Jimmy and Fay

by Michael Mayo

  The regular, not-crazy part of my brain knew that Connie wouldn’t go there. But right then, I wasn’t paying much attention to the regular not-crazy part. The crazy jealous part remembered how Bobby had snaked girls away from me and how easily he could pour on the charm and how Connie was mad at me already and how he might go after her out of spite just because I broke into his studio. Maybe he offered her a bundle of cash and she took it, not knowing what he wanted her to do.

  I went through the rest of the boxes and the stuff that was stored on the shelves and the drawing desk and the clutter at the back of the workbench. Nothing and more nothing.

  I found it when I went through the trash bin.

  The first things I pulled out were rags, ink-stained pieces of cloth and crumpled newspapers. Underneath those, I found some printed pages out of the Kong book. He’d tossed them out because they were smeared or dog-eared. Among the bad pages I came across a square envelope, made of the same thick paper as the book pages. Somebody, Bobby I guess, had started typing an address on East Eighty-Seventh Street, but “New York” was “New Yrok.” I guess Bobby was as much a perfectionist as he made himself out to be.

  After more digging, I found five invitations, printed with the same blue ink he used on his cards and the books. Three of them were smeared. Two were printed off center. The invitation read:

  The World Premiere of Kong

  By Oscar Apollinaire

  Will Be Presented

  Sunday, March 5, at 11:00 p.m.

  With a performance by the stars

  Corlears Street

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Back in my room, I stashed the invitations and found my notepad and pen. It was about 8:30. I got my coat and hat and was about to go downstairs but turned and went up to Connie’s room. I knocked and waited. No answer.

  A couple of blocks away on Ninth Avenue there was a garage. That’s where I kept a nice little green Ford coupe that my friend Walter Spencer loaned me so I wouldn’t have to steal it. It had to do with the business that brought Connie to work in my place, and I don’t need to go into that again. Truth is, I had hardly driven it, but I picked it up that night and headed down to the Lower East Side.

  You see, Corlears Street was just south of the Williamsburg Bridge, only a few blocks from a garage that Meyer Lansky owned. Back in the first days of Prohibition, Spence and I stole cars and trucks and sold them to Lansky. We also drove shipments of liquor for him in some of the same cars. It was a sweet racket. Corlears Street was close to the East River. I didn’t really know the neighborhood, and it had been years since I’d been down there. I figured it wouldn’t be a bad idea to take a look at it before the soirée intime got started.

  I took a right off Grand Street onto Corlears and looked for a building that would suit Bobby’s purposes. I thought I spotted one, and at the same time, I noticed four big headlights on a car parked on the other side of the street. Yeah, it was the big brown Oldsmobile. I could see that a guy in a chauffeur’s cap was behind the wheel. I kept a slow steady speed on the cobblestones. As I passed the Olds, my lights cut across it, and I was able to see that the driver had gray hair and a jowly jaw. His eyes were fixed on the front of Bobby’s building. He stared at it like he was trying to memorize every detail, that’s how intense his expression was. I had a feeling I’d seen him somewhere, but that happened a lot with so many people coming into the speak, so I didn’t think much about it. I had other things to do, anyway. I drove down a couple of streets, circled around a little park, and came back to park about thirty feet behind the Olds. It figured he was doing the same thing I was.

  I cut the engine, took off my hat, slouched in the seat, and waited.

  Bobby’s place was a flat-roofed, two-story brick building with bars on the ground-floor windows, and big wooden doors that looked like they belonged on a barn. It was on the corner of Monroe Street. As my eyes got used to the dark, I saw that there was a big goon smoking a cigarette beside the doors. No light showed from any of the windows.

  By and by, somebody trotted around the corner of the building at Monroe and made straight for the Olds. It was the kid who’d been watching my place. The back door of the Olds opened as he approached and he jumped in. Nothing happened for a few minutes until the goon stepped away from the building and started across the street. He wore a heavy overcoat and had his hat pulled down over his eyes. He hadn’t gone more than a couple of steps before the Olds started up and pulled away from the curb. It headed toward Grand Street. I gave them a few seconds and then followed. I didn’t try to stay close because I had a good idea about where they were going.

  Yeah, the Olds pulled into the garage of the Wilcox place on Fifth Avenue.

  I turned around and drove back down to Corlears Street. When I got there, they were unloading food from a truck. I did the same thing I’d done before, going past the place, coming back around and parking down the street where I could watch. Both of the front doors were open, and a second goon in an overcoat was standing around with the first one. I guess they were there to keep people out, but the street was quiet on a Sunday night. Bobby was talking with the guy who was in charge of the delivery. It looked like they were disagreeing, and both of them went inside. I got out and walked to Monroe Street. The two goons at the door paid no attention.

  I thought there might be an alley off Monroe going behind the building and I was right. There were dim gaslights on the street, and I could see an electric light some way down the alley, about where the back door ought to be. I didn’t risk going into the alley. If Bobby had guys in the front, there was somebody in the back. I went on around the block and came down Corlears on the far side of the street.

  Back in the coupe, I watched them moving the covered trays of food inside. Sometime after that, a taxi pulled up and three girls got out, laughing and talking to each other. I couldn’t tell much about them. They were wearing coats and hats. One of them was shorter than the other two and what I could see of her hair was dark. I leaned forward to get a better look, but Bobby came out and hustled them inside.

  The regular, not-crazy part of me was sure that the shorter girl didn’t walk at all like Connie. The crazy jealous part wasn’t satisfied, but there was nothing to be done then so I drove back uptown to get ready.

  I parked in the alley behind the speak and let myself in the back. It was a slow night. The place was almost empty. Marie Therese hadn’t heard anything more from Connie. Damn. I went down to the cellar and found Arch Malloy with his nose still in The Story of Philosophy. He might have made it to the second chapter.

  I said, “Looks like you were right about the premiere of that stag movie I was telling you about. It’s tonight.”

  “Is it, then?” He put down the book.

  I described the place and said, “The situation is a little more complicated than it was before. Maybe.” I didn’t want to say anything about Connie, but since Malloy knew her, I had to.

  “There’s a chance Connie will be there. This guy I know, the one I told you about, who calls himself Apollinaire, he might have tried to get her to help serve food and drinks at this thing. Cocaine, too, maybe. At least, I know he wanted to ask her, and if he did, maybe she said yes. I don’t know.”

  Arch got that canny look of his. “You’ve found a way to get yourself into it, haven’t you?”

  I nodded. “If you’ve got black-tie, you can join me.”

  He hopped out of his chair and said, “I’ll be back in thirty minutes.”

  “Bring your pistol.”

  I went up to my office and called Detective Ellis at his precinct. It took a long time for the desk sergeant or whoever answered to find him, and when Ellis got on the line, he sounded tired, irritable, and not in the mood to hear what I had to say.

  “What the hell is it now?”

  “I know you said you want this to be over, but it’s not. The stag movie I told you about, they’re showing it tonight. And I’ve got reason to think the guys who were behind
the business with the book are going to be there.”

  “So? What’s it to you?”

  “They’re up to something.” I hadn’t told him about the goat, and I couldn’t think of a way to bring it up then and not sound like I was nuts.

  “I don’t care,” he said. “You stay out of it. I’ve talked to Captain Boatwright. He’s happy and he’s going to talk to the commissioner, so you don’t do anything else, you got that? Don’t rock the boat.”

  “Listen, goddammit, you got me into this when you told them to come to my place and volunteered me to be your go-between and then left me holding the fucking bag when it was time for the payoff, so you still owe me.”

  “The hell you say. I—”

  “Just listen. I said they’re showing this picture tonight. I’m going to be there. You stay close to the phone. If it goes south and I can’t handle it, I’m going to call. Make sure you’re available.”

  “Shit, you can’t—”

  “I’m not asking you to do anything. Just be ready if I need help. Last night you told me to say yes and shut up and that’s what you’re going to do now. You’re going to say yes and you’re going to stay by the damn telephone. Right?”

  He didn’t say anything.

  I repeated, “Right?”

  After a long pause, he said, “Yes.”

  I told Frenchy and Marie Therese they could close up whenever they felt like it and that Arch and I had other business to take care of. Right off, Marie Therese asked if it had anything to do with Connie.

  I said, “I don’t think so and I hope not, but it’s something I want to be sure about.”

  She went into her mother-hen routine then and put her fists on her hips and narrowed her eyes. “If you did anything to hurt that girl, I will never forgive you.”

  “I didn’t do anything”—that I knew of—“If I knew why you and her were so honked off at me, maybe I’d have a better idea about what’s going on.”

  I waited for her answer and watched her anger fade away as she thought about it, but she just shook her head and didn’t say anything.

  I walked back to the Chelsea.

  Tommy was not behind the desk. I went up to my room and found my best black suit, the one I wore at funerals. The invitation didn’t say anything about dress, but I remembered Bobby saying something about black-tie and costumes and masks. He also said his crowd was the carriage trade, but considering that the event wasn’t exactly going to be listed on the social register, I figured nobody would say anything to a guy who had an invitation.

  I went with a fresh white shirt and a black silk tie and finished off by putting a quick shine on my black crepe-soled brogans. After considering the fancy black cane with the silver head, I decided to stay with my everyday stick. It was heavier and you could do more damage with the crook. I thought about breaking my rule and putting the sixth round in the Banker’s Special but decided, no, if it came to that and Connie was there and guys started shooting, I’d grab her and we’d hide.

  I went up to Connie’s room on the fifth floor and knocked, hoping like hell she’d answer and this whole damn foolish thing would be over. I’d ask her, beg her to tell me what was wrong and she would and we’d work it out. But, no, nothing. No answer.

  I went on up to the sixth and paused outside 624, Bobby’s Rudolph Valentino room. I could hear dance music from the Victrola and a man and a woman laughing. Sounded like Tommy and Honeybunch hit it off over the ice cream and the hash.

  Down the hall, I unlocked the door to the workroom and turned on the lights. If anybody had been there in the last couple of hours, I couldn’t tell. I took the stack of masks from the shelves and spread them out on the table where I could get a better look.

  Some were painted in bright shiny colors, and some were made to look like animals or birds trimmed with fur and feathers and ribbons. I picked two with big eyeholes that only covered the top half of your face. The brown was a dog. That was for Arch. Mine was black and white. I couldn’t tell if it was a cat or a skunk. Seemed right either way.

  Arch was waiting at the Ford coupe. He was keyed up, bouncing a little as I opened the door. Once we were inside the car, I saw he was wearing a tuxedo.

  As we headed downtown, I said, “If Bobby’s having his premiere tonight, Wilcox must be back from Washington.” I was trying to sound calm and logical and not let the crazy jealous part show.

  Arch said, “Perhaps Mr. Wilcox is ready for a change of pace. After all of his work on the campaign and the New York side of the transition and the public celebrations, he’s ready to reward himself with something more carnal. He took his own railway car to the inauguration, so he wouldn’t have any trouble getting back quickly.”

  “The invite says we’re going to see the premiere of Bobby’s Kong and there will be a performance by the stars. I think that means Nola Revere and a guy in a gorilla suit.”

  Arch said, “If this stag film is any good, a fifty-foot-tall monster would just get in the way, wouldn’t it? That’s not what these gentlemen are paying to see.”

  “Right. That was Bobby’s thinking, too. I saw them setting up. There’s food and drink, and a couple of goons are keeping the riffraff out. Now, here’s the part I haven’t told you. This guy can be a real charmer, and he left a note for Connie last night.” I didn’t mention how she smiled when she read it. I couldn’t stop thinking about that, and it made my stomach hurt. “And I kind of pissed him off by breaking into his studio a little. But, really, he’s just one of those guys that—”

  “That thinks he can bed any woman he meets.”

  I turned down Broadway. “Yeah, that’s Bobby. So maybe he asked Connie to work there tonight just so he could get back at me and try to hustle her into the sack and maybe she said yes not knowing what he was up to.”

  “I think you’re misjudging Connie there. She may be young, but she’s dealt with men like that before.”

  “You know that, huh?” I cut my eyes at him as we went around Union Square and traffic thinned out.

  “We talk,” he said, smiling. “You know, I almost hope you continue to be a great lummox and she sees that she needs the patience and guidance that only a more mature man can provide. Ah, don’t look at me that way, I’m joking. The last thing she wants is another father in her life, she’s got no use for the one she has, the miserable bastard.”

  “What the hell do you know about her father?” I didn’t know a damn thing. I didn’t even know she had a father. I mean, I knew but she never said anything about him to me.

  “Like I said, we talk. Her old man is as big a bastard as mine was, but you were about to tell me why you think we need to be here, and I have made a bet with myself that it has something to do with the slaughtered goat and then shooting the pistol at the globe.”

  “Yeah.” I was glad I didn’t have to explain that part.

  “And we think the young fellow is responsible for both, and he’s somehow associated with the Wilcox family. He might be Peter Wilcox Jr., or he might believe himself to be Peter Wilcox’s brother.”

  “Right.”

  “And that suggests a possibility we have not considered. He could be a bastard sired by Learned Wilcox. If half the stories told about old Learned are true, he is a cocksman of the first order, a rake who’d put your friend Bobby to shame.”

  “He’s still alive? I thought Peter Wilcox took over when he died.”

  “No, there was something, a broken hip, I believe, and then a series of illnesses that kept Learned away from the business. By the time it was announced that Peter Wilcox was officially taking over as head of the bank, he’d been doing the job for more than a year.”

  “How do you know all this stuff?”

  He shrugged. “You asked me to look into it. I have my methods.”

  “Okay, well, yeah, that’s what I’m worried about. If this guy has it in for Peter Wilcox and he knows about this soirée, there’s a good chance he’ll be here. You know I don’t give a damn about the W
ilcoxes, but I’m not going to let anything happen to Connie. That’s the long and the short of it.”

  “So,” he said, “the first thing we do is locate her. If she’s there.”

  “Right, then there’s the other two guys, the ones you saw Thursday night, a kid and an older horse-faced guy. Name’s Trodache.”

  “Yes, I remember them.”

  “He was there when I made the payoff and I gave him the business. Nothing serious but he won’t be happy to see me. And I spotted the kid watching the place earlier tonight, so he’s still around, too.”

  I turned south off Delancey on a dark side street so we could come up behind Bobby’s place. “Oh, and there’s one other guy, too, the chauffeur who’s driving a big Oldsmobile, one of the fancy ones with four headlights. Saw him earlier tonight, too.”

  I cut the lights and parked a block down on Monroe Street. “So there’s those three guys.”

  “Four, counting the goat killer.”

  “Right. That’s who we’re worried about.”

  “But really,” Arch said, “all we care about is Connie.”

  “Yeah, if we see her, we try to get her out.”

  “And if we don’t?” he asked.

  “Then we eat and drink and watch the world’s greatest stag film.” I picked up the masks and handed him one. “Here, you’re the dog.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Arch and I rounded the corner at Corlears and saw that the street was clogged with long dark cars and taxis. A small crowd of men jostled on the brick sidewalk at the front doors, some of them in silk toppers and opera cloaks, most wearing masks. I couldn’t make out much of them in the faint gaslight. As we got closer, we could hear jungle jazz from a band, and I saw moving lights inside. The idea came to me then that I might have pissed Bobby off so much that he told his goons to look out for a short guy with a cane, so I held the stick close to my leg and a little behind it. Didn’t matter. The two goons weren’t checking names on a list. If you flashed the square card with blue lettering, that was enough. Chances were they couldn’t read anyway.