.45 Caliber Jitterbug

by Maxwell Cynn

  “Hey, Bobby. You got any pie left?”

  “Plenty, Missa Spaulding.”

  “How about opening the back door and letting Jeb in. I promised him some pie. His tab's on me.”

  “Sho' thing. I'll have Ginger fetch you an extra big piece.”

  “I'll be at the bar. Don't let Jeb drink too much. I'm riding with him.”

  Bobby laughed and shook his head. He walked to the back door and opened it. Jack found a seat at the bar. He looked at the slim back, and long brown-red pony tail of the person behind the bar and he knew it was definitely not Butch. His eyes followed the ponytail down to a firm rear, short skirt, shapely legs and high heels. The feet turned and his eyes moved quickly back up to head level.

  The face looked too young to be behind the bar, too young to be in the club at all. As she got closer, the first thing that struck him were her deep blue eyes, the second were her freckles. She was a beautiful kid, but she was just a kid. But the slightest look down revealed the body of a woman. Jack gave a second look at the girlish face.

  “What can I get you, mister?”

  “Just a cup of coffee. Ginger's bringing me some pie.”

  “Coming right up,” she said, and turned back around casually, without trying to look graceful. She didn't have to try, she was a natural. Jack watched her all the way to the coffee pot and back.

  “You're new,” he said, when she set the cup down.

  “I'm just filling in until Butch gets out of jail.” She said it deadpan, like it wasn't anything new. “You want cream or sugar?”

  “No thanks. Jack Spaulding.”

  “Myrtle Nelson. Friends call me Mirt.”

  “Nelson? You related to Butch?”

  “He's my brother.”

  She pulled out a white towel and worked her way down the bar cleaning.

  Ginger set a plate in front of Jack. He turned and thanked her. She smiled. He took a bite of pie and savored it in his mouth, chewing slowly. It was the best pie in the world. He took a sip of coffee and stuck his fork in the pie again.

  “You come to a speakeasy for pie and coffee?” The voice was unmistakable. There couldn't be two Bronx ball-busters in Charlotte.

  Jack turned halfway around on his stool and Patty was standing right behind him. She was wearing a tight red flapper dress, a matching feather headband and boa with red leather high heels. A pearl necklace hung down to her waist and she held a cigarette in a long silver filter.

  “Miss Burkeheimer.” Jack stood and straightened his jacket.

  “I told you to call me Patty.”

  “Patty,” he said, with a slight nod. “Fancy meeting you here.”

  “You suggested the place, Jack. You were right. The bar-b-cue is to die for.”

  “The pie is even better,” he said, waving his fork toward his plate.

  Patty motioned to Ginger, just a flip of her boa. Ginger hurried over.

  “Get me what he's having,” Patty said. “Mind if I join you Jack?”

  “Not at all,” he said, offering the stool next to him. “Bring another coffee, Mirt.”

  Patty sat down and Myrtle brought another coffee cup, filled it, and set the pot between them.

  “Cream or sugar?” she asked.

  “Just a little jolt, if you don't mind.”

  Myrtle poured a shot of white liquor in the cup.

  “Thanks sweetie,” Patty said.

  Ginger brought the pie.

  “Put it on my tab,” Jack told Ginger.

  “How gallant,” Patty said. She sat her coffee down and picked up her fork. She took a bite of pie and smiled. “This is good.” She said it even before she'd swallowed.

  “Welcome to the South.”

  She took another fork full and Jack returned to eating his.

  “How long have you been in Charlotte?” he asked after they were finished with the pie.

  “Not long – a couple of months.”

  “Kellum said you came with Hall when he joined the company. Are the two of you related?”

  “No. We're old acquaintances, from the same neighborhood.”

  “I thought Hall came from Chicago?”

  “He came from New York before that.”

  “Did you work with him in Chicago?”

  “What's this, twenty questions? Or are you interviewing me for the paper, Jack?”

  “Just making small talk.”

  “I bet. Men like you don't make small talk.”

  The two sat sipping their coffee. Patty put a fresh cigarette in her holder and Jack lit it. He pulled out his pack and lit one for himself. They sat in silence, enjoying the coffee and the smoke. Jenny was down to a camisole, garter, and silk stockings – she was still wearing the heels. There was mild applause when she stopped singing.

  “I hate to eat and run, but I have a story deadline early tomorrow.”

  “What's your story?”

  “You'll have to read it in tomorrow's News.” He stood up and smashed out his cigarette in the ashtray on the bar. Jack laid a dollar on the bar and motioned to Myrtle that it was for both coffees. She smiled.

  “See you around, Jack,” Patty said, and wet her lips.

  Jack left through the kitchen and picked Jeb up on the way out. They rode back across town and Jeb dropped him off in front of Mrs. Duke's boarding house. Jack handed Jeb a silver dollar and thanked him for the ride, then walked up onto the front porch. He lit a cigarette and sat down on the swing. The house was quiet. It was almost eleven-thirty. He rocked back and forth in the swing blowing plumes of smoke into the cool evening air. Far in the distance he heard sirens, but he didn't want to chase them. He already had a story to write.

  Chapter Five

  Jack woke up before dawn, reached over, and turned on the small lamp beside the bed. He had left the window open and a cool morning breeze ruffled the curtains. He heard the old milk truck starting and stopping along Morehead Street, and the clank of bottles when Rusty Mitchel trotted up to the front door and then back to his truck. He walked into the bathroom in his shorts and undershirt and reached for the light switch by the sink. Squinting at the brightness, he washed up, brushed his teeth, and combed his hair before the rooster out back had crowed the first time.

  He got dressed, grabbed the papers from his desk, read over the copy one last time, and walked out of the room. The smell of fresh coffee brewing and bacon frying reached him from the kitchen before he made it to the first step. He smiled and walked gingerly down the stairs and into the brightly lit kitchen. Catherine was at the stove in her robe, her hair pulled back in a loose pony tail.

  “Morning, Catherine.” Jack walked into the kitchen.

  She spun around and almost knocked a plate off the counter.

  “Oh!” Her hand patted her chest. “You startled me, Jack. What are you doing down here so early?”

  Jack always woke up before dawn, but he usually stayed in his room writing. He never ate breakfast, and Catherine habitually brought him a cup of coffee after the others had eaten and left for work. But he'd finished the story before going to bed and planned to drop it off with his editor first thing. It was his first piece since he'd taken leave, and he hadn't informed his editor that he was back at work.

  “I'm turning in a story early this morning, then heading down to the courthouse in Monroe.”

  The circuit judge traveled between Charlotte and Monroe, and a few other counties as needed, and most of the lawyers and newsmen followed along. Charlotte had enough crime for a full time magistrate, but not a full time judge. Jack was torn between going to Monroe and seeing who got arrested in Charlotte after last night's raid.

  “It's nice to see you working again, Jack. You want some breakfast before you go?”

  “No thanks.” He stole a piece of bacon off the plate and headed toward the door.

  “At least some coffee?”

  “I'll get some at the paper,” he said over his shoulder and opened the front door.

  It was another nice mo
rning and he threw his coat over his arm. Munching the thick salty bacon, he walked up the street, jumped the trolley, and rode down to the paper. Trucks were at the dock loading bundles of The Observer for distribution. Young boys crowded the dock. They were folding and loading papers into bags or onto bicycles. They'd be back again in the evening for The News.

  Jack walked in the door and up the stairs to the editorial office. The newsroom was already starting to buzz with people. Jack walked to the door of his editor's office and knocked.

  “Yeah,” a gruff voice barked from the other side of the door. Jack opened the door and walked in.

  The man behind the heavy wooden desk was Bill McWhirter. He was a short, heavy set man with disheveled brown hair that was graying around the edges. He had a broad face with a nose that still seemed too large, and small round eyes marked with deep wrinkles at the corners. There was a forgotten stub of a cigar between his thick fingers and a fifth of gin on his desk. He looked up at Jack.

  “Well, look what the cat dragged in.” It was almost a growl.

  Jack tossed the papers on his cluttered desk. “Good to see you too.” Jack smiled.

  “What's this? A story? Did the novel market dry up?”

  “The cops found a train car full of gin last night, late.”

  Bill's eyes lit up and a smile cracked the corners of his lips.

  “Oh, do you still work here?” He picked up the loose sheets and began to read.

  “The hooch was from Canada, bound for points south, but the shipper is local,” Jack said, while Bill skimmed the text.

  “And you interviewed him? Swell.” Bill smiled and kept reading.

  “I'm still digging,” Jack said. “I'm sure it goes deeper, but I wanted to report the raid before the Observer got wind of it.”

  “Nice work.” He set the papers down on the desk and looked up at Jack. “This is part of the story you and Daniel were working on.”

  “I heard about the shipment while I was working that story.”

  “That story got Daniel snuffed. I don't want to lose another writer.”

  “Are you going to run the story?”

  “Front page, above the fold,” Bill said. He looked hard at Jack. There was concern in his eyes. “These people won't like you costing them money, and they really won't like you bragging about it.”

  “I'm counting on it.”

  “You're baiting some pretty big sharks, Jack.”

  “I can handle myself.”

  “That's what Daniel thought.”

  The two stared in silence for a moment, everything said.

  Bill broke the silence. “You want something else to sink your teeth into?” Jack could see the wheels turning behind his editor's eyes.

  “What is it?”

  “Murder case, over in Biddleville, but the victim was a white woman. She was found near the colored college.”

  “When?”

  “Late last night. They're still investigating.”

  “What's a white woman doing over there?”

  “You tell me. Smells like another front page.”

  “I was headed down to Monroe today.”

  “I can put Larry on the courthouse. You want it?”

  “Yeah, give me the name.” Jack pulled out his notepad.

  “She's a Jane Doe right now. No ID. She was found half naked, possible rape, with a bullet in her head. A Deputy Mechum found the body. I don't know what he was doing over there, either. The County Sheriff and the City Police are arguing over jurisdiction. It's in the City limits, just barely, but the deputy found the body. The city boys are already sore about the G-men taking your train car full of hooch, and now the Sheriff is claiming the murder case.”

  Jack looked up, surprised.

  “You already knew about the train?”

  “I've been doing this awhile, kid.” Bill laughed. “I checked my sources with the police early this morning and they told me about it. When they said you were there, I knew I had my front page for today.”

  “You already called Larry and told him to take the courthouse today,” Jack said knowingly.

  “He's on his way,” Bill said with a wink. “Now get to work. If you get me something good by ten you might take the whole front page.”

  Jack turned and left the office. He jogged down the stairs and out the door. The east bound trolley was rolling by and he ran to catch it. He looked at his watch, it was almost seven. Not much chance of making the ten o'clock deadline, not with anything worth reading, but it had his blood pumping again. It was good to be back at work. If he could get a name he might scoop the Observer boys, the real story could run later.

  Jack stepped off the trolley in front of the Courthouse. The place was quiet with the judge gone, but the police station was right around the corner and the Sheriff's office was right next door. Jack decided to try the City Police first. They wanted to scoop the Sheriff as badly as he wanted to scoop The Observer. Maybe they could work together. And he'd just handed them a boxcar full of booze. It wasn't his fault the G-men took it.

  Jack walked in the front door and up to the main desk. A burly officer sat there looking bored. Jack knew him. Jack knew most of the City Police.

  “Good morning, Officer Baker.”

  “Morning Jack. What do you know good?”

  “Not much. How's your wife?”

  “Moody as ever. You really need to get you one, Jack.”

  Jack laughed.

  “How's that boy of yours? He have any teeth yet?”

  “Just the two up front. That's why the wife's so moody. He's been up all night whining. I thought we were through with that once he got on solid food. But now every new tooth is a nightmare.”

  “Tell Jan I said hello.”

  “I will.”

  “Has Steve come in yet?”

  “I think he worked last night.”

  “Maybe you know,” Jack said casually. “My editor said there was a murder last night, but he didn't know the victim's name.”

  “Yeah, Detective Malory is working that case. White female found over in spook town. I don't know what she thought she was doing over there with them coloreds.”

  “Do you know who she was?”

  “Rich girl. Mason Dunhill's daughter. I think her name was Kathy. Or maybe it was Kelly.”

  “I can look it up. You say she was Dunhill's daughter?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Thanks, Baker.”

  “Sure thing, Jack.”

  Jack walked past the desk and into the back. A sign warned, “Police personnel only,” but everyone knew Jack. He knocked on Detective Malory's open door. The Detective was sitting behind a heavy desk that was probably older than he was. He was only about Jack's age. He was wearing a nicely pressed dark brown suit with a matching tie. His hair was slicked back, the oil making it a dark black. He looked up and saw Jack in the doorway.

  “And the carrion begin to circle,” he said darkly.

  “Nice to see you too, Detective.”

  “The body isn't even cold yet and the press is yapping for a story.”

  “I think the big story is, what are you doing on the case? Does Charlotte have so many murders that this one goes to a junior detective?”

  “Your grandstanding last night had all the old guys out to the train yard, for nothing.”

  “Not my fault the G-men took the case.”

  “Well I ended up with a murder and a lot of angry fellow detectives.”

  “Lucky you.”

  “What do you have already?”

  Jack looked at his notepad.

  “White female, daughter of a wealthy businessman, found dead in a colored part of town where no wealthy white female should be in the middle of the night.”

  “You know as much as I do then.”

  “Name?”

  “We're not releasing that.”

  “Daddy doesn't want it in the press?”

  “The girl was murdered, Jack.”

  “Alright
. But does the family know why she was there?”

  “No.”

  “Any witnesses?”

  “No.”

  “Motive?”

  “Rape? Robbery? Nothing solid.”

  “What was the murder weapon?”

  “High caliber handgun at close range.”

  “I know she was shot in the head. Any other injuries?”

  “Scrapes and bruises consistent with a struggle.”

  “Do you think Miss Dunhill was raped?”

  “More than likely.”

  “So it was Mason Dunhill's daughter?”

  “Damn it, Jack. I didn't tell you that.”

  “You just confirmed it.”

  “No, I didn't.”

  “Are you saying it wasn't Dunhill?”

  “No, I mean. Damn it, Jack. No comment.”

  “Don't worry, Malory. I already knew the name. I was just pulling your chain. I heard the body was found by the Sheriff's office. Are they investigating too?”

  “They're being a pain in the ass. But don't quote me on that.”

  “So you're not working together? They're running their own investigation?”

  “Pretty much. Why don't you go harass them?”

  “Sure. That's always fun.”

  Jack smiled and turned to walk out.

  “See you later, Jack. I want to hear anything you find.”

  “You can count on it, Malory.”

  Jack left the police station and walked around the corner to the Sheriff's office. He wasn't as close to them and got the cold shoulder. All they would say was that the case was under investigation.

  “So the Sheriff's Department is investigating, not the City Police?” Jack asked the deputy.

  “Yes.”

  “But the murder happened inside the City limits. Wouldn't the City Police be called in, to investigate?”

  The deputy was noticeably getting irritable.

  “The Sheriff's office found the body, and the Sheriff's office has jurisdiction anywhere in Mecklenburg County.”

  “Thank you, Deputy.”

  The deputy just grunted. Jack walked out and stepped into a phone booth in front of the Courthouse.

  “Hey Sally,” he said into the receiver. Sally was the secretary at the Charlotte News. “Connect me to Bill.”