The Overlords & the Wild Ones

by Matt Braun

  “Oliver,” he said, extending a meaty handshake. “How nice of you to come on such short notice.”

  “A pleasure, Monsignor.” Quinn let himself be directed to a leather armchair. “We see each other too seldom.”

  “Yes, indeed, particularly for old friends.”

  Their relationship was one of cordial distance. They never appeared in public together, for a prince of the church could not be seen to socialize with the Island’s most visible gangster. Yet Quinn, with steamship tickets delivered anonymously every summer, enabled the monsignor to visit his mother in Ireland. They were comfortable with discreet arrangements.

  “Yesterday I received a call,” O’Donnell said without further ceremony. “I’ve been asked to intercede in a delicate matter, and I prayed on it overnight. The caller was William Magruder.”

  “Magruder?” Quinn looked astonished. “Why would he call you about me?”

  “There’s the rub, isn’t it? Mr. Magruder is concerned about his daughter, Elizabeth. A fine girl, I’m told.”

  “Yes, I know her personally. We hosted her birthday party at the club a week or so ago.”

  “Twenty-one, I believe she is,” O’Donnell said, the trace of a brogue in his voice. “A young lass, so impressionable, and like many, so naïve. I’m sad to say she’s become involved with one of your men, Oliver.” He arched an eyebrow. “Romantically involved.”

  Quinn’s jaw dropped. “Who?”

  “A lad by the name of Jack Nolan.”

  “Why didn’t Magruder come to me? Why drag you into it?”

  “Think on it a moment,” O’Donnell said with a sage nod. “A direct approach, or so Mr. Magruder believed, might offend you. As you can imagine, he’s an outraged father, and properly so. He asked me to speak on his behalf.”

  “I understand,” Quinn said, sitting stiff in his chair. “Monsignor, you have my word that Miss Magruder has seen the last of Jack Nolan. I’ll put an end to it today.”

  “Nothing too drastic, Oliver. A word to the wise should be sufficient. Don’t you agree?”

  “A word or three, or four or more. You won’t be bothered again, Monsignor.”

  “I knew we’d find a way between us. God bless you, Oliver.”

  Quinn departed with unusual haste. When he was gone, Monsignor O’Donnell leaned back in his chair and idly fingered the crucifix suspended from his neck. In many ways, he admired Quinn, and privately, he thought of him as a friend. A relationship not all that unusual within the church.

  The idea, as he toyed with it, somehow brought to mind the Borgias. A noble Italian family, central figures in the Renaissance, with two popes and a saint to their credit. Then there was Cesare Borgia, son of a pope, ruthless and murderous, once a cardinal of the church. A man who strangled his enemies to death.

  O’Donnell told himself there was ample precedent, established centuries ago by those who ruled the Vatican. A prince of the church and a gangster were entitled to be friends.

  He thought Jack Nolan might soon appreciate the irony.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Nolan parked in front of the Turf Club. He knew he was running late, and strangely enough, he didn’t care. He’d stopped at a hamburger joint for lunch, and tried to get his mind straight before reporting to Quinn and Voight. He still wasn’t sure how it would play out.

  The bookmaking parlor was slow for a Tuesday afternoon. There were a couple of horse races later on the West Coast, and die-hard bettors were already gathering to pore over the scratch sheets. Football games, both pro and college, weren’t scheduled until the weekend, and there was little action. He glanced at the tote board as he walked through the club room.

  Joe Reed, the elevator operator, greeted him with a sly grin. “Late night, was it, Jack? You rumrunners have all the fun.”

  “No, wasn’t that, Joe.” Nolan stepped onto the elevator. “We’re bringing in a load tonight. I’ll save you a bottle.”

  “Never turn down bonded whiskey. Nosiree, not me.”

  Reed was closer to the truth than he suspected. Tonight, rather than last night, would be the late night. Early that morning he’d called the Magruder home and spoken with Libbie. She was frantic to see him, and he’d agreed to meet her on a beach west of the amusement piers before tonight’s rumrunning operation. He wasn’t yet sure how they would get around the problem of her father. Or for that matter, the bigger problem of Quinn and Voight. He wondered that Magruder hadn’t already contacted them.

  Upstairs, Barney Ward was stationed at his usual post outside the office. Nolan didn’t see McGuire in the billiards room or the athletic club and that gave him pause. He had somehow assumed Quinn would be there, waiting with Voight, for his report on the meeting with Durant. There was sure to be fireworks, and he silently wished they were both present. Quinn always had a tempering effect on Voight.

  Ward nodded. “How’s things, Jack?”

  “Good as gold, Barney. Where’s Mr. Quinn?”

  “Dunno and didn’t ask. Him and Turk went out a while back.”

  Ward held the door and Nolan stepped into the office. Voight was seated at his desk, a cigar clamped in his mouth, scanning entries in a ledger. He looked up with a sour expression.

  “Where you been?” he said. “I expected you back an hour ago.”

  “Stopped off for lunch,” Nolan said, dropping into a chair. “Figured it might be a long afternoon.”

  “Next time don’t keep me coolin’ my heels. What happened with Durant?”

  “I’d have to say he surprised me. Him and his reformer pals cooked up a deal with the attorney general. They offered me immunity.”

  “Immunity from what?”

  “Anything crooked I’ve ever done.”

  Voight stared at him. “I think you’d better spell that out.”

  Nolan recounted the gist of the meeting. He explained that Durant’s chief goal was to establish a link between Magruder and the mob. In exchange for turning stool pigeon, Nolan would receive a grant of immunity from the attorney general, plus ten thousand dollars. A neat little package to entice him to turn Judas.

  “Dirty bastards!” Voight fumed when he finished. “They really thought you’d go for that?”

  “Well, it was worth a try,” Nolan said. “Durant’s dead set on nailing Magruder’s hide to the wall. He doesn’t care one way or the other about you and Ollie.”

  “I don’t give a rat’s ass whether he does or doesn’t. Time to wash our hands of this whole mess. I want you—”

  The door opened. Quinn walked into the office like a dragon breathing fire. His teeth were clenched, a knot pulsing at his jawline, and his eyes burned with anger. Voight looked at him with a dumbfounded expression.

  “What the hell happened to you?”

  “I just had a talk with Monsignor O’Donnell. Bill Magruder asked him to call me in and oh-so-politely slap my wrists. Care to guess why?”

  “Why don’t you just tell me?”

  Quinn paced across to the window, then turned back and stopped. His eyes drilled into Nolan. “So I’m informed, one of our men has been screwing Magruder’s daughter. Anything to it, Jack?”

  “Not the way you mean,” Nolan said, taken aback by the suddenness of the assault. “Sometimes you meet a girl and things just click. I’m stuck on her and it’s mutual.”

  “Who gives a damn!” Quinn exploded. “You put us at risk with Magruder. Get your head on straight!”

  “I’ll take you off the hook,” Nolan said in a reasonable tone. “I’ll have a talk with Magruder and explain it to him. He’ll see I’m serious.”

  “Jesus Christ! Do you think he wants a gangster in the family? Where’s your brain?”

  “What’s the harm in trying? Who knows, I might win him over.”

  “Listen to me, Jack.” Quinn’s voice was glacial, his eyes suddenly cold. “Dutch and I won’t let you jeopardize our business, everything we’ve taken years to build. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

 
Nolan understood exactly what he was saying. All it required was for them to open the door and call in McGuire and Ward. There was no loyalty, no friendship, certainly no brotherhood in the rackets. By nightfall, he would be swimming with the fishes at the bottom of the Gulf. He decided the only way out was to lie. Convincingly.

  “I hear you,” he said with a lame shrug. “I just wasn’t thinking straight.”

  “Then we’re agreed,” Quinn persisted. “You’ll ditch the girl?”

  “Yeah, sure, it’s over and done with. I won’t see her anymore.”

  “No pulling my chain here, Jack. You’re on the level?”

  “Yeah, boss, on the level.”

  Quinn studied him. “I’ve got your word?”

  Nolan lied with the aplomb of a Chinese bandit. “I give you my word.”

  “Now you’re talking sense.”

  “Are we through with the hearts and flowers?” Voight said, clearly disgusted with the whole conversation. “We’ve got business here that needs tending.”

  “Oh?” Quinn looked around. “What business is that?”

  “Tell him, Jack.”

  Nolan again related the details of his meeting with Durant. Voight, puffing furiously on his cigar, was quick to add his own opinion. Quinn heard them out, then slowly nodded his head.

  “Dutch is right,” he said. “Time to get rid of Durant.”

  “Won’t be all that easy,” Nolan amended. “You mind a suggestion?”

  “Let’s hear it,” Voight prompted with a wave of his cigar. “You’re our boy when it comes to rough stuff.”

  Nolan steeled himself to lie earnestly. After all that had happened, he’d decided he didn’t want to kill Durant. Maybe it was the way Durant had stood and fought that night, the night he’d killed Elmer Spadden. Maybe it was the fact that Durant had survived the trenches of France, and understood there were worse things than dying. Or maybe it had to do with Libbie, and Nolan’s abrupt realization that he might get himself killed. He wasn’t sure in his own mind as to the real reason. He only knew he had to play for time.

  “Durant’s dangerous,” he said, wording it to get their attention. “After this morning, he knows we’ll come at him again. He killed Elmer, and if we try him head-on, he could kill me, or Turk, or anybody else. We have to outsmart him to take him out.”

  “So?” Quinn said impatiently. “How do we outsmart him?”

  “We move on him from a different direction. Maybe through the old guy at his bank, Aldridge. Or maybe the Ludlow girl, the one he’s been dating. I’ll figure out a way, don’t worry about it. Something that’ll force him to play into our hands.”

  “Like what?” Voight said. “Kidnap the girl, force him to come to you? Play him for a slip-up?”

  Nolan smiled. “Something tricky, boss. Real tricky.”

  Voight and Quinn exchanged a glance. Something unspoken passed between them, and Voight finally nodded, “All right, Jack,” he said. “Do it your way, but get it done by this weekend. I want him dead.”

  “I’ll take care of it, neat and quick.”

  Nolan got out before they could ask more questions. Only later, after he’d left the Turf Club, did he remember he’d forgotten to mention the rancher, Robert Eberling. The one who hung around pay phones waiting for a call. He decided to keep it to himself.

  One problem more might be one problem too many.

  Durant drove around the Island for almost an hour. He needed time to think, to weigh what he would do next. All his options seemed foreclosed.

  Shortly after one o’clock, he parked on the Strand. He knew he should eat something, but his stomach resisted the idea of food. Instead, he walked into the bank, offering Catherine a forced smile, and returned the car keys to Aldridge. He asked the older man into his office.

  Aldridge closed the door, then took a seat. His eyes narrowed in assessment. “I take it things didn’t go well?”

  Durant laughed without humor. “Am I that obvious?”

  “You look a little green around the gills. What happened?”

  “Nolan turned me down cold. I think he was amused by the whole thing.”

  “Amused?”

  “You know, like I was a numbskull to even think he’d go for it. He all but laughed.”

  Durant gave him a nutshell version of the meeting. He left out a good deal, but he covered what seemed to him the relevant points. He finished with a lame shrug.

  “For the most part, it was a waste of breath. Nolan said if he took the deal, there’d be no place to hide. Quinn and Voight would have him killed.”

  “No question of it,” Aldridge said. “I told you as much this morning. He would have been signing his own death warrant.”

  Durant nodded, his expression abstract. “The really strange thing was that I liked him. Once you get past that tough guy attitude, he’s a regular joe.”

  “A regular joe who just happens to murder people for a living. Have you forgotten he tried to kill you?”

  “No, I haven’t forgotten, Ira. I’m just saying… .”

  “Yes?” Aldridge prodded. “Saying what?”

  “Nothing important,” Durant said. “The only thing that counts is that he turned me down. I’m right back where I started.”

  “Earl, if anything, you’re worse off. I tried to warn you of that before you met with him. You’ve gone from the skillet to the fire.”

  “How could it be worse than it was?”

  Aldridge shifted in his chair. “Nolan will report everything you said to Quinn and Voight. Their view—and, unfortunately, it’s correct—will be that you tried to bribe him to betray them. How do you suppose they will react?”

  “Don’t have to be a mind reader,” Durant replied. “They’ll order Nolan to plant me six feet under. What’s new?”

  “What’s new is that you’ve attacked them personally. Before, they were doing Magruder a favor, or perhaps looking for revenge because you killed one of their men. Now you’ve made it personal, very personal. You’ve threatened them.”

  “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

  “I know I’m right,” Aldridge said soberly. “And to compound matters, Magruder’s applying pressure of his own. Do you remember what you said when we left his office Saturday?”

  “What?” Durant searched his memory. “That he was already on the horn to Quinn and Voight?”

  “Exactly. So now, in addition to Magruder, Quinn and Voight have a personal stake. They want you dead as much as Magruder—perhaps more.”

  “Got myself in a helluva fix, didn’t I, Ira?”

  “I’m afraid so.” Aldridge sat forward, his concern genuine. “You really need to leave town, the quicker, the better. You’re in great danger, Earl.”

  Durant waved him off. “I told you once before, that’s not an option. There’s no place to hide, anyway. They could find me.”

  “You’re more resourceful than that. If you really wanted to, I’m sure you could disappear and not be found. And you needn’t worry yourself about the bank. I’ll protect your interests.”

  “Hell, Ira, you’re the banker around here anyhow. I guess I’m just too stubborn to run. Or maybe too dumb. Take your pick.”

  Aldridge sighed heavily. “You know you don’t have a chance. They’ll kill you.”

  “Maybe, maybe not,” Durant said, his features stoic. “But that doesn’t change anything. I won’t run.”

  Catherine stuck her head in the door. “The Holy Trinity is here to see you. Should I tell them to wait?”

  “No need to wait,” Durant said. “Might as well get it over with.”

  Aldridge rose. “I’ll step outside.”

  “No, stick around, Ira. I could use the moral support.”

  Baldwin and Adair, followed by Herbert Cornwall, filed into the office. Aldridge leaned against the wall, arms folded across his chest, while they arranged themselves in chairs before the desk. Their faces were expectant, eager for good news.

  “We couldn’t st
and it any longer,” Baldwin said. “How did things go with Jack Nolan?”

  “Not good,” Durant told them. “He refused the offer. Wouldn’t even discuss it.”

  Their features registered first surprise, then shock. Adair fidgeted nervously. “How could he not discuss it? What did he say?”

  “What he said was ‘Thanks, but no thanks.’ A flat turndown.”

  “I’m sure there was more to it than that, Mr. Durant. Could you be a little more specific?”

  Durant once again related the tone of the meeting. He left out anything about the war, and the discovery that he and Nolan had served in France at the same time. When he finished, the men sat for a moment in bewildered silence. Cornwall finally found his voice.

  “I don’t understand,” he said. “Why would anyone refuse immunity? It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Look at it from his standpoint,” Durant said. “He figured he wouldn’t live long enough to enjoy his new freedom. Why get yourself killed for nothing?”

  Baldwin stiffened. “Do I detect a note of sympathy, Mr. Durant? Why would you care what happens to Jack Nolan?”

  “Don’t put words in my mouth,” Durant said bluntly. “I told you why he refused, and what I think doesn’t matter. His reasons were good enough for him.”

  “All’s not lost,” Cornwall broke in. “You could still issue a public statement.”

  “A statement about what?”

  “Something to the effect that you met with Nolan and offered him immunity. But while he refused the offer, he nonetheless confirmed the link between Magruder and the mob. How does that sound?”

  “Sounds like a lie,” Durant informed him. “Nolan didn’t say that.”

  “Who’s to know?” Cornwall said with a conspiratorial smile. “It’s your word against that of a notorious gangster. I think public opinion would be on our side.”

  Aldridge, silent until now, could no longer contain himself. “Herbie, how bad do you want to be mayor? Enough to make a liar of Earl, not to mention yourself? I don’t think I’d vote for you.”