The Parlor City Boys

by Arno B. Zimmer

  Meacham wanted to be thorough. “Check all the liquor stores in the area and then go down to the hobo jungle and see if anyone knew him. For some reason, he decided to be alone or maybe they exiled him. They have their rules and could be he violated them.”

  Meacham shook his head almost in despair. It seemed that everywhere he turned, booze was dragging someone – including good people – into the dark abyss. It reminded him that Mike DeLong had called earlier and he had promised himself that he would stop at his house on the way home. He just hoped that it wouldn’t be another depressing encounter to cap his day.

  ***

  DeLong was watching the driveway and came out to greet Meacham before he could reach the front door, guiding him around to the backyard. “You are looking good, Mike, how is everything?” said Meacham hopefully.

  “Well, first thing is that I didn’t drink today – so far, that is – and I’m taking it hour by hour, Meach. No more grandiose promises made out of drunken remorse. Let’s just say I am quietly optimistic about my chances. It may not be a big deal to some people and in fact they might say it is a sign of weakness but I got into this program at the church where we meet two nights a week. Basically, a bunch of drunks sit around and tell their stories. If you bullshit, they see right through you. It’s humbling, in a way, but every time I leave, I feel stronger and have hope that I can straighten things out in there”, said DeLong, pointing to the house.

  “Oh, here’s some other good news” continued DeLong. “The temporary administrator up at the Institute told me today I still have a job but am on probation. Hell, I can live with that. I am on probation at home so might as well be at work, too, right? Apparently, Rev. Carmichael intervened and put a good word in for me. He’s the one that set up the meetings for us booze hounds at the church. Can you imagine old Rev. Smythe doing any of this to help a poor lost soul?”

  Meacham ignored the praise of the minister and asked how things were with the family. “Well, Jeanette is naturally suspicious, waiting for the next bomb to explode. Can’t and don’t blame her so just have to be humble, patient, whatever. At least she is talking to me. Wish I could say the same for the boy” concluded DeLong, hanging down his head. Meacham couldn’t think of anything else to say other than “Give it time, Mike, give it time.”

  Meacham told DeLong as much as he could about the Institute investigation and then, to lighten the mood, described the assorted “tough guys” who were babbling like babies over at the jail. DeLong was particularly gratified to hear that Burt Grimsley would no longer be harassing patients at the Institute and that he would very likely get a taste of his own brand of medicine very soon.

  DeLong jumped at the chance when Meacham asked for his help. “I need to drop my car at Belvedere’s, Mike. Can you ride with me now and then I will bring you back here right afterwards?” said Meacham. “Let me inform the boss. I am sure she will be fine”, said a smiling DeLong as he hustled into the house.

  Like Glenn Perkins, DeLong couldn’t believe his ears when he learned that Meacham was not taking his beloved car in for a tune-up but actually selling it. “There’s a lot behind this decision, Mike, and maybe we will talk about it later. Right now, you can trust me that it is the right thing to do” said Meacham in a voice that did not invite any further discussion.

  When they got back to DeLong’s house, he turned to Meacham and said “Billy, I am in the middle of the biggest fight of my life, right now at this very moment. If I lose the battle with the bottle, it’s all over for me and I know that. Some people don’t know when they are at the bottom and, I guess, continue to search for it. I hear stories at these meetings and it makes me cringe. I can’t and won’t say that I’ll never drink again but I am damn well determined to make it through today. Hell, we’ve been together for a few hours now and you haven’t seen me drink, have you? Some things in life – a few precious things – are worth fighting for” said DeLong with tears welling up as he pointed to the house.

  And then the two old friends clasped hands and DeLong pressed hard before letting go and getting out of Meacham’s car.

  ***

  When Meacham left DeLong’s house, he wanted to be alone so headed straight home. He found some cold, leftover chicken in the refrigerator and plopped down on the couch in front of the TV. The news was on but he wasn’t paying attention. In fact, he was looking right through it and saw flashing images of Big Red, Stella, his sports car, his father, the minister and, of course, Gwen Braun.

  The chicken wasn’t going down that well so Meacham took a big draught of lemonade. He was mentally exhausted but didn’t seem to recognize it. He got up and took the dishes into the kitchen and then opened the cabinet. There was the unopened bottle of Walker’s Deluxe bourbon that was being saved for special occasions. Was this one? Not really how he envisioned it, but what the hell, he thought.

  Meacham rarely drank alone or to get drunk but now he felt the urge to be oblivious. He grabbed the bottle and headed back to the couch. After a short pause, he took off the top and took a long draw and sat back. Just enough to get me to nod off, he said to himself. The news was over and Meacham was staring at Ed Sullivan pitching “Safe Buy” used cars for Mercury. After a few more slugs, he realized he was watching “Life of Riley” and grinning at the TV. He put the bottle on the table and stretched out on the couch. Within minutes, he was snoring.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Thursday, July 21, 1955

  Meacham woke up with a rare hangover. He stumbled around his apartment as if he were near death and only after a long hot shower did he feel that he could venture outside. When he did so, he was chagrined to see the now ex-Mayor Wattle standing by the curb next to his Cadillac Eldorado. Meacham wondered darkly if there was an embalmed corpse in the back.

  “I’m in no mood, Wattle, for whatever self-serving drivel you have to offer up,” said Meacham, proceeding to his own car. “Not even the unvarnished truth about your Father, detective? I at least owe you that much” said Wattle in a low quivering voice. Meacham stopped and turned back to look at Wattle but said nothing. He was curious, though, to learn if Wattle would echo Hawkins’ letter so motioned with his hand for Wattle to proceed.

  “The Governor was a petty, vindictive and controlling man. Believe me, I was with him from the start, backed him to the hilt, did whatever he asked to help keep him in power. He had aspirations beyond the statehouse that actually seemed possible early on but everyone around him – especially your Father – came to understand that he was a hollow, self-serving narcissist whose reckless behavior would be a major impediment to his political future.

  “Well, to get to the heart of it, we promised your Father, if he would just bide his time quietly, that when he eventually came home to Parlor City, he would be the police chief as long as I was Mayor. He could easily have earned the job in his own right if an election were held but as I made the appointment, politics intervened. It was a demanding job handling security for Traber and his insatiable female appetite didn’t make it any easier. Your Father refused to arrange any of the late night liaisons but had no choice but to offer proper security. However, when Traber chose to run for a second term, your Father came to me and said he couldn’t stomach it any longer. No threatening or cajoling by Traber or me could change his mind so he returned to Parlor City and rejoined the police force – just not as Chief. That was the price he had to pay for having a conscience.”

  Wattle could see that Meacham was getting antsy so rushed on. “So let me quickly get to the end game. The Governor’s campaign committee – not his office – paid your Father a bonus or severance, if you will, of $4000 for meritorious service. It had been vaguely promised when he came on board but no amount had been stipulated so we basically made up a figure as your Father was departing. And yes, he was bitter and resentful but who wouldn’t be? He never asked for the bonus and we must have pressured him a number of times before he took it. Well, after Traber lost, we concocted the story that the
bonus was actually hush money demanded by your Father for covering up the Governor’s affairs. Your Father, being an honorable man, couldn’t be bribed but he could be embarrassed. So, we threatened to spread the rumor around to “keep him in line’ and even shared it with Hawkins as if it were, indeed, a fact so as to keep you in line as well. Unfortunately for us, you inherited your Father’s stubbornly high moral standards. Hawkins told me he tried to bait you a few times without success. That’s pretty much all there is to tell.”

  “You and Hawkins, what a pair” Meacham said scornfully. “I guess you are all broken up over his suicide but, then again, you’ll have another customer, right?” Wattle stood silently in front of Meacham with a pitiful look on his face then turned back to his car. Meacham watched as Wattle drove away. As he turned to get into his own car, he started to moan before suddenly vomiting all over the driveway.

  ***

  Before heading to the station, Meacham went back inside to clean up. He tried to gargle away the fetid taste in his mouth but was unsuccessful. But now his stomach was growling and his headache had not diminished. He decided that some black coffee and toast were what he needed to get through the morning.

  When he walked into the café near the station, he saw Rev. Carmichael sitting on a stool at the end of the counter. Meacham went to the other end and closely studied the over-sized menu, blocking his face with it as much as possible but trying not to be overly conspicuous. When the waitress practically bellowed “What’ll it be, detective?” Meacham winced and lowered the menu as Rev. Carmichael looked over and waived.

  Meacham nodded and then stared straight ahead but kept Carmichael in his periphery. After a few minutes, he could see him approaching with his coffee cup in hand. “Do you mind, Detective?” said Carmichael pleasantly, pointing to the stool next to Meacham. “Not at all”, Meacham lied.

  “Nice family, the Brauns, don’t you think? Sad about the father’s disappearance but they seem to have adjusted and moved on with life.” Meacham nodded yes and took a bite of toast. It did not go down easily. “Listen, Detective, let me get right to the point. I like Gwen Braun a great deal and that family needs more than a spiritual advisor. Sometimes, I feel like people forget that I am a man as well as a minister. I was reminded recently of an old British saying that goes like this: ‘faint heart never won fair lady.’ Not sure where it originated but it is rather provocative, wouldn’t you say? Well, I best be going, Detective. Hope to see you in church again soon”. Carmichael pushed his glasses up on his nose and actually winked at Meacham before leaving.

  Meacham sat and watched after the Reverend as he walked out the door. Had he just heard correctly? The minister was actually intent on making a play for Gwen Braun? If so, why did he want him to know?

  ***

  Meacham stopped at Belvedere Motors and was out again in ten minutes. Glen Perkins was still awe struck but the deal was done. Gwen Braun would never got her ride, Meacham said to himself as he took one last look at his sports car. Now, what to do with the money, he mused.

  ***

  When Meacham got to the station, he was immediately informed that the Chief wanted to see him. “Sit down, Billy” said the Chief. “Got some information on Siebert and it corroborates the notes left by DePue. Seems that he started his life of crime during college and hasn’t let up, just got more sophisticated. Disappeared for a while then turned up back in Boston as Ripley Maxwell. Seems that even his father didn’t know he had returned. Played up some bogus European connections to borrow money and “kited” checks from several banks – including the one where Mildred Crimmons ran into him. He was always on the alert for new targets and she conveniently fell into his arms. Then, he disappeared again just about the time that Hawkins came down here to run the Institute. Showed up here as Reginald Carver. He certainly has a knack for knowing when to skip town.

  “Hey, Billy, are you following me?” asked the Chief somewhat exasperated as Meacham sat motionless looking out the window. “Yeah, Chief, heard every word” Meacham said flatly. “Anything else?”

  “Well, Stella’s story about being left at the bus station seems plausible. Not only did she have a ticket stub but we were notified by Charleston police that Carver’s car – or should I say Siebert’s? – was found abandoned on a city street last night. Of course, no sign of him.”

  “He’s going to very difficult to catch, Chief. He could be on a private boat already to points unknown or he could be leading us astray and be headed in another direction. What do we do about the girl? If we hold her, what’s the charge? And how much more are we going to get out of her anyway?” Meacham was discouraged and starting to sound fatalistic.

  “Whipple and you need to have one more go at her. Play hard ball! I looked through all of Hawkins’ documents again and I can’t find any provable connections to the crimes except for the purchase of the booze. And that is flimsy at best. What’ll we do, detain her and charge her with having bad taste in men?”

  This last remark made Meacham chuckle, bringing up images of Big Red, Gwen and the minister. It relieved the Chief to see Billy emerge from his funk. “So bring her in this morning and let me know what happens. If we’re going to release her, let’s do so before the Aunt gets the wild idea to engage a lawyer.”

  “I’m not sure how much more the Aunt wants to invest in this vixen, Chief. She described her to me as haughty and disdainful since she was a little girl. How she thought she could tame her is beyond me. My guess is that she is pretty disillusioned right about now but still feels some obligation to get her back home. Quite frankly, I think she’s still obsessed with the Ripley Maxwell she knew in Boston – or thought she knew” said Meacham.

  “Well, let’s see if anything comes out of the next session. Again, lay it on heavy. At the very least, we can ask the Boston police to keep an eye on her for a while if we do release her” said the Chief, adding “We’ll brief the DA later as he will have the final say.”

  The Chief started to shuffle some papers on his desk and then reached for the phone when Meacham asked, “a few more minutes, Chief?”

  After a short pause, as if to gather his thoughts, Meacham said, “Chief, I want to hear everything you know about my Father’s relationship with Traber and the Mayor. It’s important, Chief, so I do mean everything.”

  The Chief sat forward in his chair and folded his hands in a steeple and looked pensively at Billy. Then, he proceeded to confirm everything Meacham had read in the Hawkins letter and heard from Wattle that morning.

  “What you may not have heard, Billy, was that I was chosen because the Mayor knew I would be pliable, not look for trouble. If the Mayor said go slow on a particular investigation, that’s what I did. There was a lot of small stuff, looking the other way when a relative got in trouble, promotions to favored officers, you get the idea. I got this job on terms that never suited me and I would have said no as well but I didn’t have your Father’s rectitude. This whole sordid mess at the Institute gives me a chance to set some things right, to finish my tenure as Chief on an honorable note. As I saw you handling the investigation, it reminded me of what your Father would have done and gave me additional motivation.

  “And not that it matters but I want you to know that I have already told the Deputy Mayor I am only sticking around until the Institute investigation is complete. To be honest, I didn’t earn this job. Hey, maybe they can use me up at the Institute?” And then the Chief stood and smiled at Meacham. Almost on cue, they both stuck out their hands for a heart-felt grip that lasted for several seconds.

  ***

  When Meacham entered the interview room, both Whipple and Stella were laughing. Whipple quickly turned stone-faced but Stella looked bemused and said, “Oh, the Sargent was just telling me the story about how he was skinny dipping with his friends up at the dam and they were spotted by some girls who showed up for a picnic. Pretty racy town you have here, Detective.” She smiled mischievously but kept her steady gaze on Whipple who finally
said glumly, “We were in the 8th grade.”

  “Yes, well swimming naked is a well-known pastime here in Parlor City among all age groups, Miss Crimmons, but we are usually pretty discreet about mentioning it to outsiders. Now, is there anything else I missed?” asked Meacham, somewhat sternly.

  “Just small talk waiting for you, Detective” said Whipple deferentially, knowing that he would hear about his indiscretion later.

  Meacham went over old ground from the day before hoping to trip up Stella with a contradiction. Still stinging from his earlier faux pas, Whipple said nothing but busied himself by taking voluminous notes.

  “Listen, Miss Crimmons, let me lay it on the line. Nothing you have said the last few days rings true with me. My sense is that you probably know where Siebert is right now and may even have plans to re-join him once a certain amount of time has passed. We are going to catch you in a lie sooner or later and then the penalties will be severe. Have you even stopped to consider what it would be like to spend a few years in prison for aiding and abetting scum like Hawkins and Siebert? Let me assure you, you won’t be so young and attractive when you get out. Prison has a way of aging people in a short period of time.” Meacham had stood up and hovered over Stella as he delivered this message in an almost threatening manner.

  Stella had stared back at Meacham intently the entire time and then replied calmly but with a tinge of irritation, “Detective, I have repeatedly told you everything I know since I left Boston up to the present time but you keep bringing up the name of someone named Siebert who I don’t know and have certainly never met. Granted, I have made some foolish decisions, even mistakes like taking off with Carver, which have been freely admitted. I thought that was a young girl’s prerogative. My only plan now, if permitted, is to return to Boston with my Aunt and live quietly.”