by Michelle Cox
“Haven’t you heard?” Henrietta asked, puzzled, as she shot a glance at Rose. “It was . . . it was called off. She’s decided to go to college now.”
“College?”
“Yes, Mundelein College? On Sheridan Road?”
“Never heard of it.”
He paused for several moments, rubbing his chin as he took in this information.
“Gee whiz, Hen, college?” he said, lapsing into his old familiarity. “What happened to the lieutenant?”
“Stan!” Rose exclaimed, finally speaking.
“Sorry!” he said, defensively. “I was just wondering. Seems sudden is all.”
An awkward silence descended upon them, then, despite the band striking up the next song, “My Romance.”
“Did she break it off? Or him?” Stan asked in a louder voice now, to be heard above the band.
“Stan!” Rose exclaimed again, this time stamping her foot a little.
Henrietta bit her lip and was about to respond when Clive beat her to it. “Did we mention that Henrietta’s brother Eugene is back from Fishburne?” he asked him, patting Stan on the back.
“Is he?” Stan asked.
“As a matter of fact, he’s here with us tonight,” Henrietta said, grateful yet again to Clive. “He’s over by the bar, I think. Why don’t you go find him?” she suggested loudly.
“I think I just might,” Stan said, seeming eager for a way to extract himself from the present company. “Come on, Rose,” he said to her.
Rose shot him a dirty look and said, “I think I’ll just powder my nose.”
“I’ll come with you,” Henrietta volunteered, though Rose looked anything but pleased at this suggestion.
“Well, then, I’ll come along with you,” Clive said, putting his hand on Stan’s shoulder. “If you don’t mind, that is.”
“Well, suit yourself, I guess,” Stan said unenthusiastically.
Henrietta watched the two of them disappear into the crowd and then turned toward where Rose had been standing, but Rose had already left the spot and was making her way to the ladies’ lounge.
Henrietta called after her. “Rose!”
Rose either didn’t hear her or was choosing to ignore her because she kept walking.
“Rose!” Henrietta called again, attempting to follow her and having to squeeze her way through the throng of bodies in order to do so. “Rose!” she called again.
Perhaps because they were no longer as close to the dance floor now and therefore away from the main crush of the crowd or because Rose decided to finally address her, she came to a halt and slowly turned back toward Henrietta.
“What?” she asked, annoyed.
“What are you doing?” Henrietta asked, having reached her now.
“I already said. Powdering my nose.”
“You know what I’m talking about, Rose. Don’t play dumb. Why on earth are you dating a man? And why Stanley? You knew he was my sister’s. How could you?”
“Listen, Gumdrop, it’s none of your affair. Just leave it, why don’t you!”
“Well, I rather think it is my affair, as you put it!” Henrietta said hotly. “Imagine my surprise when, on my wedding trip, I receive a letter from Elsie in which she describes seeing you kiss Stan outside the electrics! What were you doing?” She paused, her eyes flashing before they eventually relented a bit. “I thought we were friends, Rose,” she said in a softer tone. “After all that happened at the Marlowe?”
Rose’s own eyes were large as they held Henrietta’s. She seemed about to retort, but instead let out a deep sigh. “I’m sorry,” she said and suddenly burst into tears.
Of all things, Henrietta was certainly not expecting this particular reaction and stood stunned for a moment before she instinctively moved close to Rose. She was about to put her hand on Rose’s shoulder, but Rose seemed to sense this and pulled away before she did so.
“I didn’t plan it this way,” Rose mumbled. “Well, not exactly, anyway,” she said, hurriedly wiping her eyes now. “I didn’t realize at first that he was your sister’s beau. I . . . I was trying to get away from some man— at your wedding, actually. He wouldn’t leave me alone, so I asked Stan to intervene. I didn’t have any intentions of stealing him away, if that’s what you want to call it, but then I ran into him again at the electrics and, well, I could see he didn’t really care for Elsie . . . ”
Henrietta took a deep breath at this and held in the retort that was on the tip of her lips. She forced herself to be rational, admitting to herself that ultimately it was she herself who was to blame in trying to get Stan and Elsie together in the first place. “But I thought you were . . . like Gwen and Lucy,” Henrietta interjected. “That you wanted to be with women,” she said in a low voice, looking around surreptitiously as she said it. “What about Libby Shoemacher?” Henrietta asked, referring to her friend, Polly’s, sister, the girl Neptune had presumably raped and tortured before killing her. “I thought you loved her,” Henrietta whispered.
“I did love her,” Rose whispered back fiercely. “But I . . . aw, forget it,” Rose said disgustedly. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Yes, I will!” Henrietta urged. “Lucy said something about you experimenting. Is that what you’re doing? With Stan, I mean? Or was Libby the experiment?”
Rose studied Henrietta and let out a deep breath. “You have no idea what my life is like.”
Henrietta wasn’t sure what to say to that, so she remained silent.
“Look, it’s all right for you. I know you started out rough, just like us, but you lucked out. You landed on your feet,” she said, nodding toward Clive, whom they could just make out, standing at the bar with Stan and Eugene. “In spades. But there’s no escape for me if I follow my heart. And I’ve got to escape, Henrietta. I’ve got to get away from my ol’ man.”
She paused here and took a cigarette case from her handbag. With slightly trembling hands, she extracted a cigarette from it and lit it, inhaling deeply.
“It would be one thing if it were just me, but it’s not,” she said, exhaling a large cloud of smoke through her nostrils. “It’s my brother, Billy, I’ve got to think of, too. He’s backward, you see. And my ol’ man has lately started beating him when he can. He won’t beat a woman, strangely enough, so he doesn’t touch me, but now he beats Billy in my place. Don’t know why. Never used to. And Billy just takes it,” she said, wiping a few fresh tears. “I’ve got to marry someone and get out of this,” she said imploringly, looking up at Henrietta. “I can fake it well enough. I have all my life. I’ll just lie back and think of Libby when I have to. Pump out a few kids, and no one’s the wiser.” She inhaled deeply. “Look. Stan’s a dope; I know that,” she said, exhaling. “But he’s got a good heart. We could both do worse. I’m sorry about Elsie, but someone else will come along for her—let’s face it, especially with all that money now from gramps. I plan to marry Stan if he asks me, which I think he might. Maybe even tonight,” she said with a sad grin.
“So . . . so you’re just going to lie to him?” Henrietta asked, incredulous. Stan had certainly been a constant irritant in her life, but she did not wish to see him hurt and, in truth, thought he deserved better than this. Unfortunately, however, she had seen this scenario play out many times before. How many women married men they didn’t love, or only thought they loved? And both her mother and Julia proved that it didn’t matter what their social status was.
“If I have to, yes,” Rose said, her eyes narrowing as she inhaled again. “He’ll be none the wiser, believe me. I’ll treat him right, if that’s what you’re worried about. Look, sweets. Don’t blow this for me.”
“There you two are!” exclaimed Lucy, as she and Gwen came up behind them suddenly. Rose took her handkerchief and wiped her eyes again.
“Made up, then, have you?” Gwen asked, looking from one to the other.
Rose nodded, but she looked up at Henrietta as if for confirmation.
Henrietta gave a short nod i
n response. In the end, she couldn’t help but feel sorry for Rose. She didn’t really blame her for the bad situation she found herself in, but she needed to think about it more. Still, it wouldn’t do to continue to hold a grudge, especially on New Year’s Eve and her birthday. She gave Rose a weak smile and held out her hand to her. Rose took it and held it for just a moment before she let go.
“About time,” Lucy said, looping her arm through Henrietta’s as Gwen looped hers through Rose’s.
“Come on,” Gwen said. “Let’s check our faces. You’re a mess, Rose,” she said and steered them into the ladies’ room.
“But was it the lieutenant?” Stan asked Clive where they stood at the bar next to Eugene.
“Who broke it off?” Clive asked, eyeing him over a glass of Scotch.
“Yeah. Or was it Elsie?” Stan asked nervously.
“Actually, it was my sister who stopped it in the end. They were planning to elope, but thankfully Julia intervened in time to stop them.”
“Gee whiz,” Stan said with a low whistle. “Was she cut up?”
“Elsie? Quite, as I understand it,” Clive said, taking a drink of his Scotch and observing Eugene out of the corner of his eye.
Eugene, obviously in the dark as to the recent goings on at Palmer Square, held a face that looked sullen and ugly as the bits and pieces of what had occurred with his sister in his absence trickled down to him. “Weren’t you supposed to be her beau?” he asked Stan now.
“Well, sort of, I guess,” Stan answered, shifting uncomfortably.
“Why’d you go for her, anyway? I never understood that. Thought it was Henrietta you were always panting after. For a couple of years, wasn’t it? Following her all around town?”
Clive cleared his throat, and Stan colored beet-red. “All right, Gene. Enough already,” Stan said, annoyed.
“Hard to compete with the likes of this one, though, eh?” Eugene continued, nodding his head toward Clive with a snigger. “Still, why’d ya dump Elsie?”
“I . . . I didn’t dump her. Not exactly,” Stan said hotly. “’S’pose she lost interest after she met the lieutenant, and, well, I was helping Rose; she was in distress, you see, and, well, one thing led to another and, gee Eugene, you’re blamin’ the wrong guy. I’m just as much the victim here, you know.” Stan gripped his glass of beer. “And I don’t so much like your tone.”
“Calm down, Stan. Just messing with you,” Eugene said, taking a long drink of his whiskey. “But I’ll tell you one thing. I mean to look up this Barnes-Smith. Fucking bastard. I have a long memory, and I’ll give him what he’s got coming. If he so much as laid a finger on her, I’m going to kill him.”
“Well, you’ll have a hard time of it. He was reassigned to a regiment in Oregon State,” Clive put in. He did not particularly like the way this conversation was going and sought to change the subject. “Anyway, how do you find Fishburne?” he asked. “Have you come across a Major Conlon? I knew him in the war; damned fined officer. Heard he went to Fishburne after.”
“Since neither of you two were man enough to defend my sister’s honor,” Eugene slurred, ignoring Clive, “I’ll have to do it.”
“Hey!” Stan said.
“Retract that, Eugene,” Clive commanded. “I was not even in the country when this unfortunate affair occurred.”
“Sorry,” Eugene muttered, peering through his cigarette smoke at Clive as he said it.
“Furthermore—”
Clive stopped abruptly when he felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to see a waiter standing expectantly beside him. The man leaned toward him now and said, “Mr. Clive Howard?”
“Yes?” Clive asked curiously, wondering how the man knew his name.
“Your wife is in need of your assistance out back, sir,” the waiter went on. “Said she needed some air and would you attend her?”
“Take me to her,” Clive said quickly. “I’ll be back in a moment,” he said to Eugene and Stan.
“What is it?” Stan asked eagerly.
“Nothing,” Clive said, calling back over his shoulder. “Henrietta needs some air out back,” he shouted as he followed the waiter through the crowd on the main floor to the back doors, feeling more and more uneasy with every step. Something wasn’t right. If she did need a breath of cool air, why wouldn’t she have gone out front? Why the back alley, where it seemed he was being led?
Instinctively he reached for his revolver and cursed when he remembered that he had left it at Highbury. His tuxedo was so close-fitting that it prevented him from tucking the gun inside his jacket where he normally kept it without it noticeably bulging out. He had tried placing it there anyway before they had left the house, but Henrietta had spotted it immediately and asked him for once to leave it behind, as she didn’t wish to feel it against her chest as they danced. He had been reluctant to do so, not wanting to travel into the city, of all places, without it, but Henrietta had begged, saying that it was her birthday, and New Year’s Eve at that. Surely nothing would happen tonight! He had indulged her, of course, but now he cursed, feeling naked and vulnerable without it. Nervously, he craned his neck to see the table where Lucy and Gwen had been sitting, but they were gone as well. Clive’s sense of unease increased.
When they finally reached the back doors, the waiter paused and indicated with his head that he should go through. “Just through there, sir,” he said and quickly disappeared.
Clive stepped out into the freezing night air, the wind immediately stinging his eyes and making them water. He looked quickly around the back lot he found himself in but saw Henrietta nowhere. He felt himself begin to panic, doubly so when two large men wrapped in great coats emerged noiselessly from a small gap between the building across the lot and the wall of the Lawrence “L” station. Another man followed, smaller and thinner. Clive peered through the darkness, his heart racing as he sickeningly recognized him.
He should have known, he groaned inwardly, and immediately thought of Henrietta. Where was she? He prayed she was still inside and that this was merely a trap to get him alone outside. Quickly he looked to his right, toward Winthrop, but no one was in sight on this freezing New Year’s Eve. Calling out would be of no avail, he realized, his fists flexing, especially with the trains rumbling by.
As Neptune slowly approached, his hands tucked casually in the pockets of his coat. Clive struggled to control the fear and rage, which were fighting at that moment for dominion within him. His breath was coming more rapidly now, though he concentrated on keeping it hidden from the men in front of him.
“Inspector Howard,” Neptune said coolly. “Fancy meetin’ you here. Been wantin’ to speak to you for a very long time now, but yer always hidin’ up north nowadays,” he said, slowly assessing him. “Carlos, here, thinks it’s cause yer scared.”
Carlos grinned. Clive instantly recognized him as being one of Neptune’s goons from the Marlowe and wondered what had become of Vic. Vic had been Neptune’s right-hand man, acting as both bodyguard and even impersonator when needed. The police had not caught him the night they took Neptune into custody. He seemed to have disappeared, and it was rumored that he had left the country. Obviously, Carlos had been promoted to Vic’s previous position. Clive did not recognize the other goon, but he was as big and beefy as Carlos. Looking at him, Clive’s fingers itched.
“What do you want?” Clive asked cooly, though even as he asked it, he sensed this was much bigger than Neptune’s bizarre obsession with Henrietta. Somehow he now knew that Neptune was likewise responsible for his father’s death.
“That’s obvious, ain’t it? I want my money.”
“What money?” Clive asked, deciding to play dumb.
“Come on, Inspector. Don’t fuck with me. I don’t have time for yer bullshit. You know what I mean. I’m skippin’ the country, maybe permanent, and I’m collectin’ on all my accounts.”
“I don’t know how my father got involved in this, but you’ve got nothing on me. I’ll not be extorted f
rom,” he snapped.
“Oh, I think you will.”
“You killed him, didn’t you?” Clive seethed, stepping closer to him.
“That was just an accident, wasn’t it, boys?” Neptune said with a grin, briefly looking over his shoulder at his goons. “That wasn’t supposed to happen; not exactly good business to do in the source of the dough,” he said with a wheezy laugh that made Clive want to punch him right then. “Didn’t expect him to try to cheat us. Never had before. Some pushing and shoving may have occurred and well . . . It just happened, I guess. He really shouldn’t have tried to doublecross us,” he said with a shrug. “It was his own fault.”
Clive’s mind flooded with rage at Neptune’s casual reference to killing his father. As if his father had just been some unfortunate piece of garbage that had gotten in their way that day. A good man’s life ended for something so senseless.
“Fuck you,” Clive spit out.
“Now, now,” Neptune said merrily, obviously enjoying Clive’s fury. “Where’s those nice manners you got?” He stepped closer to Clive so that his face was very near his, and Clive could smell his putrid breath. “Now you listen to me, Copper. Yer going to get me that money. And then we’re done. I disappear, and you never see me again. Understand?”
“How stupid are you?” Clive retorted. “Extorting money from a cop?”
“Stranger things have happened.”
“I’m not afraid of you.”
“No, but yer little nephews were,” he said, an evil smile spreading across his face.
Clive’s heart constricted. His nephews?
“Do I have yer attention yet?” Neptune chuckled. “Had a little chat, shall we say, with the two of them while they were out playin’ in the park. The parks in Glencoe are so much nicer than the ones in Chicago, ain’t they, Rodge?” he asked, finally addressing the other goon. “Lotsa trees and bushes to hide in, ain’t that right, Carlos?”
Both Carlos and Rodge grunted, like two pigs.
“You’re bluffing,” Clive said, though he had a sickening fear that he was not.
“Oh, I never bluff. That’s for amateurs. Or the police,” Neptune said icily. “No, I’m not bluffin’. Spoke myself to little Randolph and Howard. Or, Randy and Howie, is what I called them. Answered me just the same. That’s right. I know their names,” he said, seeming to enjoy the fear that Clive knew he wasn’t hiding well. “Told them I would find them in the night and cut them into little pieces if they weren’t good little boys. Should have seen their faces,” Neptune said and laughed suddenly.