Watch Your Back

by Sherilyn Decter

  * * * *

  The mashed potatoes make another circuit around the table. Maggie keeps a close eye on the bowls to make sure they don’t need refilling.

  “What a game this afternoon. We finally won one,” Reg says. “And we’ll do it again in tomorrow’s game.”

  “No chance. The Brooklyn Robins will be spoiling for revenge,” says Archie.

  “Won’t matter none. Their season is just as bad as ours. The only good thing you can say is that, after tomorrow’s game, we’ll have wiped two more games off the schedule.” Reg tucks in to more mashed potatoes.

  “Klein’s homer in the third was a thing of beauty. Brought another runner home,” Archie says.

  “Two. There were two that were on base.” Tommy corrects Archie.

  “Catch the sports section in the late edition, kiddo?” Dick asks.

  “Er, um, no. I heard some of the fellas talking about it. They’d skipped school and caught the game.”

  “That’s no good. School is more important than baseball.” Maggie gives Tommy a stern look to reinforce her point.

  “Especially this season. Those Tail-Enders are scraping the bottom of the division,” says Dick.

  “You can help me clear, Tommy. And then off to do your homework,” Maggie says, rising and picking up plates.

  “I, erm I forgot it at school.” Tommy gets busy gathering dishes, and avoids looking at Maggie.

  “That’s not going to go over well. Do you have a test or anything due?”

  Tommy glances her way and shrugs. “No, it was just some reading. I’ll catch up at lunch time tomorrow.”

  “Good lad,” says Archie. “You don’t want to fall behind. Not after missing those first few days.”

  “No, sir. I won’t.”

  Chapter 39

  T he next day at school, Jimmy’s younger brother, Fred, comes up to Tommy in the hallway.

  “Hi Tommy. Jimmy’s sick today. Puking and everything. He wanted me to ask you if you could go by Chalkie’s after school and fill in for him just this one time. He said to say he’ll split the dough with ya.”

  “Sure. Tell him no problem.” Frowning, Tommy grips his school books tightly and weaves his way through the throngs of students. Who wouldn’t help out a friend, especially when I can earn some clams of my own?

  ”Hey, watch it, blockhead,” an older student growls as Tommy walks into him. Mumbling an apology, Tommy ducks his head and keeps moving.

  And it’ll be great to see the firemen again, but that jerk Schmidt is no treat. His stomach clenches at the thought of being in that stinky old building alone. “Jimmy, you owe me one,” he mutters and heads into class.

  Chalkie wasn’t surprised to see Tommy showing up mid-week to fill in for Jimmy. “So, you’ve decided to work after school, now?”

  “No, sir. Jimmy’s sick, so I told him I could do his route. I’ll be back on Saturday for my own bag.”

  “I reckon you know the route. You walked it enough times with him. Do you need me to make you a list?”

  Tommy recites the stops from memory.

  “You got it kid. It’s busy in here today so take two bags. See ya in a couple of hours.”

  Tommy works on the ‘why I am late from school’ story he will tell his mother. He decides on a ‘stayed late to make up for missing turning in my homework’ story. That should keep her happy. He must keep a quick pace, he knows, so he’ll make dinner.

  He whistles while he goes along the route, planning on how he’ll spend the money he’ll make today. The firemen are happy to see him, and tell him to pass along their best wishes for a speedy recovery to Jimmy, who is obviously well liked by the bettors. Business is good at the next few stops. The Phillies’ win yesterday, and the night game with the Robins tonight, has everyone enthusiastic about their chances. Tommy has to start the stopwatch and open another bag. He’s not sure how much of a split Jimmy is planning, but it had better be bigger than fifty-fifty. He is doing all the work, after all.

  Tommy’s whistling stops and his steps slow as he gets closer to the building where the Schmidt’s live. He still gets a pain in his stomach thinking about the last time. Those poor kids. And their pa is such a creep.

  Standing in front of the apartment door, Tommy’ knees begin to tremble. He takes a deep breath and almost gags on the stale smell of cabbage and urine in the hallway. He knocks and steps back. The door is jerked open, and Mr. Schmidt snarls. “Whaddaya want?”

  “Jimmy couldn’t come today. Did you want to place any bets with Chalkie?” Tommy asks in a steady voice. He holds up the bag to prove his legitimacy.

  Adolph squints at Tommy, picking at a spot on his undershirt. “No way I can bet on the Phillies. Klein can’t do it twice in a row. Only a sap would take those odds. But yeah, I got a good feeling about the dog race tonight. White Lightning. Great name, eh? Ya got the clock? The race starts at seven and I don’t want to miss out.”

  Tommy nods and fills out the betting slip, his hand shaking only a little. Schmidt, betting slip clutched in his hand, slams the door shut.

  Tommy runs down the building’s stairs and flings open the door, clearing the entry steps in a single bound. The warmth of the sun feels good on his clammy skin, and his shoulders relax. He turns to dash to the speakeasies and the next pickup when he almost runs into Mrs. Schmidt, who is coming along the sidewalk. She spies the two bags he’s carrying over his shoulder.

  “You the kid from Chalkie’s?”

  Tommy nods and tries to move on. She grabs his arm. “Look, kid. They put the baby in the hospital. Things are real bad right. Tell the truth now, tell me that Adolph didn’t make a bet.”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am. But I gotta take all the bets.”

  She starts to weep, sinking to the front steps of the building. “I just can’t manage anymore. There’s no more food. I’m so tired. The kids always crying. What am I going to do?”

  Tommy looks on, aghast. What would Mother do? He tries to fish out his hankie from his pocket, glancing anxiously up and down the street to see who is looking.

  “Oh, get lost. You’re the ruin of us, ya hear? This is all your fault,” she says, jabbing a finger at him. Sighing, she pulls herself together and stands. Mrs. Schmidt takes a step toward Tommy, peering closely into his face. Flinching, Tommy takes a step back.

  She takes another step forward. Tommy can smell her. He takes another step back, bumping up hard against the rough bricks of the building.

  “How old are you, anyway? Your mother would be ashamed of you if she knew the heartache yer causin’.”

  Tommy, his heart pounding, fishes in the bag to find the betting slip. “Here,” he says, thrusting it at her.

  Amazed, she stares at Tommy and then the slip in his hand. She snatches it. “Thank you. God bless you.”

  * * * *

  Later, sitting in the kitchen, eating the supper he’d missed, Tommy can hear the radio playing in Dick’s bedroom. It’s the dog races being broadcast. He’s only paying half attention, but tunes in when he hears the announcer say ‘White Lightning’. He listens closely, recognizing the name. His stomach begins to knot. The dogs are tearing around the track, chasing the poor stuffed rabbit. White Lightning is third, please lose, then second, please, please, please, you stupid dog. “White Lightning wins!” screams the announcer. Tommy’s heart sinks. Oh no. What happens now?

  Chapter 40

  S aturday, and Tommy heads toward Chalkie’s for his regular shift. He drags his feet going into the bookie joint. Somebody’s getting a haircut, which he takes as a good sign. Tommy almost hadn’t come in, but Mickey is counting on him. He heads into the back room to pick up his bag and clock.

  “Hey, Barnes. Git over here,” Chalkie snarls around his cigar. He’s leaning against the edge of the counter, and Tommy has to push past the line of bettors to get to him.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Adolph Schmidt came in yesterday, looking for his winnings on the dog race the other night. Says he g
ave the slip to you. I checked the records and there wasn’t any slip. Know anything about that, Barnes?”

  Tommy takes a deep breath, his stomach in knots. He knows he can’t lie; figures he’ll try honesty. His mother always told him to face his troubles square on, and so he looked Chalkie in the eye. “I took it out of the bag, sir. He never wins anyway, and his little boy is in the hospital. Mrs. Schmidt was crying. They didn’t have any food.” Tommy finishes, breathless. He’d told the truth. How bad can it be?

  Chalkie stares at him. “You took it out of the bag? What makes you think you can steal from me. And then bold as brass tell me about it?”

  The bookies standing behind the counter where Tommy and Chalkie are talking look over and shake their heads. Some of the bettors in the line close enough to overhear start to murmur. “The kid says he took a bet outta the bag.” “I always wondered about that… what if I was a winner?” “Damn Chalkie, cheating us.” “If you can’t trust your bookie, who can you trust?”

  Chalkie, looking over Tommy’s head, surveys the room and doesn’t like what he sees.

  “Answer me.” Chalkie leans down. “That wasn’t a betting slip, you idiot kid. That was money, my money you gave back.” He slaps Tommy across the face with the back of his hand. Tommy staggers backwards into the wall. “Nobody steals from me.” Chalkie slaps him again, cutting open his lip. He flinches, covering his mouth with his hand. “No, sir. It won’t happen again, sir.”

  Chalkie raises his hand again and Tommy cowers. “It had better not. Or you’ll really feel the back of my hand. I paid Schmidt out of your earnings.”

  Tommy nods. Jimmy’s earnings. Now he’ll have to make it square with Jimmy.

  Chalkie tosses a couple of bags to Tommy. “Now git. And make sure all my money makes it back. No funny stuff. I don’t care who yer friends with.”

  * * * *

  Tommy slides into his place at the dinner table just as his mother is bringing food in. The three lodgers look at him and then at Maggie. He misses the looks, deep in thought about the day’s events and making it square with Jimmy. He’s replaced Jimmy’s earnings from his own take on Saturday, leaving precious little to show for the day’s effort, beyond a fat lip.

  As Maggie sits down at the head of the table, she gasps, staring at his face. “What happened to you, Tommy? Did those newsie boys gang up on you again?” She gets out of her chair and grabs Tommy’s chin, turning his head this way and that to get a better look.

  Tommy squirms away.

  “I knew it. Those thugs are a menace. Damn Joe for not stopping them. Who is going to keep little boys safe?” She looks wildly around the room, demanding an answer.

  Dick comes over and tries to put a comforting arm around her. “Now, Maggie…”

  “Don’t you dare ‘now Maggie’ me, Dick Beamish.” She shakes him off, still hanging onto Tommy. “It’s your paper that contracts with those goons. A bit of profit at the expense of Tommy’s hide? Is that what the top brass of the paper thinks? Those newsboys, those hooligans are out of control. You need to do something.”

  Dick backs up, hands raised in defense. “I’ll look into it, Maggie. I’ll check with circulation.”

  “The violence in Philly is out of control, Maggie," Archie says. "Cops on the take, kids selling papers with free-reign to spread terror along with the front page headlines.” Archie shakes his head, a bleak vision in his eyes.

  “Archie,” Dicks warns, keeping one eye on Maggie, who is rigid with anger.

  With a cry, she pulls Tommy out of his chair and gathers him in a smothering embrace.

  Tommy’s cry of “Mother,” is muffled by her shoulder. Dick can see the panic on the bit of Tommy’s face that’s not crushed against his mother.

  “What the boy needs is a hot supper. Why don’t we let him eat?” Dick pats Maggie’s shoulder. “Come now, he’s had an upsetting day. Let’s get some food into him. A good dinner can fix anything, eh Tommy?” Dick says, nodding his head to catch Tommy’s attention.

  “Yeah, Mother, I’m hungry,” his words choked off by her grasp.

  “Yes, of course. You must be starving, Tommy.” Maggie draws back and leads him to his chair. “You eat. Can I get you anything else? Would you like some bread? Archie, pass Tommy the bread.” She stands behind him, smoothing his hair.

  “I’m sorry for causing you to worry, Mother. I was picking up my papers for my route, and we got into a bit of a scrap.”

  Dick looks up. The circulation desk had tracked him down just that morning. Another boy was still covering Tommy's route, and they were wondering if, or hopefully when, he’d be coming back. Tommy won’t look at him, even though Dick’s trying to catch his eye.

  Everyone seems to be sharing looks over the table, and the conversation is strained

  Dick looks up. The circulation desk had tracked him down just that morning. Another boy was still covering Tommy's route, and they were wondering if, or hopefully when, he’d be coming back. Tommy won’t look at him, even though Dick’s trying to catch his eye.

  Everyone seems to be sharing looks over the table, and the conversation is strained.

  “The police made a big arrest today,” Dick announces.

  Archie looks up. “A bootlegger?”

  “A legal bootlegger. A fellow named George Remus from Cincinnati. He’s bought up a bunch of the alcohol manufacturing plants in the Delaware Valley.”

  At the mention of Remus’ name, Maggie’s head snaps up. “So what did they arrest him for?”

  “Apparently, Mr. Remus has been making moonshine and hijacking his own trucks.”

  “The moonshine I can understand, but why hijack his own trucks?” Archie asks.

  “He had legal permits to sell liquor, but would hijack the trucks and sell the hooch on the black market to bootleggers. Right up to the point of the hijacking, everything was perfectly legit.”

  “I can’t believe it. It sounds like a plot from a bad movie,” Maggie says.

  “So why the moonshine?” Reg asks.

  “Greed. He already had customers for the legit liquor. He was merely expanding his inventory to increase sales.”

  “Well, I’m glad to see that there are still police on the job. With all the arrests and indictments related to the Grand Jury, some days it feels like the precincts must be empty,” Maggie says. She doesn’t look glad. In fact, she looks annoyed.

  “Shh,” Dick says, hunched over, finger to his lips, looking around suspiciously. “Don’t let the bootleggers hear you say that. They’ll have the run of the place without coppers around to hold them back.”

  The laughter breaks the tension from Tommy’s fat lip, and the remaining dinner is eaten in a more relaxed fashion.

  “Here, Maggie, why don’t Tommy and I look after these, and you can take a cup of coffee into the living room,” Dick suggests, getting up and gathering dishes.

  Standing at the sink, shirt sleeves rolled up, Dick passes a clean plate to Tommy to dry and put away.

  “Okay, out with it, Tommy. I know you weren’t delivering papers.”

  Tommy shrugs, and takes another plate.

  “I also know you were skipping school last week. Fortunately for you, they called while your mother was out.”

  Tommy almost drops his plate in his alarm. “Did you—“

  “Relax. I didn’t rat you out. I told them you were home sick that day, which was the day of the ball game if I remember correctly. I figured I’d talk to you first. So, what do you want to spill the beans about first, missing school or today?”

  “I did cut school. You’re right, I wanted to see the Phillies game and, erm, a friend had two tickets, so we went. And it was so great, Mr. Beamish. We went into the dressing rooms and I got to meet the players, and—“

  “Whoa, sport. Who’s your friend? Regular Joe’s don’t get to go into the dressing room.”

  Tommy realizes his mistake. “Nobody.”

  “Hardly nobody. And what happened today? Mr. Nobody agai
n?”

  “No. I was covering for Jimmy. He’s a runner for a bookie named Chalkie. Jimmy got sick a couple of days ago and couldn’t do his route, so I did it for him. Some stuff happened today because of that.”

  “We’ll leave Chalkie out of it for now. Tell me how you got your fat lip.”

  Tommy shakes his head. “I can’t, Mr. Beamish,” he says in a small, quiet voice.

  Dick lets the dishes slide back into the sudsy water. He takes Tommy by the arm and sets him down at the kitchen table.

  “Look, kid. The baseball game I can understand. I cut school a couple of times myself to catch a good game. But Chalkie and bookies? That’s no place for you. It’s illegal and it’s dangerous.”