Train to Anywhere

by David George Howard

7

  O'Connor leaned back in the barber chair. He rarely left his home anymore, and he had decided the best way to get a shave in the morning was to have his personal barber, Angelo, come to his house. He had had a custom-built chair installed in his basement a few years before. O'Connor could shave himself, but his hands were not as steady as they once were, and Angelo made for quiet conversation in the morning. Instead of being driven down to the shop before opening, he only had to make his way downstairs, though this still was a struggle with his sore knees and feet. Leaning back, having the warm, strong-smelling lather put on and shaved off by a trusted expert made getting up in the morning worthwhile. This morning, as before, he settled in, with Angelo leaning forward, brush in hand.

  "Good morning, sir," Angelo said. "Were you going to need your hair cut today as well?"

  "No, not today. Say, how did you make out at the track yesterday?" O'Connor asked.

  "Ah, yes. Angelo did not do so well. Yes indeed, I bet on the ponies you told me to. But no, no winnings for me," Angelo said. He began to work the brush over O'Connor's face, massaging in the thick lather.

  "I'll talk to the trainers. See if I can improve your luck next time," O'Connor said. He smiled a sly smile and closed his eyes again.

  The warm lather on his face made him feel sleepy, and for a moment he began to doze off, but he awoke at the first swipe of the straight edge razor. No pain, just a gentle pull across the stubble on his neck. "Sir?" he heard someone say.

  O'Connor at first ignored the visitor, but knew his grandson would not visit him if it were not for a good reason. "Yes Patrick?" he said.

  "Sir, there's been an incident, a problem," the young man said.

  O'Connor had not opened his eyes, but now began to peek around to get a look at Patrick standing in the doorway. "Go on, you've already disturbed my shave."

  "Mr. Jackson LaRue was found dead this morning in his office." O'Connor raised a hand and gently held Angelo's arm back before the next pass.

  "How?" O'Connor asked.

  "He appears to have been beaten and shot. Shot twice. Aron found him this morning when he came in," Patrick said. He moved inside the room, and was now standing at the end of the barber chair.

  O'Connor leaned back again and let Angelo continue with the shave. "You sure? Beaten and shot?" he asked.

  "Yes. No suspects yet, according to the papers."

  "He was a good man. I could always count on him. It's a shame, a shame," O'Connor said. Jackson had come in handy over the years, since his job took him to all the major metropolitan areas of the country. He would never be big time or try to take over the organization, so O'Connor trusted him with using his charm to make arrangements and talk to people. In fact, they had met at a show of some sort, and O'Connor had taken a liking to the well-dressed man with the well-dressed woman on his arm. They had struck up a conversation, and when O'Connor had asked if he would be interested in making extra money on his trips, LaRue had smiled and said he would be delighted.

  "Is there anything I can get for you?" Patrick asked.

  "No, just keep tabs on what's going on with this. It looks bad," O'Connor said. Patrick left the room, and O'Connor fell into a quiet pose as Angelo hurried through his work. After the shave was done, O'Connor paid him. "Sorry to be such poor company this morning. Try Widow's Walk this afternoon. I think this might be his day."

  "Thank you, sir," Angelo said, packing his tools and leaving the room.

  Years of being in the business had taught him that taking out an associate in such an obvious manner was a direct challenge. Jackson was high-profile enough that his name would be known in various established circles around town and across the country. Retiring was never really an option in this line of work, but O'Connor had curtailed his activities in the past few years, and he suspected this was a rival looking to move in and take over. There were only a few people in the city who had the audacity to do this. One of O'Connor's virtues was patience. His mind was not working on a plan to drive out the person responsible, but he did begin thinking about where to look and wait. This person would not be able to stay quiet for long. Unfortunately, this would get worse before it was over. He took the towel from around his neck and placed it in the chair. The next few months were going to be difficult.

  8

  McBride had no choice but to deliver the funds out of his own account. He knew the organization would not look kindly on having funds "disappear." The idea of how to do this and then track down the real funds was occupying his thoughts when his wife came downstairs. With her were their eight-year-old daughter and three-year-old son, both in pajamas.

  "They're all ready for bed," Rita said. The kids ran across the room and jumped into his waiting arms.

  "You two have a good night," he said kissing them both on their cheeks. It often amazed himself how he treated the kids, spoiled them really, then went out and did the things he did. He looked at his son William and wondered. The boy was smart—he had already shown signs of being ahead of other boys his age—and McBride wanted the best for him. Bea...well, she was a girl, and girls did not do the things he did.

  "Okay, off to bed," Rita said, sending them scampering up the stairs. She came down a few minutes later.

  "What are we going to do with those kids?" he asked her.

  "I'm not sure what you mean, Clarence." She sat down and picked up a magazine.

  "You understand. We've talked about this before. William—should I bring him into the business?"

  Rita set the magazine on her lap. "You know how I feel about it. I don't like you doing this. Why would I want my children to?"

  "I know. We both agreed."

  Rita came over to his chair and sat down on the arm. She draped her arms around his neck and kissed him on the side of his head. "They're kids. Let's keep them out of this. I don't want either of them in the business." She was the only normal thing in his life. Rita had come from a middle-class family in Hartford, and as far as they knew, he was simply a successful real estate developer. There was always a calming effect with her, and as she began to kiss him, he felt his troubles ease away. Of course, she was right. William would be a doctor or businessman, or some other honest profession, rather than run around with hoods and people who had nothing better to do than steal and cause violence. Rita stood and went up the stairs to go to bed.

  "I'll be up in a few minutes," he said as he watched her disappear.

  "Don't wait too long," she said quietly.

  He laughed to himself and went down to the basement. A few years ago, he realized that the banks were getting better at tracking funds, so he had to devise other ways of moving money around. One of the things he did was to have safes hidden in various places at home and in his business office. He pulled aside the chair and rug and opened the access door. A few turns of the dial, and the safe unlocked. There was enough there to cover what was missing, but it went against everything he had tried to do. His people were paid well, and stealing from him was never tolerated. Clarence closed the safe and knew that somehow he would track it down and figure it out, and the message would go out to not try it again.

  The next morning, McBride took a train to New York to make the delivery to his cousin. When he arrived at the train station, McBride saw Billy waiting for him, leaning against a post, reading a newspaper. They often talked two or three times a week, though they only met together a few times a year. Billy was not a direct cousin, but they had been friends and confidants for years. They used to play together, though Billy, being a couple years older, moved onto other, more serious games. By the time he was in his late teens, he was running a bookie outfit, and he asked Clarence to join him. From there, they had been working together, with Billy serving as the ultimate insider for both in many social circles.

  "Billy! How have you been?" McBride said as he stepped off the train.

  "Been better," Billy said.

&n
bsp; "Let's talk when we get to your office."

  It was a short drive over to Billy's office, which turned out to be a penthouse suite in a hotel. McBride always admired Billy's sense of style. Billy removed the money from the briefcase and placed it in a cabinet, not bothering to count it. McBride was staring out of the window down at the street below.

  "I had a problem with that LaRue," McBride said.

  "Didn't think he'd try anything smart. Wasn't he one of O'Connor's men?" Billy said, sitting down on a couch. He settled in comfortably and let out a quiet sigh.

  "He was. I had my reservations about him and Gloria getting together. Surprised he had the balls to try something like this. He was stealing from us. I had to do it," McBride said. He had been thinking this all along, but he wanted to see what Billy thought of it. They both were good judges of character.

  "Obviously. So what? They both got greedy fingers," Billy swung his feet up on the couch and looked at McBride.

  "Gloria. Sure," McBride said, sitting down on the edge of the desk. "It's just...I brought her up through the organization."

  "What did LaRue say when you talked to him?" Billy asked.

  "He told us what we needed to know," McBride said, thinking now they could have gotten more out of him if he had not shot him.

  "Clarence, you gotta control your temper. Just out and knocking a chump off, now, that makes it harder to find out. Now you got O'Connor to deal with."

  "O'Connor's old and tired. I can deal with him. For all I know, he put them up to this. I can't have them steal from us."

  "But just killing someone? No. We got better ways. You can work an answer out with persuasion."

  "I let that kid go," McBride said.

  "Why'd you do that?"

  "I thought there was some way to use him. Don't know what for, but it was tough to do."

  Billy got up and walked over to his desk, and pulled out a ledger book. "Good thinking. You took this money out of your own pocket, didn't you?"

  "I did. That's why I have to find what they stole. All of it."

  "Let's just for now say this is all they stole. If you find more, great, send it on. Otherwise, we'll keep this to ourselves," Billy said, making a ledger entry.

  "So what do I do now? I gotta go to Gloria. She's got something to do with this." McBride moved away from the window.

  Billy tapped his pen on the desk and said, "Well, don't pop her before you find out. Use her. You got leverage now. Figure it out, I mean she works for you, she owes you in more ways than just what she and LaRue took. Leave the killing to when the time is right."

  As usual, Billy made sense. McBride would work on how to use Gloria, and then get her to pay him back. Having a person's life in your hands was the most leverage you could have.

  9

  The phone call that morning had been from Harris. Eddie never received calls that early, so he knew it was not good. He was barely awake when he answered, and for a few seconds he had a difficult time figuring out what the caller was talking about. Although Eddie tried to put the meeting off until later—he did not want to miss another day of work—Harris insisted he come down to his office right away. He dressed and headed out the door with a minimum of delay to catch the trolley downtown. Within twenty minutes, he found himself at the front steps of the city office building. He walked up the two flights, passing a few policemen and other people, and arrived at the office. He opened the door, expecting to find a bustle of activity, only to find an older woman sitting at a desk looking up at him. It was still early.

  "What?" she barked.

  "I'm here to see Mr. Harris," he said.

  "Got an appointment or are you just wandering in off the street." The woman barely stopped typing long enough to say the words.

  "He called me this morning and asked me to come in." Eddie would have been perfectly happy to leave if she told him so.

  "Griffin?"

  "Yes."

  "Sit over there," she said, indicating over her shoulder with her left, ink-stained thumb.

  Eddie looked to where she was pointing but wasn’t sure where she was indicating. There was no real waiting room. "Uh..."

  "What, are you blind? Pick an empty desk and sit." Eddie did what he was told while she went to an office door in the back and opened it. She said a few words and then closed the door quickly. The room was crowded with desks that in a few minutes would probably be occupied by another ten or so people.

  After about fifteen minutes, the door to the office opened, and Harris came out. "Griffin," he said, looking across the room. "Griffin, get in here."

  Eddie jumped up and went into the office. For some reason, Eddie had thought the office of a public official would be the picture of order and efficiency. Harris's office was just the opposite, with file cabinets overflowing with papers, while his desk had cardboard boxes full of more papers. The window was dirty, but it was probably just as well, since it looked out over a factory.

  Harris sat down at his desk. "Sit," he said, indicating towards a chair. "You need to explain this." He reached down under a reference table behind his desk. Eddie heard the tinny sound of a small metal box. Harris slapped it onto the table.

  Eddie recognized it as his lunch box, except it was bent out of shape, with a big hole blown through one corner. After that night, he had completely forgotten about it when the shooting started on the catwalk.

  "We found this when we started to look around. I wanted to call you in sooner, but I needed to get more evidence. I think these are your initials here on the side," he said pointing to the E.G. on the box.

  "Yes, they are."

  "We found this and were able to track down the bullets in the wall opposite from LaRue's office. The shots were fired from there."

  Eddie knew where this was heading, but there was little he could do. He looked through the hole in the corner of the box and could see an apple still laying inside.

  "You understand this places you at the scene at the time of the murder? We also know you never clocked out and failed to finish your duties that evening."

  Eddie remembered what Herman had said, but this was a turn he had not counted on. There was no use in dragging this out any longer than he needed to, and Harris had enough to start looking further into his actions that night. "You're right. There's more."

  "Good. I thought so. If you were going to say otherwise, that would've meant you were a suspect, and I didn't want to do that." Harris settled back in his creaky wooden chair and waited for Eddie to start talking.

  Eddie looked at his right hand and considered what he was getting himself into. This seemed all too familiar, him talking to a lawyer about what happened. Maybe he just needed to "dummy up," as he had heard people say.

  "Eddie," Harris said. "Tell me what happened, or I have a right pull you in. I don't think you did it, and I want to keep believing that. But help me out. Why was this lunch box right there?"

  "I have a problem telling you this. You'll know why when I finish." Eddie recounted the story as it actually happened, leaving out no details from the time he started his shift to the time he went back to the apartment. Harris only interrupted a few times to ask questions, but for the most part he just listened intently. When he was done, Harris slowly shook his head from side to side.

  "McBride. I should have known. No other details on what LaRue did?"

  "They were talking about a delivery that didn't happen, then they went up to his office and tore it apart."

  "No one's ever had any hard evidence on McBride. I know he wants to run for office. It's not like he doesn't already have enough influence with them now."

  Eddie was not listening too close to what Harris had been saying. "Mr. Harris, McBride was very direct in wanting me not to tell anyone."

  "What you said won't go outside this room. Eventually I'm going to bring him to trial, and then you'll have to speak."

  Eddie
could no longer look at Harris. This was more than he was willing to deal with right then. "Won't McBride be looking for revenge? I mean I was there, and he knows it. He probably knows everything about me."

  "Probably. Probably, but this story doesn't leave this room until I absolutely need it to. How else are we going to catch and stop them? Don't you hate having them in this city?" he asked.

  "It's just that...McBride...there's no telling what he'll do."

  Harris leaned forward. "There are thousands of decent people living in this city, and McBride and his kind are ruining it. That's why I wanted this job. I was sick of seeing people murdered and scared while a few men run around causing trouble. It starts with people like you."

  Eddie was not entirely convinced or sure if he could carry through with this. In Buffalo, he had dealt with a prosecutor like Harris, and he knew how long this would take and the twists along the way. This would never be as clean as anyone thought. He considered telling him about the robbery and incarceration, but this would come out soon enough. If Harris felt he needed to know, he would ask.

  Harris must have read his mind, because he said, "There are a few people I trust around here. When the time comes, you'll be taken care of. In all honesty, as harsh as it sounds, you have no choice in the matter. Like I said, you were placed at the scene by the evidence, so if you don't cooperate, you'll become a suspect. I'm not trying to scare you. Those are simply the facts."

  "There has to be a way to leave me out of this. My being there was just bad luck," Eddie said. If there was some way for him to hide away until this blew over, he would strongly consider it. He had heard of people doing this.

  "We're well past that," Harris said. He swiveled in his seat and then turned back around to where his legs were under the desk. He picked up a folder that was on the top of the pile and opened it. Only a few pages were in the file, and Harris carefully let them slide out onto the desk. "You saw what that man did, what he was capable of."

  Eddie looked at the pages and could read the heading. The name on the report was McBride, Clarence. "What is that?"

  "You would think a man like him would have a file so thick it would fill my desk. But look at this." Harris handed the three sheets to Eddie.

  "Am I supposed to see these?" Eddie asked.

  "No, but what difference does it make? Take a look," Harris said, pointing to a box on the top sheet.

  Eddie glanced over the information. The report was of a traffic violation, for parking in a no-parking zone. He turned to the second page and found a report of an excessive noise complaint due to a construction project he had been supervising. The third report concerned a report of a lost dog. "There isn't much here."

  "Do you think a man like that could live in a city his entire life, do the things he does, and have a record that totals one parking ticket and a lost dog?" Harris took the folder back from Eddie. Harris spread his arms in a grandiose over-expression. "And excessive noise. Well, those are grounds for prison. I ought to have him hauled off right now. He's got a lost dog! Hang 'im!"

  Harris's conclusion was anything but jovial, and Eddie was well aware of the point he was making. Eddie felt Harris took the job because he wanted to address these very problems. He was not sure if Harris had counted on the innocent people who would become involved along the way. Eddie was watching the file as Harris plopped it back onto the desk. He looked down at the floor. "I don't want to get hurt in this. I have friends that he could get to."

  "Look," Harris said. "I'm afraid you're already involved. What you need to decide is if you want to be involved with us, or with him. With him, you're going to get hurt. With us, I can't guarantee anything, but you stand a much better chance."

  "Sure," Eddie said. "But either way is a problem for me."

  "You have to do what's right, or you will never be able to live with yourself. Work with us on this. We'll do the best we can to keep it confidential."

  "Okay," Eddie said. "How do you know I didn't do it? Why don't you think I'm a suspect?"

  "You don't work with us, and you can be assured you will be. Cooperating goes a long ways."

  10

  At 5:00 on Friday, his work week finished, Eddie looked forward to meeting Herman and another friend downtown for dinner. Everyone filed out of the building towards various trolley stops. After wishing coworkers a good weekend, he boarded the trolley that was headed downtown. The trolley was crowded, but after a few stops, seats started to empty out. Eddie moved around to a seat, and as he sat down, he noticed a man looking at him. For a moment, Eddie was alarmed, but he told himself he was being paranoid after what happened earlier in the week.

  Eddie got off at the Dorrance Street stop and went down to the deli to meet his friends. As soon as he walked in the door, he heard his name being called from across the room.

  "Eddie, where you been?" Herman said. With him was Arnold Brown, a friend of Herman's, who worked as a clerk at the Biltmore hotel a few blocks away.

  "How long have you two been here?" Eddie asked as he slid into the booth. The deli was a former bar and was now a popular place to meet after work. They no longer served alcohol legally. Now, instead of the smell of cigar smoke and spilled beer, they were greeted by the aroma of baked bread and cooked meats. The owner was one of the few that had made a successful transition to another business, though it was a poorly kept secret that if you went around back, the bar was still open.

  "A half hour at least. Wouldn't you say, Arnold?" Herman said.

  "Oh, sure. We've already eaten and were just waiting for you," Arnold said. It was not unusual for them to stay out until all hours of the night and arrive at work the next morning without having slept.

  "Sure," Eddie said, laughing. "Let's get some food. I'm starving." They all went to the counter, ordered their meals, and returned to their seats.

  "What a week it's been," Arnold started out. "We had some sort of meat packers' convention or meeting, I don't know. And all they wanted to do was find the hookers and booze. The hotel dick was running all over the place trying to chase these women out of the lobby."

  Herman said. "An ex-cop or something, right? Fat German twit."

  "Oh, hey, I heard something happened at Aron's this week. It was in the papers," Arnold said. "There was a hit?"

  "That's about it," Eddie said. "The lead designer, Jackson LaRue. They found him in his office a few mornings ago."

  "Shit, they have any idea who did it?" Arnold asked.

  "Not really. The cops talked to me about it. I worked the night before. They said it looked like the mob." After Eddie said this, he thought of his conversation with Harris.

  "He must have been messing around," Arnold said. "Tell you what, that's one thing you don't want to do. They'll take you out at a moments notice. That happened all the time in Boston. Those Irish mobs are tough. Wouldn't be surprised if they were down here."

  Eddie winced when he heard that, and he glanced over at Herman. Instead, Herman was looking into his soda glass. Eddie looked outside across the street. It was beginning to get dark, but he swore he saw the man with the brown hat, the one looking at him on the trolley, walk by. Eddie leaned forward to get a better look, but the man walked under a street light and turned a corner. Probably, Eddie told himself, the man simply had business to attend to downtown. That would not be unusual. Or he could live in the area. After all, he was on the same trolley, though Eddie had not seen him get off at the stop he did. There were a number of stops close together in that area. He felt a sharp stab in his shoulder.

  "Hey. Did you hear what we asked?" Arnold said, leaning on his Boston accent a little hard.

  "No, sorry. I was thinking about what I need to do tomorrow," Eddie said. He had no idea what anyone else had said the previous few moments.

  "What do you want to do? Tonight, not tomorrow. Aron's making you deaf?" Since he had known Herman for so long, there
was a healthy give and take between the two of them. The verbal jab was to be expected.

  "Thought you wanted to see a movie," Eddie said. The day before, they had talked about going to one of the movie houses for the evening.

  "Nah," Arnold said. "I seen 'em all the past few weeks."

  "Hey," Herman said leaning in close. "There's a show in town. Dancers."

  "Willard was talking about that today," Arnold said, excitedly.

  "Who's Willard?" Eddie asked.

  "The valet at the Hotel. Said these women do a fan dance," Herman said.

  "I have a friend down there. He'll let us in," Arnold said. Arnold always seemed to know people who could do him a favor. He had gotten them into sold-out baseball games, movies, and always knew where to find a drink.

  "That's not going to start until later," Eddie said. "I don't want to sit around here for four hours."

  "I guess we could go see a movie," Herman said.

  "What the hell, let's go," Arnold said.

  They quickly ate their sandwiches and left for the movie house a few blocks away. They sat through the cartoons and newsreel. A round of boos came out of the crowd when an article about the Yankees came up. These boos reached a crescendo when they flashed a picture of the Babe swinging a bat. Would he make the record that year? Eddie smiled but kept his mouth shut. The movie started, and the three of them settled back. Eddie tried to follow along, but as far as he could tell, the movie was just a bunch of solders running back and forth. His thoughts drifted back to the events of the last couple of days and to the man in the brown hat. He dwelled on this until he started to find himself drifting off to sleep. The movie ended without him knowing it. A couple of light slaps awakened him.

  "Glad you enjoyed the movie," Arnold said, as Eddie came back to consciousness. "Get your money's worth, Snow White?"

  "One of the best," Eddie said, stretching and getting out of his seat.

  From there they went to the club where the dancers were supposed to be performing. True to his word, Arnold disappeared for a few minutes, then he came back and said everything was fine with his friend, and the three of them went inside. The club was a dimly lit room with tables scattered around. There was a four-piece band scratching out music between each act as the crowd of mostly men waited, smoked, and waited some more. Instead of the expected dancers, they sat through numerous comedians, singers, jugglers, and other people who believed they had talent. After each performance, an emcee would come out and announce another act. A few whistles and calls could be heard from the corners of the room, apparently from patrons wanting to see the star attraction.

  After about the six or seventh short act, Eddie got up from the table to use the restroom. He walked into the bathroom and was followed in by another man. Before he had a moment to think, the door was locked, and the man in the brown hat was standing in front of him.

  "Know who I am?" the man asked.

  The man was about the same height as Eddie. However, his face and stance indicated he was much older and had lived an undesirable existence for most of his life. "No, sir, I don't," Eddie said quietly. This was no playground bully.

  "That's right, you cocksucker. Now listen up," the man said, blowing cigar smoke into Eddie's face. The man, though his clothes looked clean, had the odor of not having bathed in a considerable time. "You been talking to the cops?"

  Eddie had a sinking feeling. "I'm not sure what you're referring to."

  "Fuck that," the man said. He punched Eddie in the cheek. He fell back against the sink and landed on the floor. The man came over and kicked him in the ribs hard enough so he felt it. "You know exactly what I'm talking about. You start talking to anyone, and you'll be lookin' at the Narragansett from the bottom up. I put one or two down there myself. We know where you live, where you work, how often you wipe your ass. One peep to Harris and that will be the end of it. Understand?"

  "Yes, sir," Eddie said.

  "Fuckin' straight." The man emphasized his point with a harder kick. Then he unlocked the door and left.

  Eddie pulled his knees up to his chest for a moment and then tried to straighten his legs out. He sucked in as much air as he could, but his left side felt like a dagger was stuck into it. Getting to his hands and knees was difficult, but he managed. Using the sink as support, he hunched over into a stance. After about thirty seconds, he stood up as much as he could and looked at himself in the mirror. A panicked face looked back. A few days ago, his life was like one of the many his age. Young men moving out into the world, trying to find their place, having future plans made and a past left behind. One moment of being in the wrong place, and now it was all turned around. The thought crossed his mind to just leave and go home. Leave Harris to figure out what happened, and let men like McBride do whatever it was they did. Mr. Aron could find another stockroom worker. Another man came into the bathroom, used the toilet, and then came to the sink to wash his hands.

  "Got some of that bad hooch, eh?" the man said with a wink.

  "Yeah, have to watch out for that," Eddie said. Eddie washed his hands and dried them on the towel. At the table, Herman and Arnold had not noticed he was gone. They paid no attention to him as a few dancers began to come onto the stage. Eddie did his best to look around the room to spot the man in the brown hat, but he was unable to see anyone that fit that description.

  "I think I'm going to head on home," Eddie said.

  "Come on, don't quit now. We haven't even started yet," Arnold said. Then he looked closer at Eddie. "What happened? You don't look good."

  "Some goon in the bathroom took a few swipes at me."

  Herman and Arnold glanced at Eddie. "Damn," Herman said. He turned around in his seat and scanned the audience around them. "Who was it? We'll take him outside."

  "He's gone."

  "Get the bouncer," Arnold said.

  "No, really, I'm fine. He didn't rob me or nothing," Eddie said. He ran his hand over his sore ribs.

  Arnold was out of his seat before Eddie could stop him. In a few minutes, he came back with the man who had been at the door when they came in.

  "Let's have a talk, pal," the man said to Eddie. They went out to the lobby and stood away from the crowd. "Your friend there said you had a problem."

  "It really wasn't much, just a bum in the bathroom wanting to take a shot at me."

  "That so?" the man said. He stood back a moment and crossed his arms, giving Eddie a look up and down. "Look, we run a clean place here, understand? You hurt at all?"

  "He kicked me in the ribs, but I'm fine."

  "Let me put it this way," the man said stepping closer. "I'm willing to give you some slack, but I don't like getting me a bad reputation, got it? In fact, why don't you get out of here for tonight. Next time I see you around here again, you better be minding your business, or we'll toss you out for good."

  "Honestly, I just walked in there and he followed me in. I don't even know who he was," Eddie said. He fully intended to leave for the evening, but he was surprised that the man was not interested in knowing what had happened.

  "If you got trouble like that following you around, don't bring it in here. Don't care what it is, just keep it outside."

  "Let me tell my friends I'm leaving."

  Eddie went back into the theater and found Arnold and Herman had become interested in the dancers as they were entering the stage.

  "What'd he say?" Arnold asked, trying to pull his attention away from the show.

  "He wants me to leave for the night," Eddie said.

  "What the hell?" Herman said. "Didn't he even want to find out who did it?"

  "No, he doesn't want to be bringing the cops in." Eddie knew this was the issue. The last thing the owner wanted was to have the police come snooping around. And come to think of it, it was probably best for Eddie if they did not.

  "Well, come on, we'll get you home," Arnold said, getting up from the ta
ble.

  "I'm fine, really I am," Eddie said. "You two enjoy the show."

  "What if he's outside the door? Come on, we're all going," Arnold said. He stood up, but Herman stayed seated.

  "Oh, all right," Herman said. Catching one final glimpse at the girls on the stage, Herman joined the other two as they made their way through the tables to the lobby. "Didn't see a damn thing."

  The manager who had spoken to Eddie watched them as they crossed the lobby and went out the front door with no expression other than a slow nod of his head as they passed. They came out of the door and onto the sidewalk in front of the theater. After a few moments of looking around, the manager walked by inside and glanced out at them. "We're moving along, fat ass," Arnold said.

  "So, now what do you want to do?" Herman asked. He was upset from being pulled away from a show he had been looking forward to all week.

  "Really, I can make it home fine. I'm sore, but not too bad," Eddie said. He knew that whoever did this could have done much worse, and probably wanted to. The thought occurred to him that it was probably meant by McBride to just scare him.

  "You sure? Come on, we'll wait for the trolley," Arnold said.

  "He's fine," Herman complained. "He just got pushed around by some hood. Eddie's tough. He'll be fine."

  "I'll make it home. You two have a good evening. I have to get up early tomorrow anyway, and I didn't want to stay out real late."

  Eddie watched them walk away. There was a good crowd out that evening, and they blended in with the rest of the people and disappeared. The trolley showed up a few minutes later. He found a spot about halfway back and carefully lowered himself into the seat. His ribs were tender to the touch, but he knew there was no real damage. Eddie was not sure how he was going to manage meeting with Harris while keeping McBride from finding out. Then again, if he did not cooperate with Harris, everything put him at the scene during the murder, and he became a suspect. Eddie balled up his fist and put it to his mouth. Damn it. Damn it all to hell. He had moved here to get away from this, and now he was right back in it. He had served his time and had started a good life. Now he was back in it, worse than ever, getting crushed by both sides of the law. He watched the city roll by slowly as the trolley went from stop to stop, and wondered where he was going to end up now. In jail again, or running away.

  11

  Gloria was a young woman who had grown up on the side of town that people were ashamed of. Although one would not know by looking at her today, she had not been much more than a grimy factory worker a few years before. Her longing for the good life had led her to McBride, and she had begun working for him. Gloria's connection with LaRue and other men in the fashion business had been everything she had ever wanted, and it allowed her to put distance between herself and the filth she came out of. The connection between Gloria and LaRue had been an uneasy arrangement for McBride at first. McBride had trusted Gloria and thought she might bring in information on O'Connor. It had been good for a few years, but he suspected the relationship had taken a turn that he did not like. Now he was going to fix the problem.

  McBride knew she liked to stay at the Copley in Boston, and as soon as he figured out that was where she had gone, he was on the road with one of his men, Jimmy. They arrived at the hotel around 10:00 am. He went in and left Jimmy in the car. Gloria has developed expensive tastes, he thought, as a bellhop ushered him into the lobby. There was the bustle of activity that always happened in the lobby of a nice hotel. The sound of expensive shoes walking across the marble floor echoed throughout as he decided where he needed to go next. A valet was standing at a small counter off to the side of the lobby. McBride thought he might have more luck going to him rather than the registration desk.

  "Yes, sir," he said as McBride approached.

  McBride knew that she would be suspicious of him if his arrival were announced. "I'm here to surprise my sweetie," he said.

  "Sure. Which room is she in? I can call her for you," the Valet said.

  McBride slid a twenty across the counter. "I said this was a surprise," he said, lowering his voice. "Gloria Jorgenson. Find out which room she's in."

  The valet was apparently no dummy. The look on his face was one of caution. People who slid twenty-dollar bills towards him wanted something either very good or very bad. However, when he delicately placed his forearm over the bill, he showed that he knew the rules. The valet easily brought the bill to the edge of the counter and dropped it into his other hand. Then he went to the registration counter and returned a few moments later. "5012," he said. McBride passed by without further comment.

  McBride went to the bank of elevators and up to the fifth floor. Her room was about halfway down the hall, on the right. He instinctively looked around and saw that there was no one else in the hallway. He knocked on the door.

  "Just a moment," said a muffled cheerful voice through the door. The door opened. The expectation on her face changed to shock, but she recovered a split second later. "Oh. I was expecting someone else."

  McBride stepped into the two-room suite that was divided between sleeping and lounge areas. "Who were you expecting?" he asked, watching her close the door and move to the center of the room.

  "Room service. I haven't eaten breakfast yet."

  A nice recovery, McBride thought. Then again, he had always admired her quickness. "Well, you have to have a good breakfast, though 10 o'clock is late to be eating. It's almost lunchtime."

  "I was out with friends last night. I woke up about an hour ago. Have a seat," she said, motioning to a chair by the small table.

  Gloria sat on the edge of the bed, crossed her legs, and pulled her robe around herself. From what he could tell, she had nearly made the transition from a girl out of the poor part of town to a young lady with fancy friends and nice things. The only telltale sign was a hardness around her eyes. The struggle to pull oneself out of those surroundings was difficult to completely hide. "Really? Where did you go? I've always enjoyed Boston myself."

  "We went dancing at a club downtown, then we ended up at someone's house. We danced and listened to music until about three in the morning."

  "You certainly seem to be enjoying yourself. You're looking well."

  "Ah," she said, getting up and setting her lithesome body in the chair opposite of his at the table. "I can thank you for much of that."

  Her perfume wafted up to him. He ignored its purpose. "You've done it yourself. Anything you've gotten, it's because you've worked for it. That's the best way."

  "What about yourself? You've done the same."

  "Prohibition was the best thing that happened to me." McBride never would have guessed how a nonsense law would turn out to be the road to wealth. His influence and power had grown steadily since the 18th Amendment came into effect. The amendment was a joke anyhow, with Rhode Island and Connecticut not even ratifying it. Rum and whiskey came into the states unabated. It would only be a limited time before it was reversed, and he was determined to make the most of the opportunity. His ambitions were much higher than keeping the eastern cities in liquor, however. City council, then mayor and maybe higher. But right now, he had a problem that had to be sorted out.

  "I'm glad you came by," Gloria said, re-crossing her legs so the robe revealed more. She was an alluring and interesting package, physically attractive and mentally tough.

  "I came by to ask if you've heard from Jackson lately," McBride asked. No hint of surprise showed on her face. He had arrived with the assumption that she had not heard of his murder. It had been a few days, but news between the cities was not always accurate.

  "No, I haven't. I wasn't going to see him until I returned to Providence next week," she said.

  "The two of you have worked together for some time now." Finally she shifted in her seat.

  "Sure we have. He's a wonderful man. He's introduced me to all kinds of fun people."
/>   "It has worked well," he said. "You go with him, on occasion, to New York?"

  Her eyes narrowed, and she sat up in the seat slightly. "Not always. I love to go to New York when I get the chance. Why do you ask?"

  McBride knew she had guessed why he was there, probably from the time she opened the door. Still, other than concern, there was no fear. "Did you go with him this week?"

  "Yes. Why? What happened? What's this all about?"

  "Gloria, the money never arrived. You never made the connection and drop-off." He let the words hang in the air as she worked out a response.

  "Of course I did. How do you know? Did you ask him?" Gloria clasped her hands together on the table. Her lips pursed together in a small knot.

  "The drop-off goes to my cousin. And he never lies."

  "What are you saying?" she said, her voice getting tighter. Then with remarkable control, she added, her voice calm, "I met with him and made the drop."

  McBride stood up. "My cousin never lies. We talked to Jackson and he said he had no idea what happened." He stepped a few feet away from the table and looked down at her. He lowered his voice. "And you know what happens to people who lose my things and can't find them."

  "You killed him," she whispered.

  McBride reached into his pocket and pulled the gun out, then slid it back.

  "You killed him," she repeated.

  "Tell me where the money is," he said.

  "I don't know what you're talking about," she tried.

  McBride stepped over, grabbed a handful of hair and twisted as hard as he could. She grabbed his hand, but his grip was too solid. McBride dragged her out of the chair and onto the floor. Despite the obvious pain, she bit her lip and did not utter a sound. She tried to kick him, but she was too small to really do any damage. All it did was cause more pain. This young lady was going to be difficult.

  "We shot him and left him at his desk."

  "You murderer," she managed to say.

  McBride twisted harder and tried to pick her up off the floor by the hold on her hair. This time he heard a grunt of pain, but that would not be enough to get her to talk. He took the gun out and pressed it against her temple. "People don't steal from me. He got what he deserved. You will, too, if you don't start remembering. I know you picked it up, but between you and Jackson, it disappeared."

  "I never received it, I swear," she gasped.

  McBride cocked the hammer back on the gun. "I'll kill everyone along the path of that delivery until I find it."

  "Ok," she said. "Let go and I'll tell you."

  "I better hear words that make sense."

  "Let go," she yelled. McBride turned loose his grip and shoved her to the floor. The robe around her came loose, exposing her bare chest. She laid there for a moment, while his attention was momentarily diverted. Seeing the opening, Gloria jumped to her feet, and went for her handbag laying next to the bed. McBride had to fight the impulse to kill her at that moment, but he knew she had the cash hidden away and he needed her to find it. Before she could reach the handbag, he was able to grab her foot and pull her away. Using his knees in her back, he clamped her to the floor, and crunched the gun barrel into the back of her head.

  "You are going to get up, get dressed and we're going to get the money." McBride knew that people like Gloria had a strong will to survive, and this would eventually win out. The will was stronger than honor, and once she was convinced she was going to be shot, she would cooperate. She continued to squirm for a few seconds, and then he eased the pressure on her back. "Don't try anything. Get up and get dressed."

  "What good's that going to do?" she asked, now able to turn her head.

  He pressed into her back again, producing the little grunt sound he heard earlier. "Where is it?"

  At first there was no answer, but then he dug the gun into her neck and leaned his full weight onto his knee. He knew she had to be in pain, but still she held her composure. Admirable. "In a bank. Around the corner."

  "Get up," he said, taking his knee off of her, but keeping the gun planted. "Get dressed where I can see you."

  Gloria slowly got to her hands and knees, and then sat back, stretching her shoulders and rolling her head around to make sure everything worked. "You boys always think you're so tough. I've been through more shit than you'll ever see." She stood up and walked over to the closet.

  McBride was careful to follow her over and make sure she only took clothes out. "I know where you came from. I've been there."

  Gloria looked like she was going to say something, but decided not to. Instead, she put her clothes on the bed and took her robe off. McBride watched her as she dressed. There was a big ugly scar running down the back of her otherwise smooth left thigh. Some unpleasant mishap, maybe. Other than that, she was a nice looking young woman. Too thin for his tastes, perhaps. Small.

  She put on her underwear and started rolling her stockings on. After she was fully clothed, she asked, "Will you allow a lady to fix her makeup?" as she walked towards the bathroom.

  "No. Stop. We need to go. You look fine."

  She tried to pout, but in this case the acting was not enough to cover what she must have been thinking. "You want me to look like an old baseball glove."

  "Quit messing around. Let's go."

  They left the room and took the elevator down to the lobby. Jimmy had not moved the car since McBride had gone inside. McBride and Gloria both got into the back seat. McBride asked, "Where's the bank?"

  "Boston State. Take a left. It's four blocks down on the right."

  "Jimmy, do what she says." Jimmy started the car and drove in the direction she said. "Did you deposit the money?"

  "It's in a safe deposit box."

  "When we get there, you and Jimmy will go in and get the cash, then come back out."

  Gloria was quiet for a moment, looking at McBride's face. "I'm sorry Clarence. I really am. Jackson thought he could do this and you wouldn't notice."

  "I keep track of everything. I notice everything. It was a stupid thing to do."

  "Well, the important thing is that you'll get it back. Jackson talked me into it. Said we could do this and catch a train to Montreal. He knew so many people. He always had a place to stay. I never realized what he was really doing until it was too late."

  He stared straight ahead until they arrived at the bank a few minutes later. "I trusted you with him. I know he worked for O'Connor, and I should have stopped you from seeing him."

  Gloria watched the people walking along the sidewalk, going in and out of stores. "I didn't go to school. Left when I was about seven. Ran away from my mother at twelve. She never really bothered to find me."

  An odd comment, McBride thought. In many ways, she was still that age. McBride often marveled at how resilient she could be and yet not realize the mature consequences of the business they were in. He had seen this before in her, and now understood she was not prepared to engage in this type of venture. There were aspects of her he admired, nurtured and relied on, but he now realized he had made some mistakes. "This isn't a game. Real people get plugged with real bullets. They disappear in the night and become fertilizer in a field."

  "Fertilizer," she said, drifting away from the people on the street to the back of Jimmy's head. "Should we get this taken care of?"

  Jimmy got out of the car and opened the door for Gloria. He put his hand on her arm and guided her to the door. There was nothing else for McBride to do but wait. McBride hated having to do this and how this would all turn out, but he knew there was no other way.

  Ten minutes later, they came back out of the bank, with Jimmy carrying a small brown leather bag. They got in the car. "It's all there, Mr. McBride," Jimmy said as he started the car.

  "Good."

  "What now? Are you going to take me back to the hotel?" she asked.

  "Jimmy, turn around and head back to the hotel."
/>
  He did a u-turn in the street and started back, when McBride said, "Pull in behind that building for a moment, we need to talk."

  Jimmy stopped the car where he was told. "I thought we were going back?" she asked.

  "Take a break, Jimmy. Go smoke a cigarette." Jimmy got out of the car and left the two of them alone. "Okay, now listen up. You owe me, so I got a deal I need you to do for me."

  Gloria looked scared, but her expression changed when she realized all McBride wanted to do was talk. He knew what happened to LaRue was not far from her thoughts, and in fact, if it had not been for his cousin Billy, Gloria would be floating in the harbor right now. "Thanks for giving me another chance, Clarence."

  "I didn't want to get tough with you earlier, but I had to. I'll give you another chance, but you got a long ways to go before you work your way back into my graces. I understand what happened. LaRue was persuasive and you have to be careful with men like that. Especially since he worked for O'Connor. I got other things to worry about right now. There's a kid that works at Aron's, I need you to get to know him real well. Name's Eddie Griffin."

  "What you want with him?" She asked, stretching out like a small cat, some of her bravado returning.

  "Never mind what. You get to know him. Spend time with him. Be seen together. From now on, you do exactly what I say." Gloria did her best not to look concerned, but McBride knew her too well to think otherwise. To her, the gutter was only a few steps away, and she knew he could put her there. It was all about survival. He planned to use every bit of this knowledge and see how he felt once this was all over. Billy had his points, but they both knew eventually it came down to surrounding yourself with people you trust, and getting rid of the others. It could be dirty.

  "Show me who he is and how I find him," she said.

  "Good. We'll get your things and drive you back to Providence," McBride said.