Murder Knocks Twice

by Susanna Calkins

  When Gina didn’t share any more details of her love life, Lulu went on. “Some of the other girls here, they’re gold diggers.” She laughed again, as two cocktail waitresses sauntered toward them. “Speak of the devil, here are two of them now. Jade and Faye. Hello gals!”

  Faye was a silvery blonde with an equally silvery laugh. When she extended her hand in greeting, her art deco bracelets slipped about on her slim arm. “Charmed,” she said with an easy smile that betrayed an endearing dimple.

  Jade, a light-skinned black woman with green eyes, was a little more watchful, touching hands with Gina only briefly. She twirled the long white pearls that wrapped around her neck and plunged down the front of her chic green gown. “I guess it didn’t take too long to replace Dorrie, did it?” she asked, sounding bitter. “I see you’re even wearing her dress and headband.”

  Gina put her hand to her headband. “I am?” she asked, startled. She noticed that Lulu didn’t meet her eyes.

  “I don’t remember you auditioning,” Faye said, crossing her arms over her chest. Jade echoed the gesture.

  “Audition?” Gina asked, looking back and forth between the two women.

  “Didn’t have to,” Lulu said, tensing. “The Signora must have just taken my word about how good she’d be.”

  “Your word?” Faye said, raising a delicately arched eyebrow. “How unusual.”

  “I suppose you sing,” Jade commented, looking Gina up and down. “Because you don’t have a dancer’s form. No offense, darling.”

  “No, I don’t dance. Or sing,” Gina said, standing a little straighter. “I thought I was just selling cigarettes and serving cocktails. You all sing and dance?”

  “Yes indeed,” Lulu replied, puffing out her chest a bit. “On evenings when we don’t have a regular act in the house, we girls perform. Why, just last week a man told me I should be working in Hollywood!”

  “Oh, I hear that every day,” Jade said, patting her hair. “In fact, I had a photographer in last week. From Variety. Marty told him about me.”

  “The Signora didn’t tell you that we all perform, too?” Faye asked Gina, clearly still focusing on the earlier part of the conversation. Her eyes narrowed a bit. “How odd.”

  “No one mentioned it to me,” Gina said, looking meaningfully at Lulu. She smiled through gritted teeth. “I can do a passable Charleston, but that’s about it.”

  All three women looked a bit relieved. “Well, maybe the Signora didn’t need another performer,” Faye said, smiling brightly.

  “Or maybe she forgot to tell me. Maybe I still need to audition,” Gina said, feeling disappointed. She couldn’t afford to lose this job already, and it looked like it was all slipping away.

  “Oh, she wouldn’t have forgotten,” Jade assured her. “The Signora doesn’t forget anything, ever. We do need someone to serve drinks while we’re out there.” She smiled at Gina again, this time looking more sincere.

  “Yes,” Faye added. “Just remember the back room’s mine.”

  * * *

  At their first break, Lulu told Gina about what to do in case of a police raid or, even less likely, a visit from Prohibition agents. She pointed at the stairs Gina had come down when she had first arrived. “If the Drys come—and we’ll know because Big Mike and the Signora have lookouts and contacts—you’re to go up either to the drugstore or the tea shop, button on a sweater, and tie an apron over your dress. Just start wiping a table, or bring someone a soda or tea. Gooch will turn out the lights on both ends of the alley, warning people away. Over the next few days, you’ll work in both places so you look like you know your way around.”

  Gina looked up at the balcony above, trying to imagine a bunch of burly Prohibition agents busting their way down the stairs, breaking up the place. Papa would not be very happy if she were arrested. “There are other ways out, aren’t there?” she asked, remembering what Ned had told her earlier. “Other exits?”

  “Sure, for the patrons. There’s a tunnel beyond that back exit,” Lulu pointed behind her, toward the ladies’ dressing room. “You’ll see a ladder that leads up to the gangway between the buildings. The gangway leads you onto Harrison or the alley. Go out that way and you might run right into the Drys.” She paused. “There’s another tunnel, too, although I don’t know exactly where it leads. Most will go that way. Really dirty passage, though. Hasn’t been used in a while.”

  “What about us? Seems easier for us to run, too.”

  Lulu grabbed her by the shoulders. “Gina, you can’t run,” she said, giving her a little shake. “Promise me that. You could get caught. Even worse, if you run, the Signora and Big Mike—they might think you’re disloyal. You understand?”

  “Capiche,” Gina replied, trying to sound like Billy Bottles.

  “Jeepers creepers, Gina, I’m serious.”

  “All right, yes, I get you. Don’t run. Don’t hide. Business as usual. Got it.”

  Privately, Gina thought Lulu was being dramatic. I’ll bet that’s why she’s looking to be a stage actress or movie star. Drama suits her. She was curious, though. “Do raids happen often?”

  “Nah,” Lulu said, laughing as she nodded. “Only when the chief of police is hankering for a Rum Runner.”

  Gina laughed, too. “You’re handing me a line!”

  “All I know for sure is, we’ve come close, but we’ve never been closed down. Not like Nicky the Greek’s place, which was raided just after Thanksgiving, and”—she lowered her voice—“you heard what went down there.”

  Gina nodded. Nicky the Greek ran several restaurants in Greektown, just a few streets over from the Third Door. She’d heard that the Prohibition agents had closed all of his places in one day, rounding up Nicky and his men in a single huge raid—the bum’s rush. Two days later, Nicky’s men were all found dead in a construction zone in the Loop. There were whispers that a rival gang had ordered the hit, but no one wanted to point a finger.

  Lulu’s mascara-framed eyes grew wide as the drama in her voice increased. “I heard Big Mike saying that with Nicky outta the picture, Capone and his mugs are gonna take over everything.”

  Gina breathed in sharply. She’d grown up hearing about Johnny Torrio, Big Jim Colosimo, and of course the famed bootlegger, brothel bouncer, and boxing promoter, Alphonse Capone. Just a few years older than herself, he was building an empire on the South and West Sides of Chicago. It wasn’t surprising that Big Mike and the Signora might have reservations about Capone being so near their turf. She shivered. What if the same thing happened here?

  “Hey, don’t worry, though,” Lulu said, evidently having correctly followed Gina’s thoughts. Playfully, she chucked Gina under the chin. “We get all sorts here. Bob Hope was even here a few times, when he was in town. After he’d done his act at the Stratford, some nights he’d pop by for a few drinks.”

  “No kidding … Bob Hope?” Gina and her dad had listened to the vaudevillian a few times on the radio, although had never seen him in person.

  “Yeah, real swell guy. Good tipper, too.” Looking smug, Lulu adjusted the cigarettes in Gina’s tray while she continued to check off names of famous people who had set foot in the place. “Lou Gehrig’s been here, when they’re playing the White Sox. Babe Ruth, too. The Bambino, now he could drink everyone under the table.” She named a few more famous baseball players, and some starlets, too, before touching Gina’s elbow. “Just don’t get too chummy with the patrons. That won’t sit well with the Signora.”

  * * *

  As the evening grew later, more and more patrons entered the Third Door. Gina learned she was expected to greet new arrivals if she was near the steps and direct them toward a table if one was available. She wondered if Little Johnny was monitoring the arrivals, because they rarely descended in large groups, almost always in twos and threes. Certainly no more than six appeared at once.

  Most patrons were clearly familiar with the layout and each other, twirling their fingers at acquaintances as they descended, affe
cting the languid air of the rich and sophisticated. Some of them slipped into the back room for the nightly card game; others stayed out at the tables, drinking Rum Runners and whiskey sours, generally getting bent. A few were obviously new to the establishment: the ladies giggling and clutching each other in amazement, the young men—College Joes mostly—pounding each other on the back for having the nerve to crack the joint.

  The music continued to play loudly, and couples danced the Lindy and the Charleston, not caring about the small dance floor or the frequent jostling with other couples. Sometimes the dance music came from the gramophone, which Ned cranked up between sets. Mostly, though, Ned was on the piano. From time to time, Gina saw the piano player take a little quaff from his flask, causing her to raise an eyebrow. She would never march with the Women’s Temperance League, that was for certain, but there was something unfortunate about a man who seemed to live his life in the cups. Throughout it all, Gooch and Little Johnny seemed to be keeping a careful eye on the goings-on of all the patrons, tossing out rabble-rousers, dewdroppers looking for free drinks, and the occasional backroom cheat.

  Gina had made a few rounds with her cigarettes before Billy Bottles called her over around nine o’clock, when there was finally a break in the music. “I’ll need you to bring some drinks to customers while the cocktail waitresses are getting ready to dance,” he said. He handed her a tray with two martinis. “Take your cigarette tray off and bring these drinks to the couple over there. Hurry now, there won’t be much time once they start to really move.”

  Just then, Ned began to play a ragtime tune, and Lulu, Faye, and Jade emerged from the dressing room in skimpy halter tops and flowing skirts and began to shimmy across the wooden dance floor. Energized by the sight of the girls stomping and high-kicking, the speakeasy’s customers began to whistle and cheer, a few gents making catcalls.

  “Get hot! Get hot!” several urged. Hearing them, the women widened their smiles and added more flounce to their steps.

  After she dropped off the drinks, Gina leaned against the piano, taking it all in. Nobody was clamoring for service, since nearly all eyes were on the girls. On the other side of the room, Gina noticed a middle-aged man in evening clothes holding a black camera to his chest, taking photographs of the hoofers with their high kicks and shimmying shoulders, as well as the crowd as they cheered the dancers on.

  “Gonna take up dancing next?” Ned called up to her, his fingers still flying, never missing a note. “Gotta cozy up to Big Mike first.” He looked a bit disgusted. “I gotta warn you, though. They all think they’re gonna end up in the movies or over in Gay Paree.”

  “You don’t think they can make it?” Gina asked.

  “Not a one. At least not these. Only the real headliners could. Not cocktail waitresses told to take their clothes off.” He seemed disappointed. “That your bent, though?”

  “No, if you must know, I was watching the photographer. Who is he?”

  Ned whistled. “Got a thing for old Marty Doyle? I have to admit, even I didn’t see that coming. He’s got to be forty at least. Maybe a bit older.” Taking one hand off the piano keys, he made a muscle. “How about giving a younger guy a chance?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, miming the gesture of flicking off a fly. “I know your sort.”

  “You don’t know anything,” he chuckled, and finished the tune with a final flourish. “What’s so interesting about Marty?”

  “Oh, I’m just interested in photography,” she said. “People here don’t mind having their pictures taken?” For some reason, that surprised her.

  “Some do. Most don’t.” Ned shut the lid of the piano. “Time for Mr. Coleman now. You don’t want to miss him.”

  With that, Ned seated himself at the bar, where Billy poured him a drink. He began to applaud loudly when a black man in a dark suit sauntered into the room. Putting his trumpet to his lips, with no other accompaniment, Mr. Coleman began to play a soulful-sounding tune, to the clear enjoyment of the Third Door patrons.

  Gina began to circle quietly among the tables, trying not to disturb the performance. As she took drink orders, she noticed Marty taking pictures of couples at different tables, occasionally writing in a small notebook that he kept in his breast pocket. As Ned had said, some waved him away, but most did preen and smile, often mimicking the poses of Hollywood starlets. She noticed, too, that Marty seemed to keep his eye on the main stairs from the Third Door’s entrance, probably to keep track of anyone particularly rich or famous who might be stopping by.

  At one point, though, Gina looked up from a table only to discover that the photographer was staring at her, from across the empty dance floor. His camera was positioned in her direction. Was he taking pictures of me? She gave him an uncertain wave of her hand, but he had already turned away. Well, that was bonkers, she thought, turning her attention back to her customers, who were impatiently waiting for their change.

  * * *

  Gina and Lulu didn’t leave the Third Door until close to one in the morning. Although the drinking and gambling were still going strong in the back room, when the dancing ceased the Signora told the servers they could go home. Lulu was none too happy that Faye had stayed on, still serving the men in the back.

  “I don’t know why Big Mike always picks Faye to stay,” Lulu complained as soon as they left the premises and were out of earshot. “It used to be Dorrie; now it’s always Faye. She’s so bossy, thinks she knows everything about the joint. It’s not fair, though.”

  “You wanted to stay longer?” Gina asked. Her own feet were hurting so much from the high heels she couldn’t bear the thought of another minute spent upright on the speakeasy’s hard floor.

  “Of course! That’s when all the best tipping happens. Sometimes more.” She added the last meaningfully. “I wouldn’t go home with just any of them. I got my standards. Of course, if he’s a real doll, I might change my mind. You know what I mean?” She nudged Gina companionably.

  Gina nodded, but her stomach recoiled at the thought. She’d been used by a man before, and she didn’t intend to let that happen again. “I thought the Signora didn’t like the girls mixing with the patrons.”

  “Just don’t bring her any trouble, that’s the rule.” With a shrug, Lulu went on. “It’s always Faye or Jade now. You think they’re prettier than me?” she asked suddenly, stopping under the streetlight. Indeed, she looked beautiful, despite the petulant twist to her lips.

  “No, not at all,” Gina said honestly. “You look lovely.”

  Lulu gave her a delighted smile and took her arm companionably. “I’m so glad that you came to work with me,” Lulu squealed softly, squeezing her arm a bit. She squeaked again. “Isn’t it all divine? You know they change the password every day?”

  “Divine,” Gina agreed. “Hey, wait! Every day? What’s the password for tomorrow?”

  “‘Oatmeal Cookies,’ if you can believe it. Sorry I forgot to tell you. I didn’t think—” She broke off, then continued, “I mean, how’d you get in, then? Gooch and Little Johnny, they don’t go around the rules, as you might have noticed.”

  “Ned got me in.”

  Lulu laughed, pulling off her silk-rose-and-feather hairpiece and putting it in her bag. “Ah, that Ned. He’s a doll, isn’t he? Of course”—she lowered her tone confidentially—“he’s dangerous around the ladies. Don’t get caught up with him.”

  “Yeah, I heard about ‘Neddy Fingers,’” Gina said, and both women tittered. Then she remembered how the photographer had been staring at her. “What about Marty?” she asked cautiously. “What’s he like? I never had a chance to talk to him, he was so busy.”

  “Oh, Marty’s all right. Keeps to himself, I suppose. He lives above the pharmacy, you know. That’s where he develops his photos. He’s taken pictures of me, too. To send to Hollywood. He takes pictures of all the girls, if they want.”

  “Oh,” Gina replied. “That’s nice that he does that, I suppose.”

 
; Her tone must have conveyed her sense of skepticism, because Lulu quickly added, “Oh, he’s not a creeper, or anything like that. There’s magazine contests, you see. Auditions, too. For stage. Sometimes even for movies.”

  Gina’s head was still whirling from the day, and she fell silent. The two women kept walking quickly west on Polk, where they both lived, their heels echoing a bit too loudly in the quiet streets. By day, the Near West Side was safe, full of hardworking people tending their kids and shouting at each other in Italian, Greek, Gaelic, and even the Cajun-tinged tongue of the Deep South. At night, though, dangers seemed to lurk everywhere. The stray figures they glimpsed in the alleys and gangways seemed up to no good: women in stilettos vying for a score; men finding their way to vice and sin.

  A qualm of uncertainty passed over her. It seemed Lulu might have felt the same. “I used to walk home with Dorrie,” she said softly. “Almost every night.”

  “Oh,” Gina said, not sure what else to say. “I’m sorry she died.”

  Lulu continued, sounding sad. “You know, Dorrie only lived a few doors down from us.” Her voice trailed off. “She’d just moved in with a gal pal a few months ago. Couldn’t take her mother anymore, I suppose.”

  They both fell quiet again. Gina cast about to bring Lulu out of her suddenly despondent mood. “Lulu,” she said, “I never really thanked you for getting me this job. It sounds like you put in a good word for me.”

  “Oh, yes. Well, we girls from the neighborhood need to stick together.” She seemed about to say something else but then stopped herself. When they reached her stoop, though, she turned back to Gina. “You’ll be careful, won’t you?”

  “Oh, it’s just another block. I’ll be fine,” Gina replied, trying to sound more confident than she felt. It was not often that she spent time walking around in the bitter hours of the morning.