Joe takes a breath, trying not to panic, but his shoulders refuse to relax. All these troubles started with Prohibition. It’s enough to drive a man to drink with what I’m dealing with: being caught between the pressure of the Grand Jury and fear where they’ll strike next, watching the men I’ve served with carted off to the hoosegow. And now Maggie’s coming in to give me the update on the Remus case. She’s going to ask about Dutch, and she’ll lose it again when she hears there’s still been no action. Who can blame her? It’s going to be painful to see the disappointment in her face when I tell her that I’ve let her down. Joe takes the newspaper and flings it into the trash.
“Joe, we’ve put Mrs. Barnes in an interview room.”
“Thanks, Bill.” Joe rubs his neck. Might as well get this over with.
“Maggie. Wonderful to see you. You have news about Remus?”
Maggie doesn’t offer him her usual smile. In fact, the room is quite chilly. “Yes. You asked me to do a job and I’m here with results.”
There is an uncomfortable pause before she continues. “It’s quite a sophisticated operation. He calls it his ‘Circle’. He owns the plants that make the bonded-alcohol. Those plants are inspected regularly and have all the necessary permits and licences. As you know, the Kentucky Drug Company has just bought Quaker. My partner—”
“Yes, the Phantom Informant—”
“He’s been following George Remus, as well as surveilling the operations.
Maggie consults her notes and continues. “Mr. Remus became a certified pharmacist at nineteen, owning several drugstores by the time he was in his early twenties. Tiring of the pharmacy business, he became a lawyer in his mid-twenties. Specializing in criminal defense, Remus became well acquainted with the criminal underworld, became very wealthy, and quickly came to the realization that there was even more money to be made on the other side of the table. With his knowledge of the pharmaceutical world and the favorable legal aspects of bonded-alcohol, it was a natural avenue for him to launch his criminal empire.”
“That’s quite a report, Maggie. You’d make a fantastic addition to the rank and file here. You know, I knew Remus was involved somehow.”
“That’s kind of you, Joe. I think I prefer freelance, given the recent happenings in the department. There’s more, if I may: Remus uses his wealth to buy distilleries, with millions of gallons of prohibited whiskey sitting in inventory because of Prohibition. Because of his pharmaceutical enterprises, he is able to obtain withdrawal permits as long as the liquor is only sold to pharmacies for medicinal purposes. Alas, hijacking of his inventory during distribution has become a common occurrence, with the alcohol flowing into the usual criminal channels. Of course, the legitimate inventories, even hijacked, aren’t enough to supply demand which is why Remus is making moonshine. Best estimates are that he’s earning over ten-million dollars a year from these enterprises. It’s a very lucrative Circle.”
Joe whistles. “Whoa, I am in the wrong line of work.”
Maggie gives him a contemptuous look. “I think that’s the purpose of the Grand Jury.”
The scorn Joe hears causes him to blush. “Point taken. Please continue.”
“My partner witnessed a supposed hijacking in the freight yards as the goods were moved into a storage warehouse prior to shipment. The stolen liquor was then distributed to various bootlegging enterprises, including Mickey Duffy’s. From there it went to Mickey’s customers. I have the address for the warehouse by the train tracks, as well as the houses with attic stills. You’re going to want to look into the Kentucky Drug Company, as well as the American Transportation Company, another Remus business.”
Joe is scribbling notes furiously. “Excellent work, Maggie. Please pass along our gratitude to your partner.”
“I will. I know he’ll appreciate being recognized for his dependability.”
Maggie levels a look at Joe that forces him to look away. Maggie clears her throat. “In addition to the stock supplied by Quaker and the other manufacturing plants he’s bought, Remus is distilling more whiskey at these addresses.” Maggie passes the slip of paper to Joe. “If you get search warrants, you’ll find quite an elaborate operation in place. He uses the permits and licences for the moonshine as well as the legitimate distillery inventory.”
“Moonshine. That must be where the tunnel comes in.”
“It is indeed. The neighbors are none the wiser although, in these neighborhoods, I doubt they’d care.”
“This is even bigger than we thought. Although I’m not sure what’s going to happen with the information. You know my captain has been indicted as part of the Grand Jury investigation? And his replacement as well. We’re currently without any leadership because of Chief Elliott’s… let’s say incapacity. I’d have to take this to the Director, which, ahem, I am not anxious to do.”
Maggie nods. She’s well acquainted with the reputation of the police top brass. “Well, I’ll just leave it with you. If we learn anything further, I’ll let you know. Now Joe, to that other matter concerning Dutch. Were you aware that Tommy was almost attacked again?”
“No. That’s awful. Was he hurt?”
“No. He was rescued by a ‘passerby’. Fortunately. I must ask, Joe, are you going to be able to do anything about this? Anything at all?”
“I’m trying, Maggie. But my hands are tied right now. I want to help. I went and talked to Dutch a couple of times, but I don’t think I made an impact. The law doesn’t carry much weight these days. Maybe it’s best if Tommy just avoids going to Center City until everything blows over.”
Joe reads disappointment in Maggie’s eyes. Or maybe it’s a reflection of his own guilt that he’s seeing.
“Right. Good to know, given everything, that I have your strong support. Well, I’d better be going, Joe. I’ll be in touch if there is anything further to report on your case, which I understand is the department’s most pressing priority at the moment.” Maggie stands, and leaves without a backward glance.
Joe closes his eyes and rolls his head back. Yup, that went as well as I thought it would.
Chapter 26
M ickey, Eddie, and Henry have stopped by the warehouse to sample the latest shipment from their new business partner and supplier, George Remus.
“Not bad.” Eddie says, staring at the glass.
“A bit sharp on the end, don’t you think?” Henry is regarding his glass as well, twirling it to catch the light.
“What do you think of this batch? We cut it a bit. Should be okay for cocktails,” Gus pushes three freshly poured glasses.
The three men sip and swirl the whiskey. “Ouch. What did you cut it with? Turpentine?” Mickey flings his glass against the wall. The smash silences the room.
The whiskey runs down the wall, shattered glass on the floor beneath. The sound of the glass smashing sends Mickey into peals of laughter.
“Hey, Mickey,” Henry reaches out to put a hand on his friend’s arm. Mickey shakes off the hand.
“Shuddap. I’m doing the talking. I make the decisions around here and this stuff is swill.” Mickey says, snarling at Henry. Henry stands his ground, frowning.
Mickey grabs Henry’s untouched glass of whiskey and flings it toward the same spot, roaring with laughter. Eddie stands up and throws his glass at the same spot as Mickey’s. “We can call it Flying Rot Gut. Ha ha ha.”
“Somebody give me another glass,” Mickey roars to the room. Porter scrambles to pour him one and hands it to him, returning to the back row.
Mickey raises the glass high in a toast. “Here’s to FRG, our new house label.” Mickey flings it against the wall. Henry stands to the side, arms crossed, watching it all play out.
Eddie, doubled over with laughter, tugs Mickey’s sleeve. “No, no, not F-R-G. Let’s call it FROG.”
Mickey hoots and grabs Eddie, shouting into his face. “No, even better, TOAD Whiskey.” The two dance around in front of the stained wall, laughing hysterically. “Toad Whiskey.”
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“Mickey…”
“Ah shuddap, Henry. Yer not his mother. The guy’s gotta blow off a little steam now and then. Right, Mickey?” Eddie says, sneering at Henry.
“Yeah, right.” Mickey’s gaze sweeps around the room, taking in the stunned and silent men. “The bunch of ya strut around here with your dollar cigars. All ya do is yack. Come on, Eddie, let’s go blow off some of that steam. Henry can stay and clean up this mess.”
The two waltz out of the warehouse arm in arm, leaving the room behind them speechless.
Gus picks up a broom and dustpan and starts sweeping up the shattered glass. “I got this, Henry.”
“Thanks, Gus.”
No one knows where to look. Porter, who had been cutting the Remus whiskey, pipes up. “Should we keep going, Henry? Or leave it?”
“Do half that’s left and we’ll sell it to the speaks and clubs for cocktails. Leave the rest uncut. Bottle it under the Trader label. It will eat a bit into the profit, but it’s not half bad on its own.”
Everybody relaxes, glad to have Henry back in charge. Gus comes over, having stowed the broom. “So, you need a lift or anything, Henry? Can I run ya down to the Ritz?”
“You know, Gus, I think I may walk. It’s a gorgeous day and the exercise will do me good.”
Chapter 27
M aggie’s meeting Edith at Horn and Hardart, an automat on Chestnut. It’s just down the street from Club Cadix, but miles away from the club in terms of atmosphere and purpose. One is indulgent, and the other self-reliant; one focusing on decadence, the other on frugality. Sure, there are fancier restaurants where the gals could meet, but the efficiency of the automat, with a seemingly limitless variety behind the little glass windows, the self-sufficiency of dining without the intervention of waiters, and the thrift of the place, all appeal to Maggie. Anyway, Green’s will hold the shadow of her mother’s news about her father’s illness for quite some time.
“What a place,” Edith says, sliding onto a chair opposite Maggie, rubber-necking like the best tourist. The cavernous hall is full of shiny lacquered tables, people, and the buzz of conversation. A shelf runs along the wall with hundreds of tiny labeled glass windows above. Behind each window is food: pies, cakes, row upon row of sandwiches, salads, and cold plates. Along one wall, and in front of the windows, are stand up counters for those patrons in a real rush—like counters you might find at a bank for filling out deposit slips—perpendicular meals for those on the go.
“Don’t tell me you’ve never been here before. They have locations all over the city.”
“I’ve passed by, sure. I love the art deco facades. They’re really eye catching. But I’ve never been in a rush to need the speed of self-service and, frankly, I like being waited on.”
“Oh, Edith, really?”
“Really. At first it was a novelty. You know, we didn’t have much when I was growing up. And then it just felt right, that I’d earned it. And now it’s the only way to get exactly what I want. Something just for me.”
Maggie shakes her head. “You are a strange one, that’s for sure. I like the anonymity here. I can walk in, pick out what I want, eat it, and leave. No one judges me; I don’t need to worry about which fork to use. And there’s no tipping.”
“Maggie, you’re the strange one. Pish, it doesn’t matter which fork to use; whichever one you use is the right one. Because you are tipping.”
Edith looks around, obviously intrigued. “So, how does this all work?”
You see those booths over there?” Maggie nods in the direction of four glass-fronted booths with a uniformed woman inside each one.
“You mean the ones that look like ticket booths at the movie theaters?”
“Yes. Those are the nickel throwers. You can change larger coins or paper bills for five cent pieces that you’ll need to open the little glass windows.”
Maggie walks over to a window with a small white label ‘Tuna Sandwich, white bread.’ “You take the nickels, make your selections, put your money in the slot like this, and turn the little knob. In a few seconds, the compartment next to the slot revolves and presents you with your order.” Maggie opens the door and takes out her tuna sandwich, putting it on her tray. “If you’re wanting something hot, like soup or macaroni and cheese or the baked beans, which are very good, then you go over to that steam table over there.”
The gals wander in front of endless choices. The trays fill. “The only downside of the automat is that I always put too much on my tray.” Maggie looks over at Edith’s. Desserts: cake, pie, a custard. “Edith, aren’t you going to have anything to eat before dessert?”
“Why? No judgement, right?”
The gals wander back to their table, stopping to pick up cutlery and paper napkins.
“How’s the new house project coming along? Have you convinced Mickey yet?”
“No, the dog is still pleading poverty. He was on a business trip to Chicago and came home with a pocket full of receipts showing what a good time he’d had. Especially for somebody that’s supposedly watching his pennies.”
“You know fellas. Maybe a house isn’t important to him?”
“It’s important to me, and I’m supposed to be important to him.”
“Did you ever make that list I suggested? Bank accounts, property?”
“I did. We can afford the house. I just gotta figure out a way to convince him. I’ve been doing a bit of nosing around, and Mickey’s loaded. I used to know where it all was; had to—I set a lot of it up when we were first starting out. I’m not an accountant like you are, Maggie, but I was a heck of a lot better than Mickey ever was. Of course, he’s had a professional accountant looking after the books for years now. Sad to say, I’ve gotten outta touch, but I bet there are bank accounts all over town, and probably cash buried under a few loose floorboards.” Edith looks at Maggie with a frown. “The frustrating thing is that my name is on a lot of Mickey’s assets. On paper at least, I could buy the darn house myself.”
“Tell me again about the new house you’re looking at. What’s it like? Where is it, again?”
“It’s in Overbrook, close to Penn Wynne and the Main Line. It’s the up and coming neighborhood, you know.”
“I’m familiar with it. Why don’t we go out and drive around some afternoon. We could look and see what else is there. Maybe we could find another house that would appeal to Mickey.”
“Not a chance. I know what house I want, and it’s the only one that will do. Mickey should just stop being so stubborn.” Frustrated, Edith takes a drink of water and then turns to Maggie with a forced smile. “So tell me, doll, what have you been up to?”
Maggie shares the news of her father.
“Oh, honey. I’m so sorry. I know you aren’t close, but still. It’s gotta hurt.”
“I think I’m going to go see him. At his office. A friend suggested that I clear the air before I take Tommy over to the house to meet him.”
“That’s going to be tough. Are you going to talk about Jack?”
“I don’t know if I can. Father’s dying, Edith. Now’s not the time to bring up something like that. It’s too raw and hurtful. I don’t want him to feel badly, not now, with what he’s going through.”
“Then how do you clear the air? Jack’s death, and the role your pa played in it, is the reason why the two of you haven’t spoken in ten years. It’s why the man has never met his only grandson.”
“I’m just not sure, Edith. But enough of that. Tell me about that party you went to. On the phone, it sounded amazing. Did you really get a new car?”
“It was the most incredible evening. George Remus, he’s new in town. A lawyer, but he’s just bought a couple of plants out along the valley. He and his wife throw the most amazing parties back in Cincinnati, where’s he’s from. Everything was top shelf, Mags. The best musicians, the best booze, the best food. And, at the end of the night, all the gents got diamond stickpins and all the dames got a new car, a Pontiac. I drove it here.
Runs like a dream.”
“He gave everybody a car? He must be rich. A millionaire.”
“I think he probably got a volume discount on the cars.”
Maggie laughs. “I’m going to talk to Reg about getting a car. I think I can work it into the budget. And it would be so much easier than catching trolleys or cabs. And I could take Tommy to school every morning. And when he goes to Boys’ Central, well that’s clear across town.”
“You don’t want him crossing Center City on his own, do you?”
“No, I don’t. If I have to buy a car and drive him everywhere myself, I will.”
Watch Your Back Page 11
