Watch Your Back

by Sherilyn Decter

  “It’s not dangerous.”

  “So, who was knocking you around? Somebody was feeding you a knuckle sandwich.”

  Tommy hangs his head. He was part of Duffy’s crew now. He’d already said too much. No way was he going to be a bigger rat. “Promise you won’t tell Mother? About cutting school and being a runner.”

  “Tommy, I won’t squeal on you about school, but I gotta say something about Chalkie. If something ever happened to you, it would be my fault.”

  “How come Jimmy can do it and I can’t? It’s not fair.”

  Dick smiles to himself. The clarion call of boys everywhere. “You’re right. It’s not fair. But it’s also not a good idea. And if you’re not smart enough to figure that out for yourself, then I gotta step in.”

  “Okay, Mr. Beamish. I’ll quit and I’ll tell Mother.”

  “Good lad. Now, let’s get these dishes done up and then you can go talk to her.”

  Tommy comes into the living room. His mother is in her chair, her journal open beside her. She’s been murmuring to herself again. Tommy’s snooped through the journal the odd time when his mother wasn’t around and thinks the notes she’s making would be a swell crime story.

  “The dishes are all done and put away, Mother. Would you like me to get you more coffee?”

  “Why, Tommy, that would be lovely.” Tommy goes and picks up her cup and refills it.

  “Mother. I need to talk to you.” Maggie glances off toward the fireplace. Tommy turns to look where she’s looking, but sees nothing unusual.

  “Of course, sweetheart. What’s the matter?”

  “I skipped school last week and went to the baseball game.” Tommy had decided to come clean about the lesser of two evils. That way he could tell Mr. Beamish that he told her.

  “Tommy, no. That’s dreadful.”

  “I really wanted to see them play. And they won!”

  “Regardless, you have to promise that you won’t miss any more school. You graduate this year, and we can’t have you getting any more black marks on your transcripts if you want to get into Boys’ Central.”

  “I won’t, Mother. I promise.” His fingers are crossed behind him as he stands in front of the fireplace.

  “Well, I’m glad to hear it. Now, off to bed with you. I’ll be up to tuck you in shortly.” Tommy gives her a peck on the cheek and heads to the stairs. “And Tommy, thank you for the dishes and the coffee. It was a real treat.”

  * * * *

  “I suppose this is where I say, ‘boys will be boys’?” Maggie asks Frank, who is sitting in his chair by the fireplace.

  “I don’t think that there are many boys who get through school without missing the odd day or two because of special circumstances, especially baseball games.” He smiles, remembering Tommy’s crossed fingers.

  “You don’t think I let him off too lightly, do you?”

  “Tommy’s going through a rough patch right now, Maggie. The beating rocked his self-confidence. He wants to be a man, but is still treated like a boy. He’s just trying to figure things out.”

  “I think we’re all in rough patches, Inspector. He’s trying to figure out how to deal with his mother, and I’m trying to figure out how to deal with my father. A generation apart, but it gets no easier.”

  “Better decision making skills, my dear.”

  Chapter 41

  M ickey, Eddie, and Henry are huddled around the dining room table in the suite at the Ritz. Henry pushes back his chair and starts pacing, hands behind his back.

  “This is a bad idea, Boss,” says Henry.

  “Like I have an alternative. Capone’s called my marker. I gotta pay up.”

  “But a hit? On Bugs Moran? He’s always got a couple of torpedoes beside him, watching his back. You don’t know the city. You’ll be walking in there blind.” Henry says, watching Mickey pace.

  Mickey stops behind Eddie. “Whaddaya say, Eddie? You went up there to see him a couple of months ago. What’s your take?”

  Eddie half turns so that he can see Mickey. “Sounds like a good job. You can do it, Boss. How hard can it be? A bullet’s a bullet and a body’s a body. Take him for a one-way ride is what I say.” Eddie finishes by turning to face Henry and making a gun shape with his hand.

  Mickey snorts at the joke.

  “So, what’s his hurry? Why now?” Henry asks.

  “A North Sider tried to knock off one of his guys. They’re trying to muscle in on Capone’s dog tracks out in the suburbs and Capone’s not happy with it. After the treaties these past couple of months, things are starting to heat up again. Capone wants a solution to the Bugs Moran and the North Sider problem and asked me to deal with it,” Mickey says, sitting back down at the table.

  “Let me go, Mickey. I can get it done. You don’t need the risk, what with all this Grand Jury stuff going on.” Henry didn’t think two crazy gangsters in one city was a good idea, and there was no way he’d let Eddie go instead of him.

  “Yeah, Boss. Where we at with that? You heard anything from Monaghan?” Eddie asks.

  “They made a clean sweep of all my businesses. They must have got a list from those ledgers that were stolen out of the accountant’s office. They knew what they were looking for and, in most cases, found it.” Mickey slams his hands down on the table and stands up, his chair falling backwards. “That skurwysyn Hoff, what a bastard. I swear he’s behind it. He stole them so he could keep his own hide safe.”

  “Sounds like Boo-Boo. What are you going to do about Monaghan?” Henry asks.

  “Start laying down a carpet of cash. We’ll start with the judge and the cops in charge. If I still get called in, we’ll need to pay off the jury as well,” Mickey says.

  “Ouch, that’s going to be expensive.” Henry watches Mickey carefully.

  “Them Wall Street fellas tried to corner the wheat market. Well, let’s try and corner the graft market. Start buying up all the officials we’ll need so we can skate outta this mess.” Mickey chuckles at his own joke. Eddie follows suit, but not quite understanding it.

  “So, I repeat, it’s not the time for you to be out of town, Mickey. Let me go and get this Capone thing fixed,” says Henry.

  Mickey looks at Eddie and Henry, then nods. “Thanks, Henry. I appreciate you lookin’ after this for me. Anything you need to get it done, just ask.”

  “I’ll go up to Chicago and see what he wants. The trip back will give me time to think up a plan. We’ll talk when we get back.” Henry nods at Mickey.

  “Sounds good.”

  “I’ll leave tomorrow. You be okay while I’m gone?” While talking to Mickey, Henry is looking at Eddie.

  “Sure thing. Eddie has my back.”

  Chapter 42

  M onday, and Maggie’s in the kitchen dealing with the usual mountain of laundry four males can create. Can’t they wear their clothes more than once?

  “We made a mistake, Maggie.”

  Maggie looks up from the washing machine where she’s been draining the water from the dark clothes. The Inspector is circling the kitchen, worked up about something.

  “I have been mistaken so often I no longer blush for it.’ Isn’t that one of your Napoleon Bonaparte sayings, Inspector?”

  “Yes, I guess I’m in good company. It turns out that we suspected the wrong Max when it came to the theft of Mickey’s papers.”

  “Not Max Hoff then? Boo-Boo was such a believable target.”

  “It was Max Hassel.”

  “The bootlegger that never carries a gun, that Archie is always going on about?”

  “The same. I overheard Monaghan talking with his deputy. They had Hassel dead to rights and were preparing to subpoena him. Apparently, Max Hassel has a problem with taxes, so another conviction would be serious jail time. The deal was there would be no subpoena if he got the goods on Mickey. Monaghan’s hungry to get Mickey in front of the Grand Jury.” The Inspector continues to share what he knows.

  “What’s Mickey going to do if he fi
nds out? He’s so volatile these days—predictably unpredictable if there is such a thing. He’ll kill him,” says Maggie.

  “I think that there is a high likelihood of that. Mr. Hassel’s days are indeed numbered.”

  “So it wasn’t Edith. I had considered her the prime suspect. You know, she’s determined to buy that house, and she’s looking for his assets.”

  “No, it wasn’t Edith. Nor was it you, Maggie.”

  “Me? You actually suspected me? I thought you were joking when you said it.”

  “I thought you might have had a hand in it.”

  “Oh, Inspector, you’re teasing me.”

  “Not at all, my dear. You certainly had motivation. You know the value of the information that was stolen and how to use it. But as time went on and nothing was said, I knew that it couldn’t have been you.”

  “Because I can’t keep a secret, Inspector?”

  Frank chuckles. “No, because you have no patience. If you had the evidence to bring Mickey to trial, you would have turned it over to Joe and the police a long time ago.”

  “Maybe, once upon a time, I’d turn evidence over to the police, but not now. I think that the police have finally caved in on themselves, and Joe is caught up in it. Maybe not a criminal, but certainly powerless. He’s forgotten his oath: Integrity, Honor, Service.”

  “These times present difficult circumstances. People adapt in strange ways. Hopefully, it will be temporary. Once the house cleaning is finished and the dust settles, Joe can come out from the shadows to be the man we know he is.”

  “Oh, I do hope so. I want to believe that there’s a least one relationship that’s beyond betrayal, but his actions don’t convince me.”

  “You’re too harsh, Maggie. The history with your father has impacted your thinking. Joe hasn’t betrayed you. He’s just trying to make do.”

  Maggie shakes her head. “Betrayal doesn’t only break your heart, it also darkens your soul, Inspector. After Father’s actions, I find it easy to believe that Joe has turned his back on me, on us, and is acting in his own self-interest. I needed him and he wasn’t there. Even worse, Mickey was. It’s only because of him that Tommy wasn’t beaten again. It’s hard to keep track of who the heroes are supposed to be. I want to lay the blame on the times. I want to believe things between Joe and I will get better, but it’s difficult for me to do that, Inspector. Time can change people.”

  “Yes, and sometimes for the better. Look at your father.”

  “Point taken. Once he was a toady for the corporate board. Now, he’s a kindly grandfather, and perhaps my business partner.”

  Frank checks to see if he can see any sarcasm on Maggie’s face at the ‘kindly grandfather’ reference. “Have you made a decision about that yet, Maggie?”

  “I’m torn. It would mean a lot to him. And if I didn’t want to continue after, well, after, I could just fold the practice.”

  “Then it sounds like you may have made a decision.”

  “A clerk from his office is going to drop off some papers for me to look at. I’ll wait until I’ve had a chance to read them before deciding for sure. It would mean changes around here. I wouldn’t be home during the day, or at least not every day.”

  “I’m sure your boys would adapt, including Tommy.”

  “And I’m not sure about working with my father. Seeing him on a daily basis. It’s been a long time since we’ve spent any time together, and even when I was home, it was rocky,” Maggie says.

  “Maggie. You were a headstrong young girl. Hopefully you’ve matured in the intervening years. Family’s important. Surely you can manage. You should consider it.”

  Neither one of them voices the thought that it could be a dying man’s last wish. Maggie straightens her shoulders, preparing for the burden of spending time again with her father. “I’ll look through the papers when they come and yes, I’ll think about it,” she says grimly.

  That night, lying in bed, Maggie’s thoughts are full of family: family obligations, family loyalty. I wonder about the Inspector’s family. He keeps almost talking about something in his past that has to do with family and regret. He puts on a brave face, but I know he feels rootless. He seems determined that I help out Father. Obviously, family is important to him and yet he’s all alone. I wonder if I could track them down. I am supposed to have investigative skills. It’s not really snooping, although, I must admit, I am curious. And, it’s for the Inspector.

  Chapter 43

  “S tupid Jimmy. This is nuts. He’d better be healthy tomorrow. I can’t keep cutting school early to do his stupid run.” Tommy’s trudging along Spring Garden, muttering to himself. He kicks savagely at a stone on the sidewalk, sending it smashing against the side of a building.

  The fire hall had been fun. Queenie is a swell dog, and the firemen always have great stories. He’d picked up a few more betting slips than usual at the office building because somebody had a brother who had heard something from a trainer about the race. As if.

  Tommy doesn’t understand gambling. Sure, winning seems great but, once you were working with bookies, you understood that most gamblers were losing. I work too hard for my money to throw it away.

  As he trudges along, he debates about skipping Schmidt’s house. Except the old man will be all excited by the dog race win. He’ll rat me out to Chalkie for sure. Maybe I’ll skip today and Jimmy, who has to be back tomorrow, can do it. If old man Schmidt is so keen today he can get his own self down to Chalkie’s.

  Tommy legs it back to Chalkie’s with his bag of betting slips. He hands the bag over and Chalkie himself dumps the contents onto the counter. “Ya got Schmidt’s bet in here?” Chalkie asks around his cigar.

  “I, erm you see, erm, no.” Tommy hunches down, expecting a blow.

  “You’d better get back there then. The race starts in half an hour.”

  “All the way back to Spring Garden?” Tommy’s heart sinks. Late again for supper.

  “Take the clock. It’ll take that long to get there. Make sure you make it in time.”

  Sullen, Tommy grabs the empty bag and a stop watch and heads back out the door. I won’t do it. No way. I’ll say I got there too late. And then I’ll get another slap from Chalkie. Stupid Jimmy. This is all his fault. If old man Schmidt is so stupid to throw his money away, then it’s not my fault the kids don’t have food.

  Walking past a corner grocers, Tommy buys a bag of apples and some bread. There. I’ll give the mother these and take Schmidt’s bet. And I’ll never do Jimmy’s route again.

  Tommy hands Mrs. Schmidt the bag from the grocery store. She’s sporting a black eye. The girls are clutching her skirt as she hands them an apple each. Schmidt gives him the race details for the betting slip. He puts it into the bag, starts the clock, and heads back to Chalkie’s.

  It’s well past supper time and Tommy is now more worried about his mother than Chalkie. I’m gonna catch it when I get home. What can I tell her that won’t get me in trouble? His thoughts are at home in his kitchen, and not on Chalkie, when he hands over the bag. He turns to go. Maybe if I run to the trolley?

  “Barnes. Hold up.”

  Tommy turns and gets a back hand across his face again. “You missed the race. I checked the clock. You stupid kid. The bet’s no good.”

  Tommy glares resentfully at Chalkie, muttering under his breath.

  “What’s that, kid? You got something you wanna say to me?” Chalkie says with a smirk.

  “He was gonna lose anyway. You’re a creep for taking his money all the time with those sick kids.” Tommy stands, scowling at Chalkie. He’s sick and tired of being somebody’s punching bag.

  “Butch, ya wanna take Tommy outside and teach him how to tell time? God, this kid’s got an attitude problem.”

  Tommy, his feet skittering along the linoleum floor, is dragged out to the alley. Butch throws him against the wall. Tommy tries to run, but Butch swings him around. Tommy tries to punch him, but Butch laughs and puts his fist int
o Tommy’s face. Tommy crumples. Butch steps over him and heads back inside. “Lesson delivered, Boss,” Butch reports to Chalkie before the door slams shut.

  Tommy takes his shirt tail and rubs his face. No blood. That’s good. His eye hurts though. I’ll grab some ice on the way home. Maybe Mother and Mr. Beamish won’t notice.

  He’s just rounding the corner, heading to the trolley stop, a few chips of ice melting in his hand, when the Duesenberg pulls up. Eddie’s in the car alone. “Hey kid. Where ya headed? Need a lift?”