The Parlor City Boys

by Arno B. Zimmer

  “Anyway,” Gwen continued, shaking her head and then changing the subject quickly, “When Hawkins came here to run the Institute, Randall was on the Board of Trustees and now he’s a patient. Despite the humiliation, he still gives Hawkins hell whenever he can,” concluded Gwen.

  “Not any more, Gwen,” and Meacham proceeded to tell her about the final day of Randall DePue and how the gun found in the park could possibly involve Woody, if only indirectly, in something very sinister.

  Before he could delve any deeper, the phone rang and Gwen informed Meacham that a Sgt. Whipple was on the line. He had just left Brattigan’s house and it looked like the aftermath of a tornado. Oh, and Brattigan’s car was missing from the garage. “Thanks, Whip. Put out a description of the vehicle and Rudy Gantz. No sense in holding back now,” said Meacham.

  Meacham walked into the kitchen where Gwen was taking the lid off the pressure cooker. “Wow, whatever it is, it smells great. It would be tempting to be rude and invite myself to dinner but something has come up and I need to run. Don’t worry, I will keep you posted on anything involving Woody. I’ve probably told you much more than I should at this point but I know you can be trusted not to mention this to anyone, including my shortstop. Something tells me that events are going to unfold pretty rapidly from here on.”

  Gwen smiled and came over close to Meacham. To him, she was simply angelic; the only thing missing was the halo. He knew it would sound trite, perhaps even juvenile, but that’s all he could think of at the moment. “Something tells me you might be a hard guy to get to the dinner table, Billy, even when I have you trapped in my kitchen. Not that I was going to invite you tonight, mind you. I guess I’ll just have to make you a formal invitation one of these days” Gwen said with a smile as she turned back to the stove. “Thanks,” stammered Meacham as he escaped through the back door.

  ***

  Meacham drove by the Gantz house again. The metallic green Ford coupe was now parked out front and the lights were on in the house. A rusted out Chevy Bel Air was parked in the driveway so it looked like the entire Gantz family was at home – including Rudy. If so, thought Meacham, maybe he hadn’t been at Brattigan’s house after all.

  Mrs. Gantz answered Meacham’s knock with a Lucky dangling between lips caked bright red with lipstick that appeared to have been smeared on. Her finger tips were tinged orange and her brown hair, piled high on her head like an inverted screw, had a row of sickly white across her forehead as if the smoke from thousands of cigarettes had been captured there. No, Rudy was not at home and she had no idea where he was. Yes, she was surprised his car was out front because Rudy didn’t think anyone else’s car was as ‘cool’ as his. No, she didn’t know who he was with or when he would be home.

  Meacham wanted to congratulate her on her excellent parenting skills but could only stare silently at the torpid figure before him. It looked like all the life had been sucked out of her as she stood there, bee-hived hair and faded print house dress, methodically responding to Meacham, all the time with the cigarette dangling between her lips, bobbing up and down as she talked. As he was leaving, Meacham turned back and said, “Oh, Mrs. Gantz, did you or your husband know Earl Brattigan well? Planning to attend his funeral, by chance?” As she was closing the door in his face, Meacham heard her say “not well but he was an ornery sons a bitch right up to the day he died, no doubt”.

  Rhoda Hallowell Gantz, like Earl Brattigan, had come down to Parlor City from the farm when she was in her late teens. She was never full of hope from the beginning of her migration to the city but knew she had to escape her dreary rural existence. When she met local boy Sidney Gantz at a neighborhood saloon, it just sort of happened that they eventually married. When Rudy was born after fifteen uneventful and uninspired years of marriage, it was greeted, after the shock wore off, with a glint of hope which gradually faded as Rudy proved to be a burden and not a blessing.

  Once in a while, but not that often, Rhoda thought wistfully of the farm. Mostly, though, she learned to view her childhood, marriage and Rudy like everything else – routine occurrences in life, complications with which to deal that had left her disillusioned and bitter. Oh, she knew Earl Brattigan alright but that was farm life, buried along with a lot of other memories on those rocky, barren and sun-deprived hills that she had left behind for the allure of Parlor City. Go to his funeral? That was a laugh!

  Meacham got into his car and called Whipple. No sighting yet but Brattigan’s car was a black Buick 88, license number elb 666. Poor devil, he thought, scraping by in life but throwing money away on an expensive car with vanity plates to boot. Meacham headed downtown, hoping for a little good luck. He still hadn’t made it back up to Crazy Hill but knew that events unfolding downtown would lead him back there soon enough.

  ***

  Meacham got some luck but not the good kind. As he approached downtown, a call from the Chief was patched through to him. Chief Braddock was not a bad guy and he had a reputation for probity. He had started out as a decent beat cop who had adapted to the system and now defended it. He should still be on patrol or managing some low level municipal department. A 30-year veteran, Braddock knew the politics of Parlor City well and played the bureaucratic role to perfection. It eventually got him the Chief’s job with all the perquisites that went with it. Also, he had collected his share of secrets over the years and, while rarely spilling the beans on any hotshot politico, had learned how to effectively use the threat of revelation. But somewhere along the way, he had lost the crime fighter instinct so essential to the job and, of course, he had learned quickly that he would always be beholden to the Mayor.

  “Hey, Meacham. Braddock here. Don’t bother going up to the Institute to see Santimaw – like you were supposed to this afternoon. He’s parked outside of Samaritan Hospital slumped over the steering wheel. Whipple’s on the way to the scene already. Get there now. Probably a heart attack, trying to drive himself to the hospital. Check it out and get back to me personally. Oh, and Mike DeLong’s prints were found on the cabinet in Hawkins’ office where the gun was kept. Find him now. The Mayor’s office is calling me every hour for updates.. Got it?”

  Broderick clicked off without waiting for Meacham to respond or even say “Yes Sir” – probably because he knew it would never happen.

  When Meacham pulled up to Samaritan, he spotted Sgt. Whipple next to a car and assumed it was Santimaw’s. “He didn’t make it, Meach”, said Whipple. “They just wheeled his body inside. I didn’t even get a chance to speak to him but this envelope was on the seat next to him – addressed to you”, Whipple continued.

  Inside the envelope was a grainy picture of some elegantly dressed people sitting around a large circular table. It appeared to be a banquet hall or ballroom. The date 1954 was etched at the bottom of the photograph. Scribbled on the back were the notations “D.D.” and “ not Carver”, and “get Grimsley”. Meacham stared at the words then flipped over the picture. What was he missing? He would need a magnifying glass to make out the features but clearly Santimaw was trying to tell him something of import. He thought kindly of the poor slob at that moment. Perhaps some part of the young idealistic cop had somehow survived and re-surfaced at the end. All he knew for sure now was that the picture was a year old and probably held a clue to unraveling what was fast becoming a tangled web.

  “Hey, Billy,” Whipple interjected, as Meacham started to walk away, “the lab guys aren’t 100% certain but it looks like the scuff marks on the rug in Hawkins’ office are a match for DeLong’s shoes. Not looking good for poor Mike, is it?” Meacham just shrugged and kept walking. A new theory was starting to take shape in Meacham’s head but he would keep it to himself for now.

  ***

  A few hours later, when Santimaw’s car was towed away to the police compound, the small pill box on the floor rolled back and wedged itself under the front passenger seat.

  ***

  After DeLong slipped out of Meacham’s apartment, he hid in some
bushes until he was sure that Santimaw had driven away. He was anxious and starting to sweat from a combination of raw fear and the effects of alcohol deprivation. Part of him wanted to return to Crater’s and drink until the pain was replaced by numbness while knowing, at the same time, that it would be only a temporary reprieve from the aching emptiness that he felt inside. He was keenly aware as well of the horrible anguish he would face should he even survive another binge.

  He thought fleetingly about going home but he couldn’t face his wife and son, not in his present shaky condition. Hell, he had just missed Buddy’s little league game without even calling to make a lame excuse. Deep down, he felt that his only true salvation, if there was any to be gained, would be to return to the Institute and confront his demons once and for all. He also owed a debt to Billy Meacham even if he had probably abused an old friendship to a point beyond redemption.

  It was in this fractured state of mind that DeLong emerged from the bushes and tried to steel himself for what lied ahead.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  As darkness settled in, the sleek black Buick Roadmaster of the late Earl Brattigan, lights off but idling, was hardly noticeable under the swaying branches of the horse chestnut tree at the edge of the park. Rudy checked his watch and looked around furtively. Suddenly, there was a tap on the roof which jolted Rudy and even made the Clintocks sit up in the back seat. The passenger door opened and a smiling “Chick” Lester sat down. “You’re late, asshole,” scowled Rudy and the smile drained from Lester’s face as he spotted the gun on the seat next to him.

  ***

  Chick Lester had easy good looks and an engaging smile. He was tall and slim but not awkwardly self-conscious and gawky like many 17-year olds. Girls liked him instantly and envied his milky, blemish-free complexion. He knew, almost instinctively, how to charm the weaker ones with small talk and enticing looks. His claim to fame, however, was a remarkable head of light blonde hair combed up and back that was as thick as a dense forest of pines climbing up a mountainside. As a tribute to his narcissism, a hair was rarely out of place but a comb with a little spittle deftly applied was always at the ready should there be an errant strand.

  Reginald “Chick” Lester was a high school drop-out like many teenagers in Parlor City. Named after a favorite uncle on his father’s side, his mother hated the name but said nothing until after the boy was born. Then, she almost immediately started calling him “Chick” after a character in a mystery movie that she remembered. Through her persistent repetition, the father eventually succumbed and the name took hold. Chick worked at the cigar factory operating a sorting machine with no particular ambition to do anything else other than what came his way.

  One thing that had come to his attention was Elsie Lomborg in the personnel office. Elsie was a cute, some might even say coquettish Swede with thick blonde hair and a body that was shapely but already on the verge of plumpness. Her biggest draw was, as the boys agreed, that she was “stacked”. Elsie was tolerant of the stares and whistles but discriminate in how she responded. When she saw the gorgeous boy who all the girls on the factory floor swooned over as a Tab Hunter look-alike from the movie Battle Cry, she made up her mind that Chick Lester would know she was available. Any girl who had been intimate with Lester also knew that he was faithful to no one but the fanciful Elsie, unwilling to heed the warning of others, started to envision a happy ending, just like in the movie, where Hunter has an affair with an older married woman but ultimately marries the cute girl next door.

  It didn’t take much effort for Chick to work his simple charms on the vacuous and already receptive Elsie. It was Elsie’s habit to revel in all the trivial machinations in her department, trying to paint every routine event as somehow momentous. She prattled on endlessly one night at the drive-in where Chick, as was his habit, pulled into the back row for maximum privacy. Already confident in his domination, he didn’t even bother to hook up the audio speakers to the side windows until Elsie complained. Ignoring the movie, Chick groped her while Elsie’s onscreen rival, Jane Russell, was falling out of a 2-piece bathing suit. Then somehow his flexible metal watchband got caught on one of Elsie’s bra straps as the words

  “company payroll” and “stacks of cash” jolted his consciousness. Chick halted his hot pursuit and, trying to disentangle his watch, only made things worse. Soon, he was on his knees pulling furiously, as Elsie slid down in the seat and let out a scream. Now, passers-by on the way back from the snack bar heard the commotion and were looking in the window at what appeared to be an assault in progress. Someone pounded on the window and Chick only tugged harder which only made Elsie yell louder. Then, the door on Elsie’s side was jerked open and the two combatants froze. The ceiling light went on and the swelling crowd instantly saw the predicament of the two lovers.

  Suddenly, laughter erupted and quickly swept through the growing crowd. It was Elsie who found her voice first, blurting out “Please close the door and leave us alone!” Emboldened, Elsie took charge and ordered the awe-struck Chick to turn his back while she unstrapped her bra and removed it. After buttoning up her blouse and sweater, she went to work and quickly freed her bra from Chick’s watch and stuffed it into her pocketbook. “Okay, Mr. Smooth, you can turn back now but don’t ever wear that watch again when we go out”, she said, doing her best motherly imitation.

  Chick’s ardor had now cooled and he immediately pulled out his comb, rapidly running it through his hair while Elsie smoothed down her blouse as if she were the epitome of propriety. She picked up where she had left off before Chick’s abortive amorous advances and proceeded to tell Chick about the safe in the back room and how only Mr. Terwilliger and the President, Mr. Jorgenson, knew the combination. As Elsie talked, Chick thought about the $53.50 he was paid every week and suddenly became angry and resentful. Not normally introspective, Chick saw a pathetic vision of himself as a middle aged Reginald Lester trapped in a decaying town with a very rotund blonde wife as his life mate. He stifled a moan and looked out the window until he composed himself.

  Still defensive and feigning contrition, it took more than a little coaxing from Chick for Elsie to explain how the truck arrived every Thursday afternoon with the payroll for distribution on Friday. The officious Henry Terwilliger, Elsie’s boss, was very particular about procedures as if gold were being delivered to Ft. Knox. But it was, after all, $80,000 in cash Mr. Terwilliger let slip one afternoon, perhaps trying to impress his pretty young clerk. It did impress Elsie and she somehow felt that sharing this revelation added to her own prestige and importance.

  A few days after the drive-in adventure, Mr. Terwilliger was at a late afternoon meeting outside the factory. Elsie sat at her desk when Chick appeared right on schedule. As agreed, Elsie had already sent a note to Chick’s supervisor requesting that he report to personnel to complete some routine forms. With no distinct plan in mind, Chick had been pressing Elsie to show him the safe in the back room and, when she first refused, he grew petulant. Elsie soon relented and the rendezvous was set. “What, that’s it?” Chick blurted out when he walked into the back room with Elsie pulling him along as if she were in charge. For some reason, Chick had imagined something the size of a bank vault when he spied the small Diebold 5000 safe the size of a large box with a number dial in the middle. Elsie frowned at Chick who quickly sensed his mistake and soothed her. “Hey, Babe, it’s no big deal. It’s just that I thought you were going to show me something gigantic. I bet I could pick it up and carry it out of here right now all by myself,” he boasted, while giving Elsie a squeeze as they walked away.

  That same evening, Chick Lester was at Benny’s Pool Room when he saw Rudy Gantz strut in. “Mr. Bigshot,” thought Chick as he nodded to Rudy. Chick had known Rudy since he was shaking down other kids for their milk money in grade school. He never liked him but always tried to stay on his good side.

  “How are things at the factory, pal? How soon you gonna be running that place?” Rudy asked with his perpetual mocking
smile. Chick smiled weakly and mumbled something incoherent, suddenly feeling like a loser as he ran the comb through his hair. The drive-in incident was all the talk and had taken on mythic proportions. Some wag had commented that Elsie had it all over Jane Russell and that there was a bigger crowd watching her than the movie.

  The next thing Chick heard was “Rack ‘em, pal. Let’s play” and he looked up to see Rudy chalking a cue stick. Chick held his own and even banked in a few difficult bunker shots as Rudy frowned. He was starting to feel smooth and confident. Chick smiled inwardly as he thought about Rudy trying to get to first base with any girl, let alone his voluptuous Swedish bombshell. At that moment, something made Chick look up and blurt out “how’d you like to get your hands on an easy $80,000?”

  Suddenly, the game was over and the two players were huddled in the corner where the suddenly emboldened Chick told Rudy everything he remembered about the personnel office, the back room and the safe. Chick couldn’t resist embellishing the story with his easy conquest of Elsie, hoping that Rudy had not heard about the disaster at the drive-in. Rudy listened silently but intently. He asked about the size of the safe a few times and where the doors were located. Then, he thought about the Clintocks and a smile spread across his face. The image of Elsie and her charms never crossed Rudy’s mind.