Secrets of the Righteous

by H. B. Berlow

  The Popular Detective cover had a guy in a blue suit shooting at another guy popping up through a trapdoor in the floor, another guy dead at his feet, while a third guy in suspenders and a white shirt had a mean looking stevedore hook in his hands. Just for good measure, a blonde dish was gagged and bound in what looked like an upright coffin as though she were some kind of floozy mummy.

  On the other hand, Modern Screen featured Carole Lombard with almost the same piercing blue eyes as Jeanette wearing a classy yellow gown with the same cleavage as Jeanette. She was sipping a drink through a straw, her head lowered slightly, and looking up in a kind of mischievous yet sexy way as though she knew what she wanted and how to get it. Going back and forth between these two made me realize how little the reading public knew of the real world.

  Time passed as much as it could before I had to get out from the enclosure of the four walls of my room. I went to the coffee shop in the lobby and sat there for a while until I noticed the clock indicated it was 10:00 p.m. Leaving now, would allow me to get into a position to hopefully catch Ronnie before he tried anything.

  Walking into the lobby, however, I saw something I wasn’t prepared to deal with. It was Deanna Roché in a gown not quite unlike Carole Lombard’s. She was dressed like a leopard waiting to pounce and I was the prey.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  There was no sense causing a scene in the lobby. It was probably not the best thing to do to bring her back to my room but I had limited options. There was still plenty of time for me to get to the theater. My gaze darted all around, primarily over her shoulder, feeling like a prisoner of war trying to escape.

  “To what do I owe the pleasure, Mrs. Roché?” I realized the word ‘pleasure’ was not appropriate, given how she had been rather forward the last time I saw her.

  “I must correct you, Baron. As I’ve never been married, it is Miss Roché. And I’m here to declare my intentions for you.” I stared at her blankly not fully understanding what she was trying to say. Was she placing a bid on an item at auction? “Ronald has advised me you plan to marry a burlesque performer.”

  “Yes.”

  “She doesn’t hold a candle to me. I have money and influence the likes of which she can only dream of.”

  “There’s more to marriage than all that, Miss Roché.”

  “Well, if this is so, I have studied the Oriental and French techniques and am adept at a wide range of pleasures. The Ross girl is a harlot who is not worth a man of your integrity and strength.”

  I realized she wasn’t putting in a bid so much as applying for a job.

  “Does Ronnie feel the same way?”

  Her chin was pointed at me like a small caliber gun. Her nostrils flared. Her eyes widened and focused on me.

  “He feels whatever way I tell him to feel.”

  I didn’t need Dr. Brenz to tell me this woman was insane. She was torn between being a complete wanton harlot and the repentance instilled in her by her deep religious upbringing. She presented herself as upright and moral but deep down she wanted to be like all the prostitutes she had somehow caused Ronnie to hate. Without actually putting the knife in his hand, she encouraged Ronnie’s actions by her attitudes and behavior. There was no doubt in my mind now he would be waiting in the alley for Jeanette. The point was for me to get there as well.

  I walked toward the door, but she stepped in front of me. I tried to step to one side and then the other but she mirrored my moves. She reached out with both hands and grabbed my face trying to kiss me. I grabbed her wrists and pushed her away from me. She started hissing and panting like a feral cat, doing everything she could to grab me, not violently but in some dance of lust. She pulled at her dress, ripping it and exposing her breasts to me.

  “Take me. You must take me. I’m the only one good enough for you.”

  It was never my intention to raise a hand to a woman but right now this beast was in my way. With a sweep of my arm, I pushed her shoulder and flung her down to the floor and left the room before she had a chance to get up.

  The clock in the coffee shop showed 10:20 p.m. I rushed to my car and drove down Douglas Ave. stopping at several traffic lights and letting late night crowds pass in the crosswalk. I should have had more faith in the other detectives but I couldn’t trust them to be where they needed to be. I finally managed to turn up Broadway but there were cars moving in both directions, revelers looking to extend their Friday night pleasure, the biggest crowd coming out of the Orpheum Theater at Second Street. It seemed like crossing a French forest with German artillery all around to go the additional six blocks. In the distance I could see a crowd was still milling about in front on the Warren. I parked on the street a block away and made my way behind buildings and into the alley.

  I kept close to the buildings and walked slowly seeing the one lone light shining over the stage door. I knew where Rackler and Voth and Montgomery were supposed to be but I couldn’t see anyone, which I supposed was a good thing but made me nervous all the same. The light was unable to reach just beyond the stage door to the north. There were shadows, like a quiet cave for someone to hide in. I expected the beast to be somewhere in there.

  As I moved, I became aware of lights above me and moved away from them to stay in the shadows myself. The alley I was in ended at Murdock where I would have to cross the street and continue toward the theater. It was there I would be vulnerable, exposed, and out in the open.

  The stage door opened and Jeanette stepped out. She stood there at the back entrance and under the light. I thought I heard a sound, like a large crate moving. Suddenly, there was the sound of sirens. A fire truck barreled down from the east on Murdock, passed right in front of me, and blocked my view of the alley.

  As it passed, I saw Jeanette struggle with a short figure in the dark. She wasn’t like the others; she knew to expect him. I ran across the street, not considering another fire truck could come along at any moment.

  I reached the alley on the other side. Jeanette had Ronnie’s wrists in her hands, keeping the long sharp knife as far from her as she could. I ran like Jesse Owens, lowered my head, and struck him in the body. The impact of me rushing into him knocked Jeanette backward. There was a dull thud as she hit the door.

  Ronnie and I fell together, me on top of him. He had the strength of a possessed fiend and pushed me off him easily. The look on his face was of a rabid dog, mouth and lips moist with spit and snot spewing from his nose. He gripped the knife tightly. I reached for my gun and held it at arm’s length.

  “Don’t do it, kid.”

  We stood opposite each other like two wrestlers. Several sets of feet ran into the alley from all sides. Montgomery and Rackler came from the south, one on either side of the alley entrance: Voth from the north, panting and out of breath. The knife clanked to the ground. Rackler roughly forced Ronnie’s arms behind his back and put him in handcuffs.

  “That siren threw us off,” Rackler said defiantly. “Glad you were able to stop him.” John Rackler had his prize but he hadn’t really earned it. His cold stare turned into a politician’s smile and made me sick.

  I helped Jeanette up. She threw her arms around me and squeezed. Her body shook uncontrollably as though struck by lightning. It was then she started to cry. Her tears dampened by shoulder. It felt like I was being baptized.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Everybody has secrets. Jake Hickey. Chief Taylor. Natalie Dixon. Ronnie Roché. Yes, even me. They’re like demons living inside, wrapping their claws around your soul. They guide you when you want to go elsewhere. They drain the words from your mouth when you wish to speak. They force you to think you are not who you think you are, who you claim you are, who you want to be.

  I’m sure Dr. Brenz would be able to use his books to explain what had happened to Ronnie, how he had become the monster he was, and what if anything could be done for him. None of it mattered to me. I expected to find some large dark and scary beast. Instead, there was nothing more than a disturb
ed boy. It turned out to be the scariest thing of all.

  Jeanette went to the hospital to be checked over. She insisted upon leaving, telling the doctor she had a show on Saturday night and offering him tickets. I, on the other hand, drank what little I had left of the bottle I brought with me. For the first time in a while, I was lonely.

  The patrolman who came to my hotel on Monday morning escorted me to the mayor’s office. He was quite impressed with me and honored to have been given such an assignment. He figured there would be some sort of medal or award. There shouldn’t be anything special for just doing your job.

  Dark wood walls surrounded a desk large enough to sleep on. Mayor Elmer R. Corn sat comfortably in a large leather chair behind it, looking more like a banker who was deciding about a loan application. On either side of him stood Chief Bowery and Captain Merton. They were wearing their dress uniforms and stood at attention. This appeared to be an official meeting. I wish I had known because I would have stood taller.

  “The city of Wichita owes you a debt of gratitude, Officer Witherspoon.” The mayor’s lines seemed rehearsed. He was as bad an actor as Rackler. “You’ve helped us remove a menace from our streets.”

  “It was an honor, sir. I’m sure my chief will allow me sufficient time to testify at the trial if you’ll just let him know when it’s on the calendar.” I was trying to be gracious and move this thing along and just leave. But as soon as I spoke, Bowery and Merton looked at each other, trying to figure out which one of them was going to respond. The mayor, for all his stiffness, continued.

  “In the interests of public safety, the District Attorney has determined we will forego a trial in favor of Officer Roché’s confinement at the Oneida Therapeutic Hospital.” Without knowing anything about the facility, I gathered it was a place where lunatics were locked up in padded cells and given medications to keep them quiet for as long as was necessary.

  “Public safety?” My voice cracked like I was still a teenager.

  “The citizens of this city do not need to know a vicious murderer was a member of the police department.” Merton’s voice was firm and unyielding. He was telling me facts, none of which were open for debate. “It would completely undermine our ongoing efforts to help this community grow and prosper.”

  “Do you understand our position, Officer Witherspoon?” Chief Bowery’s voice was deeper than Merton’s and echoed in the office. It had the subtle roar of a lion protecting its lair. The only thing he didn’t show me was his fangs and claws. He didn’t have to. I knew they were there.

  I looked in turn at each of them. Their gaze fixed on me. There was no need for them to look at each other as they were all of the same mind.

  “Completely,” I responded, my words falling like a dull thud on the floor. I continued looking at them longer than I cared to until I realized they had nothing more to say and I no longer had any interest in listening. I walked toward the door.

  “Officer Witherspoon.” It was Merton’s voice. I turned cautiously. “This is a police matter. Any discussion with unauthorized personnel will be considered obstruction of justice and subject to the appropriate legal action.”

  My eyes grew narrow. I stared at him hoping he would understand my disgust. It was then I realized they were no different than Deanie or George or former Councilman Hallett. I left as quickly as I could unless they wouldn’t mind vomit on their rug.

  Right then, my only solace was the woman who had demanded my protection, needed to know she would be safe with me. She was someone I wanted to get to know better. The knock on the door was answered quickly. She wore a white sun dress with flowers at the hem. Her hair was up but she wasn’t made up like she was when she performed. It was the hug she gave me that caused doubt.

  She offered me coffee but I declined. We sat at the same small dining table, holding hands as we had done so very recently.

  “A little while back, I had gotten an offer from an old friend of mine, Charlotte Entin. She runs a big theater in San Francisco in the Tenderloin. I didn’t think much of the offer at the time.”

  “But now you do.” I didn’t have to ask.

  “Well, San Francisco is much bigger than Wichita. Hey, it might not be the legitimate theater—” Her voice trailed off. Maybe it was coming face to face with evil as opposed to a couple of drunks or too much reality for a person whose life is immersed in fantasy.

  “Sure. It’s a great opportunity.” I tried to sound upbeat and encouraging. I wasn’t sure how successful I was. I hadn’t trained to be an actor.

  She squeezed my hands tighter. “Why don’t you come with me? Get away from all this.”

  I pulled my hands away slowly. “I can’t.” There was nothing more to say. How could I explain to her my life was not only here in Kansas but immersed in a small town that had embraced me, needed me? What kind of life could we have together, here or in California? I woke up from a pleasant dream and knew I had to put my feet back on the floor.

  I got up to leave and she hugged me hard, almost cracking my ribs. The painful truth was we didn’t fit in each other’s world. After the hug, I turned without looking at her and left, closing the door behind me, and letting each of us continue down the paths we had created for ourselves.

  It was approaching five o’clock when I made it back to Ark City. I knew Chief Richardson had left for the day so it wasn’t necessary to check in and file a report. I also felt as though I would just fall asleep if I went straight home and likely sleep for a day and a half. There was only one place I could go to make me feel better: Daisy Mae’s.

  Dixie was slinging the hash behind the counter, saw me come in and grab a booth, and nodded in my direction. A young man in his twenties, well built like an athlete and with sandy blond hair, brought over a cup of coffee and a glass of water. He had a slight limp he tried hard to hide. It was few more minutes before she made her way over.

  “Heard you was out of town on business.” She always got straight to the point.

  “You heard right.”

  “You back?”

  “For good.”

  “You need a Salisbury steak with mashed potatoes and gravy.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  I ate the meal like I was a condemned man, enjoying every bite, sopping up the gravy with some white bread the young man brought over. After what seemed like the rest of the night, he came back to take my empty plate away. Dixie came back to refill my coffee.

  “Who’s the guy?”

  “Name’s Ralph Houseman. Come up from Oklahoma looking for work. Hired him a month ago. Busses the tables, does general maintenance. Good kid. Trustworthy.” She saw I wasn’t returning her smile as I had pretty much always done and wound up sitting in the booth opposite me. “What’s on your mind, cowboy?”

  “Do you have any secrets?”

  “Sure I do.”

  “Like what?”

  She let out a belly laugh, and the few people in the diner turned their heads in surprise.

  “You silly fool. If I told you they wouldn’t be secrets.”

  “Aren’t you bothered by keeping them?”

  “Nope.” She said it almost too fast. “They’re what make me who I am. I ain’t about to give myself away to nobody. I’m not talking about love or nothing like that. There’s a part of all of us we got hid deep down. It’s what keeps us ticking. Take that away and we’re nothing.” She stood up and stared at me like a wise old schoolteacher. “You keep your secrets and I’ll keep mine.”

  Eric Kimble appreciated her advice. So, too, did Baron Witherspoon.

  A word from the author…

  I studied film-making and creative writing at the University of Miami in the ’80s, was involved in the Boston Poetry Scene in the ’90s, and am a former president of the Kansas Writer’s Association. My work has stretched from crime fiction to poetry, screen writing to experimental fiction.

  I live in a one hundred plus year old Victorian home in Wichita, Kansas with my wife, Shelia, and Rupert,
the tuxedo cat.

  http://tikiman1962.wordpress.com

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  Also available from The Wild Rose Press, Inc. and other major retailers

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  Baron Witherspoon, a disfigured WWI vet, now a beat cop in a small Kansas burg, is on a collision course with Jake Hickey, a volatile Chicago gangster. While Baron wants merely to provide residents with a safe place to live and escape the memory of the horrors of war, Jake is looking to recapture the glory of Prohibition. Forced to hide out in Arkansas City, Baron’s town, Jake’s impatient nature drives him to put together his own gang. The local crime outfit is wary of Jake’s dealings and lack of cooperation. Baron has his own suspicions but can’t prove anything. A mutual acquaintance from the past, a dead war hero, holds a secret that raises the stakes even higher. Baron has too much to lose, but the town’s future is in the balance.

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