Although I couldn't see, I still tried to figure out where I was going. By my count, the Cadillac ran over sixteen manhole covers. I definitely recognized that sound, but not the other bumps that slowly increased in distance from each other for several minutes before the noise finally stopped. Judging by the sound of the tires, I guessed we were traveling over a smooth pavement, but that didn't tell me if the road was blacktopped or something else. After a few minutes, the road began making a crunching noise, like maybe we were driving on gravel. I heard a train and figured we might be near a train station. Another sound I identified was that of a ship in the city's harbor. All that information and I still didn't know where in hell I was going.
When the car finally stopped, I was jerked out of the backseat, alternately being led and then shoved for a few seconds until I heard a door open and slam behind me. I was led and shoved some more until I heard a second door open and slam behind me. Everything was still for a few seconds and then I heard somebody cough before talking. I recognized the voice. I was with the Godfather.
"Monk, take Blake's roscoe and remove his blindfold.” A hand grabbed my gun while another hand roughly pulled the blindfold from my eyes. I blinked against the harsh glare of overhead lights as Godfather continued talking. “Mr. Number-One-Private-Dick-of-This-Fair-City, I am glad to see you. I was going to send for you. You're just in time to partake in an evening meal as my guest. Please be seated and tell me about Jennifer. I know she's living in a comfortable little house. I picked it out for her through a real estate agent who owes me. How is she doing? Monk, tell the chef to prepare more food. Get the butler to arrange another dinner setting for Thanet Blake here. And bring more white stuff."
The Godfather was sitting at an oak dining table covered with white linen. It was big enough for a dozen people to eat comfortably without bumping elbows. Three candelabras were spaced at even intervals on the table, each containing four lit candles. A Christmas tree ablaze with lights was neatly placed in the room's left corner. Underneath there was enough presents for a dozen people.
I looked at the Godfather. “What? You think my gang are so lacking in heart that they do not exchange presents at Christmastime? I give a present to each and everyone of them. Here, have a seat."
He indicated that I should sit opposite him, at the other end of the table. I was in no position to argue with him.
"Monk tells me you have something to say about Holiday Spirit.” When I opened my mouth to respond, he immediately waved away my reply. “Save it till later. I want to know about Jennifer."
I fidgeted in my chair. The sense of urgency about Holiday Spirit was still strong. Something had to be done immediately and Godfather is the only one who can possibly pull it off. However, he has made it clear he wants to know about Jennifer. There is no arguing with Godfather.
"Physically she's all right, except for the scars on her face and elsewhere. They're still healing. I'm more concerned about her emotional side. She's very happy to see me whenever I visit, but then she starts talking about how people should never be forced to go through the things that have been done to her. The news that her attacker is no longer amongst the living has not brought her any peace. I believe and fear she's thinking about getting even in a very hostile way."
I forced myself to sit quietly as I waited for the Godfather to think about what I just said. Concern etched itself on his forehead; worry was reflected in his aged, brown eyes before he nodded. “Blake, you're saying Jennifer may be thinking about offing people who do terrible things to women, aren't you?"
"Yeah, I guess that's what I'm saying. God help the poor kid."
"Can you blame her for wanting to do this?"
"No, I guess not. When it comes down to it, it all depends on what kind of revenge she carries out. Offing would put her in jail for life, or even worse. Neither of us wants that to happen to her. Jennifer is a great gal who has had a great evil done to her."
Godfather smiled at me. I looked closely at his face. There was something there I had never noticed before; complete friendliness. I'm surprised to realize how much I like the guy.
"Don't worry about her, Blake. If she offs some of those low-life bastards, I say all the more power to her. That doesn't mean I think she will, but if she does, let me assure you she will be immediately placed under my protection. I can hide her away in places no one can ever find. The cops would never get her. But enough of that. I want you to know that I have recently contacted a plastic surgeon who will fix her face back to the way it was."
"I thought you might do something like that. Why don't you go see her, let her know who's footing the bill for everything?"
"With my reputation? Even though I've been legit for seventy-five years, people never forget. Think about it, Blake. If I went out in public, the blood-sucking news media would dredge up my sordid history, how I started out in the rackets. If that happened, what would Jennifer think and do if she knew where the money she's been receiving every month came from? Would she believe it was honestly got? Would she knowingly spend a nickel of what she believes to be dirty money? No. That's why I arranged through my connections to have her think her mother and father had a trust fund set up for her."
"Yeah, I know. But Jennifer is real high in the IQ department. She'll eventually figure out where the money is coming from. Then what? I still say you should visit her and let her know what you've been doing for her."
He didn't argue the point. He just looked at me. Was it a trick of the candlelight or was that a tear in his left eye?
Monk arrived, carrying with him the white stuff. It was milk. I frowned at the Godfather. He raised his glass in salute to me. “What? I always drink milk during the holiday season. Drink up. Just be grateful it's not skim milk, which is what my personal sawbones says I should be drinking."
Dinner arrived and what a dinner it was. Steak and lobster; steamed asparagus; tomato and onion salad topped with blue cheese dressing; all served on silver plates and saucers. It was a dinner fit for a king. I dove straight in, began cracking the lobster, dipping it in butter before devouring it. The steak was marinated, tender, medium-rare and straight from heaven. We talked very little. We listened to music from the l920's and ‘30's. Godfather said it was music he remembered from that era. Somebody named Al Jolson was still his favorite. I have to admit listening to Jolson singing Toot, Toot, Tootsie, and hearing Ted Lewis asking ‘Is everybody happy?’ was an enjoyable experience as I ate the superb food. It was like I had gained entrance right into heaven.
The meal was topped off with Spumoni ice cream, apple pie, and Cuban cigars.
Later, away from the table and sitting in comfortable stuffed chairs, I touched my glass to his in salute. “Happy birthday. Although the wish is one day late, I hope you have many more."
He smiled and nodded his gratitude before taking a big swig of milk. “Do you believe in Santa Claus, Blake?"
Godfather was getting personal, but I decided I might as well level with the guy. “Yeah, I believe in Santa Claus."
"I thought as much. The hardboiled detective is really soft-boiled inside. I guess that makes me soft-boiled, too. I write to the North Pole every year and ask for another year of life. So far Santa Claus has granted my wish.” He pinned me with a look that caused my gut to clench with apprehension. “This year I'm going to ask the man from the North Pole to see if he can get two nice people I know together. Their names are Selena Deering and Thanet Blake."
His words shocked me. My mouth went as dry as the Sahara Desert; my armpits were wet with perspiration. “I'm married."
He shook his head. “I know all about your marriage. Dru's been gone for over a year now. Selena's over-the-top crazy about you and wants to become a permanent fixture in your life. Don't make the same mistake I did with Charlotte; join up with Selena."
Unshed tears shimmered in Godfather's eyes. It was obvious he was still lonely for Charlotte, his lost love of seven decades ago.
"I'm sorry, Godfather
. I'm just not ready to be with another woman, let alone make any kind of a commitment."
"Well, get ready, Blake. And make it soon. Attending a wedding between you and Selena would make a great birthday present for me. Now ... Monk said you had something to tell me about Holiday Spirit."
"Yeah, I do. The guy's been missing for close to a week."
I could have cut the sudden silence in the room with a dull knife. Godfather's face went from pink to white. It was a painful experience to watch a proud man fight his way out of his chair, knowing that any offer of assistance would be shunned with contempt. Accompanied by a string of colorful adjectives that I quickly memorized, he nearly made it, too. “Old age is a terrible thing. Damnit! By all the bootleg booze I made in the ‘30's, I need to pace back and forth; it helps me to think clearly. It's as frustrating as hell that I can't. Clue me in, Blake."
"I'm not sure I have everything straight, but here is what I think."
While he maintained a thoughtful silence, I proceeded to tell Godfather about the stuff I remembered as a young teenager, how they possibly affected the present case, and the conclusions I had drawn. When I was finished, he nodded to Monk and gestured at me. “Monk, it's blindfold time. Give Blake back his roscoe.” He smiled at me, a knowing twinkle in his eyes. “I'm pleased to discover that it can now do some persuading if necessary, which is a smart move on your part. Who knows? Before the night is over you may have a need to use it."
Because of the blindfold, I naturally couldn't see shit. I had assumed I was led into a room where I was to wait until the Cadillac came to take me away, but then I heard Godfather's voice say, “Give Blake back his peepers."
The bright lights shining from the ceiling and the floor lamps blinded me for a few seconds. I had to steady myself when the floor began moving under my feet. Christ! What a helluva time to be having an earthquake. But it wasn't. It took a few seconds for me to realize we were inside what had to be at least an eighteen wheeler rig, furnished with all the comforts of home. Good God, where were we going? I looked at Godfather questioningly.
"You don't need to know,” he said as if I had voiced my query. “Some of my boys are following us in a couple of bulletproof cars.” He didn't elaborate and he certainly didn't say anything else.
When we finally stopped, a door opened and I stepped out minus my blindfold. Godfather rode an automatic lift to the ground. His boys were already out of their cars, and with the precision of a finely-tuned military unit, they quickly surrounded him. They were packing Depression Era Tommy guns. Good Lord! What were we getting into? A chill ran up my spine and then radiated to the rest of my body when my peepers spotted the automobile Clancy had mentioned. A solid, green, genuine hearse-type from the 1920's parked in front of an old mansion.
"All right, boys,” said Godfather. “Surround the area. Don't use your choppers unless you have to. Even then make sure you don't off anybody."
The boys vanished in the semi-darkness, except for two of them who stayed behind to protect Godfather.
"Come along, Blake. We're going through the mansion's front door."
From the bright light of the full moon, the mansion we were about to invade closely resembled a century-old dung heap. Three stories high, its wooden frame was devoid of all paint. Shingles were missing in a decaying roof and many windows were shattered beyond repair. The whole building looked twisted, as though two giant hands had tried to wring it out like a wet dishrag. The yard was not much better. It fitted the house's décor to a T. The lawn was so overgrown with grass, blackberry bushes and patches of seven-foot-high nettles, Godfather's two guards had to shoulder their choppers and shove his wheelchair all the way to the mansion's front steps, grunting, groaning and swearing angrily against the natural obstruction.
We didn't knock. Instead, Godfather motioned to the guard on his right and the guy blew the door open with a small grenade. Under the circumstances I felt it was a most fitting entrance.
We entered the building and eyeballed around us. Evidently no one had been standing close to the door when it exploded; there weren't any bodies. We did see a wart-infested face that belonged to a huge body confined to a wheelchair. The body was alive and coughing. “You should have knocked, or rang my doorbell. Expect a bill for the unnecessary damage you have caused. I expect prompt reimbursement."
The voice was reminiscent of sandpaper being applied to wood, a voice I instinctively didn't like. Nor did I like the guy who was trying to be a comedian.
Grandfather's cackle was sarcastic. “Mad Dog, Simple Simon Grincher.... Are you still trying to be funny? Well, you're not. You never have been."
Grincher directed a gunfighter's squint at Godfather for all of a minute before saying, “Mike ‘Godfather’ Jones, is that really you? Only you would make such a noteworthy and theatrical entrance."
"I'm not the ghost of Christmas Past, if that's what you're getting at. I thought you were dead and buried in prison. Imagine my surprise when I found out about an hour ago I had thought wrong. Because you're such a creature of habit, I knew you would move back into your old digs. How long have you out? Were you released, or did you do something stupid like go over the wall?"
"Nobody escapes the joint that way. It's locked up tighter than a can of sardines. I did my full time. Had to. The crummy screws kept catching me with the shivs I made from spoons; been out three months, six hours, and thirty-five minutes. My personal grapevine had it you were dead. How come you're not?"
"Isn't it obvious, Simple Simon? Your grapevine made a mistake. Seventy-five years ago, I decided to live a good, clean, and completely-honest life. Would you believe I've done that?"
"You? Legit? Shit! I could be talked into believing the Brooklyn Bridge was for sale for a nickel a pound before I would believe that claptrap. You enjoyed being a shady crook, a two bit racketeer, way too much to turn legit."
"Not anymore. Let's stow the ancient memory gab for now; we're here on business."
"I don't know anything, and I'm also innocent of everything."
"Like hell you are. There's a stiff in the city's meat locker posing as Holiday Spirit. What's left of the poor sap bears the hallmark of your old M.O., the same one that sent you up the river to the Big House for fifty years."
"So what? Only you would know I was behind rubbing out the stiff. I taught my gang the method and they offed the worthless bindle punk for me. He was just a know-nothing piece of human shit, selling street dope from his pockets. Only his users will miss him.” He eyeballed Godfather suspiciously. “I suppose your boys have mine all tied up?"
Godfather cackled. “If you don't see them then my boys have them.” He gestured at me. “This tall drink of booze standing next to me is none other than Thanet Blake. He's the sometimes not-too-smart gumshoe who remembered reading about you and your clumsy offing methods. He also figured I would know about you. He was right. Say something, Blake."
"For starters, where's Holiday Spirit?"
"How would I know?"
His innocent look and asthmatic voice got to me. I lost my temper. “Cut the bullshit! When I look at you, all I see is a blimp-sized old bastard who must really hate Christmas to do what you've done to people who can hardly wait for the holiday season."
Mad Dog, Simple Simon Grincher shook like a bowl of jelly as he began crying. “Not once, when I was growing up, did I get any presents for Christmas.” He sniffed loudly; he was a pathetic sight to see. “All my life I've hated people who received them."
"For that I feel sorry for you. But it doesn't excuse the fact you had your boys commit murder and kidnap Holiday Spirit. Where is he?"
Mad Dog wiped his eyes with his fingers and stopped blubbering. “All right, all right. I know when the jig is up. Maybe if I come clean I'll get off easier. I'm an old man, you know. I couldn't stand doing another stretch in the big house and facing those crummy screws. Holiday Spirit is in a room down the hall, the one on the right."
Holiday Spirit was glad to see me. “Wh
at took you so long, Thanet?"
It didn't surprise me he knew my name. He knows everybody.
Chapter Twelve
Mad Dog, Simple Simon Grincher, who will be a century old next month, proved to us his brain really was shy a whole lot of bricks. The guy actually believed Holiday Spirit was rich. How else could he give everybody presents? Holiday told Mad Dog the truth; he was the owner of a huge toy factory near the North Pole and his employees made toys all year long. Mad Dog didn't believe him and was determined to hold him hostage until things cooled off, and until he spilled his guts as to where his secret money vault was hidden.
Mad Dog and his gang were handed over to the police. Holiday Spirit was returned to the Assumption Church. And that, my friends, ended the case ... except for the party.
The Assumption Church has a huge outbuilding, cleverly blended in with the landscaping. Unless you were a regular visitor, you wouldn't have realized it was there. Last night it was filled to capacity. People were decorating everything in sight and putting presents under the big Christmas tree. Mingling amongst the church's congregation were Captain Holt, Rumpott—who was dressed normally—Jennifer, my mother, Tommy Thomas's nephews, Melvin, Godfather, Selena Deering, and many other people I know. There were smiles all around and everyone was happy as people helped Holiday Spirit hand out presents.
Jimmy MacWilliams and his parents came and thanked me more times than I can count. I dug into my pocket and pulled out a quarter. “Here, Jimmy, go try one of those gumball machines in the corner. See if you can get a white one."
He ran off, all smiles, hollering ‘oh boy, oh boy, oh boy'. It wasn't long before he actually came back with a white one. Not surprisingly, it lasted for about three seconds before it was in his mouth and being chewed.
When I looked around the room, I spotted something that had me trying to swallow down a lump in my throat. Godfather was sitting next to Jennifer and they were talking. I didn't hear what the conversation was about, but I did get close enough to see them smiling, their laughter lighting up their eyes.
Babes in Toyland II Page 5
