The Yankee Club

by Michael Murphy

  “Won’t you stay for lunch?” Reggie asked. “I’m sure Mr. Dalrymple will be back soon.”

  I gestured toward the door. “Sorry. I have to run to a bank.”

  “Very well, sir. I’ll get your hat.”

  Laura and I followed him inside. The butler retrieved my fedora and handed it to me with a flicker of superiority.

  “Thanks, Ronald.”

  “That’s Reggie, sir.”

  “Why can’t I remember your name?” I snapped my fingers. “You remind me of the actor, Ronald Colman. Dashing, sophisticated.”

  “Never heard of him. Will that be all?”

  I winked at Reggie. “Give Mr. Dalrymple my best.”

  “I certainly will. Good day, sir, Miss Wilson.”

  Outside Laura and I hurried to the car and climbed inside. She giggled. “That was some performance back there.”

  “Maybe I should’ve been an actor.”

  “I’d stick to writing if I were you.”

  I drove us toward the front gate. We both waved to the guard as I sped past the gate, kicking up gravel on the path. “Tell me about this banker with a conscience.”

  “Averill Cornwell. Hard to picture him as a man of conscience. More likely he didn’t go along with the others because he’s a coward.”

  “How well do you know him?”

  A smile flickered across her face. “Well enough for him to make a pass at me.”

  I turned onto the highway back to the city. “Don’t expect me to be nice to him.”

  “I’m hoping you’ll be downright rude.”

  I hoped Laura’s strategy of dropping in unannounced to meet with Averill Cornwell would be as successful as our trip to the Dalrymple mansion. “I suppose we’re just going to march in there with no appointment and ask to see the owner of one of the nation’s largest banks.”

  At a traffic light, Laura checked her look in a mirror and fluffed her hair. “Averill fancies himself a ladies’ man. At a party two months ago he got me alone and … groped me.”

  Bastard. “Where did he grope you?”

  She grinned. “Right in the middle of the front lawn.”

  “I’m not comfortable using your sex appeal against the Golden Legion.”

  “What do you think I’ve been doing these past months, darling?”

  “I don’t have to like it.”

  At the Chrysler Building, we stepped from the Model A and gazed up at the seventy-seven-story building, the tallest in the city until the Empire State Building opened. The elevator took us to Cornwell’s bank’s corporate headquarters on the fortieth floor.

  We stepped off the elevator and approached a pretty young secretary at the reception desk. The redhead in a low-neck sweater spoke on a phone propped between her neck and shoulder as she finished painting her nails with purple polish. She hung up and blew them dry. “May I help you?”

  “Laura Wilson to see Mr. Cornwell,” Laura said politely.

  The secretary glanced over her shoulder at the closed door of a corner office. “I’m sorry Aver … Mr. Cornwell will be in meetings the rest of the day.” She ran her manicured nail down a calendar beside her phone. “If you could come back tomorrow—”

  “Pardon me.” Laura’s red face made me realize she could get her way with men far easier than she could with women. “Mr. Cornwell and I are friends.”

  Without a hint of respect, she gave Laura the once-over. “I’m sure you are.” She thumbed toward the closed door. “Meetings. Tomorrow would be much better.”

  Laura took a deep breath and flashed her friendliest smile. “I’m Laura Wilson, the actress.”

  The secretary smiled. “Yes, I know. You were wonderful in Night Whispers and last year in The Scarlet Letter. What was it like being naked onstage?”

  What?

  Laura blushed. “I … I wasn’t naked. I was in a tub onstage. It only looked that way.”

  I ignored the image of a scantily clad Laura in front of hundreds of onlookers. With Laura struggling to get into character, I took on the persona of Blackie Doyle. I winked at the secretary. “Only a great actress can pull that off. No pun intended.”

  The secretary laughed until she snorted.

  Laura ignored my interaction with the young woman. “We prefer to wait. If you’d just let Mr. Cornwell know—”

  “He made it very clear. No interruptions, but if you’d like to wait …” She nodded toward a couch along the far wall. “We have some wonderful magazines. May I get you some coffee?”

  “No, thank you.” Laura stormed toward the couch and sat down in a huff while I remained with the secretary.

  She was even younger than Dorothy Greenwoody, but if Laura could use her sex appeal for the cause, I’d give it a shot. “I’m sorry about Miss Wilson. Theater people are so high strung, don’t you think.”

  “Are you an actor?”

  “I’d make a terrible actor. What you see is what you get.”

  “Is that right?” She twirled a curl with her finger. “What do you do?”

  She didn’t look like she’d be impressed by a writer. “I go to parties. Some I host aboard my yacht in Florida.”

  She leaned forward, flashing more cleavage. “You have a yacht?”

  “Two, but then who’s counting?” The Tess Trueheart was a small fishing boat my senior poker buddies loved.

  She laughed again as Laura peered at us over the top of a magazine. “Are you and Miss Wilson …”

  “She’s engaged.”

  She lowered her voice. “That doesn’t really answer the question, does it?”

  “We’re old friends.” I liked Blackie Doyle even more now that I’d become him. My eyes swept over the pretty woman’s outfit. “If you don’t mind me saying so, that sweater is the prettiest thing I’ve seen all day.”

  Her blush spread from her chin to the dark roots of her red hair.

  I glanced at her nameplate next to her phone. “Miss Morehead—”

  “Honey.” Her eyes danced. “Honey Morehead.”

  I lowered my voice so only the two of us could hear. “I don’t suppose you ever get down to Florida.”

  “I’ve always wanted to.” She flashed a less than innocent smile. “How long will you be in the city?”

  “Until I wear out my welcome at the Carlyle.” I glanced at Laura over my shoulder. She looked irritated at my tactics to get us in to see Cornwell. “If I join Miss Wilson on the couch, it’s going to be a long afternoon.”

  She craned her neck and glanced at Laura. “I suspect so.”

  “Perhaps if you buzz Mr. Cornwell. We only need a moment with him.”

  “What part of Florida?” She was definitely flirting with me.

  I winked. “Why, the fun part, of course.”

  She hesitated a moment then bit her lip before pressing a red button on a box beside her phone. “Mr. Cornwell, Laura Wilson and …”

  “Blackie Doyle.”

  “Blackie Doyle are here …”

  The office door flew open and a stumpy, toadlike man with a dark mustache slipped into a suit coat. This guy groped Laura?

  He ignored me and glanced around the room until he saw Laura holding a magazine. He glared at his secretary, rushed past me, and grabbed Laura’s hand as she rose from the couch. “Miss Wilson, what a wonderful surprise.”

  She kissed him on the cheek. “Friends like you call me Laura.”

  Three irritated-looking men in three-piece suits poured from the office. When Cornwell gestured to the open door, I saluted the secretary with the tip of my cane. “Thanks, Honey.”

  Laura glared at me.

  “It’s her name,” I whispered as we stepped inside the spacious office.

  Cornwell shut the door and showed us to chairs facing his massive oak desk with a breathtaking sight of Manhattan.

  While I abandoned my Blackie role, Laura continued her acting. “I missed seeing you at the cast party, Saturday.”

  “Cast party?” The man wrinkled his brow. �
��Guess I wasn’t invited.”

  “Oh well, as producer, Spencer is in charge of those things.”

  I put an end to the acting. “You apparently weren’t invited to the hunting lodge either.”

  He gave me the once-over. “And you are.”

  “A detective.”

  Laura continued to be the charmer. “He’s Jake Donovan, writer and former detective.”

  Cornwell ran a stubby finger around the inside of his collar. “I have business to attend to here.”

  Averill Cornwell might hold the future of the country in his soft doughy hands. Turning his allegiance away from the banking community would take a combination of intimidation and Laura’s charm.

  She reached across the desk and patted his hand. “Averill, we know.”

  “Not just us,” I added.

  He twisted the end of his mustache until I thought it might fall off. “Know what?”

  I smacked my cane on the desk. “The Golden Legion’s plan to replace Roosevelt with a man on a white horse.”

  His face drained of color. “I … I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Sure you do. We’re here to offer you a deal.” We had no authority to cut a deal, but I had to start somewhere.

  Beads of perspiration dotted his forehead. “Laura …” His appeal trailed off.

  I walked to the window and gazed over the city I thought I’d left for good. “It must be wonderful thinking you’re on top of the world. It’s a long way down to a federal jail cell. We have proof linking every member of the Golden Legion to treason.” We didn’t.

  “Not … not me.” Cornwell wiped his brow with a handkerchief.

  I crossed my arms in front of my chest. “You’re part of a group of influential bankers who think they run this country. You and your coconspirators at the Golden Legion oppose Roosevelt and his policies, particularly removing the country from the gold standard—”

  “Of course we do, but that doesn’t make us—”

  I smacked both hands on his desk. “It makes you traitors. The Golden Legion financed a troubled unemployed bricklayer, Giuseppe Zangara, to kill the president.”

  “I knew nothing about that until—”

  “After Zangara’s attempt failed, you saw to it he’d be subject to swift justice. He was executed before he could talk.”

  Cornwell tapped his fist against his chin. “This sounds like a plot from a mystery novel, Mr. Donovan.”

  “Oh, it’s real all right. Now Roosevelt’s president. He’s done what you feared. You can’t kill him now, so you’re going to do what other scumbags like you did in Italy a decade ago and Germany earlier this year. You’re going to get rid of a leader the people elected and replace him with a fascist dictator.”

  “You’re … you’re mad.”

  “Damn right I’m mad. I’m furious. You arrogant fools know the country wouldn’t go for someone like Mussolini or Hitler. You need someone who’ll ride into Washington on a white horse and appeal to the masses who think Roosevelt’s either gone too far or not far enough.”

  “And … who is this man—”

  “Oliver Greenwoody.”

  Cornwell sank back into his chair.

  I sat beside Laura who took up the narration in a far gentler manner. “We also know you were the only one in the Golden Legion who wouldn’t go along with Spencer Dalrymple’s plan. You weren’t there when they planned the assassination in February, and you’re not at the hunting lodge where they’re putting the final touches on the plan to take over the government.”

  I banged my hand on the desk. “But you’re an accessory after the fact. That should get you twenty years.” I pulled a pen from a holder on his desk and tossed it in front of him.

  He stared at the pen. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Names, dates, times. A full confession.”

  Laura touched his hand. “It’s the only thing that will keep you out of prison, Averill.”

  “It’ll make you a hero to the nation. Your bank will make millions on the publicity alone.”

  He stared at the pen a moment, while no one spoke, then reached into his drawer and pulled out a stack of writing paper. With a trembling hand, he began to write.

  I sat and tried not to show my elation and sense of victory to the man as he completed a document no one could ignore. The confession would bring down the nation’s most powerful bankers, including Spencer Dalrymple III. Laura and I’d soon get our lives back.

  By the time Averill Cornwell finished the first page, a box buzzed on his desk. It buzzed a second time. “Mr. Cornwell, there’s someone to see you.”

  His trembling hand touched the red button on the box. “I’m busy, Miss Morehead.”

  The door flew open. Inspector Stone burst into the room sucking in gulps of air.

  What was he doing here? Had he followed us? “You’re just in time, Inspector.”

  Stone caught his breath. “Unfortunately for you and Miss Wilson, I am.” He reached inside his jacket, pulled out a pistol, and aimed it at Laura and me. “Let’s go, Donovan.”

  What the hell was going on? Had Dalrymple paid off Stone?

  Laura jumped to her feet. “Jake, what’s happening?” She looked frightened, and this time she wasn’t acting.

  “I’m sorry.” Stone gestured toward the door with the gun. “Really, I am.”

  Laura snatched a letter opener from the desk and threw it at Stone.

  The inspector ducked. The blade stuck in the far wall. He glanced back at the blade then glared at Laura. Red-faced, he raised the gun as if to strike Laura.

  I jumped up and stood between Laura and the angry cop. “What did you expect her to do?”

  “I expect her to go quietly.”

  Trying to figure a way out of this mess, I grabbed my cane and shot Laura an unjustified look of assurance. I followed her to the door and glanced back at Averill Cornwell and what Laura and I had come so close to accomplishing.

  Cornwell picked up his confession. With a flick of a lighter, he lit the end of the paper then set it in a brass ashtray at the corner of the desk. A wisp of smoke curled toward the ceiling. The document proving members of the Golden Legion were traitors curled into gray flakes of ash.

  Chapter 17

  A Good Day for a Swim

  I’d misread people before but never as completely as I misjudged Stone. I sensed Hawkins was dirty that first day in the hospital, but Stone had been a friend of Mickey’s since they joined the force together.

  I clenched both fists to control my frustration and rage over the inspector’s betrayal. Laura appeared unfazed as he led us out of Cornwell’s office, but her confident demeanor was surely an act. A closer glance revealed how frightened she really was. She had reason to be. Stone worked for Dalrymple.

  The inspector gestured toward the elevator with his revolver. We passed the secretary’s empty desk. Honey Morehead stood with her back flat against the far wall, eyes wide, a trembling hand over her mouth.

  Stone stuffed the gun in his shoulder holster. He kept his hand inside the suit coat as he followed us into the elevator and nodded to the operator. “Lobby, please.”

  We rode the elevator in silence to the first floor. Outside Stone tossed me his keys. “You drive.”

  Laura sat in the backseat, appearing strong and confident, while Stone sat beside me with his gun pointed at my head. Before I’d figured out how to use my cane against him, he tossed it on the floorboard in front of him.

  “Where to?” I asked.

  “Just drive.”

  I made eye contact with Laura in the rearview mirror. “I’m sorry about this. I trusted someone who’s untrustworthy.”

  Stone pretended to wipe a tear from his eye. “Careful, you might hurt my feelings.”

  Laura leaned forward and patted my shoulder.

  “Ain’t that touching.” Stone rolled his eyes.

  Maybe I could bargain with him. “I’ll do whatever you want. Just let her go.”

&
nbsp; “I was told to deliver the two of you. Orders weren’t too specific about what condition you’d be in, so pipe down. Let’s shove off.”

  I started Stone’s car. Only Laura’s presence kept me from ramming the car into a light pole so I could wrestle the gun from him. I pulled away from the curb thinking how Stone and Hawkins tried to pin Jimmy Vales’s murder on me. Now it made sense. They didn’t want me snooping into the Golden Legion. “You have any idea what you’ve done?”

  “Don’t really care. I get paid to do a job, not ask questions.” I took heart from Stone’s nervousness. He glanced over his shoulder, appearing worried we might be followed. He ordered me to take several turns and run a couple of red lights. Apparently Dalrymple and his friends didn’t control all the cops in the city.

  We made it to the East River just after noon. Stone directed me to a deserted wharf where a familiar white limousine sent chills up my neck. Parked beside the pier where a commercial fishing boat was moored, Dalrymple’s limo energized my resolve to get Laura and me out of this jam.

  “A fishing boat.” I shut off the car and rolled down the window. The smell of wet garbage drifted off the water. “I love to fish. If you ever make it down to Florida, I’ll take you out on my boat … and use you as bait.”

  A broad-shouldered driver climbed out of the limo. He crossed both arms and nodded.

  “You’re first, Donovan.” Stone gestured with the revolver. “Leave the cane.”

  Damn. I got out and winked at Laura who returned a confident smile. The driver opened the back door of the limo. I climbed inside, looking for something to use as a weapon.

  Dalrymple’s smug face greeted me. “You try anything, my driver will slice Laura’s throat.”

  “So talk.”

  “If it’s any consolation, you’ve complicated my plans since your return to the city.” He smoothed his mustache, his predictable nervous habit.

  “It will go better for you if you turn yourself in.”

  Dalrymple let out a bombastic laugh. “Laura told me you had a terrific sense of humor. If circumstances were different, we might even be friends.”

  “You mean like if you weren’t a traitor plotting to overthrow the government?”