“Ooh, I like the look of those gams! How much for a bit ‘a hoochy coochie, eh?”
Betty spun around, her arm wide, ready to strike.
“Ease up, dolly!” The man said, his eyes suddenly wider than his well-watered belly. He took a step to the side, nearly falling, then righted himself with what seemed like a great deal of difficulty. “No need for rough-housing wi’ me! Unless it’s the fun sort -”
Betty looked her assailant up and down, then bit back a laugh. He was barely upright, one of his trouser braces fallen off his shoulder and his brown coat collar turned inside out. A drunkard, stumbling home at the end of a very long night. Not a scrap of threat in him. Betty turned away.
“Come on! Let’s ‘ave a bit o’ whoopee, ay! I gotta’ a dollar in my pocket!” The old man called, rustling around in his pocket. In a shower of dimes, his fist broke loose of the fabric.
Betty had half a mind to ignore him but thought better of it. He was already loud enough to bring unwanted attention to the street. Besides, barflies like this one had notoriously loose tongues and she would rather her visit stayed unnoticed.
Betty turned back and gathered up his scatter of coins. She shot him a wink, playfully hitching her skirt a few inches.
“Sorry, love, I’ve run outta’ gas,” she said seamlessly, in her broadest accent. “Been a big night, ya’ know.”
“Aw, not even a little smooch?” he pleaded, falling sideways.
“Nup,” Betty said, pulling his arm to straighten him up and shoving the coins into his hand. “It’s ‘me day off an’ I’m skipping out to get me’ hair curled. A girl’s gotta look keen, you know?”
“You’re raggin’ me,” the drunkard said, with a smile so wide, he was all rotten teeth. “You’re as pretty as a picture. Don’t need no curls -” Betty grabbed his arm again and steered him on his way.
“Sure, I do,” she said, “Besides, you’re too soused up to smooch a looker like me. Go get some shut-eye and come back when you’re sober. Madam Trixie’ll find you a squeeze if I’m not ‘ere.” She gave him a gentle shove along the road. The man stumbled away, then turned back, swaying dangerously, but found her nowhere in sight.
“Gone!” he said, with a look of astonishment. He stood for a moment, blinking like an owl, then turned and shuffled along the road as he made his way home, mumbling to himself. “Poof! Gone! Jus’ like the blue fairy. I’ll ‘ave good dreams tonight...”
From the shadow of the alley way opposite, Betty stifled a giggle. She’d be surprised if he even remembered a fairy when he woke from his addled sleep later that day. She hopped onto her bicycle, ready to take off.
“Oh, I almost forgot -.” Betty stepped back off her bike and unstrapped a large box from the rack behind the seat. She hurried back across the road, setting it down on the doorstep of Kitty’s Kat House. The latest order for Madam Trixie and her girls had arrived. There’s always time to take time off for beauty, she grinned, as she rode away.
At four o’clock precisely, Betty parked her bicycle behind some trash cans in a parking lot in Gravesend, removed her Avon bag from the basket and stepped confidently toward a grimy-looking shop not far from the bay. She’d tracked the comings and goings of Rex Hatfield’s gorillas plenty of times before and knew what to expect. Donny’s shady dealings with him only scraped the surface of the man’s lack of decency. Rex wasn’t just the biggest bookie in Brooklyn. He was a murderer and thief. Donny’s capitol was the hook that caught the wretched creatures lurking the muddy depths of the racetracks. Rex’s false smile was the encouragement that lured them in.
Rex played to the egos of fools and didn’t discriminate, rich or poor. Eventually, they all got caught. Addicted, desperate men bet their last ration ticket on a chance to beat the odds and Rex gave them enough line to lose themselves completely, then snap! He would reel them in, as they drowned in debt. From there, they were usually passed to Donny. After selling the clothes off their back, and calling in favors to the last, the most pitiful of these creatures paid with their lives.
Rex’s empire was built on the backs of whipped thoroughbreds and fixed fights. His races brought gamblers from Freshkills Park to Flushing, Fordham to the Flatlands. Dog fights, horses, fists and cards - Rex fixed them all.
The roller door was pulled down tight at the front of the shop, giving the appearance that it was closed. Betty turned down the side of the building instead, then turned left, taking the alley behind. Ahead of her, two men were walking. One was tall and wiry with hair that stuck up at the back like a wire brush. The other was short and fat, with oiled hair that continued down the neck of his shirt. They were arguing.
“What the hell were ya’ doing?! Bunkin’ off like that. You know the boss wants us to keep an eye on the kids.”
“Do I look like a nursemaid to you?” snapped the taller man.
“Who cares? You’ll catch yourself a bullet if you don’t do it. Besides, you get an extra ten clams a day if they make their quota with them crates.”
“Ten bucks? You’re all wet, Earl.” He stopped walking, suddenly. The tall man pushed his companion against the concrete building. Betty ducked into an alcove to avoid being seen. “I’ll tell you what we gotta do,” he whispered. “We pick up this lot from Rex and we catch the Super Chief to L.A. Live like movie-stars and drink champagne in a private lounge! We’ll order fresh lobster and steak all the way. By Friday we’ll be stretching out on a beach somewhere in Cali. Think about it, here we are, bustin’ a gut and herding snotty-nosed kids, while Donny’s going under. Some crazy broad is pickin’ off his crew and I don’t wanna be the next corpse in the drink. So, what do ya’ say? Think about it, Earl, we’ll never ‘ave to work again in our lives!”
“I don’t know, Carmine. What – what about Donny? He’ll come looking for us, won’t he?”
“Course ‘e will, but we’ll be gone with the wind by then. Sippin’ Mai Tai’s under a palm tree with a bucket-load of beluga! Well?!”
Earl seemed to hesitate. “I could use a holiday,” he finally exclaimed.
“A really long one,” sniggered Carmine. “Like, forever.”
Betty peeked around the edge of her hiding place.
“And I’m sick o’ workin’ for Donny,” Earl complained. “It’s gettin’ too hot for me. There’s gotta be somethin’ better out there.” His voice grew whimsical. “You know, I always wanted to run a flower shop. I like seeing ‘em grow -”
“A flower shop? What are you talkin’ about, ya fat-head?” the taller man said, knocking the dumpy one in the shoulder. “You thinkin’ about flowers when we’re tryin’ not to get ourselves killed?”
“Yeah, well, it was your idea! Doin’ the bolt, an’ all. If we’re startin’ again -”
“You’re getting’ ahead of yerself. Just get the money, alright? Then we’ll talk about ya’ flippin’ flowershop.”
“You could help me run it.” Earl offered.
Carmine went quiet. “Yeah?”
“Why not? Earl and Carmine’s Flower Shop – I can see it now!” the shorter man said and Carmine cracked a smile.
“Yeah! You know, I reckon’ I’d be good at somethin’ like that. But only if we sold stompers too. Fancy leather ones like the film-stars wear.” He lifted the leg of his trouser to show off a shiny two-tone lace-up underneath.
“You’re spiffy, for sure, pal,” Earl said, nodding.
“Thanks.”
“We just need the gravy -”
“So, let’s get it. This’ll be the makin’ of us. Carmine and Earl’s flower shop!”
“No, Earl and Carmine’s!”
“I’ll play you a round of blackjack for it. Now, look sharp, so Rex doesn’t suspect anythin’.”
The two men broke away from the wall, pulling themselves together. They walked in fits of chortling toward the back door of Rex Hatfield’s shop, knocking each other with their elbows. As soon as they disappeared, Betty stepped out.
Idiots. They were so naively stupid sh
e had half a mind to let them go and try their luck. They would barely be out of the station before Donny had them found, drawn and quartered. She’d be doing them a favor by making it quick.
She waited for a few minutes, then rapped sharply on the back door of Rex’s bookie den. Without waiting for a response, Betty stepped inside and pulled the door shut behind her. The small warehouse room was mostly empty, with a large stack of boxes toward one end, a card table littered with ash and a long, thin roll of burgundy carpet leading in from the door. She looked down and wiped her shoes on it.
“You-who!” Betty called out in a sing-song voice.
Rex Hatfield appeared in an inner doorway. “I’m shut,” he growled. In his right hand, he carried a walking stick. Over his shoulder, Earl and Carmine’s heads appeared behind him. The safe, and therefore her prize, was probably in there with them.
“I’d like to place a bet, Mr. Hatfield,” Betty said, cheerfully. She placed her Avon bag on the floor where she stood, and stepped forward.
“I said I’m shut, lady.” The man strode forward toward the table, without leaning on his stick at all. “Come back tomorrow.”
“I’d prefer now, if it’s all the same to you.”
“Well it’s not all the same, I got business goin’ on,” Rex said.
“So I see. Still, I’ll put a bet on, please. This one’s a sure thing.”
From the doorway, Carmine’s eyes were squinting in concentration. A slow dawning of recognition appeared.
“Holy – that's the dame that Donny’s after!” he suddenly yelled. “She’s been pegging off our lot for months!” Carmine yelled. He dashed backwards into the room he’d appeared from, dragging Earl by the scruff of the neck to follow. The office door slammed shut behind them.
“What?” Rex’s head twisted from Betty to the closed door and back again. “What’s this about Donny?” he snarled, eyeballing Betty with distrust. He yanked his walking stick up, and ripped away the handle, unsheathing a long, thin blade.
“Oh, Donny’s just upset because I’ve dealt him a rather bad hand lately,” Betty said, pleasantly. “You’d know all about that though, wouldn’t you, Rex? I’ll admit, I am a bit of a killjoy when it comes to racketeering and murder. I just don’t like to see the bad guys win. It’s so disenchanting.”
“That right?” Rex said, his eyes swiveling between Betty who was blocking the exit and the sounds of Carmine and Earl rummaging around in his office.
“And what’s a broad like you gonna do about it?”
“Well, I’d like to place a bet, of course. Isn’t that what you do?” Betty stepped forward. Rex pulled himself as tall as his stocky body would allow. The knife gleamed in his fist. “For starters,” Betty continued, “I’ll bet that within thirty seconds from now, you’ll be rolled in your lovely new rug like a Continental Twinkie. I had a good think about it over my cup of tea, and I would then drop you in the Hudson the way you do to so many of your bankrupted debtors, but I really don’t like the idea of your foul corpse muddying up our lovely river.”
“Oi! You two! Get your asses out here!” Rex yelled over his shoulder. The knife in his fist was shaking. “This broad’s off her nut.” The frenzied noises coming from the back office intensified.
“Don’t mind them,” Betty said placidly. “They’re cowards, really. They’re currently emptying your safe into their pockets and realizing there’s no window to escape from back there. I’ll help them out in a moment. First things first though -”
Betty leapt forward.
Smash! Her high heel landed on target in the bobbing center of Rex’s throat, crushing his windpipe. His hands flung forward.
Slice. Betty’s sleeve tore open as Rex’s knife caught it. He stumbled backwards, then heaved himself up, gasping and purple in the face. His expression was a cocktail of fear and rage as he tried to mouth words his lungs wouldn’t allow. Bent double, he struggled to breathe. He stumbled sideways to the card table and grasped a chair for support. Betty walked over, dispassionately.
“You made bad choices, Rex.”
He stared up at Betty with eyes that threatened to pop out of his face. Suddenly, he lurched himself forward, the knife clenched in his fist, aimed straight for her heart.
Snap!
Her fist met the side of Rex’s face in a single blow so violent, she heard the distinctive crack of his neck. It recoiled, with no resistance. Broken. Rex Hatfield crumpled to the floor. Betty looked down at him, shaking her head.
She picked him up under the arms, and pulled him over to the rug, feet trailing across the concrete. Despite being more beer-belly than bone, his weight was no match for Betty’s innate strength. Within seconds, he was rolled tightly inside the middle of the carpet. She grasped the end of the coil and dragged it behind the boxes on the far side, hidden from sight.
“Bother,” Betty said, straightening up to survey her torn sleeve. “I don’t have the right colored cotton for this. I’ll have to stop by the haberdashery.” She looked up. Carmine and Earl were standing in the inner doorway, frozen, like rabbits in a headlight. Their minds were running wild with fanciful ways to escape. Betty walked around the boxes toward them loosening her gloves.
“Where’s Rex gone?” Earl stammered.
Betty sighed. They were both far stupider than she’d thought. She dug into their minds, searching for dirt. Both were relatively new to Donny’s band of thugs. Petty theft, drugs. It seemed Carmine enjoyed a fist-fight in the local gin joint. Oddly though, neither had killed anybody. They were clean. Betty frowned. She’d never once been faced with this dilemma before. Every man she had killed, had almost as much blood on his hands as she did. What do I do? she thought. I can’t kill innocent men.
“Rex left,” she stalled. “He’s actually - working with - the police.” Betty’s heart thumped, and her mind raced ahead, searching for potential pitfalls. What she was considering was unprecedented. After all, they hadn’t actually witnessed anything. Yet. It was all hearsay.
“A snitch? No way!”
“I’m afraid so. He sold out months ago. We know everything.”
“We?” Carmine said, suspiciously. “But you’re the crazy -”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Carmine,” she said, tut-tutting him. “Do you honestly think a little doll like me could hurt a fly? The very thought of it is ridiculous. Why, I’d be terrified! All those big, dangerous men with guns. Even the idea gives me the jitters.”
She smiled disarmingly and batted her eyes. “Goodness, no,” Betty continued, as if she were imparting a great secret. “I’m just the secretary for the senior detective working this case. In fact, I only came here to pass Mr. Hatfield a message. The Sergeant wanted to see him. He’s just left now, to give his statement to the police sergeant -” Betty waved her hand vaguely toward the closed exit, conscious that her Avon bag was still sitting in front of it. I wonder how stupid they really are…? “I didn’t know he still had company, we thought he was meeting you at two. But seeing as though you’re here,” she said, “I really feel I ought to warn you -” she looked at them, cagily. “Perhaps I shouldn’t though -”
“Warn us about what?” Carmine growled.
“Yeah, what?” Earl said, stepping closer. Fifty-dollar bills were poking from his pockets.
“I really can’t say,” Betty replied, coyly. She stood for a moment, looking anxiously to the door, as if wrestling with some great indecision. “No, I just can’t. After all, this is an open investigation and all, and I’m just a secretary -”
“What is it? Come on, lady – tell us what’s goin’ on!”
At the pleading look on Earl’s face, Betty relented.
“Well, alright. I think you really should know that the police have been following you two for quite some time. Mr. Pinzolo is buried in some terrible business, I’m afraid, and it’s only a matter of time before the police take him down. Just between us,” she leaned forward, conspiratorially, “I heard that he’s looking to fry for it.” Betty
pulled a fearful expression and made the sign of a cross over her chest as Earl and Carmine exchanged a look. “And every man working for him will too, which I guess includes you two, even though I’m sure you’re not at fault, just judging by what lovely manners you have. But still – the chair doesn’t discriminate.” She made a little buzzing noise and Earl whimpered.
“We haven’t done nothin’ though! Just workin’ for ‘im doesn’ make us guilty!”
“Actually, I’m afraid it does. He’s tied you up in trafficking stolen weapons, drug smuggling, extortion, murder… I’ve typed the arrest warrants up myself and it’s not looking good for either of you. Donny’s going down and you’ll be there right alongside him. The officers will be here any minute now to collect the evidence, and you’ll both be arrested at the scene of the crime.” At the look on their faces, she added, “I believe they let you choose a special meal before you die though – perhaps steak and lobster?”
“What are we gonna do?” Earl cried, his suspicion turned frantic. “I don’ wanna die!”
“Me neither!” Carmine choked.
“Well, I suppose -” Betty began, looking earnestly from one to the other. “I mean, I really shouldn’t -”
“Shouldn’t what?”
“Can’t you help us?” Earl stammered. “We can turn stoolie like Rex – tell you all about the kids -”
“Yeah, the kids!”
“I’m afraid the police already know all about the orphanage,” Betty said. “In fact, they have all of the information they need to bring Donny and all the rest of you down. They don’t need another snitch.”
“Oh no! What are we gonna do?” Earl stammered. “This is all your fault!”
Avon Calling! Season One Page 24