City of Prey: An Ava Gold Mystery (Book 1)

by Blake Pierce

  Ava looked away, focusing on the papers in front of her. She started reading them and was surprised at how much of the verbiage in them reminded her of conversations she’d had with Clarence about his work. There were details on proper investigative procedures, but it was very brief. She wondered how heavily edited the documents had been for the WB as opposed to the men upstairs.

  About twenty minutes into her studying, she came to a set of documents detailing what her behavior and attire should be like. Some of it made her cringe. It was written in a way that almost sounded as if the women working at the 37th Precinct were little more than pets.

  As she read over the Proper Attire for Women guidelines, a thin woman with a sharp chin leaned down over her shoulder. “The best thing to do with that information,” this woman said, “is take it home and use it for toilet paper. No matter what you wear around here, the men are still going to stare at you. And believe me, honey, it ain’t flattering.”

  “What they really can’t stand,” chirped another woman at a desk nearby, “is when you forget to wear a brassiere.”

  There was an outburst of laughter at this but as soon as it was started, it died down. A few of the women looked guilty for enjoying themselves and looked directly back at the files and paperwork on their desk.

  The tall, sharp-chinned gal sighed. “That,” she said, “is called laughter. You don’t hear much of it down here in the WB. Women, if you didn’t know, are to be seen, not heard…Nineteenth Amendment be damned.”

  “I sort of hoped it would be different here,” Ava said.

  “It can be, from time to time.” The woman then did something Ava had never seen a woman do; she offered her hand to be shaken, as if they were two men sitting down to have a chat. “The name’s Lottie Mattingly,” she said.

  “Ava Gold,” Ava responded, taking the woman’s hand and shaking it. Lottie’s grip was firm and tight. Ava decided that she liked Lottie Mattingly right away.

  “You know, some of us crossed paths with your husband from time to time,” Lottie said. “He was a damned fine man. He was one of the few that didn’t mind working with us. We were fellow detectives to him, not just broads.” She frowned and added: “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you. He was—”

  She was interrupted by a loud blaring noise. It took her a moment to realize that it was the phone. Ava had never heard one so loud. It rattled and rang like an alarm. She noticed that even some of the regulars jumped a bit, clutching their chests and letting out nervous laughter.

  Ava looked around the room as the phone rang a second time. At the other end of the room, Frances was muttering a string of curses under her breath as she got up from her desk, pen in hand, and walked to the house phone installed on the cinderblock wall.

  “This is Knight,” Frances announced into the phone. Ava noted that she held the receiver end of the phone to her head as if she did not trust it—like it might be a loaded gun rather than a phone. “Yes, sir,” Frances said, nodding as she followed the conversation. “Yes, sir. Of course…Are you sure? Yes, I’m sorry, of course. Yes, sir.”

  Frances placed the receiver back on the phone cradle and sighed. She regarded the room, shaking her head. Very quietly, she said: “What a bunch of dull saps.”

  “What is it?” one of the women asked. Ava saw that they were all looking at Frances with something close to anticipation. It made Ava think they didn’t often get calls from the men upstairs.

  Frances looked directly over to Ava and sighed. “You about done with those papers?”

  “Nearly. Why?”

  “Skip ahead quick and sign,” Frances said. “I just got a direct order from Captain Minard. He wants me to take you out on patrol.”

  There was a flurry of conversation among the women. Some sounded nearly entertained while others were clearly aghast. Ava noticed that a few were giving her looks of pity, as if she were a calf about to be led to the slaughterhouse.

  “But that makes no sense,” Ava said. “I haven’t even been here for two hours.”

  “Don’t I know it,” Frances said.

  “He’s trying to prove a point,” Lottie said from her desk. “He wants you scared. He wants you doubting yourself.”

  It took Ava a while to put the pieces together and when she did, she was both angry and embarrassed. “So you all know…?”

  “That you asked him for a job at Clarence’s wake?” Lottie said. “Yeah, we know. And no one here judges you. If I could rub out the coward that killed him, I’d do it. I can only imagine how you feel.”

  “In other words,” Frances said, tossing her pen on her desk in frustration, “be ready in five. You and I are about to hit the streets.”

  ***

  Having no idea that she’d be on patrol on her first day, Ava had dressed modestly but professionally. The purple day dress had been a favorite of Clarence’s so it only seemed fitting. The dress was fine in terms of walking a patrol route, but the flapper-style pumps were going to cause roaring hell on her feet within a few hours. After only the first block, she made a mental note to get better walking shoes.

  She also took note of the streets themselves. Walking down the street at this time of the day was a stark reminder that the city now contained nearly six million people, and the place seemed to grow every day. It smelled of cologne, perfume, and a slight tinge of liquor from where the prohibitionist police force had recently been dumping liquor into the gutters. And though she’d gotten somewhat used to the looming presence of the newly created skyscrapers, she couldn’t help but feel like an ant in the midst of it all.

  “Oh, this is for you,” Frances said as they hurried along a crosswalk. She handed Ava a small whistle with a chain around it. “Wear it around your neck, and blow on it if you see something that needs the attention of the police.”

  “But aren’t we the police?” Ava said.

  “We are. But we’re women. We see crimes, we blow the whistle, and the men come running.”

  A familiar flash of anger and resentment rose up in Ava. She had ever done very well at accepting a woman’s second-class position in the world. “Doesn’t that allow the criminals time to escape?”

  “It does, and it’s a foolish way to go about the job. But it’s…” Frances paused when they came to the next street and pulled Ava to the side. “Listen to me. This is very much a man’s world. Always has, always will be. If you wanted this job thinking that there was equality within the police, you may as well pack it up and go home now. Don’t get me wrong…it can be rewarding and can put deserving women in the spotlight for a day or so. And every now and then, who knows? Maybe you even get to take part in something exciting. But for the most part…this is it. Walking a beat and looking innocent and of no importance. It stinks, but it’s also genius. Most men that are capable of committing crimes see us and we’re just two random broads. And with you…well, they see a dish. They’d never expect that you were a flattie.”

  “Flattie?”

  “It’s what some of these cretins on the streets call the coppers.”

  “Oh.”

  “So, you just keep looking pretty and keep that whistle hidden under that dress. And speaking of that dress, it seems you really need to pay more attention to those What to Wear guidelines.”

  In Frances’s typical hurricane style, she started walking the moment the last word passed her lips. Without turning to face Ava, she kept on talking. Ava could tell the woman liked her job and that she wanted other women to do well. She was the sort of woman who had accepted that women were seen as subservient and not only embraced it, but seemed to use it to her advantage.

  “Unless something big changes,” Frances was saying, “your patrols will keep you around Morningside Heights and Harlem. Low crime rates and an easy beat. You might see minor robberies or bickering as men leave for work. But that’s about it. Now, if you—”

  Frances was interrupted by a man who passed by them. A devilish grin was plastered on hi
s face as he said, “Hey there, sweet thing. Let me see how long those gams are!” He chuckled as he kept walking in the other direction.

  “And you may as well get used to that, too,” Frances said. “Now, let’s be real. Have a look at me. Take a gander. I don’t get many remarks like that. But some of the other girls do. And there’s not much you can do about it. You’ll get a badge at some point, but most men don’t give a damn about that.”

  “Would they give a damn if I decked them in the mouth?”

  “Maybe,” Frances said, smiling. “But that’s a surefire way to lose your job. I do like the fighting spirit, though. That come from being married to Clarence?”

  “And having a boxer as a father. I used to spar with him from time to time.”

  “Actual boxing?”

  “Yes,” Ava said, trying not to sound too proud.

  “Good to know. I’ll do my best to stay on your good side.”

  They walked on, continuing the route as Frances spoke at length about what to expect. She told Ava that for the most part, the WB didn’t venture into harder neighborhoods like the Lower East Side or the Italian Quarter. “That’s where a lot of those mobster shitheads hang out,” Frances explained. “Not the best place for a woman—even if she does have boxing experience. Don’t get me wrong…things can get seedy around here, too. Prostitution is a growing problem and speakeasies keep popping up all over the place. So keep your eyes open for that sort of thing. And hey, it’s pretty easy—look for women dressed like tramps and men that are red in the face and are having trouble walking.”

  It was odd, but with each block they passed and with more information from Frances, Ava started to feel more comfortable with the job—day dress and flapper pumps aside. A big part of it was the pride and excitement for the job Frances carried; she was so happy to be showing her around, to bring another woman into the WB. While Ava still absolutely felt like the new, inexperienced broad on the block, she was already starting to feel a sense of pride about what this job could mean.

  The morning wore on and the summer heat managed to stay somewhat hospitable. It had been a mostly cool summer, which she assumed meant August and September were going to be sweltering. She wasn’t sure how far she and Frances had walked by the time her feet really started to yell at her, though she guessed it was about a mile and a half or so.

  “I’m so sorry,” Ava said. “I need to stop for just a moment. These damned shoes…”

  “No problem. I really wish someone would have given you a heads-up on what you’d be going through today. Walking a beat in those shoes has to be torture You got different shoes at home?”

  “Yes,” Ava said, leaning against the side of a butcher shop. She slipped off her right pump and allowed her foot to breathe. “A nice pair of flat-footed Mary Janes that—”

  A woman’s yell from behind them cut her off. “Hey! Someone, stop him! Thief!”

  Ava and Frances turned in that direction just in time to see a teenage boy rushing toward them. His eyes were staring dead ahead as he clutched a small purse to his chest. He was wearing a newsboy-style cap, pulled down low on his head. Ava saw Frances go for her whistle but the teen was too fast. He passed by Ava, apparently assuming her leaning stance against the butcher shop was out of fear and letting him pass by. He then threw a hard shoulder into Frances’s chest, sending her stumbling back against the building. The sight of it sent a spike of adrenaline into Ava and she started after him with one shoe still removed. She balled her hands into fists, recalling the lessons her father had given her. She was right-handed, but she figured she’d start with a left-handed jab when she caught up to him, shocking him just enough to sneak that devastating right hook across his jaw.

  But within three striding steps, Ava stopped. She recalled what Frances had said earlier, about how giving chase or attacking a criminal could result in being reprimanded or even losing her job—a job she hadn’t even been at for an entire day.

  But at the same time, there was a sense of justice crawling up from deep within her. It told her there was no way in hell Clarence would approve of her just laying low and blowing on a whistle. With the adrenaline and anger now taking the controls, Ava removed her other shoe, tossed them in Frances’s direction, and went running.

  Almost as if it were a sign of some sort, Ava passed by a store that was playing jazz music. She could barely hear it, but the bass line and wailing trumpets seemed to encourage her. She ran down the block, attracting the attention of every single person she saw. She pulled her whistle out from beneath the top of her dress. She placed it into her mouth and blew. It was much louder than she’d expected and it seemed to rattle the insides of her head. As she blew on it a second time, she realized that Frances was staggering behind her, shouting out warnings to her. Ava knew she was already breaking a lot of rules but it was too late now. She was running after the thief and he was within her sights. She figured at some point, the whistle might clue in another copper, and they’d nab the guy.

  And if not—if she reached the young thief before a man could come to the rescue—then she’d just have to tackle him. Oops…maybe she tripped and fell on him or something.

  Ava bounded through the thin crowd of people along 101st Street, blowing her whistle a third time. She wasn’t even sure how far she’d run, blowing the damned whistle. Three blocks? Four?

  It then occurred to her that blowing the whistle was counterproductive. It was alerting the thief to where she was. And while she knew her only job was to blow on the damned thing until a male cop showed up, she found the idea not only stupid, but antiquated. She released the whistle from her lips and let it drop to her chest.

  She came to the end of the block where the purse-snatcher had taken a left. It was here that Ava saw a thin alleyway that ran between a little candy store and a grains and tobacco shop. It was mostly opened, blocked only by a few crates and trashcans. Ava halted, the bottoms of her stockinged feet scraping on the sidewalk, and went rushing through the alleyway. She knew it would come at just shy of the end of the block and she’d make it there before the thief because he was having to contend with pedestrian traffic and she was not. She leaped over a crate, feeling the grit and overall sliminess of the alley against her stockinged feet. Still, she ran hard—the whistle forgotten, protocol forgotten, even Frances partially forgotten.

  Ava came to the end of the alleyway and looked to the right. She saw a few people stepping aside in a hurry and knew why right away. She dashed in that direction and saw the thief coming through the crowd of people. She then put her whistle back into her mouth, waited for him to get closer, and then blew hard on it.

  The sound, up so close, shocked him. As Ava advanced, she saw that he nearly dropped the purse. He then turned and headed back the way he had come. He glanced back over his shoulder a single time, his eyes wide with fear now, and that’s when he ran directly into the arms of another cop. This was a policeman of about six foot seven, with shoulders like slabs of granite. The thief rebounded a bit but was snagged by the cop. The thief was pushed against the wall of the sundry shop the policeman had just come out of, and as the policeman handcuffed him, there was a confused buzz coming from the passing pedestrians.

  The cop pressed the thief against the wall and then looked at Ava. His eyes narrowed and he shook his head as if he were about to admonish a stubborn dog. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he barked at her.

  “Chasing a thief,” Ava answered without much thought.

  “And causing a scene! You were supposed to blow on your whistle and nothing more.”

  “I did! I’m sure you heard it. But if I hadn’t chased him down—”

  But the cop was already looking away from her. Ava wanted to keep arguing her point but knew it was useless. That little defeat allowed her to come down out of the adrenaline of the moment and when she did, she realized that she had overstepped. She should have listened to Frances She should have—

  “Gold?”

&nb
sp; Ava looked around and saw Frances coming out of the alleyway. She was huffing for breath and looking at her with an odd mix of satisfaction and anger. She hurried over to Ava, shaking her head in the same way the cop had.

  “You left these,” Frances said, handing Ava her shoes. “Also…what the hell were you thinking?”

  “I’m sorry. I just…I couldn’t just let him run off while I stood there blowing my dumb whistle.”

  “Blowing that dumb whistle is your job. Running down hoods is not.”

  There were several things Ava wanted to say but she kept her mouth closed. It was her first day on the job and she’d already broken several rules. She watched as the cop started hauling the thief away. He gave no thank-you and didn’t even bother looking back to scowl at her again. As far as the cop was concerned, she’d done nothing but break rules.

  “I like you, Gold,” Frances said. “But if you want to make it in this job, you have to suck it up and do what you’re told. And please, for the love of God, don’t ever do anything like that again.”

  Ava said nothing. She gave her anger a moment to subside by putting her shoes back on. When she and Frances started to walk, continuing their patrol, she tried to process it all. And though she knew it had been her whistle that had alerted the cops, Ava still felt like she had failed somehow. And if this had been her first day, it made her wonder what tomorrow would bring.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Roosevelt’s Boxing Club was slow and quiet when Ava walked inside. There was a rapid-fire beat coming from the back as someone was working on the speed bags. Though Ava’s feet were sore and it had been a demoralizing day, it all washed away when she took in the familiar sights and smells of the small gym space.