The Woman In Blue (Nick O'Brien Case Files)

by David G. Johnson

  “Loud and clear, Frank.”

  Capricci stood and walked out of Frank’s office. He went to the study, picked up the phone, and dialed.

  “Yeah, get me Vinny D… Hey, Vinny, it’s CC. Listen, Frank says to grab a couple more solids, no screw-ups, and put a rotatin’ tail on the skirt and the gumshoe. Find out who they’re talkin’ to and what they’re up to and look for a chance to nab her quiet-like. Bring her back to the office. Call me if you get her, night or day. If they look like they are getting’ too close to Frank, the boss says bury ‘em both. You got it? ...Yeah, well I don’t gotta tell you how disappointed Frank is gonna be if you guys miss again… Whatever the case, you deliver the next report in person. If Frank feels like shootin’ somethin’, I don’t wanna be the only target in the room. Get to it and let me know if there is somethin’ that might drive a change of plans.”

  Vinny DeLuca hung up the phone, exhaled, then picked it up and dialed again.

  “It’s me again. Frank wants us to make another grab at the girl…Yeah, I know, but good news is he’s given us permission if things look like they are aiming at him to plant the dame…I figured you would. I’ll do what needs to be done to get the girl out of the picture…Let me worry about what to tell Frank. That hothead trusts me, so I’ll spin somethin’ good. I’ll let you know when the dame’s in the ground.”

  He hung up the phone, ran his hand over his slicked-back hair, and headed off to gather the boys.

  Chapter Six – Stormy Weather

  (Harlem, Manhattan, NYC)

  As I pay the cabbie for the drop-off outside the Cotton Club, I can’t help but question what I am even doing here. I must be completely crackers going after a heavy-hitter like Lupo. I wish like anything there was another thread for me to pull, but at this point, I find Lupo and see what he knows, sit at home and pray for heaven to open up and shine down an answer from on high, or I return Marjorie’s green and go back to chasing the rotten husbands of rich dames.

  Look, Nicky, you wanted to do some good, that’s why you left the force, and now you have a shot at it. Don’t be going all jelly-legged now just when things are getting interesting.

  “Hiya, Frenchy! Long time no see.”

  That scowl and the fact I was just here last night don’t indicate Frenchy is in a joking mood.

  “You back again, Mick?”

  “You know, if you call every Irishman Mick, how do you keep us all straight? Nick is close to Mick, so maybe using my real handle won’t be so hard to remember, right?” Frenchy ignores the comment.

  Definitely not in a joking mood.

  “You don’t come around for months at a time, now twice in two nights. You know Madden don’t brook no snoopin’ in the Cotton Club. I find you working in this joint, I’ll break every bone in that Irish body. You hear me, Mick?”

  “Yeah, Frenchy, I think everybody in Harlem heard you. No work for me, buddy, no sir. It’s just that last night reminded me how good Owney’s Number 1 Beer is, and I got a taste for it now. Coming off a big case, so I got some cabbage to burn. You okay with me spending it here, aren’t you Frenchy?”

  He motions for me to be on my way into the club. “Yeah, you can bring your green, but leave your sneakin’ and snoopin’ at the door.”

  Man, that guy is getting harder every time I show up. I might have to start coming around once in a while just to drink and throw him off the scent. Frenchy ain’t just a dumb galoot. He knows perfectly well I’m doing more than just drinking, but he puffs out his chest and makes some noise so Owney Madden can’t say he was slacking on the job. Frenchy saves face, I get to talk to Liam, I actually do buy a beer or two while I’m here, and it’s blackjack all around.

  Jack Johnson greets me with a grin at the reception podium much more politely than the welcome I got from Frenchy.

  “Well hello, Mr. Nick.”

  “Hiya, Jack.”

  “You back two days in a row? You know you is lucky to be here tonight. We got somethin’ special comin’ on jus’ now.” He turns to call over one of the waiters. “Billy-boy, you bring Mr. Nick to his corner table over there in the back and hurry up before Miz Ethel starts that new number.” He returns his attention to me. “Sorry, Mr. Nick, I’d take you myself, but we’s crazy busy tonight.”

  “No problem, Jack. I’m sure Billy will take good care of me, won’t you Billy?” The youth nods. “See there, everything is aces, Jack. Hey, Billy, you know Mr. O’Brien that works security?” Again a nod without a word. “Well, you go tell him his cousin Nick is here and that I’d like to see him when he has a minute. Can you do that for me?” A third nod for the hat trick. “Smart lad. Thanks again, Jack. Say, before I’m off, what is this new act?”

  The large man’s grin widens almost ear to ear.

  “Well, Miz Ethel Waters is singin’ one tonight that ain’t been heard here before. Tonight’s the first night, Mr. Nick, and this one’ll stir you to your bones, I swear.”

  “Can’t wait to hear it, Jack.”

  Billy leads me to my table and scuttles off toward the back to let Liam know I am here. I order a Number 1 just before the band goes quiet. A light-skinned colored lady maybe in her mid-thirties walks out on the stage to the unexpected hush of the crowd. Apparently Jack Johnson has been telling everyone about this act, and nobody wants to risk rankling the ex-heavyweight champ by not giving the performance its due attention.

  A slow, haunting, jazzy tune strikes up. It’s the kind of melody that stirs something deep in the gut without giving any clue as to why. Ethel begins to sing and that little tug at my insides becomes a full-fledged team of horses dragging up feelings I thought I’d buried at the end of the war. The song is called Stormy Weather.

  What is she doing to me?

  With the rain this week, and the pit of self-pity I have been wallowing in, I’ve been wrestling with my gut enough as it is. Now this highbrow dame in the blue satin dress has got me acting all squirrely. All this stuff I thought I had a hold on, this tune has popped the cork on, and the champagne of my frustrations, my attractions, my hopes and dreams comes pouring out everywhere.

  Where is Tommy DeLanz? What ain’t Marjorie telling me? What’s all this got to do with Lupo? Am I really doing any good outside a blue uniform?

  The lady sings on and I am wishing I had stayed away, wishing Liam would get out here, fearing that this song is doing more to drill holes in me than anything Lupo could dream up. The reprieve from the relentless, haunting melody finally comes as Liam swaggers up to the table.

  “Hey there, Ace! Didn’t expect to see you back so soon. You forget something?”

  “Hiya, Lee. Nah, I’m just out for a beer and maybe a little more skinny on that Lupo character you mentioned.”

  “Ace, I done told you, stay away from that one. This guy is serious business and even the families are jittery over him. Word is he’d plug you as quick as look at you.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I heard you the first time, Lee, but there ain’t no avoiding it. I need to find this guy, just so I can talk to him. I’m telling you Lee, Lupo is the last thread to pull on to help my client, and I don’t want to let her down. There’s a lot riding on this.”

  More than I can say.

  That song won’t let it go either as it continues, reminding me just how much may be riding on this.

  “Sure, sure Ace, I’ll help you, but you better not try and fly this one solo, okay? I’m serious about this guy. Word is he is holed up at the Lexington.”

  “Not exactly keeping a low profile, huh?”

  “Nah, the word is he wants to be seen. Whoever he is here to see, he wants ‘em to know he’s comin’.”

  “Well, I don’t know any of the house sneaks in the Lexington, so I’m going to have to play that one by ear. Listen Liam, if you hear anything else, or especially if you find out this guy has moved, you give me a call, all right?”

  “Sure thing, Ace. You know you can count on me.”

  “Yeah, kid. Well, you better scat be
fore Frenchy’s eyes catch you hanging out at my table. He’s come close to bouncing me the last two nights as it is. Better just settle and have a beer or two so he’ll ease up.”

  “What’s with that big Frenchman anyway? Don’t he know you practically single-handedly saved his stinkin’ country in the war?”

  “Knock it off, Lee. I fought in the air, but a lot of boys died on the ground in that war, and more than a few of them French. Frenchy is okay. He’s just doing his job.”

  “No problem, cousin. Hey, what do you think of this new act? A real tear-jerker, don’t you say?”

  “I hadn’t really noticed.”

  After half a dozen of Madden’s bootleg beers, even with several more acts, each more upbeat than the last, I can’t seem to shake that tune out of my soul. I have breakfast scheduled with Marjorie in the morning, but I am not sure it’s going to be as keen a meeting as I’d hoped. A fist full of dead ends, a Boston button-man holed up at the Lexington looking for heaven knows what, and a drop-dead looker I can’t get out of my head despite knowing she’s feeding me a line that’s fishier than a shrimp boat after a three day trawl.

  Client or not, and watery doe-eyes notwithstanding, I’m going to shake some truth out of Miss Marjorie Dillon in the morning. Either I’ll get her on the level and can start to make some sense out of this twisting in my gut every time I think about her, or I’ll find out she is into this mess over her head and I can cut her loose as just another boiled mess wrapped in pretty paper. One way or the other, tomorrow is going to change things.

  With a nod to Chauncey on my way into the New Yorker, I make for the little breakfast café in this mini-city of a hotel where Marjorie and I are to meet for breakfast. I get there and the maître d’, a skinny, balding man in a tux with a full moustache and a permanent look of condescension carved into his face, regards me like something the cat dragged in. I figure they are used to a better-dressed class of clientele than a rumple-suited private detective with a tan trenchcoat that looks like it has been slept in for a few days. Given my late night and that song I can’t shake, I didn’t even remember to shave this morning, so my five o’clock shadow from last night is looking closer to eight-thirty about now.

  “May I help you, sir? If you are looking for the shop with grooming supplies, it is straight down the hall. Take your second left and you will find it. Of course there should be a razor in your room, and foam can be delivered at no charge.”

  Clowns like this, you can let them eat you, or you can let them roll like water off a duck. I’m feeling kind of ducky this morning, so I think I’ll choose to let him keep all his teeth.

  “Thanks, Mac, but I’m actually looking for a lady. I’m supposed to meet her here for breakfast. Raven hair and icy blue peepers that’ll curl your toes. You seen her?” Whatever reaction he was expecting to his snide comments, the one he got clearly wasn’t it.

  “Uh, well, no, I have not. Perhaps she thought better of it.”

  Hmm, maybe just one or two teeth…

  “I don’t think so. She paid me good money, so I don’t think she’d skip out on her investment. I’ll just take a table near the door and wait for her.”

  Clearly weighing the possibility of shaking a shabby out in the street against possibly raising the ire of a paying guest who might really be meeting me, baldy finally chooses discretion and shows me to a table within viewing distance of the entrance. As he turns away without a word, I can’t resist a parting shot.

  “This’ll do nicely, Mac, and send a waiter around with some fresh coffee while I wait. That’s a good man.”

  No verbal acknowledgement comes, but a cup of very fresh joe finds its way to the table soon after I sit, so at least that much is going right. I catch stares from the socialites breaking fast around the room. You’d think I was a Bowery bum dragging table to table, panhandling as I go for all the disapproving stares. This room gets any colder, I’m gonna come down with a case of frostbite.

  I’m on my third cup of coffee when Marjorie waltzes in about twenty minutes past our arranged time. I stand as she approaches the table after being directed to me by the maître d’. Of course she could just as easily have followed any set of eyes in the room, since I seemed to be the center of attention.

  Marjorie is in another navy blue satin dress, just as clingy and alluring as the one she had on when I first saw her. This one has less lace and a bit of a V at the neckline. It appears to be more of a down-to-business attire than the high-society number she had on the first time we met, and every eye in the joint no longer is fixed on me. She is positively stunning, and I ain’t the only guy in the room who’s noticed.

  “I’m sorry, Nick, have I kept you waiting long?”

  “Hiya, Marjorie. Nah, I just got here myself.”

  Sometimes a little fib goes a long way. I’m going to rattle her cage enough this morning; no sense starting before the opening bell. I pull out her chair and settle her before returning to my seat. The upturned nose of the balding maître d’ says he didn’t expect such manners. I like being different than expected. It gives me an edge.

  “My, that is some dress. You seem to have a fondness for blue, don’t you?”

  “Why, thank you. This is one of my favorites. Yes, I have always loved blue. My father said that blue went with my eyes like ice on a mountain lake, and I guess I have never forgotten that. I’m not sure I have a half-dozen dresses in my entire wardrobe that aren’t one shade of blue or another.”

  “Your dad was right, Marjorie. Blue does bring out your eyes.” The waiter brings a second cup of java for Marjorie. “We’ve got a lot to cover, so if you don’t mind I’ll just have him bring us the daily special so we can get down to business.”

  She nods, I order two of the dailies, and then turn my attention back to this haunting vision of loveliness.

  “Well, Nick, I suppose your retainer has almost run out. I imagine that is one of the things you wanted to see me about, that I need to provide some more funds?”

  “Let’s not worry about that just yet, Marjorie. You got today already paid for at least. Let me fill you in on where we are so far, and what I got on the books for today. Then you can maybe fill me in on a few things that are bothering me. Once all the cards are on the table, we can see where we stand.” A look of uneasiness crosses her face, but she merely nods for me to continue.

  “Okay, I met with Tommy’s ex-girlfriend. There is definitely more to her than she is telling, but I’m not convinced it has anything to do with Tommy. She says she hasn’t seen him in two years. I’m not sure if she is on the level, but I can’t figure her angle just yet.”

  “Yes, that was always Tommy’s weakness. He was normally cool-headed and under control, but when he got around certain girls, he would lose his objectivity and become quite obsessive, doing things that just defied all good sense to impress them. I’d think this girl might know more about Tommy than she’s told you. If he was in love with her, there is no telling what he might do for her.”

  You don’t say. That would have been some handy information to have coughed up before.

  “Well, let’s just say she is still on my list, but I got a person a notch or two higher I want to talk to.”

  There’s that nervous look again.

  “You don’t say? Who is this other person?”

  Here comes the first hammer to fall this morning.

  “Marjorie, Tommy may have gotten himself in something deeper this time. You say you guys are from Boston. Well there is a heavy hitter in town, down from Boston, and he’s got a lot of Tommy’s old acquaintances more nervous than a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.” She shifts in her chair and looks down at her coffee.

  “Really?”

  She’s uncomfortable, but doesn’t seem particularly surprised.

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, doll, but if you know anything more about what Tommy was into, it’d be swell if I knew that before I go to talk to this guy. Going in blind is a good way to
wind up with a coat full of holes, if you get my meaning.”

  The eyes give them away. It’s always the eyes.

  “No, Nick, I’m sorry, I don’t know what Tommy may have been into with gangsters from Boston.” She grabs my hand and begins to stroke the back of it as if it was her pet cat or something. “Oh, Nick, I’m so worried. I don’t want anything to happen to you. Maybe we had better just call this whole thing off before you get hurt. Oh, I couldn’t bear it if you were to get hurt.”

  There go the waterworks again. That glassy sheen over those baby blues. I’m not sure if this cookie is the Mata Hari act of all times or if she really is as stirred up about me as I am about her. I sure would feel better about these affectionate outbursts if they didn’t seem to show up every time I ask too deep a question about Tommy DeLanz’s past.

  “Don’t worry about me, I’m plenty capable of taking care of myself. But you may have to face some hard facts, Marjorie. If this guy Lupo is somehow tied in with Tommy going missing, then Tommy may be dead. Lupo is a hit man that even rattles the five families here, so Tommy’s prospects aren’t high if Lupo has caught up with him.” The look in her eyes is no longer despair but deep fear.

  “Oh, you don’t think that, do you? If he didn’t get what he wanted from Tommy, you don’t think he might come after me, do you?”

  That’s a pretty long leap. I wonder how she made that jump.

  “Honestly, I just don’t know. If Lupo was in town for Tommy, and he already found him, he’d be back in Boston by now. You say Tommy didn’t show up for your dinner plans on Monday. It’s Friday now, so I’d say Lupo hasn’t finished whatever he came for yet. That bodes better for Tommy, but I still need to talk to this guy and see what I can find out. I don’t think he’d have any reason to come after you, though.”

  Let’s toss this line out there and see what bites.

  “Can you think of one?”

  The eyes…always the eyes.

  “N-no. Certainly not. Anyway I’m sure as much trouble as Tommy was ever in, he would never have gotten mixed up with someone as dreadful as this Lupo person. Talk to him if you must, but if you ask me, the idea that Tommy has done something foolish with a girl he was smitten with is certainly more likely than some Boston gangster.”