“It is a unique opportunity and he didn’t hesitate. That kind of aggressive action is part of his personality. He went from pharmacy school to law school. Bought out his uncle’s pharmacy at a young age. Very sharp. The law made him rich, but breaking the law has made him richer.”
“So you’re convinced that there’s something going on?”
“Undoubtedly. Remus has memorized the Volstead Act and found loopholes. He’s come upon an arrangement whereby he buys distilleries and their inventory, and then sells his “bonded-alcohol” to himself and his pharmacies under government licenses for medicinal purposes. During transport, he takes the legitimate liquor and diverts it into the bootlegging market.”
“Is there a lot of business in bonded-alcohol?”
“From what I can gather from the conversation Remus was having with Max Hoff, who is going to be a silent partner from the looks of it, they produced one and a half million gallons of undiluted alcohol last year. If you cut that to eighty proof, that’s over three million gallons. And if you dilute it further to the strength some of the speakeasies are selling, well, that’s a lot of valuable hooch.”
“I can see why Mr. Remus is so interested in buying those industrial alcohol plants along the Delaware Valley. And why Boo-Boo wants to be a silent partner. Millions of gallons are too much for just the Philadelphia market, Inspector. Any clues about where they’re shipping it?”
“I heard they sent forty loaded freight cars to St. Louis, Chicago, and St. Paul. This is a scale of bootlegging we’ve not been aware of. Joe is going to be eager to learn about this. I’ll head back to the hotel tonight and see if I can gather any more information.”
“The whiskey business is very profitable.”
“I bet it’s like a lot of other businesses. Follow the money, Maggie. Perhaps your father would be able to add some insight?”
“Inspector, quit pushing me. I’ll get there when I’m ready. You’re not helping matters.”
“Of course, my dear. How’s Tommy?”
“Getting better, slowly. He has a cough that worries me. But he’s moving around more easily. He’s in his chair during the day, and just recently able to sleep in the bed at night.”
“What news from Joe? Has he had time to talk to those newsboys?”
“No, nothing yet. I haven’t heard from him at all, and it’s been over a week since he was here to talk to Tommy. I’m frustrated. He knows how important this is, and who to arrest. But I guess he’s been busy with the McCloon shooting, although you’d think he’d take the time to call and tell me even that much.” Maggie’s tapping foot provides a staccato beat to her complaint.
“Have you heard anything more about the shooting?” Frank asks.
Maggie’s foot stops tapping. “Apparently, according to Dick and the Inquirer, McCloon was part of Boo-Boo Hoff’s empire, and this was a rival gangster’s retaliation for something Hoff did. Everyone’s predicting that there’s going to be an escalation in the violence between the various gangsters.”
“I heard that District Attorney Monaghan and the Grand Jury are beginning to call witnesses. Do you think that Mickey Duffy will be called?” asks Frank.
“I’m not sure how he can avoid it. There’s lots of fine words about shutting down the crime and bootlegging in the city, but we’ve heard it before. We’ll see how it goes,” says Maggie.
“It’s good to see action being taken,” says Frank. “The chaos and mayhem couldn’t continue. Well, let Joe know to pass along to Monaghan that the Phantom Informant stands ready to help.”
Chapter 12
W ith Tommy resting upstairs, and her lodgers at work, Maggie takes advantage of the quiet to continue to work on Millie’s accounting problem. She’s been adding invoices and reviewing financial statements, trying to find a solution. So far there hasn’t been an easy solution. Those darn hats were just too expensive to just write off.
“I found a distillery that George Remus bought,” says Frank.
Startled at the voice behind her, Maggie turns. “Inspector? You’re early for Report. That’s not for hours yet. It must be exciting news.”
“Yes, another piece of the Remus puzzle. I found his latest distillery.”
“Found it? I thought that it was along the Delaware Valley. You’ve never left town before.”
“True, but you might say there was an auxiliary plant here in the city. There are inspections all the time at the Quaker Industrial Alcohol Company’s main plant, so it acts as a front. Remus takes his licences and uses them to transport liquor from a secondary distillery here in the city.”
“I’ve never heard of Quaker having a plant inside Philadelphia.”
“Perhaps I’m being generous when I call it an auxiliary.” Frank chuckles. “The alcohol is distilled in the attic of a home and then dumb-waitered to the basement. In the basement, there’s a trap door with a tunnel approximately one hundred feet long and about six feet down. Remus has his boys roll barrels out to a waiting truck. I watched them do it twice, and both times it was a clean get away. Nobody around suspected a thing. The men looked pretty practiced at it. It was one of the places Hoff sold to Remus. He’s obviously been doing it for years.”
“Joe’s going to love this. I know he’s interested in the hijackings, but the moonshine and tunnels are a bonus.”
“I’ve been doing some eavesdropping on Remus during various business meetings and telephone calls. He refers to the business as ‘The Circle’ and it really is ingenious. He makes it. He ships it. If Joe’s right, he steals it. And then he sells it again. By diverting it into the bootleg market, he benefits financially twice: fewer middlemen and no taxes. With established bootleg distribution lines, he can augment his bonded-alcohol with moonshine. We had underestimated the scope of his business, Maggie. I had thought, from the information that Joe had provided, that Remus was only interested in leveraging the value of his bonded-alcohol permits, but it’s much more than that.”
“It sounds like we need the final piece of this ‘circle’—evidence of the hijacking. What are you thinking, Inspector? Do you want me to report this current information to Joe? With the moonshine, Joe can pull search warrants right away. Or do you want to investigate further?” Maggie asks.
“I think a bit of both. I imagine Joe will have to follow the truck as it leaves the building where the tunnel comes out. It may go out of the city, and I’m still not sure whether I can travel that far.”
Frank had many unsolved questions about his ghostly state. His ‘why am I here?’ was his central preoccupation. Joe Kelly’s Irish grandmother had explained it was to deal with unfinished business, but she hadn’t been able to tell him about his physical limits; his ability to travel hadn’t been tested beyond the edge of Philadelphia.
“Perhaps we could borrow a car and go for a ride to see how far you can travel?”
“What happens if I disappear when we get to the edge? Maybe I won’t be able to get back? There’s no urgency to establishing my boundaries, is there?”
Maggie had never seen the Inspector anxious before. “It sounds like you’re attached to your life here.”
“I am. I don’t want to give it up over some bit of vanity about being able to do it all.”
“All right. I’ll let Joe know about the moonshine, and tell him we’re still working on the hijacking piece.”
Frank eyes the piles of papers and the length of adding machine tape curled on the top of the table. “What are you working on, my dear?”
“Millie has an inventory problem at the hat shop she needs resolved. It would be easy enough just to write the French hats off and declare a loss, but I doubt her financial backers would be happy with that much red ink. No, she’s counting on me to find another solution, and I don’t want to go back to her without one. I’ve been working on it for a couple of days now, but I’m not making much progress.”
“Why don’t you talk to your father about it? He may have an idea or two.”
Maggie shoots Frank a wry look. “Because he knows so much about ladies’ hats?”
“Maggie. I’m serious. You’ve been looking for an excuse to call him. Why don’t you make an appointment, take Millie’s files, and meet him for a consultation?”
Maggie taps her pencil on the top of the papers. “I like the idea of meeting in his office. It will feel like a business appointment rather than something personal, and it would give us something to talk about besides Jack and Tommy. I should be able to handle that. And the end of the appointment would give me an excuse to leave if it’s a set time at his office.”
“Maggie, I don’t understand why seeing your father again disturbs you so much. You’re normally so strong and sure of yourself. What do you think he’s going to do to you?”
“You’ve got it all wrong, Inspector. It’s not what he’d do to me, but what I might say to him. After all these years, and all the hurt feelings, I’m not sure I won’t say something awful. And let’s face it, there isn’t anything that could happen or be said that would bring Jack back. So I waver between seeing no point to the meeting to making it an ultimate showdown. Positioning it as a business appointment reduces some of the instability of the situation, making it more manageable.”
“And a business meeting won’t let you put it off anymore.”
“Unless I can come up with a solution to Millie’s problem on my own, then I won’t need to talk to Father.”
Frank looks at her sadly. “Family is our greatest strength, Maggie.”
“And my greatest weakness, Inspector.”
“All right then, enough about your father. Tell me, how is Tommy? I’ve only poked my head in once—you know he seems to get that chilled feeling when I show up. I don’t want to stress him further.”
“Tommy’s better. In fact, so much better that I’m going to get him up, bathe and dress him. One of the lodgers can help him downstairs for supper later tonight. He’s going squirrely in his room all day. It doesn’t matter how many issue of Boys’ Life he has to read, it’s still pretty boring for an eleven year old.”
“That’s great news. I take it he’s not sleeping in the chair anymore?”
“No, not for the past couple of nights. He’s been able to lie down without too much pain. And his cough is almost gone.” Maggie’s smile is radiant. Her boy is out of the woods.
“Does that mean he’ll be ready to go back to school next week?”
“I’ll wait to hear what the doctor says, but probably not next week. I’ll go down to the school and talk to Principal Harris.” Maggie rolls her eyes at the memory of her last conversation with the man, which hadn’t gone in Maggie or Tommy’s favor. “Another meeting I’m not looking forward to.”
“You’re a fierce mother lion when it comes to protecting your cub, Maggie. I’m sure the school will be able to accommodate a late start, given Tommy’s injuries. Perhaps you could take a note from the doctor? And as for Harris, he’s a petty tyrant in a small kingdom. Tommy’s under his thumb for only one more year.”
“The doctor’s note’s a good idea. It’s official. I don’t want to give Harris any excuse to raise the ‘quitting school’ issue again. I’ve got to get Tommy through this year and then he’s off to Boys’ Central High School, and nothing is going to get in the way of that.”
“I pity anyone who gets between you and your ambitions, my dear,” Frank says with admiration.
Chapter 13
W hile Maggie and Frank are discussing the Remus case across town, Mickey and Henry are enjoying a bit of leisure time. The clack of the pool balls striking each other on the break always makes Mickey smile—smoky pool halls, cold beer, good times. Having his lifelong friend, Henry, on the other side of the pool table adds to the feeling of nostalgia. He’s relaxed and having one of his good days.
The joint is crowded and Mickey glances around to make sure they can’t be overheard by nearby players. “I got an interesting phone call from a ‘friend’ yesterday. Five ball, corner pocket.” He pulls the cue back, tap, and down goes the five into the leather pocket in the large, green-felt-covered table. Mickey chalks the cue and considers his next shot. “You know what I love about pool? It’s the concentration. Doesn’t matter the troubles you bring to the table, when you’re lining up your shot, that’s all that matters. Real life should be like that.”
Henry also considers Mickey’s options. “Number four in the side pocket.”
Mickey walks around the table to stand in front of Henry, and then sees the shot. He leans over, reaching, and taps it in.
“I might need to go on a little trip. To Chicago.” Mickey looks around the crowded pool hall again and lowers his voice. “My friend Al needs some help, and called me.”
Henry nods. “When?”
“Later. Maybe Christmas? Maybe the New Year. Still lots of time.”
Mickey scratches. He digs the white ball out of the pocket and puts it back on the table.
Henry, leaning against the wall near the rack of cues, is studying the table, deciding his shot. It could be a while. Henry and Mickey have played pool against each other forever, and it drives Mickey crazy the way Henry considers every angle.
“Seven in the side.” Henry calls it and then, when the ball sinks, circles the table, looking for another shot. “Why not Chicago now?”
“Timing’s not right, I guess. Other pieces have to fall into place. How the heck should I know what’s going on in that skurwysyn, that bastard’s head. I said I’d be there.”
Henry nods. “Sure thing.” He walks around the table again, leans in, and puts the three ball in the corner pocket.
“Nice shot. We’ll need a plan—work with the local boys to pull one together. But later. Heck, the problem may just go away all on its own. Our friend is always making these peace treaties. Who knows what might happen.”
“Yeah, and then breaking them.” Henry jabs at the two ball, but sinks the white. “Crap. That’s twice now. I don’t know what’s wrong with my game today.”
Mickey laughs. “You’re getting old, Mercer. We’ll have to get you a pair of those specs. That might be the only thing that can help your game.”
Henry grins and steps away from the table to give Mickey room. He leans against his cue. “You heard anything more about what Nucky Johnson’s planning in Atlantic City? You’ll see Capone there, won’t you?”
“Hand me that rest, will ya?” Mickey takes the cue rest from Henry and makes a tricky shot. “I expect, given the nature of the AC meeting, that we’ll need to fix the problem before that.”
Henry barks out a laugh. “Yeah. Tough to be talking co-operation when you’re planning a hit on the guy across the table. Although Capone’s got a good poker face. He could pull it off.”
“Yeah, the guy always looks like he’s ready to murder somebody. No different than normal.”
“Need me to go to Chicago to chat with him and some of his boys and start pulling that plan together?”
“Nah, I sent Regan. He left this morning.”
Henry misses his next shot. “He going to be gone long?”
“As long as it takes. Why?”
“No reason, just wondering.”
* * * *
Out in Reading, Max Hassel is playing a different game. The same principles of cause and effect as pool, but the balls are a bit bigger. It’s been several weeks since the Grand Jury was called, and the witness list is a swaggering parade of who’s who in Philly’s underworld. So far, Monaghan is throwing a lot of punches, but none are landing. Vare may be absent, but the Machine chugs along, giving the prime suspects cover.
Known as a gentlemanly bootlegger, Max Hassel is always more comfortable at the end of a good deal than at the end of a gun. Rumour has it that he doesn’t even carry one. Of course, he has muscle to look after that. Working the mean streets of Philadelphia during Prohibition would just be stupid without a couple of torpedoes providing a bit of protection.
He leans over his desk at the Colonial
and pours his guest a glass of premium Canadian whiskey.
“Police Chief Elliott, to what do I owe this pleasure?”
“I’m dropping off a bit of paperwork for ya, Max. With the Grand Jury, the Feds have me working as a messenger boy these days.” Elliott hands over an envelope.
Max reads. “Grand Jury, eh? I can’t say I’m surprised. I’ve been wondering when they’d get around to me.” He sits back in his chair, rolling the smoky-sweet taste of the whiskey in his mouth, continuing to read. “It appears to be lacking a date and a signature. Poor record keeping?”
“Max, we’ve known each other a long time. I know what a busy man you are. Maybe we could think of something so that you wouldn’t have to appear in front of the Grand Jury.” Elliott sits back and waits, the offer on the table. “I’d look after this personally.”
Watch Your Back Page 6