The Gold Pawn

by L. A. Chandlar

  “My God, you’re a sight for sore eyes! How did you—? Lane, your hat is enormous! Roarke, you have a mustache! Kirkland, your hair is black! Good God, Evelyn, look at your cleavage. I mean, no—don’t look. I’m not looking. Oh, my God, I better sit down.”

  Lane was cracking up, Evelyn made a squeak as she ran to get a little shawl for a cover-up. Lane took off her enormous purple hat and fanned herself in complete satisfaction as she sank into a chair. Roarke sat, too, right next to Fio. He was scratching his fluffy blond mustache, obviously itchy from the glue. He put a hand on Fio’s shoulder.

  “You really all right, Fio?” he asked earnestly with a relieved smile, his dimples showing around the mustache.

  Fio exhaled in a great poof. “Well! Yes, I think so.”

  Finn came jogging back into the room. “Everyone all right?” he asked, looking at Fio with a worried frown.

  Lane went over to him. “Yeah, everything’s okay. Did you catch him?”

  “No. These hallways are too twisting, there’s about a hundred ways out of the building. Pete went ahead to notify the force. The guys we have surrounding the building are keeping watch, but we couldn’t have too many, otherwise it might have given us all away. Hey, nice thinking about throwing the pawn to him.”

  Lane replied, “I figured the top priority was getting Fio back in one piece. We can deal with the pawn later. Besides, we have an extra,” she said with a big grin.

  Fiorello looked around at these dear friends and a gratifying peace stole over him. He could finally relax. The tension of the last day started to ease off his shoulders. Evelyn, sufficiently covered up now, came over behind him and patted his shoulder.

  Evelyn quickly and calmly explained how Lane escaped the night before and had overheard Donagan and Eliza speaking. “She heard that you—their big prize—were going to be gambled to fetch a price that would enable them to get their hands on the pawn. But they didn’t know the time and place of the big poker game. That was where Finn’s contact, Miles, came into play and he had indeed weaseled an invitation to said game, on the millionaires’ trip on the Hindenburg. They landed early this afternoon, finally getting us the location for tonight’s game. A few choice, clever messages about a possible raid on the game had kept the cautious high rollers away, so we could take their place without giving it away to Donagan.” Her flinty eyes sparked with enjoyment as she regaled him with their story.

  “Well, you sure don’t lack in imagination,” he declared.

  Evelyn said, “You can say that again.” Then she went over to the bar and began pouring restorative beverages for everyone.

  Fio sat back in the chair and took a deep breath. The shrewd and crafty way this group handled themselves, not to mention their devotion and courage, made him feel proud and humbled at the same time. He was pretty darn sure this crazy scheme had been Lane’s. He’d seen those characteristics in Lane the day he’d hired her. Courage, imagination, devotion . . . He had asked her a few carefully considered questions that day. She’d picked up on nuances that no else had. He lacked sensitivity like that. That’s why he needed her.

  And she knew the profound lesson of loss. When his first wife died, along with their one-year-old daughter, Fio thought he might not make it. But he did. There was something special about people who could overcome. He saw that in Lane.

  He looked at her sitting on a nearby couch and laughed to himself as he overheard Finn talking with her, his arm around her shoulders. Finn was smiling widely as he said, “Lane, you can stop speaking with a Southern accent now. Besides, you were supposed to be a mobster. They don’t have Southern accents, love.”

  CHAPTER 54

  What entered my life now was a delightful time of enjoying simple pleasures. It was abrupt and pleasant like rushing and running all week, then suddenly having the satisfaction of plopping down at a favorite movie theater on a Friday night with the delight of nothing but a lovely weekend ahead. The police were still working on locating the whereabouts of Mr. Hambro and rounding up Donagan. For me, although my job was busy, it seemed as if a lull had at last arrived. I finally wasn’t the center of attention, perhaps from the fact that Donagan had his hands on that precious gold pawn. I wondered where that would lead. Would retrieving whatever treasure the pawn promised create new problems? Did Rex leave a legacy that would usher in more drama? Or was it simply about money and Donagan would run off to an island paradise? One could hope, but only time would tell.

  Valerie and I went to see Romeo and Juliet at the movies. It was incredible. The only thing that struck me as odd was that the teenage Romeo was played by Leslie Howard, who I swore was almost fifty. But he played the role so well that I soon got over the age discrepancy. And Finn and I thoroughly enjoyed The Petrified Forest. Even though we personally lived a real story of dealing with gangsters, the mix of the up-and-coming actor Humphrey Bogart with his role of vicious gangster and the enormous, remarkable eyes of the waitress and poet Bette Davis, who falls in love with him, captivated us completely. Then a big group of us from work saw Mr. Deeds Goes to Town. It was so fun, I’ll never forget Gary Cooper’s performance.

  We also went to the annual lighting of the Rockefeller Christmas tree. The ritual started just a few years ago in ’33 when 30 Rockefeller Plaza opened. Actually, unofficially, the first tree was in ’31 when the construction workers brought in a twenty-foot tree and decorated it with strings of cranberries, paper garlands, some tin cans, and even some blasting caps. Also at Rockefeller Center, they’d just opened a temporary ice skating rink in the Sunken Plaza.

  December 12th, the day after Fio’s actual birthday, Robert Moses, New York’s famous parks commissioner, threw a big shindig to celebrate the opening of the Henry Hudson Bridge and Fio’s fifty-fourth birthday. But two things interfered: a rainstorm sent everyone running from the bridge dedication and then more interestingly, England’s King Edward VIII announced that he abdicated the throne the day before to marry the American divorcée Wallis Simpson. Fiorello had stopped everything in the middle of the festivities and made someone turn on the radio so he could listen to the historic broadcast. It had been an ongoing scandal as the king and Wallis would travel together—with her husband in tow—as she didn’t get a divorce from this second husband of hers for quite some time. No one could believe Edward actually abdicated. He’d be succeeded by his younger brother Albert, now called King George VI. I personally liked Albert better anyway.

  One night, I was dancing the Balboa with Roarke, a dance that you just sort of shuffled to, especially good in small, crowded spaces. He’d been in and out of town as usual on assignments. I loved a new song that just came out by a new singer, Nat King Cole. I could listen to him all day. I was singing softly as I danced with Roarke, “You gotta S-M-I-L-E to be H-A-P-P-Y . . .”

  “Hey! You got it right!” he quipped, dimples showing.

  “Yeah, it helps when they actually spell it out,” I said, firmly acknowledging my deficiency in getting lyrics right.

  The song came to an end and Finn came over to pick me up for the next one. My feet were just starting to notice the long hours of standing, but I would never say no to a dance with Finn.

  “Having fun, Lane?” he asked with a smile.

  “I am! And I just got the lyrics right to the last song. Impressive, I know.”

  “Mm hmm . . . It helps when they spell them out.”

  I slapped him on the chest with a laugh. “Cut it out.”

  “I really like your dress, love,” he said, taking an appreciative look up and down.

  It was dark red, my favorite color, and especially nice coming up to the holidays. It had elbow length sleeves, a deep V in front and back, and a swishy skirt. Of course, I had delightful deep red high heels on as well. Oh wait, swishy skirt . . .

  “Are you thinking of my red dress the night of the ball?” I asked.

  “Oh yeah. That’s my favorite.”

  I bet it was. “I heard Scotty say I looked like a pirate.”r />
  Finn started laughing in earnest. “I’ll never—ever—forget the sight of you rolling up on the back of that junk cart.” He drew me closer and I put my head on his shoulder, my face in the crook of his neck. He smelled delicious.

  After a while of dancing slowly, he said, “You know, Lane, we’ve had some time off from this case lately. God knows we needed it . . .”

  “Mm hmm,” I agreed.

  “But we need to figure out what’s been going on with Donagan and why he wanted that pawn. And Mr. Hambro—he’s smack in the middle of it all—and Venetti has been all but silent lately . . .”

  “Which is scary in and of itself,” I cut in.

  “Oh yeah. Despite the ongoing investigation, it’s like they fell off the face of the earth. Well, I have a meeting set up with Miles tomorrow and I thought maybe you should come with me. We could talk through everything, see if it triggers any ideas. Would you be up for that?”

  I’d been dying to meet this character. After he took the big ride on the famous, exorbitant Hindenburg, for crying out loud, he was laying low here. “I’d love to meet him, Finn. What time?”

  “Let’s meet tomorrow after the morning meeting where the detectives all gather to look at all the accused felons we’ve brought in to see if we’ll book ’em and what to charge them with . . .”

  “What, like a show?” I asked.

  Out of the corner of his mouth he said, “Kinda. After that, I set up a lunch meeting at that little pub on 37th between Madison and Fifth. Miles is really missing London, feels like a fish out of water. It’s the best place to get fish ’n’ chips, so he eats there pretty much every day. You want to meet us there at noon?”

  “Sure, sounds great.” We kept dancing and I had one of those moments of complete awareness and wakefulness. Where time stands still for just a minute, and you make yourself soak up the sounds, textures, and the feeling of the moment, cementing it in your mind, becoming fully aware of life happening right that second. The dance hall was packed, and the extra fairy lights strung around the place were the main holiday decorations.

  “Hey, Finn, you feel like taking off?”

  He looked at me with a smile pulling at one corner of his lips. “Sure. You have an idea, don’t you?”

  “Yep. Come on.”

  I took him by the hand and we made our way across the floor, saying quick good-byes to our buddies. We retrieved our coats and bundled ourselves out the door as about fifty more people tried to get in.

  We took the subway uptown to the Upper East Side. Finn’s place was in midtown, a small upper-floor apartment of a townhouse. It dawned on me that I’d never been to his place.

  “I’d like to see your place sometime, Finn.”

  “I’d love to take you there, Lane. But if I did that, I don’t think I’d ever let you leave.”

  “You have a point,” I laughed.

  It had snowed just a little bit, our shoes making crunching noises on the icy sidewalk. The air was frosty and the city at night held its usual charm. The tall mountains of skyscrapers with their glowing windows, the ever-present energy of people milling about, the air itself full of something lively and transcendent, all came together and made you feel lucky to get to be a part of it. I could smell my intended destination before I could see it.

  The Christmas tree stands started coming into the city the first week of December. Many people got their trees on Christmas Eve as a tradition. There was no possible way I could ever wait that long. The whole lead time to the holidays was my favorite time. The scent of pine was one of the best aromas in the world and when the trees came in, although they make the sidewalks more cramped, it brought a divine scent to the everyday experience of just walking around.

  Every little shop, bar, bakery, and storefront was decorated in some way for Christmas or Hanukkah. We walked by a favorite neighborhood pub and I peeked inside. I loved the look of bars at Christmas. Not the outside of the building, but the actual bar where all the shiny bottles were lined up, the flashy colors of the liquors, the social aspect bringing people to one place all together, and then some twinkly lights thrown in with greenery. It was a rather sacrilegious pleasure, but I loved it nonetheless.

  “Here we go,” I said as we pulled over to the stand. The trees came from tree farms upstate and even in Canada. I went to this stand every year, from a farm in Quebec. My favorite saleswoman remembered me from year to year.

  “Hi, Annie! Welcome back!” I greeted her.

  “Bonjour, Lane! Wonderful to see you. And who is this?” Her Quebec accent was instantly accentuated from her very French zeal for love affairs, making it sound like Who izziss? With my eyebrow cocked, I half-expected her to shout out Ooh la la!

  “Annie, this is Finn Brodie.”

  “Hello, Annie, nice to meet you,” said Finn as he shook her hand.

  Annie returned the handshake with a silly smile, making me feel like an awkward ten-year-old who accidentally let it slip that she liked the cute boy at school. In a now even more pronounced French accent—the language of lovers—she said, “Ooh, Lane, you are getting a little tree for your little love nest, yes?”

  I blushed immediately and furiously. I countered with a witty, “Er—”

  Looking at me with unbridled amusement, Finn replied, “Yes.”

  Annie was delighted; clapping a little and bouncing, her winter hat with tassels dangling with glee as she bobbed up and down.

  I gave up. “We’ll take that one,” I said as I pointed to a large blue spruce.

  Annie handily tied it up and I paid her. Finn picked up the trunk end, I grabbed the top end, and we trooped off toward 80th Street. I could hear him laughing and mumbling, “Love nest, hmmm.”

  Since I hadn’t really planned on this from the beginning of the night, I found myself carrying this large burden with high heels on instead of a stout pair of boots. We did just fine until we were going up our steep set of stairs to the front door of the townhouse. We turned the tree around so we could take it in trunk first. I set down my end near the bottom of the stairs, ran up and opened the front door, told Ripley to stay, and turned on a light in the foyer. I went back down to the bottom and lifted the tree again.

  “Okay, here we go!” I said, and Finn started taking the tree in the front door.

  The tree was much too wide. It was a very large fir tree.

  Fingering his chin, Finn said, “Why don’t we switch places? You go in first and direct it, I’ll push from behind. I think we can make it.”

  So we switched places and I held the trunk. It got stuck about a foot or so into the doorway. Finn got a good grip of the trunk at the top and middle of the tree, and said, “One, two, three!”

  Finn may have been stealthy like a cat, but when he decided to do something, he did it with great vigor. He shoved that tree in the door, and in it came like a freight train. I was barreled completely over, the tree rocketing over me, with Finn racing in the door utterly shocked that the tree had bust through so effortlessly.

  I’ll never forget the look of shock on his face and the loud, “Whoa!” that escaped his astonished lips. The tree shot past me, knocked over the table with the vase on it, and Finn landed with about as much grace as I did when I went plummeting down that sledding hill in Michigan. He landed with a couple of audible cracks of the branches, and then all was silent.

  “Anything else I can help you with?” he asked from the floor.

  That night we brought up several boxes from the basement that held our Christmas tree decorations. I opted for my slippers instead of the high heels. Once we got it into the stand, the tree was almost too much for the parlor, the tip just touching the ceiling.

  Mr. Kirkland and Aunt Evelyn came home just in time, but I would have waited for them had they not. It’s tradition. We first put up the lights and then set about hanging the ornaments. We had all sorts of ornaments from when I was a kid, mementos from little trips, to frames that held little pictures. We even had a few ornaments from my
house in Rochester.

  The fire was crackling, Christmas music was playing, and I sat on the couch for a minute just looking at the three of them while I sipped my coffee. It wasn’t a spectacular moment, just normal and lovely, which made it even more divine. I looked at Finn, smiling and joking with Mr. Kirkland and Aunt Evelyn giving him a friendly clap on the back as he reached up high to place an ornament on a sparse section.

  Finn must have felt my gaze because he looked over at me right at that second. His face broke out into that bright smile that I loved so much.

  “What are you thinking, Lane?” he asked.

  “Actually, I was thinking that we have a little problem.”

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  “Well, the tree fits in the room, just barely. And we haven’t put the star on top yet.”

  “I can take care of that!” yelled Mr. Kirkland, which made us all jump. He darted out of the room, making Ripley bark in enthusiasm and run after him with a clatter of paws.

  Aunt Evelyn, Finn and I all exchanged dubious glances. He came back in jauntily carrying a saw. But not just any saw, a powered circular saw.

  “Uhh . . .” I said. “Are you sure about that?”

  “Of course! Don’t be silly, Lane. This is a piece of cake.”

  Aunt Evelyn just shrugged her shoulders. She looked unconcerned, but she did go over to the drinks cabinet and got a little restorative tot.

  My feet were rooted to the spot as I watched Mr. Kirkland get the step stool, put it next to the tree, plug in the circular saw, and climb up the steps, saw in hand.

  I tried again. “Uhh . . . I don’t know about that—”

  Finn said at the same time, “Hang on, how about—”

  But as we both tried to voice our objections, the saw burst into action. Mr. Kirkland put the blade to the top about eight inches below the ceiling, and as it was only one little branch that was about three quarters of an inch thick, the saw went ZIP and the eight inches of branch went ZING. All the way across the room about twenty feet, smacking the wall with such force that there was a visible notch left in the plaster.