by Michael Mayo
“Now, Cynthia,” I said, sounding reasonable as I slipped a sawbuck under her hand, “you know that Pearl, I mean Polly, and I are old friends, and I’d never ask you to do anything she wouldn’t like, right? Just tell me what you can about this girl, what was her name? Nola Revere.”
She tucked the bill into her bra without missing a beat. “Well, I suppose there’s no harm . . .”
As Cynthia put it, nobody knew Nola’s real name or expected to. Judging by her accent, they thought she might be Polack. She said she’d worked in some dancehalls and she was so popular she decided she could do better. That led her to Minsky’s burlesque, but she didn’t like it there and a friend told her that Polly Adler’s place was the best in town. She certainly had the figure. Her face was all right, but it was the figure that did it. As Charlie said, nobody forgot those tits. She started filling in on weekends. When one of the regulars left, she moved in and lived there from February to May.
“Why’d she leave?” I asked.
Cynthia shrugged. “Who knows? She waited until an afternoon when most of us were out, and then she packed up her clothes and left. The maid who was here said Nola told her to call a cab and left with her suitcases. All she left here were a few cosmetics.”
“Is it unusual for a girl to take off like that?”
“No, happens all the time. We have a lot of turnover.”
“Yeah, I know,” I said. “Hard to keep good help.” That made me think about Connie again, and I worried over whatever was making her so moody. What the hell was eating her?
“You said Nola hung around with Daphne. Where is she, anyway? I haven’t seen her around.” After that afternoon in the Grand Central Building, the last time I saw Daphne was in Charlie’s place at the Waldorf Terrace a year or so ago.
“She left, too.”
“Took off like the other girl?”
Cynthia shook her head. “She got out of the business, and it was good that she did. She and Polly had been on the outs. Daphne was the most popular girl here. She wanted more and Polly wouldn’t give it to her. Don’t tell Polly I said that. Anyhow, Daphne met a rich guy and he set her up in her own place.”
“No kidding,” I said. “I wonder if she could tell me anything about Nola.”
Cynthia started to say something but stopped and shook her head. “No, Daphne was as surprised as the rest of us when she left.”
I could tell she was holding out on me and she was worried at the same time. Well, why not? Most of the cops and thugs who came into the place thought that their position and their money gave them the right to do whatever they wanted to the girls, Polly and Cynthia included. They didn’t talk about it, but I knew they’d been roughed up and the place had been tossed more than once.
Hell, it was the same for me, only not as bad. After all, in the eyes of the law, we were both trading in something that was illegal—booze and cooze. I had it easier since I didn’t really have to hide what I did. If anybody complained to the local precinct cops that there was an establishment selling alcohol a couple of blocks off Broadway, they’d be laughed out of the place. For Cynthia and Polly, it was different. Somebody made enough noise about whores—even in a place as nice as Polly’s—the cops would have to do something. And if some of Dutch Schultz’s boys got carried away and knocked a girl around, Polly couldn’t go to the cops.
Cynthia knew that if I decided to be a hard-ass, there was nothing to do about it.
I thought Miss Wray’s money would be more persuasive and slipped her another ten. It smoothly joined the first ten-spot in her bra.
“Look,” I said. “I don’t want to queer her deal. I like Daphne, you know that. I just need to talk to her a little, that’s all. Hell, if she can help me, I’ll make it worth her while. Even with this rich guy, I bet she could use a little folding money. What do you say?”
It turned out that Cynthia and Daphne had been pretty close pals, too. Polly and all the girls had been happy for Daphne when she told them that one of her regulars, a Wall Street banker no less, wanted a “more exclusive relationship.” They congratulated her and gave her a nice send-off. Daphne called Cynthia a few weeks later and said they should meet down in the Village for lunch, and that’s what they did.
Cynthia said, “She’s got a really cute little place. Hot water, her own bathroom and telephone, the works.”
I asked for the address and number. As she was writing them down, a worried look crossed her face and she said, “You got to promise me you’re not going to make trouble for her. Daphne’s a sweet kid. It was good for her to find this fellow. I’d hate it if you messed it up for her.”
“I’m only interested in the other girl, and I don’t even know if it’s that important I find her. This sure is a screwy business that I’ve got myself into.”
I didn’t know how right I was.
Back out on Madison, I hailed a cab and told him to take me to my speak and to wait for me when we got there. I still couldn’t quit thinking about Connie. If you’d asked me why, I probably couldn’t have told you. Whatever the reason, I thought it would be good if she came with me to see Miss Wray again. If we weren’t too busy. Or maybe I was just hoping that we’d finish the business and tell Miss Wray that, yes, we knew who the other girl was, and Saxon Dunbar wasn’t going to screw her over, and Miss Wray would say that was great, and Connie and I would leave after ten minutes and spend more of Miss Wray’s money on another cab back down to the Chelsea where Connie would invite me up to her room. Fat chance.
It was probably about quarter after three Friday morning when we got to the speak. The cabbie double-parked. I gave him a buck and he was happy to wait while I went inside and found that the damn Democrats were still whooping it up. Connie and Frenchy were busy behind the bar. Marie Therese was taking care of the tables. They needed help. I handed Fat Joe Beddoes another dollar and told him to give it to the cabbie and tell him I wouldn’t be needing him. Then I headed upstairs to my office.
I called the Pierre, asked for Miss Wray’s room, and Hazel answered.
I told her that I didn’t have anything more, but tomorrow I’d talk to a friend of the girl in the picture book. Maybe tomorrow, I couldn’t be sure.
“Fay would still like you to come over,” she said, sounding pissed, like people didn’t say no to Fay very often.
“I don’t have time to talk,” I said. “ See you tomorrow. Maybe.”
I shed my coat, rolled up my sleeves, and went to the basement where I helped Arch Malloy load a fresh keg into the dumbwaiter and send it to the bar. Then while Frenchy moved it into place, I stacked three trays of dirty glasses into the dumbwaiter and sent them upstairs to the kitchen of the Cruzon Grill. I ran the glasses through the washer and dryer and gave them a quick once-over with a clean towel before I loaded them back into the dumbwaiter and down to the bar.
Back in the basement, Arch and I stacked the night’s empties, and he took boxes of cigars and the special ten-cigarette packs of Camels we sold upstairs.
It was sometime after four when we kicked out the last of the happy Democrats and started cleaning up. I took the night’s cash up to my office. I made a quick count and was glad to see that it had been a very good night. Connie would do the real count for the books, but she usually didn’t get to that until the next morning, so I locked up the cash in the safe with the dirty picture book. I considered taking the book with me to the Chelsea because I might want to show it to Daphne, if I could see Daphne tomorrow. But, no, too many people wanted to get their hands on that book. Better to keep it locked up. I went back downstairs and we finished cleaning up.
It must have been around five when Connie and I put on our coats and hats. She turned toward the front door, where we usually went out when we closed, but I locked it from the inside and said, “Let’s use the back tonight. And, here, take this.” I handed her the little Spanish .25 automatic I’d just borrowed from Marie Therese.
Looking surprised and concerned, she put it in her bag
and asked what was going on.
We went to the back stairs and I said, “I don’t know what’s going on. Nothing about this business feels kosher to me. I mean, for openers, any fool can see that it’s not Miss Wray in the pictures, so why would anybody threaten her with them? And why is she worried about them? She says her husband will be pissed off anyway, and that doesn’t make any sense either.”
“Sure it does,” Connie snapped back at me. “Some guys will use any excuse to get a girl under their thumb. Blame her for things that aren’t her fault, tell her she doesn’t look like he wants her to, you know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” We saw it often enough with our customers, swells and mugs, it didn’t matter.
We went out the back door. I locked it and unlocked the back gate that opened on the alley behind the place. I made sure it was locked tight before we walked down to Broadway. I wanted to take her arm, but I wasn’t going to let go of the Banker’s Special in my topcoat pocket.
“And then there’s the two idiots who braced me outside Lansky’s place. They don’t know what the fuck they’re doing, pardon my French. But if Fat Joe’s right and the old guy used to be a vice cop, then we’ve got to be careful.”
She nodded. “Yes, I’ve heard about them.”
“I don’t know that they’ll try anything, but they followed Miss Wray to our place and then they got in, so they know who you are. I told Fat Joe not to let ’em in again, but it looks to me like they’re so damn stupid you can’t tell what they’re going to do. Makes them dangerous. So maybe I’m nuts to give you Marie Therese’s piece, but maybe I’m not.”
Connie forgot she was mad at me and put her arm through mine as we walked down Broadway and then turned toward the Chelsea. There was no sign of the Olds or the idiots.
“What are you going to do now?” she asked.
I explained that when I’d told her earlier that I was going to Polly’s, I was trying to find Charlie Luciano to see if his guys had anything to do with the book and the shakedown. Nobody he knew had anything to do with it, but he knew the girl in the book. She used to work for Polly. Hearing that, Connie perked right up and asked why I hadn’t told her.
“Things are happening too fast. Seemed more important to pay attention to Saxon Dunbar and the guys who are asking for the money the last time we talked.” Then I explained to her that I met Pearl, now known as Polly, back when I was a kid. I didn’t go into all the whys and wherefores.
“Tonight,” I said, “this girl named Cynthia was filling in for Polly and she told me about Nola, the girl in the pictures. She flew the coop about a year ago, but there’s this other girl, Daphne, who used to work for Polly, too, and she was a friend of Nola’s.”
Connie said, “That’s too many names to keep straight if you don’t know them.”
“Not much easier if you do. Think of ’em as Polly the madam, Cynthia her assistant, Daphne the mistress, and Nola with the tits.”
“You’re such a silver-tongued devil.”
“Anyway, tonight I learn that Daphne is out of the life. She found a sugar daddy who set her up in a place, and she might know more about Nola, so I’m going to talk to her. After that, if the lawyers decide to pay up, I guess I’ll be delivering six grand for them tomorrow evening.”
The lobby of the Chelsea was empty, like it usually was when we came in from work. Tommy, the night man, was snoring behind the desk. The elevator operator was asleep on his little folding seat. I gave him a tap on the shoulder, like I did most mornings. He rubbed his eyes and said, “Hello, Connie. How you doing?”
“Good, Nelson. You? How’s Phyllis?”
They yakked away all the way up to the fifth floor. Phyllis was either his wife, daughter, or girlfriend. I couldn’t tell, but it was somebody they’d talked about before, talked about a lot from the sound of it.
I waited by the door to her room as Connie went through her bag for her key. Some nights I was invited in. I suspected this wasn’t going to be one of them. But after she’d opened the door and checked to see that there was nobody in the room and nobody else in the hall, she threw her arms around my neck and gave me a long hard kiss that would melt stainless steel.
She rubbed her thighs against mine, and after she felt the reaction she was looking for, she leaned back and smiled.
I said, “Does this mean you’re not mad at me anymore?”
She pulled herself closer so she could whisper, “Hell, no, I just want you to know what you’re missing,” and she kissed me again.
“Goddammit, what is going on. I don’t—”
She cut me off with another purring smile, and she touched my lips with a gloved finger. “Don’t worry, you’ll figure it out,” she said.
She could be the most exasperating woman when she wanted to be.
Chapter Ten
On Friday I was up before noon.
Based on what Cynthia said, I figured I had a fair chance of seeing Daphne, so I strapped on my brace and took out one of the better suits. It was a new single-breasted from Brooks Brothers, dark gray, almost black, finished off with a crisp white pin-striped shirt and a burgundy grenadine tie. When you’re my size, you don’t dress sharp, you look like a damn kid. It was cloudy and looked to be cold but warmer than yesterday, so I went with the lighter-weight camel-hair topcoat, the one with large inside pockets. I packed up Miss Wray’s cash, the Banker’s Special, my notepad and pen, found my stick and hat, and set off.
I picked up a few of the morning papers and decided to skip the hash house on the corner where I usually got breakfast. Instead, I went back to the speak. Some of Vittorio’s guys would be in the Cruzon kitchen early. They fixed really good strong coffee, and they didn’t mind whipping up something for me from time to time. Turned out to be a nice-size omelet and fried potatoes and spinach on the side. Hit the spot.
While I was eating, I read Freddie Hall’s review of King Kong in the Times. Miss Wray had been wrong when she said he’d hate it. Hell, I was sitting right next to him in the theater. I knew he liked it as much as I did. I thought he gave away too much of the story, but it’s hard not to do that when you’re enthusiastic.
After I finished, I took the tray back upstairs, got more coffee, and settled behind my desk. I put off making any decisions about what I was going to do until I got through the rest of the papers. The truth is I didn’t know what I wanted to ask Daphne or what she could tell me, but I promised Miss Wray that I’d see this through, so I picked up the phone and dialed the number Cynthia gave me.
Daphne picked up before the first ring had ended, like she’d had her hand hovering over the phone. She said, “Okay, I’m ready.”
I recognized her voice, but she surprised me by picking up so quick and I didn’t answer right away.
She said, “Harold, what’s wrong? I’m ready to write it down this time. Go ahead.”
“Daphne? This is Jimmy Quinn.”
“Jimmy? What are you . . . How did you . . . Oh, fuck, not now. Look, I can’t talk,” and she hung up.
I had no idea what any of that meant. She sounded surprised and pissed off, but at least I knew she was there. So I decided on the approach I’d been considering and went down to the cellar for an expensive bottle of Chablis.
Connie was sitting behind the desk when I got back. The safe was open, and she was counting last night’s take. She cut her eyes at the wine and gave me a curious look but didn’t stop her work. I didn’t interrupt.
When she finished, I held up the wine and said, “How much do we get for this? Twelve fifty, isn’t it?”
She said yes and I peeled thirteen bucks off Miss Wray’s money and told her to add it to last night’s total.
Connie’s eyebrows arched. “What’s up?”
I put on my topcoat and slipped the wine into the inside pocket. “I’m going to tell Daphne, whose last name I don’t know, that Miss Wray, star of stage and the silver screen, would like to know anything she can tell me about one Nola Rever
e, late of Polly Adler’s establishment. The wine is for Daphne. If she’s got anything to say that’s useful, we’ll settle on a price. I got a hundred from Miss Wray last night.”
“What do you mean you ‘got a hundred’?”
“When I told her I knew who the girl in the pictures was, I said I’d probably have to spend some money to learn more. She told Hazel to call down to the concierge for a hundred bucks. Ten minutes later, it was there.”
“Are you making that up?”
“I swear to you that I’m not. They live in a different world than we do.”
Connie whistled low. “Ain’t it the truth.”
I was almost out the door when she stopped me, saying, “You know, it might be a good idea not to mention Miss Wray right up front. Isn’t she more interested in keeping her name out of this business than anything else? You might need to drop her name to impress this Daphne, but don’t use it unless you have to.”
It was my turn to give her a look, and she could tell that I was impressed. Damn, I thought and not for the first time, she’s smart, stacked, and pretty, that’s a dangerous combination.
Out on the street, I took time to check for the Olds and the idiots. Nothing. I got a cab down to Christopher Street and walked a block to Gay, a crooked little street, not much wider than an alley. You find them tucked away down there in the Village. Daphne’s address was a narrow place with a fire escape over the bright red door and a tree growing up against the front. A paper tag on the doorframe read d. prewitt
I twisted the bell in the middle of the door. A few seconds later I heard footsteps and then a voice behind the door. “Harold?”
“No. Jimmy Quinn. Again.”
She said something I couldn’t make out.
I said, “Daphne, if you’ll just let me in and talk to me for a few minutes, it could mean a nice piece of change for you. That’s all I want, a little talk, and I’m ready to pay for it. I’ve got a five-spot in my hand.”
The bolt snapped back.
