The Parlor City Boys

by Arno B. Zimmer

  Over his shoulder, Woody could hear the barking voice of Zeke Magill and knew he would be getting an earful shortly. “Hey Braun, heard your team choked in the clutch last night. How do you expect to move up to Babe Ruth if you can’t even beat those losers at Wilber Hardware?” Zeke was always loud enough to draw the attention of anyone nearby. Woody felt as if a thousand eyes were boring in on him as he mumbled “up yours”.

  Zeke glared and pushed against Woody on his way to the ticket window even though there was ample room to get by. As he was walking into the theater, he turned back and caught Woody by surprise. “Oh, Braun, one more thing. Just saw your spaz buddy Kosinsky so you can forget it if you’re waiting for him cuz he ain’t gonna show. He just walked into Tee Shirt Smith’s house a few minutes ago. Man, what a pal you have there. Hanging out at the Librarian’s house in the Summer. And what does the “Z” on his shirt stand for? Zero? Hey, that means both of you guys are losers”.

  Woody heard a few murmurs of laughter but nothing was registering in his mind now. He suddenly felt lost and disoriented. He waited a few minutes for the crowd to go in, hands stuck deep in the pockets of his dungarees, slouching with his head down and still hoping that Jerry would show but knowing that he wouldn’t. Eventually, he pushed himself away from the corner of the building and drifted toward home. Screw the movies and screw Jerry Kosinsky, Woody said bitterly to himself.

  When the car pulled up beside him, Woody didn’t turn his head and just prayed silently that it wasn’t Rudy Gantz. “Hop in, kid” made Woody look to see Coach Meacham at the curb, leaning out the passenger window. Woody exhaled as he got in. Nothing was said on the short ride to Woody’s house. When they pulled in the driveway, Gwen Braun was waiting for them at the front door.

  “OK, Woody,” Meacham began, when they sat down in the living room, “I just need to review some of the things we talked about after the game the other night. Just routine police stuff to make sure we have all the information straight. Sometimes the smallest detail can help us solve a case. You can understand that, right”? Meacham smiled and Woody started to relax.

  “I’ve been thinking about the Lattimore robbery, Coach, and still can’t remember anything new,” Woody volunteered, adding an “Honest, sir” at the end. “I’m not interested in Lattimore’s right now, Woody,” corrected Meacham. “And I already know you will be honest with me.” Woody recognized a more formal tone in Coach’s voice and started to tense up, realizing he was now talking to Det. Meacham.

  “What I really find interesting is your visits to the park, Woody. There was more than one, wasn’t there?” As Meacham paused, he stared intently at Woody who was looking at his Mother, as if she would deliver the answer. But she was staring back just as fixedly as Meacham. Woody felt trapped.

  “Now Woody, I can talk to Jerry Kosinsky and get his version of events on your second visit to the park, which I need to do for the record, anyway. But right now, we need to get straight with each other, is that clear? So let’s begin with your first visit to the park that afternoon.” Woody noticed a distinct edge in Meacham’s voice; he was no longer Coach Meacham, that was clear.

  Woody gulped hard and tried to decide where to start when Meacham helped him along. “Woody, Mrs. Ruskin was in the park that afternoon with her daughter. She pushed her on the swings for a few minutes but it was so hot they decided to go home. When she started to leave, she looked over at the big horse chestnut tree and noticed a boy disappear around the back of it. You know, Mrs. Ruskin, don’t you, Woody? Now she told Sgt. Whipple that she can’t be positive that it was you but she was pretty sure.” Meacham stopped to give Woody time to absorb this information.

  It was at this point that the floodgates opened and Woody buried his face in his hands, trembling with shame and despair. He was embarrassed but also relieved at the same time. He couldn’t bear to look up but after a few minutes mumbled “Rudy Gantz”.

  Meacham and Woody’s mother both leaned forward and said “What” at the same time as Woody went on. “I found a gun and bullets in a brown paper bag that afternoon at the park and stuffed them in the tree. Jerry and I went back that night to get them and they were gone. Except for one bullet left behind. I have it upstairs.” Meacham coaxed Woody along. “OK, kid, I know this is tough but what’s the park got to do with Rudy Gantz? He’s a small time wannabee hood?”

  “It was Rudy at Lattimore’s. I noticed his red hair sticking out under the mask. He knew it and came to see me that afternoon when I was collecting on my paper route. He made it clear that Jerry and I would pay if I said anything.” Before Woody finished, his Mother was beside him on the couch with her arm draped over his shoulder. Blood is usually thicker than water, Meacham reminded himself. Better be careful.

  Meacham sat quietly for a while then said, “I’ll need the bullet to run some tests. Do you remember the car Rudy was driving when he stopped you?” “Sure, a metallic green 49 Ford coupe, Coach. He thinks he’s so cool in that car,” said Woody, starting to feel better.

  “Woody, we will need to stop by the Kosinsky's to confirm Jerry’s version of events. Don’t worry, its standard police procedure and you did the right thing. Stay home. I’ll stop by later if I can.” As Meacham got up to leave, he gently cuffed the back of Woody’s head and gave a soft pat on the shoulder to Gwen Braun. Woody noticed the gesture and for some reason felt that everything was going to work out.

  Woody retrieved the bullet and as Meacham started out the door, he said, “Hey Coach, if you want to find Jerry right now, stop by T-shirt, I mean Miss Smith’s house. You know, the librarian. Someone said they saw him walk into her house a short while ago.” Meacham gave a wave without looking back.

  Billy Meacham sat in his car in the Braun driveway for a few minutes sorting through possibilities. No doubt Woody found the gun left behind by DeLong. Was it Hawkins’ gun? If so, how did Gantz get it, assuming that he did? Was he also hanging around the park that day, watching Woody place the gun in the tree? If so, could this be the gun used at Lattimore’s? Meacham knew he needed to act quickly and started to formulate a plan. But he would need help from some unlikely sources. First, though, he had to drop DeLong’s shoes off downtown to be analyzed to confirm that his hunch was correct.

  ***

  Miss Smith slid the curtain ever so slightly to the side and watched from the window as Jerry lumbered up the street toward home. She felt bad for the boy and, in an effort to comfort him, said things about her past that she thought would make him feel comfortable enough to open up to her. But then remorse had almost immediately set in and she was still trembling as she let the curtain close.

  He had spilled everything to her. It came gushing out in a torrent and she didn’t know what to say to console him, as he looked at her beseechingly. After a few moments, she had managed to mutter “now, now” and had sat close to him, patting his shoulder sympathetically. When he had turned to face her, she had recoiled and stood up abruptly.

  It had certainly been a lapse in judgment to let him come to her house. She saw that clearly now even though she believed that her intentions were noble. One thing was certain - the secret tutorial sessions were over forever.

  When Lyla Smith had arrived in Parlor City almost 15 years earlier, she was a young woman escaping her own bitter disappointments. She had not been prepared for her lover’s wicked betrayal just days before they were to kneel at the altar and exchange vows. And so she fled.

  Upon settling in Parlor City, she vowed to avoid all personal entanglements and had been largely successful. The library was an ideal place for her purposes and she actually thrived in the quiet, hushed atmosphere to the point that she was actually sad when the time came each evening to turn off the lights and lock the doors.

  Outside, she carried her library demeanor with her and people quickly learned to keep their distance. But there was something about Jerry Kosinsky that kindled some long dormant need to engage with another person on more than a superficial level. His e
ager, inquisitive mind prompted her to take a chance but now she feared the consequences if people learned of their secret liaisons and started questioning her motives.

  She was not unaware of her nickname. It had become commonplace among many in Parlor City to the point that it no longer seemed to have any meaning or significance. Yes, it had bothered her for a time but she had gradually grown impervious to its sound when she heard it snickered among the stacks of books. The library was her protective cocoon and she felt safe in its orderly and predictable confines. She had ventured out with Jerry and had learned a hard lesson. It was time to retreat again.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Rudy drove slowly past Earl Brattigan’s house. All the lights were off and there were no cars parked either out front or in the driveway. He smiled to himself as he turned the corner and said “OK, boys, we just passed Brattigan’s there on the right and we’ll come up on the back side. You guys enter from there. I’ll drive back around front and park the car across the street and down a bit. You signal me when it’s clear to enter through the garage. Got it?” The Clintocks nodded and exited Rudy’s car in unison.

  ***

  When Meacham got back to his apartment, he sensed that something was wrong. He unlocked the door and called out but DeLong did not answer. He searched futilely until he found an open window in the bathroom with a note lying on the floor, which read: “Sorry, Billy, but I had no choice. Santimaw showed up and was banging on your door. He must have learned that you picked me up at Crater’s. He still has sources downtown and knows stuff. Borrowed a pair of sneakers.”

  Meacham felt sure that DeLong was a pawn but had to prove it. He now feared the worse for his old friend but could baby-sit him no longer now that Rudy Gantz had complicated the Crazy Hill investigation.

  ***

  Inside the Brattigan house, the Clintock twins were like roving marauders. Rudy knew it was time to unleash them and he watched with bemusement as they overturned furniture, pulled open and smashed dresser drawers, sliced open mattresses and generally wreaked havoc on the dead man’s home. To their delight, they found some old coins and several twenty dollar bills sewn inside Brattigan’s mattress and some jewelry wrapped in an old towel in a closet. Rudy took charge of the booty and they all headed for the kitchen.

  “Now listen, boys, I was just in the garage and couldn’t find the keys so it is your job to get Briattigan’s car started. As soon as it’s dark, you will slowly back out of the driveway. Remember, no headlights until you reach the corner. Then follow me back to my house so we can drop off my car. Can it be more clear?” said Rudy, making sure he had eye contact with the twins. The Clintocks grunted and headed for the garage to check out the Buick Roadmaster. Rudy decided to take a nap. He had read somewhere that some gangster from the 1920s rested before every heist and it made everything go more smoothly. They had a few more hours before darkness would shroud them and the twins knew not to disturb him unless something went wrong.

  ***

  When Meacham got to the Gantz house, there was no metallic green Ford in sight. Meacham looked through the front door window after no one answered the doorbell. He hesitated a moment and then slowly turned the knob. After shouting “Det. Meacham from the Police Department” a few times with no response, he nudged the door with his hip and it conveniently flew open. “Oops, better investigate, could be a crime in progress”, he said loudly to his imaginary partner.

  Meacham walked through the downstairs, ending up in the kitchen. Turning to leave, he noticed a folded newspaper on the kitchen table. What caught Meacham’s eye was that a section was circled boldly in black pen. When he looked more closely, he noticed it was a death notice for an Earl Brattigan. Meacham knew the family but not that well. Brattigan was the last of a farming clan that had come down from the hills outside Parlor City to work in the once burgeoning but now almost blighted cigar industry.

  If the Gantz’ knew Earl Brattigan, that was no big deal. Parlor City was a small town. But why circle the obituary? Usually, when you circle something in the newspaper, you intend to take action. Buy something, apply for a job, go to a movie. Maybe it was nothing but it didn’t feel right to Meacham. In fact, everything had a bad odor to Meacham right now, including the smell coming from the top of the stove. It probably made no sense but he picked up the telephone and called Sgt. Whipple, asking him to drive by the Brattigan house. Stan Whipple could be trusted to keep quiet and that’s exactly what Meacham asked him to do.

  ***

  Frederick Hawkins was annoyed. No one could locate Santimaw. He had not been seen for over two hours and had never left the premises before without notifying either Hawkins or Miss Deschambault. The Mayor had promised Hawkins two days of silence before the office break-in and missing gun would be official police business. But now, time was running out and he knew Carver would not countenance any excuses.

  Further complicating matters, the DePue family was now questioning the circumstances of his death and might demand more substantive answers. Randall had been a first-rate lawyer before addling his brain with alcohol. But even near the end, he was more capable than most people with no mental impairments. His constant haranguing against Hawkins and his therapeutic methods had riled up a number of patients and he had even been questioned by a few benefactors at the Mayor’s dinner party. Hawkins was insulted by the scrutiny and sometimes wondered aloud why he had left Boston for a backwater town like Parlor City. Aligning himself with Ripley Maxwell no longer seemed like such a great move – except when he thought that if it wasn’t for him he would never have had the wherewithal or the courage to flee with the delectable Dede.

  Hawkins and DePue had a short history but it was toxic almost from the start. Upon his arrival in Parlor City to take charge of the Institute, Hawkins quickly perceived that DePue was the only Board member who took his oversight role seriously. In fact, the first time they were together, the mutual dislike was almost palpable and Hawkins felt that DePue was intent on restricting his ability to manage the Institute without undue scrutiny. So how ironic was it when DePue abruptly resigned from the Board after the embarrassing incident at the golf course and then shortly thereafter fell under Hawkins’ sway, even if it was in the “country club” wing where the wealthy could pursue the drying out process at their own leisurely pace. Luckily for Hawkins, DePue’s continued physical decline from years of soaking his organs in alcohol had weakened his credibility with most of the staff. Who could reasonably challenge the conclusion that he drank his way to oblivion with one final, massive ingestion of alcohol?

  ***

  When no one returned to the Gantz house, Meacham called Whipple back and told him he was heading to the Braun’s. Woody was in his room so Meacham took the opportunity to ask Gwen about the Institute.

  “So, why did you leave there and come downtown to work at the hospital, Gwen? Word is that they pay much better up on Crazy Hill,” Meacham said, trying to sound as casual as possible.

  “Let’s just say I didn’t like their treatment methods and the management style in general. Plus, working here in town, I can get home quickly – especially if Woody needs me,” said Gwen. Then he asked “Did you know Randall DePue?”

  Not catching his use of the past tense, Gwen said “Billy, he is such a sad case. A fine gentleman, literally destroying himself with alcohol. I would like to say that he fights it hard but am not sure it’s true even though it sounds good to say so. Before I left, I would get the chance to talk to him occasionally and you could tell right away that he is a highly intelligent and sensitive man.

  You know, he has his sources. For booze, that is, and I mean inside the Institute. All the wealthy ones do. He periodically checks in to dry out but it struck me that he is really just trying to hide out – from the world, you know. Pretty cynical, right? Sometimes I think Hawkins encouraged the smuggling as a perverse kind of experiment or maybe as a justification for prolonged treatment. Who knows, with that man. Randall doesn’t like Hawkins and disa
pproves of some of his treatment methods,” said Gwen sadly. “I’m not surprised,” said Meacham to himself, thinking about Mike DeLong.

  “Maybe it sounds unbelievable, particularly when your mission is to cure some pretty sick people, but I never felt the Institute was really dedicated to healing patients. There seemed to be a lack of humanity and more a focus on hard discipline and experimentation, especially with the poor ones. I’m talking about electro-convulsive and insulin shock therapies, almost on a whim, and rarely with the patient’s consent, instead of as a last resort. And, of course, heavy medications and always the extreme disciplinary methods – not to mention the occasional pre-frontal lobotomy. It all struck me as experimental medical treatment with a malicious edge to it.

  And then there was the periodic patient “dump”, as it was known, to relieve overcrowding. We simply sent them back home or just released them to fend for themselves. I always felt that the Institute should be a safe haven for the weak, a refuge, but somehow those that needed the most help were often just abandoned.