Watch Your Back

by Sherilyn Decter

  “Extra! Extra! Read all about it.

  Hughie McCloon gunned down in front of club.”

  Jimmy hears the call of the newsies as he makes his way to the bookie joint to report for work. He gives them a wide berth, then changes direction, heading instead for the Ritz Hotel around the corner on Broad. What happened to Tommy has been weighing on his mind the past few days. They’ve always looked out for each other and Jimmy doesn’t want to let his pal down.

  Jimmy, clutching his cloth cap, catches sight of his reflection in the burnished walls of the elevator at the Ritz as it rises to Mickey’s suite. He spits into his palm and tries to smooth down a cowlick. The elevator doors slide open and he stares down a long hallway. He spots a couple of men cradling tommy guns. Their heads swivel in unison at the sound of the elevator. Jimmy’s seen them from afar, back when he and Tommy were kids and used to spy on the crew at Mickey Duffy’s warehouse, but they look bigger up close. He starts the long, slow walk toward them.

  Jimmy gulps. “I would like to see Mr. Duffy, please.”

  “Not happening, kid. Now scram.”

  “Please, it’s about a friend of mine, Tommy Barnes.”

  “The Barnes kid?” One of the men looks to the other. “Whaddaya think, Gus?”

  Gus shrugs. “Mrs. Barnes is friends with the Duffy’s. Wait here, kid, and I’ll see who can see ya.” Gus disappears into the hotel room. Jimmy stares at the floor until the door reopens. “Come here, kid. Mr. Duffy himself wants to talk to you.”

  Heart pounding, Jimmy walks into the hotel suite. He’s never seen anything like it. There are gorgeous ladies lounging, and men playing cards. And booze everywhere. He follows Gus over to the card table where a large fan is keeping players cool.

  “So, you’re friends with the Barnes kid? Why are you here?” asks a man with the biggest ears and wearing the biggest gun, Jimmy has ever seen.

  Mickey Duffy himself is speaking to him.

  “I—um, he’s—um. I mean…”

  “Out with it kid, I ain’t got all day.”

  “Tommy got beat up bad.”

  Mickey puts down his cards and studies Jimmy closer. “Who are you? What happened?”

  “My name is Jimmy, sir. And I work for you, sort of. I’m one of Chalkie’s runners. My friend, Tommy? He was selling newspapers on the corner and Dutch beat him up. Real bad.”

  “Why would this Dutch fella beat up Tommy?”

  “Because Tommy was selling newspapers on Dutch’s corner. Dutch runs the newsies. Tommy had to go to the hospital, but he’s home now.”

  “That sounds bad for Tommy. But why are you here, kid?”

  Jimmy stares at his shoes.

  “Speak up. I can’t hear you. What do you want me to do about it?”

  “I dunno. It’s like, Tommy doesn’t have a pa and somebody needs to talk to Dutch. Maybe you can?”

  “Talk?”

  “Well, Tommy’s gonna be selling papers on that corner again and, if he does, he’ll get beat up again. Maybe worse. Somebody needs to let Dutch know to leave Tommy alone.”

  “But it’s this other kid’s corner, right? Why would he let somebody move in on his turf?”

  Jimmy squirms, running out of answers. This had been a much better idea as he was heading to Chalkie’s; easier to have a plan of what to say when you weren’t actually in the Ritz in front of the kingpin of them all.

  “Okay kid, how about you and me go for a ride and you can show me which of these punks is the one that beat up Tommy. No promises, but I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Hey, Boss, we was in the middle of a card game,” one of the players at the table says.

  Mickey’s eyes lock on the man who spoke. “You say something, Stan? You speaking to me?” The room goes silent, all eyes on Mickey. The menace is thick, and Jimmy’s knees are knocking, expecting Mickey to pull out his very large gun at any moment. Suddenly, Mickey throws back his head and laughs, echoed by nervous laughter around the table.

  “Stan, I’ve taken all your money already. You should be glad I’m leaving. It’ll give you a chance to win a hand or two.”

  “Sure, Mickey. I appreciate it.”

  “Come on, kid. Let’s go. Regan, you ready?”

  A man Jimmy has only just noticed pulls on a coat to cover his gun. “Sure thing, Boss. Lead the way.”

  They cruise a few blocks, then Eddie Regan pulls the car over to the curb in front of Wanamaker’s Department Store. Mickey and Jimmy are in the back seat.

  “There, that one’s Dutch.” Jimmy points to a boy, about fifteen, hawking papers on the corner in front of Wanamaker’s. Tommy was right. It’s a busy corner, and Dutch is doing a brisk trade.

  “You know him? He knows you?”

  Jimmy nods.

  “Okay, Regan. Let’s drop the kid at Chalkie’s. He’ll be needing him for the two o’clock run. Then we’ll come back and see if we can convince this young newsie to leave our boy be.”

  * * * *

  Their car pulls into the top of an alley, blocking the exit. From the backseat, Mickey can see Dutch sitting on the fire escape in the alley behind Wanamaker’s Department Store, enjoying a smoke. A couple of other newsies are with him, their papers stacked on the ground by their feet. The boys watch the car.

  “Okay Eddie. See if you can’t be convincing.”

  “You want that I should hurt the kid, Mick, or just scare him?”

  “It’s been a slow day. Slap him around a bit, but not too much.”

  Eddie Regan gets out of the car. He takes his coat off and slowly folds it, laying it on the front seat. His actions are deliberate, making sure he has the attention of the boys gathered at the end of the alley. He rolls up his sleeves.

  “You wanna newspaper, mister?” One of the newsies calls from the end of the alley.

  Eddie walks toward them. “No. I don’t want no friggin’ newspaper.”

  “Whatcha want then?” another newsie asks. Dutch has remained sitting on the step, silent.

  Watching from the car, Mickey recognizes a fellow pack leader. Potential in the kid. He hopes Regan doesn’t hurt him too bad. He might be useful later.

  “Whatcha want, mister?”

  “I want Dutch.” The boys look to kid sitting on the step.

  “I don’t know you. Whatcha want with me?” Dutch says. Rising, he flicks his cigarette away.

  “We got a mutual friend who wants me to give you a message. You see the man sitting in the car back there?” All eyes swivel to look at the car. Eddie advances on Dutch.

  “That’s Mickey Duffy. You guys know who that is, right?”

  Eddie can hear murmurs of recognition behind him, but he doesn’t take his eyes off Dutch, who stares right back.

  “Well, our mutual friend, Tommy Barnes, is also a good friend of Mr. Duffy’s. Loyalty is pretty important to Mr. Duffy and he’s heard that maybe you have a disagreement with the Barnes kid.” Eddie takes another step closer to Dutch.

  The other newsies shuffle away from Dutch, leaving him standing toe to toe with Eddie.

  “Yeah, so what of it?” Dutch asks, chin thrust out, hands curled into fists at his sides.

  Eddie pulls his arm back and drives his fist into Dutch’s face. The kid falls to the ground, moaning, and holding his nose which is gushing blood.

  “Mr. Duffy looks after his friends. Do we understand each other?” Eddie says, glaring down at the boy at his feet.

  Staying put, Dutch clutches his nose, wipes his bloody hand on his knickers, and grunts an acknowledgment.

  “Good. Then I won’t need to come back and repeat the message,” Eddie says to the newsies gathered nearby.

  Eddie turns and walks back to the car, rolling down his sleeves. He slips on his coat and climbs behind the wheel.

  “I think he got it.”

  “Good. Let’s go to the track. I hear good things about a nag running in the third race. ‘Hope something’. Apparently, it’s a sure thing.”

  Chapter 9 />
  M aggie hangs Joe’s police hat on the hook in the front hall. “Thanks for coming, Joe.”

  “I would have come before now but, with the McCloon shooting, everything’s a bit hectic down at the precinct.”

  “Dick was telling us about it last night at dinner. Any suspects?”

  “We’re following up a few leads. And on your end? Did you get a chance to talk to the Phantom Informant about the bonded-alcohol issue?”

  “He’s looking into it. I should have something in a few days.”

  “That’s great, Maggie. Thank you, and thank him as well. That intel will be useful. So, is it okay to see the patient? Fanny sent along a bag of her chocolate chip cookies for him.” Joe raises the paper bag he’s been holding.

  “You know the way. I’ll join you in a few minutes. That will give you some privacy to talk. I’ll bring milk, unless you’d rather have coffee?”

  “Milk would be perfect, thanks.” Joe takes the stairs two at a time, pausing at the top, captured by memories of when he used to live here: new to the city, meeting Fanny, working the Mickey Duffy list of suppliers with Maggie, the day Maggie was kidnapped. There’s been a lot of water under the bridge since then, including Fanny, a home of his own, and two kids.

  He taps on the door to Tommy’s room and pushes it open. Tommy’s sitting in his chair, his face a patchwork of purple and yellow bruises. His arm, still in a sling, rests on a pillow on his lap. Dart is also on the pillow pulling sentry duty. Joe sucks in his breath, shocked. He knew it was bad from Maggie’s description, but this looks much worse.

  “Hi, Detective Kelly.”

  “Hello, son. How are you feeling? Me missus, Mrs. Kelly, sent along some cookies for you.”

  Tommy grins and reaches for the bag, wincing as he forgets about his ribs.

  “Careful now. Yer mam is bringing up some milk to go with these. She wanted me to talk with you about what happened. You up for that?”

  “Sure. What do you want to know?”

  Joe sits on the edge of the bed. “Why don’t you tell me all about what happened that day? Five days ago, right?”

  Tommy nods, stroking the cat.

  “Okay then, let’s start with breakfast.”

  Tommy tells his tale again, embellishing a little. “Because it’s summer holidays the Inquirer lets us be a little late delivering the morning papers. You remember that, when you lived here, I’d get them around 6:30 in the morning?”

  Joe nods, remembering the two of them at the kitchen table eating breakfast, the rest of the house still silent.

  “During the summer, I get to wait until 7:30 or even 8:00. I pick them up at the corner where they get dropped off, and use a wagon the paper gave me. It has Philadelphia Inquirer painted on the side. There’s a double bundle for me because I do Jimmy’s papers, too. He gave his route to me ‘cause he’s working somewhere else right now.”

  “Okay. That must make for a long route if you’re doing both your own and Jimmy’s.” He holds up a pencil and a small notebook. “Do you mind if I write this down?”

  “No problem. It’s not too bad. Crappy when it’s raining, but that hasn’t happened too much so far this summer. I also gotta watch out for Neufeld’s dog. He bites.”

  Joe lets him ramble, separating the wheat from the chaff. The story gets interesting after Tommy drops off the wagon, eats lunch, and then carries the extra newspapers back to the Inquirer.

  “Along the way, I stopped at Howard’s grocery store and bought a cold pop. He also had the latest Boys’ Own magazine. And then I ran into some pals who had a pick-up baseball game going on in that empty lot around the corner from the store. I watched for a while. That Whitey sure runs like a girl. After that, I got to the Inquirer. Mr. McGuiness has a bunch of extra papers; gave me a stack to sell. I mix mine in with the later editions, most folks don’t notice.”

  Tommy starts to cough and Joe hands him some water. “Are you sure you’re up for this, Tommy? I could come back”

  Handing the empty glass back, Tommy shakes his head. “Mother said it was important that I tell you everything that happened. Then you can arrest Dutch and put him in jail.”

  “Well, we’ll see where this leads first. Why don’t you tell me what happens after you get the papers from the Inquirer. You do this every day?”

  “Yup, most afternoons. Sometimes there’s only a few papers and sometimes there’s a lot. It all depends on what time I get there and if the other fellas have got there before me. That day there was a lot, so I headed over to Wanamaker’s Department Store. There’s always lots of people going in and out on that corner. I figured I’d get rid of them all pretty quick over there. Mother’s been after me to get home in time for supper. I haven’t been so good getting home on time since I started selling the extra papers.”

  Joe notices that Tommy’s talking slower, and his hand is now just resting on the cat.

  “What do you do with the extra money you make, Tommy?”

  Tommy attempts a shrug but, with his sling, it’s difficult.

  “Do you get to keep it, or do you get the same rate as the home deliveries? Come on, tell me.”

  “I split it with Mr. McGuiness. It’s more than the home deliveries, but not fifty-fifty or anything. And it’s like I get paid twice for my route papers that are left over ‘cause I get to sell them again. McGuiness never counts those.”

  “Okay, what happened next?”

  “Can I please have another drink of water, Detective Kelly?”

  Joe reaches over and fills Tommy’s glass.

  “It had been real busy. I was almost through my papers, even getting hungry for supper, when… when…” Dart’s tail is whipping back and forth.

  Joe takes the empty glass and puts it on the dresser, taking note of Tommy’s shadowed eyes and drooping posture. “Take your time, son. You’re doing great.”

  “Some folks were complaining I was blocking the door to the store, so I moved closer to the alley. That’s when I got grabbed from behind.” Tommy closes his eyes and shudders. He clutches at the cat, who jumps down and stalks out of the bedroom.

  “You’re safe now. Go slowly.”

  Tommy takes a couple of short breaths. “My papers fell on the ground. I saw it was Dutch and a bunch of other newsies. They made me hand over my paper money. All of it.”

  “Who was there, exactly?”

  Tommy looks at him with wide eyes. “Lots. Lots and lots.”

  “Okay, then what?”

  “Dutch tells me the Wanamaker corner is his and he punches me, and maybe some of the other guys punch me. And I punch back. And then I fall down and Dutch climbs on top and punches me again, and then he kicks me, and then Swifty kicks me, and maybe some other guys kick me. It hurt so bad, Detective Kelly. I was so scared,” Tommy sobs.

  Joe gets up and crouches next to Tommy’s chair, patting him on the knee. “There, there kiddo. It’s okay. You’re okay now. Everything’s going to be okay.”

  Tommy takes a few more shuddering little breaths and gathers himself together.

  Joe looks up at him. “Okay now? Do you want to stop? Or can you keep talking?”

  Tommy, pale and drawn, nods.

  Joe goes back and sits on the edge of the bed. “So you think, what, twenty kids?”

  Tommy looks askance. “Maybe not so many.”

  “Maybe fifteen?”

  “Less.”

  “How many, Tommy? Can you name them?”

  “Dutch, of course. And Swifty. A couple of bigger kids were there, Barney and Peanuts. Jake the Oyster was there too. So was Hoppy, but they didn’t fight. Only Dutch fought, and Swifty afterwards was kicking me. Not the others. Hoppy’s only got the one leg, and Jake’s pretty small.”

  “So four kids were punching? Two kids were watching?”

  “Kid Biscuit was there, too. He was one of the watchers.”

  “Okay. So you put up quite a fight. Do you know why Dutch and his crew jumped you, Tommy?”

  “
He said that Wanamaker’s was his corner. That I shouldn’t be there. But I didn’t know some of the corners were taken, Detective. Mr. McGuiness didn’t tell me that there were places I couldn’t sell from.”

  Joe makes more notes and then flips over to a clean page.