like to support my constituents in their efforts to raise money for charities. A city’s only as strong as its people, I always say.” He shot a meaningful look to Donny.
“It’s all for the children, Mr. Mayor,” Betty said, genially. “I just can’t bear the thought of them on the streets, dirty and unloved, with goodness-knows-who taking advantage of their vulnerability.” She looked directly at Donny. “Wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Pinzolo?”
Pinzolo smiled, affectedly. “Of course.”
Inside Donny’s head, his words continued, this time directed to the Mayor, as if willing him to tap into his private thoughts.
“I want these soppy crackers out of my office, for fuck’s sake. I don’t need this.”
Betty’s smile widened.
Donny walked around his desk and sat down in a comfortable leather chair. The others followed his lead, taking a seat each in front of the desk, all smiling, pretentiously, with the exception of George, who looked like he was having the time of his life. The Mayor cleared his throat.
“Well, I’ve been over your list of plans, Mrs. Jones, and I must say, I’m impressed at your ideas. You’d do well to work in my office, I have a number of girls that could learn a thing or two about organization.”
George sat forward on the edge of his seat. “She’s quite the little steam boat, this one. With the softest heart in New York City!” He winked at Betty with a shine in his eye.
Falsely blushing, Betty turned to the Mayor.
“The ladies at my church social group will take care of the catering, of course. I’ll send through more details on that next week. If your girls could send us the final guest list by Friday, I’ll have all the invitations printed and sent out by Tuesday next.” She turned her attention to Donny. “Of course, Mr. Pinzolo, as the generous benefactor of the orphanage, we hold your opinion on these matters in the highest esteem - if you have any special requests, please do let Mayor Sutherland know and I’ll do my best to make sure you get everything you deserve.” Betty delivered him her most obliging smile and Donny shifted uncomfortably.
“Thank you,” he said, with a slightly confused expression. “Very kind of you.”
“Not at all,” Betty continued. She turned back to Mayor Sutherland. “I’ve already notified the press of the date for the Gala Ball and that they’re to expect an announcement from your office with the further details. We also already have a number of bids from liquor companies that can manage a refreshment bar for the evening.”
“Golly, yes, can’t forget that!” George broke in. “Happy to put down a Gin Sour or two, hey, Mayor Sutherland, get those old hoofers burning up the dance floor!” He was positively beaming.
“Well, yes, my wife is certainly looking forward to it,” the Mayor said, “I think she fancies herself meeting some of those movie stars we were hoping to entice to the ball – j”
Betty delicately rose to her feet.
“Excuse me gentlemen, if I could just step out and powder my nose for a minute. I’m suddenly feeling a little unwell -”
A look of annoyance crossed Donny’s face, but was quickly masked.
“Downstairs on the left, Mrs. Jones.”
“You’ll be alright, Betty?” George asked.
“Certainly, dear, I just need a minute.” Betty neatly piled her hand bag and coat on her chair and left the room.
She heard George chuckle as she walked down the hall. “The weaker sex, hey gents?” He was saying. “Don’t have the constitution for a man’s conversation. Where were we? Ah, yes, insurance...”
Betty knew he’d chatter unabated until she returned, which despite being irritating to his audience, was actually very useful. She quickly descended the main staircase and threw a look over her shoulder, then snuck through the building, opening and closing doors quietly. There was no one about, she supposed the children must be in classes with those unfortunate looking nuns she’d seen on her way in. What she wouldn’t give to pamper those ladies up a bit.
There was an unmarked doorway near the entrance to the kitchen, which Betty carefully opened. Dark stairs led downwards to a second door. She followed them. Carefully, she opened it a crack, and then, confident that no one could see her, she ducked through, closing it quietly behind her.
She was in a huge basement almost the length of the building above, and divided into parts by a maze of stacked crates, each row reaching almost to the ceiling. There were side rooms partitioned off with card tables and chairs, with ammunition and small weapons lying about on open boxes. Betty crept through the room, keeping low. She could hear voices ahead, and shuffling all around, like people were walking back and forth. She ducked behind boxes at each corner. Dust and oiled machinery gave the basement a stifling, stale smell and she swallowed hard, holding in a dry cough that threatened to take her.
Betty followed shadows and hiding places toward the center of the room. Peering out from behind a stack of crates, she found herself in a hive of activity. Long tables were lined up length to length, with empty crates on the floor surrounding them. Beside each crate was a boy, some so young that they stood on upturned crates to reach the table. They were unpacking and repacking amphetamines and weighing and wrapping small bundles of pills and white powder in brown paper and string. Donny’s men were milling around as well, shifting crates and checking their cargo. Some of them assembled weapons unpacked from longer boxes, stamped PROPERTY OF THE UNITED STATES ARMY. Beyond those men, at the far end of the room, a garage door was partially open, spitting blinding light behind the shape of a covered cab butcher’s truck. A few men were moving to and fro, loading the cab with firearms.
Black market. Betty didn’t need to read anyone’s mind to know it was all hot. Donny’s specialty was moving stolen goods from one place to another. He had willing buyers across states and borders in every direction, even across the sea. But this was the biggest stockpile she’d ever seen. His operation had grown bigger and more extravagant than she’d realized. Betty’s heart fell. Her way ahead was going to be more difficult than even she’d expected.
She pulled her attention back to the children. There was no talk down at the table, just the constant movement of hands and an occasional wracking cough. Every click and clatter of the weapons being put together nearby drew a reflexive shudder from the orphans packing drugs. Every child looked bone tired and terrified.
One of Donny’s men was standing over them, watching them work. He was an evil looking creature, with half an ear and heavy scars on his face. His left hand was bandaged and a foul temper seemed to seep from his skin. The boy closest to him was trembling as he worked, fumbling over a packet as he tried to unroll it. In a sudden shower of white, the paper split and tiny pills scattered across the desk.
“Idiot!” yelled the scarred man. In one quick movement, he strode forward and hit the boy hard across the head with his uninjured hand, knocking him to the floor.
“I’m sorry!” cried the boy. “I didn’t mean it, I swear! I’ll clean it up, Mr. Felix.”
Betty recognized the boy’s voice at once. It was Sam, one of the three that Vince had roped into the railroad heist. The hairs on the back of her neck bristled and Betty felt a chill roll down her spine.
“Get up!” Felix growled. He kicked Sam again as the boy struggled to his feet. Felix left him, pacing around the table. As he passed, each boy worked faster, stood straighter and grew paler.
“You’re lucky I don’t belt the lot of ya!” Felix spat. “Bloody kids. I got better things to do than babysit!”
Betty tried to calm her breathing. She squeezed her eyes close
d. Pulling herself away from the center of the room, back into the maze of crates, she let herself melt into shadow once again. Once, that had been her. She was Sam. A memory hit her with the force of a landslide.
*
It was a steaming hot night, the first on her own, selling crack. She was standing at the low brick fence by the old playground. Barely thirteen years old. Her father, Roy, towered over her.
“And don’t ya go giving it away!” he growled. “Six dollars, not a cent less or you’ll be paying for it with the belt!”
“Okay, okay!” Susie cried, shoving the paper packets in the pockets of her dress. “I heard you!”
“And shut that smart mouth!” Roy yelled again and smacked her over the head. She fell to the ground with tears in her eyes. Up on the street corner, headlights flashed as a car rolled away. One of Donny’s goons, checking to make sure business was running as usual.
*
Betty’s vision swam away. Her insides ached.
Not for much longer, she thought, bitterly. Carefully, she took stock of the area around her, then bit by bit, made her way back toward the stairs.
Nearly there.
Suddenly, she heard a noise close by.
Too close.
She ducked into a narrow gap between rows of crates, out of sight. One of Donny’s men pushed past, a crate on his shoulder blocking her from his line of sight. Betty pulled back as far as she could into the crevice. He dropped the crate down onto the floor and turned back, walking straight past, as she held her breath. His footsteps faded and she let out a gentle sigh.
Time to go.
Before she could move, he reappeared in front of her.
“Wait a minute –!” he exclaimed.
There was no time for thought. Betty leapt up, grabbed the man and twisted his neck hard, supporting his body as it crumpled to the floor in a silent, strangely graceful slump. His wide, red-rimmed eyes were left staring in surprise. Betty quickly dragged him backward, stuffing his body into the gap she’d just left. She pushed up his knees, so that only the tips of his shoes could be seen.
Without a second to waste, Betty cracked opened the basement door and ducked up the stairs. She guessed she’d been gone about ten minutes, but that was five too long.
Inside Donny’s office, the three men waited for Betty to return. George had pushed relentlessly on and was now animatedly discussing the War Risk Insurance Act and the differences between government and private life insurance.
“Why, Mr. Pinzolo,” he said, “A businessman like yourself could get the best policy a man could buy for only eight dollars a month! Now don’t you think ten thousand dollars is a swell endowment to leave your wife if something were to happen to you?”
“I make my own insurance, Mr. Jones,” Donny said, unimpressed. His ‘good benefactor’ persona was slipping, and the Mayor was struggling to diffuse the situation. George, however, didn’t notice.
“No sense in that, when I can take care of it for you!” George said. “I’ll leave you my number, for when you change your mind. Now, let’s see –” he looked around, “you don’t mind, do you?” Without waiting for an answer, George helped himself to a pen from the top of Pinzolo’s desk. He leaned over to Betty’s small blue handbag and began rifling through it. “Why, here’s the ticket!” George pulled a business card from Betty’s purse. It was plain white, with red script on one side, that read ‘Avon Calling! Sorry I Missed You!’. George flipped it over and wrote on the back, oblivious to the aggravated and withering look that passed between the two other men. “My home address,” he said, waving it at Donny, who took it resentfully and stuffed it into his top pocket. “If you’re interested in taking out a policy, you just drop by now! The missus is always home, she sells those cosmetics to her lady friends, fills the cupboards with them, you know. It’s a hobby of course, I’m not too keen on it myself but you know what dames are like, they need their pretty things to fuss over.”
Just at that moment, Betty walked back into Donny’s office.
“Well, here’s the little lady now. Feeling better, jitterbug?”
“Yes, thank you, George, I’m quite well now. My apologies, gentlemen. I don’t know what came over me.”
George clucked sympathetically then winked at the Mayor.
“Women, heh?” he said.
Mayor Sutherland scrambled to his feet.
“Well, I think this has been a fine meeting. Mrs. Jones, you just let my girls at the office know what we can help you with for the fundraiser and it’ll all go down a treat. I’ll get that invitation list to your church social committee by Friday.”
“Thank you, Mr. Mayor,” Betty smiled, collecting her hand bag and coat. “I must say, I’m so pleased to learn you’ve got such a vested interest in these orphans. It seems that yourself and Mr. Pinzolo work very closely on this project.” She looked between the two men.
“Yes, well, like you said, Mrs. Jones. It’s all for the children.”
Betty smiled humorlessly. “Of course it is. And I’ll make sure your selfless efforts get as much publicity as I can.
“Splendid,” Mayor Sutherland laughed, nervously.
George smiled broadly. “The perfect wife, I’ve got here Mr. Pinzolo! A luckier man, you won’t find.”
“Outstanding!” said the Mayor, herding them toward the office door. “Right, off we go then.”
Within a minute, Betty and George were back in their car, driving home through the iron gates. The Mayor, with his entourage of photographer and driver, shot a look of apology at Donny, who stood in the front entrance of the orphanage, grim-faced. They too, drove quickly away.
Donny walked forward onto the now empty driveway. The morning had been a complete waste of time, all thanks to this publicity scam Sutherland was trying to pull. It was getting out of hand. He knew that bad press was on his ass thanks to the fact his nephew had just been found murdered at a whorehouse, but Sutherland seemed to be doing overtime to cover it up. There was only one thing that Donny was really interested in. Finding the bastard that was taking out all his best men.
Some gang, some wise-guy, was on his turf and stealing his shit. And no one stole from Donald Pinzolo and got away with it.
“Boss?” came a quiet voice from behind him. Donny turned around to find Felix standing alone, sweating bullets with barely contained terror in his eyes. “We’ve got a – situation – downstairs, boss.”
Donny face burned with fury and his fists clenched. He knew that look. He gritted his teeth. His left eye started to twitch.
“What situation?” Donny asked, painfully slowly.
Felix took a step backward.
“Dimo’s been snapped. Some spiv’s been sneaking in the warehouse. The boys are still looking but I’ve searched the place. Can’t find a whiff of ‘im anywhere.” Felix swallowed, subconsciously reaching up to scratch his ripped ear. His voice cracked as he continued. “I think they flew the coop, boss.” He covered his bandaged hand, with the other.
Donny’s face was like stone. He stood, staring toward the open gate, his breath hard. A small breeze picked up the gardeners’ offcuts and fallen leaves, sweeping them across his shoes. When he finally spoke again, Donny’s voice was menacingly quiet.
“You’re really getting under my skin, you know that Felix? I thought I could trust you. I thought you were the best.”
“You can, Donny, I swear it. I promised, didn’t I? If I hadn’t been babysitting those brats all morning I would’ve seen -”
“Seen, who, exactly?” Donny spat. “How did they get in without a car? Without anyone noticing?”
“That’s just the thing! They couldn’t have! I don’t get it! The warehouse door was barely open, but Stan and Spider were nearby the whole time, packing the truck. They’d’ve seen! And you can see the front entrance from your own window – there’s been no one here, just the penguins, the brats and those bluenose visitors of yours!”
Donny stopped still. Something caught him. A tho
ught. An impossible, impossible thought. He reached into his top pocket and pulled out the Avon Calling! card that that infuriating imbecile, George Jones, had given him. He flipped it over. On the back, George had written his home address and private telephone number. Minutes passed, while Donny stood, staring at the card, his eye twitching.
“Boss?” Felix said, timidly.
Donny turned and looked at him. He was brick red, sweating and seething from the roots of his hair to his socks. Drilling hard into Felix’s eyes, barely able to contain his own anger, he handed the card to him.
“It’s the broad,” he said.
“A broad? No way!”
“She’s the only one that left the room.”
“But – Dimo was big. And strong -”
“I knew there was something about her,” Donny muttered, his mind racing to recount any word or clue he might have missed. “She looked too smart.”
Felix’s mind whirred, racing to catch up to this new revelation. “The broad,” he repeated, incredulously. “So, who’s she working for? Some kinda spy? Military?”
Donny looked at him. The fog in his eyes had cleared and they became as sharp and cold as cut glass.
“I don’t know. There’s something about her I can’t put my finger on.” He nodded to the business card, still in Felix’s outstretched fingers. “Dog her steps. I wanna know who she is, what she does, who she sees, what she fuckin’ eats for breakfast. I don’t want to hear from you again until you know everything about this bitch that there is to know. You got it?”
“Got it, boss.”
“Go. Now.”
Episode Seven
Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered
The winter chill hung in the air like a specter, settling into those dark spaces that were first to lose the fingers of afternoon sun. Susie Polletti and Jacob Lawrence were sitting together in one of those spaces, hidden from view, under the front porch of Susie’s home. Horizontal slats of timber lit their faces in thin stripes as they talked, crossed legged on the wooden slab of an old door. They’d dragged the discarded door under the house months before, to save Susie sitting in the dirt. Despite the neglected state of her surroundings and clothes that were old and faded, the girl was impeccably clean. Her fingernails were trimmed and rounded, and her dark ponytail was tied with a black ribbon.
Avon Calling! Season One Page 18