Jimmy the Stick

by Michael Mayo

  Gimping along as quickly as I could, I got past the sleeping men and out the back door. I slipped under the rail of the landing to stand on the cobblestones. Again, the stench hit me hard. The knucks allowed enough dexterity for me to hold my cane with both hands as I checked the space under the railing. Yes, there was enough room if I choked up a little. Stay calm, I told myself. Don’t get mad, don’t get excited. Keep it under control.

  Hourigan shouldered through the door and stopped, peering out at the alley as if he expected to see me running away. The sweeping strike of the cane caught him behind the knees. They buckled and he toppled down to the wet cobblestones. But before I could move in, he rolled away, bouncing shakily to his feet.

  I closed in as fast as I could, holding the cane chest high, parallel to the ground, hands at each end. The cop reached for his coat pocket, probably going for the sap he had used before. I switched back to a two-handed grip and smacked the hand in his pocket. The coat tore and the white sap fell to the ground. Hourigan swung at me with a hard roundhouse left. I partially blocked it with the cane, staggering back a little when he caught me on the shoulder. We circled each other. Hourigan was breathing heavily. Even in the faint light, I could see that his angry face was swollen. He coughed and bulled in again. I twisted away, jabbing him in the stomach.

  Then the big bastard was on me with a headlock. I turned my head to keep from being choked. He laughed, and I could really feel it when he took a deep breath, his thick left arm swelling as he squeezed.

  I jammed the cane between his legs, grabbed the tip with my right hand, and yanked it straight up into his crotch. His arm loosened but not enough. I jammed the stick up again, and then a third time. Something crunched and his arm gave way. The big man staggered backward, bent over, hands grabbing at his groin.

  I hit him hard on the ear with the knucks, reversed the cane, hooked an ankle, and pulled it out from under him. Hourigan landed on his butt against the privy, still holding his crotch, gasping for breath.

  I leaned close. “Why did you do it? Why did you bust up my place? Tell me, dammit.”

  Still trying to get his breath, Hourigan stammered, “She . . . she left . . .”

  “What?”

  Before I could pull away, a meaty fist snapped up. It caught me on the jaw and popped my head back.

  Hourigan’s feet scrabbled on the ground as he tried to stand. No, not stand. He was pulling at his pant leg and reaching for an ankle holster. He had the little revolver in his hand when I cracked his mitt again with the stick, and the gun went off. He dropped the weapon and let out a high, thin scream.

  There was a bleeding hole in the middle of his shoe. The scream became a sob, and then wracking, uncontrollable spasms. He slumped back against the privy, chest heaving, crying like crazy as he stared up at the rain.

  Mrs. Pennyweight appeared beside me and I could hear the rummies crowding onto the landing. Even the bartender was there.

  I put on my coats and hat, and said, “Do you have a phone?”

  The bartender shook his head.

  “Can you get to a phone?”

  He nodded.

  “Call the cops. Tell ’em one of their guys is here.”

  As we walked back up the alley, Mrs. Pennyweight asked what Hourigan had said. “Did you learn why he sacked your establishment?”

  “Yeah, dammit, I think I did.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  SUNDAY, MARCH 6, 1932

  NEW YORK CITY

  It was three thirty in the morning. I was finally coming down from the excitement of the fight when the Duesenberg stopped in front of my place. Oh Boy stayed with the car. The rest of us headed to the front door.

  Fat Joe Beddoes looked at me through the little spy door. He grunted, “About fucking time you got back.”

  I ushered the women inside and said, “I’ve never seen him so emotional.”

  Frenchy roared, “Goddamn, boss, you’re here,” as Marie Therese kissed me. I did a quick head count. Eight at the bar, three couples in the booths, nine at the tables. Well, it was a nasty night. The regulars nodded to me, looking curiously at the women and the little boy as we walked to a corner table. Connie Nix giggled at the painting behind the bar. Mrs. Pennyweight ordered scotch. I ordered an Irish, and an Irish and ginger ale for Connie. No cherries for the kid. When Marie Therese brought the drinks, I told her to sit down.

  “I found the cop, Hourigan. He won’t be bothering us anymore.”

  She was worried, nervous. “That’s great, Jimmy.”

  “Connie’s not around, is she?” I turned to the women. “This is another Connie.”

  “No,” Marie Therese said, a bit too quickly.

  “And she’s not coming back.”

  “I can’t say anything about that, Jimmy.”

  “It’s all right. I know what happened.”

  Marie Therese looked relieved and guilty at the same time. Connie Nix and Mrs. Pennyweight obviously didn’t know what I was talking about.I explained for their benefit. “A few months ago, a young lady named Connie Halloran came to work here as a waitress on the recommendation of her very good friend Marie Therese. I started seeing her socially and we had some good times. The only problem is that her name isn’t Connie Halloran. It’s Hourigan.”

  “I didn’t know until last night, Jimmy, I swear I didn’t.”

  “Don’t worry. Water under a burning bridge.”

  And that was the truth. I wasn’t even angry. The moment I heard him say “she left,” everything fell into place. Hourigan was easily twice her age, maybe more. Probably married her when she was fifteen, then stuck her in a cramped apartment in the Bronx while he went to work at all hours and stayed out to drink with his friends. She must have been with him that night when he and the other cops came in with their wives. Maybe it was the only time she got out. Maybe after that little taste of fun, she wanted more. He said no. Or maybe he came to my place with his girlfriend and she found out. For whatever reason, they had a fight. He yelled, he smacked her. She left and found her way back here, where Marie Therese took in another stray.

  Maybe at first Hourigan figured she’d come back, and didn’t let on to the other cops that she’d run off. But word got out. It always does. And then he got lonely, angry, and embarrassed, and when he found out where she was, he decided to do something about it. Maybe that Tuesday night he planned to drag her back home. Then, when he didn’t find her, he decided to close me down. Or maybe he knew she was screwing the boss. Hell of a thing.

  So now I needed a new waitress.

  I gave Mrs. Pennyweight and Connie Nix a cleaned-up version of the story, not mentioning the important parts. But I think they saw through me.

  On the way out, I asked Frenchy if he needed money to keep things moving. He said they were fine until the end of the month. I said I ought to be back before then although I realized I had no idea how long it was going to take. When was Spence coming back? How long would it take him to do whatever he had to do with exploratory wells? Hell, I didn’t even know what an exploratory well was.

  Back in the car, I asked Oh Boy to swing by the Chelsea before we left. Compared to Luciano’s digs at the Waldorf, the lobby looked pretty dingy. But it was still home. Funny, though, after being away I didn’t have the same feeling for the hotel that I had for the speak. Maybe that was really home to me.

  Tommy, the night man, said, “Good evening, Mr. Quinn. Hope you’re doing well.” He handed over a key.

  “Can’t complain. Tell me, is the lady in?”

  He looked back at the board of keys. “No, I haven’t seen her since last night.” He had a funny expression on his face. He’d probably seen her leave and knew she wasn’t coming back.

  I went up the stairs to the third floor and opened the door. I wasn’t surprised by what I found. If she’d moved in, there was no sign. Her clothes were gone from the wardrobe and the dresser. No makeup or other female stuff was left in the bathroom. I could still smell some of her so
aps and perfume, though.

  She’d tossed the place pretty good, too. The cash I kept at the back of the top drawer was gone. It looked like she’d tried to pry apart the little lockbox I kept in the closet. She’d have been disappointed if she’d got it open. Nothing in it but a pistol. The drawers had been pulled out of the roll-top desk. She’d found one stash that I kept there but missed the other. All in all, I figured I’d got off easy. Almost all of my real money was in the safe in the Chelsea office, and inside the box at the Harriman Bank.

  I sat at the desk, straightening up old notebooks Connie had scattered about, and surveyed the room. I could still see her on the tangled bed in the late afternoon light, remembering that slow smile as we lay there, my hand rubbing her smooth, sweaty stomach. I thought that her funny expression meant she was happy, happy to be where she was. But it didn’t mean that at all. She was trying to figure out where she ought to be, with me, with her husband, or someplace else.

  And what had I been thinking? Beyond the simple satisfaction of having my ashes so enthusiastically hauled, I was content to be there and to be quiet with her. Was that love? I doubted it. It sure wasn’t great overpowering passion, the kind of thing I saw in the movies. But, hell, that was just the movies. All I knew was that I felt good to be with her. And if she opened my door right that minute and said, “Jimmy, I took your money and I need some more,” I’d give it to her.

  What a goddamn sap.

  Nothing made sense. Hell, nothing had made sense since that big lug Hourigan showed up. You think you know how things work. You’ve got a business, it’s going along OK, not making as much money as you’d hoped but you’re all right. You’re paying off the people who need to be paid off, you’re keeping an eye out for competition. You’re thinking about what to do when Prohibition is lifted. And then on a cold Tuesday night, none of that means a damn thing.

  I didn’t say much on the way back to Valley Green and continued to mull things over. The rain had turned to snow and sleet that rattled against the car. By the time we got past Newark, it was coming down pretty good. We were about a mile from the house when Oh Boy tapped on the glass. His voice was low, not to bother the dozing women. He said, “Somebody’s following us.”

  “I know,” I said from the jump seat. “I’ve been watching too.” I was worn out from everything that night, not in the mood to put up with any more foolishness. “Go dead slow after you turn in. If they follow us onto the property, I’ll shoot them.”

  Oh Boy downshifted, easing into the driveway. He slowed to a crawl on the gravel. The snow was beginning to stick on the path.

  The car following us made the turn but stopped before the gate. It stood still for a moment, then reversed quickly back onto the road, and went on. Appeared to be a Model A four-door. Could have been one of the vehicles I’d seen from my window. I was glad I didn’t have to shoot anybody, but a little disappointed, too. As tired as I was, the fight had left me feeling unfinished. It would have been good to let it out.

  As we rounded the last curve, the house came into view through the snow. All the lights were on, inside and out. As soon as I saw the bright windows, a sick feeling churned my stomach. Something was wrong.There were two cars in front, the Pierce-Arrow parked by the doors and Dr. Cloninger’s white ambulance turning around to leave. The orderly behind the wheel was one of the guys who came when we found Fordham Evans. He was also on duty when Teddy and Titus, the two college boys, were removed. What was he doing here now?

  As the women took little Ethan inside, I asked Oh Boy if the house was usually lit up that way.

  He shook his head and said, “Not this late, oh, boy.” He was as worried as I was. We were right.

  Inside, I found Mrs. Conway and Mrs. Pennyweight huddled together. Neither looked happy. Connie Nix headed upstairs with the boy as music and drunken voices came through the open doors of the ballroom. I saw that the Sisters of Isadora were dancing again. Teddy and Titus, their faces still bruised and swollen, were working their way through Spence’s liquor cabinet.

  I realized I was starving and was about to ask Mrs. Conway for some breakfast when Mrs. Pennyweight said, “Cook tells me that Walter has been trying to reach us by telephone. He’s been calling every hour and wants to speak to you.”

  Hell. “OK, I’ll wait for him in the library. Mrs. Conway, could you fix me something to eat?”

  Mrs. Pennyweight’s face lit up. “Breakfast! What a capital idea.”

  By the time Spence called, I had built a fire against the howling blizzard outside and was into the good brandy. I picked up on the first ring.

  “Jimmy, is that you? Where the hell have you been?”

  I could barely make out the voice, as if the storm was caught in the telephone lines. “Taking care of the business at my speak. Your mother-in-law came along to look after your son. He’s fine.” Maybe a little drugged up, but that was nothing unusual.

  “Was there trouble?”

  I decided to misunderstand and said, “Did you hear about your friend Fordham Evans?”

  “Who? What? Fordham? What about him?”

  “Somebody shot him and nailed him to a tree. He was naked at the time.”

  “This line is terrible. I thought you said he was nailed to a tree.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” There was no time or need to explain. “He’ll live. And there was some business with a couple of guys that Flora knows. Titus and Teddy? Do you know them? I had a talk with them too.”

  “What the hell are you saying? This is nonsense.”

  “Also, I think somebody’s been watching the house. There’s a couple of cars on the roads every night, and I saw somebody in the trees the first night you left.” I decided not to mention the business with the bloody doll.

  Spence was momentarily speechless. “Christ, Jimmy, I don’t know what to say.”

  “Tell me when you’re coming back.”

  “As soon as the weather lets up. This storm has moved straight up the coast. The pilot says a day or so. We’ve done our work; the wells look very promising. If everything goes as I expect, this means a new day for Pennyweight Petroleum.”

  He paused. “Did you say Teddy and Titus were there?”

  “Yeah, they’re here now. Maybe you want to talk to your wife?”

  “Yeah,” he hesitated. “I should.”

  I gimped to the ballroom. When the foursome saw me, the women stopped dancing, like children who’d been caught playing a naughty game by a grown-up. Cameron Rivers was dressed in a man’s tuxedo. Flora wore a long wine-red velvet dress, and had her hair done up. The swelling had gone down a bit on Titus’s eye and mouth though the bruising still ranged from purple to yellow. The side of Teddy’s face was mostly purple and red. The guys gave me hard looks, like they wanted to go another round. But they didn’t say or do anything.

  I said, “Flora, Spence is on the telephone. He wants to talk to you.”

  She broke away from Cameron and ran a little unsteadily down the hall, her dancing shoes slapping on the marble floor. I waited outside the library. At first, I couldn’t make out any words but then her voice rose, “Oh, Walter, that’s wonderful. I must tell everyone. . . . No . . . Well, yes, they’re here. . . . Oh, no, of course not. Don’t be silly, darling. Good-bye now.”

  As she swanned past me, she sang out, “Grand news, everyone! Walter has saved us from financial catastrophe. Titus, open another bottle!”

  I went downstairs for something to eat. Finally.

  Mrs. Pennyweight was sitting at the end of the big table, in Mr. Mears’s chair. There was an empty plate in front of her, and she was smoking a cigarette. Newspapers they’d bought in the city littered the table.

  “How could I have lived all these years,” she said, “and not discovered salami and eggs?”

  Mrs. Conway brought a mug of coffee and said she was making more.

  Mrs. Pennyweight leaned back and said, “I haven’t had a meal down here in years. When the girls were young and Et
han was traveling so much, we ate here almost every day. Do you remember?”

  “Oh, yes,” said Mrs. Conway, her voice warm. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if she could be with us again, just the four of us at the table.”

  Mrs. Pennyweight nodded in agreement and said, “But she’ll never make any progress. We shouldn’t get our hopes up.”

  “Wait a minute,” I said as Mrs. Conway set a plate of eggs in front of me. “Are you saying your daughter Mandelina is in Cloninger’s sanatorium?”

  Mrs. Pennyweight nodded. Mrs. Conway said, “But given the poor darling’s condition, she might as well be dead.”

  “So, why’s there a tombstone with her name on it?”

  Mrs. Pennyweight said, “Mr. Quinn, my eldest daughter will never be able to live outside an institution. It took a long time for me to accept that fact. I’m not sure Flora ever could. She bears some responsibility for the accident. Mandelina is able to understand that, at least she was able to, and so she asked us to put the stone there. It’s a small deception for Flora. She never really—”

  And all the lights went out.

  Mrs. Conway lit a candle and an oil lamp. We heard giddy laughter and the sound of something breaking upstairs. Then a gunshot.

  I swore and said, “Does Nix have the kid in your room?”

  Mrs. Pennyweight nodded yes.

  “Good. I’ll take care of this.” I took the oil lamp upstairs.

  In the ballroom, Flora and Cameron had collapsed on the chaise, holding each other in helpless giggles. Titus stood behind Flora, his hands rubbing her shoulders. Three candles on the piano provided a little light. Teddy stood apart from the others, stifling his own laughter. I guessed that if I looked around, I’d find the bullet hole that they found so amusing.

  With a drunk’s slow pronunciation, Teddy said, “It is quite true that spirituous liquors may temporarily have gotten the best of us. But I remind you, sir, we are not under your supervision.”