The Babe Ruth Deception

by David O. Stewart

  “Simmer down, Speed. We’re way past the stage where you and I can get angry about this stuff. I know I threw a fit before, but not now. You said we worked together okay before. That’s right. We need to again, whether we want to or not. I need help. I need your help with this.” Cook put his hands in his pockets and dropped his chin. “First off, I need to find Joshua and tell him that Violet will meet him in London. Eliza’s taking her over on a ship that leaves tomorrow. He doesn’t know about that. He thought they’d meet in Montreal and sail from there. He needs to know the change in plans.”

  Cook didn’t move, so Fraser kept going. “Look, I’m guessing that, whatever his business is here in Saratoga, it doesn’t include being easy to find. You’d be a lot better at finding him than I would. At least that’s the sort of thing you’ve always said.”

  “What else? There’s more.”

  Fraser leaned in. “Aren’t you curious why Joshua’s got to come to Saratoga before leaving the country, going to start a new business overseas with a new wife? Doesn’t that suggest something to you, something about a man who’s been stealing other people’s liquor shipments for more than half a year?”

  “He’s been stealing from other bootleggers?” Cook wore a disbelieving look.

  “That’s what my detective reports. I suppose it keeps the profits up.”

  Cook scratched the side of his head. “All right, just say it, Jamie.”

  “I’m not saying for sure. I don’t know anything for sure any more. I’m just saying I’m worried. Worried a lot. During race season, there’s more cash in this town than on Wall Street. Dice games on every street corner, high-dollar poker in all the hotels. Not to mention side bets on every race, on whether that mosquito flying by will land on my wrist or your elbow. Right?”

  “Sure. So you think Joshua’s planning on finishing up his career as a criminal by knocking over some major gambling joint?”

  “Can you rule that out? Speed, look. He’s decided to come here instead of getting the hell out of the country when the cops may be looking for him, not to mention that other bootleggers may be looking for him. Most times, those would be very good reasons not to go to Saratoga. I don’t mean to be butting into your family business, but now it’s my family business, too. Somehow my daughter is in love with him. Can’t say I’m thrilled about it, and I don’t know what the hell I think about any of this. If I’d known this is where we were going to end up, I might’ve turned my back on you when you came by back in Cadiz twenty years ago.” Cook shook his head and looked up at Fraser. “But I don’t want to see Violet’s heart broken. I don’t want my grandchild never to know a father. So if there’s something I can do to prevent those from happening, I want to.”

  Cook walked away a few paces, then leaned against a tree. He kept his eyes fixed across the road. After a deep breath, he spoke. “You know, Joshua never gave us a lick of trouble when he was young. He was the finest young man you ever wanted to see. I was proud that someone like me could produce someone like him. Now it seems like he was saving up all the ways he could make me crazy. That boy’s more than I can figure.”

  “How do we find him?”

  “I’ve been here two days getting nothing done and haven’t seen hide or hair of him. ’Course, I haven’t been looking for him. If he’s planning what you think, he’s not hanging out with the parlor snakes at the swank hotels. He’s off in the shadows, not being noticed. The stables might be a good place. That’s probably where I’d go. Negroes wouldn’t stand out there. Lots work as grooms and stable boys, behind the scenes, you know, cleaning up.”

  “Does he know anything about horses?”

  “What’d he know about bootlegging before he took that up? God help us, he picks things up quick.”

  “So what’s he here for?”

  Cook plucked a long blade of timothy grass and stripped off the leaves at its base. He climbed a slope that rose between the path and the golf course. The two men dropped onto the crest, looking over a lush fairway. Cook started chewing on the grass stalk like any Ohio farmer. “Okay,” he said, “he ain’t up here bootlegging or stealing liquor.”

  “Why not?”

  Cook shook his head impatiently. “No customers around here to sell liquor to. Also, all the good stuff—and that’s what he handles, not the bathtub rotgut—it comes off the ships off Long Island. He’s got no reason to come to Saratoga for bootlegging or for grabbing liquor.”

  “Something important pulled him here,” Fraser said. “It’s business, and it won’t take him long, since he’s heading to Europe in a few days. Only thing that makes sense is that he’s getting money to set him and Violet up in England, start their new life. I suppose he could be collecting on debts.”

  “It’s money, all right, but not collecting debts. Can’t anybody owe him money except some small-time distributors and the speakeasy owners, and they’re all back down in the city. No need to come to Saratoga to collect on them.”

  “So he’s going to steal it?”

  Cook didn’t answer for a few beats, then spat out the grass blade. “Yup. Damned stupid. And I bet I know who he’s planning to steal from.” Fraser waited. “Damned stupid. And reckless.”

  “You going to say who?”

  “Don’t know for sure. I’m afraid it’s Arnold Rothstein.”

  “Come on, Speed. That’d be crazy, and Joshua isn’t crazy.”

  “Think about it, Jamie. He needs one last score before he heads to a new country. Who’s got the most money, carries it around with him, not in any safe but right out in the open?” Cook looked at Fraser.

  “Okay.”

  “And what do the cops and the government care if Rothstein gets robbed? Hell, he won’t even report it missing. He’s a crook. Crooks complaining that somebody robbed them? It doesn’t get a lot of sympathy. Joshua’s got to get through customs to get out of the country, start clean somewhere else, and he’s already got that bombing business over his head. So he needs to steal from a crook, not from a bank or a business.”

  “But it’s crazy. He’ll get himself killed.”

  “That’s the hard part, not getting killed. Maybe he figures Rothstein’s got so much money he won’t miss some.”

  “That’s crazy, too.”

  “Yup.”

  “We need to find him. Keep him from going through with this.”

  “Come on, Jamie. You dealt with him in Paris. You really think you’re going to talk him out of anything?”

  “So what do we do? Help him out? Sticking up criminals isn’t something I know much about.”

  Cook gave him a half smile. “There’s always time to learn.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Yeah.” Cook shrugged. “Maybe not entirely. Maybe there’s some ways we can help him. He’s probably here with his partner, Cecil Washington.” Cook sighed. “This is going to mess up my real business up here, mess it up big time.”

  Fraser remembered his first question, back at the hotel, the one that Cook never answered. “Speed, what are you doing with Abe Attell?”

  “That’s got nothing to do with Joshua. Or Violet. That’s my deal.”

  Fraser kept staring at him.

  “Really.” He shook his head. “It’s business, something for Babe Ruth, if you can believe that. Your missus knows all about it. I talked to her about it a couple days ago. It’s important, something I need to see through, but you and I don’t need to worry about it. Nothing to do with Joshua.”

  “How can you say that? Attell is Rothstein’s boy. It’s all connected. What do we do about that?”

  Cook looked evenly at Fraser. “Listen to yourself. ‘We.’ How the hell did you and I end up joined at the hip?”

  “Let’s not start talking about getting joined at the hip.”

  Cook winced. “Didn’t mean it like that.”

  Fraser pushed up from the ground. “Anyway, no time to worry that one out. What about that guy I saw outside Joshua’s house in Brooklyn? Have y
ou noticed anyone looking suspicious, or like a cop pretending not to be a cop? Or even just someone watching out for other people, like maybe Joshua?”

  “Come on, Jamie, half the people in Saratoga look suspicious. That’s why everyone comes here, for the thrill of rubbing elbows with suspicious-looking people. Back at that hotel I could point out a dozen men who meet that description. You want to keep an eye on all of them?”

  “I’m trying to figure how to help Joshua without getting him or us killed.”

  When Cook stood, he made a point of not groaning. The left knee was killing him, but he wouldn’t limp. That made him look like some old coot. He jammed his hands in his trouser pockets. “All right. I’m thinking a couple of things. We probably should split up. Like we did back at the beginning, you know. You work the white folks. I take care of the colored.”

  Chapter 20

  Clover Farms sprawled over a thousand acres on both sides of the road to Ballston. For much of the year, its four whitewashed, green-trimmed stables stood half empty, but racing season changed everything. Summer trains brought thoroughbreds from Pennsylvania, Maryland, Kentucky, as far away as Florida and California. With at least three handlers for each horse, plus the dozen extra hands it took to maintain the place when it was at capacity, the segregated dormitories were bursting for the season’s six weeks. Joshua had pegged it as a good place to lie low, but hadn’t appreciated how much work the strategy would require—mucking out stables, hauling water, loading and unloading high-strung animals, rubbing them down, polishing leather. The work started at sunup and lasted until sundown.

  Perched on a hay bale, he leaned back against the barn in the cool early twilight. His work clothes were stiff with dried sweat and dirt. A cigarette smoldered between two fingers. He had no energy to smoke. He drank from a bottle of vile near beer. Its only virtues were that it was legal and it was wet. Cecil was checking on the second car they’d stashed the night before, maybe halfway to Glens Falls. He wasn’t late yet, but getting there.

  Joshua was too weary to get fired up about the night in front of him. That was good. No point being nervous. He used to think that being on edge ensured he was on top of things. France taught him that wasn’t so. Nerves didn’t help, might even make you think worse. You had to be sharp, sure, but not nervous. Tonight would be just him and Cecil, doing the sort of thing they’d been doing for a while. Years, actually. Getting through it.

  Cecil dropped onto the bale next to him and nodded. That meant the second car was still safe, hidden from view, both cars gassed up and ready. Joshua handed him a bottle of near beer.

  Cecil took a long pull and screwed up his face. The expression passed and he stretched out on his back. “What the hell were we thinking?” he said up to the darkening sky, “back when we followed Brother Briggs and all? Talking about the inherent worth and dignity of labor, of the majesty of rolling up your sleeves and taking pride in performing the most menial task.”

  Joshua snorted. He started to massage his left calf. It had cramped up on him twice that afternoon.

  “Nothing but hard damned work,” Cecil kept on. He rose onto his elbows. “Now, labor, you know how they talk about ‘labor’? Labor doesn’t sound half bad. Sounds like there’s something about the public good laying around in it, you know. Like you’re making the world better, and it’ll make you better to be part of it. You know—liberty, fraternity, labor, like that. But then you get out here”—he swept an arm in front of them—“and it’s just work, nothing but goddamned work all day long, which is exactly like what it sounds like.”

  “We got soft, that’s all.” Joshua smiled. He gave up rubbing his leg. “We turned into capitalists, so we’ve got the sorts of muscles that capitalists have. Muscles for stealing.”

  “You think we qualify as robber barons yet?”

  Joshua laughed. “No problem on the robber part. Maybe a ways to go on that ‘baron’ part. You want to be ‘Sir Cecil’? Baron Washington?”

  “Either’s good.” He took a swallow and made another face. “Just like the setup we got tonight. I doubted you. I admit it. I doubted you. But your man Rothstein went and won fifty grand on that sixth race today—it was so goddamned obvious the race was fixed even I could tell, and I’m still working on which end the manure comes out.” Joshua smiled. “You never said how you knew he was going to win that big.”

  Joshua’s grin got wider. He laid a finger beside his nose. “It’s good to have friends, Cecil, then you just keep your ears open. Ain’t any secrets around these barns.” The night air felt soft against his skin. He stubbed out his cigarette on the sole of his shoe and flicked the butt far away. Didn’t need to go burning down the joint, not tonight. “You remember the drill?”

  “’Course I do. We ain’t talked about nothing but the drill for three days now. I’ve been dreaming about the drill.”

  “Good. Good. Let’s go over it again.”

  “Evening, son.”

  Cecil started at the voice, deep and quiet, coming out of the gloom beyond the barn’s lights. Joshua didn’t start. He knew the voice and the outlines of the thick figure.

  “What’re you doing here, Daddy?”

  “I suppose that’s the question I’ve got for you. I had no idea you were interested in the horse business.”

  The younger men rose from the hay bale. Both brushed off their pants. Cecil shook hands with Cook. “Maybe,” Cecil said, “maybe I’ll go clean up. Change my clothes.” He headed to the colored men’s dormitory.

  “I’ll be along soon,” Joshua called after him.

  When they were alone, Cook spoke. “You don’t seem real glad to see me.”

  “Not the best time, Daddy. Something’s going on.”

  Cook regarded his son for a moment. “Well then, let’s get right to it. First, Violet’s not going to meet you in Montreal.”

  “What? What’re you saying? What’d you do?” The words came quickly. “You’ve always got to go horning in and messing everything up.”

  “I didn’t do a goddamned thing, young man. Get a grip on yourself. She’s going straight to London with her mother, going to wait for you there.”

  “With her mother? Oh, Lord, now you got the Frasers to stick their noses into what isn’t their business.”

  “It turns out they think that anything involving their daughter and their grandchild is their business. I had a hard time disagreeing with them.”

  Joshua’s brow creased. “Grandchild?”

  “Her father’s a doctor. He could tell right off, it seems, even if you didn’t have enough sense to. I imagine Violet had an inkling, too.”

  “A baby.” Joshua looked off toward the woods across the warm-up track. “When? When?”

  “February. Maybe early March. That’s what Jamie said.”

  Joshua walked a few steps to the side, then back. “Jeez. I can’t have this on my mind tonight. Not tonight.”

  “Son, it’s going to be on your mind for as long as you live. Take my word for it. It’s never going away.”

  Joshua stared at his father, then looked down. “Right. Right.” He looked back at his father. “Okay, I got it. Message received. Hey, I’ve got to go.”

  “I’ve got a second message.”

  “Don’t even try to start that now. Violet and me, we’re doing what we’re doing and we’re going to make it right. I’m going to make it right. The best way I can.”

  Cook put up his hand. “It’s not what you think.” He took a second. “I want you to use me tonight, any way you can. Knocking over Arnold Rothstein’s card game’s a damned crazy thing to do, but I know you. I figure you’ve gone to some trouble to set it up. You’re not a child. Haven’t been for a while. You saved our tails over in France, Jamie and me, at a bad time. So I’m not here to stop you. I’m here to be useful. I’m old and I’m slow. No one knows that more than me. But I’m smarter than most and still stronger than lots. Look, I found you here, and that wasn’t so easy.”

  Joshua sh
ook his head. “I can’t, Daddy. Cecil and me, we know what we’re doing. We work together. We can read each other. Whatever comes at us, we know what the other’ll do. You’d be something new, something different. Something we didn’t know. It’d mess us up. We can’t have that.”

  “Use me or I’ll just get in the way.”

  “No, sir. I appreciate the offer. I do. But we’ve got it worked out. No way to change it now. That’s how mistakes happen.” He held his hands out. “Daddy, don’t get in the way. That’ll just get someone hurt when they don’t need to. Maybe you. Maybe me.”

  Cook couldn’t think of anything smart to say. He’d do what he thought was right and so would his son. Words weren’t going to change that. A question popped into his mind. “One thing. Do you know why a fellow with one of those goat beards—you know, the pointy ones—would be following you?”

  “A goatee?”

  “Don’t get all French on me. He drives a blue car, a Cadillac.”

  Joshua smiled. “Yeah, I do. That’s Ferguson. He’s a vet I got to know. He does odd jobs for me, business things. Watches out for me some of the time. You know, an extra pair of eyes?”

  “He’s on your side?”

  “Yes, sir. When I pay him.”

  “You paying him to be in Saratoga?”

  “No, he’s not here for me. Could be working on something separate from us, or could be up here to take the waters.” When Cook didn’t respond right off, Joshua asked, “Have you seen him around here?”

  “No, not up here. It’s probably nothing.”

  “Even if he was, we can’t turn back.”

  After Joshua left, Cook stood in the near dark for a moment, feeling the night’s dew on his skin. The hay’s sweet smell mingled with the tang of manure. He rubbed the back of his neck and moaned softly. He’d be watching tonight, just watching. Not doing a damned thing. That was the hardest. But he knew why Joshua had turned him down and knew that the reasons were pretty good ones. He’d got old and fat and wouldn’t be much good. He hated that, too.