“Didn’t sign up for this type of work, did you?” I said.
They both let out a nervous laugh. “No, sir.” One of them knocked on the door.
When my mother opened it, she nearly fainted. She gave me a long embrace, complete with hard kisses on the cheek. “I thought you were dead,” she whispered.
I hugged her awkwardly with one arm. “I’m all right, Mother.”
Elizabeth and her mother stood face-to-face, talking quietly, their arms around each other.
I glanced at my father. “I borrowed a shotgun. You probably won’t get it back.”
He shook my hand. “That’s fine. I’m just glad you’re here.” I could see the relief on his face. “Why didn’t you pick us up for the meeting?”
I started telling my parents what had happened to me.
“No,” Mrs. Hume said, “you can’t.”
I looked over at Elizabeth and her mother. They had separated, now standing a few feet apart. Mrs. Hume looked stricken. “Mother—” Elizabeth began.
“I won’t lose you too.” Her fears were etched into her face, deep lines between her eyebrows, on her forehead, around her mouth. Her eyes pooled with tears. “I can’t lose you, dear.” Her voice was wet, heartbroken.
“Here.” Elizabeth took her hand and led her to the bed, where they sat down and began again to speak quietly.
I told my parents about my day. By the time I finished, Elizabeth and her mother had rejoined us and stood side by side with their arms around each other, Elizabeth with a grim expression, Mrs. Hume with red, teary eyes.
Biting his lip, my father nodded. “When you didn’t show up, I consulted with Detective Riordan. He and I went to Pinsky’s house, but no one was there. I had to assume the worst and get the women to safety, so I brought them here.” Turning to Elizabeth, he said, “And at some point we’ll have to speak about automobile theft.”
“What else have you heard from Riordan?” I said.
He shrugged. “I talked to him a few hours ago. He hadn’t made any progress.”
“Mr. Anderson,” Elizabeth said, “you need to take our mothers somewhere—out of town—and let Will and me handle this.”
His eyes widened. “You can’t be serious. You’ve got to get out of the city.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “I’m not leaving.”
“The same goes for me,” I said.
My father put his hands on his hips. “I’ve got a business to run. I can’t just leave.”
“You’ve been meaning to get down to the Cleveland plant,” my mother said. “This might be a good time.”
My father looked conflicted. Finally he said, “If all of you will join us, we could spend some time in Cleveland.”
“Mr. Anderson,” Elizabeth said, her chin quivering. “With all due respect, I’m not going anywhere, but I’d like you to take my mother.”
I took half a step toward her. “I’m not leaving. This is my fight.”
My father folded his arms over his chest and glared at me.
“Father, take Mother and Mrs. Hume to Cleveland. Let us look into this. Anyway, we’ll be working with Detective Riordan. He’ll keep us out of trouble.”
My father snorted. “Like anyone could do that.” He just stood there, shaking his head. Finally, he sighed. “All right. I’ll take the women. But, Will”—he stood and walked over to me—“if you bring Elizabeth in on this, you’re going to be responsible for her life.”
I looked into his eyes. “I know that, Father. I’ll protect her.”
“Wait just one moment.” Elizabeth’s face was red. “I am not a child.”
“Elizabeth,” her mother said. “Mr. Anderson only wants you to be safe.”
“I know that. But I’m as capable as Will. More so.”
More capable than me? I felt real anger but decided to swallow it for now. We needed to present a united front.
After a moment, my father nodded and crossed the floor to her. “You’re right. I apologize.”
So he agrees. Perfect.
He held his arms open. Her frown melted and she hugged him.
“I think it would be a crackerjack day for a drive down to Monroe,” I said, trying to keep my voice even. “They’ve got a very nice train station. That would be a good place to start.”
My father got my drift and nodded. The Gianollas might be watching the Detroit train stations. “All right, ladies,” he said, putting some enthusiasm in his voice. “Let’s go on vacation! What a lucky man I am to be able to escort two such lovely women.”
He didn’t get a smile out of either one. Elizabeth grabbed her valise, and we all walked out into the hallway. My father stopped in front of the security men. “Do either of you know how to drive an automobile?”
“Yes, sir,” one of them said. “I can.”
“Could you take a drive with us down to Monroe and bring the car back?”
“Of course, sir.”
My father turned to me. “Why don’t you take a little protection?” He nodded toward the other security man.
“No. We’re working alone.”
He tried again but soon shook his head and allowed us to walk them down to the lobby. Elizabeth gave my father a sheepish grin while handing the ticket to the valet. While he retrieved the car, we went through our tearful family good-byes.
We waved as they drove away. Turning to me, Elizabeth said, “What now?”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” My voice was just as cold as I intended it to be.
“What?”
“You’re ‘more capable’ than I am. Thanks. I’m sure it filled my father with pride to know his son is a complete Nancy.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“No, but it’s what you implied.”
“Oh, Will,” she said, waving a hand at me. “You’re too—” She stopped abruptly. Her face softened, and she grasped my arm. “You’re right. That was insensitive … and wrong. I know you’re better able than I to deal with these people. I’m sorry. I just didn’t want to go, and I feel terrible having my mother leave. I hope she doesn’t regress.”
I folded my arms across my chest. “So you don’t think you’re more capable?”
“Well … it depends on what you’re talking about. For man-things, of course I’m not.”
I didn’t think it would be productive to explore her meaning of “man-things,” so I just said, “Fine.”
She gave me a tentative smile. “So now what?”
“We go see Izzy Bernstein.”
“What do you want with him?”
“I’m going to have the Bernstein boys find the Gianollas for us.”
“Why?”
“It’s time to go on the offensive.”
* * *
I parked two blocks from Peterboro on the other side of the street. With the likelihood that the Gianollas were after us, I didn’t want to get any closer to my apartment than necessary.
Izzy Bernstein stood on the corner, newspaper bag slung over his shoulder, bawling out his headlines. “Murder suspects not guilty! Getcher paper! Wright brothers fly into fairgrounds today! Read about it!”
“Hey, Izzy,” I called, standing just outside the crowd. He looked at me. “Come here,” I said.
“Come here yourself.” He turned back to his customers. “Murderers freed! Paper, paper!”
I walked over to him. “I need a favor, and I’m paying.”
“Why didn’t ya say so?” He cut through the crowd to us and squinted up at Elizabeth. With a grin, he said, “Hey there, beautiful. How’d you like the ride of your life?”
Elizabeth could only stare at him.
“Keep it in your trousers, Bernstein,” I said. “She’d probably take you more seriously if you’d already hit puberty.”
He glanced at me in confusion. I’d introduced him to a new word. It was probably better that he didn’t understand it.
Elizabeth recovered enough to say, “How old are you?”
He looked offended. “Old enough.” He muttered something in Yiddish before shaking his head and turning to me. “Ya hear about Adamo?”
“What about him?”
“Him and the other wop got off.”
“He what?” Elizabeth said, her voice strident.
“What happened?” I said.
I think he smiled, though it looked more a sneer. “Buy a paper and find out.”
I flipped him a nickel. He gave me a newspaper but kept the change. Elizabeth grabbed the paper away from me and started reading. I turned back to Izzy. “I need to talk to Abe. There’s real money in this for you guys.”
“What kind of real money?”
“Don’t worry. It’ll get Abe’s attention.”
“Yeah?” He looked curious.
“I need to talk to him today. You arrange that, and I’ll give you five bucks. And it’s just between us. Abe doesn’t need to know about it.”
He hesitated. “Yeah, all right. The Saint Petersburg Restaurant on Gratiot. Eight o’clock. He’ll be there. Now gimme the dough.”
“You promise?”
With a grin, he said, “Hey, how we gonna do business if ya doesn’t trust me?”
I pulled a five from my wallet. “Tonight,” I said, hanging on to the bill. “He better be there.”
Izzy sneered. “Or what?”
“Or I’m going to come looking for you, that’s what.”
“Hah,” he barked. “He’s a reg’lar comedian.”
I let go of the bill, and he stuck it in his pocket. “Just get him there, all right?” I said.
“Said I would. Now shove off.”
Elizabeth still had her face buried in the newspaper as we walked back toward the car. “I can’t believe this.” She looked up at me. “The only eyewitness never made it to court. Adamo was acquitted and released. He’s out.”
Right then I felt an icy jab in my gut. “Oh, shit! Joe! Come on!” I began running toward the car.
“What’s wrong?” Elizabeth said, trying to keep up with me.
I raced across the street. “Joe Curtiss! The Gianollas were holding him responsible for putting this deal together. Son of a bitch! I can’t believe I forgot about him.”
* * *
I ran through the first floor, shouting, “Joe! Joe!”
Elizabeth was right behind me. Plenty of other men were working, but Joe was nowhere to be seen. I took the stairs two at a time to the second floor, where mechanics were at work on a dozen or so automobiles. I shouted out his name again. All the mechanics looked my way to see what the panic was. No Joe. We skipped down the stairs again.
The day manager, Mr. Billings, a heavyset, balding man of about forty, stood at the foot of the stairs. “What’s going on?”
“Where’s Joe Curtiss?”
He frowned. “That’s what I’d like to know. We’ve been behind all day.”
“He didn’t come in?”
“No.”
“Did you try phoning him?”
“Yeah. No one answered.”
“Let’s try him again.” Squeezing past Mr. Billings, I ran into his office, grabbed the phone, and asked the operator to ring Joe’s number. The phone rang. And again. “Come on, Joe,” I muttered. The phone rang ten more times. No answer. “Let’s go, Elizabeth,” I said, heading for the door.
We ran for the Torpedo. I started the car, pulled out onto Woodward, and raced up to Highland Park. I turned onto Church Street and stopped in front of Joe’s house, a small red-brick two-story on a street of similar houses, some brick and some wood, all quite close together.
“You’re still armed?” I asked Elizabeth as I climbed out of the car. She nodded, and we headed up the walk. The house was dark. I peered through one of the small panes of glass in the door and then leaned over and looked through the window at the edge of the parlor. Nothing. To all appearances, the house was empty. I rang the doorbell and waited a minute before taking hold of the doorknob and trying it—locked. “Let’s go around back.”
I glanced at Elizabeth as we walked behind the house. Her mouth was tight, her forehead furrowed. My stomach sank when I saw a broken pane in the kitchen door. I turned the knob and pushed. The door swung open. I looked back at Elizabeth, put my finger against my lips, and nodded toward the inside. “Stay behind me,” I whispered, and pulled the pistol from my belt. I saw she already had a gun in her hand. We walked in and crept silently from room to room.
The house looked as I expected it would on a normal day—the oak floor clean, a few dishes in the drying rack next to the sink, a stack of folded towels, edges squared, on the coffee table in the parlor. Seeing nothing on the first floor, we climbed the stairway, shoes scuffling softly on the wooden steps. I first looked in the bedroom on the right—the children’s room—empty. Giving only a cursory glance to the bathroom as I passed, I hurried to Joe and Gina’s bedroom—also empty. A clacking sound came from behind me, somewhere beyond the hallway. I walked back out of the room.
“Will,” Elizabeth said. It came out a croak, reverberating in such a way that I knew she was in the bathroom. Something metal clattered onto the tile floor. I hurried down the hall and stopped in the doorway.
“Will.” This time, her voice caught in her throat.
Elizabeth stood motionless before the tub, her hand on the bath curtain, her eyes cast down in front of her, her gun lying on the floor.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
I stepped forward and caught a glimpse of crimson on ivory skin. I grabbed hold of Elizabeth’s shoulder and turned her away. Taking her arm, I led her to the first bedroom, sat her on the bed, and bent down to look into her eyes. “Wait here.”
Eyes wide, she nodded. I took a deep breath and went back into the bathroom.
Joe lay in the tub, naked, brown eyes staring at nothing. He was partially turned away, knees up toward his chest as if in modesty. Other than his head, which was a gray white, he was painted in blood. The limbs that were visible, his right arm and leg, were shattered, white bone splinters sticking through the skin. The blood was heavier around his midsection. What I could see of his groin was nothing more than blood and tissue. A crimson curl ringed the drain.
Joe. God damn it. If I had only … Could I have saved him?
I realized I was holding the morphine bottle in my left hand. I didn’t remember tucking my gun into my belt or taking out the bottle. I spun off the cap and took a pull, then recapped the bottle and shoved it into my pocket before rejoining Elizabeth in the bedroom. Her eyes begged me to tell her it wasn’t real, that she didn’t see Joe like that.
A calming weight began to settle around my mind. The drug cut through my horror and fear. I sat next to her and took her hand. “Sam Gianolla did it.” My voice was thick.
Her head slowly turned toward me, and she looked into my eyes. Her bottom lip trembled, but she remained silent.
“We have to get out of here.” I stood. “But first we need to wipe down everything we touched. The cops will be lifting fingerprints everywhere.”
“Okay.” She didn’t move.
“Elizabeth.”
She looked up at me.
“We need to wipe everything down. Now. We have to get out of here.”
“Yes,” she said. “Yes, you’re right.” She seemed to be coming to her senses.
“Go downstairs. Wipe down the banister, all the doorknobs, anything else you might have touched. I’ll take care of this floor.”
“I…” She faltered.
“What, Elizabeth?” If the police caught us here, we’d both be going to prison. I was beginning to lose my patience, but shouting at her wouldn’t help.
“I touched the curtain.” She waved vaguely toward the bathroom.
“I know. Now go downstairs.” I helped her to her feet and led her out of the room. “And be sure to get the banister.”
“Yes.”
She began down the steps, using her dress to wipe the wooden railing. I hurried back into the bathroom, picked up
her gun and stuck it in my belt, then used a towel to wipe her fingerprints off the curtain. I gave quick service to the front of the sink, in case she touched it as well, then got each of the doorknobs. I threw the towel on the bathroom floor and ran down the stairs. Elizabeth stood near the kitchen door, trembling.
“Did you get all the doorknobs?”
Her eyes still staring off into the distance, she nodded.
I took hold of her arm and turned her toward me. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” She shook her head and glowered at me. “Of course I’m sure.”
“Okay. Let’s go.” I took a look into the backyard. Seeing no one, I gave her a gentle push out, closed the door, and wiped down the knob with my shirt before leading her to the front of the house. “Wait here for a minute.”
She nodded. I slipped past a hedgerow and, as casually as I could muster, went back to the front door and wiped down the knob. I thought we had gotten everything. Taking a surreptitious glance around us, I hurried back to Elizabeth and led her to the car. After helping her up onto the seat, I started the car, climbed on, and slowly pulled away from the curb, my brain operating on automatic.
Tears spilled from Elizabeth’s eyes. “I can’t do this, Will,” she whispered. “I can’t.”
“That’s all right, Lizzie. No one would expect you to.”
“I thought I could. But…”
“It’s okay.” I was certain that, without the morphine, I would be every bit the wreck Elizabeth was. So long as I could stay sharp, the drug would help me.
So long as I could stay sharp.
* * *
Neither of us spoke while I drove away. My mind was still coated with the soft shine of morphine, and her mind—well, I didn’t want to think about what was in there. I drove through Hamtramck to give us some distance from Joe’s house, and then down West Grand to Belle Isle.
Motor City Shakedown Page 23