by Allan Levine
“Ma’am, would you like to sit at the gentleman’s table?” asked the café maître d'.
She hesitated for a moment. “Very well.”
Once they were seated, Joannie ordered a poached egg with toast and tea. “Now what is it you want from me, Mr. Klein?” Her tone was friendly, but firm.
“It was good of you to travel to the city to be with Mrs. Roter.”
“Yes, I think you told me that last night. As I said, she’s a friend, and so was Max. It’s a terrible tragedy. But that’s not why you’ve chosen to have breakfast at the hotel in the hope of speaking with me, is it, Mr. Klein? From everything I know about you, you’re much too clever for that.”
Klein took a sip of his coffee and lit another cigarette. “What can you tell me about a man named George Dickens?”
“Mr. Dickens works with my husband at the Standard Grain Company. He visits Vera from time to time and we’ve had him to dinner. I don’t know him very well.”
Klein watched for any sign of hesitation, but saw none. “When was the last time you spoke to him?”
“As a matter of fact, he was in Vera about a week ago, when Max was killed,” she said, noticing Klein’s raised eyebrows. “You don’t think that George…”
“Had anything to do with Mr. Roter’s murder?”
“That’s preposterous. You can speak to my husband. We were at the Roter’s store that night. We left and came home and then Jack and Mr. Dickens spoke privately. Jack will vouch for him.”
“I’m sure he will.”
“Your sarcastic tone troubles me, Mr. Klein. I’m not certain what you’re implying.”
Klein shook his head. “My apologies. I wasn’t implying anything, only that perhaps your husband or Dickens may have seen something.”
“The police have questioned Jack and he told them everything he knows. I have no idea what, if anything, Mr. Dickens saw.”
“Do you know that Dickens is a loyal follower of Reverend John Vivian?”
Smythe shifted in her chair. “I … I know nothing about Mr. Dickens’s interests outside of work. As I said, we chatted over dinner some time ago. He spoke of his wife.”
“You are familiar with the reverend?”
“Only what I’ve read in the newspaper. He’s the leader of a crusade against liquor, against what your clients, the Sugarmans, are involved in.”
“That’s right. And you support this crusade, as you call it?”
“Liquor has ruined many a family, Mr. Klein. But I’m certain you know that. If the reverend can help make a positive difference in peoples’ lives, if he can protect wives and children from the abuse the bottle causes, then I’m in favour of that,” said Smythe. She was about to continue, but then caught herself. “I talk too much. Now, Mr. Klein, I really must be going.”
“Just one more question. You’re entitled to your opinions about liquor and Reverend Vivian, but would you agree that his methods and the fact that he and his followers have resorted to violence are open to question?”
“Sometimes the ends justify the means. Or that’s how he’d put it, I suppose. As I said, I only know about him from what I’ve read.”
“Interesting you should say that.”
“You had another question?”
Klein nodded. “With the strong feelings you have against liquor, I find it rather curious that you should be so close to the Roters. You’re aware, of course, that Max, the man you admired so much, was selling the Sugarmans’ liquor to US bootleggers? And he probably got killed for it.”
Smythe stared at Klein for a long moment without saying anything. “You don’t live in a small town like Vera without knowing everything that’s going on with your neighbours. There are some secrets, but not many. So, yes, I knew about Max’s liquor warehouse and his relations with bootleggers like Frankie Taylor. It was common knowledge. Yet Max was as kind a person as is Rae. And in some circumstances, kindness must take precedence over any other failings.”
Klein was impressed by her intelligence and composure. As she rose from the table, he decided he would try one last ploy to unhinge her.
“Mrs. Smythe, allowing George Dickens to kill Lou or Saul Sugarman, or both, will not solve anything and certainly won’t cure your husband’s nasty temper.”
The colour drained from Smythe’s face. “Mr. Klein, I have no idea what you are talking about. Your suggestion that I am hiding some terrible facts from you about Mr. Dickens and my husband is foolish in the extreme. And here I thought all that hype I’d heard about you, that you are a gifted detective, was true. Now I know that it’s definitely not. Please excuse me.”
She abruptly turned and marched out of the café, leaving Klein to mull over their conversation.
Outside on the street, Alec Geller was waiting. He had orders from Klein to follow her everywhere she went. Sooner or later, Klein had told him, she’d lead them right to Dickens.
“We are going back there tonight, aren’t we, Richie?” asked Paulie, grinning like a schoolboy. “That Martha’s a babe. I really gotta see her again soon and I saw how you were looking at that Lulu.”
Richie laughed. “Keep it in your pants, Paulie. We’ll stop by for another visit later. But the boss is getting antsy. He’s not happy with what’s gone on here and wants it over. There’s a lot of cash at stake and he can’t have the Sugarmans bumped off. We got to stop whoever is trying to do this, and now.”
“You got an idea who’s been taking pot shots at us and them?”
“I do and it’s not that goofy preacher. I don’t know what the hell he’s been up to, but I aim to find that out real soon. Look, there she is. Let’s go say hello.”
Paulie and Richie were stopped on Portage Avenue in front of the Electric Pastry Shop. Paulie turned left onto Kennedy and parked the car. Sarah had just opened up her shop when they walked through the door. The three of them were the only ones in the store.
She immediately recognized the two men from the disruptive visit they had paid to her family on Cathedral Avenue.
“What is it you want now?” asked Sarah. Her tone was matter-of-fact but her hands were slightly trembling. When she had asked Sam about these two men, he had ignored her questions, telling her not to worry anymore about it. Sarah, however, was no fool. She had met and dealt with many rough men in her past life and her experience told her that they were dangerous.
“We came to look at dresses,” said Richie.
“Yeah. We want to buy something real nice for my mother,” said Paulie, smiling.
“Well, I don’t want your business, so please leave or…”
“Or you’ll do what?” asked Richie. He moved closer to her. “I want to speak to your husband. You know where he is?”
“I don’t. He left early this morning.”
“Yeah, well, I’m a bit impatient. Maybe you can phone him for me.”
“I told you, I wouldn’t know where to call him. There’s usually a constable who comes walking by this time of the morning.”
Richie removed his fedora and moved even closer to Sarah. The foul smell of coffee and tobacco on his breath permeated her nostrils. “We don’t worry about the police much. Ain’t that right, Paulie?”
“That so, Richie.”
Sarah tried backing up, but she was up against a hat display. Richie grabbed her right arm and squeezed it tight.
“Let go of me,” she shouted, striking Richie in the face with her other hand.
“You bitch,” he said, raising his hand.
“Stop! Now!” Saul Sugarman was standing in the shop entrance. “Get the fuck out of here, both of you.”
Richie let his arm drop and released Sarah. “Tell your husband I want to talk to him today.” He motioned to Paulie to follow him.
Sugarman glared at both of them, though said nothing more.
“We wouldn’t have hurt her, yo
u know,” Richie said to Sugarman.
As soon as they were out the door, Sarah began to shake. “Thank you, Saul. If you hadn’t come in…”
Sugarman half-smiled. “Well, I told you that I’d always be around to watch you.”
“Those thugs listened to you pretty quickly. Not even an argument. Do you know them?” asked Sarah more calmly.
“I don’t,” said Sugarman, looking away from her.
Sarah did not believe that for a moment. “Can I get you a cup of coffee? And I am sorry about the other day.”
He gazed back at her, his eyes roving up and down. “That was my fault entirely. I know when the time’s right, you’ll see things my way.”
Sarah ignored his lurid glances. “Saul. I’m grateful to you for helping me. But you must stop thinking this way. What you are suggesting will never happen.”
His body stiffened. “I think I’ll pass on that coffee. I have a matter to attend to.”
“I wanted to ask you about Lou,” said Sarah.
But Sugarman didn’t hear a word she said. He turned and walked quickly out of the store.
Saul Sugarman marched into the reception area of his office. “Shayna, they in there?” he gruffly asked.
Miss Kravetz jumped up. “Yes, sir. I tried to tell them to wait here, but they just barged right in like they owned the place. I don’t know…”
“Stop, Shayna. It’s fine. I’ll deal with it. Hold my calls until they’ve left.”
Sugarman pushed open the door and saw Richie lounging in his chair with his dirty shoes planted on the desk. “Will you get the hell out of there,” he yelled, slamming the door behind him.
“Sure, Mr. Sugarman. I was just having some fun,” said Richie.
“Yeah, we did like you asked,” said Paulie. “We put the fear of God into that bitch.”
Sugarman smiled. “You did, I’ll give you that. But you know she’s going to tell her husband about this.”
“We’re not afraid of Klein. He’s not so tough,” said Paulie.
“Well, I’d still be careful. And what’s this I hear about you going to that brothel on Annabella? You do know that Klein used to work there? And that big-mouth Melinda, who owns the place, has told him you’ve been there. You shouldn’t go near the place. If you want to pay for women, there’s another house in St. Boniface. I’ll give you the address.”
“Don’t you worry about us, Mr. Sugarman,” said Richie. “We’re here to make sure nothing happens to you and that’s what we’ve done.”
“You’re kidding, right, Richie? Since you’ve arrived, I’ve been shot at twice and my poor brother is lying in a hospital bed unconscious. Have you told Rosen about that yet?” asked Sugarman. He could barely contain his anger.
Richie stepped back. “The boss knows everything that’s been going on. He says we have to stay here until the problems have been fixed. He doesn’t want another incident like in Vera.”
Sugarman shook his head. “Vera? Even the great Irv Rosen doesn’t know who killed Max, does he?”
Richie did not reply.
“Didn’t think so. Now both of you get out of here. I got a business to run. You tell Mr. Rosen that everything is proceeding just as we planned and no one, certainly not Klein, the police, or Reverend John Vivian is going to stop us.”
“I don’t think that’s who he’s worried about,” said Richie.
“Then I suggest you two boys do your job and find the son of a bitch who’s trying to stop us.”
As Richie and Paulie left, Sugarman called out to Shayna. “I need to make a telephone call. Come in here, please.”
18
All through the day, Sarah had been busier than usual at the shop. There was a steady stream of customers, mainly young women and their mothers browsing for dresses and hats for the June wedding season and outdoor garden parties. Money was not an object and sales, for a change, were plentiful for afternoon dresses of blue silk, white viole, and flower prints, along with trimmed white satin and white ribbon hats. It was so busy at the noon hour that when Betty Kingston stopped by to chat, she insisted on staying to help Sarah deal with the rush.
Betty’s lively personality and presence kept Sarah’s mind off her earlier and unsettling encounter with the two men as well as Saul Sugarman’s curious intervention. The more she thought about how Saul happened to save the day, the more suspicious she became. It was the men’s reaction to Saul that troubled her the most. There was no objection or backtalk from them, only compliance. Perhaps they thought Saul had called the police, but that didn’t seem likely either. The one disturbing thought that she could not shake was that the men knew Saul and maybe even were in his employ. Had Saul actually orchestrated their visit and rough treatment of her so that he could save the day? So, that somehow his rescue would make her see him differently? It seemed crazy to her that he could do such a thing, but as she knew all too well, nothing was beneath Saul Sugarman.
Sarah had called Sam’s office several times during the day, but neither he nor Alec was there to answer the phone. She wasn’t especially worried about the thugs searching for Sam; she knew he could handle himself. Still, she wished she could speak to him about what had transpired.
The front door of the shop swung open and in ran Bernice in her yellow sailor dress. “Mama, I’m here,” she announced, sidestepping several customers to find Sarah.
“I can see that, Niecee. This is a surprise. Where’s Molly?”
Bernice pointed to the teenage schoolgirl trailing behind her. “Molly, what are you doing here? I told you I’d be home just after six,” said Sarah, her tone sharp.
“I know. I’m sorry. Please let me explain. This morning when I was out with Bernice for a walk, I bumped into David Neumann and he asked me out on a date to a showing of My Old Kentucky Home at the Capitol. The movie starts at six o’clock, so I thought…”
“You thought you could drop off Bernice to go on your date.”
“Yes,” said Molly, staring down at the floor. “Freda’s with her friend Naomi down the street and Mel’s playing next door at Mrs. Resnick’s. So it was just Bernice.”
“Very well, Molly. But before you leave, I have one more thing for you to do. There’s a hat at Eaton’s that Betty says I must see today. I’m going to close the store for about twenty minutes. You watch Bernice for me and then you can go on your date.”
“That’s fine, Sarah. Thank you so much.”
Sarah bent down to her daughter’s level. “Niecee, you stay with Molly while Mama goes out for a minute.”
“No. I want to come,” said Bernice with tears in her eyes.
“Now don’t start crying.”
Bernice held out her arms. “Mama,” she wailed.
The three or four customers in the store looked disdainfully at the crying child.
“Very well, Niecee. Come on, Molly. You can watch her outside of Eaton’s while I run in.”
Molly took Bernice’s hand and the three of them made their way the few blocks to Eaton’s through the late afternoon rush.
Crossing Donald Street, Sarah told Molly to wait in front of one of the large display windows that Bernice always enjoyed looking at.
“No more crying, Niecee,” said Sarah, kissing her daughter’s cheek. “Be a good girl. Mama will be right back.”
Bernice nodded.
“Don’t let go of her hand, Molly. You know she likes to wander.”
“Of course,” replied Molly, squeezing Bernice’s hand a bit tighter.
As Sarah entered Eaton’s, Molly pointed to the display of all-wool bathing suits in the window. “I like that red one with the black stripes and less than three dollars,” Molly said to Bernice. “Which one would you like to wear, Niecee?”
Before Bernice could reply, Molly was tapped gently on the shoulder. She looked behind her and came face-to-face wi
th David Neumann—and her heart started racing. He looked dapper in a light grey suit with a double-breasted jacket, a white shirt with a rounded collar, and shiny black boots. And with his hair parted on the side and combed back, his penetrating, deep brown eyes, and his Mediterranean appeal, David was the spitting image of Rudolph Valentino, one of her favourite movie stars—or so she imagined him.
“What are you doing here?” Molly gushed.
“I was going to look in the store for a new tie before we were to meet in the theatre,” replied David.
“I’d be happy to offer you a woman’s opinion if you’d like. But I have to watch Bernice for a few more minutes. Mrs. Klein should be back soon.”
Molly and David chatted aimlessly about the warm weather, the film they were about to see, and the fact that the bathing suits Molly had been admiring were barely knee-length.
“It seems old-fashioned to me. I’ve read that women bathing by the sea in France or Italy wear bathing suits more than six inches above the knee. I think that would be much more comfortable and attractive,” said Molly.
“I completely agree with you,” said David. “And I’d be happy to accompany you to the beach if you wore such attire.”
“Oh, David, I think you’re teasing me.”
Molly was so enthralled in the conversation that she did not notice that Bernice was pulling her in the opposite direction. Determined to see another display window, Bernice slipped her hand free from Molly’s grasp.
Another five minutes passed before Sarah emerged from Eaton’s carrying a hat box. She saw Molly and David practically kissing on the sidewalk.
“Molly, where’s Bernice?” she said loudly.
Molly’s face went white. “She … she was just here … she was looking at the window…”
“Bernice, Niecee,” Sarah called out.
Molly and David fanned out among the carriages and mothers congregated along the front of the store. Sarah was sweating. She looked right, then left, then right again. But Bernice was nowhere to be seen.
Sarah approached two women attending to their children. “Have either of you seen a young girl?” Sarah asked, barely able to get the words out. “She’s wearing a yellow outfit.”
