Henry Wood Detective: Boxed Set (Books 1 - 4)

by Brian Meeks

  The cheers were more tepid than he had expected. The looks on the men's faces told the story. "Some of you may be worried about the size of his organization." He started to pace. "Ha, organization. I should have said disorganization."

  A more rousing round of laughter followed, and Anthony knew he had them.

  CHAPTER 10

  Frankie, sitting in his favorite leather chair, was reading the paper and just starting his day. His wife of 45 years still looked like the girl he had fallen for back in Sicily, though with grey hair. She sat sipping a cup of tea. Most of the day, the house would be filled with people coming and going, but from seven to nine it was quiet.

  The boss of bosses had rules and this one was sacred. Frankie had spent a lifetime building the trust and respect needed to run the five families. Though he could be ruthless, he was most known for his mind. He knew all the angles. In the last 30 years since he became the top man, there had been a few challenges. The brash young men who thought bullets could solve any problem, learned, seconds before their own demise, brains beat brawn.

  Frankie was also a firm believer in the theory of natural selection. There would always be rivalries between families; this couldn't be helped. Frankie let them fight among themselves. He considered himself the U.N. He only settled disputes when they threatened world peace. If a man couldn't protect his family, he got what he deserved. It was the brash exuberance Tommy 'The Knife' had displayed, which caught Frankie's eye. He took him under his wing, and, when the time was right, he gave him Manhattan. This was the most cherished borough, and the other families were understandably jealous.

  Amata set down her tea and said, “It seems Tommy is showing up in the news almost daily.”

  Frankie folded his paper, a troubled look on his face. “He is. The volume is getting louder than I would like.”

  Frankie, though at times he'd had a few broads on the side, loved and respected his wife. Over the last 20 years, he had been faithful, and they had grown very close. He trusted her and often used their golden two hours per day to discuss business. This was not how it was typically done; most of the wives were kept out of the business talk. There were very few people who knew how important Amata was to Frankie, or how much he valued her opinion.

  “The sharks will start to circle, if he doesn't get things under control,” Amata said, picking up a section of newspaper.

  “It is the way of the jungle. You are right, though. It has been a long time coming; this will be a test for Tommy. If he survives, he will be formidable. He might even come after this chair.”

  Shaking the paper open, “Oh, I don't know if he would go that far. He knows you made him.”

  “I said he might try. I didn't say he would succeed. I have aces up my sleeve he has never even heard of.”

  “I know you do, dear. I like to think I am one of those aces.”

  Frankie stood up and gave his wife a kiss on the cheek. “You are my best ace.”

  The grandfather clock in the hall began to chime. The doors flew open, and a small pack of grandchildren stormed the castle of solitude. Frankie played with the kids until his first lieutenant Nicilo said he had a visitor.

  Nicilo Bernini, who could trace his lineage back to Giovanni Lorenzo Bernini, had a strong jaw and was tall and lean. He spoke Italian perfectly, knew history, and respected the old ways. In 1946, Antonio Gecco, an eager up and comer, tried to make his bones by taking out Frankie at his favorite restaurant. Nicilo took two bullets, killed all three gunmen, and helped the restaurant owner's wife up off the floor. He never uttered a word of complaint about being shot. Frankie had pulled himself up off the floor and looked around at his men lying dead. He wouldn't have noticed Nicilo standing quietly in the corner bleeding had it not been for the owner's wife giving a little yelp. Nicilo had been by Frankie's side ever since. Not only was Nicilo respected by Frankie, but he was genuinely liked and respected by all the families. He had earned his place.

  Other than Amata, Nicilo was the only one who could tell Frankie he was wrong and have Frankie listen. Of course, Nicilo never did it in front of others.

  “Who do we have today?”

  “It is Mr. Carlson from the hardware store. It seems he has been getting some grief from some punks in the neighborhood.”

  Frankie and Nicilo entered the study. Mr. Carlson stood behind the two chairs in front of the desk. Frankie shook his hand, “Mr. Carlson, it is good to see you, my friend. I understand there have been some problems.”

  “Yes, Godfather,” he said, lowering his eyes.

  “We will let them know to respect the valued members of the community such as yourself and your lovely wife. How is Esther doing?”

  “She is fine, thank you for asking. Thank you for helping me.”

  Frankie whispered something in Nicilo's ear. Mr. Carlson left, and the rest of the day was spent solving other people's problems.

  CHAPTER 11

  The falling snow painted a layer of clean on the city. Henry didn't have time to take in the loveliness of it all. Despite being in a rush, he did notice the two children holding hands and spinning around, mouths open, laughing as they drank in the flakes. Their parents watched with pride. He assumed they were tourists from Florida; real New Yorkers just hunkered down and got on with their day.

  Henry walked down the street towards his car. He had his eyes open for the thugs, though he couldn't imagine they would have guessed where he was heading. His pace was brisk but not so quick that it looked out of place. It was still early enough that rush hour hadn't started, so Henry expected he might be able to get out of the city without too much fuss. He was right. He headed north and, 90 minutes later, pulled up the lane at the Alexander house. It was a modest but elegant place set back in the woods.

  Henry's tracks were the only ones in the snow. He felt a bit better. All he knew for sure was that nobody had driven up the drive in the last hour or so. There didn't seem to be any lights on. He got out of the car, turned up his collar and, with one hand on his hat, used the other to knock on the door. He waited. No sound, no movement, just silence and a feeling of dread welling up inside him. He knocked louder. When he began pounding his fists on the door, his mind raced, and fear replaced the dread.

  There wasn't any sound. No wind, no storm, just the millions of flakes streaming down, narrowing the world to a space of about 20 feet. If it got any worse, Henry wouldn't even be able to see his car. He didn't know what he should do next. The barely audible creek of the door handle was deafening. Henry spun around to see the door open just enough for him to see two eyes peering out. As soon as Luna saw who it was, she flung the door open and yelped, “Henry!” He was relieved. She waved for him to come in, and, as soon as he crossed the threshold, she threw her arms around him.

  “Henry! I have been so alone and afraid. I'm glad you are here. Have you found Daddy?”

  Henry returned the hug. He couldn't help but notice how warm she was and how nice it felt to hold her. It was a good hug. “I haven't found him yet, but I have found another clue. I will tell you all about it. But right now we need to leave.”

  “In this storm?” she said, looking up at him. Her eyes were warm, but there was a bit of fear around the edges.

  “Yes, I am afraid so. I have a house. Nobody knows about it. My neighbors don't know who I really am. It is a good place. You will be safe there.”

  “I feel safe with you.” She hugged him again.

  “Ok, now go pack a bag. Do it quickly; the storm is not going to let up, and we need to get on our way.”

  Henry locked the front door, mostly out of habit.

  Henry watched her walk up the stairs. He stood in front of the fire to knock the chill off while he tried to think one step ahead. It seemed like a run of good luck that nobody had gone after Luna yet. He wondered if they were on their way. He put out the fire after lighting a couple of candles. Luna had been napping on the couch. He folded the blanket and put it on the arm of the sofa. Henry walked to the fron
t door and peered out the window. The car was barely visible. Luna was coming down the stairs when he saw the headlights. He stepped away from the window and instinctively felt for the six-shot cobra under his jacket. It was a bad time for a shoot-out as they would certainly have a lot more firepower. The car pulled up behind Henry's. Henry grinned and put the chain across the door.

  He whispered to Luna, “There are some dangerous people outside. Soon they will be inside. We need another way out.”

  “Who's out there?” She sounded frightened.

  “I will tell you when we are safe. Now where are the doors?”

  There was a pounding at the front door. Someone tried the handle.

  “There is a back door to the patio and the side door by the kitchen.”

  “Side door will do,” Henry said, taking her by the hand.

  It was dark inside; there were only the candles, which Henry had lit. The door erupted as one of the thugs kicked it open. As soon as he heard the front door being kicked in, Henry opened the side door in the kitchen, and he and Luna ran out into the storm.

  Inside, the thugs spread out. One had run upstairs; the other was checking the cellar while the third one was in the living room and heading towards the kitchen. Luna and Henry rushed to the car. She slipped into the passenger seat, and Henry stopped long enough to shoot out both the tires on the driver's side of the other car. He hopped into the car and fired it up. His car wasn't great in the snow, but it would do better than one with two flat tires. They were gone before the thugs made it back outside.

  While the car crept back to Henry's place over the next two hours, he explained how he had found the journal and told her about the trouble her father was in at the firm. When they got to Henry’s home, Luna was so tired that she looked like she was about to drop. Henry grabbed her bag and showed her inside. A quick tour ended at the bedroom. Henry grabbed a blanket and pillow. He would sleep on the couch. Normally, Luna would have objected, but she was too tired. Henry told her he would be downstairs if she needed anything.

  Twenty minutes later Henry had pulled out some 1 x 2 maple he had lying around. He hadn't gotten back to the lumberyard, so he would just have to use some scraps to make something. He didn't care what he made; he just needed to create. He had seen an article by George Johnson of Canton, Oklahoma in which George had made a set of adjustable panel cauls. Henry measured each one carefully and used his Japanese handsaw to cut them. The spacers for the cauls needed to be one and one half inches, and he needed 12 of them. The handsaw worked fine for those as well. He was rather happy with how good he was getting with hand tools.

  Henry was extremely focused; he didn't even notice Luna sitting on the stairs watching. Her hair was pulled back, and she wore a big wool sweater and had her legs pulled up to her chest. She was a tiny ball of quiet, but she felt safe. Henry's precision and attention to detail reminded her of her father. She thought about him. She wondered where he was and if he was ok.

  Henry finished the half of the first caul before he looked up and saw her sitting there. She was peeking over her knees. He saw the corner of her eyes go up and he knew she was smiling. “Are you hungry?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  “Do you like Chinese?” He asked, walking around to the stairs.

  “I love Chinese food, but can we get it with the storm?” Luna said, poking her head up over her knees.

  “Mr. Wong fears nothing! And it's only two blocks, so I think we are ok,” Henry said with a wink. Luna gave a little clap.

  They ate and talked. Luna fell asleep on the couch. Henry pulled the blanket up over her shoulder, then got a blanket for himself. A few minutes later, he was asleep in the chair next to the couch.

  CHAPTER 12

  The note simply said, “Went to the store for bacon, eggs, juice, and bread.” Luna wiped the sleep from her eyes and looked around. The house was small but cozy. She hadn't paid much attention the night before; she was too overwhelmed. On one of the walls were half a dozen photos of Washington DC. They were nicely framed and looked professional. The other walls were mostly covered by bookshelves. She ran her finger along the spines and read some of the titles: Candide; Fathers and Sons, a collection of short stories by Rudyard Kipling; a book of haiku; and various books about chess.

  She went into the bathroom and splashed some water on her face. The sound of the front door startled her, but she immediately heard Henry call out. Henry had also picked up the morning paper, but the headline was disturbing, and he wasn't sure if she was ready for it. He hid it behind the credenza and headed into the kitchen. He heard the sink running in the bathroom as he unpacked the groceries. Henry was an extraordinarily average cook; mostly, he could keep himself alive. He could, however, make a good breakfast. He hoped she liked bacon and eggs. Then he thought, everyone likes bacon and eggs.

  Luna walked into the kitchen and said, “That smells delightful. Here, let me help.” She took the spatula out of Henry's hand. He wasn't used to being taken care of by a woman. It made him somewhat uncomfortable, but she looked really happy. He sat down at the kitchen table, trying not to think about the paper.

  “Luna, you really don't need to do that; I can make breakfast,” Henry said.

  “You aren't used to being taken care of, are you?” Luna said with a little smile. She continued, “Why haven't you found yourself a Mrs. Wood?”

  Henry chuckled. He could tell she was feeling much better after a good night's sleep. He liked seeing her this way, though a subject change seemed to be in order. “So, how long have you been working at the bakery?”

  Her eyes got big, “I love baking. Cooking is fun, but making cookies and cakes is the most wonderful thing in the world. I have been there for about ten years. I make the best chocolate chip cookies in Brooklyn,” she said, sticking out her chest as she pointed to herself with her thumb. “Since I came to see you, I haven't been in to work, though. I have been too worried.” She frowned. She was sad again.

  Henry thought another subject change was in order. “What else do you like to do?”

  She flipped the bacon over and cocked her head to the side. “I like books. I read all the time and not just for continued education. It helps me relax. I have a degree in literature from Oberlin College. Did you know that the first woman to ever attend college went to Oberlin?”

  “I didn't know that.”

  “Her name was Lucy Stone, and she graduated in 1847. I wrote a paper about her relationship with Susan B. Anthony. It got an A.”

  “I bet it did. Do you like to write?” Henry asked, seeing that her mood was on the upswing again.

  Luna cracked an egg into the skillet. It didn't even look like she was thinking about it. She was a machine in the kitchen. Henry just sat and watched her precise movements and decided it must be an Alexander trait. Another egg hit the skillet with a sizzle. She said, “I do like to write. I keep a journal and write some stories, but I would never want to be a writer.”

  “Oh, why is that?”

  “Because when you get done writing a story, you can't eat it,” she said with a giggle.

  Henry laughed, too.

  They sat at the table and ate breakfast, telling stories and laughing about Henry's college days. He had a thousand stories, and she loved them. Her days at Oberlin were much tamer. Henry was exciting, and he made her feel safe.

  Henry mentioned he was almost done with his cauls and asked if she would like to come downstairs while he finished them. She said she would be down after the dishes and starting a batch of cookies. Henry tried to object, but she would have none of it and sent him down to the basement to play.

  When Luna came downstairs, she sat next to the workbench and asked him about his project. Henry loved talking about woodworking, and he wasn't ready to tell her about the headline, so he launched into the subject.

  “Cauls are helpful in gluing up boards. You apply the glue to the edges, lay some wax paper over both sides, clamp them lightly together, and put a caul over
each end,” he said while he sanded a small block of wood. “Once you tighten it down, it keeps the boards from popping up when you tighten the clamps, and the wax paper keeps the glue from sticking to the caul.”

  “That is quite clever. I use wax paper for cooking,” she said, then asked, “How did you learn how to build a caul?”

  “I read an article in a magazine. It described what I needed,” he said and listed off the components: “Eight pieces of 2 inch maple cut to 36 inches long; twelve 2 by 3 inch spacer blocks; plus some 5 inch bolts and knobs.”

  “They look lovely.”

  “Thanks. The directions didn't call for it, but I spent a lot of time sanding each piece, so it feels nice and helps me to avoid splinters.”

  The rest of the morning was spent in the basement. Henry wasn't aware that Mike was looking for him. He didn't know that his phone at his apartment in the city was ringing off the hook. He knew nothing about the fire.

  CHAPTER 13

  Luna missed her father but felt much better being with Henry. She wondered about him. He was a bachelor through and through, but she sensed he enjoyed having some good cooking. She wondered if he had ever been in love. She thought about asking a couple of times but couldn't find the words.

  It was nice to watch him work on his projects in the basement. She liked a man who was good with his hands. The timer went off, and she removed the cookies from the oven. It made her think about the bakery. She missed the early mornings, the baking, and especially the customers. Luna knew most of them by name, and she knew their kids' names, their favorite cookies, and who could be enticed to try something new.

  Luna wanted to call the bakery and hear their voices, but Henry had told her it would be dangerous. She didn't understand what harm it would do, but she figured he had a good reason. She wondered what her father was doing. She imagined he was miserable because hiding from the mob was not his usual routine. He hated having his routine changed. She sat down at the window and looked at the snow covering everything in a warm blanket. Luna wondered what type of woman Henry liked. She imagined he was partial to the movie star type, but she didn't know. It would be on her mind all day.