Duke sat on the deck against the rail, holding his arm and amazed at the type of fighting style he was up against. It was a far cry from the street brawling he was accustomed to, and he knew he was out of his element. Carbone slowly walked toward Duke, motioning for him to stand up. Duke used the rail to pull himself up with his left arm, almost sliding back down.
As the hitman approached, Duke tried a wild left punch, still not having feeling in his dominant arm. Carbone easily blocked it and followed it with a blow of his own to Duke’s midsection. The punch was so forceful that it took Duke’s breath away and broke a few ribs. He grimaced in pain as he doubled over, but was met with an uppercut by Carbone catapulting Duke against the back railing once more.
Like a prizefighter stuck on the ropes, Duke took blow after blow, not able to administer a single retaliatory punch. The speed his assailant showed was nothing Duke had ever witnessed before, and a defense was not possible. Duke finally slipped down and sat on the deck with his arm in a life ring that was tied to the rail next to a first aid kit. Blood gushed from Duke’s forehead and nose and he could barely hold his head up. He exhaustedly laughed at the irony that he was staring at a first aid kit.
“No cute lines or witty comebacks? So this is the end of Duke Dempsey. Nothing but a bloody mess that will soon be fish food.”
“So don’t you what to know where I hid the ledger?” Duke asked, trying to buy some time and keep from being hit again.
“I’m not going to waste my time trying to get you to talk. I know you well enough, Dempsey. You want to try and keep me talking to buy you some time. I figure I’ve got about two hours until we pull into Charleston, and I’m sure with the whole crew searching, it won’t take too long before it shows up. Looks like you’ll get to meet Johnny a lot sooner than you thought.”
That remark about his former partner gave Duke the extra little adrenaline that he severely needed as he finally started to gain feeling in his right arm. Carbone violently pulled Duke up and leaned him against the railing so his back was arched over the rail.
“As they say in the Far East: Sayonara, Duke Dempsey.”
Just as Carbone went to push him over the rail, Duke kneed the gangster in the groin with everything he had left in the tank. The knee shocked Carbone enough that he loosened his grasp and made a gasp for air. Duke took that opportunity to head butt Billy in the face and jam the life ring over his neck. Carbone instantly shook the cobwebs, blocked the next punch from Duke, and returned one of his own. Duke went to the deck in pain and exhaustion.
Carbone smiled at Dempsey as he reached up to remove the life ring from his neck. He suddenly felt immense pressure from it. Before he could remove the ring, it pulled him with great force toward the rail.
“As they say in France: Bon voyage,” Duke said, as he watched the life ring yank Billy Carbone over the rail and down into the seething ocean. Duke had bought just enough time to attach the metal first aid kit to the end of the life ring and toss it overboard toward the churning screws during the scuffle.
Chapter 30 – Welcome Home
Duke cleaned up as much as he could in his cabin before spending the remainder of the trip in the lounge. He hobbled to the bar holding his ribs, looking like he was hit by a truck, to the chagrin of the other passengers. The bartender looked horrified as he asked Duke what he wanted to drink.
“Bourbon straight and that book I handed to you.”
The bartender handed over the book Duke had slid him earlier with the menu, and made and poured him a drink. Duke was dismayed that Louis Prima had finished his set, but the piano player created a soothing environment for Duke to recover and read. The ledger was fairly easy to follow and dated back almost 10 years.
He found Stampkin’s name, but only once. They’d paid him to simply not follow up on the investigation they’d removed Duke from. He probably hadn’t had an idea about the game with the ports. Duke skimmed down the page at the other names on it and didn’t notice anything that stood out. He then carefully folded and tore out the page.
He motioned to the bartender for a light, and the bartender promptly came over with a Zippo already lit. Duke took it and proceeded to light the page on fire, and any evidence Johnny Stampkin had taken a bribe with it. “It’s the least I could do, partner,” Duke whispered to himself.
Two hours later, the Shemara moored up at Charleston Ports with the Coast Guard Cutter Yamacraw beside it. The guests begrudgingly disembarked the ship while the entire crew remained on board. The crew of the Yamacraw boarded the Shemara and tore the ship inside out. Duke directed them to the crates in the cargo hold.
“Dempsey, you son of a bitch. I’m not sure what the hell exactly happened, and I don’t think I want to know.”
Duke turned around and saw his old friend, who was now Commanding Officer of the Yamacraw. “Looks like you traded in the leaf for an eagle since last we met.” Captain Shrum had been just a lieutenant commander when they’d taken down Hell Hole Swamp, and had been promoted to captain over the years.
“Thanks to you, they might make this salty dog an admiral. This catch will surely break some records.”
“I just appreciate you guys showed up when you did, or I might be in Havana swimming with the fish.”
“I owed you, and I guess I still do,” Captain Shrum said.
The two exchanged some pleasantries and Duke explained why he looked as bad as he did. It was hard to impress the old captain, but the story of the scuffle with Carbone made his jaw drop.
“My boys will take it from here. Charleston PD is on the pier and I’m pretty sure they’ve got a long night planned for you. You need me to stow you away and get you out of Dodge?”
Duke laughed. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m good.”
The two shook hands as Duke disembarked the Shemara to flashing red lights all over the pier. Captain Slate was standing near the brow, barking orders at some of his patrol officers.
Slate just smiled and shook his head as Duke made his way onto the pier. “I don’t know how you do it.”
“Got a smoke?”
Slate grabbed one of his officers running by him, commandeered his pack of cigarettes, and handed them to Duke.
“Nice, I’ll trade ya,” Duke said as he handed Slate the ledger. “And don’t lose that, or you’re on your own.”
“I’m personally bringing this to Hoover’s boys. You sure you don’t want to come along for the ride?”
“No, I’ve got a stop to make and a promise to keep,” Duke said as he took a drag and grimaced from the pain in his ribs. “I could use a ride, though.”
“I almost forgot. Sergeant Moody found your Roadster at an abandoned warehouse. It’s parked at the station waiting for you,” Slate said.
“What about Smeltzer? His name is in that ledger so much I thought I was reading his biography.”
“He and his crew are already downtown. When we got word from the Coast Guard that you guys were headed back, we made our move on him. What happened to your friend?”
“Billy Carbone? You’re going to need a dive team if you want to conduct an interrogation,” Duke said as the two made their way to Slate’s squad car.
“Where are we headed, anyway?” Slate asked as he got into the driver’s side of his green sedan.
“The Mayor’s Mansion.”
Chapter 31 – Caesar
The green sedan pulled up to the Mayor’s Mansion at 149 Wentworth Street just before midnight. It was certainly a sight to see, although Duke would’ve been happier seeing his cozy bed at that point. As beat up as he was, he knew it was a stop that couldn’t wait until morning, and Captain Slate understood the significance of the visit.
The mansion had been built in 1886 by a wealthy cotton merchant, and stood four stories tall, boasting twenty-one rooms. The red brick façade and Tiffany stained glass windows were distinct features of the French Second Empire Style which its original owner had built it in. The style was popular in the Northeast but was a ra
re visual marvel in the Deep South. The majority of the lights were out at that time of night, except for the burning lanterns which anchored the large wooden doors.
Duke gave a few hard knocks to the door to ensure someone heard his presence. Various lights turned on and Duke heard footsteps after a few minutes.
An old black male cracked open the door, “Can I help you, sir?”
“I’m here to speak to Mrs. Swanson. I understand how late it is, but it’s very important I speak to her.”
The man looked Duke up and down and gave an uneasy glance, as his wounds and disheveled tux gave the servant a moment of pause. “May I ask who is calling upon the madam?”
“Duke. Duke Dempsey.”
“If you would, please follow me.”
Duke followed the man into what appeared to be the study. The inside of the mansion was every bit as impressive as the outside. Duke’d had his fill of high society at that point in the night, but the Italian crystal chandeliers and marble fireplaces were spectacular just the same.
“I am going to inform Mrs. Swanson. Please help yourself to a drink.”
Duke poured himself a glass of whatever was in the crystal decanter. He took one sniff and knew it was single malt scotch. It might not have been his flavor of choice but it was still going to hit the spot. After about twenty minutes, and two drinks later, Celeste Swanson appeared in a flowing white nightgown with a shawl over her shoulders.
“Markus said that it was you, but I had to see it to believe it. I’m not sure if you know this, Mr. Dempsey, but you died earlier today.”
“You heard about that, did you? No wonder your housekeeper looked like he’d seen a ghost. I’ve come bringing good news, Mrs. Swanson.”
“You do?”
“I found the people who were involved in the assassination of your husband. Unfortunately, most of them have met untimely deaths, and won’t be seeing the inside of the courtroom. I hope that’s not a problem,” Duke said as he made his way over to the decanter to pour himself another drink.
Celeste went to the large marble fireplace and stared at the dying flames, “Some people have different views of justice, Mr. Dempsey. Death is an adequate substitute for incarceration. Were you able to extract any information from them?”
“They weren’t much for talking, but I was able to put some things together on my own. A gentleman by the name of Benny Bertucci sent his errand boy here to get the ledger and put down any loose ends. I was one of those loose ends.”
“So this Bertucci had my Morris killed? Where is he?”
“Looks like he’s in Havana and out of our reach for now. His operation in Charleston, however, is over.”
“Operation?” Celeste said as she turned and faced Duke.
“Yes, ma’am. Looks like Benny and his friends have been using Charleston as their private import and export business. From what I gather, they used it to ship booze during Prohibition all over the East Coast in a quid pro quo hustle. That hustle expanded over the years, and Bertucci’s power in Charleston with it. A lot of government officials and businessmen had their hands in the cookie jar, and once Isabella sent that letter to your husband, he planned to bring the whole system to its knees.”
“Oh my God. All of this happening right under our noses. Those animals killed Morris for doing what was right.”
“I’ve got a newfound respect for your husband. He tried to do something, even though the odds were stacked against him. He didn’t know who he could trust and came up on the short end of the stick,’ Duke said as he sat on the plush couch facing the fireplace.
“Were you able to get the ledger so we can finish what Morris started?”
“Yes, we got the ledger, and it was a very interesting read. Charleston PD has it.”
“Oh, thank God. Looks like Duke Dempsey always gets his man. Or men, in this case,” Celeste said with a laugh.
“You know, there was something that bothered me about Morris. If he knew he couldn’t trust the people who worked for him, how come he didn’t get help from the people that were closest to him? His inner circle, as you called it.”
“I’m not sure. Maybe he wanted to make sure he got the evidence in his hand before he brought us all in. Maybe he didn’t know if he could trust that Isabella girl.”
“Maybe, but I think it was something else.” Duke threw the documents from Morris’s safe on the coffee table. “Did you know Morris bought a property shortly after Isabella sent him a letter?”
Celeste looked down at the documents. “What are you talking about, Mr. Dempsey?”
“He bought an old cottage on the beach. It is a nice place, but definitely off the beaten path. I thought maybe he bought it to get away from the stress of the job, or he was going to surprise you with it as a present. That was until I looked more closely at those birth certificates.”
Celeste walked over to the table and picked up the birth certificates. “I don’t understand. Where you are going with this?”
“I bet you’re surprised to see that Morris had your birth certificate in his private safe at work. Look more closely at those certificates, Mrs. Swanson. You notice anything unique about them?”
“No, they’re Chicago birth certificates. There’s hardly anything unique about them.”
“Well, normally I would agree, but the fact that Morris hid them made me study them a little harder. You notice the Governor’s name on the bottom right corner?” Duke asked as he took out a smoke and lit up without asking permission.
“Richard J. Oglesby.”
“Yes, Richard J. Oglesby. Richard J. Oglesby was, in fact, the 14th Governor of Illinois in 1889, the year you and Morris were both born.”
Mrs. Swanson placed the birth certificates back on the table and laughed. “Aside from figuring out I’m 50 years old, what is so unique about it, Mr. Dempsey?”
“Well, Morris was born on January 3rd, 1889 and you were born July 10Th of 1889. Richard James Oglesby was succeeded by Joseph W. Fier on January 14th, 1889. Why would a Governor who has been out of office for seven months still be signing birth certificates? Maybe no Governor signed your birth certificate because it is a forgery, Mrs. Swanson?”
Those words hit Celeste Swanson like a punch to the stomach. She tried everything in her power to keep her composure, but the expression on her face told Duke the jig was up. “This is ludicrous. I want you to get out of my house. MARKUS!” she screamed.
“I think I’ll finish my drink, doll. We’ll get back to the birth certificates in a minute.” Duke pulled Swanson’s appointment book from his coat pocket. “Morris had an interesting labeling system, always using initials instead of names.”
“It’s something he’s always done, from his times as a district attorney in Chicago. He never wanted to use full names in case it fell into the wrong hands. Then there would be no way to track his witnesses.”
“The one that came up most recently surrounding the events was LS, and it had an unusual code by it in one of the entries. I thought it could’ve been Slate, Scagnetti, or someone I hadn’t come across yet.”
“Well, it would make sense if it was Leo. That was Morris’s right-hand man,” Celeste said.
“Was he? Or was he your right-hand man? Leo shed a lot of light on this investigation, even in death. The matches you used in the church to light those prayer candles were the same ones Leo handed me the day your husband got whacked in the park. Casino Noche in Havana just so happens to be where all that cash was headed to. By the way, it’s not going to make its destination. The United States Coast Guard has seized it all, and if I were a betting man, the Shemara with it. But the real nugget I got from Leo was that he seemed to be a mamma’s boy, and had her number taped right onto the phone. He probably never missed a call to his mom in good old Calumet Heights. Hey, isn’t that where you went to boarding school?”
Sweat started to trickle down Mrs. Swanson’s forehead. She turned around and walked to the fireplace once more. “MARKUS, get down here!”
Duke took one final drag from his cigarette and put it out on the coffee table next to the scattered documents. “I had no idea what CA5 9233 was until I saw a similar number on Leo’s phone. CA5 is one of Chicago’s exchange names for Calumet Heights so I decided to give it a call. It seems LS was your alma mater, Mrs. Swanson. Little Saints Academy for Girls is still alive and kicking if you want to go back and visit. Just one thing, though. They probably wouldn’t recognize you as Celeste Berks as it reads on your birth certificate.”
Duke crossed his legs and was attempting to finish his last swig of scotch when Celeste turned around with cocked double-barrel pocket pistol she’d pulled from the mantle. “You’re too smart for your own good, Mr. Dempsey. Unfortunately for you, we need to cut this evening short.”
Duke took a minor pause and finished his drink. “How would that look? Are you going to shoot the guy your husband tried to give the key to the city to? Anyway, don’t you want that ledger?”
“Well, Mr. Dempsey, if you handed the ledger over to the police, it’ll be in my possession soon enough. It’s a shame you broke into my house at such a late hour and I had to defend myself against an intruder who did not announce himself.”
“Not so fast Mrs. Swanson,” Captain Slate said from the doorway of the study. “I’m going to need you to put that gun down nice and slow.”
“Captain Slate, if you value your career, I suggest you go home. I’m sure Commissioner Derflinger wouldn’t appreciate you pointing a gun at the soon to be newly appointed mayor,” Celeste said as she kept the gun drawn on Dempsey.
“Oh about that. The funny thing about a mutilated body is that it’s just so damn hard to ID correctly. That death you heard about earlier, was, unfortunately, the late Commissioner,” Duke said as he stood up.
Celeste looked as if she was in a daze and staring past Duke to a far-off place. “Who has the ledger?”
The Holy City Hustle: A Duke Dempsey Mystery Page 17
