The Mangled Mobster (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 7)

by Frank W. Butterfield

  Rutledge shook his head. "Oh, no, Mr. Williams. This is a standard union contract. It's customary."

  I said, "No man working on any job for me is gonna have to lose a penny because you're a coward."

  I watched as Rutledge's face turned red. "Coward?"

  "Sure. You don't think we all know that someone is squeezing you? I don't know why and I don't care why, but if you think that stopping work for these couple of days will buy you time, that's fine. But those men working on the job get paid their usual wages. And I'll make up the difference between that and the minimum."

  I noticed that Troyer was nodding his head thoughtfully as I said all that.

  . . .

  My father's house sat at the corner of Sacramento and Taylor. After the meeting, we drove up California Street. Instead of turning right at Mason, as I normally would have, I stayed on California until we got to Leavenworth. Turning right, I proceeded up to Clay and turned right again. By this time, Mike and I were convinced we weren't being tailed. Keeping both eyes open, I drove the couple of blocks to Taylor, made another right, and then dropped Henry off at the corner of Sacramento. We saw him enter the house without incident and headed back to the office.

  . . .

  "How goes it over there?" I had Lettie on the phone. It was just past 5 in the afternoon. Carter had called in from San Jose. He thought they would be at the office at 6:30.

  "Just fine. You were right. That Robert is amazing. I think you'll be quite pleased with what we found once we opened up all the rooms."

  "The only thing I remember up there is that each room had the same bedspread made of satin and each was a different color."

  "Yes! Your mother had wonderful taste! There's a pink room, a green room, and a blue room."

  As if I could hear my mother talking, I said, "Rose, Emerald, and Sapphire."

  Lettie drew in a breath. "Of course! How clever! And, it's all quite splendid. Everything was tucked away in hermetically sealed bags. We didn't even need to wash the sheets. They smelled just like lavender."

  "How did my father take the news?"

  "Oh, you know how he is. He's puffing away on his pipe in his office and I'm pretending like he's not upset. But," she paused for a moment. "I'm sure he'll be quite happy to have both you and Carter staying here these next few days. You know, Nicholas." She took in a breath and quietly said, "If I didn't know your father better, I would say that he has a pash, as we used to call it, for Carter."

  I laughed and said, "You missed the funeral last year when Carter carried him full body through the cathedral. I don't think the old man has been the same since."

  With a mixture of humor and reproach, Lettie said, "Please be more respectful of your father in the future."

  I couldn't help myself. "Yes, ma'am."

  . . .

  Mike and I were by ourselves. I'd sent Marnie over to the house so she could get there on time to have dinner with everyone. The rest of the guys had gone home for the day.

  Mike had his big shoes up on my desk and his hands behind his head. "So, I've been thinking about our conversation last night."

  "Yeah?" I had been reading some mail that I needed to catch up on.

  "How you feeling today about Carter?"

  "I miss him like hell."

  "You know, Nick." Mike looked up at the ceiling. "Things happen in our lives. Sometimes we're rolling along, happy as a clam. But, most of the time, we're just dodging and weaving and trying not to get sucker-punched by whatever is happening."

  I looked up and smirked. "What are you saying, O Wise One?"

  He put his feet on the floor and smiled. "What I'm saying, you little pissant, is that not every moment is golden. You're a graduate of the Hard Knocks School. You know what I mean."

  I nodded. "I guess I thought when I finally knew what happened to my mother, that life would be different."

  Mike leaned in. "Life is different. You have the most goddam wonderful husband."

  I smiled when he used that word. I thought Carter and I were the only ones to use it.

  "Yeah. I said it. Husband." He stood up and tucked in the back of his shirt into his trousers. "You and Carter are fucking married and, let me tell you, there ain't a man in this goddam building who isn't stone-cold jealous."

  I nodded. "So, what you're saying is that I need to stop whining like a little baby and man up. I'm rich, I have the most handsome husband in North America. Hell, I even own a boat and two goddam planes. What's to complain about?" I got a little heated at the end.

  "No, Nick. What I'm saying is that when you notice a rose, stop and fucking smell it. When your husband comes through that door, you knock everyone out of your way and jump into his arms and shower him with kisses. He deserves it for putting up with you for seven lousy years."

  His voice had softened at the end. I got to my feet, moved a chair close to him, and stood up on it. I pulled him close, put my arms around his neck, looked down into his striking blue eyes, and said, "You're right, Mike. And, let me remind you that you're the best friend a guy ever had." I kissed him on the lips and then held his head against mine for a long while.

  . . .

  About 7, I heard the trudge of weary feet walking down the hall from the elevator. Mike was reading one of his pulp novels while I was just about done going through my mail.

  I looked up as the door opened. Carter Jones, himself, walked through the door. He walked in and said, "Hello, honey. I'm home."

  I got up and walked right into his arms. "I missed you so goddam much, Carter. I'm glad you're back."

  He reached down and kissed me. As he did, my eyes got wet.

  "Hey."

  I just shook my head. "It's nothing. Just happy to see you, Chief."

  We kissed for a long moment until Mike cleared his throat. "Where's Ray?"

  Carter looked confused. "I dropped him off at your place. I thought you knew that."

  I glanced up at Mike who looked upset for a moment. "Oh, sure." He closed his eyes for a beat and then opened them. I couldn't tell for sure, but they looked wet to me. He sighed and then asked, "Can I get some of that?"

  I smiled and made room for Mike and Carter to exchange hugs. Mike kissed Carter on the cheek, something I'd never seen him do before. Carter looked down at me over Mike's shoulder and said, "What's been going on here? Everyone is so affectionate. We were only gone two nights."

  Mike said, "Come on in and we'll tell you all about it."

  . . .

  Before we'd left the office, my father had called.

  "Don't forget, Nicholas, that there's a garage under this house."

  "I had forgotten." It hadn't been there when I'd left home in '39. It wasn't that I'd forgotten. I didn't know about it.

  "It's on Sacramento. There's a buzzer. Leticia just had one of those two-way intercoms installed. You press the button and, well, I'm sure you know how that sort of thing works."

  "Yes, Father. Thanks for the reminder. Sorry we missed dinner."

  "Well, things being what they are, I'm sure we can overlook that." I wasn't sure but I thought I heard some humor in his voice.

  "See you in a few minutes, Father."

  "That'll be fine, Nicholas."

  . . .

  I pulled the Buick into a space next to a Cadillac. It was a '54 and looked new. We brought our things up the stairs and into the kitchen. It was spotless, of course, but empty. I could hear Perry Como coming from somewhere in the house. We walked into the dining room from the kitchen and then into the large sitting room. Robert and Henry were dancing with Marnie and Lettie while my father was sitting in his favorite leather chair watching the whole thing and smoking his pipe.

  I said, "Howdy, folks."

  Lettie smiled at Henry as he released her. She walked over and gave me a kiss on the cheek. Carter leaned down for the same. I said, "You remember Mike from the wedding."

  She smiled, offered her hand, and said, "Of course."

  I hadn't really thought thi
s thing through completely. I'd forgotten that Mike had only ever met my father twice. The first time was back in '40 when they'd had a huge fight about my living with Mike. The second time was last May when Mike had still been a police lieutenant and had witnessed my father shoot a man in self-defense. Mike had been at the wedding but didn't speak to my father. And that had been on purpose.

  My father stood up, walked over, and shook Carter's hand. He patted me on the arm and then said, "Lieutenant Robertson, I've never had the chance to thank you for being so kind to me last year."

  Everyone in the room stopped what they were doing, except Perry Como, of course, who kept singing on the record player. Mike turned red from embarrassment and said, "It's good to see you again, Dr. Williams."

  They both shook and my father said, "You never saw what all the fuss was about last year, did you?"

  "No, sir."

  "Well, come into my office and let me show you."

  I was shocked. As they walked towards my father's office, I followed them as did Carter. I heard Lettie say to the rest, "One more time around the room, shall we?"

  When we walked into the office, the first thing I noticed was that the Persian rug, which had been much older than me, was gone. The inlaid wood floor underneath had been restored and was polished to a shine. In the center of the room was an octagonal table that looked to be made of teak. It could have been Chinese. Or, more likely, it had been made to look Chinese. It covered the exact location of the safe in the floor and hid it perfectly.

  The legs must have been on wheels because, when my father pushed on the table, it effortlessly moved across the floor revealing the safe door. I noticed it has been replaced since I'd last seen it sometime in the 30s.

  "My knees aren't what they were. Can you help me get down there, Carter?"

  I watched as Carter bent down on one knee and held my father's arm as he knelt on the floor in front of the safe. Leaning down, he twirled the dials several time and then turned them to five numbers before I heard a click. There must have been some hidden mechanism, because the door almost effortlessly lifted off the floor.

  Mike was standing next to Carter. They both gasped. I walked over and looked inside. It was shocking to behold. There were trays of gold bars, stacks and stacks of bundled cash, and an assortment of rubies, emeralds, sapphires, and diamonds.

  Carter looked up at me and shook his head in amazement. I said, "I don't remember it being this full."

  My father leaned on Carter and then pulled himself up off the floor. "I've had a bit of luck in the last year or so. I didn't know investing in lumber would be as lucrative as it's turned out to be." He stood up straight and proper, as always. "I'm finally back up to the level I prefer."

  I knew that was at least two million because last year he'd complained about being down to a mere million. From what I could see, it might be more than that.

  . . .

  "I'm hungry." That was Carter.

  We were watching Lettie and Henry dance the Lindy Hop to a 78 of "In The Mood." They both were really good. Lettie could swing better than any bobby soxer.

  Mike was standing next to Carter and said, "Me, too."

  "Follow me, gents." I led them into the kitchen as the song came to an end and everyone clapped.

  I was going through the icebox when I heard Mrs. Young ask, "Sandwiches?"

  I felt like I'd been caught stealing. My face went red and I looked up. Everyone else laughed.

  "Sit you down." We all did just that. "Seems to me you were always partial to Burgie, Mr. Nick."

  I nodded. "Is there some in the cooler?" There was a large cooler behind the kitchen where vegetables, hams, beer, and the like were kept.

  "Yes. Go help yourself."

  I stood up, walked down the hall, and pulled open the big walk-in cooler. As if it was 1938, I reflexively grabbed the long stick that we put in the door latch so it wouldn't close. I quickly grabbed three bottles of Burgie and left as fast as I could. I never liked going in there.

  When I walked back into the kitchen, the table was set with three small plates, three napkins, and three glasses. I walked over to the end of one of the counters and popped the tops off the bottles.

  As I sat down, Mrs. Young said, "It's ham, Swiss cheese, tomatoes, pickle relish, and mustard on cottage loaf."

  I said, "That sounds great, Mrs. Young. Thank you. You don't have to--"

  "My room is right downstairs, as I'm sure you remember, and I'd be worrying about my kitchen if I was to leave you to your own devices."

  Mike looked at me as he poured out his beer and guffawed.

  "Oh, I remember you, Patrolman Robertson."

  Mike and I both blushed. Carter looked at us and asked, "What's this?"

  Mrs. Young said, "I swore to never speak of it."

  Carter looked at me. "Well?"

  I shrugged. "It was a long time ago."

  Mike put down his glass and leaned back in his chair. "It was all my fault. I'll tell the story."

  I blushed again. "The clean version, if you please."

  Carter's eyebrows went up.

  I nodded, looked at Mrs. Young, whose back was turned, and put my finger to my lips.

  He smiled and mouthed, "Later."

  Mike said, "It was in the summer of 1939."

  Mrs. Young said, "And he was up to his tricks. Petty thieving and such."

  I shook my head. "Not me, your honor. I was innocent."

  Mike crossed his arms and looked at me. "Framed by the gang. That's still your story?"

  "It wasn't a gang. It was those kids that had been kicked out of St. Ignatius with me."

  Carter smiled. "You never did finish, did you?"

  I shook my head. "Nope."

  "Anyway," said Mike, "I was in trouble myself. I'd been pulled off motorcycle patrol in June and was assigned to foot patrol for three months."

  "What was that about?" asked Carter.

  Not wanting to offend Mrs. Young, I quickly said, "Let's skip that part."

  Mike smiled and said, "So, there I was, minding my own business walking down Mission Street, when I walk into a den of hoodlums up to no good."

  Carter smirked, "South of the Slot, Nick?"

  I replied, "Does anything good ever happen down there?" That was an old joke.

  "What were they up to?" asked Carter, who was having a lot more fun with this than he should.

  "Petty thievery!" declared Mrs. Young as she put a plate of sandwiches in front of us. She walked over, opened the icebox, and pulled out a can of Lucky beer.

  I took a sandwich and put it on my plate. "Jerry Howzer was the thief. He'd lifted some candy bars from a corner store."

  "That's it?" asked Carter.

  I shook my head. "No. There were other things. But, it was all petty. We were all 17 and thought we were hot stuff. We all had allowances and none of us were gonna go hungry. We were just bored."

  Mrs. Young sat down with her can of beer and opened it with a church key she pulled out of her apron. "That was always the trouble. I told Zelda once, if I told her a thousand times, that your problem was that the school had nothing to teach you. You were always too smart."

  I shrugged. "I wanted out." I said that quietly.

  Mike sighed and took a bite of his sandwich.

  "Well, that's as may be. All I know is that a policeman's boots make a loud racket on a wood floor."

  Carter looked up at Mike. "What?"

  "What happened was that I caught this gang of scofflaws and hauled them into the Mission Station."

  Mrs. Young added, "Where a kindly sergeant gave you boys a second chance."

  "What was his name?" I asked Mike.

  "Gustafson."

  "Oh, right. Big Swede. Thick mustache." I blushed again, which Carter caught. His eyes looked at me for a long moment. I asked, "Whatever happened to him?"

  Mike said, "Retired back in '49. Last I heard, he lives on Lake Arrowhead down in the southland."

  I took a drink
of my beer. "So, he releases us to our parents."

  Mrs. Young hooked her thumb towards the dining room. "Certain parties overreacted a bit, if you don't mind me saying, Mr. Nick."

  I smiled and said, "That's an understatement."

  Mike looked at Carter. "The sergeant pulled me aside and asked me to keep an eye on this group."

  "And, you did," I added, trying to keep the innuendo out of my voice.

  Mike bit into his sandwich and smiled wolfishly. I blushed again.

  With a peaches and cream accent, Carter said, "This is the most fascinatin' conversation I do think I've ever had."

  "Anyway," I said, "I figured out Mike's usual patrol route and began to show up when I knew he would be there." I took another sip of beer. "Truth was, he was the first man who'd ever shown any interest in who I was."

  Mrs. Young sighed. She stood up and took another can of Lucky from the icebox. As she opened that can, she said, "There was an awful lot that happened here that wasn't right. If it hadn't been for Zelda..." She didn't finish her sentence and took a drink from her can.

  I nodded and said, "Yeah."

  Mike said, "So, I began to notice that this spoiled brat of a kid might have more to hisself than met the eye. I started meeting him after my shift at a diner near the Mission Station. I'd buy him a grilled cheese and let him pour out his heart." He smiled at me and added, "Poor kid."

  I looked down at the table. I could feel that familiar affection I had for Mike. I didn't want to embarrass Mrs. Young, but I had a strong urge to go sit in Mike's lap like I'd done long ago.

  Carter asked, "The only part of this story that I've ever heard was that Mike got caught one night bringing Nick home."

  I nodded. "One of those kids thought it would be fun to throw a party at this abandoned warehouse South of the Slot. It was a Saturday night and..." I looked at Mrs. Young, whose mouth was already turned in disapproval, and decided to keep my mouth shut on the specifics. "It was a big shindig and we did a lot of stupid things. Someone called the cops. Several, including Mike, showed up and broke up the party. I don't know how we didn't go to jail, but we didn't. I could barely stand and Mike walked me home."

  "From where?"

  "Somewhere on Brannan. That's all I remember."

  Mike said, "The kid's father owned the building. It's a factory now. Corner of 6th and Brannan."