Watch Your Back

by Sherilyn Decter

  “This is a unique situation, Elliott. Would it be at the going rate?”

  “Ha, Max. What a kidder. You’re always looking for a deal. There’s lots of attention on this. And the prosecutor is a real hard-ass. We’re going to need to expand the consideration if you want to walk. I’m thinking he might be persuaded if he thought that you had something even more valuable than testimony.”

  “Darn. And here I was thinking I could get away with a contribution to the Policeman’s Benevolent Fund.”

  “You’ll still have to do that. And we always appreciate your generosity, Max, but these are special circumstances. Why don’t I take off and give you some time to think about what else you can bring to the table. To see what you can do.”

  After seeing the police chief to the door, Max returns to his glass of whiskey. He tops it up and leans back, eyes closed, contemplating his options.

  Chapter 14

  T he progress of the Grand Jury is glacially slow. The lead prosecutor, DA Monaghan, dots every i and crosses every t, gradually building a case against Philadelphia’s underworld. And the underworld has more than just gangsters living in it. Crooked cops and corrupt politicians are also being relentlessly dragged into the quagmire. The consequences of Monaghan’s methodical approach are that hundreds of police are tied up testifying either as witnesses or defendants.

  Between the McCloon shooting and now the Grand Jury, it has taken a couple of weeks for Joe to finally get his paperwork together to see about bringing the newsies that attacked Tommy in for questioning. There’s always been another, more pressing, priority, either for Joe or for his captain. He knows that Maggie and the Phantom Informant have already started work on his case, and he feels a bit annoyed with himself that it’s taken this long to get the ball rolling on Maggie’s request. He had rung the house earlier to give her a progress report—or rather, lack-of-progress report, but Archie had said she was upstairs getting Tommy bathed and dressed. It was going to be a big night in the Barnes’ household, with Tommy coming downstairs for dinner. He asked Archie to mention that he’d called, but otherwise there was no message. He didn’t want to give poor Arch the task of bearing bad news.

  “Surely you don’t expect me to dedicate resources to a kids’ squabble? We’re short enough as it is. We have to prioritize everything.” Captain Beckman throws the requisition onto Joe’s desk at the precinct. The desks on either side of him are empty—ghost-desks. The former occupants and Joe’s colleagues arraigned, in jail and awaiting trial.

  “But Captain, it’s not just a boy’s squabble. These newsies are running a nice little racket.”

  “Who are they bothering, besides this Barnes kid?” Beckman snatches the paper up again and begins to read it. “I don’t see nobody else complaining.”

  “Captain. The boy is related to Maggie Barnes. Her son. She’s the one that works with the Phantom Informant. I think it might be a professional courtesy to at least haul the ringleader in for questioning. It’s been a few weeks since the attack, and the trail is growing cold.”

  “All right. But just the ringleader. Don’t take too much time on it. And don’t go further. If you find anything let me know, and we’ll decide at that time whether to pursue charges. I got everybody and their dog sitting in the hallway outside the Grand Jury courtroom. I don’t need this now, Kelly.”

  Joe nods. “Understood, Captain.” Joe sighs and returns to his paperwork. It’s sure not the old days. I miss Colonel Butler. We had a real mission back then. And a plan. Look what’s happened since he left. Everybody seems to be on the take. The gangsters are running the show. It’s not just the Grand Jury that has us tied up in knots. It’s this darn paperwork. Who even reads this stuff?

  * * * *

  While Joe suffers though the impact the Grand Jury has on his daily operations, others in Philadelphia enjoy it as a spectator sport.

  Dinner is on the table at Maggie’s, and Tommy is the guest of honor, making his first appearance downstairs since the attack. The adults in the household have missed his high spirits.

  “What’s new down at the courthouse, Dick? Who did the Grand Jury interview today?” Archie asks. He’s been following things closely, filling the scrapbook he keeps under his bed with clippings about gangster goings-on.

  “If I tell you, you gotta promise to buy a newspaper tomorrow. I’m cutting into sales, letting the cat out of the bag here all the time.”

  Maggie and the others laugh. “I’m sure sales are up, Dick. It seems people can’t get enough about the crime that’s been happening right under their noses.”

  “Max Hoff was back in today. They wanted to get more information about his legitimate activities. Fascinating stuff. I don’t think anybody knew how completely Boo-Boo Hoff controls everything. Probably one of the best businessmen in town,” Dick says.

  Archie nods enthusiastically. “Indeed. He’s got it covered. From the ingredients that go in the still to the moonshine that goes into the truck, and eventually into your glass at the speakeasy. Boo-Boo’s got it all sewed up.”

  “I bet you didn’t know that he owns a piece of the Reading Railroad,” Dick says.

  “No kidding.” Archie and Reg reply in unison.

  “Yup. That little gem came out today. He has a shipping agreement that gives him a taste of everything west to Minnesota and north to the Canadian border.”

  “No wonder he’s so rich,” Reg says.

  “And rich guys always need someplace to put their cash. I bet you can’t guess where Boo-Boo stores his.”

  “In a strongbox buried under a rock?” Tommy says.

  “Ha. You’ve been reading too many stories upstairs, kiddo. No, nothing so dramatic as that. Pirates today don’t bury their treasure. They put it in a bank.”

  “Aw, that’s boring.” Tommy takes another breath for his next sentence “What’s so special about putting money in a bank?”

  Maggie shoots her son a worried look. Tommy’s head is leaning on his hand.

  “It could be that Hoff owns the bank,” Dick says, with a satisfied grin on his face. Reporters always love a good scoop.

  Archie is fascinated, as is the rest of the table.

  “It came out in testimony today that he bought Union National Bank, and he’s been using that to launder his money,” Dick says.

  “What does laundering money mean?” Tommy asks, perking up a bit.

  Archie, impatient to be the center of attention, claims the audience. “He takes his dirty money from bootlegging and gambling and deposits it into the bank in a bunch of different accounts. Then the money in those accounts is transferred into other accounts and used to buy legitimate stuff or get loans. When it comes out of the bank, it’s all nice and clean.”

  Maggie is wide-eyed. I’ll need to add money laundering into my list of things to know more about.

  “Oh,” Tommy says, head back resting on his hand. “I thought that they were using a washing machine. That would be neat.”

  Dick smiles at Tommy and continues. “Union National’s bank manager was in court today with documents showing that Hoff had ten million dollars that he kept at the bank under a bunch of different names. And you’re right Archie, he was using it as collateral for loans. The guy owns lots of property, and a lot of legitimate businesses. He’s like a giant spider in the middle of a great web with eyes in front and behind,” Dick says, wiggling his fingers to make Tommy laugh.

  “Oohh,” says Tommy with a grin. “That sounds just like one of my books.” He mimics Dick, with the rest of the table laughing at the spider-leg fingers.

  “It looks like our Tommy’s back. We’ve missed having you at the table, kid-o,” says Reg.

  “I’ve missed you guys, too. It’s no fun up in my room by myself all the time,” says Tommy, his head drooping, tiring with each word.

  “Back to your point about gangsters and corruption, Dick. Make sure you stress the point in your article that Max Hoff’s a man who sees everything, knows everything, an
d controls everything in the underworld,” says Archie.

  Chapter 15

  T he frosted glass window in the door to Mike Malazdrewicz’s office reflects the light in the corridor. It’s Sunday night and the building is deserted. Mike’s been Mickey’s accountant for a couple of years; since the timely passing of the previous accountant who Mickey had suspected of ratting him out to the cops. Mike’s family are from the same village in Poland as Mickey’s family; strong ties in a world where you never know who’s going to be coming at ya to stab ya in the back.

  Out in the corridor, there’s a shadow. The handle on the door rattles, then just a slight sound of metal scraping metal. The door swings open. A silhouette slips in and closes the door. The figure crosses the floor and pulls the blinds on the window, shutting out the moonlight. The desk light is turned on and the top drawer of the wooden file cabinet opened. Gloved fingertips flick through file tabs. Sometimes a file is pulled open and papers examined. A small pile of desirable papers grows on the corner of Mike’s desk. The file drawer is shut and the next one pulled open. Full of ledgers, each marked with a date, spine up. Three are pulled out, marked ‘1925, 1926, 1928’. The gloved hand hovers over the ledger marked 1927, but passes over it. The file drawer is slid shut and the bottom drawer pulled open. Files are rifled. Deeds and other records join the stack of papers and ledgers.

  Shutting the bottom file drawer, the thief moves around to the desk. The intruder sits in the chair, pulling open each drawer in turn. The girly postcards in the middle desk drawer get stirred with a gloved finger. A bottle of whiskey is ignored. The bottom drawer is locked. A screwdriver forces it open. A few odds and ends, scraps of paper with nothing of interest. The figure pulls the drawer out of the desk and dumps the contents on the floor in order to examine the bottom and back. Taped to the bottom of the drawer is a scrap of paper with a series of numbers: the combination to a safe from the looks of it.

  The figure stands and looks around the room. A framed poster of the Statue of Liberty hangs on the wall across from the desk. Lifting the frame off the wall, the intruder finds the safe. Inside are more ledgers. Three years are pulled out: ‘1925, 1926, 1928’. The figure swings the safe door shut and conceals it once again with the poster.

  The six ledgers and stacks of loose papers are stuffed into a cloth sack. The desk light is turned off and the office is plunged into darkness. The figure slips quietly out into the corridor and is gone.

  * * * *

  Maggie is enjoying a ‘before-dinner’ cocktail in the living room of her friend, Edith Duffy. She can see why Edith is so eager to get into a new house. No one can deny that the house and its furnishings, purchased to showcase the owner’s wealth, are the best that money can buy. Unfortunately, they’re absolutely wrong for Edith. The room is dark and heavy—the opposite of her sparkling, effervescent personality.

  Lying on Edith’s coffee table is today’s edition of the Inquirer, with an arresting headline.

  Two Gunmen Face Hoff at Probe by Grand Jury

  The two gunmen in question, Frankie Bailey and Petey Ford, are currently serving time in the Rockview Prison, but will be in court tomorrow to testify against Hoff for the shooting at the Cadix a year and a half ago. The more evidence the Grand Jury hears, the more questions are asked; the process resembles an unraveling sweater. The mandate has now expanded to include gangster violence beyond just the McCloon murder.

  Maggie and Edith had both come through the attack at the Cadix unhurt, but others were not so fortunate. One of Mickey’s men had died—his loyal driver and bodyguard. Mickey and the Cadix doorman were both seriously injured. In a surprising show of competence, the infamous brothers responsible had been picked up almost immediately, tried, sentenced, and sent to prison. If only justice would move as swiftly in other matters. Maggie sips at her cocktail.

  Edith has noticed Maggie looking at the newspaper. “Are you going to go to court and watch?” she asks.

  “No, I don’t think so. I don’t want to see them again, even in their striped pajamas.”

  “I’m going to go. Come with me? Please?”

  “Let me think about it during dinner. It is still too real for me,” says Maggie.

  “Ah, come on, Maggie. You’re made of sterner stuff than that,” Mickey says, walking into the room wearing his dinner jacket. Edith hands him a cocktail.

  “If I have to be, I can be. I’m just not sure that sitting in the courtroom, staring at the back of Frankie’s and Petey’s heads is necessary,” Maggie says, her eyes drawn back to the headline.

  “Suit yourself. I would think that it would be satisfying to see them and have them see you. A couple of losers. I think I might wander down and have a listen,” Mickey says. “How’s Tommy doing, Maggie? Edith mentioned that he’d been roughed up by some kids.”

  “Much better, thanks. We got him up for dinner for the first time yesterday. He’s been going stir crazy sitting in his room these past weeks.”

  “I’ll have Hilda bake him a cake. That will help him feel better,” Edith says.

  They hear the phone ring, and Hilda, the Duffy’s housekeeper, comes into the room. “Mr. Duffy? Mr. Malazdrewicz is on the telephone for you.”

  Mickey sets his drink on the table and goes into the hall to pick up the phone. The gals continue to debate the merits of attending the Grand Jury questioning. Mickey starts cursing in Polish. The phone is slammed down, picked up, and slammed down again. Mickey storms back into the room.

  Edith, alarmed, goes over to him. “Bunny, what’s wrong?”

  “There’s been a break-in. At my accountant’s office. He happened to go over there to pick up some papers he needed and found that thieves had broken in. I gotta get down there to see what’s missing.”

  “Lucky you, Bunny. And good thinking, too,” Edith says with an exaggerated wink.

  “What the heck are you talking about, Edith?” Mickey asks, pulling on his coat.

  “Having papers go missing during a Grand Jury investigation is smart thinking. They can’t find what’s not there. Next to innocence, a lack of proof is the best thing.”

  Mickey pauses, hand on the knob of the front door. “I’m not that smart, doll. I think it’s more likely that Hoff has my papers. A bit of leverage to get out of the mess he’s in with the Grand Jury.”

  “An alibi. That’s clever. They won’t suspect you if the blame is somewhere else.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Edith, but I gotta go. Gus is waiting to drive me to the accountant’s office. I gotta check this out,” he says.

  “I’ll have Hilda keep some dinner warm for you.”

  Maggie looks at her friend speculatively. Mickey may think it’s Hoff, but maybe there’s a suspect closer to home. How determined are you to have your new house, Edith?

  The Inspector has taught her well—to look for motive and then opportunity. Edith has it in spades. Maggie, having followed the back and forth, admires the acting skills of her friend. What a convincing performance. Money is the only thing standing between Edith and this house of hers, and the break-in would be a great way to discover where the money is.

  Chapter 16

  “W hat are we doing here, Edith? I thought you wanted to go listen to the Bailey testimony today?” Maggie has met her friend at the bank the afternoon following dinner at the Duffy’s.

  “I changed my mind. Mickey’s all in a stew about the break-in, so I thought I’d take advantage of it. I’m about to make a large withdrawal that I don’t want him to know about, and I needed a bit of moral support.”

  “I’m confused. You can make a withdrawal. It’s your money, right?”

  “All our accounts are joint accounts, and I don’t need Mickey’s signature. But sometimes the nosy bankers call him. Like it’s not my money. I mean really, Maggie. Women just have no rights.”

  “I agree totally. You have no idea the hoops I had to jump through to get a loan from the bank to fix the roof.” A loan that’s going to
come due next year. Yikes. I’m not ready.

  Worrying about her own financial problems, Maggie’s missed the beginning of Edith’s sentence.

  “… I’m also going to take out my jewellery from the safety deposit box. And the deeds for a few small properties that are in my name.”

  “I have no idea what’s going on but, whatever you need, Edith, I’m here for you.”

  Afterwards, sitting across the street at a coffee shop, Maggie holds Edith’s trembling hands. They’re blocks of ice. She only lets go when the waitress puts down two cups of coffee.

  “Coffee, Edith? That’s not like you.”