Innocence Lost

by Sherilyn Decter

  Joe remains stiff. I’ve seen the colonel stare down some pretty rough customers without a twitch. He must really have it in for Copeland.

  Captain Copeland stares at his shoes and then out the window. The silence grows awkward. Finally, Colonel Butler looks at Joe. “Constable, do you have information?”

  “We haven’t talked to anyone directly, sir,” says Joe. “We didn’t want to alert them. But from the information we have, this looks authentic, sir.”

  “And who’s the bootlegger, captain?” barks Colonel Butler.

  Captain Copeland flinches. “Um, not sure yet, sir.”

  “Anything to add, Constable?” he asks.

  “No, sir. Nothing more to add right now, sir, but I hope to have something further to report soon. On your direction, we’re going to head out and start interviewing the subjects. We expect to have concrete evidence the day after tomorrow, sir. At the latest.” Joe’s arm desperately wants to salute.

  “Good work, Constable Kelly. Go through the list and shake a few trees to see if any apples fall. Dismissed, gentlemen.”

  Joe stands and gives a smart salute before leaving the room. Colonel Butler automatically returns Joe’s salute.

  “Watch yourself, Kelly,” Copeland says when the two men are safely out of earshot. “Old Gimlet Eye thinks he’s leading the charge, but the Mayor and the Machine have other plans. You’d do best to think about sitting this one out, laddie.”

  “Are you saying not to interview the subjects on the list, Captain?”

  “No. I’m saying not to put your back into it. Let’s say it might take a bit longer than promised to get the information gathered together. Locating all these moonshiners out in the sticks might prove to be a problem. I’m just saying.”

  “Yes, sir.” Joe’s arm remains at his side.

  * * * *

  Maggie replaces the notes in Eugene’s pocket before she hangs her coat on its hook in the kitchen.

  “Good work, Maggie,” says Frank.

  “Joe’s going to start chasing names from the list, but what am I going to do? It’s laundry day. Eugene will wonder why his clothes aren’t on the line. So will everyone else in the house, and in the neighborhood.

  “Stay calm, Maggie. If asked, you can curse the plumbing.”

  “I’ll start it now. I can’t afford to get behind. Dinner will have to be thrown together.”

  Dinner is a quiet affair. Tommy has a report to do for school: transportation. Each lodger gives his opinion of the future of automobiles. Maggie casts furtive glances at Eugene. He appears to be behaving normally, eating quietly, answering questions, but rarely initiating conversation. He is a quiet one, that’s for sure. You’d never know he was a bookkeeper for gangsters from the look of him.

  After dinner, there are a few moments to catch up. Joe has followed Maggie into the kitchen with a stack of plates from the table. “You don’t have to do the dishes, Joe. You’ve got enough on your plate.”

  “Well, what with your ‘laundry problems’ I wanted to help,” whispers Joe with a significant look toward Eugene’s closed bedroom door. Eugene has not yet retired to his room; Archie has him trapped at the dining table in a conversation about the horsepower of future vehicles.

  “And when do you think you’ll have news on my ‘laundry problem’?”

  “Well, I’m going to be very busy tomorrow. Lots of ‘plumbers’ to check into.”

  Maggie chuckles. “Then you’d better head off to bed, Joe. I’ll finish these up. Off you go. Get some rest, and some sleep. I know how important it is to find the guilty plumber.” says Maggie.

  Chapter 42

  M aggie could not remember ever being grateful for laundry. Finishing the pile left undone yesterday helps her pass the time. Joe had left early. The day crept by. She had a brief meeting with Frank. Now, with supper on the table, they wait for Joe. “I’ll put a plate on the stove for him. Eat up everyone,” she says.

  * * * *

  Twenty four hours after their conversation, Maggie is nervous. Joe is still not home. She and the Inspector are in the front room. Her journal is open, a prop should anyone look in. But the household is used to her nightly writing habits; she’s rarely interrupted.

  Both look up when they hear the front door open then shut. Joe comes into the living room. His arm is in a sling and his face is badly scraped. There is a large bandage on his forehead. He carefully lowers himself to the sofa.

  “Oh my goodness, Joe. What happened?”

  “I got a bit banged up this afternoon. Been at the hospital this whole time.” Joe looks around nervously, one eyebrow raised.

  “It’s okay, Eugene’s out,” she says.

  “We went to one of the farms from the list. From the smell of it, they had an alky cooker running back in the woods behind the barn. They were none too happy to see us. I got winged with a shotgun blast.”

  He leans forward and whispers, “But your list is pure gold.” He winces then settles back. Maggie abandons her desk chair and perches carefully beside Joe. Frank listens closely.

  “Everybody is pretty thrilled to be chasing these new leads. We’re uncovering some interesting connections. It’s pretty powerful stuff.” Joe’s pale face is flush with excitement.

  "We brought a few hoteliers and saloon owners in for questioning. Seems that they all have Mickey Duffy as a supplier. They wouldn’t admit it about their own business, but were happy to talk about the competition. We're going to gather more evidence and then see about getting a warrant to bring Duffy in."

  “Joe, that’s wonderful.” He flinches as she leans in to hug him. She settles for patting his good arm. “No one knows where you got the list from, do they?”

  “I said that I found the list on my desk. Your secret’s safe.”

  “And what about those other names? The ones from the expense column.”

  “Mostly moonshiners. A few were breweries, easy to identify. But those moonshiners are way out in the woods. We got lost a couple of times. Nobody would give us directions. Some of these guys have lived in the area since their great-grandparents settled, yet none of the locals knew where to find them.”

  “And was it way out there you got hurt?” Maggie asks.

  “It was. We were driving down a narrow, dirt farm track. We could smell the mash from the woods behind the barn, but couldn’t get the car any closer without getting stuck. We got out and were walking in through the trees when they fired the first shot over our heads. I still don’t know where they were at,” Joe says, shaking his head. “We never did see them. I shouted out that we were from Philadelphia Police, and I yelled to them who we wanted to talk to. That’s when they shot at us again.”

  “Oh, Joe, you could have been killed.”

  “Nah, they could have killed us easily enough. No, I think they were warning us not to come back. When some of that buckshot hit me, I tripped backwards over a log.” Joe grins at Maggie wryly. “I’ve turned into a city kid.”

  “And are you going back?”

  “Eventually, I guess. Once we’ve built the case against Duffy. That’s definitely who it is, by the way. We’ve got a few more names to check tomorrow, including those breweries. So far, everyone has been Mickey’s supplier or customer.”

  “And what are you going to do about the other names on the list? The judges and politicians.”

  “Well, that’s the interesting thing. When the captain handed the list over to us this morning, it was a different list than the one I made from the pages you gave me. All we got on the new list are some of the expenses and some of the customers.”

  “Isn’t that just typical.” Maggie’s teeth are clenched.

  Joe shifts on the couch. Maggie turns to him, fussing over his injuries. “Well, you just be careful, Joe Kelly. Running down bootleggers can be a dangerous thing.”

  Chapter 43

  M aggie hasn't been to Child's Place since Jack died. The Victorian-style ice cream parlor had been a favorite spot when they we
re courting. It still looks the same: small tables along one wall and down the center of the room. Along the other wall, soda jerks in white jackets and black bowties stand behind a long, wooden, marble-topped counter, ready to pull frothy ice cream sodas. Others scoop rainbows of hard ice cream out of big tubs into tulip-shaped glass bowls.

  “I’m so glad we finally got a chance to come to Child’s,” says Maggie. “Isn’t it good? I really must bring Tommy here. Maybe if he does well on his exams.” She smiles too brightly. Trying to pretend nothing’s wrong with Edith’s strange behavior.

  Edith stirs her ice cream instead of eating it. She’s resting her head on one hand, elbow on the table.

  “Edith?”

  “I’m sorry, Maggie. My mind seems to have wandered.” Edith has turned her ice cream into warm soup.

  Maggie covers Edith’s hand with her own to stop the stirring. “Edith, doll, what’s up?”

  “Oh, everything’s fine.”

  “Everything is obviously not fine. Edith, please sweetheart, tell me what’s wrong.”

  “Nothing, really. I guess. I haven’t been feeling good lately. The doc gave me something and it seems to help.”

  “What’s wrong, Edith? Are you ill?”

  “I’m not sure. It’s hard to explain. Something’s not right. Maybe I should take some of my medicine right now. It always makes me feel better.”

  Maggie removes her hand so that Edith can rummage in her handbag. She pulls out a small paper packet and waves a waiter over. “Could I have a glass of water, please?”

  Maggie watches Edith pour the contents of the packet into the tall glass of water and stir it until it dissolves. She downs it in one long swallow.

  “Better?” Maggie asks after a few minutes.

  Edith reaches over and pats Maggie’s hand. “Now don’t you fret, hon. I’ll be right as rain in a sec.” Settling back into her chair, Edith pushes the bowl away. “So, what were we talking about?”

  “About how much I want to bring Tommy here if he does well on his final tests.”

  "Hey, Bub! My ice cream’s melted. Bring me another, will ya?” She is loud. Customers stare. She waves her arm at a waiter. “So, you were saying, again?”

  “Tommy. I want to bring Tommy here.”

  “Oh yeah, this is a great place for a kid. Look at all the ice cream.” Edith throws her arms wide. She pushes off and lifts her feet from the floor. The chair spins. “Wheeeee!”

  “Edith?” Maggie is alarmed at the two bright pink spots on Edith’s cheeks that have little to do with rouge.

  Edith leans in close. “You keep asking me if I’m okay, Mags. What if it’s you that’s not okay?” She lets out a loud cackle.

  “Oh for goodness sakes, Edith. Settle down.”

  Edith sits straighter in her chair, carefully aligning herself with the edge of the table, and then giggles again.

  The waiter brings over a bowl of strawberry ice cream and takes away the pink soup.

  “I’m sorry, Maggie. I really haven’t been myself lately. Mickey’s been on the road a lot. Who knows what he gets up to while he’s away? Seems he’s never home. Some big deal or other in Atlantic City. Have you ever been to Atlantic City? It’s so great. The beaches. And there’s a boardwalk that runs along in front of the hotels.” Edith takes herself for another spin in her chair.

  “It sounds swell, Edith. But, you know what? I think I’d better take you home.” Maggie reaches for her purse.

  “Sorry, sorry,” Edith says. “I’m good now. I don’t want to go home yet. The house is so big and lonely. Let’s stay awhile, okay? You got time to sit for a bit?”

  “A bit longer. But only if you tell me what’s bothering you. What are Mickey’s trips all about?”

  "Oh, I don't know. I think he's trying to buy a hotel or something. He doesn't really talk to me about business. I've been sitting at home alone like I'm some kind of widow or something." Edith suddenly sobers. "Jeepers creepers, doll. I didn't mean nothing by that. I'm sorry."

  “It’s okay, Edith. I’ve been a widow for a while now. Say, did you know I’ve been a widow longer than I was a wife? Jack and I had only been married for three years, and he’s been gone these last four.”

  “You must miss him tons. He sounds like he was a special kinda guy.”

  "Oh, he was. And I do. It hurts me to see Tommy forgetting his father. A little bit less, year after year. He was only a wee boy when Jack died."

  “Do you ever regret it? Getting married so young? Life’s been rough for you two, I imagine. A woman on her own with a little one to look after.”

  “I don’t regret it for an instant. Not the romance, not the marriage, not the baby. I don’t regret a thing. There isn’t anything I would change.”

  Maggie takes a spoonful of her chocolate ice cream. “No, I’m wrong. There is one thing I would change. If I could, I would have stopped him that night. If only I’d known what was going to happen, I would have thrown myself down a flight of stairs to keep him from walking out that door.”

  Edith strokes her arm for comfort.

  “I guess we’re both attracted to guys who love taking chances, I mean, if the rewards are big enough. Both are guys who do what it takes to make it better for the folks they’re looking out for.”

  “I don’t know how you do it, Edith. The life that Mickey leads, the danger. What it must be like to wait for him to come home.”

  Edith sits quietly. “You know, when he doesn’t come home, I never know whether to be angry or afraid. Is he with some dame somewhere, or has he been hurt? I’m usually in such a twist by the time he walks through the door that I could just throw something.” Edith chuckles, “Yeah, and sometimes I do, too. Good thing Mickey has good street reflexes or I’d have clipped him by now.”

  Maggie takes her friend’s hand and gives it a squeeze. She’s relieved to see that Edith’s coloring is returning to normal and the strange behavior is less. Maggie is worried about her friend.

  Perhaps it’s not surprising that Maggie finds it easy to slip from her disguise as newly found confidante into a more natural role of close friend. Some friendships mature over years and with shared experiences, and for others, like Maggie and Edith, there is an immediate, natural bonding. They recognize kindred spirits in each other, cut from the same cloth. Resilient survivors.

  “Well, we can’t change fate now, can we?” Edith waves the waiter over. “Hey, how about we order something to take home to Tommy. I’ll give you a lift home in the car so it doesn’t melt. He’ll be home from school soon, right? And what little boy doesn’t love ice cream?”

  Chapter 44

  A s Maggie and Edith leave their table at Child’s, Mickey’s gang is gathered around their own table at the warehouse. Frank leans against the brick wall and takes stock of the grim faces.

  “So, where are we at?” barks Mickey. He sits at the head of the table, looking like he is ready to strangle someone.

  Henry Mercer absently rubs the scar on his forehead.

  “While you’ve been in Atlanta, we've lost a bunch of dough. About a half dozen of our customers, saloons, and hotels have been raided or closed. Of those, two are still closed,” Henry says. “Of the suppliers, all but three of the moonshiners have been raided, their inventory confiscated and their alky cookers and stills destroyed. It doesn’t look like we’ll make our delivery totals for the rest of the month.”

  Mickey slams the table. “Sukinsyn! So what the hell happened? Who would come at us like this? Is it Boo-Boo? Or the Lanzettas? Somebody from out of town?”

  “No, Boss, it looks like Prohbies, the G-Men and the local police. And I checked with some of the other guys; it’s only us they’re lookin’ at. They show up, ask some questions about how much we’re buying or selling. They’re asking about specific shipment or delivery dates. It’s like they know a lot about it already.”

  The men look at each other and then at Mickey. Stoolies are bad news.

  “That’s not possible. N
obody would rat me out.” He looks each man in the eye. “Nobody.”

  Mickey repeatedly taps the table with his knuckles while he thinks. “Henry, find out from our friends on the force what the hell is going on and where they are getting their information. Who else might be on the list? I want to know who talked.”

  “You bet, Boss,” he says.

  Mickey moves to the next man. “Bricker, find us more inventory. Buy it from out of town or somebody else’s suppliers. Pay whatever you need to pay. We can’t let this interrupt business, especially with the other gangs getting so aggressive about moving into our territory. All orders will be met.” Mickey strikes the table again to underline his point.