Golden Throat

by James P. Alsphert

  I could hardly speak I was in so much pain and exhausted. “Hardly…Sandor slugged me…with something and I…I went down. I think I may have a concussion or I’m bleeding somewhere in my head.”

  “Now ain’t that one-hundred percent too bad,” he sneered, completely without compassion.

  Just then another man entered with a flashlight. I could see he was impeccably dressed, stood about six feet and his black hair shone in the light.

  “What do we have here, Jinx?” a very warm, personable voice spoke.

  “Found ‘im on the floor, boss,” the little weasel said. “Do you want me to put ‘im one-hundred percent out of his misery? Seems the old doc tried to bash his head in.”

  The more refined man bent down to look at me. “Who are you?”

  “De—De—Denning. Cable Denning. I’m—I’m a cop—Sandor clobbered me by…by surprise…”

  “Clobbered…now that’s a quaint word. Well, take it easy, officer. We won’t have to worry about Doctor Sandor anymore. But you do worry me. Do you know why I’m here?”

  “I’ll bet…I’ll bet the whole mob world…knows…knows why you’re here…the smell of money…pretty strong in here. So…who are you?” I was glad to be breathing good air again.

  “I’m Matrangas. I am the major—you could say—‘shareholder’ in the Dragna family’s chain of fine businesses. They do the work. I collect the profits. Simple, isn’t it?” Then he studied me in more detail. “I…I can see you’re probably not going to live much longer, so what I tell you really won’t matter. That walnut-sized gold capsule Dr. Sandor stole. Do you know where it is? Before he died, he gave us the combination to the safe—and informed us it was here we would find it. Is this the reason you will die today? Was it worth it?”

  I chuckled to myself half in pain, half in delirium, cursing my luck. Of all my potential rescuers, why did it turn out to be these goons? “Sandor couldn’t take pain, could…could he?” I labored under my breath.

  “No, as a matter of fact. He died before he could tell me precisely where the capsule might be. I hate messy things like this, don’t you?”

  “I—I don’t know. I clean up…after guys like you. L.A. streets are…are re-stocked…with corpses, courtesy of the…the mob…every day….”

  “Los Angeles is truly corrupt, I mean, in an obvious manner. You see, I come from Chicago. A long trip to take care of dirty business. This one I preferred to implement personally. Isn’t that right, Jinx?

  “Yeah, boss, one-hundred percent.”

  “Yeah, I know…Dragna’s consigliere briefed me…Lorena…”

  “You know, I like Joe. He’s an intelligent man. Without him, I’m not so sure I would have invested so heavily into the elimination of Ardizzone in favor of Jack Dragna and his people.” Matrangas slowly directed his flashlight around the vault while Jinx stood by still brandishing his weapon. “So…Denning…do you know where the capsule is?”

  “Yeah, I do—but—but you’ll never find it,” I lied. “But I’ll make—make a deal with…you…get me…to a hospital…and I’ll write it…on some…paper for you…when—when we get there.”

  “Why should I do that? Jinx and I can simply tear everything apart in this vault until we find it. Besides, if we take you to emergency, and you actually do survive your head injuries, we’ll just have to kill you anyway before you leave the hospital—because now you’ve seen too much and know much too much. In fact, I’m still in Chicago, right, Jinx?”

  “One-hundred percent, boss.”

  “Save yourself some…some time…Matrangas…before the competition arrives. Those…are…my terms…take it or leave it.”

  “Well, I do have the combination to the safe and no one else does except Frank Nance, the coroner, and he would never set foot here, I’m told. I guess you might say it’s a win-win situation for me, since Jinx will just have to kill you in your hospital bed when no one’s looking. He’s exceptionally gifted at strangulation, isn’t that right, Jinx?”

  “That’s for sure, one-hundred percent, boss.”

  “Is it a deal?” I whispered, almost out of strength. Blood was seeping down my neck from the head wound and my shirt and jacket were soaked with it. I wasn’t sure how long I would last, but I figured it was my only chance.

  “My word is good, Denning. But I promise only one thing—to get you to a hospital, you walk in safely, sit down, write out the instructions—and we disappear—until Jinx comes back to perform his deed. And if you’re wrong—and give us a bum steer—you’ll be dead even sooner, capisce?”

  They dragged me to the elevator and up to a back entrance to the morgue. Once there, Jinx busted a lock on the outer door and we escaped in a laundry truck in broad daylight. The Los Angeles County General Outpatient Department was jammed and seemed like a madhouse as they half-carried me into the waiting room. I kinda fit because so many people there were bleeding, banged up or in some kind of physical, mental and emotional disarray. As soon as I sat, Matrangas, who really didn’t fit the scene, gave me a pen and a little notepad. I wrote what I remembered as being the little metal box containing the golden capsule. I hated to betray the little thing, but what was I to do? It was either it—or me. Weak and barely conscious, I handed the pad and pen back to Matrangas. “Good doing business with you, Mr. Denning. Remember, win-win for me, lose-lose for you, capisce? Isn’t that right, Jinx?”

  “One-hundred percent, boss,” the little wind-up phonograph said. Then they disappeared.

  I had to get to a phone to call Mario and Honey. I had no idea what day it was or how many hours I dwelled in the darkness of that vault. I stumbled my way along a wall, down a hallway and almost fell into an office. A pert little brunette caught me. “Lordy, mister! Obviously you need some emergency services, let me help you back.”

  “No!” I said hoarsely. “I’m a cop and need to use the phone, miss.”

  “If you’re a cop, then I’m Clara Bow’s grandmother,” she said. “Now let me help you back out to take a number and stand in line. We are backed up tonight. Must be the moon.”

  I reached into my bloody coat and took out my cop’s badge…which we had to carry even if we were off duty. The little gal apologized and let me sit at her desk to use the phone while she left the room to give me privacy. I couldn’t get a hold of Mario but I was elated when Honey answered her phone. “Honey…it’s me…Cable…I’m at County General…please…don’t come…I need time…”

  She was beside herself with anxiety. “Cable! Cable! I was worried sick! I’ve been going crazy—not knowing! You’re injured, I can tell. County General? I’ll be right there!” She hung up before I could say any more. Now she would be tangled up in my web. In my business it was called guilt by association. And I wasn’t doin’ too hot, either. So far what I’d found out wasn’t worth all the lives and battle wounds. Then I fainted dead away on the nice little secretary’s floor. Over and out.

  Snug as a Bear in a Rug

  To this day I’m not sure how it happened or what good Samaritan knew the score and helped me out, but two days later when I woke up I was in some quiet little bedroom in a small cottage in Big Bear Lake, California. It was cool but the sun was shining in through the curtains of a large window and casting a warm, yellow glow on the hardwood floor. How did I get here? Who drove me the 90 miles up the mountain? All I could hear was the steady ticking of an old alarm clock on a nightstand near my bed that read 9:30. I felt my head. It was bandaged and it was still pretty sore. My vision was okay and I could breathe, which is a hell of a lot more than I could do locked in Sandor’s death-vault. I recalled the events as best I could, seeing Sandor, getting hit after he showed me what he called the God of Our Fathers golden capsule. Then just before I suffocated to death, in walked Matrangas and his henchman, Jinx, salivating for the priceless golden walnut. We make a deal—I tell him where the late Dr. Sandor hid the damn thing—and I go to Los Angeles General Hospital…only to end up here! Matran
gas’ promise was that the little weasel Jinx, would kill me anyway if I hung around. Someone knew the whole scenario and rescued me. But for what? What did I know that they wanted? I was beginning to think like a detective. I liked that about me.

  Suddenly I heard a key turn and a door open. Someone was coming toward me. I was naked, had no gun and my head was still wrapped up like a mummy. In walked a white-haired man with a satchel in hand. “Officer Denning. Ah, I see you have returned to take your place among the living. I’m Doctor Gilbreth.” He came over to the bedside, took out his stethoscope from the satchel and started checking me out. “Hmmm…pulse strong…heart beat…good… You seem to be recovering remarkably well.”

  “Hello, doc. Forgive me if I look and act surprised—but how in the hell did I get here? Last thing I remember, I had passed out on a floor at Los Angeles County General Hospital. How long have I been here?”

  “You’ve been here six days. I don’t know much about the details at the hospital. Simply stated, I was contacted by someone in your department, a Captain Treadwell. He said they were sending you up here to Big Bear for recovery and would I be the attending physician during your stay. They also said you were in some kind of protected witness program. When you arrived there was an envelope filled with cash—more than enough to pay for the lodgings here, Ginny and my fees. That’s all I know.”

  I had never heard of a ‘Captain Treadwell’ and cash in an envelope was not the way the bureaucratic police department worked. “Tell me—do you know about a Mario Angelo or one Miss Honey Combes? Or my Sergeant, O’Flaherty?” I was still puzzled as hell.

  “No, I’m afraid not. But you will be here for some time yet, Officer Denning. Your x-ray did not confirm the presence of any fissures in the cranium or undue swelling. But you do have a secondary concussion.”

  “So how long am I here for, doc? And who’s Ginny?”

  “She’s your private cook and housekeeper. She’ll be along as usual around eleven and then again tonight at six. She’s very dependable. I brought her into the world, I did, not that many years ago.” He threw me a professional smile and cleared his throat. He took a bottle of pills out of his satchel. “Now that you’re conscious and functional, take two of these now and two in the evening. Pain pills may constipate you. Take an apple a day for the bowels. That should do the trick. You will be here for at least another two weeks.”

  “Two weeks! How in the hell can I stay penned up here with nothing to do except watch the sun rise and set and listen to the birdies chirp out there on the porch? And you know, doc, I have a question. Why, when a doctor prescribes dosages of medication, does he say take two of this and two of that? Why can’t one pill contain double the strength?”

  “An intelligent question. I don’t know. Maybe the pharmaceutical companies make twice as much? I’ll have to read up on that.”

  I was restless, I needed to contact people, get to the bottom of this murky mystery I was in the middle of. “Uh, is there a phone in the house? I gotta make a few calls.”

  “No phones. In fact, any undue stress on your brain is not recommended, Officer. I’m sure all the right people have been notified.” The doc shook my hand and left, saying he’d return tomorrow to check up on me.

  After he left, I got out of bed, put on some clothes and rummaged around the joint. The icebox had a few vegetables and fruit, some beef jerky and juices. I opened the front door. It opened out into a wooden deck and we were overlooking the lake, facing East, I surmised. I was dyin’ for a Lucky Strike and a shot of good gin. But where in the crap would I get the gin in this Podunk place? What a hell of a note, stuck up here in Paradise without a pair of wings to fly me back to my City of Angels.

  About eleven a 1921 Studebaker convertible drove up. A petite little gal about five-foot two got out, reached over the seat for a basket and came toward me. This little thing was a dish! She was probably about eighteen or nineteen, flapper-cut dark hair, happy blue eyes and a rather frizzy light-yellow dress that showed off her ample figure quite well. “Officer Denning? I’m so glad you’re up. I never thought you’d wake up. I’m Ginny Fullerton, your food girl—and housekeeper. How are you feeling?”

  I took a deep breath, inhaling this fresh new little lady with the dark-blue eyes and very red lipstick smile. “Thanks, Miss Fullerton. I’m doing a lot better. Especially, now that you’re here. Please…call me Cable…just plain ol’ Cable.” All of a sudden I felt embarrassed. How in the hell did I go to the bathroom during all this time? “Did you, uh…also attend to my bathroom functions—I mean, one never knows about these things…”

  She giggled as she approached me and opened the front door. “No, but I watched the nurse bathe you—Mrs. Crochetti—you never know…”

  “Never know what?”

  “When you might have to do that for a husband or children—you know what I mean, don’t you?”

  I was thinking about the enemas and peeing in my diapers I must have done in these past few days. It was a shitty feeling, to put in specific terms. But I chuckled it off. “Yeah, I guess I do. I don’t suppose you could take me down to the local store so I can get some cigarettes. I’m goin’ nuts with starin’ at the walls. Not even a radio in the joint. I could use some gin, too. English gin, the best kind.”

  “I can bring a radio from home. Oh, but I don’t think I can take you to the store. The doctor said complete and quiet rest for you—uh, Cable.”

  “Well, Miss—”

  “—Ginny, please call me plain old Ginny.”

  “I’ll throw in an extra ten bucks if you take me to the store. C’mon, kid, I’m chomping at the bit here…”

  She put the basket on the table and turned to look at me. “Okay…but not a word to Dr. Gilbreth. He brought me into the world.”

  “Yeah, so I hear. Let’s get to the store and come back so I can eat—I’m feeling a bit hungry all of a sudden.” It dawned on me I had no money. “Hey, I haven’t got any dough—the doc spoke of an envelope of the stuff for you—”

  “—there’s some expense money for you, here…” She reached up high into a cupboard and I saw those nice looking legs of hers almost up to her butt-line as the short dress lifted. “I don’t know how much, though.”

  She handed me a plain brown envelope. I opened it. “Gees, Ginny, there’s enough here for us to have a week-long party and invite the neighborhood!” I exclaimed. “Here’s your ten bucks for taking me—”

  “—naw, that’s alright. I’ll take you anyway.”

  “Well, thanks, kid—I can see you’ve got a good heart. By the way, is there a phone booth somewhere by the store?”

  “Yep, right at the side of the building.”

  Soon that little Studebaker was rattling along the dirt road toward the highway. We turned south and drove for another couple of miles. What looked like a gas station, bakery and a general store stood on a corner under the shade of a bunch of fir trees. Ginny waited in the car while I went in and bought the goods I was desperately craving. I dumped them in the back seat of the car and told her I’d be right back after making a couple of phone calls.

  I got a bunch of change from the storeowner and proceeded to pop nickels in the damn pay phone like it was a jukebox. First I’d call my boss at work. “O’Flaherty here.”

  “Sergeant—it’s me, Cable Denning. You do know where—”

  “—well, the saints preserve us! The little errant officer is talkin’ again, eh? I’m a sayin’ to ya, lad, someone higher than me likes ya, for if ‘twas up to me, I’d ‘av sacked ya for leaving me with that corpse at the morgue and some other mysterious happenins.”

  “Oh, you mean Sandor. Well, that wasn’t my fault. You don’t think I killed him, do you?”

  “Naw, I know ya didn’t, lad, but ya gave me a headache, nevertheless. And speakin’ of which, how is your skull these days? I see yer well enough to be speakin’ to me now, aren’t ya?”

  “Sergeant, who is this Captain T
readwell? He seems to be that angel I know nothing about.”

  “Never heard of ‘im, Denning. Somebody else pulled strings for ya, lad. Ya got one week to get back on yer feet and report for duty. I’ve put Paddy Larkin on with your buddy Mario Angelo for patrol. One week, Denning.” He hung up and I was just as puzzled as ever.

  I asked the operator for Mario’s number and soon a sleepy voice came on at the other end. “Yeah, hello…”

  “Mario—it’s me—Cable…what the hell—”

  “—Cable! Christ, man, am I glad to hear from you! How are you feeling? I didn’t know what the crap to think when you went missing and O’Flaherty informed me you were badly injured and suddenly held in some ‘protective custody’ or something—and Dr. Sandor is dead. You didn’t do it, did you?”

  “Mario, you know that’s not my style. Sandor conked me over the head with a lead pipe or something as hard, locked me in a bank vault to die.”

  “So, are you a cat or somethin’, nine lives or what? How’d you get out?”

  “Long story, Mario. I’m coming back into town next week. I’ll fill you in. I miss you, pal. How’s the evening patrol business with Paddy Larkin?”

  “Shitty. He’s an amateur who sniffs dope. With cops like him, who needs gangsters? I gotta get back to sleep. I’m glad you’re okay, buddy—see you soon. Call your little flapper, I think she’s in love with you.”

  I hung up and immediately dialed Honey’s number. “Hello…? Honey…it’s me…Cable…”

  There was a long pause at the other end of the line. “Is it really you, Cable? You’re alive? And well? Healing? I think I went numb and died when I learned from Mario that they took you away. That day when you called from the hospital, I rushed as fast as I could on the streetcar, but by the time I got there, they said you’d been removed to a recovery house by the police department. I called your sergeant and he told me only that you were on some protection program or something.” She couldn’t hold it in any longer and she let go with the tears. “Oh, Cable—I—I thought you were dead and they were covering it up—God, I’ve lost five pounds! I knew you had gone to that Italian mob funeral—and when I read that some big boss, Matrangas or something like that was murdered, I thought somehow it had to do with you! And then all my lines got blurred and poor Zelda has had to put up with a grieving widow—and we weren’t even married!”