Jimmy the Stick

by Michael Mayo

  I put the oil lamp on the piano. “Give me the gun.”

  “Gun? What gun? Did anybody see a gun?” He laughed and the others laughed harder.

  I jabbed him hard in the stomach with the tip of the stick. He doubled over and I ripped a small automatic from his right coat pocket. Titus stayed where he was.

  “Turn out your pockets. Now.”

  The larger asshole was still giving me the hard stare but in time he pulled out his empty pockets. The women finally stopped laughing. I grabbed the lamp and headed upstairs.

  The brace clicked as I climbed, hurrying down the hall to Mrs. Pennyweight’s suite. I twisted the knob. The door was locked. Connie Nix’s voice was loud. “Don’t come in. I’ve got a gun.”

  “It’s OK. It’s me.”

  She opened the door. I could see the little boy woozily awake in his crib, the fire warming his face to a pink glow. Connie Nix held the Winchester in her hands. “I heard a shot.” She looked and sounded angry. “What’s going on?”

  “The houseguests are drunk. They’ve been celebrating, not that they need a reason. But I talked to Spence . . . Mr. Spencer. He says his trip was a big success.”

  “About time.” The edge hadn’t left her voice. “Here.” She tried to hand me the rifle.

  “Why don’t you hold on to it. Something still stinks about all this.”

  “I know what you mean. I’ve been hearing strange noises ever since I brought the baby up here.” She shot me a look. “And don’t try to tell me it was the wind. It wasn’t that. I think there was someone in the hall.”

  “I’m not going to argue with you. I’ve felt it.”

  She’d taken off her coat, and I could see that she wasn’t wearing her frumpy maid’s uniform. She had on a light-brown dress and jacket, a white blouse with a big floppy bow underneath. Maybe she wore a little makeup, too, I couldn’t tell. But she sure looked good.

  “The other night in Mr. Pennyweight’s reading room by the library, you said you thought something wasn’t right in this place. Do you still think that?”

  She looked away. “Even more now. But I shouldn’t have said anything to begin with.”

  I was trying to figure out what she meant when Mrs. Pennyweight arrived.

  “Quinn,” she said, sounding tired. “Please go downstairs and talk to my daughter. She is most put out with you.”

  When I walked back inside the ballroom, Teddy was doubled over on the chaise. His face was gray and he looked like he was about to throw up. Cameron Rivers was lighting a thin cigar, and Titus was whispering to Flora. She twisted away from the big guy and stalked toward me.

  “You’ve got to apologize to Teddy right now. What you did was completely appalling and uncalled for. You either apologize or leave this house immediately.”

  Tempting as the offer was, I was too tired to argue. I said, “Shut the fuck up.”

  I wouldn’t normally use that kind of talk with a woman, but I needed to get her attention, and fast.

  “Think about this. Do you really want a drunk with a loaded pistol in the same house with your son? Don’t try to tell me there’s nothing to worry about. I know what can happen. It’s time for you to grow up, dammit.”

  Titus sidled up behind Flora, wrapping a thick arm around her waist. She pushed him away, and went for the Veuve Clicquot.

  “Don’t think this is over,” the overgrown boy hissed through broken teeth. “It’s not, not by a long shot. We’ve got more to talk about, little man.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  SUNDAY, MARCH 6, 1932

  VALLEY GREEN, NEW JERSEY

  When I got back to the kitchen, I found Dietz sitting in my chair and finishing my breakfast. Mrs. Conway said she’d make more, and chopped salami. Dietz sopped up the last of the eggs with a corner of toast and said, “I heard you had a busy night, gunman.”

  I poured coffee from the pot on the stove. “I’m used to it. There’s always something happening in the city. You should give it a try sometime.”

  Dietz snorted. “I’ll stay here, thank you very much.”

  I picked up a section of newspaper. Mrs. Conway had put out more oil lamps but there really wasn’t enough light to read. The brindle cat bumped against my leg but otherwise ignored me.

  Mr. Mears shuffled in with a candle of his own. But before he could sit, Mrs. Conway told him to look to the furnace. We didn’t need to be both cold and dark, she said. The old guy nodded, and shuffled out as Connie Nix came in. She’d changed into her maid’s uniform and had a hushed conversation with Mrs. Conway that seemed to surprise and fluster the cook.

  “All right, then,” she said, “Get the rolling cart, the smaller one, from the pantry, we’ll use that. Four of them, you say? Dietz, help Mr. Mears with the coal and tell him to come back here. Miss Flora’s friends will be staying with us until the storm passes, and they’re all wanting breakfast. As if we didn’t have enough without those . . . Well, don’t just sit there.”

  She hurriedly scrambled my salami and eggs, and I wolfed them down before anybody else took it from me. Mr. Mears returned, and I asked him if he had a key to the gun room. He gave it to me.

  Spence’s shooting gallery appeared normal; nothing had been touched. The rifles and shotguns were where they belonged. It was the same in the pistol drawer. The only missing pieces were Spence’s .45 and the Mauser.

  The pistol I’d taken from Teddy was a Walther PP automatic. Why did all these rich guys go for German guns? I put it inside the drawer and locked up the room. I couldn’t assume that those two were unarmed, but why make it easy for them to get more guns? And what did I really know about them? That they were rich and belligerent, and claimed to hang out in nightclubs with gangsters. The blond one acted fey. The fat one wanted to get into Flora’s pants. Maybe it was a coincidence that they got thrown out of my place and then showed up here, but I couldn’t quite buy it. And I wondered what happened at Dr. Cloninger’s clinic, after our first little get-together.

  Back in the kitchen, they were preparing breakfast for the folks upstairs. Dietz was buttoning a heavy coat and checking out the ice that rimmed the outside of the window in the door. Snow and sleet were just becoming visible in the first dawn light.

  “Thermometer’s still dropping, gunman. This will last for at least another day. Best make your peace with the houseguests.”

  “Not likely. But since you’re the groundskeeper, you’ll be able to find the best spot for a grave if I have to kill them.”

  Dietz cackled around his pipe. “Digging’s not necessary. We just weigh down the bodies, and drop ’em in the lake. It’s deeper than it looks.”

  When I woke late that afternoon, the wind had subsided but snow filled the gray sky, and the power was still out. There was hot water for a shower, though. I put on my heaviest turtleneck, brace, and warmest suit, and checked the load in the Detective Special. I didn’t hear any movement on my floor, so I guessed everyone was asleep. Flora and Cameron together, most likely. Where were the guys? I wasn’t in charge of sleeping arrangements but I needed to know the assholes’ whereabouts.

  The ground floor held the same still Sunday-afternoon feeling. Several inches of messy snow had piled up outside, and it was coming down steadily. The doors to the ballroom were standing open, and the previous night’s litter was scattered over the black-and-white marble floor. Judging by the empty bottles, they’d added crème de menthe, Dubonnet, and absinthe to their champagne diet. The breakfast cart stood in the back, with half-empty plates and an open bottle of brandy.

  The fire had gone out in the library. The shuttered room was so dark I had to light an oil lamp. Still moving quietly, I went through the other rooms and found nobody. So the assholes were upstairs. The quiet was eerie and I couldn’t get rid of the feeling that someone was nearby, watching me. The reading room was as dark and cold as the rest of the house.

  Downstairs, I found Connie Nix asleep at the kitchen table, like she’d been folding table linen and had put he
r head down for a brief nap on the stack before her. I tried to be quiet as I poured coffee but she sat up and rubbed her eyes.

  “Don’t get up. I’m just going to fix a sandwich.”

  “No, Mrs. Conway wouldn’t have you using her kitchen.”

  I sat. She sliced cheese and bread.

  “You said your dad’s in the wine business. Makes something called Vine-Glo. Tell me about it.”

  “He belongs to a co-op. They turn the grapes into concentrate. Just add water and do some other stuff and sixty days later, you’ve got a keg of wine. They make it in little bricks, too. I don’t understand how that’s legal and real wine isn’t, but it is. Of course, he’d rather be working in the vineyard the way he did before. It’s nothing like what you do.”

  “You think so? You’ve seen my place. It’s nice enough but it’s not the lap of luxury and to tell you the truth, for the past couple of years, ever since the crash, things have been tough. Some months I do swell, some months . . .”

  That had been the case a lot recently. “Your old man’s probably in a better position than I am because one of these days, Prohibition’s gonna end, and when that happens, he’ll have the stuff people want. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

  The door banged open and Dietz hurried in from outside. A hard gust of icy wind fluttered the lamp and blew out the candle. His hat and overcoat were stiff with sleet. He hung them on a hook by the door and took off his wet boots before he got coffee.“What’s it like out there?” I said.

  “Limbs are down on the drive and the road. I heard a crew somewhere close. Wind’s starting to pick up again, and the glass is falling. I reckon we’ve got another twenty-four hours before she breaks.”

  The power came back at about six that evening. Deputy Parker showed up a half hour later. Mrs. Pennyweight was with the baby in her rooms, so I answered the door. I could hear music from the Electrola in the ballroom. Flora and her pals were back among the living.

  Parker stamped the wet, gray snow off his boots. “I just wanted to check that everything is all right here.”

  Flora floated in from the ballroom, wearing a patterned woolen dress and a dazzling smile. A slap-happy grin plastered itself over Parker’s mug.

  “Hello, Flo— Mrs. Spencer.”

  “Oh, don’t be silly, I’m still Flora to you.”

  Titus appeared, and shouldered ahead of her. “Somebody told me they’d made you a cop,” he snarled at Parker. “I couldn’t believe they were that hard up. What the hell are you doing here?” So, Parker knew the assholes. That was interesting.

  Parker squared his shoulders and hooked his thumbs on his gun belt. “Mr. Quinn noticed some suspicious activity, and asked me to keep an eye on things.”

  “I don’t believe that for a goddamn second.” Titus shoved his face at Parker, and poked at the other man’s chest. “You’re just sucking around here, like you always did. The candy-ass uniform doesn’t change anything. Remember who pays your salary.”

  I leaned on my stick and watched the two men posturing. I saw this kind of trouble boil up often enough in my place. We always tried to get the guys outside before fists started swinging. I doubted that would happen here, but was curious about how far Parker would let the big kid go before he responded.

  Flora wasn’t impressed one way or another. She rolled her eyes and waved a hand like she’d seen this scene before and was bored by it.

  Finally Teddy got between them. “Now, I’m sure that Parker is just doing his job. We don’t want to get in his way, do we?”

  When Titus didn’t move, Teddy pushed him back. “Do we?” He really wanted the big guy to leave the cop alone.

  Titus puffed out his chest, trying to sneer, but it was hard to do with his swollen cheek. On his way out, he gave me another hard look. “We ain’t done yet, pipsqueak, not by a long shot. You hear?”

  Mrs. Pennyweight watched it all from the second-floor balcony.

  Chapter Twenty

  MONDAY, MARCH 7, 1932

  VALLEY GREEN, NEW JERSEY

  Dietz was right. The storm didn’t end until late the next afternoon. When I got up at five o’clock, the snow was just beginning to melt, and the sky was lighter than it had been in days. I had a late breakfast while Mrs. Conway fixed dinner. She told me, disapprovingly, that “the young people” had gone out again. After the meal, I checked the gun room and found everything as I’d left it.

  Back in the kitchen, I gathered the newspapers and took a cup of coffee up to the library. The kidnapping still filled the front pages. The important item for me was on page six of the Daily Mirror under the headline DETECTIVE ON THE MEND. It said that Detective Eustace Hourigan had been found early Sunday morning two blocks from his Bronx precinct house, having fought off four men who were trying to steal a car, and having been wounded in the process. He had been taken to Royal Hospital, where he was expected to make a full recovery. His wife said she was very proud of him, and was happy that he was safe. “‘He’s my hero,’ she said, beaming at her husband’s bedside.”

  So, there it was. She’d had her fun, yes, and now it was time to go back to being Mrs. Hourigan. I was still chewing that over when the telephone rang. It was Spence, sounding excited. “Good news. The pilot says we can be at Morristown Airport this time tomorrow.”

  “Great. I’m tired of looking after your houseguests.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Flora’s pals. Cameron and Teddy and Titus. They’ve spent the weekend.”

  I thought I could hear something unsettled in Spence’s voice. “Keep an eye on them. Don’t let them get into trouble. I’ll be back as soon as I can. This is almost over. I can’t wait to be home.”

  I hung up, and was startled by a muffled thud close by. I found the catch that opened the door to the reading room. It took a few seconds to find the light, and I could hear movement in the darkness. I hit the switch and the light revealed a book on the floor. A moment later, the brindle cat walked out of the shadow and bumped against my leg as it sauntered out.

  It was after midnight when Flora and her friends got back. They had company. I heard the sound of several engines approaching and waited behind the doors of the dark library, where I could watch the big room without being seen. There were more than a dozen of them, and they were drunk and loud. Some looked like college kids, judging by their age and dress. They seemed to be saying something about searching for the Lindbergh baby, and made a big show of peering behind the heavy furniture in the big room. A bunch of guys wearing dinner jackets and carrying instrument cases followed Cameron Rivers to the ballroom. And finally, after twenty or thirty people had streamed through the front door, Flora and Teddy and Titus came in. Strolling behind them were Chink Sherman and Sammy Spats Spatola.

  This was bad.

  Teddy tried to say something to Chink, but the older guy wasn’t paying attention. He was appraising the house and its grand furnishings like he was about to take possession. Sammy Spats wore a loud gray-and-yellow checked suit and a gold tie. The jacket was heavily padded in the shoulders, and cut loose to accommodate his guns and shoulder holsters. He walked right behind Flora, blatantly eyeing her shapely rear.

  I waited until they’d all gone into the ballroom and I could hear music from the band before I gimped up the stairs, muttering curses all the way.

  Mrs. Pennyweight was dressed and scowling in her room. The child slept restlessly. “Your daughter and her friends are having a party. They brought a band and a couple of their closest gangster friends.”

  Mrs. Pennyweight sighed. “I thought that with marriage and a family she’d grow up. She’s doing this because she knows how it irritates me.”

  “That’s not the half of it. She’s invited Chink Sherman and Sammy Spatola. Chink sells more hard drugs than anybody in New York, and Sammy is a sick puke who’s sniffing around after her. She really shouldn’t be alone with him.”

  She waved it away. “That’s nothing. Teddy Banks consor
ts with all manner of colorful characters.”

  “Chink and Spats are not colorful. They kill people for fun. They enjoy it. Believe me, you do not want them in your house.”

  “Don’t be melodramatic. This sort of thing has happened before, and I can handle these men. Once they see me, they behave themselves. You stay here with young Ethan. Everything will be fine.”

  She left slowly, confidently, her cane tapping a steady rhythm on the floor.

  I considered my choices. I should get the kid out of there. It would be easy enough to take that sweet little green Ford coupe in Oh Boy’s garage, get Connie Nix to help with the boy, and run like hell, back to the Chelsea. Of course, technically it would be kidnapping, and that might be a problem.

  So I’d have to stay here. But not alone.

  I tucked the boy under my arm and left. Ethan turned out to be a heavy little brute. Damp, too. He woke up and gave me a strange look. I couldn’t blame him.

  The narrow stairs at the end of the hall led up to the servants’ rooms on the third floor. That’s where I found Connie Nix, with Mrs. Conway and Mr. Mears buttoning and straightening their uniforms.

  This hall was narrower than the one on the second floor. The lights were dimmer, the rooms smaller. I could still hear the band on the first floor.

  Mrs. Conway was giving orders and stopped when she saw me. “What are you doing with little Ethan?”

  “Do you know what’s happening downstairs?” I asked.

  “Miss Flora is having an impromptu party. When she and Miss Mandelina were younger, this kind of thing happened constantly. The guests will be wanting refreshments, and we will provide.”

  I thought about Mrs. Pennyweight and realized that I could never explain Chink and Spats to Mrs. Conway, either. So I just said, “There are too many strangers here. Let’s keep the kid in the kitchen, where he’ll be safe. I’ll help with the eats.”