The Holy City Hustle: A Duke Dempsey Mystery

by Ron Plante Jr

  Duke wasn’t shocked by the spectacular suite that he entered after the tour he had just been given. Despite the rave reviews of the Shemara in The Post, the paper’s descriptive summary had severely understated the majestic beauty of the vessel. He threw his bag on the bed and checked to see if Sarah was still hidden under his white tux. He opened the cylinder, ensured all six bullets were snuggly in their chambers, and spun it shut.

  Duke wasn’t sure how the evening was going to play out, but he knew that he had two goals. The first was to find whatever was in the crates, and the second was to retrieve the ledger from his friend. He put on his white tux with black bow tie, combed in a nice heaping of Murray’s Pomade, and lit a Lucky as he glanced at the final product in the mirror. “Not bad, not bad at all.”

  Duke made his way up to the fantail to finish his smoke and arrived just as the Shemara passed by a very familiar sight. There was a light fog that blanketed the night sky as Fort Sumter emerged from the mist. Duke shook his head and grabbed his ribs, thinking about his encounter last summer at the historical stronghold. He found it ironic that once again, the iconic fort was a precursor to another inevitable showdown.

  His train of thought was interrupted by three short blasts of a horn in the distance. He smirked as he flicked what was left of his smoke over the rail and into the water below. It was time to go to work.

  Chapter 28- That’s Where the South Begins

  The vessel was set up for luxury and not hauling cargo, so Duke didn’t figure it would be too difficult to locate the mysterious crates. He wasn’t sure what kind of contraband was being smuggled through his port, but he was determined to find out. Slate and Duke had watched the crates being loaded onto the ship and down through a large hatch near the stern.

  Dinner was about to be served and most of the crew would be busy catering to the guests. Duke waited for the announcement to be piped through the ship, then made his move toward the watertight hatch. He spun the iron wheel, opened the hatch, and made his way down into the space underneath. He carefully traversed the ladder into the barely lit compartment where it looked as if they kept lines, extra anchor chains, and some dry stores for the trip.

  Duke walked between the dry good crates, carefully searching for the ones Smeltzer had helped onload. The rocking of the ship increased, telling Duke they must have cleared the jetties and were in the open ocean. The vessel hit a swell, and Duke lost his balance and fell forward, but fortunately caught himself using a crate. He looked down at his tux to ensure it wasn’t soiled in the jolt and when he glanced up, he noticed the words ‘Hotel Sevilla’ in big red letters on the side. “Bingo,” Duke whispered to himself.

  He looked around for some type of crowbar to pry open the crate, but there was nothing around. He continued searching the compartment and his eyes lit up when he saw something on the port sidewall. It was a bright red fire ax strapped to the wall, and would serve Duke well in his endeavor. He ripped the ax free from its hold and gave the wooden crate two huge hacks, instantly breaking through and sending wood fragments into the air. He pried open the broken boards with his hands and pulled out what felt like a tightly wrapped package. He threw it on the deck of the ship and lit a match to get a better view.

  His mouth opened like he’d just seen a ghost, and had to rub his eyes and refocus to make sure he’d seen what he thought he’d seen. It was the biggest package of money Duke had ever seen and it was nothing but hundred-dollar bills. He looked into the crate and saw stacks of the same packages. Duke counted five crates all filled with hundred-dollar bills and couldn’t fathom how much money it was.

  He was so in shock that he didn’t even notice the match getting low, burning his hand. As he relit another, he glanced down at the matchbox again. He studied the box a little harder this time, and smiled to himself. “Thanks again, Leo.” Duke stuffed the package back into the crate and made his way back up the ladder. It was time for him to find his friend in the white suit.

  Duke followed the music of Louis Prima to the lounge. When he walked in, he was surprised to see the actual Louis Prima on stage performing, and just shook his head and laughed to himself. Prima was belting out his hit ‘That’s Where the South Begins’ as the after-dinner guests nodded their heads to the tunes. The lounge wasn’t huge, but it resembled a smaller cocktail club you might find in uptown New York. There were small round cocktail tables where the majority of the couples sat.

  Duke focused his attention to the bar, where there was an older gentleman with a bad comb-over, and a person he had become very familiar with over the past few days. Carbone was facing the bar and sipping on a dark rum as Duke approached from the rear. He seemed to be in a relaxed state, with his white jacket draped on the barstool and his sleeves rolled up, and he was leaning against the bar staring down at his drink. He looked to be deep in thought as Duke approached his barstool.

  “Old Taylor Old Fashioned.”

  A smile crept over Carbone as he continued to stare at his glass. “We missed you at dinner.”

  “I was busy taking in the sights. I usually drink my dinner anyway,” Duke said as he faced the band and leaned against the bar next to Carbone. “Louis Prima, unbelievable.”

  “I guess a scene like this would be a little overwhelming for a guy like you,” Carbone said as he took a sip.

  “What can I say, I’m a simple guy.”

  “It shows.”

  “This, coming from Bertucci’s lap dog. You’re just another trigger man with a fancier gun.” Duke turned back around toward the bar as his drink arrived. He glanced down at a menu of the spirits they served on board. He picked up the menu with one hand and reached into the inside pocket of his jacket with the other. He threw his pack of smokes on the bar in front of Carbone.

  “Weren’t you dead?” Carbone asked as he grabbed a smoke.

  “About that, Bertucci is going to need to find a new commissioner. His old one has been permanently put on ice. Impressed you guys made it so high up the totem pole,” Duke said as he slid the menu to the bartender. “You can put that behind the bar, I’m all set.”

  Carbone laughed as he finished his rum. “From what it sounds like, we need to find a new lead detective too.”

  The battle of wits Duke was enjoying changed dramatically with that jab. “You guys ruined a lot of lives with your little enterprise. I’m here to give those folks the payback they deserve.”

  “Look around you, Dempsey. Look at your city. Who wants payback? You think your little southern city became the busiest port on the east coast by itself?”

  “A lot of people want payback, my friend. I know a wife and child who lost a husband and father and that’s just for starters,” Duke said as he gave a nod to the bartender after sipping his drink. “Swanson wasn’t about to play ball and you killed him for it.”

  Carbone looked over at Duke and laughed. “You disappoint me, Dempsey. I thought maybe a man was placed on this Earth to finally be my equal. Behind that brash talk, you’re just like everyone else, weak.” Carbone put his jacket on.

  “I guess asking you to hand over the ledger is out of the question at this point?”

  “Why don’t we find a place a little more intimate to discuss the ledger and finish this little game?”

  Duke finished off his drink and slammed the rocks glass down on the bar. “Damn fine idea. Now if you don’t mind, keep your hands away from your pockets where I can see them.”

  Carbone looked down and saw Duke’s hand inside his side jacket pocket with what appeared to be a gun bulge pointed at him. “You going to shoot me in front of all these people?”

  “I’d rather not put a hole in my favorite tux, but it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

  Chapter 29 – Bon Voyage

  Duke directed Carbone out of the lounge as nonchalantly as possible. Both men kept a calm demeanor as they passed by the other patrons. Duke guided Carbone through the passageway and up the stairs toward the fantail. A deckhand was finishing up a ci
garette as the two made their way out the watertight door.

  “Why don’t you take that break somewhere else?” Carbone said.

  The young deckhand flicked what was left of his smoke over the side and mumbled something as he went below deck. Carbone continued to walk to the railing, slowly turned to face his captor, and raised his hands in jest.

  “Why don’t you put that pretty pistol at your feet and kick it toward me?”

  Carbone intently looked at Duke, thinking about his next move. The distance between the two was too far to make any kind of move toward Dempsey. He reached into his coat and pulled out a white handkerchief. He then grabbed his gun and wrapped it with the white cloth. He bent down, gently placed it on the deck, and nudged it toward Duke. “You’re going to shoot me right here?”

  Duke took his hand out of his coat pocket and to the surprise of Carbone, it was only a matchbox. He reached into his inside pocket and grabbed another smoke. “Nah, I’m not going to shoot you. I just need you to clear a few things up for me before I bring you in.”

  Carbone couldn’t help but to be once again amused at the brashness Dempsey showed. He was well versed in finding the weaknesses of his opponents and using them to his advantage. The slick private eye was no different than the many he’d faced before, and his overconfidence in his mental prowess would certainly be the cause of his inevitable demise. Billy laughed to himself, knowing that Dempsey thought he had the upper hand. Physically he was no match and whatever advantage Duke thought he had mentally, Carbone knew differently. He thought he’d entertain the super sleuth for the time being to see what Duke knew. “Ok. I’ll play along,” the gangster said as he leaned against the rail.

  “You know who I am, but I don’t know who you are.”

  Carbone thought about the question. He was a professional and hadn’t gotten to where he was by divulging information about himself to his enemies. The only people who knew of Carbone were the ones in his inner circle. He thought about the current situation and knew whatever information he gave up was not leaving the boat. “Billy. Billy Carbone.”

  “So how long have the people pulling your strings had their hooks in my town, Billy?”

  “Your town? Sorry to pop your balloon, but the Holy City was never your town. If it wasn’t for us, your town would still be slinging cotton.”

  “Capone made a deal with some city fat cats? Cash for illegal hooch to be shipped around the East Coast?”

  “Capone? Come on Dempsey, stop thinking so small. You think bootlegging built this town? If Capone was in charge, you think they’d have even let you sniff Hell Hole Swamp? I know that was your claim to fame when you were a blue boy, but think of that little bust as a peace offering. Everyone knew Prohibition was coming to an end, so we threw you boys a bone.”

  “If not Capone, then whose was pulling the strings? Benny Bertucci?”

  Carbone shifted on the rail and smiled at Duke. “That’s the million-dollar question now, isn’t it? You know a lot of people had their knickers in bunch knowing you were on the hunt, but I must say, I’m thoroughly disappointed.”

  Duke studied Carbone’s eyes as he took another drag. “Speaking of a million dollars, what’s with your cargo? All that cash headed to Havana?”

  “Touché. Guess you’re not just all one-liners. That money is in my custody and it will make it to its final destination, wherever that may be.”

  “Casino Noche ring any bells, Billy?”

  “Well, well. Aren’t we full of surprises? Now, which little birdie told you about that?”

  “Just call it a loose end you thought you cleaned up,” Duke said as he threw his box of matches at Carbone.

  Carbone pulled out a smoke of his own, lit a match illuminating the box, and laughed. He heard a loud horn blow in the distance as he stared down at the black box with ‘Casino Noche’ written in gold and red lettering. “Leo. The kid was all mouth and it needed to be shut for good.”

  “Not that it matters now, but the kid never spilled the beans. Just good old detective work. You see, it just all came together when I was down below and saw your crates headed for Hotel Sevilla. Word on the street is you guys are building a nice little gambling syndicate down there. As I figure it, you take all this illegal money down to Havana, run it through your little casino, and ship it back. It’s a hell of laundry job,” Duke said as he flicked what was left of his cigarette on the deck of the ship.

  “It’s a nice theory, but your missing one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Proof! Without the ledger you’ve got nothing,” Carbone said.

  “Well you got me there. Without the ledger I would have nothing,” Duke said as he pulled out his .38 Special. “You my friend, are under arrest.”

  “You still don’t get it, Dempsey. Look around you. You’re the one on a floating prison. Who do you think owns this boat, the captain, and the crew? So why don’t you put that gun down and enjoy your ride to Cuba? I’ll make sure they keep the bar in your cabin stocked.”

  “So everybody is on Bertucci’s payroll? Even the wait staff and my trusty mate Niles?”

  “Well, the wait staff may not know who cuts the check, but the people that count sure do,” Carbone said as he smirked and started to bend down and reach for his gun.

  “Not so fast, smart guy. During this little discussion, you might not have recognized the land on your left. We’re headed north, not south, and the only place we are going is back to Charleston,” Duke said he cocked his gun.

  Carbone was instantly shaken as he looked around. “What the hell is going on?”

  “That foghorn you keep hearing would be my friends on the Coast Guard Cutter Yamacraw. The name might ring a bell to you, because it’s the same boat that gave me a ride to bust that peace offering you boys handed out.” Duke nodded in the direction to the starboard beam, and there, about 100 yards in the light mist, was a vessel shadowing the Shemara.

  Billy Carbone stared in amazement at the Coast Guard vessel alongside the ship. “But how?”

  “A little favor I called into an old friend. I had no idea they’d be taking in such a huge prize but I’m sure the boys on board will make room for some new medals.”

  A thousand thoughts raced through Carbone’s head. How could he have let his guard down and gotten fooled into such a trap? How had he let Dempsey get the better of him? He needed to think fast, and had one last card up his sleeve. Bertucci had given him clear instructions that the ledger could not fall into the hands of the law under any circumstance, and that meant to destroy it as a last resort. They could work out the numbers later, but now was survival. He grabbed for inside jacket pocket and pulled the book out. “Not so fast, Dempsey.”

  “What’ve you got there?” Duke joked.

  Carbone hung the book over the rail above the huge screws of the ship that churned the ocean below. “Without this, you’ve got nothing, Dempsey. Say goodbye to your proof.”

  “Proof? I’m not a cop anymore, but I’m pretty sure the court could less about what Shoeless Joe Jackson batted in 1917. It’s all over, Carbone, for you and your boss.”

  Carbone looked at the book closer and once again was shocked to see it wasn’t the ledger. He had no idea how this book had ended up in his jacket. He’d purposely kept the ledger there the entire time and never come close enough to Dempsey for him to switch it. He couldn’t say anything, but just looked dumbfounded as he sat there holding a copy of ‘The 1917 Sox’ in his hand.

  “Let’s have a drink while we take you in.” Duke motioned to the watertight door, hoping Carbone would take the easy road.

  The reality had set in that he’d been outsmarted by the sleuth. Billy took a deep breath and calmed himself, not letting his anger take over. It was one of the many tactics he’d learned while training in the Far East. Anger only bred foolish decisions based on emotion, and the only way to survive the situation was to think clearly. “I don’t know how you did it, but you did it. You got the better of
me, Dempsey. Why don’t you tell me all about it over that drink?” Carbone finally said as he motioned that he was going to head to the door.

  Duke was weary of Carbone and kept his girl pointed at his target with his finger on the trigger. “Slowly.” Duke sidestepped to let Carbone walk past him, keeping a far enough distance so the gangster couldn’t make a similar move to the one he’d made at City Hall.

  As Carbone walked past Duke, he immediately fell to one knee, and simultaneously threw a perfect strike with the book at Duke’s gun, like he was throwing a Chinese star. It was hurled with such force that Duke lost his grip on the weapon, and the gun and book clattered to the deck of the ship. A split second later, Carbone rolled toward his gun that lay wrapped in the handkerchief.

  Duke saw Carbone’s move and dove at the hitman as he rolled, throwing them both across the deck of the ship. Duke found himself on top as they came to an abrupt halt against the port side railing. He felt Carbone’s face in the darkness and threw a hard right hand that landed between the man’s eyes. The hitman’s head slammed into the deck of the ship as Duke threw another hard right just below the first, completely breaking Carbone’s nose and sending blood flying all over both men.

  Billy was instantly concussed from his head slamming into the deck and his vision was blurry from the broken nose. He was desperate, but calm despite his predicament. He could vaguely see Duke drawing his fist back to make a third hit. At that moment, adrenaline took over and Carbone’s training came to the forefront. He instantly jabbed his thumb underneath Duke’s armpit on a pressure point. It was a tactic he’d used on a few occasions, usually to play with his prey. This was the first time he’d needed to apply the maneuver for pure survival.

  It worked. Duke instantly froze with pain as his right arm went completely numb. Carbone ripped Duke’s arm to the side, throwing him off and toward the back of the railing of the ship. Carbone then did a kip-up, instantly taking him from a prone position to a standing one.