Watch Your Back

by Sherilyn Decter

  Chalkie immediately whips out the book of betting slips he carries in his back pocket. “I hear good things, Mr. Mercer. She sounds like a sure thing.”

  “I hope not. I like it better when the long shots come in, if you know what I mean, Chalkie,” Henry says, winking.

  Chalkie nods. “Of course, sir. I understand completely. I’ll be sure to place a bet of my own.”

  “Everything else good?”

  “Just the usual. Deadbeats that don’t pay. But we’re dealing with them. The usual shortage of reliable kids to be runners, especially now that school’s back. And there was an outage last week on the switchboards. It caused all kinds of havoc.”

  “I heard about that. How much did we lose when we couldn’t take bets?”

  “Not too bad. I bagged everything by the clock and opened the bags once the telephone lines came back up again. But I hope it doesn’t happen too often. It’s bad for our reputation, and an anxious gambler is an ugly thing.”

  Chapter 5

  M aggie looks around the interview room at the Precinct. The gray walls still need paint, the sour smell of fear and sweat is pervasive, and the table with the handcuff rings continues to rock on one uneven leg.

  The last time I was here was when we thought Henry Mercer had killed Oskar. Gosh, how long ago was that? A year? More? I can’t even say ‘how time flies when you’re having fun’, because we haven’t been. Two and a half years of small steps forward, only to be shoved back behind the starting line again and again. It’s not good enough to have evidence of wrong doing. You have to be able to prove it in court and, these days, finding an honest judge, heck, an honest cop, is difficult.

  Detective Joe Kelly walks in. “Maggie, me girl. How are you?” he says, wrapping her in a bear hug.

  “Joe Kelly. Look at you. Another promotion from the looks of it. And Fanny’s either a good cook or you need to get out from behind your desk once in a while.”

  Joe pats his widening girth. “Ain’t that the truth. Guilty on both counts. I’m not the strapping young constable you first interviewed to be a lodger a few years ago.”

  “How’s Hazel? And little Joseph?”

  “Oh, they’re growing like weeds. Hazel’s walking, and a real scamp. And thank you for the christening gift for Joe Junior.”

  “Fanny’s managing with two wee ones?”

  “Her mother’s over a lot right now to help with the baby.”

  “Give Fanny my love. I’ll try and get round to see her soon.”

  “I’m glad you came in, Maggie. I’ve been meaning to call you about a ‘job’: something the Phantom Informant might be interested in, but life…” Joe says, a gentle shrug of his shoulders. In addition to being one of Maggie’s first lodgers, when it comes to the investigations she and the Inspector are carrying out, Joe is also their conduit into the police department.

  “Sure we can talk about that, Joe, but the reason I’m here… well, it’s awful. Tommy was beaten up. You should see him.” Maggie chokes back a sob. “I want to press charges.”

  “Tommy? That’s horrible. How is he?”

  “He’s got cracked and broken ribs, and his shoulder was dislocated. The doctor was by this morning and says he’s doing remarkably well, but, oh, Joe...” Maggie bursts into tears, days of strain and stiff upper lip catching up with her. “They beat him, Joe. He’s a mass of bruises. He can see again out of his black eye, thank goodness, although it’s still swollen. I want the animals that did this to my boy to be punished.”

  “Do you have any idea who did it?”

  “A newsboy downtown called Dutch. And a few of his friends.”

  “But why, Maggie? I know Tommy has a paper route, but why would he be hanging around lads like that?”

  “I don’t know. You know Dick Beamish, the reporter from the Inquirer who lodges with me? He says it’s something to do with territory. But Joe, they’re just boys. Surely it can’t be that?”

  “It’s pretty brutal on the streets, Maggie. Those boys have no home—a bunch of pickpockets and thieves. I could see them hitting a soft target like Tommy and giving him a whipping. Leave this with me. If Tommy’s up for it, I’ll come by and talk to him and then track down Dutch.”

  Maggie grabs both of Joe’s hands, the tears still wet on her face. “Yes, of course. Thank you, Joe. I knew I could count on you.”

  “Always, Maggie. We’re like family. I’ll make sure Tommy’s attackers are hauled in.” He pats her hand. “Now, don’t you worry. We’ll make this right.”

  He clears this throat. “So, about the reason I’d been meaning to call you: I have a case for you and the Phantom Informant, if you’ve got the time, what with Tommy being hurt and all.”

  Frank and Maggie have been working with the Philadelphia Police for a few years. No one on the force has ever met the mysterious informant Maggie works with, or been able to figure out how he gets into the places he does. However, they certainly value the information that he brings them. The intelligence is always bang-on, and incredibly useful when dealing with Philly’s darker underside.

  “Certainly, Joe. What do you need?”

  “You know that there are permits and licences for liquor manufactured legally? This bonded-alcohol is for medicinal and industrial purposes.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard. Aren’t there religious permits, as well?

  “A few. Communion wine, primarily. The problem is that we’ve had several shipments of bonded-alcohol go missing. Hijacked.”

  “I don’t understand what you need us for. I’m sure hijacking licenced alcohol is an obvious target in these times.”

  “Which is why it’s different than moonshine or smuggled liquor. Of course, there’s always some that falls of the back of the truck, but the whole business is closely monitored because of those licences and permits. We keep a sharp eye out. The Delaware Valley area, where most of the industrial manufactures are located, was quiet enough until about six weeks ago. Then a new fella came in, and ownership on a couple of factories changed hands.” Joe consults his notes. ”The Quaker Industrial Alcohol Company, Glenwood Industrial Alcohol Company, and the Consolidated Ethyl Products Company. And now we’ve got all these hijackings.”

  “It sounds like you’re looking into the new owner,” Maggie says as she pulls out her notebook.

  “A fellow named George Remus from Cincinnati. He owns a lot of these types of plant. He’s a former lawyer and now a business man. Everything looks fine, at least on the surface, but there are too many coincidences. Do you think your Phantom Informant could get us information on this Remus character? Maybe do some snooping around? He always manages to get into places we can’t, and we’d love to know what’s going on.”

  “I’ll talk to him, Joe. Maybe we could get together again in a few days. He’ll look around, and then will have questions for you. And, of course, I’ll want to hear how you made out with this thug, Dutch.”

  Chapter 6

  R elieved that Joe will be looking into Tommy’s incident, Maggie hurries to Green’s Hotel. The Garden Café there is a favorite spot for her and her best friend, Edith Duffy, to have lunch.

  “Well, you’re positively glowing, sweetie. What’s up?” Maggie leans down and pecks Edith’s cheek.

  “I’m on top of the world, Mags. I’ve finally come up with a way to fix all my problems. I don’t know why I didn’t figure it out sooner. You know how much I hate my house, right? It’s so dark and gloomy. Everything creaks and groans.” Edith wrinkles her nose. “And I swear, Maggie, it smells like an old person. Well, I’ve decided to buy a new house—something a lot more modern. Something with some style to it.”

  “Oh, wow, Edith, that’s exciting. Have you found one already?”

  “I think so. It’s not perfect, but it will be. It’s out in Overbrook, near the Main Line.”

  “Overbrook? What’s it like?” Overbrook? I wonder what Mother will say to have the Duffy’s as neighbors?

  “It’s going to need a ton of work
. I was looking at the empty lot beside it at first, thinking I might build, but when I looked through the house that’s for sale next door, I knew it is the house for me. There’s something about it that just speaks to me.”

  “And what about Mickey? Does it speak to him, too?”

  Edith toys with her napkin. “There’s a bit of a hiccup. Mickey’s not sold on the idea. We went out and looked around, but he’s so stubborn. He can’t understand why that old mausoleum we live in isn’t good enough. But Maggie, I loathe that place. Everything that’s ever gone wrong in my life has happened while I’ve lived in that house. There are too many memories that float around the place like spooks. I need something new. A fresh start.”

  “Buying a new house that’s going to need renovations is a big project to take on, Edith, if Mickey’s not onside. Is it the cost that bothers him?”

  “Oh pooh, of course not. Mickey’s loaded. No, he’s just being Mickey. Which means difficult. He’s so caught up in business, he’s got no thought for me.”

  “I thought you said that he was home more. He’s not started straying again, has he?”

  “Not that I’d know. But I don’t think so. He’s home more; but he’s moody and, like I said, difficult. I don’t know what’s going on in his head these days. The strangest things set him off and, when they do, he storms around.” Edith leans in, her eyes wide. “More than storms around. He got so ticked over the pitching in the last Philly’s game that he pulled over a cabinet in the living room. All those darn cat figurines. Everything smashed.”

  “The cabinet that houses your collection?”

  “Yes, crazy, eh? Sometimes I lock myself in my room. I’m afraid of what he might do when he’s in one of his rages.”

  “Sweetie, you be careful. I know he can be unpredictable, but it sounds like he’s getting worse.”

  “He’s in some mood these days, that’s for sure. I’m walking on eggshells all the time.”

  Over lunch, the conversation wanders between Tommy’s injuries, Edith’s social calendar, rising hemlines, and a juicy scandal involving a movie starlet. But whatever the topic, it always comes back to Edith’s new house.

  “Edith, you’re obsessed with this house idea.”

  “I can’t help it. I think about it all the time. I’ve got all this spare time on my hands and nothing to do. And, doll, I got loads of decorating ideas. It would be light and modern, have real style, ya know what I mean?”

  “I do. I think it sounds a lot like you,” Maggie says with a chuckle.

  “Exactly. I want it to be a real showpiece, and get those old biddies around town to sit up and take notice. I want everyone in Philly to know how much my husband loves me. I think a new house would be the ticket; make me happy again.” Edith is radiant, beaming.

  “I hope it works out, sweetie.”

  Edith’s face clouds over. “I get so mad at Mickey. For once, I’d like things to go my way.”

  “Well, he’s a pretty big roadblock, Edith. And it is his money.”

  “Oh, you sound just like he does. I want this house so bad I can taste it. And I won’t take no for an answer. I’ll find some way to get it.”

  * * * *

  While Maggie spends the afternoon with Edith, Tommy’s best friend, Jimmy, is sprawled on Tommy’s bed across from the soft chair where Tommy spends his days and nights. Dart is curled up in Jimmy’s lap, purring. There hasn’t been an adventure or a crisis in Tommy’s life that hasn’t somehow involved Jimmy. But, over the summer, they’ve drifted apart. Jimmy turned over his paper route to Tommy and has started working for Mickey Duffy. His new stature and affluence means he’s dressed flashier than usual: long pants instead of knickers, a vest over his shirt.

  “Whoa, Tommy, I heard yous wasn’t okay, but what happened? How come ya can’t even sleep in your own bed?”

  “Doctor says so. Something to do with my lungs.” Out of habit, Tommy tries to shrug, but winces instead. His shoulder is still tightly bandaged.

  “That’s too bad, pal. So tell me, who did this to ya?”

  “It was Dutch, and that creep, Swifty. They nailed me in the alley behind Wanamaker’s Department Store.” The swelling in his mouth is down, so talking is easier. He gives a short cough, followed by another wince.

  “Dutch? You’re lucky he didn’t kill ya. You look awful. Does it hurt?”

  “Are you kidding me? There isn’t a spot on my whole body that doesn’t hurt. Except maybe this small spot on my finger.” Tommy unfurls his middle finger from his fist, raising it in a salute to Jimmy.

  “Ha, you’ll live. Whatcha do to Dutch to bring this on?”

  “You remember old man McGuiness? The old guy down at the Inquirer that gives us the papers for our routes? I have newspapers for customers that haven’t cancelled their subscriptions before they went on holidays, and then there were some from your route, too. I guess it happens every summer. When I went down there to ask about it, he told me to sell them. And he gave me extra papers that he’d snuck off the line.”

  “A nice little racket. How’d that manage to get ya beat up?”

  “McGuiness and I have a thing, or I guess we had a thing, where I’d give him a percentage of the money I made on selling the extra papers. And I always made some nice dough. The best part was it never took too long, so Mother never found out. I made sure to stand on the busiest corners, and a couple of times I even took them into the train station to sell to people waiting. The day Dutch jumped me, I took the corner in front of Wanamaker’s ‘cause it’s a great corner for selling papers. Lots of traffic. But I guess it’s Dutch’s corner. Or one of his guys, anyway.”

  “Tommy, I’ve heard he’s a mean one, looking out for himself and his boys. Why’d you do something so stupid?”

  “I wanted the money, idjit. Why else would I do it?”

  “If you want money so bad, why not come work with me and Mickey? I make good coin running gambling slips.”

  “Nah, Mother would never let me quit school to do something like that.”

  “Well, if you change your mind, let me know. I got an ‘in’ now.” Jimmy has left the cat on the bed and has been thumbing through the stack of magazines on the table by the chair while they’ve been talking. “Hey, will ya look at this,” he says holding up a National Geographic. “Some of those dames from Africa don’t have any shirts on. Wowza.” Jimmy drops the magazine back on the stack. “Look kid, I’ve gotta get going. Chalkie’s expecting me. But maybe I could come by later and we could read them?”

  “Sure, Jimmy. Just not after supper. My mother’s always busy then.”

  Chapter 7

  H ughie McCloon, a little person and former mascot for the Philadelphia Athletics baseball team, stands on the sidewalk in front of his club at 10th and Cuthbert. The place is hopping tonight. He lights a cigarette while he waits for his driver to bring the car.

  Good thing it’s busy. His silent partner, gangster Boo-Boo Hoff, is getting more demanding. What had started as a friendly loan for a pal was turning into a regular shakedown. So far, it isn’t a problem. The club is always packed, in no small part because of Hughie’s fame with the A’s, but also because of his aggressive charm and humor. As one of the little people, he’d learned early that folks would either laugh at you or hit you. He prefers the laughter.

  He grinds out his cigarette on the sidewalk as car headlights near, then curses. That isn’t my car. Where is that fool driver at?

  The approaching car slows, the passenger window down. A flash. Bang. Hughie lies in a pool of blood on the sidewalk as the car speeds away. As his heart slows, Hughie hears a woman scream.

  Chapter 8

  U nder a blazing summer sun, Jimmy weaves through Market Street on his way to Chalkie’s. He imagines all the things he and Tommy would normally be doing in the summer: swimming, playing ball, goofing off in the park, sitting in an air conditioned movie theater. Instead, Jimmy’s got a job, and finds himself on a hot, crowded street.

  Frantic
and hectic, Market is a transportation hub with Philadelphia’s main train sheds that serve the Reading and Pennsylvania Railroads. The famous elevated commuter train tracks, known as The El, is Philly’s attempt at dealing with traffic congestion. And there’s plenty of traffic because of City Hall, several of the city’s largest department stores, the theaters, and the towering office buildings that line the street.

  It didn’t matter whether you were coming or going in Philadelphia, you eventually found yourself on Market. Steeped in transport and commerce, it also plays an important part in the city’s and the country’s history, with Independence Hall, the Liberty Bell, the places where the Declaration of Independence was drafted and signed, the haunts of Ben Franklin, and the residences of both George Washington and John Adams during their Presidencies; all of which are either on or adjacent to Market Street.