by Ariel Lawhon
“What kind of arrangement?”
Maria tried to control her voice, but the hope leaked through anyway. “You don’t want your baby. And I don’t think I can have one.” She wanted to reach out and touch Ritzi’s stomach but restrained herself.
Ritzi’s laugh was cold and cruel. “There won’t be a baby soon. This is a temporary fix.”
The emotion rushed up Maria’s throat, and she had to swallow the sob that threatened to erupt. “I can take it. Give it a home. That’s not such a bad solution. We both get what we want.”
Ritzi snorted. “You’re a fool if you think it would be that easy.”
Their breath rose in frozen clouds between them, and Maria shifted from foot to foot, growing colder by the minute. “When the show ends next month, take a break. Long enough to have the baby.”
“My next show starts three days after this one wraps. There is no time. And I have no choice.”
“No one is holding a gun to your head.”
She leaned in, a feral look in her eyes. Growled. “Yet.”
“I can pay for it. Everything. Your rent. The medical bills.”
“Have you lost your mind?”
Maria stepped closer, her face so filled with zeal that Ritzi flinched. “Five hundred dollars. Cash. You keep whatever’s left.”
Doubt swept over Ritzi’s face, and Maria struggled to hold her ground. It would have been easy to back down, to give in to the guilt that tugged at her conscience. But she forced herself to stand toe to toe with the showgirl and wait for her answer.
One moment passed, and then two. Just as Ritzi opened her mouth to respond, Maria heard footsteps in the alley. The silhouette of a tall, thin man in a fedora crept closer, but she could not make out the details of his face. As he stepped into the small sphere of light, Maria took a step backward.
“Well now, ain’t this a coincidence,” said George Hall.
RITZI flinched. One side of George Hall’s mouth twisted upward into a grin. There was no mistaking the fact that he remembered her from the park. His eyes flashed away from hers and settled on Crater’s maid. Ritzi expected an immediate dismissal but was surprised to see George’s eyes narrow. When she turned to Maria, she recognized the look of dismay on her face. They know each other.
George slid one hand into his coat pocket in search of a small black notepad. He looked back and forth between them, rubbed his nose with an ink-stained finger, and then flipped open the notebook. He tapped the blank page with his pen. “Fancy seeing the two of you here. Together.”
“George,” Ritzi said.
“You”—he pointed at Maria—“are Joseph Crater’s maid.”
Maria did not respond, simply gripped the trunk handle with one hand and inched back toward the shadows, her glance shifting to the sidewalk and the crowd of people that loitered in front of the theater.
George walked around Ritzi in a wide circle. “Thanks for the tip,” he said. “Turned into one hell of a story.”
“You doubted?”
“A mistake I won’t make again.”
“You might not get the chance, pulling stunts like this. You were supposed to wait for me to contact you.”
“So you are the infamous Sally Lou Ritz?”
“Ritzi.”
“One of the last people to see Crater alive.”
“Lucky me.”
“Pity I didn’t put that together sooner.” He leaned in, a hound on the scent of an irresistible trail. “How well do you know Joseph Crater?” His voice echoed loudly in the alley.
Better than I’ll ever admit.
The stage door swung open with a clang, and the three of them turned to see Elaine Dawn skipping down the steps. She looked resplendent in a flirty black dress with a low neckline.
Elaine looped her arm into Ritzi’s and looked at them, expectant. “Did someone say Joseph Crater? Have you seen the papers? God, that’s a mess.”
“Elaine,” Ritzi said, “I thought you were already gone?”
“Bathroom.” She took note of the reporter, his pen and notebook ready. “Who’s this?”
“George Hall. He broke the Crater story.”
Elaine smiled at George. She reached up and straightened his tie. Patted his chest. “You’ve caused a lot of trouble for the girls. Reporters are crawling all over this place. The director’s been pissing and moaning about it for days. And all for a shit like Joseph Crater?”
His eyebrows lifted, eager. “You knew him?”
Elaine smiled, and her voice filled with innuendo. “Oh, I knew him. Period.”
George lifted the notepad and wiggled it. “Mind telling me a bit more? On the record?”
“There’s nothing I enjoy more than being on the record.”
Ritzi gave Maria a desperate look and whispered beneath her breath, “I’ll give you what you want, okay? Somehow. I’ll find a way. But no one can know about this, you understand? Especially George.”
“I promise.”
“Do you know Grant’s Tomb? On Riverside Drive?”
“Yes.”
“Meet me there tomorrow at noon. Bring the costumes and the money.” Ritzi gave her a gentle shove down the alley. “Now go. Quick.”
George looked up as Maria hurried away, the trunk rolling behind her. “Hey! Not so fast!”
“Let her be,” Ritzi said, placing a hand on George’s forearm. Her grip was firm enough to prevent him from trotting down the alley after Maria.
“ ’Night, Ritz,” Elaine said as she passed. Was it anger that flashed across her face? Or jealousy? No, Ritzi decided, it was the relentless spark of competition.
“ ’Night. Be good.”
“Oh, I’m good.” Elaine patted George’s cheek.
George couldn’t hide his smile as she walked away, all hips and legs. He twirled his pen. “Is she always so …?”
“Yes.”
Ritzi spun around to face George. “Why are you here?”
“I came to talk to the girl who saw Crater the night he disappeared. Lo and behold, it happens to be my informant. Not that you were exactly forthcoming with that information a couple months ago.”
“I told you there was more to the story.”
“Clearly.” He scratched something into his notebook. “How do you know the Craters’ maid?”
“I know a lot of people, Georgie.”
“That’s one hell of a coincidence.”
“You like breaking a story, right?”
“Of course.”
“Have you ever stopped to think what happens after you splash someone’s name across the front page? That it can really mess up a life?”
“That’s not my concern. I find the truth and report it. Besides, you don’t really care about messing up someone’s life when you call in the middle of the night with a tip. It took weeks to convince my wife that I wasn’t having an affair.” George tucked his notebook back inside his jacket and then stuck his hands in his pockets. He nodded toward the street. “Can I hail you a cab?”
“Sure.” Ritzi followed him down the alley.
“So you gonna make good on your promise?”
“You’ll get your story.”
“When?”
“The moment I know talking to you won’t land me in the morgue.”
“That where Crater is?”
“I don’t know where he is.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“You don’t have a choice. I’m the best source you’ve got.”
“Not the best. Just the prettiest,” George said. “What does that maid have to do with this?”
“Nothing.”
He snorted. “You’re a terrible actress.”
“And you’re a shitty reporter. I give you the story of a lifetime, and you’re hung up on Crater’s maid? If you want to find him, spend a night or two at Club Abbey.” Ritzi straightened her coat and clutched her purse as they stepped onto the sidewalk.
“Where are you off to?”
“Home,” she said. “And n
o, you’re not invited.”
“Don’t worry,” he called after her. “I know better than to mess around with a gangster’s moll.”
Ritzi halted midstep and turned around. She glared at George but said nothing. He crossed the short distance between them.
“I’m not stupid,” he said, “despite what you think. I talk to people. I listen. And I know that you’re with Owney Madden. Unless, of course, he gives you orders to be with someone else. Say, a New York State Supreme Court judge?”
The insinuation shook Ritzi, and she took one faltering step backward. “I’m not with Owney,” she hissed.
“Good night, Ritzi.” George tipped his fedora and gave her a cunning smile. “I’ll be expecting the rest of that story real soon.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
LIBERTY NATIONAL BANK, THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 6, 1930
THE tan city cab took Ritzi on a zigzagging route through the one-way streets of Manhattan. She stared out the window, watching people and buildings and vehicles blur into a kaleidoscope of gray sky and sidewalk and wool coats and bright scarves.
“Wait here,” she told the driver when he rolled to a stop before Liberty National Bank on Broadway.
Ritzi lifted her chin and opened the bank door. It was cool and dark inside, and her heels clacked against the tile as she approached the first window. The teller was about her age, but she looked as though she’d been wrung out and left to dry.
“Can I help you?”
“I’d like to make a withdrawal, please.”
“Certainly.” She slid a withdrawal slip across the counter. “Fill this out. Name?”
Even though she’d used the name for three years, the fabrication still felt strange on her lips. “Sally Lou Ritz.”
The teller stepped away from the counter and ran a finger along the black-spined ledgers that lined the wall behind her. Three of them were labeled R, and she pulled the last from the shelf and heaved it onto the counter.
Ritzi’s account was filed toward the front of the ledger, and the teller took the withdrawal slip and checked her name and account number. The tip of one index finger rested beneath the amount Ritzi wanted to withdraw and the other on the balance of her account.
“Are you closing your account with us today?”
“No.”
“But you’re emptying your account.”
“Yes.” She did not explain further.
“I’ll have to get the manager since it’s over two hundred dollars.”
“That’s fine.”
Bill Watson, general manager of Liberty National Bank, was far less amiable than the girl he’d hired to tend customers. It would seem that Ritzi’s desire to leave with $250 in cash was considered a personal affront. He thumbed through the bills with a twitch, glancing at her occasionally as she counted along with him.
He tapped the stack of bills together and evened them into an orderly pile. “This is a considerable amount of money, young lady.”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure that you can handle it? Would you like me to hold it until you’ve brought your husband in?”
She bristled at the questions and clenched her left hand into a fist where it lay on the counter. The words were like sawdust in her mouth. “He’s not around.”
“Your father, perhaps?”
“Just an envelope. And a receipt.”
He snorted his disapproval and then explained that the bank would not be responsible for anything that happened to this money once she left the premises. Did she understand that?
Ritzi propped her elbows on the counter. “Is there a problem, Mr. Watson?”
“What do you mean?”
“You seem awfully reluctant to give me my money.”
“I am not.”
The teller offered Ritzi a smile over his shoulder, her crooked teeth beaming a vindicated thank-you.
“Great. On second thought, I’ll take it tied in one of those little black fabric bags, if you don’t mind.”
He cut a small piece of twine and tied the bills before slipping them into the bag. “Not responsible, hear?”
She put the money in her purse. “That’s what all the men tell me.”
“FIRED?” Jude asked.
Maria handed him the letter she’d taken from the Craters’ mailbox several hours earlier. “I believe let go was the phrase she used. That’s my last paycheck. A whole twenty-eight dollars.”
Jude led her toward a small table at the back of the diner. He pulled out her chair and then sat across from her, anger stretching his mouth tight. He pressed the letter flat, smoothing out the wrinkles with the palm of his hand, and read the two-page apology. “How can she be out of money?”
“I think her definition of broke is vastly different from ours.”
“That’s not what I mean,” Jude said, pointing at the postmark on the envelope. “She sent this from Portland, Maine.”
“So?”
He tapped the logo printed on the linen envelope. “So that’s a resort town. And she’s staying at the Hotel Eastland, no less. Right on the god—” Maria gave him such a look that he snapped his mouth closed. Cleared his throat. “Right on the water. You tell me she can’t afford to pay her bills?”
She wiped a few stray crumbs from the table and onto the floor. “Don’t be so hard on her. She just lost her husband.”
“Why are you defending her? The woman just fired you!”
“I’ve still got my work at Smithson’s. Things will be a bit tighter. But we aren’t destitute.”
Maria watched him lift Stella’s letter from the table. He folded it in thirds and tucked it in his suit pocket. “What are you doing?”
“Her little act of cowardice is an unexpected gift. She let me know exactly where she’s hiding. It seems your boss skipped out on her grand jury summons and didn’t bother to let anyone know.”
Unease seeped into her voice. “So did I.”
“That’s different!” The couple at the next table looked up in alarm. Jude cleared his throat again. Lowered his voice. “You can’t get involved in this. And they can’t know my wife worked for the Craters. There’s no way I would have let you testify.” His smile was conniving. “Amedia Christian will have to do that, but since no one can find her, I guess the district attorney is out of luck.”
Maria let it go, but she looked at his suit pocket where he’d tucked the envelope. “What are you going to do with that letter?”
“Flush her out of hiding.”
“Jude—”
“Let me take care of it.” He handed her the menu. Smiled. “Why don’t you order something?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You hardly eat anymore. You’re tired all the time. I’m worried about you.”
It was true. The fear had gotten to her, eating away at her appetite and her energy. Maria glanced at the menu but didn’t take it from him. She shook her head. “I can’t. I’ll eat later. Smithson wants me to come in early today. I’m making the final adjustments to Owney Madden’s wardrobe.”
“Has he been any trouble?”
“No. I’m invisible.” She smiled through the lie. “Just the girl who sews his suits.”
Jude ordered pastrami on rye, and Maria dutifully ate a few bites when he forced it on her, all the while watching the clock above the cash register. At eleven, she stood and kissed his forehead. She lifted her paycheck from the table.
Jude gulped down the rest of his sandwich, paid the bill, and walked her to the nearest subway station. “I’ll try and get off early tonight.” He looped his arms around her waist and buried his face in her neck. The warmth of his breath tickled the skin beneath her ear. “How about I cook for you?”
“Sounds perfect.”
Maria wanted to linger in his embrace, but she would be late. So she settled for a hasty kiss and the promise of a meal together later that night. But instead of going to Smithson Tailors, Maria caught a train at Fulton Street, made a quick detour by their apartm
ent for Ritzi’s trunk, then went north toward Grant’s Tomb on Riverside Drive.
FIFTH AVENUE, TUESDAY, MARCH 25, 1930
Maria reached under the bed, straining forward on her knees, chest brushing the hardwood floors. It was dark beneath the bed, and she could see nothing but dust and the heavy bed skirt. “I don’t see your watch, Mr. Crater.”
“Look again.”
She realized this was a game to him when she felt the sharp pinch on her bottom. Maria lurched sideways, out of his grasp, with a startled scream.
“You didn’t do Jude any favors by not telling him how you meddled to get him that promotion.” Joseph Crater stood behind her, eyes bloodshot and belligerent. “He’s under the impression that he earned his place on the unit.”
Maria scrambled away from him. Stood up. Folded her arms across her chest and pressed her back to the wall. She looked over Mr. Crater’s shoulder.
“Don’t bother. Stella left five minutes ago. Shopping. Or some such foolishness. Pity she can’t buy a new pair of tits. That’s what I’d really like her to wear around the house.”
“Mr. Crater, I don’t think this is appro—”
“I don’t care what you think. I care that your husband doesn’t make me look like a fool. Ever again. When the police commissioner comes to me and says that my recommendation questions orders, that looks bad on me. Do you understand?”
“I’m sure he didn’t—”
“So protect his ego if you think it’s that fragile, if he can’t handle the fact that you had to pull strings for him. But hear me on this.” Mr. Crater lifted his jacket from the bench at the end of the bed. He slid his arms into the sleeves and shrugged it over his shoulders. Smoothed the lapels. All the while, he stared at Maria, seeming to delight in her discomfort. “He’s expendable. A detective who rats out my friends is better off dead. And that’s a call I won’t hesitate to make if he doesn’t learn—and I mean quickly—to follow orders when they’re given. Even if they’re orders he finds distasteful.”
Maria was reluctant to look away for fear he would assume she didn’t take him seriously. She could not find her voice, so she tried to communicate with her eyes and a short, panicked nod that she understood.
“I’m a generous man, wouldn’t you agree?”