Angels of Mercy

by Duncan, Alice

  I bit my tongue, which wanted to spew forth my opinion of families who cut their children off without a penny or parental support. My own family wasn’t what I considered tip-top in the uplifting of one’s morale department, but at least my parents still spoke to me, even though they disapproved of nearly everything I did. I didn’t even give her another “Oh,” figuring it was better that she spill her own beans her own way.

  “So I was down on my luck, and I couldn’t seem to find work anywhere,” she continued after another several sniffles and a sob or two. “I applied everywhere, but everyone told me I was too young. I did apply at Clapton’s,” she said earnestly. “But they wouldn’t hire a girl my age. So . . . so I finally got a job at a dance studio on Flower.”

  “You teach dancing?” That didn’t sound so terrible an occupation to me. Heck, it sounded quite respectable. Even my mother didn’t object to a foxtrot, as long as the couple dancing it stayed far enough apart for propriety.

  “Teach?” Peggy stared at me for a second, as if she weren’t quite sure what to say.

  “You don’t teach at the studio? Er . . . what do you do there?” Maybe she kept books for the place. That sounded even more respectable, if considerably duller, than teaching people to dance.

  She licked her lips. “Um, it’s not that kind of dance studio.”

  “Well, then, what kind is it?” I asked, perhaps a bit too sharply, because Peggy winced.

  Then she blurted out, “Men pay to dance with me.”

  I blinked, astonished. “You mean you work at a dance hall?” I’d heard about dance halls, frequented by men who weren’t gentlemen who danced with young women who weren’t ladies for a nickel a dance.

  She nodded, looking as if she wanted to sink through the flooring, although she’d only have hit dirt if she’d done so, since the house didn’t have a paved cellar. In fact, they called cellars basements in California. I only kept junk in mine. Not that it matters.

  “I-I was afraid if I told you I danced with men for a nickel in a dance hall, you wouldn’t allow me to move in here, and I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

  After a significant pause, during which I tried to think of something cogent to say and Peggy stared at me with eyes as round and imploring as any dog’s, I said, “I see. What’s the name of the, uh, dance studio where you work?” Was that cogent? Well, never mind.

  “Anthony’s Palaise de Danse. That’s Danse with an S instead of a C,” she answered promptly, making me think she wasn’t making up the name. Anyhow, I could look up Anthony’s Palaise de Danse in the telephone directory at work. That way I’d at least know if it existed. In fact, I could darned well ask the person who answered the telephone there if a Miss Peggy Wickstrom worked there. Why leave it to Ernie?

  “I see,” I said again. “Is that where you met Mr. Autumn?”

  “Johnny?” She seemed to perk up a trifle. “Yeah. I met Johnny there. He’s a nice young man.”

  “Is he?” I made my voice stern. “According to Mr. Templeton, your Mr. Autumn has some very unsavory chums.”

  “Johnny’s not like that!” she said in hot defense of her boyfriend. “He’s not a thug! He may know some people, but he’s not like that.”

  Right. “Well,” I said judicially, “I don’t like the fact that you lied to me, Peggy—”

  “I’m sorry,” she interrupted, sounding miserable. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t know what else to do.”

  “Yes, so you’ve told me. However, I do believe that this breach of confidence deserves my consideration. I won’t make you move out or anything, but if any other such misrepresentations come to light, I’m afraid I won’t be so forgiving the next time.”

  “They won’t,” she said instantly. “Honest. I only lied because I was afraid—”

  “You wouldn’t be allowed to live here,” I finished for her. “Yes, so you’ve said.” After hesitating for a minute, I went on, “You know, Peggy, I’m not a wicked witch. I understand that young women have a hard time when they’re on their own in the big city.”

  “You?” she asked incredulously, which irked me.

  “Yes. Me. I come from a well-to-do family, but that doesn’t mean I’m blind to the travails of the rest of the women in the world. Why do you think I’m letting out apartments in my home, anyhow? I wanted to give working girls like you a chance to have a decent place to stay. I do not expect to be lied to.”

  Boy, if I could have sounded more like my mother, I don’t know how. I guess not all of my early childhood training was for naught. I could scold like a master of the art.

  Seeming cowed, Peggy shrank back into her chair. “I’m sorry. You’ve been very kind to me, and I understand. I . . . well, I guess I underestimated your . . . well, your heart. If you know what I mean.”

  Aw. I appreciated that. Feeling fairly noble, I rose from my chair. “Yes, well, let’s not discuss this any longer. You’re on notice as far as your future behavior goes. You may stay here, but any future trespasses on my good nature will not be tolerated. I trust we understand each other?”

  “Yes. Yes, I understand.” She stood, too, and gave me a tremulous smile. “Thank you, Mercy.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Your name suits you.

  Boy, I’d never thought of that before, but it made me happy. I smiled back at her. “Thank you, Peggy. I think we’ll get along quite well now.”

  Feeling satisfied with myself and the world, I departed the office behind Peggy, who raced up the staircase. She had to get ready to go to work at the dance hall. What a tawdry way to make a living! I felt sorry for the girl. I also felt an absolute fascination to see what went on in a dance hall and wondered if Lulu would like to go with me one night after I felt more accomplished at driving the Roadster.

  The rest of the week passed peacefully enough. Ernie gave me two driving lessons, although they were short because we had to conduct them in the dark due to work eating up most of the daylight hours. But my confidence was growing, and this was in spite of the fact that Ernie kept telling me to be careful and that most auto accidents occurred when people became over-confident, which didn’t help my meager store of assurance at all.

  Also, I kept annoying Ernie by asking him how he was proceeding on Calvin Buck’s case, and he kept telling me it was none of my business. I resented that.

  “How can it not be my business when Calvin’s parents live in my home?” I asked him on a steamy day late in September when we were both in his office. Did the weather ever cool off in Southern California? “And a woman to whom I’m renting a room knows a man who used to do odd jobs for Mr. Gossett!”

  He eyed me narrowly. “Yeah. I know both of those things. What’s with the Wickstrom wench? Did you ever find out where she really works?”

  Drat! I was hoping to avoid this conversation and was sorry I’d brought the matter up, since Ernie the annoying habit of not overlooking things people wanted overlooked. Nevertheless, I answered with the truth.

  “Yes. She works at Anthony’s Palaise de Danse. I called and checked with the ownership, and they told me she’s worked there for six months.”

  Ernie’s eyebrows had shot up at the name of the joint—for there was truly no better word for it—and he sneered. “Anthony’s Palaise de Dance? She’s a dance-hall cutie? A nickel a dance? Like the song?”

  I sighed. “Yes.”

  “Tough job for a young girl like that.”

  “Yes. I think so, too.” After mulling for a moment, I said, “That’s where she met Johnny Autumn. I presume his sort frequent such establishments.”

  “Hoodlums? Yeah, I’d say so.”

  Feeling a little depressed at the thought, I sat in one of the chairs in front of Ernie’s desk. “Do you think she might get into trouble with him? I mean, do you think he’s trouble? Have you looked into him? Well, of course you have. I wish you’d tell me something. This is important to me.”

  “I don’t want you involved in the investigation, Me
rcy. You always get yourself into trouble when you get mixed up in these cases.”

  “Darn you, Ernie Templeton! I’m involved in this one whether I want to be or not. Better you simply tell me what you find out than I discover things by accident when Johnny Autumn tries to kill me!”

  Ernie’s gaze paid a visit to the ceiling. “He’s not going to try to kill you. But he’s no good. He’s been involved in shady dealings for a long time. He’s twenty-six years old, which is way too old for your precious Miss Wickstrom, too.”

  “She’d not my precious Miss Wickstrom,” said I through gritted teeth. “But I do think it my duty to care about what happens to my tenants. Not to mention the fact that my own interests might well be involved.”

  Pushing his chair back and flinging his feet onto his desk, Ernie heaved a gigantic sigh and said, “All right, all right. I’ll tell you what I know so far, which is pretty darned little.”

  “Thank you.” I felt better about Ernie, the world and life all of a sudden.

  “Mr. Gossett was heavily in debt to a gambling organization. Johnny Autumn is one of the goons for the gambling outfit.”

  “But would the gambling folks kill him? If they did, they’d never get their money back. I know we talked about this before, but—”

  Ernie fixed me with a steely stare, which effectively shut me up. “I’m not finished yet.”

  Whoops. I waved a hand to let him know he could continue talking, so he did.

  “Besides being involved with the gambling syndicate, it seems Autumn’s been branching out into . . . other ventures, as well.”

  After a moment of silence, I decided it was safe to speak. “What kinds of ventures?”

  A hint of color tinted Ernie’s cheeks, and I stared, astounded. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear the man was blushing!

  “Booze and . . . well, ladies of the night, I guess you might call them. He works for Jimmy the Stinker Pastorale—”

  “Jimmy the Stinker?” I nearly burst out laughing. “What kind of name is that?”

  Scowling hideously, Ernie said, “It’s a nickname he earned the hard way, by working for some goons out of Chicago. Believe me, you don’t want to know most of the stuff he’s been involved in. He’s moved to the west coast, but Phil doesn’t know if he’s still part of the Chicago mob.”

  “Good heavens,” I said faintly, thinking of the dim but pretty Peggy in the company of murdering thugs. “You mean Johnny is a . . . what do you call them? A soldier for the mob?”

  With a shrug, Ernie said, “Nobody knows that yet, but I guess Autumn’s the adventurous sort. According to Phil, it looks as though he’s trying to organize his own stable of young women. With or without Pastorale’s permission, Phil couldn’t say. I presume Pastorale gave his blessing. Otherwise, I suspect Johnny Autumn wouldn’t be alive now to sweet-talk your precious tenant.”

  I was horrified. “Golly! You don’t think Peggy is . . . ?”

  “No, I’m not saying that. However, this Johnny Autumn guy of hers is bad news. It would be good if you could steer her away from him, but you probably won’t be able to.”

  My back suddenly went stiff. “Why not?” I demanded, feeling what might have been a reformer’s zeal invade my soul.

  “Gals who hang out with the Johnny Autumns of this world don’t usually want to be saved.”

  I think I blinked at him. “Why ever not?”

  He threw his arms out wide. “Hell, don’t ask me! I’m only saying what I know to be true. I’ve seen it before. A girl gets involved with a thug, and it’s like scraping barnacles off the hull of a ship to get her to leave off hanging out with the guy. It’s one of those . . . what do you call it? It’s a mystery of life.”

  “I wonder why.”

  “Who the hell knows?” he asked grumpily. “For that matter, who the hell cares, except maybe somebody from the Salvation Army?”

  “I care,” I told him sharply. “Miss Wickstrom seems like a perfectly nice person, and she’s living in my house. I’d hate to see her get hurt by a boyfriend who’s not all he should be.”

  “Oh, Johnny Autumn is definitely not what he should be,” Ernie said. “He’s a crook. He’s served time for petty stuff, but it looks to Phil and me as though he’s doing his best to work his way up the ladder of the gambling—and other—rackets.”

  “He’s done time?” I cried, appalled. But, really! Peggy Wickstrom was eighteen years old! And she was seeing a certified bad man with a criminal record who was almost ten years older than she!

  “Take it easy,” said Ernie. “He might be nice to the girl.” He didn’t sound as if he believed his own words.

  I didn’t believe them either. I resolved to have a heart-to-heart chat with Peggy Wickstrom as soon as I got home from work that day. I was certain she’d resent my interference, but I only had her welfare at heart. I got up to leave Ernie’s office, my innards in turmoil.

  “Hey, Mercy, don’t take this too hard. She’ll probably come to her senses one of these days. Anyhow, I aim to give you another driving lesson on Sunday.”

  Frowning and upset, I turned toward my boss. “Thank you. What time?”

  “How about one?”

  “One is fine with me,” said I, and I went to sit at my desk and wish for something to occupy my mind so I could stop thinking about what kind of life Johnny Autumn might be persuading Peggy Wickstrom into. Before I got to the door leading from Ernie’s office to mine, I remembered my manners and turned again. “Thank, Ernie. I appreciate the information and you teaching me to drive.”

  “No problem.” Ever casual. That was my boss.

  I hadn’t been brooding for very long before Detective Phil Bigelow opened the outer office door. Looking up from staring at my empty desk, I said, “H’lo, Phil.”

  “Good afternoon, Mercy. Ernie in?”

  “Yes. He’s in.”

  As Phil headed toward Ernie’s office, I said, “Do you think Johnny Autumn will turn Peggy Wickstrom into a . . . you know.”

  I could tell from the way his back stiffened that Phil wished I hadn’t asked him that question. Nevertheless, he turned to face me. “I don’t know, Mercy. You can never tell what people will do. I haven’t been able to dig up any background on Miss Wickstrom.” I could see an idea strike him. “Say, maybe you can do that. Find out where she comes from, if her parents are still alive. That sort of thing.”

  With a sigh, I told him what Peggy had revealed to me: that her parents had disowned her when she moved from Michigan to California. His shoulders sagged a bit.

  “I’m sorry to hear that. But you never know. Maybe she’s hiding something. Wouldn’t be the first girl to come to L.A. dreaming of stardom, only to fall into the wrong hands. Maybe she’ll be glad for a lift up from the Johnny Autumn type.”

  “Maybe.” I considered the light in Peggy’s eyes whenever she spoke of her beloved and had my doubts. Why couldn’t Peggy be like Lulu and content to paint her nails in the lobby of some office building and await being discovered by some famous producer or director magically strolling in one day? Why’d she have to find such a sleazy job and end up with a creep like Johnny Autumn?

  No answer occurred to me.

  Phil went into Ernie’s office and closed the door, and I resumed brooding. Fortunately, the phone rang shortly thereafter, and to my great joy it was someone wanting to make an appointment with Ernie about business matters. Then, by golly, the phone rang twice more before the working day ended. By that time, three (count ’em) potential clients had made appointments with my boss. Business seemed to be picking up, which made me happy, although I didn’t want it to pick up so much that Ernie would turn his attention away from the Gossett case. I knew, if the police didn’t, that no son of Emerald and Lottie Buck could have killed a man.

  Which, if I’d told Ernie, would have prompted him to point out my own blissful ignorance of the world. But never mind about that. After work Lulu and I took Angels Flight up to Olive, and walked the few blocks t
o my—No. Our—home.

  As luck would have it, I spotted Peggy Wickstrom at the foot of the stairs, and before she could make a mad dash upward—she seemed to be steering clear of me that week, probably because she was embarrassed I’d found out about her lie and her job—I said, “Peggy, may I speak to you for a minute? Come into the office with me, please.”

  Her shoulders slumped, and Lulu looked at me oddly, but I only marched firmly to the office with Peggy straggling behind me.

  I sat behind the desk residing there and waved Peggy to a chair. Folding my hands on the desk, I spoke to her gently. “You know, I think, Peggy, that my employer is looking into the murder of Mr. Milton Halsey Gossett.”

  “Yes. What does that have to do with me?”

  I detected a note of defiance in her voice, but didn’t allow it to deter me from my course of action, which was to save this young woman from her baser instincts and Johnny Autumn. “I hope and pray it has nothing whatsoever to do with you, Peggy, but I fear that during the course of his investigation, Mr. Templeton has discovered some rather unsavory facts about your intended.” I presume he was her intended. For all I knew at that point, he aimed to ruin her and abandon her to her fate. Wicked man!

  She sat upright at that. “Johnny is a good man!” cried she with vigor—and untruth, if what Ernie had told me was true, and I’d bet it was.

  “Not according to his police record.”

  “Oh, that.” She shrugged off Johnny Autumn’s criminal past as if it was nothing.

  “Yes, that,” I said, doing my best to sound stern. I drew upon memories of my mother’s many lectures to guide me, only I attempted to imbue the process with warmth. My mother didn’t believe in warmth. “What’s worse is that he’s apparently involved in a gambling syndicate, run by a fellow from Chicago. Worse even than that is that the police believe him to be involved in . . .” I sucked in a big breath, loath to say the word aloud. “. . . prostitution.”

  “What?” Peggy jumped up from her chair. “That’s not true! It can’t be true!”