Border City Blues 3-Book Bundle

by Michael Januska

  It was a vague message from McCloskey saying that he could no longer be reached through the hotel and he would explain later, and that he would be leaving to run an errand in the next fifteen minutes but that he and Campbell should meet up soon, real soon.

  Campbell leaned out of his bed and got his legs moving back to the kitchen. He emptied the last of the fresh grounds into the Flavodrip and got it going. He’d have to stop at the M&P before the end of the day to pick up another pound of Courthouse or Old Government, whichever they had in stock. He wasn’t picky. He thought they both tasted the same.

  Odd names for their blends. When can I expect Customs and Excise?

  When the thing started gurgling away he returned to the table to organize his books and notes. Before the coffee was ready the phone rang again.

  “Campbell … Okay, I need to talk to you, too … When? How’s one o’clock? ... Actually, I have something else in mind. I want you to meet me at this place on Maiden Lane, just west of the Avenue. … Let’s just say I need to get my palm read. … All right … I’ll try to get there ahead of you. … Yeah, I’ll be parked outside.”

  It was going to be a busy morning.

  What McCloskey was unable to share with Campbell was that a short while ago he was contacted by the now off-duty night desk clerk at the British-American. Apparently, in the raid last night all of those badges missed something: Pearl Shipley. So the raid really was as disorganized as it looked, thought McCloskey. She was in one of the rooms upstairs at the time, doing something she shouldn’t have been doing in this neutral territory, something that was probably the reason for the raid. When she heard the ruckus, she and her partner in crime, apparently a hotel regular who knew all of the good hiding places, went into hiding. McCloskey needed to get her out.

  Goddamn, she’s a handful.

  The desk clerk told McCloskey in a whisper that he was sure there were at least two, maybe three, undercovers staking out the place. It was decided that Pearl would be given a chambermaid’s uniform and an armful of dirty laundry and be escorted by a trusted staffer down the service elevator, through the kitchen, and out the back door, where McCloskey would be waiting for her in a cab with the motor running.

  Minutes later she appeared in the alleyway with not just the dirty laundry but also her friend in tow. There wasn’t any time for another act in this drama; from the front passenger seat McCloskey told the guy — he didn’t even want to know his name — to get in and keep his head down. He said the cabbie would take him as far as the streetcar waiting rooms down the Drive near Ferry Street.

  “I know your face, now get a good look at mine, because next time I run into you, it’ll be the last one you ever see. Understand?”

  The guy shrank back in his seat under the weight of McCloskey’s glare.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Sir? Your type, you’re all a bunch of fu —”

  “Jack!”

  McCloskey was climbing over his seat, ready to turn this guy’s face into paste. He knocked the cab driver, who almost slid across the ice into an oncoming streetcar. The guy held up his hands for protection. McCloskey cooled down and said to the driver, “Forget the waiting room, let’s just spill him here.”

  They didn’t even pull over.

  “Hey, it’s snowing,” the guy said, “and cold, and I left my —”

  McCloskey got out, opened the rear door, grabbed the guy, and dragged him moaning to the sidewalk in front of the Crawford Hotel. “Last stop.” He climbed back into the cab.

  “Jack, you didn’t have to —”

  “Yeah, I did.”

  McCloskey took Pearl back to his apartment, where he told her in no uncertain terms that she couldn’t stay. He’d have to beg another favour from Clara. A big one.

  — Chapter 35 —

  CLARA FIELDS’S HOME FOR WAYWARD WOMEN

  McCloskey and Clara were having a hushed conversation in her little celery-coloured kitchen while Pearl, still dressed in a chambermaid’s uniform, leaned against the window frame in the front room and stared down blankly at the snow swirling in the quiet neighbourhood intersection. The cigarette dangling from her fingers was mostly ash.

  “This isn’t fair,” said Clara. “You can’t just saddle me with her like this.”

  “That’s not what I’m doing.”

  She was arranging the dried glasses on a shelf in the cupboard, a tea towel slung over her shoulder. Souvenir of Niagara Falls, it said.

  “How long has she been on it?”

  “Probably since the day she signed her first movie contract. It either followed or chased her here. I don’t know. And I don’t know that I want to know. Clara, you’ve been reading in the paper lately about all the trafficking going on here: heroin, morphine, opium, whatever it is. I can’t keep it straight. All I know is it’s becoming a little too readily available.”

  “And encroaching on your bootlegging business too, right? You’re going to have to keep up with the times, Jack.”

  “I keep up just fine. What I’m trying to say is the Border Cities isn’t the best place to be for someone who’s trying to kick a habit — any habit.” McCloskey wasn’t finished. “And as far as my business is concerned, I’m not going to be touching any of it, and neither will my boys.”

  “Don’t think for a minute you can speak for all of them, Jack. Please tell me you’re not that naive.”

  “C’mon, you know you can be a real help here. How was I supposed to know she’d come gift-wrapped in all her vices?”

  Clara was enjoying seeing him like this.

  “She’s a good kid,” he said.

  “Kid?” She almost laughed. “She’s no kid, Jack. She’s a grown woman.”

  “Maybe on the outside. She’s still a bit young for her age.” He paused. “And what kind of path were you on last year?”

  “I wasn’t locking myself in hotel rooms and seasoning myself with heroin.”

  “Oh, so now that you’re all straightened out you get to look down on people who might need a little help?”

  “Hey, that’s not me and you know it. What about what I’ve been doing for you, and for Henry? And the work I do at the hospital?”

  McCloskey couldn’t argue that. “All right, all right,” he said and then paced a few paces before wedging himself into one of the corners adjacent to the sink. “Any other suggestions?”

  “Get her to a nunnery.”

  “Clara, she needs help, not religion. Okay, so this is a little out of your league. Don’t you know people at the hospital or at school in Detroit who might be able to point you in the right direction? Wait — thing is, though, it has to be something on this side of the border because —”

  Clara held up her hand like a traffic cop. “The less I know. Just tell me this: does she have any friends or family in town?”

  McCloskey shook his head. “No friends I’d trust her with, and as far as family goes, I don’t think she has any. She’s actually from Detroit. The story is —”

  The hand went up again.

  “Clara, this is something you should know. Nothing incriminating, I swear.”

  “All right.” She braced herself just the same, and McCloskey continued.

  “She was being passed around among a few auto executives in Detroit before one of them decided to give her to Davies as a gift. He must have done somebody a big favour.”

  “Or she was their sacrificial lamb.”

  “I don’t know. Anyway, Davies kept her on a very short leash. Though she was well compensated, from what I understand she wasn’t very happy. Her only happiness came from the little something she had on the side.” McCloskey paused for effect. “Wanna know who it was?”

  “I don’t know, do I?” said Clara.

  “Charlie Baxter.”

  Clara’s eyes almost rolled out of their sockets. “Are you kidding me?” She took a quick peek around the corner to get another look at Pearl. At second glance, Pearl really made the dowdy chambermaid’s uniform loo
k like a burlesque costume. Clara turned back to McCloskey. “She really is a handful, isn’t she?”

  “Yeah,” he said, “she is.”

  “Hey, were you two ever … friendly?” Clara was grinning at him now, teasing him like he was a schoolboy with a crush. K-i-s-s-i-n-g.

  “No.” He smiled back. “I know it might come as a shock to you, but she’s not exactly my type.”

  “Oh, come on. Look at her, Jack. Even I’d show her the town.”

  “Is that what the girls are calling it these days?”

  “All right, so how do you know her then?”

  “We’d run into each other at a speak, exchange winks. This is before she and Charlie hooked up. She’d sneak out with her girlfriends whenever she could, but she didn’t talk to anyone and no one talked to her.”

  “Lest they incurred the wrath of Davies.”

  “Yeah, something like that,” said McCloskey.

  Clara moved closer. “But when has anything like that ever stopped you?”

  “I can control myself, you know.”

  “Pardon my giggle.”

  There was a short break while the two of them, used to this kind of sparring, caught their breath, and then McCloskey came back.

  “So what do you say?”

  It was Clara’s turn to pause for dramatic effect. “I can’t be with her all the time,” she said.

  “I know.”

  “She needs to be partnered with someone, that’s how these things generally work, when they work at all.”

  “I’ll cover any expenses,” said McCloskey.

  “Folding money,” she replied.

  “Absolutely.”

  “Okay, let me see if I can find someone at the hospital. If this is becoming a problem in the Border Cities, then maybe there’s someone there who’s already working with people, putting some kind of program together. Meanwhile, that is, meanwhile, she can stay here.”

  “Roomies,” said McCloskey.

  “More like sorority sisters.”

  “Are you guys done yet? I’m getting hungry.”

  It was Pearl standing in the entrance to the kitchen, still clutching that cigarette. Clara and McCloskey looked at each other. Pearl must have been used to overhearing people talk about her like this, people who were at a loss as to how to handle her, what to do with her — her parents and teachers, the street toughs, and later the so-called men of power and influence who must have been a big disappointment to her, thought McCloskey. Men like that had no idea what to do with a girl like Pearl. McCloskey would have to be on his guard.

  “I think I can put something together for us,” said Clara.

  “Great. And where’s the little girl’s room?”

  “Down the hall. First door on your right.”

  “Swell.”

  They waited until she was gone before finishing their discussion.

  “So where’s Charlie Baxter?” said Clara.

  “No one knows.”

  “Lying low?”

  “Real low. Maybe even six feet under.”

  “Seriously? Tell me,” she said, “do you think about him a lot?”

  “Not much,” he said.

  Clara was surprised and not surprised to hear that. Even with all the work she’d been doing with veterans and influenza patients at the hospital, and with the street violence that had been a part of everyday life for her late husband — and was still for her brother-in-law — it was still difficult to understand. She could put at least part of it down to never having been a front-line soldier or a gangster who slept with a revolver under his pillow. The rest, she wasn’t so sure. What no one could deny, though, was that death and dying were different now.

  “I think more about the two guys I just lost.”

  That reminded her. “Say, how did your meeting go with the cop — what was his name? Campbell?”

  “Good … I think.”

  “Still can’t tell me what that’s all about?”

  “No, I can’t,” said McCloskey. “Trust me, the less you know about this thing the better. We’re trying to keep this as closed as possible.”

  “Does Pearl have anything to do with it?”

  “No, nothing.”

  “Good,” said Clara. “Maybe one less thing for me to worry about.”

  “Definitely.”

  “Have you talked to your shop girl at the bookstore yet?”

  “No, I’ve been a bit busy. We done with the interrogation?”

  Clara felt like she hit the McCloskey wall with that one and decided she had better back off or he’d be bringing her more orphans from the storm.

  “Yeah,” she said. “Hey, she’s taking her time in there; do you think she has anything on her?”

  “She better not,” said McCloskey. “After I leave, take her into your bedroom and show her some of your clothes. Play dress-up and get that uniform off and away from her, and let me know if you find anything. And check that she hasn’t hidden anything in the front room or the bathroom.”

  “The bathroom? Where —?”

  “You’d be surprised. Addicts can be extremely resourceful.”

  “I guess I still have a bit to learn.”

  “You’ll be fine,” he said. “Can you think of anything you need from me right now?”

  “The ice box is leaking again.”

  “I know a guy; I’ll send him over.”

  “Actually, Jack …” She had her arms folded and was looking at the floor.

  “What? What’s the matter?”

  “Jack, I’m really worried about Henry.”

  “Yeah? Is this new?”

  “Don’t kid. He’s not well; he’s lonely, isolated, frustrated…. Is there any mention of him in the street at all?”

  “It’s like he disappeared,” he said.

  “More like he’s fading away. I saw him the other day. He kept going on about needing to solve just one case, if he could only have that. He almost sounded desperate. Now that’s new.”

  “Yeah, that doesn’t sound like Henry. So he solves a case — that’ll put him right?”

  “I don’t think it’s that simple.”

  “Could be a start. Would you like me to pick one of my least favourite people and throw him in Henry’s path?”

  “That’s an idea.”

  “I’ll see what I can come up with.”

  Pearl reappeared. “Staying for lunch, Jack?”

  “No, I gotta run. I have to meet somebody.”

  “You and these meetings,” said Clara. “You sound like a member of the Chamber of Commerce.”

  “I guess I sort of am. It’s just not your dad’s Chamber of Commerce. Well, you ladies behave yourselves. I’ll drop by later with some groceries and maybe a bottle,” he winked at Clara, “or two.”

  “You can show yourself out,” she said.

  — Chapter 36 —

  BLACK BREAD

  Afternoon

  McCloskey rode his accelerator all the way down Pelissier, taking advantage of the fresh ruts in the snow. Even under these driving conditions Maiden Lane was still only a few minutes away. The place wasn’t hard to find, it being the only address on the block. McCloskey parked right out front, making himself as conspicuous as possible. He checked the neon sign in the ground floor window.

  Madame Zahra’s Astral Attic.

  He didn’t know from “astral,” but it did sort of sound like it might be somewhere in the neighbourhood of palm reading. He lit up a White Owl, cracked the window, and sat back with one eye on the Avenue and the other on his rearview mirror. He started ruminating on any and all things potentially astral.

  Cards with pictures — not exactly Jacks and Kings, though; fortune tellers; crystal balls. People looking for answers. But a police detective?

  McCloskey was recalling a visit to the Michigan State Fair, just a little over a month after war was declared on Germany. A couple of his buddies dragged him into a tent where there was this guy in a shiny turban, wearing more mak
eup than most of the girls at the dance pavilion. He was sitting at a little table, hunched over a crystal ball that was slightly larger than a five-pin bowling ball, set on top of what looked to be nothing more than a fancy ashtray. He massaged this crystal with his long, knuckly fingers while humming in a low drone. And he wore a cape. It was all coming back to McCloskey now. He was remembering the poster: Behold The Great Baseer! They asked the man from the Orient — Turkey or Persia or somewhere like that — Who is going to win the war? McCloskey would never forget the mystic’s reply: What war? This visionary in the dime store turban had probably never set foot beyond East Grand Boulevard or saw anything of the spirit world unless it was filtered through a splash of bathtub gin.

  A car turned in from the Avenue, an Essex. It slowed and parked directly across from McCloskey. Through the frosted glass he could make out a man whom he thought could be Campbell. They both rolled down their windows. It was indeed Campbell.

  “Is this the place?” said McCloskey, pointing his thumb over his shoulder.

  “Sorry I’m late.”

  They killed their engines and stepped down onto the cobblestone made slick by the snow that was packed into every gap and crevice. McCloskey couldn’t help but notice the bundle of books and the accordion file tucked under Campbell’s arm and was about to say something but Campbell spoke first.

  “I’ll explain when we get upstairs,” he said. “Hold on — on the phone you said there was something you wanted to talk about. Does it have to do with the key, or with any of your cohorts?”

  “No, it doesn’t,” said McCloskey and he tossed the still-glowing butt of his White Owl into a snowdrift. “It can wait.”

  “Okay, then let’s go. She’s expecting us.”

  McCloskey looked up at the attic window and thought about The Great Baseer. “Do we need tickets?”

  “We have what you might call a reciprocal agreement.”

  The detective led the bootlegger through the front door and up the stairs to the first landing. “Kick your boots off here,” he said.

  McCloskey did just that, unbuttoned his coat, and lifted off his fedora. It was warm up here, but the warmth seemed to be coming from inside of him. Even stranger, it seemed to have a smell, or was it a flavour? The two men continued up the last flight and through the floor into the little attic apartment.