“The fever broke?”
“Belle said he was doing much better.” This assertion had a tinny ring. “Danny’s teaching me to clog. I’ll be another Mike Rooney soon.”
“Listen, Faye. I gave that Mrs. Darling your message like you asked me… .”
“Isn’t she a sweetheart?”
“I went up to her place to look around.”
“H’mm,” she responded, twirling back to her mirror.
“You can’t keep leaving Leon there. It stinks to high heaven. You’ve got to get someplace else.”
“Oh, you’re just not used to all those diapers,” she said blithely. “Mrs. Darling is a treasure. Besides, it’s too late. Where can I find somebody else on such short notice?”
“You could ask Belle. She probably knows a decent setup.”
“It’s too late! Don’t you get it? We’re going on the road!”
He had to lay it on the line. He had no choice. “Sorry, that’s not acceptable. You’re putting the kid in jeopardy, leaving him in that pigsty.”
Indignant, Faye leaped to her feet. “Who appointed you Jesus H. Christ? I don’t see you knocking yourself out for him. You show up out of the blue and go kootchie-kootchie once in a while. You don’t know what I go through!”
She had him back on his heels, but his temper flared too. “Okay, let’s get it out in the open. Is it my fault you went and had a kid by some Champagne Charlie who won’t cough up a nickel? And who is the sonofabitch, while we’re at it? Why’re you still protecting him?”
He regretted the words the moment they flew from his lips, but Faye didn’t give an inch. “That’s my own damn business! Where do you get off, coming from on high like that? You’re drinking yourself to death, and then you come in here and get up on your hind legs with the sermons.”
How the hell did she know how much he put away? Anyway, Biddle and the rest of the reporters could drink him under the table. He mustered up his dignity and shot back. “What re you talking about? I take care of myself fine and dandy.”
“Danny says you need the hair of the dog every morning. How is that going to help you get ahead? You’re getting a little long in the tooth to be a space-rater, you know.” Faye was going for the jugular too, and she knew where his was located. Keith had waved his wand and made her big-time—and all of a sudden she was lording it over him.
“You get my goat,” he fired back with all the fury of a man who knows he’s been exposed. “Danny? He’s got a hollow leg, for crissakes. Liquid lunch every day. And who’re you to talk, with that botde of Mrs. Winslow’s Soothing Syrup in your drawer?”
She gave him a haughty look. “When you get the female problems, come and cry on my shoulder.”
“Let me ask you something. Do you ever even look at my articles? I gave Danny all those clips for you. Do you know how many stories I’ve gotten into the paper the last few months?” As he mounted his defense, he couldn’t help thinking about his series, suffocating under reams of copy on Parnell’s desk. Who was he kidding? She was the one on the way up. He was flailing around in the same damn puddle.
“I looked at them … you know I don’t have time to read… .” For the first time, she sounded defensive.
“Don’t lie. You never read a word, did you? You’re the center of the universe and that’s that, right?”
“So you want to play the hero? You’re making promises? So help.”
What was he supposed to say? He couldn’t back out now, but taking care of the kid was the last thing he wanted. Faye was no pushover. She’d twisted his argument around to suit her own purposes. She had a point too, and if he tried to wriggle out of his responsibility now, after shooting his mouth off, he’d look like the world’s biggest heel.
He’d have to track down Belle, or he was cooked. What did he know about taking care of a sick kid? “Damn right I will. But don’t get on that train ‘til it’s settled, either.”
“How am I supposed to feed him if I don’t work? You tell me that.”
His best bet was to change the subject. And then he remembered Gretta’s snapshot. What had that been all about? “Hey, I almost forgot. I wanted to show you something;—”
“Take it back!” she burst out. “Take it all back!” Suddenly she was crying, her chubby shoulders quaking, rouge smearing her cheeks. Faye could fake a good cry at will, but these sobs, deep and gasping, were wrenched up from the depths. He knew the difference, and now he felt lousy. Why had he started up in the first place? To make himself feel high and mighty?
“What’d I say?”
She wiped her face with the back of her hand, smearing tears into her rouge and powder. “I don’t know who his father is. How’s that? Feel better? Wanna know the rest?”
She knew what she was doing. About this subject, he preferred knowing less than nothing. “Hey, like you said. It’s your own business.”
“Take it back then.”
What was the point? He had to work things out with her, no matter what. Fayefaye. She was his flesh and blood. She lived under his skin. “Yeah, hey, Faye. Kiddo, I take it back. I shouldn’t’ve opened my big mouth.”
Mercurial, she plopped down on his lap and nuzzled his neck. She really had packed on a few fresh pounds. “I’m sorry, Maxie. Friends?”
“Sure. Who else have I got?”
“Will you really help with him while I’m gone?”
“Leon? Sure, sure. Don’t worry.” He groped in his pocket for Gretta’s picture. “Listen, it almost slipped my mind. What about this?”
With thumb and forefinger, he dangled the snapshot before her eyes.
“Oh, God, I look awful. Don’t show this to a soul!”
“I’m only showing it to you. Who’s the old biddy you’re talking to?”
“Oh, she’s the one who collects the rent.”
“Rent?” he asked sharply. “From who?”
“From Mrs. Darling’s building. A few more on Sullivan, I think.”
“What’d she want from you?”
“She buys the insurance. I don’t know why she asked me. Maybe Mrs. Darling told her.”
He was sure she’d gotten it backwards. “You mean she sells insurance?”
“No, no. She buys it back.”
He could feel all the blood draining from his face. The shape of the thing rushed into focus, but he had to turn away. This was it. The way to make a killing on the most worthless thing in the world. He had to be wrong.
“What’s the matter? You look funny.”
“Do you know her name?”
“Mrs. Something-or-other. What’s the big deal?”
“Mrs. Edwards?”
“H’mm … yeah, sure, that’s it. Edwards.”
Dread bred an ethereal calm. Logic was a form of serenity. “Martin sold you insurance on Leon?”
“Martin? Of course. Everybody buys it now. It’s only ten cents a week.”
Mourtone was selling, and the Midnight Band was buying back. It was a nasty joke, the one-liner Martin had been dying to tell. Max asked his questions without inflection. “And what does the policy pay?”
“Are you all right? I’ve got some gin.”
“C’mon, Faye. Don’t play dumb.”
“Don’t start up again. It’s something like fifty, sixty dollars. If … something happens, it covers the costs. Do you know what they do otherwise? They throw him away in the Potter’s Field, that’s what. Like a dead chicken. I could get caught short, and then what would … ? I know three other girls who bought from him, too.”
“And how much did the Edwards woman offer?
“Oh, I wasn’t listening, something ridiculous. Ten dollars. Why would I sell it to her anyway? It didn’t make any sense.”
Step by step, the logic was inexorable. The desperate women turned to the Mrs. Darlings of the world, who were only a shade less desperate themselves. When the money ran out, acts of mercy were the only solution.
“Perfect sense to a goo-goo, Faye.”
“I think you
’ve got a screw loose,” Faye said. “What the hell’re you raving about?”
“Never mind. Did Belle go to work? Is she coming back here?”
“Leon’s better, I told you. She didn’t even have a change of clothes when she stayed over.” She looked at him as if to say: Belle loves me. What about you?
“What’d you tell her? I’m the devil’s right-hand man?”
“Why should I do that? You need somebody steady for once. You think you can run around forever?” There it was again. Faye, the voice of reason. The worst part was, she had a point.
“What does she say about me?”
“Let me see if I can get the exact words… .” She closed her eyes, pretending to dredge up the forgotten phrase. “She said ‘He’s got possibilities.'”
“That’s it? ‘Possibilities?'”
“Oh, shut up. She likes you, maybe she’s crazy about you, I can’t figure out why, but let me tell you something, Don Giovanni. You’ve got plenty of competition.”
“Competition? Who? She’s got a boyfriend on the side?”
“You don’t get it, do you?”
“C’mon, Faye, don’t play games.”
“You’re the one on the side, dummy.”
He was thunderstruck. The way she came to him that night … that sweet obliteration … he took it for granted that he could have her whenever he wanted. How could Belle, Miss Idealism, be so underhanded? Was she taking some other blind fool for a ride too? Dimly he recalled his clinches with Gretta, but he still felt betrayed. One thing had nothing to do with the other, did it?
“Who is it?”
“What’s the difference? Some spieler from the cafe. More of her own type.”
“So why’s she my big friend?”
“She likes you, Maxie. She’s just afraid.”
“Afraid of what?”
Faye covered his hand with her own. “She’s worried you’re going to pieces.”
Somehow Faye had turned the world upside down. Wasn’t she the one who was veering all over the lot? The one with the nameless boyfriends and the fatherless kid, the one who never knew where her next meal ticket was coming from? Wasn’t it his job to keep her on the straight-and-narrow? He was solid as the Rock of Gibraltar. Didn’t she know that?
How could he ask Belle for help now? He needed her to talk to Mrs. Darling, to find a place for Leon, but how could he look at her with a straight face any more? He couldn’t sort out the complications. A tree of pain was pulsing in his brain. “Where’d she get … no, never mind. I never felt better. You tell her that.”
chapter thirty-six
Howe and Hummel were open all night. Electric lights blared on their huge sign and over their simple doorway. A half dozen fine carriages were lined up at the curb. What were they doing there so late? A tail-docked stallion stamped the stones. In sympathy, a chestnut pounded his hooves, iron shoes echoing down the deserted street. Nearby, a gleaming victoria rocked in place.
Evidently the lawyers, concerned for their clients’ reputations, conducted their more discreet business under cover of darkness.
Inside, in the stark waiting room, a man in evening dress sat stiffly on the edge of a bench. His long, pale face held a stoic expression, but the red wen on his nose had an angry look. Another client, whose peeled face reminded Max of a colicky baby’s, sported pomaded hair and striped bankers’ trousers. A third, whose senile aspect argued against erotic adventures, played with his tie. Next to him yawned a fork who picked pockets on the east side trains. Jackie Connors. Max had seen him arraigned three times.
Kicking his feet, a boy of about eleven sat on a stool smoking a cigar. His face tugged at Max’s memory. Then it came to him: Mrs. Edwards’s “son,” the one who had bawled with so much conviction at her trial. Was the kid a member of Howe and Hummel’s “stock company"? He almost laughed out loud.
Max had barely taken his seat when several exotic dancers bustled in. Their scant costumes suggested unspeakable Egyptian delights. The dwarfish Hummel raced out to greet the performers, who stood two heads taller than the diminutive lawyer.
“Abie, they locked up the Central Palace!”
“Ain’t nowhere we can do our act!”
Raising his palms, Hummel tried to soothe them. “Zora, calm down.”
A second dancer, whose accent was more Canarsie than Cairo, let loose her outrage. “Those preaching ponces! Dr. Prickhurst! Comesuck!”
In the uproar, the fork slipped his hand into his more elevated neighbor’s pocket. Expressionless, he rapidly redistributed some wealth. Max kept a straight face, knowing that pickpockets had a fondness for razors.
Zora remained indignant. “Comesuck, I call him. He’s probably ballin’ off some bitch at Billy McGlory’s when nobody’s lookin.”
To keep the peace, Hummel led the Oriental artistes into his office for a private conference.
One client after another walked the plank. The longer Max sat on the hard bench, the more distraught he became. For one thing, he had no idea what cards the lawyers were holding. He wasn’t in the habit of promising chorus girls holy matrimony, though he knew his innocence was of little use. The sums Howe and Hummel usually extorted, five to ten thousand dollars, were beyond comprehension. What did they want, half his column-inches every week? He’d starve.
Long after midnight, Hummel summoned Max to his inner sanctum. A tight smile on his lipless mouth, he was all nasal apologies. “A most unfortunate situation. We did our best to protect you from this sort of thing; but, as I always counsel, if a man stays close to the home fires, he’ll never get in trouble.”
“There’s probably some mixup.”
Hummel frowned and shook his head. “I wish that were the case, Mr. Greengrass. But, you see, we look into these matters with extreme care. If I may say so, sometimes we squander our resources looking for a way out before we bow to the inevitable. But when a woman is determined to bring suit, we must accede to her wishes. Mind you, most of them have been wronged.”
Max took a deep breath and launched into his prepared argument. “You know I don’t have a dime. I had my entire savings in the Madison Square Bank that just went belly-up. You’d just be flogging a pauper. Why waste your time?”
The bloodless smile disappeared from Hummel’s lips. “George! Send Linda Lee in.”
A door on the far side of the office flew open. On the gallant arm of Hummel’s assistant, Linda Lee tiptoed in. A young woman with lustrous blonde hair, she fixed him in a limpid gaze. Her pale blue eyes tugged at his memory. In a white platter collar and jacket, and a long skirt that brushed against her boottops, she was the picture of respectability. Pressed to her chest, like a shield, she held a soft round hat.
Shrewdly, Hummel kept Linda Lee in a soft light. Even then, on second glance Max made out a spray of pox on her cheek. She was older than he had first thought.
“Do you recall what you promised this unfortunate girl?” Hummel intoned.
“I don’t recognize her.”
“You may recognize her child in about eight months. Isn’t that right, Linda?”
Shifting her feet, the young woman nodded, the small gesture jogging his memory. The blonde girl from Mrs. Jabonne’s. She had been light as a bird when he held her up against the wall. Light and willing. He had prepared himself for Hummel’s manipulations, but not for the shame and sadness that swept through him. Standing there in Hummel’s office, Linda Lee looked nothing like Nora, but it didn’t matter. He remembered the way his heart stopped when he first saw her, the way she looked down and away from him, the way she shrugged her small shoulders, and the blue glow of her impossibly white skin. The briefest illusion of his first love had been enough.
A queasy sweat broke out under his arms. His shirt stuck to his back in moist moons. He had to cough to find his voice. “This woman is a professional. You can’t possibly attach her to me.”
“So you recognize her!”
He steeled himself to look straight into Hummel’s
eyes. “I didn’t say that.”
“First you seduced her, and she ended up at a certain establishment where you continued to take your pleasure. If you drove her into the life, all the more reason you ought to compensate my client.”
“How can you prove it?” Once the words escaped his lips he knew how feeble they sounded. He was talking to a man who had mastered the badger game before he was born. Half the sportsmen in the city were praying they wouldn’t find a Howe and Hummel subpoena in their soup.
“You can go, Linda,” Hummel said, waving his hand in a paternal way. “Minnie?”
Her cape gathered around her ample girth, Mrs. Jabonne ambled in. She set herself squarely in Max’s face, fingered her diamond choker, and shrugged. “Yeah, that’s him. He was after that poor girl like nobody’s business. Wouldn’t leave the little thing alone.”
“That’s a damn lie.”
Mrs. Jabonne looked him up and down in wonder. “So?”
“Thanks, Minnie. George has something nice for you.” After the madame waddled out, Hummel said, “Cigar?”
Mechanically, Max accepted. The lawyer hopped over to give him a light. “Connecticut tobacco. There’s nothing like it.” Then he hoisted his tiny body up on his desk and clicked his narrow shoes together. “I’m sure you find this business unpleasant. Believe me, I’d rather be protecting an actor with an airtight contract than mucking around in these affairs. The producers are savages, you know. Slavin is excellent in The Merry Wives, by the way. Have you seen it?”
“You don’t understand. I have absolutely nothing. What can you get out of this?”
“Usually ten thousand. In your case, I could prevail on Linda’s better nature. Maybe we can cut it to five.”
“You don’t seem to understand. I don’t—”
Rummaging around in a cabinet, Hummel plucked out a musty botde. “Ahh, this is the one. Brandy?”
Dumbly, he accepted the burning liquor. Every appeal to logic, every argument in favor of Hummel’s self-interest, fell apart before he could form the words. Every maneuver he dreamed up led to a brick wall. So often he had talked his way out of bad spots in card games and newsrooms. So often he had fought off his debts. Now his imagination simply froze up. It was like having a ball of ice for a brain.
The Midnight Band of Mercy Page 35