Maggie drains the water from the sink and dries her hands on the dish towel Joe is holding. “Marriage is a big step, Joe. Take it from someone who rushed headfirst into romance. Fanny may not be ready to settle down. Take your time to make sure.”
“Understood, Mrs. Barnes.”
“Come on, Joe. Don’t be like that. It’s Maggie. But, promise me that you’ll have a good heart-to-heart with Fanny, to make sure you’re both wanting the same things out of life. Policemen don’t get paid what they’re worth, and I know that Fanny likes her fancy shoes and feather boas.”
“Those are just passing fads, Maggie. Fanny grew up with nothing. She’ll get it out of her system once we’re married.”
Maggie hangs her apron on the hook by the stove and pours herself a cup of coffee. “Well, I think that I’ll take this into the front room and just jot down a few thoughts before I turn in. Thanks for your help tonight. Dinner was a bit of a rushed affair, with the funeral and all.”
“No problem. I’m always glad to help out.” He hangs the dish towel to dry.
* * *..*
Joe climbs the stairs slower than usual, still trying to figure out what Maggie was on about. That wasn’t the reaction he was expecting with his big announcement. He thought all dames were ga-ga over weddings.
Tommy waits by Joe’s door.
“Well, hello there. What’s up? Looking for me, Tommy?”
“Can I talk to you some more, Constable Kelly?”
“Oh. Sure thing, laddie. Why don’t you come inside and we can have a bit of privacy.”
They head into the bedroom. Joe quickly retrieves his service revolver from the top of his dresser and puts it in a box, sliding it under the bed. Tommy sits on the edge of the bed, picking at the edge of the bedspread.
“What can I do for you, son. Still worried about ghosts? Is it the funeral?” Joe plants a chair across from Tommy.
Tommy shakes his head, but becomes mute; searching for his courage by his feet.
“You won’t find your voice on the floor, pal,” says Joe. “Okay, let’s start with how’s school?”
“It’s all right.” Tommy reports the status to Joe’s shoes.
“But there’s something on your mind, right?”
“I know who killed Oskar,” he whispers, speaking to Joe’s knees.
“What’s that? Tommy, if you have something to say, you’d best just get it out. What do you know about what happened to Oskar?”
“I know who killed him.” For the whole five words, Tommy stares directly into Joe’s eyes. Then hangs his head. “Well, not exactly who, but how and why.”
After another moment, Joe reaches out and puts a hand on Tommy’s shoulder. “Trust me lad, you’ll feel better getting it off your chest.”
“It’s not like I told you before. It wasn’t somebody else at that warehouse. It was me and Jimmy and Oskar. Me and my pals. We were the ones at Mickey’s warehouse that night. Oh, please don’t let on to Jimmy that it was me that told you. Please don’t let anyone know I told, especially Mother.”
Joe leans toward him. “Not a chance, Tommy. This is just between you and me. Scout’s honor.”
Tommy takes a deep breath and lets it out. “Sometimes we go to the warehouse. You know which one?”
Joe nods.
“We were spying on the crew that night because we thought Oskar’s brother would be there. And we hoped we’d see Mickey. We were hiding behind some boxes. Nobody saw us. We were careful. And then there was police, and shooting, and we ran. Constable Kelly, Oskar was right there with me and Jimmy. We thought everyone had got away, but Oskar… but Oskar…”
Tommy face is tear-stained. “I guess Oskar didn’t. He didn’t make it home. But he was right there,” he whispered. Tommy looks at Joe with searching eyes. “I thought he got out ahead of us. That he ran faster and got away. I wouldn’t have left him, Constable Kelly. You gotta believe me.”
“You did the right thing, telling me this, Tommy. You surely did.”
“But that’s not all Constable Kelly. It’s my pals. Jimmy told some of the other guys what happened and now they want to go after Mickey, because Jimmy knows Oskar was there and on account of Oskar not coming home. They were talking about it at Oskar’s house today. Constable Kelly, they’ll skin me if they find out I told.”
Joe takes a breath. The patting on the shoulder seems to settle Tommy. “No one will know, Tommy. You understand, don’t you, that Mickey Duffy and his gang are really dangerous? Did they see you that night, at the warehouse?”
”I’m pretty sure that the trucks had driven off. Just a cop saw us. He told us to get outta there.”
Joe holds Tommy’s shoulders, and has a face-to-face. “You and your friends need to stay away from them. Lots of people get hurt. Like Oskar did.” Joe shakes Tommy. “Promise me, Tommy. Promise me you’ll stay clear away from Duffy and any bootleggers.”
“Okay, Constable Kelly. What about my pals?”
“Don’t you worry, kiddo. I’ll make sure none of your pals goes after Duffy.” Nodding his agreement, Tommy rises.
“Thanks. Really, thanks. My head doesn’t hurt as much now,” says Tommy.
Chapter 29
W hile Tommy’s been upstairs, unburdening himself with Joe, Maggie is downstairs performing a similar ritual with the Inspector. She’s sipping her coffee in the living room, having given up her usual spot at the desk in return for a comfortable chair next to Frank.
“You look tired, Maggie. It has been a rough few days,” he says.
“I am tired,” Maggie admits. “Oskar’s death, Tommy’s moodiness, the gathering after the funeral today, Joe getting serious about Fanny. All of it is weighing on my mind.” She closes her eyes and leans back into the chair. “And our last conversation, of course, Inspector. That’s been on my mind, too.”
“Have you come to any conclusions, then?” Frank asks. “Are we going to keep going, as partners?”
“Oh Inspector, I don’t know. Part of me wants to say ‘yes’. But part of me wants to hide out here and pretend that what’s happening in Philadelphia won’t touch me.”
“Even after today?”
“Especially after today. The men at the funeral. Those are hard men, Inspector. I don’t want to be mixed up in anything they’re involved with.”
Frank takes a deep breath. “I need you, Maggie. And you have good skills that should be put to use. I know you’re worried about Tommy and whether he’ll be safe. After what happened to Oskar, who wouldn’t be? But pretending that everything is fine won’t protect him either. Fantasy is no shield against real evil, my dear.”
“Enough, Inspector. Just stop pushing me. Every point you make is another straw on the camel’s back. It’s just too much right now, especially after the funeral. That poor boy. And Alicja. There’s been so much violence and so much grief. Too much. I know you want to keep investigating, but what about the risks? I’m not sure I want to take that on anymore.”
Maggie looks around the room, at the life she’s built. She thinks of Tommy upstairs. “I don’t know what I’m going to do. I’ll make a decision, but in my time, not yours. I’m really very tired, Inspector. I’m not up for any more badgering tonight. Perhaps you should go.”
Frank lifts his hat from the table next to his chair, preparing to leave, but remains seated.
Maggie sighs. “Let’s face it, there’s isn’t any urgency. Poor Oskar is dead. His killer feels safe and isn’t going anywhere. If I need to take a few days to think this through, and all that it means for me and my family, then I’ll take a few days.”
Rising, Maggie starts turning off the lights. “Good night, Inspector. I presume you know your way out.” Good manners be darned.
Maggie’s shoulders are bowed with the weight of the decision as she climbs the stairs to her room. Yes or no? Forward or back? Can I go back to regular life, knowing what I know? She pauses and peeks into Tommy’s room to check on him.
“Ma?”
“Tommy, can’t sleep, love?”
“Mother, I told Constable Kelly that I know where Oskar was the night he disappeared.”
The story of the night at the warehouse tumbles out again, although Tommy leaves out the part that his friends are planning to go after Mickey. Maggie listens to his tale with growing alarm.
“Tommy, you must stay away from those gangsters. They’re dangerous, and wouldn’t hesitate to hurt you if they think that you saw something.”
Maggie smooths the covers around Tommy, tucking him in. “I’m glad that you talked to Constable Kelly, Tommy. Now that he knows that you and Oskar were at the warehouse that night, he and the colonel will be able to get to the bottom of things. There will be justice because Oskar was…” Maggie searches for a soft word.
“Killed,” says Tommy.
“Oh, Tommy. If Oskar’s death involves Mickey Duffy or his gang, then they will go to jail. You did the right thing by telling.”
“Mother, do you think that they’ll ever find out who killed Oskar?”
“I know they will, sweetie. I’m sure of it.” Maggie feels the resonance of those words. A pledge to my son.
“I hope so. I wouldn’t want that happening to another kid. And it makes me mad to think that somebody would get away with doing something bad like that.”
Maggie brushes away a stray lock of hair on his forehead. “Me too, sweetie. How about I read you one more chapter of The Three Musketeers?”
“Great. Do you think that D’Artagnon will save the day?”
“Undoubtedly. Now hush, and I’ll start. ‘My son, be worthy of your noble name, worthily borne by your ancestors for over five hundred years. Remember it’s by courage, and courage alone, that a nobleman makes his way nowadays. Don’t be afraid of opportunities, and seek out adventures. My son, all I have to give you is fifteen ecus, my horse, and the advice you’ve just heard. Make the most of these gifts, and have a long, happy life.’ ”
Maggie glances up from the book, surprised to see Tommy asleep already. Mr. Dumas could be talking about Jack. He was such a champion of the underdog. What would he think about this situation? He always did what was right, regardless of the consequences. I know if it were him acting alone, he’d be like Joe and charge full tilt toward the threat. And what if it were Tommy or I that were threatened? There’s no question, he’d fight.
Maggie turns off Tommy’s lamp and pulls his door almost shut. “Good night, sweetheart,” she whispers and turns in herself.
Maggie lies awake in her own bed. Tommy is in real danger if Mickey finds out that he'd seen the shootout and could tell others that Oskar was there. He might hurt Tommy. Or worse. There is no way I can ignore what I know about Duffy and let him go free. It would be wrong. By courage alone, Dumas said. Maybe Frank’s right and the best defense is a good offense. Or maybe Clara’s right and I shouldn’t bring trouble to my door?
Maggie punches the pillow into a more comfortable shape.
I need to talk to the Inspector.
Despite best intentions to sleep, Maggie tosses, and turns. At one point, she goes downstairs to make sure the front and back doors are locked. She peers into the living room, in case the Inspector is still sitting there.
Back in bed, she pulls the covers tight to her chin. Proving it’s the bootleggers and bringing down Mickey Duffy won’t be easy. We’re going to need to have a very good plan, because we’re probably only going to get one chance at this. I need to talk to the Inspector so that we can figure this out.
Chapter 30
M aggie is invigorated. A new day and a solid direction. A decision made. A renewed sense of purpose. Courage over fear. All that energy needs an outlet, so she puts a pie together and takes it, and last night’s leftover casserole, to Alicja’s house.
Alicja looks as if she hasn’t slept in days. The funeral was less than twenty-four hours ago.
“How this happen, Maggie?” Alicja slumps in the kitchen chair. She shreds a sodden handkerchief. The counters are filled with food from the funeral, Maggie’s pie and her chicken casserole part of the spread. “Four years ago, Stanislaw drive delivery truck for brewery. We not have much money, but more than when we live in Poland. Children are healthy, boys doing good in school. We even manage to put a little away for trip. Life good and we happy.”
Alicja suddenly pounds the table with her fist. “Then sukinsyn politicians bring in Prohibition and it all goes gówno. You know gówno? Shit, crap, poo poo. Now Stanislaw in jail, Ernie part of Duffy gang, no money, and my baby, he dead.” Tears are rolling down Alicja’s face. Maggie pats her hand, letting her friend try and make sense of it all.
“These bad times for everybody. Like Lena,” Alicja peers at Maggie. “You know Lena? Husband work for Duffy. Start out fine. Drive some trucks, lift some barrels, get paid lots of money. They buy car, she get refrigerator in her kitchen, all is good, no? Then guns. Her man shot. He get better and go back. But Lena worry all time that he get shot again. Maybe killed. Then what she do?” Alicja shrugs. “He quit, but no other jobs pay good. So he go back and work with Mickey. Poor Lena, she worry all the time, all the time.”
Maggie begins to clean the breakfast dishes in the sink.
“And Ula Dorn, she live on this street for long time. Husband gone. She have nice little place around corner; sell some beer, some good sausage. But police close her down. Swinia. Pigs. Now Ula run same thing out of her house. At night she puts radio on and pours vodka. People come over and drink in her front room. Sometimes there are fights, sometimes there are police. Her kids cry. Ula cry. Maybe go to jail. That just wrong Maggie. Not good. Bar is bar. Living room is living room.”
Alicja looks at Maggie. Pushing herself away from the table, she sighs and nudges Maggie out of the way and takes the dishrag from her hand. Maggie reaches for a dish towel to start drying.
The stories surprise Maggie. A bar on my street? Is anything the way it was before?
* * * *
A few days pass. Maggie is weighing various angles to the way she’ll get information about Oskar’s murder. She’s adamant that if she is to keep going, and Frank is involved, that their next step be in the right direction.
Keeping her hands busy so that her mind can wander, she’s sweeping off the front veranda when a police paddy wagon pulls in front of a house a few doors away. They knock on the front door of Ula Dorn’s house. At first, Maggie is puzzled, and then it falls into place.
After her conversation with Alicja, curiosity had prompted Maggie to ask Joe about beer flats in the neighborhood. How could I have been so naive? I shouldn’t have been specific about who it was. That was an error in judgement that Mrs. Dorn is now paying dearly for.
Two police officers pull a struggling Mrs. Dorn down her front steps. There's an apron over her house dress and she's wearing slippers. A trio of small children cling to her, crying. Mrs. Dorn is yelling and trying to hit the police.
Maggie stands watching on the veranda, arms crossed and cheeks burning. I’m a stoolie. I’m to blame here. Poor Mrs. Dorn. Those sukinsyn policja.
Another neighbor hurries over, pulling the children away from their mother. She wraps her arms around them. “Don’t worry Ula, I’ll look after them. They can stay with me until this gets sorted.”
Ula continues to struggle to get away from the policemen and back to her children. Finally, she is shoved into the back of the paddy wagon and driven off. One slipper left on the sidewalk. The neighbor picks it up and leads the crying children away.
Maggie grips the broom handle so tightly her knuckles turn white. Those policemen are probably on somebody’s payroll, yet it’s poor Mrs. Dorn that is hauled away for breaking the law. Where’s the justice in that? And with all the trouble right now in Philadelphia, including the murder of an innocent, wee boy, arresting a single mother for pouring a few drinks in her living room is their biggest priority? This is the grand plan to keep us safe from gangsters? Protect us from mothers and old women? What is this world com
ing to?
Maggie tries to calm herself. If I hadn’t said anything to Joe, Mrs. Dorn would be getting lunch ready for her children. No man at home. What happens to those children if she goes to jail? All she wanted to do was put food on the table for her family. Those poor children.
Maggie throws the broom down the hall.
“This isn’t your fault.” Frank’s in ‘his’ chair next to Maggie’s desk. “You couldn’t have known what would happen.”
Maggie stomps over to the couch. The couch rocks with the force of her throwing herself into it.
“There are plenty of victims, Maggie. Folks get backed into corners. You can’t blame yourself,” Frank says.
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