“Get that door open,” ordered Dr. Stanton. He was armed with a worrisome scowl. “We need to get him operated on before he’s really knocking at heaven’s door, or at least standing at the gate.”
The jailhouse clinic, normally used to treat common mishaps and minor injuries, served as a makeshift operating room. Surgery to repair a small puncture in Baltimore’s lung and sutures in several necessary places took over an hour but they closed him up without discovering any serious internal complications.
Baltimore was put together better than most, Hiram Knight joked afterwards as he and the white doctor shared a smoke in the clinic. Delbert thanked them, filled Dr. Stanton in on what Baltimore was accused of and the way it really went down before the cops came crashing in. Stanton didn’t comment on whether he believed Delbert’s story. “There was a man in trouble,” he said respectfully. “My friend Hiram called me up saying how the fella was worth seeing about and that was good enough for me. Besides, I don’t trust crackers either.”
The entire processing area stopped on a beat when Baltimore’s hot-shot lawyer and personal medical team re-entered from the great unknown behind the steel door. Word had circulated during their eighty-seven-minute absence, during which Etta kept track of each and every tick on the wall clock. The white people in attendance were more curious than compassionate, but each of the colored spectators displayed genuine concern. For them, it was a lot like rooting for the home team even after they had been suspected of cheating. Regardless, it was far better to win against an opponent. The very moment Delbert flashed a noble nod toward the back of the room where Etta and Penny stood in anticipation of a sign, several of the colored women and men applauded excitedly. From the white police officers, Delbert was pelted with snide remarks and dirty looks.
Albert Hummel had practiced law for more than twenty years, but he had yet to experience how life played out in the black community and generally viewed it from the other side of the color line. For that moment in time, amidst the cheers and jeers, he was one of them, and he liked it. “Whoa, boy, this case is bigger than I thought,” he said as they exited through the front doors.
“It’ll get bigger still,” Dr. Stanton cautioned openly. “Lace up your boot straps and get ready to meet the devil’s angels head on. Oh, and Albert, it wouldn’t hurt to get the wife and kids out of town.” Suddenly the inspired attorney’s good vibrations and feelings of inclusion waned. Life on the other side wasn’t nearly as appealing after all, not even close. In actuality, it was scary as hell.
27
SOMEBODY’S LYING!
The Law Office of Albert Hummel occupied part of the fifth floor of the Regalia Building in the heart of downtown. His busy practice thrived on hefty retainers, settling the estates of St. Louis’s elite and the business of protecting wealthy white men whose unfortunate habits had gotten them crossways with the district attorney’s office. Albert was expensive but well worth it. When clients followed his instructions, they were much better off than those who initiated an alternate strategy, and subsequently discovered the error of their ways, in prison. Because Baltimore’s case was high profile, receiving daily front page ink in both of the city’s newspapers, Albert had his work cut out for him.
The established Post-Dispatch newspaper smeared the story with a different spin, each time warning white women of black men’s predilections including the irresistible desire to bed them. The Comet, a leading source of news and gossip among the colored contingent, had more unanswered questions than various suggestions to explain what occurred in the private room of Baltimore Floyd. Comet readers had read about this sort of thing before, a white woman exposed for running with the “wrong kind” and later screaming rape when her recklessness came to the light. The Comet readers imagined that a white woman who didn’t get exactly what she went there for was unthinkable, while the white population found that notion to be horrendous and inconceivable. Albert knew he would be hard pressed to find one white juror to believe otherwise, at least in public where he’d need them to. Since blacks were prohibited from serving as jurors in cases involving whites, the deck was stacked against him and his newest client, now known as “the notorious Baltimore Floyd.”
The attractive red-headed receptionist asked the ladies sitting in the law office reception area to meet in the conference room. Etta and Penny eyed one another apprehensively because of this impending discussion. They had been shaken up, talking between themselves while doing their level-headed best to ignore a multitude of inquisitive white clients looking down their noses at them. Etta, decked out in a pink satin dress, which was cut just above the knees, and a fetching bow-tie shaped hat, pulled on Penny’s hand when she’d battled second thoughts of giving her deposition.
“Ms. Etta, I ain’t too keen on having all these white folk gawking like they want to hurt us.”
“Don’t worry about them, Penny. These people haven’t seen such a pretty girl dressed like she just stepped out of a magazine is all,” Etta replied pleasantly. “I told you that green outfit was a winner.” Penny lowered her head to appraise her fashionable mint-colored skirt and jacket ensemble. When her eyes rose up to meet Etta’s reassuring smile, she agreed to go forward.
“Yes, ma’am. You probably right. These folks ain’t never seen the likes of us. Let’s go see what that lawyer man wants. Baltimore’s counting on his friends and I’d hate to break down on him.” She remembered how he didn’t hesitate to step between her and Halstead’s wrath that day in front of Watkins Emporium. Now that she had the opportunity to return the favor, Penny was determined to step up and stay on course on his behalf.
The room was spacious, with two walls a lot longer than the others. Penny figured it must have been designed that way in order to get the rectangular-shaped mahogany wood conference table to fit inside it. Placed on the adjacent credenza against the short wall closest to the door was a crystal serving set. Penny admired it but she was even more infatuated with the idea of enjoying a cool drink of water from it. A tiny freckled-faced woman, wearing a plain amber-colored dress with her dark hair wrapped up in a tight bun, noticed the young lady flirting with it.
“Oh, you can have some, sweetie,” the stenographer offered kindly, as if she had prepared it herself.
“Thanks, ma’am, this is a nice place y’all got here,” Penny complimented, in exchange for the woman’s generosity.
“Why, yes, this is very nice come to think of it,” she answered.
“You did come here to help Mistah Albert with Baltimore’s case, didn’t you?” Penny asked, concerned as to which team the lady with the tiny machine was pulling for.
“It’s okay, Penny, she’s with us,” Etta explained. Privately, concerns about who could be trusted had crossed her mind too, especially after no one had seen or heard from Dinah since the very moment she left Baltimore’s room. Rumors swirled that she was Barker’s chocolate plaything and wasn’t interested in telling what she knew, if anything. Other chitchat resonated as well, implying either Barker or Baltimore had Dinah disposed of because she knew too much. Stories circulated throughout the entire city. No one was certain which tale to believe, so every kook with an opinion had a shot at being right. The pot had begun to simmer and everyone was anxious to sit and watch it boil.
“I’m sorry to have kept you ladies waiting,” Albert apologized. “Miss Adams, Miss King.” Penny batted her eyes after being called by that name for the first time ever. It had a nice ring to it, rolling off the nice looking white man’s tongue. When Etta asked if everyone could go on a first name basis, Penny rolled her eyes and looked the other way as she pouted. “Good, we’re all friends here,” Albert agreed. “Let’s move on then.” He began by informing them he’d contacted Baltimore to ensure his well being. “I’ve seen Mr. Floyd again and I assure you that he’s coming along just fine, although he is still extremely tender and stiff in more places than I’d care to detail in the presence of ladies.”
“Good. When can we go down to se
e him for ourselves?” Etta asked, raring to go.
“Well, that’s a problem,” he informed her reluctantly, choosing his words so as not to offend. “Mr. Floyd does not wish for either of you to visit him. I know that might sound heartless, but try to see things from his vantage point. He obviously cares a great deal for the both of you and can not bear to have you feeling sorry for him. You must know he’s a very proud man.”
Angered by Baltimore’s refusal, Etta let her feelings get the best of her. “Why doesn’t he want us to see him? Humph, best hope he don’t let that fat pride of his end up tied to a rope.” Penny glared at her for voicing such a thing after preaching how they should watch what they said while in the company of white people.
“Ms. Etta, you shouldn’t have,” she challenged. “I know you’s missing him something awful, but Mistah Baltimore be a proud man like he says, too proud to let you see him down like he is now, in that pen, like some chained dog, Ms. Etta. Please don’t fuss over it and take that away from him.” Penny wanted to apologize for confronting her elder in mixed company but she meant every word. Tears spilled from her eyes when the stenographer began sniffling at the end of the table. Although the white woman was as removed from this case as any other, Penny’s deeply felt sentiment moved her deeply.
“Oh, no, please don’t cry,” Albert pleaded. “This is a tough case and I can’t get what I need if... geez, Cindy, not you, too.” When he heard his employee boohooing, he leaned back in his chair and sighed. “Okay, it’s contagious. I really need you all to try and calm down. This could be a long process and Mr. Floyd needs you all to be strong. Cindy, I need you to be a better example.”
“Sorry, Mr. Hummel,” she whimpered, wiping at her tear-stained cheeks with a thin folded sheet of tissue. “That has to be the bravest thing I’ve heard in years.”
Albert left the room briefly to let them do whatever it took to clear their heads. When he returned, the trio managed to pull it together. “Outstanding,” he said in grand business-like fashion. “That’s better. Oh, and before I forget. There is the matter of the fee for my firm’s services. Mr. Floyd told me you had access to his funds.” He was waiting for Etta to respond, but Penny came out of her handbag with a yellow ribbon tied around a thick bundle of bills.
“How much you think it’ll take to spring him?” she asked plainly. When Albert didn’t speak up right away, she hunched her shoulders. “I got more if this won’t do it.”
Etta shared the dumbfounded expressions plaguing the others. Each of them looked at Penny, amazed she had such a great deal of money and didn’t seem to mind parting with it. “Don’t worry, I can spare it,” Penny offered matter-of-factly. “My papa left me some, what you call a inhur’tance.” Etta couldn’t wait to discover what additional information Penny neglected to divulge regarding her inheritance, but that would have to sit and stew a while.
“Penny, you can put that away, Baltimore left some money with me. He can spare it too,” Etta asserted. Albert was licking his chops after previously predicting he’d get pieces of money as they scraped it up, but he didn’t plan on receiving the full amount he normally billed for a case going to trial. “I’ll make a draw on the funds he had me to keep by tomorrow, Albert. Why don’t you get back to telling us what to do today?”
Etta thought two-thousand dollars sounded kind of high-priced when he filled her in on the amount he charged, until she realized all the money in the world wouldn’t be too much to ask if it meant Baltimore’s acquittal. The eighty grand in her floor vault wouldn’t be worth a dime either, if the man who deposited the money couldn’t rightfully reclaim it. “You’ll get your money, trust in that,” she concluded on that particular subject and didn’t want to hear another word about it.
“Good enough,” Albert said lightly, as he watched Penny place her money back into her purse. “The next item on the agenda is a serious concern. I have detectives searching high and low for Mr. Floyd’s female companion, Dinah Leonard. She hasn’t been to her job in days now. I’m afraid she skipped town. It’s probably for the better, although she’s supposed be in possession of valuable information. Would either of you have prior knowledge about what happened the day of Mr. Floyd’s arrest or of Miss Leonard’s sudden disappearance?”
The look on Etta’s face was puzzling. She contemplated all of the scenarios she’d heard on the streets but the lawyer was strictly seeking facts. Eventually, she shook her head regrettably indicating she had nothing to offer. There was something peculiar about the way Penny shielded her eyes by staring down at the glossy finish on the conference table.
“Penny, is there something you want to tell us?” Albert prodded carefully.
“If you know something to help Baltimore, now’s the time to tell it,” Etta added, with bated breath.
So much had happened that the girl who’d gotten caught up in a woman’s predicament didn’t know where to start. “Don’t rightly know where to begin,” she muttered, having been taught that family business was supposed to remain in the family.
“Don’t worry about what you’ve learned bending anybody in the wrong way,” said Etta. She had an uneasy feeling Penny wasn’t holding back for Baltimore’s sake alone. “Just tell it and Albert will decide if its useful.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Penny answered. Her voice was so weak that Cindy had to lean in to hear them. “He didn’t suspect I was spying on him but I did, a lot.” Albert wanted to ask if the he she was referring to was his client but he decided to let her go without interruption. Cindy’s stenograph tape would help him later if he had any questions when preparing for court. “He had some women over to that place of his that backs up into the storeroom at the Fast House. I wasn’t snooping at first but I got an eyeful of what he did to those lady friends of his and how they liked it so much. I ain’t have no idea all that grabbing and groaning they did was the same as what happened to my old sow to get them piglets Halstead sold off last summer. It was kinda fun to watch him carry on with Miss Dinah. She was just as wild and twice as loud. They had a hot time together—just pumping, sweating, laughing and whatnot. Then one night, Miss Etta had me go upstairs and fetch a box of paper napkins. I was happy to get into that storeroom like always and maybe get lucky enough to watch him with a lady he really liked. I could tell easy when he did because he’d let her quit moaning first before he went to rolling off. Some times he would take a woman to that room of his, get to cutting up and soon as you know it, he’d go and fall off to sleep faster than a brand new puppy with a belly full of milk.”
“Penny, this is very important. What did you see that night, when Etta asked you to get the paper napkins?” Albert asked, to get her back on track.
“Well, that’s the first night I saw her up there with him, fooling around and blowing cigarette smoke out the window after they ... you know,” she answered, thinking there was nothing left to say until she peered up to discover three sets of begging eyes asking for more. “That ought to help some. Huh, Mistah Albert? My friend Baltimore didn’t have to take nothing from her. I seen her giving him all she had and then some. She was stuck on him. I heard her hollering how she couldn’t get enough.”
“Okay. You did fine, Penny.” Albert took a deep breath and drew her gaze to his and then he held it for the big question. “I just need to know one thing. Who? Who was the lady Mr. Floyd wouldn’t have any need to take ... from her?” Cindy stopped typing so she could hear the name clearly. Etta didn’t have to guess. The way Penny deliberately omitted Baltimore’s name from the story until adamantly defending him explained why she’d kept secrets. Penny knew the level of trouble a colored man faced if it was discovered by the wrong somebody he was having a naughty tryst across the great divide.
In the moment of truth, the lawyer swallowed hard and removed his spectacles. “Who was the woman, Penny?”
“That white lady all the fuss is over,” she said, making an ugly face like those words left a bitter taste in her mouth. “In the paper, they say her name
is Dixie Sinclair. She’s the wife of that mean policeman called Barker.”
Albert was so relieved. He’d been holding the anticipation in so long his head almost exploded onto the table. “Penny, you’ve done a very good thing,” he said wearily. “Mr. Floyd’s going to be quite proud of you.”
“He’s not gonna be cross with me for spying on him none?”
“I can’t see how he could,” Albert predicted, from an extremely poor vantage point. He didn’t realize it then but his job had just gotten a whole lot harder.
28
YOU HAD TO ASK
In the lower level of the county lockup, Baltimore rested while recuperating from his arrest and surgery as best he could. The male nurse assigned to the medical care ward played checkers with an injured inmate in what scarcely could have been considered a clinic. It didn’t amount to much more than a twenty-by-twenty-foot room with cots and a table with cotton balls and rolls of bandages aligned on it. Patients with serious ailments were generally carted off to various hospitals, depending on their race, under armed guard.
Baltimore was somewhat of an enigma because of his impromptu surgery and the bi-racial staff which performed it. His celebrity status grew once rumblings of his near death beating circulated among the other six hundred inmates. Several colored convicts sent him treats from their personal commissary accounts. Although Baltimore wasn’t a fan of sweets, he respected their kindness and generosity knowing how prisoners coveted their snacks as prized possessions. The shoe box beneath his bed stored the assortment of chips and mini-cakes. Baltimore shared them with a mentally challenged patient named Husky Maywood, who had recently eaten a hand full of mothballs thinking they were candy mints. After having his stomach pumped, Husky was on suicide watch, because they couldn’t classify his behavior otherwise without shipping him off to an insane asylum. That was a fate worse then death for a slightly retarded man serving six months for stealing smokehouse steaks to feed his mongrel dog.
Ms. Etta's Fast House Page 23