Watch Your Back

by Sherilyn Decter

  “I’m fine, Mother. Leave off, will you? The fellas are watching.”

  Maggie turns to see that a group of curious boys have gathered at the bottom of the school steps. “Where’s Jimmy? I thought I’d see him here this morning. Your first day back and all.”

  Tommy nods at the group at the stairs. “I dunno. He might be inside already.” He gathers his school bag from his mother and starts walking toward the other boys.

  “Tommy, do you need me to pick you up after school?” Maggie calls after him. It wrenches at her to see the small hitch in his step.

  He half turns. “No, I’ll be fine. See you at dinner.” He continues walking.

  Maggie and Reg stand by the car and watch Tommy go into the school.

  “No boy likes his pals to see him mothered, Maggie. I’ll swing by the school at four and give him a ride home for the next few days. It’ll be easier if it’s just me.”

  Maggie sighs. “Where did my little boy go?”

  “The lament of mothers everywhere. Let me go inside and tell him I’ll pick him up, and then we’ll go. Do you want me to drop you at home or somewhere else?”

  “Can you drop me at Millie’s hat shop? It’s just over on Marshall Street. I have some papers for her to sign.” And I’ll have to tell her that I’m not making much progress on her Parisian hat problem.

  * * * *

  The newsboys are sprawled on the back loading ramp at the Inquirer, waiting for issues of the next edition. The Grand Jury has been a goldmine for the newsboys. Everyone wants to stay on top of the latest news.

  They look up as a policeman walks over. A few stand, ready to scatter.

  “Hold up lads, it’s just that copper from the other day that hauled me in to ask about that kid that got beat up.” The tallest boy stops speaking, stands, and lights a cigarette. Then he asks: “You have any luck with that, copper? Any suspects, yet?” Dutch smirks.

  A few more of the boys stand, flanking Dutch.

  “I’ve just stopped by to let you know that I’m still keeping a close eye on you lot.”

  “Oh, we’re scared now. Right, boys?” Dutch looks around at the other newsies, who are now all standing beside him. “Why don’t you just buzz off, cop? Don’t you have bigger things to worry about? Like going to jail? Seems like most of you coppers will be locked up by the time the Grand Jury is finished with ya.”

  There’s a belligerent thrust to Dutch’s jaw as he glares at Joe. He flicks the rest of his smoke away and takes a couple of steps toward him.

  “There’s still enough of us on the job to look after the likes of you. I don’t want to hear about any more young lads getting beat up in back alleys, okay?” Joe says.

  “You mean like this back alley? This empty back alley except for youse and us?” Dutch looks around and a few of the lads take a step forward.

  Joe takes a step back. “Just make sure you listen, Dutch.”

  “Oh, we’ll be good boys, won’t we fellas?” The large loading doors of the building behind Dutch and the other newsies swing up, and bundles of papers are dropped on the ground near the boys. Dutch picks up a bundle in each hand and walks toward Joe. He shoulders him as he passes. “Now get lost, copper. You’re in my way. We got work to do.”

  Standing at the end of the alley, Frank watches Joe’s retreat. He shakes his head sadly. What has happened to Joe?

  Chapter 20

  E ddie Regan is back in town. Chicago was interesting. Lots of useful lessons there, watching Capone. He stands in front of the open window of the small bedroom, looking down at the garbage in the alley behind Betty’s rooming house. “Hotter than Hades in here, Betty. You got any ice, doll?” The sweat from his back has left a stain on his undershirt.

  Betty Bacon, with her frizzy, bleached hair, wears a damp slip. She is fully reclined on the unmade bed. She files her nails and snaps chewing gum. “Aw, Eddie. I asked you not to call me that. It’s not nice. Call me by my real name.” Betty, also known as Marion Boyle to her family, pouts.

  Eddie turns and walks over to the dresser, its top buried under dirty glasses, make-up, a fuzzy hairbrush, and other debris. He grabs a bottle of whiskey from the bedside table and finds two of the cleaner glasses, then pours each of them a glass.

  “Betty, wanna drink?” He waves the glass just out of her reach. “Come on, doll. Pudgy Betty Bacon wanna drink?”

  Betty screeches, kicking him in the leg. “I told you I don’t like that.” The whiskey slops over the side as Eddie throws back his head and laughs. “Okay, Marion. Play nice.” He hands her the emptier of the two glasses.

  He sits on the edge of the bed. The only other furniture in the room is a hard-backed wooden chair piled with clothes.

  “So, how was Mickey today?” she asks, scooting closer to the wall to give him room.

  “Completely bat-shit. After he accused one of the guys at cheating at cards, he flipped over the whole table.”

  “Sounds crazy.”

  “Yeah. It was a pretty big table. He’s as strong as an ox. Here, slide over and give me some room to lie down.”

  Eddie swings his feet off the floor and rests against the headboard.

  “Sos how come ya stay with him, Eddie? Don’t it freak you out that he’s so bonkers?”

  “Nah, he’s more like an opportunity. Mickey’s got a nice little operation going. It’s worth the risk. A guy standing second in line could do all right under the right circumstances.”

  “I thought you said that there was another fella that was his right-hand man.”

  “Mercer. Henry Mercer. Turning into quite the little babysitter. Drives Mickey round the bend to hear him nagging at him all the time.” Eddie turns his head away from Betty and stares out the window. “I’ll make sure I don’t act that way. Boss doesn’t like it and, heck, maybe I can lock this up sooner than later,” Eddie mutters to himself.

  “What’s that, babe?”

  “I said Mercer’s next in line, but I don’t think he’s long for this crew. Either the cops or Mickey will make short work of him soon.”

  “Don’t do it, Eddie. I’m so sick of always moving. Why can’t you just be happy as a part of the crew? How come you are always trying to be the boss?”

  “Close yer yap, Betty. You don’t know nuthin. Why should dummies like this Mercer guy be the one next to the top? I’m smarter and tougher. The guy’s a panty-waist. He don’t even drink. I could take ‘im easy. Nope, this is the spot for me. It’s the perfect set-up. Mickey’s going coo-coo. Mercer’s an easy target. I play my cards right and it all falls in my lap.”

  Eddie rolls over so that he’s facing Betty and pulls her against him roughly. “And speaking of laps, doll…”

  Chapter 21

  I t’s after school and, forgetting that Reg was supposed to be picking him up, Tommy’s caught a trolley to downtown Philadelphia, also known as Center City by the locals, to meet up with Jimmy. He hadn’t the nerve, earlier, to tell his mother that Jimmy had quit. And really, who could blame him for dropping out? The money he is making as a runner is motive enough. And no math homework is a bonus.

  Wincing because of his still-tender leg as he gets off the Number Sixty-Five trolley, Tommy shifts the schoolbag on his shoulder and walks toward Chalkie’s barbershop. He and Jimmy are going to grab a couple of malted milkshakes over at Walgreen’s, and Tommy can fill him in on all the buzz from his first couple of days back at school.

  He glances anxiously down the alley as he crosses along the sidewalk. His heart leaps as he spies Dutch and a group of boys playing craps. Having run out of papers, they’ve found an alley not too far from the Inquirer, with more privacy, to kill time until the next run. Dutch, crouched, rolls the dice and hollers when he gets snake eyes. He looks up and spies Tommy.

  “Hey, it’s Baby Barnes-ey. Get him, boys.” Dutch vaults over the game and takes off after Tommy. Tommy drops his schoolbag, and starts hobbling toward Chalkie’s and safety. He’s almost at the front door when his shirt is grabbed
from behind and he’s yanked backward. “Gottcha.”

  Tommy swings round, fists up and flailing. He can hear the other boys laugh.

  “Hey. What’s this?” A deep voice rumbles from behind him.

  Tommy swings back as Dutch drops his hold on his shirt. “Nothing, Mr. Duffy.”

  Mickey walks past Tommy and back hands Dutch into the side of the brick building. His pals scatter. Dutch, hand to a bleeding mouth, glares at Tommy. Then he, too, turns and runs.

  “Hey, kid. You okay?” Mickey looks Tommy over with concern. He walks back to the top of the alley and picks up Tommy’s schoolbag. “This yours?” he asks, handing it to Tommy.

  “Yes, sir. Thanks, Mr. Duffy.”

  “Sure kid. No problem. Ya still look a little shook, Tom. Hows about we get you settled down before I run you home to your ma.”

  “That’s okay, Mr. Duffy. I’m good.” Tommy shrugs his shoulder.

  “No. I insist.” Mickey looks around. “Bricker,” Mickey shouts.

  A man with a scar on his forehead steps forward. “It’s Henry, Mickey.”

  “Of course it is. I know you’re Henry. We’re going to run the kid home. But first, let’s stop along the way for a cold beer. It’s a hot one for September. I could use a drink.” Mickey slings his arm around Tommy. “Whaddaya say, Tom. Ya wanna join me for a cold one?”

  Eyes round, Tommy can only nod. The trio heads off toward the Duesenberg parked at the curb in front of Chalkie’s.

  * * * *

  “I waited, and even went into the school, Maggie, but Tommy wasn’t there. He must have found his own way home.”

  “Well, he’s not here. And he should have been home two hours ago. Dinner’s ready. What if something’s happened to him again? What if he’s been hurt?”

  The front door opens and slams. “Mother, I’m home”

  Maggie rushes from the kitchen into the front hall. “Tommy, where have you been? What happened? Mr. Littleton went to pick you up from school and you weren’t there.”

  Tommy looks over his mother’s shoulder to where Reg is standing in the doorway to the kitchen. He giggles and then coughs to cover it. “I’m sorry Mr. Littleton. I forgot that you were coming to get me. I, um, left early.”

  A small burp escapes a giggling Tommy. Reg raises an eyebrow.

  “But where have you been? School got out hours ago,” Maggie asks.

  “Nowhere. Jimmy and I were going to get a malted milkshake at Walgreen’s after school is all. What’s for supper? I’m starved.” Tommy tries to sneak past his mother into the kitchen, but Maggie grabs hold of both his shoulders and sniffs.

  “Tommy, have you been smoking?”

  “No way.” He wiggles out of her grasp and heads down the hall, brushing past Reg. “Sorry I’m late. I need to wash my hands, and then can we have supper?”

  Behind Maggie, the front door opens. “Hello, everyone. I haven’t missed dinner have I?” Dick Beamish swings his camera case down beside Tommy’s schoolbag and hangs up his hat. “Wait ‘till I tell you what happened in court today.”

  Flustered, Maggie shakes her head. “No, Tommy just got home. Everyone’s here now, so wash up and I’ll bring dinner through.”

  Tommy starts off strong, but it’s not too long into dinner that Maggie, ever watchful, notices that her son is flagging. The chewing slows, the yawning starts, the eyelids droop. The boy is just done in. “Sweetheart, why don’t you head upstairs? I’ll clear these from the table and then I’ll bring you a piece of pie for dessert.”

  Dick and Reg share a glance and a wink across the table. “Yeah, Tommy. You probably should lie down for a bit. Maybe grab a glass of water before you head upstairs?” Reg says. Dick stifles a snort. Maggie looks at the men, confused.

  “Thanks, Mother.” Tommy mumbles as he stumbles into the kitchen to get some water before heading upstairs to his bedroom. He’s almost asleep on his feet.

  With her kitchen duties done, she plates a piece of pie and swings through to the living room.

  “That looks delicious, my dear.” The Inspector is in his usual spot next to the fireplace.

  “It’s for Tommy. He must have had a busy day at school. He’s just worn out.”

  “A good night’s sleep is probably the best medicine at this point. I don’t have anything too ground breaking to report tonight. Why don’t you take the pie up and we’ll catch up tomorrow night?”

  “I think I might, Inspector. He was late getting home, leaving Reg to wait and me to worry. I’d like to talk to him about where he was and what he was doing.”

  “You might want to give him some space, Maggie. A growing boy Tommy’s age doesn’t want to tell his mother everything.”

  “Inspector, you’re the second person to tell me that I’m holding him too close. But when I look at him, I just remember the night that man brought him home.”

  “Understandable. These next few days with Tommy away at school will be draining for you both: Tommy, physically and you, emotionally. Now, you’d better get that pie up to him or he’ll be asleep before he can eat it.”

  Thank you, Inspector, and good night. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Maggie climbs the stairs and taps on Tommy’s door. She finds him across his bed, fully clothed, asleep. His arm is still in its sling, but flung off to one side. He’s tossing and murmuring, caught in a bad dream.

  “No. Stay away.”

  She leans down to shake him, and he startles, crying out and pushing her away.

  “Shhh, love. It’s just me. Mother. You’re dreaming.”

  He lies there, blinking up at her, and the dream slowly dims. “Mother?” Gone is the brash boy from before dinner. It’s her own sweet boy looking up at her. Gradually, the fear fades from his eyes.

  She brushes a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “One and the same. You were having a bad dream. Was it about those boys?”

  “Yes. I met them again this afternoon. I was downtown in Center City looking for Jimmy and they grabbed me.”

  “Oh no, Tommy. Did they hurt you again?” She’s looking him over in alarm.

  “No. Mr. Duffy stopped them.”

  “Mr. Duffy? Mickey? What was he doing there?”

  “I dunno. But lucky for me he was. They took off as soon as they saw him. But not before he socked that Dutch in the mouth. It was great, I tell you.” Tommy’s eyes are shining at the retelling.

  “I’m glad he was there to stop them. I’m going to talk to Detective Kelly and make sure that it doesn’t happen again. Now, young man, I brought up a piece of pie for you. Why don’t I slip downstairs and grab you a glass of milk to go with it, and you get your pajamas on? Then you can sit and eat it. It will clear your head, and then you can go to sleep again and dream about peaches and other sweet things.”

  Chapter 22

  M aggie grips her hands together under the table in the café at the Ritz. She’d decided last night that she would have it out with Mickey this morning. Tommy brushing up against the rough world of gangsters and racketeers is too much. I’ve got to keep him away from Mickey. He’s dangerous. Anyone would feel that way. It’s not because I’m his mother. Anyway, is there anything wrong with a mother protecting her son? Everybody’s overreacting to Tommy getting older.

  In her pocket, she clutches the silver police shield; it had once belonged to the Inspector, but is now her talisman. That Mickey is the one that had helped her steal it from the museum is ironic, since it is giving her courage to deal with him—that, and restraint; she’d like to plow him in the face. A bit of thump-therapy as the Inspector would say. It would be unprofessional, but deeply satisfying.

  Mickey strolls into the café looking like he owns the place, catches sight of her, then slides into the chair across from her. “You can sit over there, Regan.” His bodyguard, Eddie Regan, takes a chair at a nearby table, reaches for the menu, and starts studying it.

  Mickey leans back in his chair, relaxed. “Maggie, how nice to see you. Can I help you wit
h something?”

  “Good morning, Mickey. I wanted to stop by and thank you for helping Tommy out yesterday. It sounds like you arrived just in the nick of time to prevent another incident.”