A couple of newsmen stumbled in, reeking of booze and cigarettes, and barely gave me a glance. I covered my face in shame, wishing I’d never let Mrs. Harper rope me into reviewing that stupid show, and wasting my time with amateurs. Worse, the sugar-coated, purple prose undermined any credibility I’d earned as a journalist.
I couldn’t stay here and risk getting razzed by the reporters, so I made a mad dash for the door, cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
Outside, Finn stared at me with concern. “What’s wrong, Jazz? Why the long face?”
“My career as a journalist is over,” I told the little tyke. “Not to mention my love life is ruined.” True, I was being a bit melodramatic, but that summed up exactly how I felt.
“Aw, gee. Is it as bad as all that?” Finn frowned.
I nodded. “Sorry I can’t watch your papers today. Some other time, sport?”
“Sure, Jazz. Don’t worry about me.”
“Hope you sell out!” I patted his scrawny shoulder and forced a smile. Sell out? How ironic—after reading that rosy review, readers would assume I was the sell-out.
I searched in the alley for Golliwogg, my semi-adopted stray black cat, but sadly she wasn’t around to lift my spirits. Hanging my head, I trudged home, bypassing the trolley, not wanting to see anyone. Even walking by the corner bakery and sweets shop failed to entice me inside.
As I turned down our street, I noticed a spiffy Roadster parked in front of the boarding house. Could it be? I raced down the sidewalk to the front door and opened it wide: my big brother stood in the hallway.
“Sammy! You’re here!” I stared at him as if he were a mirage. He grinned and enveloped me in a warm bear hug. If anyone could cheer me up, it was Sammy, my wild, wayward half-brother.
******
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Sammy! What are you doing here?” I smiled so widely my cheeks hurt. Amanda stood by his side, holding onto his arm. “How long have you been here?” I gave her a cross look, meaning: Why didn’t you tell me?
“Came down to see my two favorite ladies. I had the day off and thought I’d surprise you. Just got into town.”
“Isn’t it swell?” Amanda grinned. “Here I was, moping around, depressed, because our trip got cancelled.”
“And I wasted time at some silly show.” I nodded, not mentioning the stabbing victim. Surely he knew by now?
Sammy looked around conspiratorially. “Eva’s still at church, right? No one’s here?”
“Don’t worry. She’ll be gone all day. Most of the boarders are out of town or in church.”
In the parlor, we made ourselves as comfortable as possible on the old worn horsehair furniture. I sat on the sofa across from Amanda and Sammy, who snuggled on the loveseat. Sammy looked ruggedly handsome, dressed in a sports jacket and slacks and rumpled white shirt. He’d grown out his dark wavy hair, tinged with new touches of silver—already, at 32?
I couldn’t help but notice that his smooth olive complexion seemed pale and sallow, and dark circles ringed his olive eyes. “You look tired,” I blurted out. “Were you driving all night?”
Sammy nodded and rubbed his blood-shot eyes. “Houston is a hopping boom town. I wanted to get here early, before folks got out of church.”
“Glad you finally took a day off.” I recalled Musey’s threat from last night, but decided not to bring it up now. Not yet, maybe later. “What about Nounes? Sure it’s safe to be here?”
Sammy shrugged. “I’m just in town for the day, then I’ll be on my way.”
Inwardly, I sighed with relief. “So how do you like Houston?” I’d asked him on the phone a few times, but he’d always said, “It’s OK,” and evaded my questions. “How does it compare to Galveston?”
“I like it fine. Lots of new money. Folks coming to town to make a quick buck.” He leaned forward, clasping his hands. “Did you know Houston is hosting the Democratic National Convention next year? Business will really be booming then. People are piling into the city daily, building the Albert Thomas Convention Hall, getting the city ready for all those muckety-mucks. Lucky for me, politicians sure like to drink.”
“Those hypocrites,” I fumed. “They vote to poison their own citizens while they hire private bootleggers for their fancy shindigs. I’ll bet they drink their rich friends under the table.”
Sammy nodded with a grin. “I’d rather give them a drink than my vote any day.”
“You said it, Sammy.” Amanda beamed at him, blue eyes sparkling, clearly smitten.
“Say, I wonder if they’re going to discuss repealing Prohibition?” I added. “Everyone knows the Volstead Act is a farce. The public doesn’t pay attention, and neither do the police.”
I thought of Agent Burton, who tried so hard to uphold a law that no one took seriously, a useless amendment that even he questioned.
“I hope so. The sooner they vote down that stupid law, the better.” Sammy’s face clouded with emotion. “I hate paying these crooks top dollar for booze on the sly. I just want to run a legit restaurant and bar—a high-class joint like the Hollywood Dinner Club or the Turf Club—and not have to kowtow to these greedy rum-runners. They get rich off the backs of poor working-class stiffs who only want a rum and Coca-Cola to help relax after a hard day.”
“Bravo!” Amanda gave Sammy a hug. “Well-spoken. Wish you could run for Congress.”
“And join the enemy? No, thanks.” Sammy frowned but his face flushed, pleased.
I took the cue to give them some privacy. “Why don’t you catch up and I’ll get us some snacks.” Retreating to the kitchen, I asked, “What would you like?”
“Hot coffee for me,” Sammy said. “It was a long, hard drive in the dark.”
“Your poor thing,” Amanda cooed, twirling her blonde curls. “Make mine hot chocolate, please?”
“Coming right up.” I tried to eavesdrop while I bustled around the kitchen, making sandwiches and drinks, wondering if Sammy and Amanda were still an item.
After Sammy’s sudden departure to Houston, she hadn’t brought up the painful subject. So far they seemed to be getting along quite well, though I knew Sammy’s roving eye didn’t settle on any one gal for too long.
A bona-fide bachelor, he had no trouble juggling vivacious vamps or daring dames. Truth was, he liked to stretch his sea legs, as he admitted.
I handed them ham and cheese sandwiches and their hot drinks, and we made small talk while we munched on lunch. For a while, it seemed as if Sammy had never left. How things had changed in such a short period of time.
“What’s your bar like in Houston?” I asked, sipping my hot tea.
“A hole in the wall in Market Square, by Downtown. Not a bad location, but it’s not the same without Doria hanging over the bar,” he told us. “I miss you two gals stopping by.”
“Do you mean it?” Amanda’s face lit up like a Chinese lantern. “Music to my ears.”
“Why naturally, sugar plum.”
Oh, boy, all this sweet talk was giving me a toothache and a headache.
Sammy put down his sandwich. “So how’s Agent Burton? I hear he was with you Friday night when you came by the Oasis. Everything copacetic?”
I knew he really meant the stabbing, not our relationship. “Sure, we’re fine. In fact, last night we ate out at Mario’s.” I gulped down my sandwich, trying not to mention Musey.
“Mario’s?” Sammy frowned. “That’s a major mob hang-out for the Downtown Gang. Burton knows that, doesn’t he?”
“Really? Looked like a nice place to me.” I tried to act nonchalant, but my heart started thudding harder in my chest. “Maybe he likes the food.”
Sammy’s olive eyes flashed. “You know I’m grateful to the guy, but he’s just asking for trouble. Anything happen while you were there?”
“Matter of fact, a lady’s purse was stolen off her table. Still, purse-snatchers are all over Galveston,” I said, to change the subject. “You remember I got robbed last summer. Luckily, Finn saved th
e day and tripped him just in time. Never found out who took my bag, but I suspect it was some Beach Gang flunky.”
“Probably.” I knew Sammy’s loyalties were torn between both gangs. He finished his sandwich and stood up, wiping his hands and mouth with a napkin. “Hate to eat and run, gals, but I’d better go check on the Oasis. It was closed when I drove by this morning. No telling what those two goofballs did last night.”
“Can we come with you, Sammy?” Amanda jumped up. “I’ll be ready in a jiffy.”
Sammy grinned. “Sure, if you don’t mind hanging around a stinky old gin joint.”
After she went upstairs, he pulled me aside. “Any news about that stabbing? I can’t believe the guy just vanished.”
“I’ll say. Without a body, there’s no evidence, no crime. Seems like he walked straight out of Sealy hospital.”
“Thank God.” His eyes narrowed. “What about Burton? Has he told his cop buddies?”
“Buddies? You have more friends on the force than he does. But no, I don’t think so. And I doubt the staff wants to advertise the fact they lost a patient, even a John Doe.”
Sammy seemed relieved, his shoulders relaxing. “Bet he wanted to skip out on his bill.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised.”
We clammed up when Amanda returned, smelling like a perfume factory. Before we left, I wrote a note for Aunt Eva, and we all piled in Sammy’s car, chattering while he drove us to the Oasis. On a Sunday, Market Street didn’t seem half as menacing or dangerous, the sun basking the whole street in a warm haze.
Frank swung open the door as we approached, giving us a worried glance.
“It’s about time you lounge lizards showed up for work,” Sammy cracked. “So what’s new? Made us a bundle of jack?”
“You had a visitor last night.” Frank fingered his spectacles, surveying the street before slamming the door.
“Who?” Sammy moved toward Frank and I distinctly heard him whisper, “A dame?”
“I wish it was that easy.” Frank looked like he was chewing on nails. “Your old pal, George Musey.”
******
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Musey? That old trouble-maker?” Sammy blanched, and glared at Frank. “How in hell did George know I was coming to town?”
“Don’t look at me, boss. I didn’t tell a soul.” Frank shrugged. “Maybe a customer overheard me talking to you on the phone.”
“A customer? Next time keep your mouth shut and your eyes open. What do I pay you for?” Sammy scowled at Frank as he paced the empty bar, waving his hands around, cursing under his breath. “That’s all I need, Nounes and Musey breathing down my neck.”
So Musey’s threats to Burton weren’t just for show. After Mario’s, he must have intended to pay Sammy a visit that very night, and was gauging Burton’s reaction. So how did Musey find out Sammy planned a trip to Galveston? Did Sammy’s partner in Houston tip him off?
Finally Sammy sat down, pulled out a Camel and blew smoke rings at Doria, our wooden masthead and mascot. Ever stoic, Doria stared straight ahead with a worried look on her chiseled face. “Next thing I know, Johnny Jack will show up asking me for back rent. I’m paid up, right?”
“No problems there. We’ve got it all covered.”
“Prove it,” Sammy demanded. “Show me the receipts.”
“Now?” Frank’s eyes darted back and forth, alarmed. “How about some beverages first?”
Sammy draped his arms over our shoulders. “Sorry, girls, I’m not being hospitable. You want anything to drink—a soda pop?”
“I get soda pop all day at Star Drugstore,” Amanda said. “How about some giggle water?”
Sammy motioned to Frank. “Make it a Mary Pickford—a sweet drink for my sweet gal.”
Amanda smiled. “I like the sound of that.”
“Which one—my gal or the drink?” I teased her.
“Both.” Her blue eyes twinkled.
Frank handed Amanda her cocktail, and a Moxie for me, giving us the eye. Then he gestured for Sammy to go to the back office.
While we waited, Amanda and I sipped our drinks, feeling uncomfortable. “Wonder what’s wrong?” she said. “I get the distinct impression Frank wants us to leave.”
“Don’t mind Frank. He’s such a worrywart, always expecting the worst.”
“The worst?” She frowned. “Say, what do you know about this George Musey?”
“Only rumors.” I buried my face in my drink.
Trying to change the subject, I told her about my butchered review in the Gazette. “The whole article sounded more like a press release advertising Derek’s acting services than a real critique. What happened to objective journalism?” I griped. “James will think I’m madly in love with Derek. And Derek will think I’ve been pining away for him all these years.”
“Can’t you do anything? Write a disclaimer or letter of protest to the editor?”
“Once it’s printed, I can’t do much of anything. Worse, people will believe it’s all true.”
“I’m sorry, Jazz,” Amanda consoled me. “I always thought your job was so exciting.”
“More like nerve-wracking.” I let out a sigh. “Too many ups and downs. Maybe I should work at the P.O.”
“Try working as a waitress or a telephone operator. Talk about a big, fat headache!”
When Sammy reappeared, he looked as disappointed as we did. “Maybe you ladies shouldn’t be here now. Frank can give you a ride back to the boarding house.”
“And leave you here alone?” I said to Sammy.
“Thanks, Jazz. I can take care of myself.”
What had Frank told him about Musey? I felt guilty for not warning him about the gangster earlier, but I didn’t want to spoil his good mood.
After Frank hurried off to the office, I tapped Sammy’s arm. “Say, I forgot to mention something...”
Amanda read my signals and, without a word, headed to the powder room. No reason to blab about Musey’s sudden appearance and not-so-subtle threat.
I took a deep breath. “Last night at Mario’s, Musey purposely bumped our table, and tried to pick a fight with Agent Burton.”
“No shit? Musey was there? What was he doing, threatening Burton?”
I nodded. “He gave him a message, for you both: Keep off the Downtown Gang’s turf.”
“What in hell? Musey expects me to pay him back, but stay out of my own bar? He’d better not be planning to take over the Oasis.”
Sammy shook his head in frustration. “Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”
“I was so happy to see you...I didn’t want to ruin the day. What does Musey want?”
“Cash, what else? He’s still sore about the lost rum shipment. How in hell will I ever find enough dough to satisfy him?”
My heart seized, knowing Burton’s raid on the Downtown Gang’s booze drop caused this predicament—though to his credit, he had tried to help Sammy escape.
“Are you sure that’s all he wants? Even if you pay up, will he keep asking you for more dough?”
“I don’t have a choice, do I?” His expression softened. “Jazz, don’t worry. I know how to handle Musey. I just wonder if he’s going out on his own, or if he’s got Johnny Jack’s blessing?”
“Sure you’ll be OK?” I asked. “If Nounes knows you’re here, he may come after you.”
“That’s my problem.” He frowned. “Not yours.”
“Of course it’s my problem. You’re family.” Sammy could be so stubborn sometimes. “Hey, why don’t you drop by the boarding house later? Eva will be happy to see you.”
“Eva? Happy?” He seemed skeptical.
“Believe it or not, she’s changed since she met Sheriff Sanders,” I assured him. “Not so judgemental.”
“Oh yeah? OK, I’ll try to stop by.” Sammy shrugged. “Before you gals leave, why don’t you show me where you found the...uh...man? Did you take a good look around? See anything interesting?”
“Only a fanc
y button.” I lowered my voice. “But Buzz found a kitchen knife smeared with dried blood and something sticky.”
“A kitchen knife? One of ours?” His head snapped toward the kitchen. “Where is it?”
“Burton’s got it now, in case something, or someone, turns up.”
Sammy’s eyes flashed. “What does he plan to do with it? Turn it over to the cops?”
“Bunk. He wants to keep it safe. Better than letting Buzz hide it here.”
“Ready to go, girls?” Frank handed Sammy the box and ledger, and he placed it behind the bar.
“So you think it was just an argument gone wrong?” Sammy asked Frank as we filed upstairs. “Nothing planned or premeditated, like a murder?”
Frank shrugged. “Seems that way.”
As we stepped into the alley, I saw the sky had turned a golden-coral, dark palm trees framed by the evening light, reminding me of silhouette pictures.
“Where was he?” Sammy wanted to know, too preoccupied to notice sunsets.
Glancing around, I let out a scream and pointed at the ground.
A woman’s body lay near the area where we found the first victim, her kohl-rimmed eyes open in surprise.
******
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“Oh my God.” Frank stared at the body in shock. “Not again.”
Like a duet, Amanda joined me in screaming our heads off as we ogled the poor woman, transfixed.
Frank hissed, “Pipe down, you two!”
Sammy seemed dazed, blinking in surprise, his normally tan olive skin pale as paper.
“What in hell?” he muttered, looking up at the sky. “Why here? Why me? Why now?”
A portly shopkeeper stuck his head out the door, calling out, “What’s all the ruckus?”
“Just a rat hiding in the garbage,” Frank replied. “A fat scary one.”
“Well, keep it down, will ya? We can hear you big cry babies ten miles away.”
Sammy blocked the body from view, and we backed off, averting our eyes. No one said anything for a few moments as we studied the poor young woman. In her mid-twenties, the victim wore a snug cloche, heavy make-up and ill-fitting clothes, a top and flimsy skirt outfit, under a simple wool sweater. Not exactly a fashion plate.
Vamps, Villains and Vaudeville Page 6