by Holly Baxter
Pip looked down the page and gave a shout of laughter. “Would you believe this? It says the name of the club was to be Chih Mei—but some nut has translated that as Red Eyebrows.”
Archie leaned back in his chair. Hadn’t Ellie said something about Red Eyebrows? He’d have to ask her. Maybe he could take her to lunch at that place in the Gower Building—the fancy one. He knew the headwaiter—he’d get a good table and a reasonable bill. Then he closed his eyes in self-disgust. That’s how it started—so easy, so easy. Damn.
“Anything else you can think of?” He opened his eyes again to see Pip looking at him curiously.
Pip shrugged, and his glasses tilted sideways, propped as they were on only one ear. He pushed them straight automatically, as he must have done a hundred times a day.
“Neighborhood scuffles, mostly kids. Years back there was that big bust-up. I could look that up for you…it’s out there somewhere.” He gestured toward the lines of shelved case notes.
“Would you mind?”
Pip scowled. “Only two years to retirement, you know.” He heaved himself to his feet again, slipped out of the cage and disappeared between the shelves. Archie could hear him scuffling along, muttering to himself about nosy cops. But he knew Pip was intrigued—he wouldn’t have offered to look if he hadn’t been. Down here, away from the action, he appreciated being included on a little inside thinking now and again. Archie had counted on that.
After about five minutes, Pip reappeared, carrying a cardboard box, which he thumped down on the desk, and then dropped into his chair. “Bigger kerfuffle than I thought.” He lifted the lid of the box and began to look through the contents. “Went to court…lots of people hurt, one died as I recall. Yeah, here.” He pulled out some papers which were already going a little brown at the edges.
“Can I see?” Archie reached out.
Pip pulled back. “I can do it faster than you,” he said, proprietarily. “I know how these things go. Get out your pencil.”
Archie did so, knowing Pip was right. It would take him forever to go through all the forms that were so familiar to the older man. He also had a terrible feeling he knew what he was going to hear.
“Here we go. Four hospitalized, all Chinese. One Eyetie killed—name of—”
“Joe Concetti.” Archie’s interruption was softly spoken, but the tone brought Pip’s eyes up from the page.
“You already know about this?”
“I was a patrolman at the time. Joe Concetti wasn’t Italian—at least, not entirely. Chinese mother, Italian father. Nothing to do with crime, though. Decent family. I was told he just got caught up in it by accident.”
“Not according to this.” Pip waved the papers. “According to this, he was the one who started it. Seems he got into a fight with…holy shit…Jake Manotta.” He glanced up and saw Archie’s expression, and went back to the papers. “Other names here—Bugliami, Spinoza, Ricotti…they’re all connected guys, you know.”
“Joe wasn’t.”
“Afraid he was. According to Ricotti the fight was about who would supply some Eyetie restaurants…Concetti was after the run, and so were the others.”
“No. Not Joe.” He wouldn’t believe it.
“You knew him?”
“Friend. Long-time friend. Kids together.”
“Well, he wasn’t a kid anymore, Archie. Apparently Manotta was ‘offended’ by his being crossed by what he called a ‘half-breed.’ According to testimony by some of the others Concetti was on the rise in the organization and Manotta resented it.”
“Did Manotta kill him?”
Pip’s expression was wry. “Nobody killed him. You remember ‘nobody,’ don’t you? He’s responsible for a lot of killings these days.” Pip looked down at the paper. “It got out of hand because some Chinese boys saw Concetti in trouble and jumped in. He looked Chinese?”
“Yes. Like his mother.” And when he had called around to give his condolences Mrs. Liu Concetti had thanked him and said nothing about what Joe had been doing. But she had looked ashamed, he remembered, now. So she must have known the truth. Even Joe had gone bad. Clever, intelligent, street-smart Joe, who was going to be a lawyer, who felt about the law the way Archie himself felt. What had happened? When had it happened? And why? He thought back to the Concetti apartment…and how surprised he had been at its shabbiness when in the early days it had been so beautifully kept. The Depression. Always the Depression. And so few opportunities for a “half-breed” with no money to become a lawyer or anything else respectable.
“What was the result?” Archie had been too sad to follow the details of the case, so convinced had he been that poor Joe had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Pip took his eyes away from Archie’s bleak face and paged through the papers a bit further. He shrugged. “Most of ’em let go, some got six months for affray. Mostly the Eyeties.”
“Including Manotta?”
“Yeah. Including Manotta. Plus he got another two for bad behavior while he was banged up.” Pip put the papers down on his desk. “He’s trouble, Archie. Story on the street is he’s now an enforcer with a ‘teashop’ as his legit front.”
“I know that. And he likes the knife.”
Pip nodded. “He likes the knife.” Pip slowly put the papers back in order and slipped them into the box. “What are you thinking, Archie?”
“I’m thinking of Bernice Barker.”
“The one with her head cut off in Chinatown?”
“On the edge of Chinatown.”
“But you said this was all about some fancy jade thing and the Webster shooting out on that Chinese guy’s mansion on Lake Shore.”
Archie stood up. “I did, didn’t I?”
Pip leaned back in his chair and gazed at Archie. “I don’t like the look in your eye, son. It’s personal, now, isn’t it?”
Archie didn’t answer that. “Thanks for your help, Pip.” He left the cage and started for the door.
Pip called after him. “Regular Chinese puzzle, hey?”
Archie didn’t answer that, either.
Chapter Nineteen
Elodie and the two other captives were herded out of the delivery truck, across an alley, and into the rear door of some nameless building that looked like it could be a warehouse. Elodie looked around to try to see something she could identify later, something that would reveal their location. But she was moved along too quickly for more than a quick glimpse of a long straight alley and a smell of water nearby. The lake or the river?
Inside they were moved down a long wooden-floored corridor and into a small room. The door slammed behind them and they stood for a moment, getting their bearings. Not much to see—a small table, four chairs, overhead lamp hanging down, no windows, and just the one door.
“Sit down, Miss Browne,” said Two-Gun Cohen in a kindly voice. “I’m sure we’ll have this sorted out quite quickly.”
Elodie didn’t think so, but she sat down gratefully, for her legs felt very untrustworthy. Cohen sat down beside her, but Father Anselm stood, his head at an odd angle. He seemed to be sniffing. He glanced at the General.
“Am I wrong?”
The General looked puzzled, then took a deep breath. “No, you’re not wrong. I should have guessed that would be part of it.”
“What is it?” Elodie asked, as Father Anselm sat down, too.
“Opium.” General Cohen looked around, then gestured toward a small vent high in the ceiling.
Elodie sniffed, but only caught a faint scent of pickles overlaid by a strong barnyard odor that reminded her of cows. Maybe they were near the stockyards, then. She was about to say as much, when the door opened and two of the men who had kidnapped them entered, followed by a young Chinese man. The two kidnappers still had their guns. They closed the door and then stood either side of it as the younger man came forward.
“Who’s the girl?” His voice was honey-smooth and totally witho
ut an accent, so he was probably American, Elodie thought.
Father Anselm spoke quickly. “She’s one of my students. We were discussing her thesis when your men burst in. They wouldn’t listen to reason and made her come, too. She has nothing to do with this. You must let her go.”
The young man smiled. It was not a nice smile, but a gloating one. “And what is this thesis about—the General, here, perhaps?”
“I have been researching a paper on ethnic communities here in Chicago.” Elodie had picked up Anselm’s cue and spoke boldly, even angrily. “And my mother is not going to like this one little bit. She expects me home for dinner.” She thinned her voice to sound younger than she was, and put on a pout. “And I don’t drink, either,” she added.
“Why should that interest me?” The young man’s eyes narrowed.
“Well, you’re bootleggers, aren’t you? Nobody else carries guns and pushes people around but bootleggers. I think you’re just awful.”
The young man stared at her and then began to laugh. It was not at all a pleasant sound. “Oh, yes, we are bootleggers, aren’t we?” He turned to the two men beside the door and said something in Chinese. They laughed, too—but their amusement did not reach their eyes.
“I think you should let her go before this goes any further.” The General sounded angry, too. “You can deal with us as you like, as you seem to have the upper hand at the moment, but let her go.”
“I will consider it,” the young man said. “But she might be useful, even so.”
Elodie visualized one terrible thing after another that might come under the heading of useful to a bunch of kidnappers and maybe killers. She wanted to ask right out if this boy-man had killed Bernice, but sensibly maintained her sulky expression. “I won’t do anything for a bootlegger. My daddy says—”
“I don’t give a damn what your father says or what your mother thinks.” The young man had abruptly lost patience. “Just sit there and keep your silly mouth shut.”
Elodie shrank down in her seat and allowed her fear to show. This seemed to please him far more than her protestations about parental disapproval. He gave her one last glare and turned his attention to the General.
“You know what we want. Hand it over and we’ll let you go.”
“It’s not mine to give.” The General spoke calmly, and folded his hands across his paunch.
“It doesn’t belong to old ‘Cash My Check’ either. You took it from Ah Hop at Bias Bay. He got it from Lai Choi San.”
“Who did she get it from?”
“The trail is long, but it doesn’t matter.” The young man was dismissive. “What is more interesting is how Chiang Kai Shek ended up with it. And now you.”
“I haven’t got it,” Cohen said, with wide-eyed innocence.
“Then who does?”
“Someone else, obviously. There is a buyer…”
The young man drew in a sharp breath between his perfect teeth, reminding Elodie of a snake about to strike. “You stupid old man…” He clenched his fists and stepped forward as if to hit Cohen. The General didn’t flinch. The young man turned to Father Anselm.
“You have meddled once too often in what doesn’t concern you, nigger. You claim to be a holy man, but you are as guilty as he is of undermining the new China.”
“Actually, I’m rather fond of the old China.” The priest’s eyes didn’t even flicker at the boy’s insult. “And I’m only half-nigger, by the way. Or didn’t you know that?”
“All the worse for you.”
“Oh?”
“If you don’t cooperate it would give me great pleasure to spill your filthy mixed blood.”
Father Anselm went fractionally paler, but kept his features calm.
Cohen, however, snapped. He half-rose and uttered a long string of Chinese words that were clearly both insults and curses. The young man stepped forward and, this time, did strike Cohen flat-handed across the face.
“Enough, you stupid old fool. I am the Junfa here. I want the jade.”
Cohen stared at him, the mark of the blow livid on his cheek. “It is out of my hands.”
This enraged the young man, whose face flushed darkly, revealing a very mottled complexion. “I know who has it. You are to get it back from him and give it to me.”
“Why?” Two-Gun Cohen seemed genuinely curious. He was intentionally baiting the young man, which Elodie didn’t think was a very good idea, for the young man produced a gun of his own from behind his back.
“Stop playing the fool, Cohen. It gets us nowhere. If for no other reason than to stop Chaing Kai Shek profiting from it.”
“You’d like the profit yourself, I suppose?”
“There is a new China coming…”
The General snorted dismissively. “Spare us the Communist rhetoric.” He glanced up at the vent near the ceiling. “From what I can smell, the New China has the same stink as the old China. Aren’t you satisfied with the profit from that?”
The young man smiled. He was definitely American—so what was he doing in all this? Was he some disaffected college student like those she had met at those pro-Communist parties? In fact, had she met him before? She regarded him from under her eyelids, still in her character of frightened student. There was something about him that stirred in the back of her mind, which was odd. She was discovering that for some reason, the few Chinese people she had met did not all look alike to her. She could tell them apart easily, and she was pretty certain she had never seen him before. And yet—
“It has always been a steady source of income, for you as well as for us. Chiang takes a profit, too. Enough for all. And better to come.”
“What do you mean?” Father Anselm asked.
“I mean there soon will be more than one way to weaken the corrupt citizens of the Western world. Already they are far down the road to ruin due to their own foolish laws, and if Repeal comes, we are ready to offer them a new slope to slide down.”
“Opium?” Anselm was dismissive. “You will never get Americans to smoke opium. That’s ridiculous.”
“Opium has more to offer than you think, priest. Much more.”
“Such as?” Again, the General seemed curious.
“Such as something the Germans were kind enough to discover. Something called Heroin. The Bright Young Things sniff cocaine today, and they will inject heroin tomorrow. A simple progression for the simple-minded.” The young man suddenly seemed to realize he was saying too much. He changed tack.
“Enough. You, girl. If I let you go, will you carry a message for me?”
Elodie shivered as he spoke to her. “No.”
“Oh, I think you will. You don’t want to be responsible for the death of a priest, do you?”
Elodie gasped. Father Anselm reached over and put his hand on top of hers. “Don’t be afraid, my child.”
“Oh, yes, be afraid, my child.” The young man sneered at the priest’s tone. “Your precious priest professor will be shot dead unless you take a message for me. I will exchange the priest for certain items.”
Elodie put a whine into her voice. “What about this other man? Will you kill him, too?”
“This other man is an enemy to China.”
“Only to your China.” Cohen was disgusted and made no effort to hide it.
Elodie spoke quickly to avoid another blow falling, or worse. “I don’t understand—who do I take this message to? The police?”
The young man came over to the table and leaned across it so his face was only inches from hers. “Listen, Miss Student, if you were smart enough to get into college you should be smart enough to understand this. If you speak to the police the priest will die and you will die, too. I will find you, I will kill you. Clear enough?”
Elodie nodded, her eyes locked with his. Close-up his breath was foul, and his face was slightly oily, so his cheekbones shone under the overhead light. I know who you are, she suddenly thought. Dear God, I think
I know who you are. She prayed her realization didn’t show on her face.
He straightened up. “You are to take my message to a Mr. Lee Chang. If he doesn’t produce the items I want in twenty-four hours, I will kill the priest and this so-called General. If he hands them over, they go free. Very simple. Can you remember that?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “Twenty-four hours. What time is it now?”
He muttered in exasperated Chinese, and looked at his wristwatch. “It is three o’clock. Mr. Lee has until three o’clock tomorrow to bring me the shipment.”
“Where should he bring it?”
He didn’t fall for that one. He produced a piece of paper and put his gun in his belt while he scribbled a message and thrust it at her. “He will know.” She looked at the note. It was in Chinese. So she couldn’t lead the police to where they were being held. “Mr. Lee lives on Lake Shore Drive, number 1200. My men will drop you there. No tricks, little Miss Student. You will be followed. Deliver the message, go home, and say nothing to anyone. You will be watched day and night. My people are invisible, but they will be there in the shadows, watching you. If you do anything other than what you have been told, they have orders to kill you and your family immediately. Do you understand?”
Elodie couldn’t hold back the fear any longer, and despite her best efforts to play a part and remain calm, began to cry. “You didn’t have to say that.” She wiped her betraying tears away with the back of her hand. “I’ll take your stupid message. Why don’t you take it yourself? Why don’t you just telephone this Mr. Lee?”
“Stop your sniveling! I have my reasons. And he will not let me or any of my people into his house. We have tried.”
“I’m sure you have,” put in Two-Gun Cohen. “He’s not the fool your guard thought he was, is he?”
The young man curled his lip. “No, he is not that kind of a fool, but fool he is, just the same. To think he could give you the money, do his so-called part to help your corrupt government, disgusts me. You and he are the faces of degenerate capitalistic greed.” He walked over and grasped Elodie’s arm, jerking her to her feet. “Go. Do as you are told. And remember, you are being watched always. Always.”