The Recycled Citizen

by Charlotte MacLeod

  Milk shakes did seem an odd passion for somebody who’d spent most of her life serving cocktails and highballs, but milk shakes were what Annie craved, and milk shakes, the conspirators were determined, she should have.

  Max wasn’t wearing a hat, but Brooks had on his gray-green felt with the ruddy turnstone feather in the band. As they approached their quarry he raised it politely.

  “Mrs. Bickens? We were hoping to find you here. I’m Dolph Kelling’s Cousin Brooks, and this is my cousin Sarah’s husband, Max Bittersohn.”

  “We’ve met,” said Max at his most cosmopolitan. “At the SCRC on Tuesday morning. I owe you a cup of coffee, come to think of it. Perhaps you’d care to stop in here” and have something with us. They make a great milk shake.”

  Annie gave him the smile she’d probably saved for big tippers back at the Broken Zipper. “Yeah, I know.” She was the first one to the lunch counter.

  The place wasn’t crowded just then; they were able to get three stools together down at the far end, where they could talk in a certain amount of privacy. Annie ordered her milk shake and a huge pastry with green frosting on it. Brooks took root beer and a doughnut, neither of which ever appeared at the boardinghouse table. Max said in a somewhat God-help-us voice that he’d just have coffee.

  They chatted of this and that. Max and Brooks displayed a lively interest in the daily doings of the center, with special reference to its members’ comings and goings. Max touched on the auction and the work they’d been doing to get ready for it. Harry Burr was being a great help, he told her. The Broken Zipper wasn’t mentioned, though, until Max had paid the check and Annie had swiped a few packets of sugar from force of habit.

  It was Annie herself who got down to business. “Okay, boys, what’s this all about?”

  “That’s a most pertinent question and we’ll be happy to answer it,” Brooks replied, “but not here, please. Mrs. Kelling is expecting us.”

  “Jeez,” Annie whined, “I just came from the center a little while ago. Do we have to walk all the way back there again?”

  “No we don’t.”

  Even though they weren’t all that far from Tulip Street as the crow flew, although in fact crows were seldom seen around Tulip Street, Max had decided it would be an excellent idea to get Annie into a small, enclosed space as quickly as possible.

  “We’ll take a cab,” he assured her. “We can grab one up by the Parker House.”

  They did, but when Max gave the address, Annie yelped. “Hey, what’s the idea? You said Mrs. Kelling wanted me.”

  “I’m sorry,” Brooks apologized. “Perhaps I didn’t make it clear that I was talking about my wife, Mrs. Theonia Kelling. You know, the one who made all those brownies for the funeral. Oh look, they’re taking away the swan boats.”

  Brooks knew a great deal about the swan boats, those pedal-powered pleasure craft from which generations of Boston children, including Sarah and Brooks and even Dolph Kelling, had tossed popcorn to the mallards that came quacking in convoy. He told it all, giving Annie no chance to put a word in edgewise until they’d got her out of the cab and into the house.

  Theonia was in truth waiting to greet Annie Bickens. She’d taken no risk of being identified as the crone in the black coat who’d shown up at the center yesterday. Although it was still morning and she had by no means completed her domestic duties, she’d put on an elegant burgundy wool dress with one of the opulent lace collars she favored. Her sleek leather pumps and stockings were burgundy too. There were pearls in her ears and a diamond brooch in the shape of a miniature Samurai sword, part of Uncle Lucifer’s legacy, pinned to her lace.

  Annie was overawed by so much elegance, but Theonia gave her no time to freeze up. “Mrs. Bickens, how kind of you to come. Brooks darling, do take Mrs. Bickens’s bag and jacket. Did these beastly men offer you any refreshment, or did they whisk you directly here?”

  “I had a milk shake,” Annie managed to blurt.

  “We stopped for a bite uptown,” Brooks amplified.. “What time were you planning lunch?”

  “Half past twelve, if that’s convenient.”

  “But I didn’t mean to stay,” Annie protested. “He said you wanted to talk to me.”

  “And so I do, Mrs. Bickens. We all do, about something desperately important in which we very much hope you can help us. Why don’t we all go into the library where we can be comfortable?”

  “Or downstairs,” Max suggested, “where we can be private.”

  Theonia inclined her majestic head. “Certainly, if you prefer. Let me take your arm, Mrs. Bickens. The stairs can be a trifle confusing if you’re not used to them. Would you mind coming out through the back?”

  Annie was clearly beginning to mind quite a lot, but there didn’t seem to be much she could do about it with a woman twice her size at her elbow, the agile Brooks leading the way and the gallant but formidable Max Bittersohn right behind. Theonia kept that light but firm grip on her arm all the way down, although the stairway was well lighted and there was a sturdy golden oak banister to hang on to.

  She might have felt like a prisoner being shown to her cell, but the room into which they led her was surprisingly attractive with a scrubbed brick floor, white painted walls, simple furniture in bright colors, and plants growing on the high windowsills. Max smiled.

  “This used to be my room, Mrs. Bickens.”

  “Huh? You live here too?”

  “I did, until I married my landlady. Sarah and I moved next door, and Brooks and Theonia took over here. This is a pretty complicated family. Like the SCRC. I don’t know whether you’re aware of the fact, but things are getting complicated there too. That’s why we need to talk to you.”

  “I didn’t do nothing!”

  “Nobody’s accusing you, we just hope you can help us find out who did.”

  “Did what?”

  “Murdered Chet Arthur, among other things.”

  “That was muggers.”

  “You don’t think mugging counts?”

  “Well, it’s not like as if they knew who he was. When you say murder, it sounds more personal, like.”

  “We think they did know who he was. Here, Mrs. Bickens, you’d better sit down.”

  Chapter

  16

  MAX STEERED ANNIE TO a blue-slipcovered armchair that had been brought in from the old Ireson’s Landing house for his own use and drew a red-painted wooden chair up close to it. Brooks and Theonia sat on the bed, which had been perked up with red cushions to look like a studio couch. Annie wet her lips, moving her eyes from one to the other.

  “Is it about the will? All I done was sign where Chet told me, honest. Joan signed it too!”

  “Relax, Annie,” said Max. “You don’t mind if I call you Annie? No, it’s not about the will. Except that you weren’t quite accurate when you said you didn’t read it, were you?”

  “So what if I wasn’t? A person’s got a right to know what she’s signing, hasn’t she? What do you think I am, some kind of a jerk?”

  “Not at all. I only wondered what you thought of it.”

  “I thought it was weird, if you want to know. I mean, here’s this guy out on the streets picking up beer cans for a living, and he’s making this will like he’s some kind of a millionaire.”

  “So you and Joan had a big laugh over it, right?”

  “Nah, I didn’t tell her. See, Chet said we weren’t supposed to read it, just sign. Joan wouldn’t have thought it was right. She’s always at me about you shouldn’t do this and you shouldn’t do that. I mean, don’t get me wrong. Joanie’s my best friend, but she can be kind of a pain sometimes. I just didn’t want her getting on my case about something that didn’t mean anything, see.”

  “But you did tell somebody?”

  Annie shrugged, a feeble effort compared to Bill Jones’s. “Well, what the hell? I mean, it was pretty funny, right?”

  Max wasn’t laughing. “Whom did you tell, Annie?”

  “Nobody speci
al. Just Bulgy.”

  “Bulgy who?”

  “Like I said, just Bulgy. If he’s got another name, I never heard it.”

  Theonia cut in. “I believe what Cousin Max means is, in what connection do you know this Bulgy? Is he a particular friend of yours?”

  “I don’t know, I guess so. See, I knew him from the Zipper. He was there when I first started. He was just always around, you know what I mean?”

  “Where is Bulgy now?”

  “Oh, he’s still there, him and Dan. They’re the only two left that I worked with. Dan’s one of the day bartenders. He used to be on nights but he couldn’t take it no more so he switched. I don’t know the guy who took Dan’s place nights. Jeff, his name is.”

  “What about Harry Burr?” asked Max.

  “Harry tell you he’s working at the Zipper?” Annie sounded surprised.

  “Did you get him the job?” Max countered.

  “Sort of, I guess. See, I’m in there one day an’ Dan’s bitching because the night guy that’s supposed to help Jeff called in sick. So that meant Dan was going to have to work the night shift, too, ’cause they didn’t know anybody else they could get at short notice, see. So what the hey, Dan’s a friend of mine, so I told him about Harry.”

  “Harry used to be a bartender?”

  “No, Harry was a minister, only he believes in what he calls hands-on religion. Like when he wanted to preach about the evils of drink, he figured he ought to get some experience first. He didn’t want to start boozing it up himself because he figured the church wouldn’t stand for it and neither would his stomach, so he got a part-time job tending bar.”

  “Harry told you this himself?”

  “Sure, Harry’s a friendly guy, only he’s always sneaking in little bits of sermons at you. That’s why he keeps tending bar; he says it’s not much different from being a minister in a way. Everybody’s crying on his shoulder and wanting free advice about their problems that you know they’re not going to take. But anyway, like I said, I told Dan about Harry and then I went back to the center and told Harry about Dan and that’s how it happened. Harry doesn’t like the Zipper much, but they only ask him when they’re shorthanded and nobody else ever asks him at all, so he goes. The money’s not so bad.”

  “Does Harry know Bulgy too?”

  “I guess. Bulgy’s sort of what you might call the handyman. Like when they take in a shipment of liquor, Bulgy has to help the men move it down cellar and put it away. Then when the bartender needs anything from the cellar, he yells down the tube for Bulgy to bring it up and take away the empties and like that. I don’t know if Harry ever gets to talk to Bulgy because it’s always busy at night, and anyway I never go down there after dark any more.”

  “When did you tell Bulgy about Chet Arthur’s will?”

  “Right after we signed it. See, Joanie was on hostess duty that afternoon and I figured what the hey, so I took myself a walk down to the Zipper. Dan wasn’t around and the new guys don’t like me much, so I went down cellar and hung out with Bulgy for a while. I told him about the will because I thought it was funny.”

  “Did Bulgy think it was funny too?” Max asked her.

  “Who knows? Bulgy’s none too bright. Anyway, he laughed.”

  “Would he have repeated the story, do you think?”

  “I guess so,” Annie admitted, “if he could find anybody to listen. Bulgy’ll talk your arm off if you give him half a chance.”

  “Does he talk with the customers?”

  “Not unless there’s a fight and somebody yells for Bulgy to come and break it up. Bulgy’s pretty strong, see, from lugging all them crates of liquor around. Or like if a customer has a little accident, you know what I mean, and they get Bulgy to mop the floor.” Annie gave Theonia an embarrassed glance. “Anyway, that’s what he does. He doesn’t get to mix much.”

  “Does he have friends away from his job?” Brooks asked her. “Anybody he chums around with on his time off?”

  Annie looked as if she didn’t understand the question, then she shook her head. “Bulgy doesn’t get time off. He’s always there. He sleeps in the cellar and eats in the kitchen and takes a bath in the scrub bucket maybe once in a while when the girls get on his case. He doesn’t mind, it’s what he knows. Like I said, Bulgy’s not too bright.”

  “I’m sure there are many people worse off than he,” said Brooks, sounding far from convinced. “Then you—er—still have the run of the place, Mrs. Bickens?”

  “I don’t go into the men’s room.” Annie giggled, then gave Theonia another nervous glance.

  “I expect what we’re interested in would be down in the basement. Take a look at this photograph, please, Mrs. Bickens.”

  “Hey, that’s, the woman who was in the center yesterday.”

  “Er—no doubt. What I’d like you to focus on is not the woman but the can she’s reaching for. Here, this magnifying glass will help you.”

  “I seen that kid around before,” Annie conceded. “He always wears purple is how I noticed. Purple’s my favorite color.”

  “I must show you a picture of the purple gallinule, then,” said Brooks. “And the purple grackle, I always feel, is a bird that receives less than his just meed of admiration because of the low company he often keeps.”

  “In the spring a livelier iris gleams upon the burnished dove,” Theonia offered.

  “The can, Annie,” said Max rather grimly.

  “So okay, the can. What about it?”

  “You see plenty of cans when you’re collecting, right? Have you ever seen another one exactly like that can in the picture? Are you able to read the letters on it?”

  “Don’t have to, I know what they say. Graperoola. Yeah, I seen some like it.”

  “Where?” Max demanded.

  “Would you believe in Bulgy’s cellar? That’s an antique, that can is. See, back during Prohibition they used to make their own booze at the Zipper. It wasn’t the Zipper then, it was something else. But anyway, they’d make the bootleg booze and pour it into these cans so when the Elliot Ness guys came snooping around, all they’d find was cans of tonic. But then it got to be Repeal and they had all those empty cans left over. Bulgy likes having them around. He thinks they’re pretty.”

  “Did Bulgy tell you all that about the bootlegging?”

  “Sure, who else? He don’t remember it himself. Bulgy never remembers much unless you keep reminding him. He remembers about the cans because Dan comes down cellar every so often and takes a bunch of them away to sell for antiques. That upsets Bulgy, he hates to see them go.”

  “Very interesting,” said Brooks. “Mrs. Bickens, to the best of my recollection, during Prohibition and for some time afterward, soft drinks were invariably sold in bottles. Steel cans were introduced sometime during the forties. These had the crimped metal bottle caps you still had to lift off with an opener. Next came aluminum cans with those lift-off rings which proved to be such an ecological nuisance that the present pop-top cans were developed. If Dan’s been around as long as you say, he must know those Graperoola cans are no antiques. And so should you.”

  “Well, I’m kind of forgetful myself sometimes,” Annie mumbled. “You mean the Graperoola cans aren’t worth anything?”

  “That’s not precisely what I said. Why? Do you have some of them yourself?”

  “Just one. I took it for a souvenir, like. What the hey, they still got two big cartons left.”

  “One full and one open with some of the cans missing, right?” said Max. “You wouldn’t have risked dipping into a fresh carton because somebody would have noticed.”

  “That’s right. I didn’t want Dan on my back. He knows I go down there.”

  “Did Bulgy see you take the can?”

  “No. Like I said, it upsets him. I had my bag with me, so I just lifted one out and stuck it down in the bottom with a newspaper over it while Bulgy had his back turned, getting me some empty bottles. They always let me take a few empties. Dan doesn�
�t care.”

  “Big of him. Do you still have that Graperoola can?”

  “Sure, I got it right with me. I always carry it. I thought it was an antique, see?”

  “Let’s see it,” said Max. “Is it in your collecting bag?”

  “You’ve got to be kidding. The way our bags have been getting snatched lately?”

  “You mean Phyllis and Chet weren’t the only SCRC members to have been victimized?”

  Annie snorted. “Name me somebody who hasn’t been. It figures out to two or three a week. Funny thing, for a long time nobody bothered anybody, then all of a sudden the past couple of months, it’s like somebody’s playing a game with us. Joan says it’s on account of the bottle bill being passed, but that don’t make much sense to me.”

  “Did the snatchings start before or after you took that Graperoola can?”

  Annie became wary. “What do you keep harping on those cans for?”

  “Let me tell her,” said Theonia. “Take another look at that old woman in the photograph, Annie.”

  “Okay, so?”

  “I’m that woman.”

  Annie stared at her. “You trying to be funny?”

  “Not at all. I was heavily disguised, of course.” Theonia touched her diamond brooch ever so fleetingly. “Anyway, I was about to pick up that can, as you see, when the fellow in the purple suit kicked it away from my hand. Notice how blurred his right foot is in the picture? That shows it was moving.”

  “Yeah, I see. So that’s you? Jeez, I’d never have believed it.”

  “Cousin Max took the photograph. He’ll explain what happened next.”

  “Theonia got up and beat it out of there,” Max went on, “which was smart of her. The kid then very carefully kicked the can back to this same spot where you see it in the photograph. Less than a minute later your friend Phyllis came along, wearing that purple sweater you must have seen her. with. She picked up the can and put it in her SCRC bag. As you know, about ten minutes later, Phyllis had her bag snatched.”