The two men looked at each other in silence. Maeve tapped her foot. “Well,” she said again.
Jackson began to sense the humor of the situation and enjoy himself. He stood up. “Okay, sister,” he said. “You asked for it.”
“Oh, why did I ever start this?” Stern groaned. “Blackie, you’re a pest.”
“Am I, darling?” Maeve cooed over her shoulder as she led the way out of the restaurant. “But I’m a nice pest, aren’t I?”
4. Cat House
That night was pure adventure as far as Maeve was concerned. It was her first murder investigation and her first man hunt and it was thrilling and exciting and exhilarating. Even the danger—glimpsed at first mistily and then more and more clearly as the night sped on—served only to add zest to the experience. Later, on that night when terror invaded the security of her own home, when death came close to her and she was nauseated with dread and apprehension, she recognized more fully the brutal realities of violence and murder and vowed never, never to permit herself to become entangled in such a situation again. But now it was a fascinating game, like the treasure hunts in which she had participated at college; only this was more fun because the game was real and the “treasure” was alive.
In the beginning it was slow and a little dull; a drive crosstown to East Street and then north, threading in and out of heavy commercial traffic, with a stop now and then and Jackson hopping out of the car (sometimes with Stern, but more often alone) and disappearing into a water-front hotel or saloon or pool room or seamen’s flophouse, to reappear a little later on with a laconic shake of the head.
This tour of the water front was personally conducted, and Jackson kept his own counsel. Its purpose, of course, was evident. Jackson was warily sniffing the trail, seeking a scent that would lead them to Burke, but as time wore on and no information was forthcoming Maeve began to be a little bored and exceedingly curious. She had promised herself to be as strong and silent as this stubborn longshoreman and she strove heroically to maintain her resolve but, at what was in reality the eighth stop (though it seemed like the twentieth) she broke down and demanded to be taken in.
Jackson put his tongue in his cheek and looked at her. His smile was neither grim nor embarrassed; it was sly, and Maeve, after one glance into his clear blue eyes, averted her gaze hastily, feeling suddenly very young and foolish. Here on the water front, on his own stamping grounds, so to speak, Jackson was neither hurt and bewildered nor diffident and clumsy as she had seen him before; he was calm and confident and self-assured, and she had the uncomfortable feeling that he was laughing at her. She was convinced of this when he called her “baby.”
“Okay, baby,” he said rudely. “Remember, I told you before. You asked for it. No comebacks now.”
Maeve’s self-possession was shaken, and deep inside she was a little afraid. She might have backed down by hiding behind offended dignity, but Stern demurred, and that settled it.
“For Godsake,” said the assistant D. A., his eyes wide behind his glasses. “You would have to pick this place. You can’t go in there.”
“Why not?”
Stern spluttered, and Jackson laughed. “You can’t,” he told Stern. “This is no place for a respectable young lawyer.” He bowed mockingly to Maeve and held out his hand. “Come on, curly locks, I’ll show you the facts of life.”
By that time Maeve would have gone if it were her last act on earth. She accepted the hand and stepped jauntily out of the car. “Thanks, Mr. Bear,” she smiled. “No comebacks.”
The place was a five-story ramshackle tenement, and Maeve was hardly inside the door when her suspicions as to its character were realized.
“This is Big Edna’s,” said Jackson, leering at her. “Big Edna’s quite a dame. She’s famous from San Francisco to Singapore.”
“Yes,” said Maeve simply, “I know.” If he expected her to turn and run he had another guess coming.
Jackson halted with his foot on the first step of the stairs and looked at her. His jaw dropped. “You know?”
Maeve nodded. “Shall we say I surmised?” she asked archly. “And still you wanted to come?”
“Why not? I’ve always wanted to see the inside of a bawdy house.”
“My God,” breathed Jackson.
Mentally, Maeve chalked up a mark for her side. She had won that tilt. He was ready to back out right now but he didn’t know how. The big goof.
After all the fuss Big Edna’s was a little disappointing. They went up a flight of stairs covered with frayed flowered carpeting and emerged into a foyer with a desk and open register. The stair well continued on up from the foyer, and a long, dimly lit hallway with closed doors on either side led back to the rear of the building. While Jackson tapped the call bell on the counter Maeve peered curiously down this hallway, seeking some sign of crimson vice, but there was none. The place looked exactly like the smalltown hotels at which she had stayed overnight when on automobile trips. Perhaps some of them...she gasped and giggled a little. “The eminent Dr. Stevenson and his niece were guests last night at Big Edna’s Boardinghouse.”
Jackson misinterpreted the giggle and put his hand on her arm. “Don’t be nervous,” he said. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
“Afraid?” cooed Maeve. “With you, Sir Galahad?” She looked up at him, and their eyes met. “Where’s all the honky-tonk?” she said flippantly. “The place looks dull as dishwater.”
“It is,” said Jackson.
A nondescript young man, wearing a pink silk shirt with yellow arm bands, came through a door behind the desk and stood staring at them with dull eyes that brightened like a bird’s when they looked at Maeve.
“Yes sir?” he said.
He positively rubbed his hands. He was quite the most disgusting creature that Maeve had ever seen.
Jackson scowled at him. “Tell Edna, Jackson wants to see her,” he growled.
The man’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t know any Edna. I thought you wanted a room.”
“Why, you little punk.” Jackson reached across the desk and caught the man by his shirt front. “You heard what I said. Get busy and tell Edna she’s got company.”
The man squirmed, trying to loosen the grip on his shirt. “The proprietor isn’t in,” he whined.
“Listen, Buddy,” said Jackson. “You’re new. Don’t try to think.
Just call Edna and tell her what I told you to if you value this shirt.”
“What are you,” the man gasped, “a bull?”
“Sure, I’m a bull,” Jackson agreed easily. “I’m the whole damn force. Now get busy and call while you’re all in one piece.”
“Okay, okay,” said the man. Jackson loosened his shirt, and he smoothed it tenderly. “Why the hell didn’t you say so?”
He spoke briefly into the phone, then came around the desk and motioned them to follow him. The way led up three flights of stairs to a door at the front of the hall on the top floor.
“You’d think they’d put in an elevator,” said Maeve as she puffed up the last flight.
The man sniggered. “I’ll take care of that, sugar, just for you.”
“Shut up,” said Jackson.
The man, his hand raised to rap on a door panel, turned and regarded Jackson quizzically. “For cripesake,” he complained, “you’re the touchiest cop I ever seen. Anyone’d think the dame was a lady.”
Jackson looked murderous, but before he could reply Maeve said: “You’d better think so, you weasel, or I’ll scratch your eyes out.”
The man looked at her with sudden respect. “Okay, sister,” he said. “A lady’s a lady for my money if she says so.”
Maeve looked up at Jackson. “That’s what I always say,” she whispered. “What do you always say?”
“You’re too fresh,” he replied in the same whisper. “Remind me I promised to spank you.”
The man in the silk shirt looked from one to the other and shook his head. “I give up,” he muttered and knocked
at the door.
A voice called, “Come in,” and he pushed the door open and motioned them through. Then he closed it and went back down the stairs, muttering and shaking his head. At the foot of the flight he turned and looked back toward the closed door. “Screwy,” he said. “Nuts. I don’t get the pitchur; damned if I do.”
The room into which Maeve and Jackson had been ushered was large and cheerful. Three windows, looking out over the docks and the river, had yellow drapes, and the walls were ivory with original water colors tastefully hung. The furniture had been chosen for comfort and had a used, homey look.
The woman who sat in the big chair by the left-hand window fitted the room perfectly. She wore a well-cut dark woolen dress that was simple and expensive, and her graying hair was piled neatly and unaffectedly on the top of her head. She had on reading glasses that she removed as they entered, and a newspaper lay in her lap. Although she filled the chair to overflowing she had about her an air of quiet dignity that few fat women ever achieve.
She looked up now, her eyes on Maeve, rather than Jackson. “Hello, Jack,” she said. “Who’s this?”
“A friend of mine,” said Jackson.
The woman looked at him, and he reddened.
“She’s a nice girl, Edna,” he foundered. “I—I——”
“If she’s a nice girl what the hell did you bring her here for?”
“He didn’t bring me,” said Maeve. “I just tagged along.”
“Oho,” said Big Edna. “Defending him, are you? Did you know where he was takin’ you?”
Jackson said desperately, “You got this all wrong, Ed——”
The woman ignored him. “Well, did you?” she asked Maeve. Maeve nodded. “I told him I wanted to see what a bawdy house looked like.”
“A bawdy house?” Big Edna laughed. “Is that what you call it? Young lady, this is no bawdy house. It’s a decent, respectable whore house, and you’re a twerp. No nice girl would come here if she knew where she was coming. Not that whores aren’t all right. Some of the finest women I’ve ever known were whores, but there’s one thing about a whore, she’s got the delicacy to know where she belongs. If a whore came into your house you’d probably throw her out—now get the hell out of here before I do the same thing.”
“I’m sorry.” There was a stricken note in Jackson’s voice that made Maeve look at him. She looked away again quickly because she couldn’t stand what she saw. His eyes were pitiful.
“Come on,” he said brokenly. “I’ll take you out of here.”
“No.” Maeve disengaged her arm gently from his restraining hand. “No, wait a minute.” She looked at Big Edna. “Thanks,” she said. “You’re right. I was a twerp, if you mean what I think you do. I shouldn’t have come, but it’s not as bad as it looks, really.
Jackson had to see you and I—I——You see, it was sort of a dare—not that he dared me—he didn’t want me to come—but—but—I don’t know how to say it and I don’t know how I can make you understand—and—and I don’t blame you for not understanding either.”
Maeve stopped. Standing there, she looked very young and very earnest and as though the most important thing in the world to her at that moment was to have the big woman in the chair believe her.
For a moment no one spoke. Jackson put his hand on the girl’s arm, and his voice was very tender. “Come, Maeve,” he said. “We’ll go now.”
Neither of them noticed that he had used her given name.
Big Edna rose from her chair like a mountain heaving. “I take it back,” she said. “You’re just a kid but you’ve got what it takes. If there’s anything I can do for you I’ll be glad to. Sit down, both of you, and tell me about it.”
Maeve drew a deep breath. She looked at Jackson and nodded. Somehow they both found chairs, and when the big woman had majestically reoccupied her seat by the window Jackson told her why he had come.
“Hmmm,” said Edna reflectively. “I thought it might be something like that. You know I’m not a stoolie, Jack. I wouldn’t turn up a guy for the cops if he was the worst killer that ever breathed. But if you say it’s for you that’s different. To tell you the truth, I don’t know that Burke was here last night but I think he was. I didn’t see him, mind you, and I don’t know where he is now.”
“Was he looking for a ship?” asked Jackson.
Big Edna wagged her head. “Not that I know of. And,” she added, “I’d probably hear if he was.” She smiled at Maeve. “There’s not much goes on on this water front I don’t hear sooner or later,” she explained.
“How long was he here?” asked Jackson. “Was anyone with him?”
“I don’t know but maybe I can find out.” The big woman reached out for a phone on the table by her chair.
“Has Adelaide come in?” she asked. “Yes, put her on.” She waited a minute, her eyes on Maeve’s face. “Adelaide?” she said then. “Was Tommy Burke here last night? Don’t give me an argument; answer my question. Yes, yes. How long did he stay? All right, that’s close enough. Was there anyone with him? Oh yeah? I thought I told you—all right, all right, we’ll go into that later. What else do you know? Ummm, like that, eh?”
She hung up without saying good-by and looked at Jackson.
“A little punk by the name of Augustino——”
“Hell’s bells,” said Jackson, “I should have known.”
Big Edna continued: “He’s a penny-ante yegg, and I gave orders to keep him out of here. They’re more trouble than they’re worth, his kind. But all they did last night was rent a room. Looks like they rented it to sleep in too. Burke was tight when he came in, but they were quiet and peaceful. They left sometime early this morning.”
Jackson stood up. “Thanks,” he said. “I think I know where to go from here. We’re going to have to do the hot spots.”
Big Edna smiled. “Nice work if you can get it,” she said. “Sorry I couldn’t be more help. Good luck and take care of yourself and this young lady, you big dope.”
She turned to Maeve. “I’m glad you came,” she said, “but I won’t ask you to call again. Next time this lummox dares you to go to a whore house with him don’t be a fool. Tell him you’re a decent girl and hit him a sock in the eye.”
Maeve laughed a little nervously and said good-by. Big Edna did not offer to shake hands with either of them but sat in her chair watching them out the door, a peculiar twisted smile on her wide mouth.
5. Alibis
They found stern slumped down on the back seat of the car, his hat low over his eyes and his fingers linked across his stomach. It was impossible to say whether he had been asleep or merely thinking, but he roused himself as Maeve slid under the wheel and Jackson took the seat beside her.
“I hope you got something,” he said querulously. “You were in there long enough.”
“What time is it?” asked Jackson.
Both Maeve and Stern looked at their wrists. “Eight o’clock,” they chorused.
Maeve switched on the ignition and put her foot on the starter. “Where do we go from here, bloodhounds?”
“Easy does it,” said Jackson. “We’ve got plenty of time, and besides there are complications.” He touched his bandaged head gingerly. “How about removing some of this headdress? I feel like a cross between a wild Indian and the Spirit of ‘76.”
Maeve turned and examined him critically. “You look like the ‘morning after,”‘ she decided. “You’d better leave that bandage alone and keep your dirty fingers off it. Nunky’s proud of his handiwork.”
Stern tapped Jackson’s shoulder. “What’s all this about plenty of time and complications? Have you or haven’t you got any idea where Burke is?”
“I’ve covered all the logical places,” explained Jackson. “I’ve found out where he was up to early this morning, but from then on no one has seen hide nor hair of him. Either he’s making a beeline for the sticks or he’s hiding out some place where he isn’t known.” He gave Stern a resume of the informati
on gleaned at Big Edna’s and continued:
“I don’t know where Bennie Augustino fits, but if Burke’s in this thing at all then it’s a safe bet that Bennie is too. So my plan is to stop looking for Burke and find Bennie. That means making the rounds, and it’s too early for that.”
“Looks like a big night,” remarked Stern cheerfully.
“Oh sure, sure.” Jackson gave him a pitying look. “Only there’s the one or two complications I mentioned—minor details like expenses and newspaper reporters. ASSISTANT D. A. AND NIECE OF PROMINENT SURGEON CELEBRATE WITH RADICAL LABOR LEADER SUSPECTED OF MURDER! How’d that look in the headlines? I don’t know about you two but I’ve got a reputation to protect. Why don’t you go home and let me play this solo from here on?”
“Hooey,” said Maeve expressively. “We started this together and we’re going to finish it. I’ll finance the expedition, and Nunky can write it off as this year’s contribution to the Civil Liberties Union. How’s that? And Joey can tell the scandal mongers this is official business. That’ll keep them quiet.”
Stern nodded, and Jackson said, “Okay. It sounds dumb to me, but if that’s the way you want it I won’t kick—I’m enjoying myself. Only I got to change clothes, and we have two or three hours to kill. How about splitting up now and meeting somewhere about eleven o’clock?”
“Put the cuffs on him,” said Maeve. “He’s trying to run out on us.”
“You know you’ve got me hog-tied,” Jackson told her. “If I don’t show up all you have to do is telephone your pal Nicholson and have him call out the riot squad. The point is we can’t start doing the hot spots for another two, three hours. What are you two going to do in the meantime?”
Maeve said icily, “Your concern is very flattering, Mr. Jackson. Don’t worry about us. We’ll just find one of these modernistic bars they have down here for slummers and sit patiently and wait for you. But if you’re gone more than an hour”—she shook a black-gloved finger at him—“I’ll consider your suggestion re Captain Nicholson.”
Death on the Waterfront Page 16