The Halfway to Hell Club

by MARK J. McCRACKEN

  As I backed out of the office. I threw two books of matches to Mutt and Jeff. “I forgot to give you two these last night, boys.”

  That brought a hearty “Screw you, O’Farrell.”

  I kicked the door open and the third guy, Bobby, was leaning against the bar, both hands on the morning paper. He was smoking and his gun was lying on the bar. I put the .45 on the top of the paper and pushed it down. The gunny was surprised.

  “Nice cover work on the door, junior,” I said.

  With my left hand, I grabbed his revolver and slid it into my coat pocket. I nodded to the bartender and left a five on the bar. He returned the nod. It was the best money I spent on this trip.

  I slowly walked across the street to the Delta Queen, and made it just before the whistle blew. I was at Little Joey’s just less than fifteen minutes, but I had lost complete track of time. I was lucky to make the boat. I checked in with the purser, got my room key, and learned that Charlie was off this run. That was okay with me, I wasn’t in the mood for talk. I had a quick dinner and went back to my room to read and get a good night’s sleep. But first I had a smoke at the rail and tossed the gunny’s rod in the river. I was beginning to fill the Sacramento River with armament.

  The next morning, I was waiting in the front lounge when Morehouse came in and sat two chairs over from me. He was crying and couldn’t control himself. He looked the worst I had ever seen him. Some guy walked by and laughed at Morehouse, and that made me sick to my stomach. To see any man suffer like this was more than I could take. The thought that his wife was giving up on him was unforgivable. The fact was that Randall Morehouse had given up on himself too.

  We docked at the Embarcadero and Morehouse pulled himself together and staggered off the boat. Two gees from his office were there. The two suits each grabbed an arm and helped him walk along. It was pathetic to watch. I hung back for a couple of minutes, then I walked over to the Ford and drove to the office.

  I called Connie Morehouse’s home. It was Wednesday and she was scheduled to be off. The maid answered the phone and she told me Connie was out, and didn’t know when she would return.

  I had a hunch, I called Morehouse and Wheeler, and asked for Wheeler. Surprise, surprise, Wheeler was out for the day and they didn’t know when he would return. I played another hunch, and played the secretary.

  “Hey, this is Bennie from Thompson Motors. We were expecting Mr. Wheeler to pick up his Chevy convertible, and it’s been ready for a few hours.”

  “Well, I’m sorry,” she stammered. “Hold on one minute.” She came back a few seconds later. “Mr. Wheeler drives a red Ford convertible. Do you have the right Mr. Wheeler?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I pulled the wrong index card and the wrong Mr. Wheeler. Sorry for the trouble.”

  I drove over to Connie Morehouse’s. Sure enough, there was Wheeler’s red Ford Deluxe convertible parked right behind her yellow Cadillac LaSalle. I parked right in behind them, I didn’t bother to knock on the front door. It was three in the afternoon and the last time I was here the staff left at noon on Wednesday.

  I walked around and looked over the fence into the back yard. It was just as Little Joey described it. They were on a chaise lounge. He was letting her have it, and they were definitely enjoying themselves. The all-white outfit that she wore to seduce me was on the deck. There was nothing seductive or sexy about it; she was working the guy like a pro skirt. It was almost violent; he was behind her, pulling her hair like it was a horse’s mane. He finished, got off her, and they jumped into the pool, where they started up again. How romantic. I breezed before I puked.

  I got back in my car and drove off. It was at moments like that, that I hated being a private detective. I drove back to the office, head spinning the whole way. Was Wheeler using Connie the same way he was using her husband? Was she in on it, or was she just another stupid twist?

  I parked in front of the office. Morehouse, looking all cleaned up, was coming out with the two assistants that had gotten him at the boat. They got in a car and drove off. I passed a brunette in a blue dress on her way out and asked Marty if Morehouse had a secretary. He said, “Yes, that was her you just passed.”

  I took the stairs up to Morehouse and Wheeler. The lights were out; everyone had bugged out early. It took ten seconds to pick the lock and gain entrance.

  I flipped the lights on, so if someone saw me they wouldn’t be suspicious of a guy in a dark office. I went through Wheeler’s office first. There was not much there, but I found a personal letter addressed to Tony Giovanni. It was from his mother. I made note of the name. There were some files without labels or headings. Definitely balance sheets. On one it was marked in pencil on the upper right hand corner as DQ. It had a long list of dates with amounts lost. Another was HOTEL, STF, and another BAR. All had dates and amounts. I ran a quick total; it was over one hundred grand. Morehouse was up to his neck in debt to these guys. As I was rifling the top desk drawer I found a bunch of matches, which is not uncommon. But there was a box of matches from the Chinese Social Club of San Francisco. It’s not the kind of night spot a white guy drops into. There is gambling going on there, though, and maybe it was Giovanni’s kind of place.

  I moved to the next office, that of the little guy, Brian Child. There was nothing there as well. It didn’t even look like these guys did anything at all. He had an engineering certificate on the wall from Stanford University that looked phony to me. The left-side middle drawer had a .38, with a filed-off serial number. In his credenza, I found an Illinois driver’s license for Paul Petri. Again, I made note of the name.

  In the next office, Michaels and Linderman shared the space. They also had phony-looking degrees. But they were pretty good fakes. Someone spent some big bucks. Michael’s desk had .38 ammo and Linderman had a blackjack. Not the usual tools for young architects. They too had Illinois drivers’ licenses. Linderman’s real name was Walter Rossi and Michael’s was James Rizzo. Both were from the near west side of Chicago.

  I made a couple of notes and faded. As I closed the door, I heard the elevator ding. I slipped into the head and waited. It was Wheeler, who went into his office and closed the door. I quietly slipped up the stairs to my office.

  I called Vinnie Castellano and asked him to contact Chicago and run the names Tony Giovanni, Paul Petri, Walter Rossi, and James Rizzo. I told Vinnie it was important. He said he would call as soon as possible.

  I called Righty and Lefty at the club. I made a request and they agreed. A little slow to say yes, but they knew the score.

  I then called Ashwythe and Dunderbeck and made the same request. Dunderbeck whistled. “Are you off your nut, O’Farrell?” I didn’t answer. He agreed and I hung up.

  I called Kaitlin at the library. Just my luck, Mabel answered.

  “Oh, it’s you, handsome. You calling for Katie? Hold the line while I look for her.” She slammed the phone hard in my ear. I was out of gas and didn’t have time to play with Mabel. I put on my hat and coat and turned off the light.

  As I was closing the door, the phone rang.

  “Hi, Sean, it’s Kaitlin. Sorry about the phone. Mabel slammed the phone down on you, but at least this time she told me you called. I think she is warming up to you, big guy. What’s up?”

  “I’ve had a bad day, Kaitlin, and it’s not over. I just wanted to hear your voice, okay?”

  “That’s really nice to hear Sean, really nice.”

  “I have to run but I’ll call you for a date, if you are available?”

  “For you, anytime.” My heart skipped a beat. I hung up the phone and checked my watch: 6:30 p.m. I grabbed Marty from the newsstand and we walked across Union Square and checked in at the front desk of the St. Francis, where I asked for Jerry Ronkowski. He took us up to the Borgia Room.

  All I had to do was wait. The fireworks were about to begin and there was no way to stop it.

 
; CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  The Borgia room at the St. Francis Hotel was very elegant. A little on the small size, but perfect for our purposes. It was generally used for weddings of one hundred or fewer. There was a divider in the middle of the room, and I decided to put one couple behind it.

  There was a small conference table set up with eight chairs and a tablecloth. There were pitchers of water and glasses.

  The Broadcreek’s were the first to arrive, at 6:55. Charlie was outside; I told him to keep everyone out except the principals. I shook hands with both of them and thanked them for coming. Broadcreek didn’t seem to be in a fighting mood. I shook hands with Ashwythe and thanked him too. I escorted them to some chairs behind the divider.

  The Wang’s arrived with Loc, or Lefty as I called him, and Jimmy Chin. Jimmy held a chair for Mrs. Wang and they sat at the conference table on one side. Lefty took up a spot behind them, and Jimmy found a quiet corner.

  Heart racing, I brought the Broadcreek’s to the table. Ashwythe got the chair for Mrs. Broadcreek. The two sides were staring hard at each other. No one knew what to make of this, or why they were here.

  I started the ball rolling.

  “Before I make introductions, I have to request one thing from all parties. When children’s welfare and best interests are in jeopardy, parents will do anything to protect them. I know that all the parents in this room have the best interests of their children in mind. I request that everyone remain seated and please be civil.”

  I took a drink of water. I pointed to the Broadcreek’s. “May I present Mr. and Mrs. William Broadcreek. Mr. Broadcreek is the Deputy Attorney General of the United States of America in charge of a special task force investigating crime and corruption in Chinatown here in San Francisco.”

  The Wang’s turned bright red, but did not move.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Broadcreek, may I present Mr. and Mrs. Chin Wang, owner of multiple business enterprises in Chinatown and the President of the Chinese American Benevolence Society.”

  It was the Broadcreek’s’ turn to go red. Broadcreek was the first to blow. “O’Farrell, what the hell kind of trick is this? Why the hell are we here?”

  He started to get up, but Mrs. Broadcreek and Ashwythe helped him back into his chair.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Wang have a son named Kuai. He is an engineering and architecture student at the University of San Francisco. His parents hired me to gather information about the young woman he is dating. They wanted to ensure that their son was safe.”

  I let the words hang there for a minute. “Mr. and Mrs. Broadcreek, your daughter Dorothy is that young lady.”

  All four parents went numb. They just sat there with blank looks. A couple of minutes passed before Mr. Wang removed his glasses and wiped them with a hanky. He was more shaken than his wife. But she was pretty shaken too.

  Mrs. Broadcreek was tearing up. But Mr. Broadcreek was getting angry.

  “My beautiful daughter is dating a murderer. How low can she possibly go? I never dreamed she would crawl in the gutter with a lowlife like you, Wang.”

  Wang was starting to get up, but Mrs. Wang and Lefty helped him back into the chair. He composed himself.

  “I know it is your duty to destroy my business interests and me personally, Mr. Broadcreek. This is entirely acceptable, for that is your duty and your job. When I arrived in San Francisco there were three to five murders a day in Chinatown, we were killing each other like dogs in the street. Children were sold like cattle and drugs were everywhere. I have fought off many enemies for many years and now I control Chinatown. There has not been a murder in three years, and before that it was seven years. I know that I am not a saint, that I am what I am. I have several children, but none of them are involved in my business.

  “The youngest is my son Kuai. He plans to do good works, build public housing and assist the poor. He is honest, hardworking, and he rejects my ways and we are at odds at most times. I am many bad things, but I am a good father, and my son’s greatest sin is that he has me for a father. He does not deserve to be called a murderer, by you or anyone for that matter.” Wang was shaking; his wife put her hand on his arm to calm him.

  The Broadcreek’s were taken aback. But Mrs. Broadcreek spoke. “Our daughter is the exact same way; she talks about public housing, designing city parks, beautifying the city. If I may ask a question, Mrs. Wang, please do not be offended? How do you feel about your Chinese son dating a Caucasian girl?”

  Mrs. Wang met her eyes. “There is much hate and distrust in the Chinese community towards whites. All I ever told my son was to marry someone who was true, honest and loyal to him. I never mentioned what her color should be.”

  Both mothers were in tears.

  I stuck my nose in. “Ladies and gentlemen, I started this assignment expecting one thing and I got another. Both of your families are in a very precarious situation. How you approach and handle this situation could greatly affect your future relationships with your children.”

  All the parents’ eyes were locked in on me.

  “I’m a Catholic. A high school buddy of mine went to UCLA and fell in love with a beautiful young girl. They got married; the problem was she was a Presbyterian. Both sets of parents boycotted the wedding and broke off all contact. My buddy and his wife had two of the cutest twin girls ever to step foot on the face of the earth, and the grandparents have no idea. I am a private detective, not a family counselor. I don’t know what your children’s intentions are. All I know is that both sets of parents here can do a great deal of damage.”

  As I was finishing this statement, Dunderbeck and Righty came in with the kids. The lovebirds were holding hands. Dunderbeck and Righty got them chairs at the head of the table. All was quiet.

  From out in the hall there was a scuffle. I checked and Marty had given a reporter a wooden shampoo with his old billy club. He and Jerry were dragging the reporter’s unconscious body to the elevator. Marty shrugged.

  “I told the newshawk the mayor wasn’t in here holding a secret meeting, and the dumb bunny wouldn’t listen.”

  I went back in. It was quiet for several minutes; I don’t know what I was expecting. I don’t think anyone else did either. Finally Dorothy Broadcreek broke the silence.

  “Mom, Daddy, I am engaged, and I have been engaged for almost a year. Kuai and I have been discussing the entire year how to tell you. I know what Mr. Wang does, and I know what you do. Kuai and I have never had an argument over anything at all, with one exception. When, and how we should tell our parents about our relationship. This thing is tearing both of us up. We just simply want to get married and be happy. We don’t know what to do.”

  Broadcreek was composed.

  “Dorothy, what would you expect me to do? Go to the wedding, sit at a table with the Wang’s, then go back to work and do my best to put him on Alcatraz for the rest of his life? Jesus Christ, Dorothy, he isn’t just an incorrigible street thug in Chinatown. He is the Lord of Chinatown. Do you have a plan for holidays, christenings? Do these savages believe in baptism?”

  Wang responded. “Mr. Broadcreek, does the name Chin Fong mean anything to you?”

  “No, why should it?”

  “Your special task force took Mr. Fong into custody for questioning. You believed him to be involved in a smuggling operation. He was not. He owns a grocery store. I control all the smuggling in this town, I would know. Your men broke every bone in his hands with a ball peen hammer, then you released him when you discovered he had no useful information. He was an innocent man. But then again, the ends always justifies the means with your FBI, and you dare to call me a savage.”

  Dunderbeck, Ashwythe and especially Broadcreek squirmed on that one. Mrs. Broadcreek was looking real hard at him. She now knew the score.

  Broadcreek got to his feet.

  “I’ve had enough of this. Dorothy, if you want to lie in the g
utter with this trash, you go ahead. But if you do marry this chink, you will be cut off. Home, school; your entire family will disown you.”

  Dorothy was crying, as was her mother and, believe it or not, Mrs. Wang. Mr. Broadcreek walked to the door, and without turning around, he called his wife. She didn’t move.

  “I said, we are leaving.” There was still no movement.

  The atmosphere was so thick you could cut it with a knife. The silence was deafening. Mr. Wang broke the silence.

  “Jimmy.”

  “Yes sir, Mr. Wang.”

  “Put on your list of things to do tomorrow to call the University of San Francisco and ensure the registrar receives sufficient funds for Miss Broadcreek’s tuition. I am sure the university will accept money from a murdering chink.”

  That got Broadcreek turned around, all right.

  “Mind your own business, Wang. You stay out of my family business.”

  “If I am not mistaken you have disowned your daughter, therefore you are no longer concerned.”

  Wang was sure smooth, all right. He was pressing the right buttons.

  Broadcreek started walking around the room, huffing, puffing, stomping his feet, mumbling, muttering, and throwing a good old-fashioned tantrum. Ashwythe and Dunderbeck had seen this act before, and were doing a good job of staying composed. But you could tell that they were starting to grin, that they were greatly amused. Finally Broadcreek composed himself.

  “Dorothy, I love you, and will always love you. You are my daughter and that will never change. I am sorry for the things that I said. Young Mr. Wang, I am sorry, I am not a prejudiced man, but my zeal in the performance of my duties has clouded my judgment. Mrs. Wang, I apologize if I have insulted you in any way. Dorothy, please forgive me, my temper has gotten the best of me again. I don’t know what to do, so I will sleep on it.