Stanley & Hazel: The Winnowing

by Jo Schaffer

  Seamus guided Stanley through the small crowd of policemen, which seemed to be thinning and not growing. Nobody here but the dirty cops, Stanley thought.

  “Seamus, do you …”

  “Shut it, boy. Not a word,” Seamus growled. He obviously had the same thoughts. This was all wrong.

  They found a waiting police car, and Seamus gave the patrolman orders to drive them home. As they wove their way toward Dogtown, Stanley sat in the back of the patrol car, shaking. He squeezed his eyes shut to stop the tears. It started when he found Evelyn’s body and everything after that. Now, the stick. Hazel’s strange behavior. Vinnie. Dead. Hung. Gone. His whole world turned on its head in the space of a couple of months. How much more could he take? Was he cracking up? Would he be in the loony bin like Charles?

  The only thing that kept him sane was to realize, despite what Hazel said, none of this was made up. It happened. He hadn’t imagined any of it, and his gut instincts were spot on. There was no explaining away the reality of Evelyn’s buried body, and that there would be a funeral at Vinnie’s parish with his family wailing and weeping.

  No matter how locked in your head you get, death reminds you what is real.

  Stanley didn’t remember getting home or Seamus helping him up the stairs. But the terror of laying his head on the pillow where the branch had been motivated him to grab his blankets, throw them on the floor, and fall asleep curled up in a ball.

  The party guests lingered into the early morning. Hazel sat in a cushioned chair, massaging one of her feet, watching the last few couples sway to a slow version of “I Get a Kick Out of You” in the dim ballroom. Stray balloons swirled and bobbed on the floor in response to the dancing, orbiting the bodies pressed together in a dance that seemed to be more of a sleepwalk. Hazel slipped off her other shoe and dropped it to the floor.

  “Take anything else off, and I may blush.”

  Hazel smiled over at Gabriel. “Okay, wisey. That’s enough of that. I thought you’d gone?”

  Gabriel removed his spectacles and slipped them into the front pocket of his coat. His hair was a bit disheveled and his tie loosened. “I got roped into a stimulating conversation about government bonds …” He covered a yawn and lowered himself into a chair beside her.

  “Sounds like a scream.” Hazel was ready to crawl into her pillowy bed.

  The music died down, and the band began to pack up their instruments. Gabriel let out a sigh and extended his long, muscular legs.

  “Well, it was a grand party.” He turned and seemed to study her face, making her cheeks warm. “Say, Hazel … when are you going to end my suffering?”

  “Just as soon as this headache goes away. What suffering?” Hazel pursed her lips and gave him the once over. “You look healthy.”

  He flashed his perfect, white grin. “Why, I believe that was a compliment from Hazel Malloy. I may swoon.”

  Hazel laughed. But when she looked over at him, Gabriel’s eyes were fixed on her face, and he almost seemed serious. Her heart skipped.

  Bananas.

  He let a slow smile spread across his face. “End my suffering, and say you’ll come to the VP Ball with me.”

  Oh, that …

  Hazel had avoided answering him for over a month. Her parents had encouraged her to accept him. Pops said it was a good way to infiltrate the inner circles of the Veiled Prophet … he seemed to still think there was some kind of conspiracy beyond the madness of Charles Chouteau. While Mumsy had just commented about Gabriel’s fantastic backside. She had seemed strangely aloof about the drama surrounding the kidnapping and had instead pushed Hazel to join the debutantes. It was a complete reversal to her previous encouragement to defy them all. Maybe Mumsy was right …

  Hazel smiled at Gabriel and thought a moment. She had to go to the ball. Stanley couldn’t go. Anyway, Stanley was probably sweet on Sandy now. It seemed as if they had been mussing each other’s hair out in the garden earlier. Her stomach dropped at the thought. Yuck. She wasn’t sure if she even knew either of them anymore. Everything was changing.

  “Yeah … why not? Let’s make it a party.” Hazel stooped to pick up her shoes and stood, coming up face to face with Gabriel. Startled, she took a step back.

  “You mean it, Malloy?” His voice was soft and sweet.

  “Sure.” Hazel shrugged, trying to remain casual while her heart thumped.

  Gabriel stepped closer and tipped her chin up with one finger. “You’re one in a million. Happy birthday.”

  Hazel saw it coming, and a hundred things went through her mind. She was sixteen and about to get her first kiss. Gabriel was handsome, rich, smelled good … He was also a real heel sometimes. He’d necked with every girl in the Lindell set. What if she did it wrong …

  Stanley.

  Gabriel’s lips were warm as he pressed them against hers. She held still, not knowing what to do as he moved his mouth. A tingling feeling swept her whole body. It was … nice.

  Too soon, he pulled back, a slight smirk of satisfaction on his face. “That was your first kiss,” he stated.

  Hazel blushed. Was it that obvious? Mortified, she opened her mouth, but it took a moment before any words came out. “Says who?”

  “You.” He reached out and tapped her nose.

  Hazel tightened her lips. “You’re a regular gumshoe. Goodnight.” She turned and exited the ballroom with Gabriel’s soft chuckles following her.

  “Don’t be sore, Hazel. I’ll be seeing you.”

  She didn’t turn around or answer.

  Hazel sat on her bed in a silky, white nightgown. She held the long, pink, wrapped box that Sandy had left on her vanity. She was tired, mixed up, and her face still felt hot from Gabriel’s kiss and the following embarrassment. It wasn’t something Hazel wanted to think about.

  She unwrapped the box and found a new silver majorette baton with rose shaped ends. Hazel smiled. She would have to tell Sandy how swell it was. A folded piece of paper in the bottom of the box caught her eye. She unfolded it and read:

  Happy birthday, Hazel. Because of you, I’ll live to my next birthday. Slip this baton under your pillow. You never know when you’ll have to bash someone’s head in.

  Friends ‘til the end. Sandy

  Hazel got into bed, keeping the baton beside her. She clicked off her bedside lamp and stared up at the glint of the chandelier in the dark. If she could only clear her mind, the exhaustion from the day would pull her down into sleep where she didn’t have to think. Her head still hurt, and she didn’t feel like herself. Maybe that was good, and she was finally going to fit in with the right people … They weren’t evil just because they were wealthy. The Veiled Prophet was a symbol of power and benevolence … Charles was just crazy.

  No. What about Evelyn’s death? The numbers on her dead body that the police covered up. And all that strange stuff about the Veiled Prophet in the diary. Was it all true?

  She rubbed her head as a sharp pain ran through it. Forget everything … think of something good. Hazel tried to think about her favorite movie stars and the latest fashions.

  Sure … that’s the ticket.

  Hazel ran through a catalog of images in her head. Hats, gloves, rouge, the proper shape of eyebrows, silk stockings, Clark Gable’s dimple … William Powell’s smile … Ginger Roger’s shoes … Myrna Loy’s … everything.

  Henri’s barks echoed up the stairs, letting Hazel know it was time to get to school. The overgrown pup had made it a habit to ride along in the Buick. When she came down the stairs, Mick, the muscled dog trainer, was feeding Henri a biscuit. Mick had been working with the young German Shepherd in the yard since before the sun came up. He’d insisted on increasing Henri’s sessions and making him a proper attack dog.

  “Brummen.” Mick used German to command the dog in a gravelly voice. Henri let out a fierce growl.

  “Anhalten.” Henri stopped, his big, chocolate eyes looking up for praise. Mick rewarded him with
a scratch on the head. “Braver Hund.”

  Hazel was surprised out how well Henri cooperated for Mick. That growl was a new trick. The vibration of it still hummed against the high ceilings and gleaming wood floors.

  “Say, Miss Malloy, good morning.” His greenish eyes were sharp and hard. He wore his hair slicked back with pomade that smelled of cedar and tobacco. His wide face and cleft chin made him look a bit like Spencer Tracey. A scar ran across the bridge of his broad nose and another one split his left eyebrow.

  “Morning, Mick. How’s Henri doing?” Hazel bent to scratch her dog’s head.

  “I want you to start drilling his commands and taking him out more. He’s a good pup. Needs practice in different places, see?”

  Hazel nodded. “Thanks, Mick. I have most of them memorized myself. He just needs to learn who’s boss.” Hazel cupped Henri’s furry face in her hands, and the tone of her voice changed as if she spoke to a baby. “Don’t you, silly pup? Yes, yes, you need to listen to mommy.” Henri happily licked her chin, his dark eyes soft, pleading, and eager for attention.

  “That ain’t how to make him a killer.” Mick grinned.

  “Aw … you little sap. We gotta make a killer out of you.” Hazel chuckled, wiping away the dog’s kisses.

  “I’ve been working on a few things to get him there.” Mick clapped loudly, and Henri quickly stood at attention. “Achtung.” He pointed to a ragged, Scarecrow-looking dummy lying in the foyer. “Fass.”

  Henri galloped across the floor a bit clumsily, pounced on the dummy, and bit the neck. He growled as he dragged the body across the floor to Mick.

  “Wow.” Hazel watched as her sweet pup held the dummy to the floor.

  Mick gave her a wink like there was more to come. He held out his hand and made a fist. “Vernichten.”

  At this command, Henri went savage. He growled and bit, shaking the dummy back and forth violently until stuffing came out.

  “Aus,” Mick commanded.

  Henri dropped his victim but continued to stare at it, snarling.

  Mick put his hands on his hips. “Ruhig.”

  The dog went still and silent, watching Mick with intense anticipation. Mick nodded and gave his head a pat. “Braver Hund.”

  Henri wagged his tail, red tongue swinging happily.

  Hazel clapped her hands. “That was sensational. It’s a little scary …” She put a hand to her mouth and whispered, “Vernichten?”

  Mick nodded. “Use that command wisely. Your dad was insistent that I make this dog a bodyguard. He’s getting there.”

  “I should take him everywhere,” Hazel breathed.

  Mick gave a half smile. “You should, Miss. You really should,” he said, his expression turning serious.

  All the girls at the Mary Institute were abuzz about the Veiled Prophet Ball. It was only a week away. Hazel tried to pay attention in her classes, but she had a feeling of impending doom that she couldn’t shake. Even if the Veiled Prophet posed no threat and there was no conspiracy, something didn’t sit right. Maybe it was just the trauma of everything that had happened and nerves about the ball. Especially with Gabriel taking her. Would he try to kiss her again?

  It was good to have Sandy back in class. She had stayed away from school for a month after the kidnapping. The pleated skirt and neat, white top of the school uniform looked unnatural on her. Too normal. The costume of the all-American schoolgirl without a trouble in the world was the wrong label on the bottle. Sandy had a severe look that the other girls didn’t. Her straight bob was a contrast to the curls and waves of the other girls. And that scar …

  At the end of the day, Hazel walked beside her best friend down the polished halls of their school. The other girls swarmed past them. Some stared. They had gotten so much public attention in the last couple of months it was fine that the girls at school mostly ignored them. It was as if their celebrity made the other privileged girls feel the need to shun them to put them back in their place. Equality among the elite.

  “Well, Hazel. Your party was sure a smash.” The exaggerated, southern accent of Regina Peck sent a zap of irritation through Hazel’s body.

  “Sweet of you to say, Regina.” Hazel forced a smile as the tall, dark-haired girl stepped in front of her with Brigitte Slayback attached to her side.

  “Yeah … sweet.” Sandy’s tone was sour with irony. The way she popped the “t” at the end was like a slap.

  Regina blinked and patted her hair. Nobody was used to the new Sandy yet. She had always been a comic and on the unpredictable side, but never acidic.

  “You two ready for the VP Ball?” Brigitte said with a snooty lift of her nose.

  Sandy snorted and rolled her eyes.

  “All set to go with Gabriel Sinclair, and Mumsy picked up my gown ages ago,” Hazel quickly said to smooth over Sandy’s reaction.

  The two socialites exchanged a knowing glance. “Ah. Yes. Your mother’s designer. There might not be a bird with feathers left on them for miles.” Brigitte laughed. Regina covered her mouth and joined in.

  Hazel made herself laugh along. Fitting in with these geese was enough to make her want to lose her cookies. But she had to try.

  “I am surprised about you and Gabriel … but then again, his family is wild about helping people. You work at their little clinic, right?” Brigitte made a face.

  Hazel wondered what she’d think if she knew Gabriel had kissed her. “I volunteer there.” Hazel swallowed back the words she wanted to say.

  “Well, at least you aren’t going to the ball with that ragged newsie,” Regina sneered.

  Hazel wanted to stomp on her foot but instead opened her mouth to ask about their dresses. She was cut off by Sandy’s voice.

  “Listen, dearie … that ragged newsie has more spine and class than either of you noodles.” Sandy gave them a look of disgust. “What have you ever done to make the world a better place? You’re parasites with bellies about to pop with the blood and sweat of other people. You’re nothing,” she hissed. “We’re all nothing. Don’t you get it? Bash us in the head with a bat, and the world moves on. Wanna know why? Nobody needs us. We’re like makeup on a corpse. Just for show.” Sandy’s hands were in fists, but her voice was low and icily calm.

  Hazel stared at her friend who sounded like someone else. She hadn’t expected such a passionate defense for Stanley or such apparent hatred for her own class. How could she say those things? Many of the Lindell families created jobs and donated to charities. The other two girls had gone a little pale with outrage.

  “Come on, Regina. She’s obviously not feeling well.” Brigitte took her sputtering friend by the arm, and they marched away.

  “Alesandra Schmidt … you said a mouthful.” Hazel wasn’t sure how to feel about what Sandy had just said. Was this proof that she and Stanley were an item? It probably shouldn’t bother her, but it did. This kind of thing was certainly not going to help either of them fit into society. Those girls were horrid, but they were part of the inside crowd.

  “We all came from nothing, Hazel. Immigrants all fleeing to a free land just to get a shot,” Sandy said, turning her dead sister’s ruby ring on her finger.

  “That’s true. But not everyone who makes good is a parasite.”

  Sandy grabbed Hazel’s shoulder and stared into her eyes. “That wasn’t my point. I don’t get you. I thought after everything that we’d be in the same boxcar. Are you just playing up to these snobs to get to the bottom of all this mess?”

  Hazel’s head suddenly ached again. She was beginning to wonder if she had a serious medical issue. “I don’t know. I don’t want to talk about it … I gotta go to practice.” Hazel pulled her new baton from her bag and walked away from Sandy.

  She made her way out to the field where some of the kids from the track team were running, and a few girls were playing catch with a baseball.

  Hazel began to run through her routine, twirling and tossing her baton with i
ncreasing speed. She tried to clear her mind. Contrasting thoughts about her own class were driving her batty. Charles’ actions had besmirched the whole set. His behavior was an isolated incident … not some broad, deeply rooted truth about the upper class. Was it?

  Bananas. It all seemed confusing.

  Stanley and his band of Knights were a tough group with good hearts, but they were by no means morally superior. Though in the end, they had rescued her and Sandy. Hazel’s mind flashed back to the dark cave. The scent of copper, old beer, and a mustiness that reminded her of what an old coffin might smell like. Sandy lay broken and bleeding against the cave wall, and Charles had Stanley on the ground. Hazel had filled with rage at the sight, and the next thing she knew, she had a copper pipe in her hands.

  “Say, Malloy! Is that a weapon or a baton?” Mary Cooper called out as she trotted by on the track surrounding the field.

  Hazel realized she had been aggressively swinging and parrying with her baton. She let out a nervous laugh and waved at her classmate.

  Anino had shown her some escrima moves with the kali sticks he used in street fights. He was one of her favorite newsie friends of Stanley’s. He’d been so impressed by how she had fought off Charles in the caves, that he had met with her several times to teach her some basic blocks and attacks. Turned out she had a knack for it. Wasn’t that different from learning tricks with her baton. Just more violent.

  Mary Cooper slowed to a walk and crossed the grass to Hazel. She was a tall girl with round spectacles and curly, reddish hair and freckles. Mary was an annoying know-it-all in class but was friendly otherwise.

  “Heya. That’s looking good.” She nodded at Hazel.

  “Thanks.” She tucked the baton under her armpit the way Anino did when he wasn’t striking.

  “I’m a clumsy mess and would probably clobber myself if I tried that.” Mary pushed her glasses up her nose and wiped some sweat from her forehead.

  “Oh. Well, it does take practice.” Hazel smiled.