Innocence Lost

by Sherilyn Decter

  “Sure thing. I’m on it,” John Bricker says.

  “And finally, Gus. You and Fingers talk to the suppliers to find out when they can be up and running again. Lean on them if you have to. We don’t want anybody deciding that they want to get out of doing business with us. And while you’re at it, see if you can get any more information from them about where the info is coming from. Be as forceful as you need to be.”

  Gus and Fingers nod in unison. “Yeah, Boss.”

  “What about the customers, Boss?” John Bricker asks. “They’ll have heard that we’ve been hit.”

  “Henry, I want you to go grab Eugene at his office and go see everyone. Make sure he brings the list, okay? ‘Cause I do mean everyone. See what they know, and reassure them that the deliveries will be the usual amount and at the usual time. There will be no interruptions. Nobody’s going to be short. We have a reputation to uphold, gentlemen. I want the word on the street to be that Mickey Duffy and his boys are open for business.”

  Henry nods. “You bet, Mickey.”

  “I’m going to talk to Hassel. Maybe we can get some inventory from him. And maybe it’s time for a stronger partnership,” Mickey says, and leans back in the chair. “Christ, I’m gone for three days and all hell breaks loose. What the hell happened?”

  Chapter 45

  T he Duffy mansion is ablaze with lights. In the dining room, two men’s voices boom out ribald stories. Dinner is finished and plates have been pushed aside. Edith yawns, then rings the small china bell to get Hilda to clear.

  “Did you see hear that Jack Dempsy won the Gibbons fight?” Mickey leans back in the dining room chair and starts to light his cigar.

  Max Hassel fidgets with his own cigar. Mickey passes him his cigar clipper. It’s an antique with a crest engraved in the middle. Max admires the tool, and raises an eyebrow in Mickey’s direction.

  “It’s been in the family for years. My grandfather gave it to me. He got it from his pa, I think. Not sure how he came to have it though.”

  “Interesting crest. I’m sure there’s a story there. It’s not every bootlegger that can light his cigar thanks to the Philadelphia police.” Max clips the end of his own cigar and passes it back to Mickey. The two men companionably go through the ceremony of lighting the cigars: holding matches to start the tightly rolled tobacco leaves. Mickey’s habit is to use two. Once established, they draw down on the cigars. As a kid, one of Max’s first jobs had been to roll cigars; he appreciates a good smoke.

  They are a pair, sitting at Mickey’s table and smoking. Where Mickey prefers to lurk in the shadows, Max likes to be the center of attention, and is known for his flashy plaid suits, with rings on most of his fingers. While Mickey strikes first and asks questions later, Max has a reputation for thoughtful consideration. What they have in common is that they are both very dangerous. Mickey is the tiger, stalking in the bushes, and Max is the rattlesnake, basking in the sun.

  They both know this: the bootleggers in Philadelphia are a territorial bunch. They’ve carved out their turf, and defend it vigorously. But they’re also businessmen, and sometimes you have to work with the competition. It’s always an uneasy truce, but business is business.

  “I hear that Kearns got three-hundred thousand for his boy. In cash. The bets on the Dempsy fight bankrupted Shelby, Montana. The whole town.” Max’s laughter shakes the house.

  “Them’s a lot of clams for two-thousand folks to come up with. The town will never be the same,” Mickey says. “Any chance that Hoff had a piece of that? Boy, that would be swell to see him lose a pile of dough.”

  “If you gentlemen will excuse me a minute?” Edith says. Mickey nods in her direction, deep into another story about one of the dancers at the Club. When he’s finished, Max howls and keeps slamming his hand on the table.

  “Let’s go sit in the other room, Max. I need to talk to you about something.”

  Max and Mickey settle into large wingback chairs in front of a blazing fire. There is a contented feel to the room that only prosperous, well-fed men smoking good cigars can produce. Hilda enters with a crystal decanter and two glasses.

  Max raises his glass, sniffs, and takes a small sip, rolling the liquid around in his mouth.

  “Imported French brandy, Max. Real smooth.” Mickey holds his glass to the light. The amber liquid shimmers. He lowers it and takes a sip.

  “So Mickey, what do you want to talk to me about?”

  “Well, you’ve heard that we got hit pretty bad with the raids the last week or two. They padlocked a bunch of our clubs and either smashed or seized the booze.”

  “Word on the street is it’s pretty bad,” says Max.

  “Whatever you heard, it’s worse. They’ve shut down all our suppliers. Al Hendrie’s brewery is padlocked and all the barrels smashed. The moonshiners and alky cookers we run out of town are out, too. I’ve got my guys rounding up new suppliers but, in the short term, I need to lay my hands on a lot of booze.”

  “How much are we talking about, Mickey?”

  “A month’s worth. That’ll give me time to get my supply line back up and running.”

  Max whistles. He looks into the fire and then sips his brandy. The end of the cigar glows bright as he sucks in the rich tobacco. “I think I can help you out, Mickey. I've got inventory in a warehouse in Camden that I can get my hands on. Of course, it’s good stuff, so it’ll cost you a bit more than usual.”

  “I’d expect nothing less, Max. Business is business. I’ll have Henry Mercer call ‘round tomorrow to make the arrangements.”

  “Okay gents, enough of this lounging by the fire. Let’s head out and go dancing somewheres. Who wants to cut a rug?” Edith has burst through the door. She twirls around, showing off a red dress covered in bugle beads. She shimmies so that they fly. “It’s new,” she says. A beaded red headband with two long red ostrich feathers waves gaily as she prances around the room.

  Mickey laughs and jumps up, grabbing Edith around the waist and giving her a twirl. “Doll, you are simply irresistible.”

  Chapter 46

  S omeone is banging on the front door. Maggie sits up in her bed, alarmed. It is dark. She pulls on her housecoat over her nightgown and steps into the upstairs hallway. Archie’s door closes faster than it opens when he sees his landlady is in her nightclothes. In the meantime, Joe has emerged wearing a pair of pants and suspenders over his nightshirt. His hair is disheveled; otherwise he seems alert.

  Eugene meets them at the bottom of the stairs. “Who the hell?” he asks Joe.

  From the front hall, Maggie peeks around the corner into the living room and is alarmed to see from the clock on the mantle that it’s just after three in the morning.

  Maggie hangs back at the foot of the stairs as Joe opens the door.

  Two large men in topcoats and fedoras stand on the veranda.

  Eugene positions himself behind the door in the kitchen, curious about why Gus and Fingers are on the veranda in the middle of the night.

  “Can I help you, gentlemen?” Joe asks.

  “Mr. Duffy sent us to get Mrs. Barnes,” Gus replies.

  “What does Mr. Duffy need with Mrs. Barnes at this time of night?”

  Maggie hugs her housecoat tight. Her long braid swings behind her as she takes a small step back.

  “Mr. Duffy said to get Mrs. Barnes right away,” Fingers, the larger of the pair, replies stubbornly.

  “Mrs. Barnes isn’t going nowhere, bub.” Joe moves to block the doorway. “You can tell Mr. Duffy that Constable Kelly said to call around in the morning.” Joe begins to shut the front door.

  Fingers pushes his heavy, size twelve brogue into the doorway and braces the door open with a large meaty hand.

  “Look copper, it’s important.”

  “What can’t wait until sunrise?” asks Joe.

  “It’s Mrs. Duffy. She’s poorly and is asking for Mrs. Barnes.”

  “What’s wrong with Edith?” Maggie steps out from behind Joe.
r />   “I don’t know, Mrs. Barnes. I was told to come get you. That Mrs. Duffy needed you.”

  “Okay you two, you can head on home now,” Joe says. “Message received, and Mrs. Barnes will call on Mrs. Duffy first thing in the morning.”

  Maggie reaches out. “Wait, Joe. If Edith is asking for me, it must be urgent. I should go.” She meets Finger’s eyes. “Wait for me in your car. Let me get dressed. I’ll be along shortly.”

  “You can’t go off alone in the middle of the night with two armed men. I should go with you,” Joe says.

  “Now, wait a sec. The Boss didn’t mention nothing about bringing a cop along.” Fingers speaks up.

  “It’s the two of us or no one,” Joe says with his arms crossed and his chin out.

  “Fine. We’ll wait for youse in the car,” says Gus.

  Joe pushes the door closed, raking his fingers through his hair. “What the hell is going on, Maggie? These goons work for Mickey Duffy. You don’t mean to tell me the gal you’ve been palling around with is Edith Duffy? Whoa, that’s not good.”

  “We don’t have time to get into it, Joe. I’ve got to get dressed. You can come or not, but I’m going.”

  Joe shakes his head. “Let me wake Mansfield so he knows where we’ve gone,” says Joe. “If we’re not back by morning, he can get Tommy his breakfast. And we need someone we trust to know where we’re going.”

  * * * *

  Looking up the front sidewalk, Maggie can see Mickey waiting in the open doorway. She does a quick introduction. He looks askance at Joe, but says nothing as he gestures them into the house.

  “Thank you for coming Mrs. Barnes,” Mickey says. “The doctor has just left. Edith is anxious that you come and sit with her.”

  Maggie puts her hand on Mickey’s arm. “Of course, Mr. Duffy. But what has happened to Edith?”

  “I’ll explain as we go upstairs. Constable Kelly, would you please wait in the living room. Hilda can bring you some coffee.”

  Joe looks at Maggie. “I’ll be fine, Joe. Just let me find out how Edith is,” Maggie says.

  Mickey takes Maggie’s elbow and guides her across the foyer and up the stairs. “She’s in there. Her bedroom. And she’s having one of her spells. She’s had them before. She can be a real piece of work. I let her have her own way when she’s in one of those moods. The doctor was here. He’s given her something that's supposed to calm her, so she should sleep shortly. I’ll owe you one, Mrs. Barnes, if you stay until she falls asleep.”

  “Did the doctor give any other instructions?” Maggie reaches for the door handle.

  A shriek breaks their low tones. “Mickey, you bastard. I hate you.” It is followed by a crash of breaking glass against the closed door. Maggie recoils, taking three steps back.

  “Please, Mrs. Barnes? She’s just not right in the head tonight, but she’ll listen to you. Please?”

  Nodding, Maggie steps forward. She speaks through the gap between the door and the frame. “Edith, dear. It’s Maggie.” She grips the handle, turns it, slips inside the bedroom, and gently shuts the door behind her, carefully stepping over and around the shattered glass.

  Edith is pacing in front of the window. Her embroidered silk dressing gown has slipped off one shoulder. Her feet are bare, peeking out from beneath her peignoir. “Edith, sweetie, what’s wrong? What’s happened to put you in such a tizzy?” Maggie asks.

  Edith whirls around and strides over to her dressing table, seizes a brush, and vigorously pulls it through her short, bobbed curls.

  “That bastard, Mickey. He slept with Trixie, that cheap floozy at the club. She’s a bitch, a bloody bitch.”

  “Slippers, Edith, you’re going to cut your feet.”

  Maggie looks around the room for the bottle of whiskey she is sure is the cause of the outburst. It stands on the table. There are slippers at the edge of the bed. “Edith, sweetheart, please.” Maggie holds them up. “Let’s keep you safe, okay?”

  Edith paces, angrily brandishing the hairbrush. Sometimes shouting, sometimes crying, she tells Maggie about the other women, the long business trips, the perfume and lipstick she finds on Mickey’s collars, and the sly glances from the other women when she and Mickey are out on the town. As Edith patrols the corners of the room, Maggie reflects that she has never seen Edith so out of control. The more she repeats the accusations, the more muddled the details become.

  Maggie pokes her head out the door. Mickey is leaning against the landing’s rail. “Coffee, and maybe some sandwiches.” she says.

  Maggie adds another chair to a small table and chair in the corner of the room. “Come put on some slippers, Edith. We’ll have some coffee. You can tell me all about this Trixie person.”

  Edith sits and allows Maggie to slide the slippers onto her feet. “Am I getting old, Maggie? Is it my looks?” She swings her head around the room, then rises and rushes over to her dressing table, looking into the mirror.

  Maggie follows her friend. “You’re a stunner, Edith. And Mickey is a fool if he doesn’t see that. Please,” she says, putting her arm around Edith, “come and sit. I’ve asked them to bring you something to eat.”

  Flappers are typically thin, but it is too easy to feel the bones under Edith’s silk dressing gown. Maggie tries to lead her over to the table again, but Edith breaks away. “You don’t understand,” she wails, clenching her fists. “He did this to me. I used to be the prettiest girl in the club, all the men dangling at the end of my little finger.” Her laugh is wild.

  “Hush, sweetness. You’re still the prettiest girl.”

  There’s a knock at the door. Maggie steps around the glass shards and slips outside. “Thank you, Hilda. I’ve got it from here. No need to trail though the glass.” Maggie takes the tray containing a coffee pot and a plate of sandwiches to the small table.

  “Goodness, look at these delicious sandwiches. Come sit with me, Edith.”

  Edith glides over as if she were crossing a club floor, tall and confident, an easy, sexy sway to her hips. “I felt lousy at supper tonight. And then, poof, all better.” She snaps her fingers like a magician.

  “Have some coffee,” says Maggie. “Please eat. You’re probably cranky because you didn’t eat supper.”

  “I’m not cranky ‘cause I’m hungry, doll. I’m cranky ‘cause Mickey’s given me the pox. You know, the Spanish Disease,” says Edith.

  Maggie looks perplexed.

  “You know, syphilis. The Spanish Disease. Although I doubt the Spaniards call it that. Mickey gave it to me. Sort of a wedding anniversary present. Although not a very good one. I wish he’d got me another damn cat, instead,” Edith throws her half-eaten sandwich on the table. “And wouldn’t you know it, he gives it to me and his dose goes away all by itself. Didn’t have to take or shot or nuthin. I ask you, Maggie, how fair is that?”

  Maggie swallows Edith’s statement. “Oh, Edith, I’m sorry. Does it hurt?”

  “Only when I laugh.” Edith gives Maggie a maniacal demonstration.

  “Seriously, Edith. What do the doctors say?”

  “Doctors. A bunch of quacks. They don’t know shit.” Edith waves her hands through the air. “Wait, I'll get my medicine. The doc said not to take any more tonight. I took a whole bunch before we went out tonight. It did the trick. Maybe I should. Just a little. To feel better.” She is a projectile aiming straight for the dresser.

  Edith tosses bits of pastel-colored silk from the drawer to the floor. “Ahaa! Here you are.” Edith twirls and staggers, passing a small, white pharmacy envelope to Maggie.

  “That’s the medicine you took at the ice cream parlor, isn’t it?”

  “It’s a mixture of something with just a smidge of cocaine, darling. The latest thing if you have syphilis. Comes with its own doctor’s prescription.”

  Maggie’s alarmed. “Cocaine? Isn’t that dangerous?”

  “Nah, you goose. There isn’t much more than in a bottle of Coca-Cola from at the drugstore. Well, maybe a bit more. But not much.
” Edith giggles again. “Sometimes, it makes me feel so good, I take two.”

  She raises her arms and dances slowly around the room, humming a jazz tune. “You know, I’d wanted to be a dancer at the club, but they put me in the coat check instead.”

  “Is that what the doctor gave you tonight, Edith?”

  “He gave me a needle. Said it would help me sleep. But I don’t feel sleepy.” Edith folds herself on the floor beside the bed. She gazes at Maggie. “I wish I could have a baby. Then Mickey would love me.” Tears begin to stream. “Do you think that’s why he’s sleeping with those other women?”