The Gold Pawn

by L. A. Chandlar

  At the dinner table, Mr. Kirkland said grace and we dug into the bountiful feast. Albert and Bob sat next to each other, neither of them knowing what to say to the other. They were complete opposites. Bob was a single man of about thirty, funny, and definitely a lady’s man; Albert (whom Aunt Evelyn insisted on calling “Albie,” which resulted in a confused look from the brilliant man) a scientist of sorts with a great white mustache and matching unkempt hair. Bob and Albie eyed each other dubiously from time to time and at last, after the wine took effect, started to talk and joke together. Big Sam and Nina enjoyed watching those two, a smile tugging at their lips.

  My favorite part of the day was when I walked in on a group gathered in the kitchen, all talking earnestly: Bob, Albie, Roxy, Morgan, Big Sam, and Aunt Evelyn. It was a ragtag group of assorted individuals and Aunt Evelyn had attracted them all and made them fast friends. Completely typical. I loved it.

  I joined Mr. Kirkland, Val, and Roarke in the parlor. Nina and Elsa were having a quiet little chat in the corner. In all the bustle of getting ready and Morgan coming over, I hadn’t made it to the Thanksgiving Day parade like I usually did. Roarke, who had covered the event, started to tell us of the annual mishaps that always occurred, especially with the massive balloons that they started to use about ten years ago. Rain, wind, lampposts . . . all wreaked havoc on the balloons, but somehow made the celebration that much more fun.

  Everyone was already laughing with Roarke’s account and I caught up the discussion at, “And then, good ole Knickerbocker started to look a little dodgy, his nose drooping lower and lower. I nudged my photographer buddy next to me and he started taking pictures. In a few minutes Knickerbocker had completely deflated, the human anchors moving out of the way, letting the massive rubber man slowly fall down onto Broadway.”

  Valerie snorted as she laughed.

  Roarke continued after addressing her snort with a grin, “And the damn rubber or canvas, whatever it is, weighed so much without the helium to hold it aloft, the entire parade had to be stopped so they could haul the carnage off to the side with the help of about twenty extra men from the sidelines.”

  We all laughed, then talked and laughed some more late into the night. Everyone went home and after a lot of convincing, I coaxed Morgan into staying on our couch for the night. We had a guest room, but somehow the couch made it seem like less of a long-standing or permanent situation, which she was agreeable to accepting. I noticed that she had continued her reading. She had surprised us all with being able to read when we first met her; she must have learned at a very early age with her parents. Most kids on the street, whether homeless or just poor, were illiterate. Before bed, I gave her the latest copies of the Tarzan series, Tarzan’s Quest, and a Kenneth Robeson Doc Savage 27: Mystery Under the Sea. Morgan’s eyes grew large and glossy at the attractive, brand-new books. By the look on her face, her first inclination was to not accept the gifts, but the temptation of the crisp books along with the enticing mysteries within rendered her incapacitated.

  Morgan ended up staying that night and the next with us, but on early Saturday morning we arose to find her couch empty, her blankets folded neatly in a pile. It was to be expected, yet it was still a little sad for us.

  Those first two days of the holiday weekend had been idyllic: full of friends and family, good music, laughter around our radio, rest, reading, and sumptuous food. Little did I know that those days would soon be distant memories, like the sunny, sweet calm before a potent and dark storm.

  CHAPTER 21

  “. . . my blood was changed into something exquisitely thin and icy.”

  Saturday night, Valerie and I went out dancing with Ralph and a crowd from work. Peter showed up with several of his police buddies including Scott from Central Park. I spotted him as he walked over with a big grin.

  “Hey, Lane, how are you?”

  “Great, Scott, good to see you.”

  “Gee, seems like a pretty dull night, huh?” I looked around the colorful, bustling, noisy crowd and then looked back at him with a cocked eyebrow.

  He laughed, and then I got the picture.

  “Oh, I get it,” I said with a smirk. “You mean you’re surprised that I’m not covered in dirt or tackling a guy who stole my purse? Well, buddy, the night is young!” After that we danced a few dances and had a couple of drinks with several of his friends and mine.

  It was a fun night. Val had danced with Peter a couple of times, but there wasn’t the same kind of spark that had been there before. I smiled to myself as I wondered if maybe that moment at Penn Station where the stranger with the dark blue eyes caught her in midair had a more intriguing effect on her after all.

  Late in the evening, Valerie and I pulled over to the side, away from the dancers, to rest for a bit. We sipped our drinks, deciding to sidle over closer to the entrance of the club where fresh air poured in, dissipating the clouds of cigarette smoke. We watched the rollicking crowd for a few minutes in companionable silence.

  I smiled at Val, about to suggest one last dance before we headed home. Suddenly, I wasn’t smiling. Val’s face blanched and I simultaneously felt the cold barrel of a gun poke into my back.

  “Good evening, ladies. You need to come with us,” said a slick, deep voice from behind me. A small but effective group of men surrounded us, all wearing black overcoats. The man behind me stood close enough that no one could see that I was being held at gunpoint.

  “What do—” I started to say, but he cut me off, taking my arm and pushing me from behind with the gun. I’d been working with Mr. Kirkland on some self-defense moves, but it would have been stupid to try anything. We were in a packed club. If his gun went off, it would definitely hit someone, most likely me.

  “Okay! Okay, here we go,” I said calmly, trying to get him to relax and quit pushing.

  They ushered us outside. We tried to make eye contact with anyone who might look at us, but they effectively blocked everyone with the precise movements of people who had clearly done this sort of thing before. Just outside, we walked down the sidewalk and then turned into a wide alley that opened into a deserted lot.

  My skin prickled with the dangerous predicament I was in. Again. Things were getting desperate fast. If we didn’t do something quick, we were dead meat. Val was just about to faint, her legs looking as wobbly as a newborn fawn’s. I was getting angrier and more scared as each precious second ticked by. The men were getting rougher, pulling and pinching hard on my arm. They were cackling to themselves and making eyes at each other in a way that didn’t bode well for us.

  “What do you want?” I demanded.

  The one holding me laughed menacingly as he said, “Well, Miss Sanders, our boss said to give you a message and then as long as we didn’t kill you, we could have a little fun with you.”

  I felt the bile rising in my throat as his little speech made his buddies laugh along with him. My mind raced, thinking of ways to get out of this. Suddenly, up ahead in the alley where the bright lights of cars went back and forth, a large sedan pulled in and slowly rolled to a stop right before us, its hood glossy and sleek. The guys holding my arms came to a dead standstill and as my hopes started to rise, looking for salvation, the car doors opened and out stepped Donagan Connell and Eliza.

  My hopes came plummeting down.

  “Well, well, well . . . Little Lane,” crooned Donagan, in a mocking voice.

  All the men were ogling Eliza as she came around to the front of the car wearing an extremely tight-fitting black dress, a mink stole casually slung around her shoulders, her long red hair curling down her back, and the headlights shining through the skirt on her dress highlighting the silhouette of her legs.

  “Hiya, fellas,” she purred. They all seemed to know her quite well. Then she looked right at me. “Ahh . . . that’s the look I was hoping to see,” she said with a sneer.

  I quickly straightened the shocked look on my face and I turned to take a quick look at Val. With Eliza in her sight, my swe
et friend had abruptly turned from fearful to incensed. Her tight, petrified lips turned into a snarl and even Eliza found it rather disconcerting as she looked at Val and then took a subconscious step backward. Valerie was extremely loyal and she was probably thinking through the torture that Eliza put her through when she had Roarke and me kidnapped a few months back.

  I’d known that Eliza had eluded capture when a body with red hair had been taken to the morgue in her place, and Fio and I knew deep down inside it had surely been she who had posed as Donagan’s mother at Sing Sing. But seeing her right before my eyes was a shock to the senses. Now we were eyewitnesses to the fact that Eliza was absolutely alive and well. Quite rotten, but well, I supposed.

  “What do you want, Donagan?” I asked, looking at every angle, every possibility, and all the guns in the hands surrounding us.

  “It’s simple, really. You have something of mine. And I want it back,” he said, the artificial lighting of the headlights creating awful shadows on his already disturbing face. He had an overcoat slung about his shoulders like a cape, making his large body frame even more menacing. His scar that pulled his lip down and the thick makeup on his face combined to create the feel of a morbid masquerade.

  “Yours. What could I possibly have of yours?” I asked, as I was starting to get an inkling as to what he could be talking about.

  Something in my tone, probably the absolute loathing I felt, made his cool demeanor slip away. His eyes hardened and he shut his smirking mouth with a snap. In three quick strides, he came right up to me and pulled out his gun, leveling it at my chest.

  “Holy—” I blurted out. Eliza was cackling with delight. My eyes shot to her and she suddenly mimicked an old lady walking, holding her back, with an invisible cane. She was such a prima donna.

  “I knew it had been you,” I murmured.

  Donagan came a few more critical inches closer and growled, “Now, give it to me. I know you have it.”

  Right at that very crucial moment, three cars behind Donagan and at least a few behind me all came suddenly screeching and racing into the alley at the same time. The ruckus and the bright lights everywhere at once confused all of us and even Donagan pulled farther away from me. I slipped to the side, desperate to get that gunpoint off me. About ten guys in front and just as many behind leaped out of the cars, every single one of them bearing machine guns—all of them pointing directly at Donagan and Eliza.

  I recognized a few of the guys and I bit back a hysterical laugh as it tried to bubble to the surface. The tall guy closest to Donagan, and clearly the one in charge, barked out orders. “Put your gun down, Connell. And if I were you, I’d tell the rest of your crew to get down on the ground. Now.”

  Donagan took in a big breath, let it out, and nodded his head. His men, who were greatly outnumbered and outgunned, fell straight to the ground. Donagan remained standing, the muscles in his face twitching with hatred. Eliza slunk backward and awkwardly half-fell, half-leaned up against their car.

  The guy in charge then turned his attention to Valerie and me and I heard a gasp escape Val’s lips. “Ladies, you better come with us. The car right behind you,” he directed, as he came behind Val and helped usher us over to the door.

  “Okay,” I said very shakily.

  We were marched quickly back to the sedan. The door opened and we jumped inside.

  “Well, girls. Seems like you got yourselves in another bit of trouble,” said a gravelly voice across from us in the car.

  “Oh, my God,” whispered Val.

  My heart tried hard to start beating again. “I . . . I . . . You have impeccable timing, Mr. Venetti.”

  CHAPTER 22

  “My head goes round.”

  We returned to the club and Mr. Louie Venetti, notorious gangster, let us out of the car about half a block away. As we walked toward the club, our knees a little wobbly, the adrenaline began wearing off. Our friends were outside looking around, presumably for us. Peter was in the front of the crowd, his brown hair and black hat a head above all the rest. A look of relief spread across his face as he spotted Val. I knew his detective instincts would know that we had been in trouble. Besides, he was holding our coats: a sure sign that we had left in something of a hurry.

  “You girls all right?” he asked seriously, but quietly, trying to be discreet. We nodded and he added another question. “Do I even want to know where you’ve been?”

  “Probably not,” I replied as I shrugged into my coat.

  “Oh boy.”

  The rest of our group came up to us and we made up a story to keep them out of the rather terrifying loop. Scott, the policeman who always got to see me at my best, was grinning widely, not buying it at all.

  Peter took us to my place and we all circled around our safe and cozy kitchen table with Evelyn and Kirkland. We explained the full story about what happened with Donagan and our most unlikely rescuer. They were all shocked into a most uncustomary silence. Val and I looked at each other uneasily and I took refuge behind my great mug of hot tea, taking a long swig.

  “W-well . . .” stammered Aunt Evelyn. “What did Uncle Louie say exactly?”

  I shook my head, still bewildered. “Not much. He asked if we were all right. We said ‘yes’ and thanked him. A lot.” Val nodded vigorously, but was still very silent. “And then he asked us what Donagan wanted. I told him he said that we had something that was his . . . and I told him I didn’t know what that meant.”

  “Did Donagan believe you?” asked a dubious Peter.

  “I’m not sure. There wasn’t time to find out. It has to be the silver gun, right? Eliza lost the gun over the bridge, and she and Donagan were a team. Maybe he knew of the second one and is making a guess that I have it . . . But why does he think it belongs to him? Ever since he appeared a few months ago, it seems he might have had ties to Rex’s network. Do we have any hard evidence that he was part of the Red Scroll when Rex Ruby was around?” I asked the group.

  No one knew.

  Aunt Evelyn surmised, “Well, it could be the gold pawn, too. It was on Rex when your father and Kirkland killed him. Maybe it means something.” I nodded. That was definitely possible.

  “And!” I declared loudly, making heads turn. “I recognized two of the guys with Venetti. They were the two who chased Roarke and me in Central Park. I asked Venetti about it. He wouldn’t answer my question about the meeting with Marty and why he’d wanted to assure Marty that the bank business was okay. But he confirmed that his goons were not interested in us. Supposedly, they had been following Marty, but then they spotted Roarke and me. When we took off running, they decided to pursue.” I rolled my eyes, nerves making me joke, “I think Roarke and I just have that effect on people.” They laughed, albeit uneasily.

  I shot a look at Val, wondering if she was going to speak up about the tall gangster who looked to be Venetti’s right-hand man, the one who ushered us to the car, a hand on the small of Val’s back. He also happened to have dark blue eyes. I wondered if he was the man who caught her at Penn Station as she tripped and was about to fall.

  She just sat there looking innocent. Hmm.

  After a long and drawn-out pause, Mr. Kirkland clasped his hands and put them on the table as if he had come to a decision and was about to make a declaration. With a stony face and a resolute sigh, he said, “Lane, this encounter has made one thing absolutely clear. You need to get to Michigan. Tomorrow.”

  * * *

  I pondered over these events as my train click-clacked over the States once again. It was a whirlwind getting ready to leave on such short notice. Mr. Kirkland and Aunt Evelyn had been going over some plans for the Michigan trip anyway and with this new-found interest of Donagan’s, we felt an increasing pressure to figure out what my parents had been involved in and what the meaning was behind the gold pawn. Why was the date they were killed marked on that bridge? Also, it seemed I was a target once again, so it would be much safer for me to be in Michigan. Even if Donagan got wind of it, I
could be there for a few days before he would find out. We devised a plan where no one else but those of us at the table that night (of course informing Fio as well) knew the timing and my destination. I would call in sick Monday and Tuesday, and by leaving right away on Sunday, I would have an excellent head start.

  Mr. Kirkland and Aunt Evelyn were still willing to have me go alone the first few days, but they would be there no later than the weekend.

  The funny thing was that I felt more at ease than I suspected I would. With the high drama of the night before, I had a tangible problem and a concrete foe to work against. It was far less disorienting than my invisible enemy of my odd reaction to the Rochester house the first time. I felt a confidence of surer footing than the last time. And despite it all, I wanted to go back. I truly wanted to see some of those places that were vivid and real in my dreams and memories. Maybe I would find solace in seeing and touching the favorite things of my parents.

  The only part that gave me pause was thinking of Finn. I sent him a telegram to tell him of my plans, but you can only get so much across in a telegram. It felt so inadequate. And there was something strangely wrong about going without him. But I felt like my hand had been forced. I would just have to make the best of it.

  I took out my beautiful and eerie Book, caressed the leather cover with its golden scrolls, and opened it to the page where I left off.

  CHAPTER 23

  Finn had been shaken when he ran into Gwen. Especially outside his grandmother’s nursing home. He had asked his grandma about it, but she was evasive, saying that Gwen had come to visit several times over the years.