H.J. Gaudreau - Jim Crenshaw 02 - The Collingwood Legacy

by H. J. Gaudreau

  Sol liked this, it allowed him to see the surrounding area from a place no one would suspect. He studied the shadows between the buildings, the light was low, the morning sun was just peeking over Windsor. Satisfied that no one was watching Sol jumped to the shore then sprinted to the Chrysler. Starting the car Sol grinned again. “Who knows? Maybe Dolly Eleanor Grongoski would even become an honest woman,” he thought.

  Chapter 6

  Dolly Grongoski was not a shy wallflower. Raised on the poor, sandy soil of northern Michigan she was used to long days, hard work and hard people. Small, just five foot four inches tall and skinny, too skinny by her own standards, she had left the farm for a job in Detroit the day she turned eighteen. That was just under a year ago. She’d fallen in with hard people and lived a hard life, but she was proud of the fact that never, not once, had any of them been able to take advantage of her. She could out think them, and she wasn’t afraid of a fight.

  The one bright spot in the past year had been Sol. She didn’t love him, he wasn’t very smart and he could never make it on a farm back home, but he had a kind heart and he gave her lots of things and spent money on her when he had it. It was a good deal for both of them; she only worried about getting pregnant.

  But Sol was not her dream. Dolly intended to be someone, she did not want to end up like her mother or cousins. Spending the rest of her life ironing someone else’s shirts or feeding chickens was not her idea of a life. She would be a nurse or a school teacher or a secretary to some big executive.

  To add color to the dream Dolly liked to take the bus all the way out to Ann Arbor on her days off. That’s where she was this morning. She would walk across the University campus and pretend she was a student. She would sit on the benches, admire the clothes the girls wore, and dream about having something more than a tenth grade education.

  At noon Dolly began to get hungry. She used the engineering building’s archway to leave the campus and made her way south on University Avenue. Soon she came to the East Quadrangle dormitory. She waited until several students were entering the building and joined the crowd.

  A blond haired boy politely held the door and Dolly was in. Carefully she explored the building. It only took a few minutes and she’d found what she had come for, the cafeteria line. The line moved steadily along and Dolly closely watched the process at the door. A student sitting on a stool fought off boredom while checking each person’s University identification card. Several of the students claimed they had forgotten their ID card or had otherwise lost it. The ID checker then consulted a list, found the name, then passed the offending party into the land of food and ice cream. Satisfied, Dolly gave up her position in line.

  A few minutes later she was again outside the building’s main entrance. She waited until one of the school’s few women students approached, then leaned against a light post and began to cry. The young woman immediately came to her aid.

  “Hi…ahhhh….are you all right?” she asked.

  “Nooooo.” Dolly moaned. “I just broke up with my boyfriend, and I want to go home.” She tucked her chin down to her chest and gave a few silent sobs.

  “Oh honey, that’s tough.” The girl put a hand on Dolly’s shoulder. “We’ve all been through it. Maybe you should go back to your room and lay down.”

  “No, I can’t, I’ve got to go to class,” Dolly sobbed.

  “Well, you can’t go to class crying like this. Come on, I’ll walk you back to your room.” The girl gently took Dolly’s elbow.

  “Thank you,” Dolly said and let herself be led along. After a few steps, in her most pitiful voice, Dolly said, “What’s your name?”

  “I’m Mary Ellen Bennett. What’s yours?”

  “I’m Debbie Williams.” A few steps later Dolly shook herself, stood to her maximum height and in her most confident voice announced. “Oh, I’m alright. I’m not going to let him ruin my life. I really should go to class, it’ll be fine.”

  Mary Ellen smiled, “That’s the spirit. You’ll have another boyfriend in no time, you’ll see.”

  Mary Ellen didn’t take a great deal of convincing and soon she went on her way. Dolly waited until the girl was out of sight then slipped back into the dormitory and rejoined the line for the cafeteria.

  It wasn’t such a pleasant day for Sol. He was on a frantic search for her. Nervously watching his rearview mirror Sol visited the diner where Dolly worked, checked her apartment and searched her favorite stores. The afternoon was slipping away and, afraid to return to his own shabby room, Sol took up residence in a bar on Fort Street. There he began calling her boarding house phone every thirty minutes.

  At six that evening Dolly was back in Detroit climbing the stairs to her flat when Mrs. Boardman, the boarding house owner, stopped her.

  “Dolly, a man’s been looking for you. Wouldn’t say his name. I don’t approve of men in the building miss. You know the rules.”

  Dolly thought a moment, decided it had to be Sol, then examined the exceedingly large woman. Using her most charming smile Dolly said, “He’s my cousin, I’m sure this is about my mother. She’s very sick you know.” The woman eyed Dolly. “I’m sure,’ she said, then slammed her door.

  Shortly after Dolly had closed her apartment door the phone at the end of the hall rang. It was answered by one of the building’s tenants. Seconds later the loud cry, “Dolly, ya got a lover on the line,” careened through the house. A minute later Dolly was talking to Sol.

  “Dolly, babe, where ya been?” he didn’t wait for an answer. “Never mind, I’ve got some big news. We’ve hit the big time baby. I need to pick you up. I’ll be there in ten minutes. Meet me in back of the building.’ And, before Dolly could argue Sol had hung up.

  They drove to Grosse Pointe just to get out of the city and let Sol explain what he had seen and done. Dolly at first panicked. She wanted out of the car and intended to run as far from Sol as she could. She was no fool and knew what happened to people who crossed the Purples.

  It took a while, but eventually he convinced her to calm down. When he did, Dolly began to think the situation over very carefully. Sol said he had a lot of money, more than a lot. And he wasn’t lying. He was too scared to be lying, she could tell. She asked a few questions and slowly it came to her. This was legit. Dolly was convinced; this was their chance for a big score and to get out of Detroit.

  They ate an early dinner in Hamtramck, then headed to the river. Dolly insisted on stopping at her apartment for a change of clothes and to pick up some keepsakes she’d brought from home. Then they headed to Sol’s apartment.

  Chapter 7

  Sol rented a room above a small meat market. Mr. Spadoff went home for the day at six, the market was closed, lights off. They circled the block twice. Sol was careful to keep his speed up and tried not to draw attention to the car. Nothing moved, no one sat in some dark car. It looked normal.

  On the third trip past the store they slowed to a crawl and Dolly peered through the windows inside the market. A small red glow flared in the back behind the meat counter. Dolly spotted the cigarette just as Sol began to brake, intending to park next to the front door.

  “GO, GO, GO!!” she yelled.

  Sol stepped on the gas and the Chrysler lurched forward, caught its wind and sped off. The door of the meat market burst open and two men ran out. By the time they reached their car Sol and Dolly were ghosts in the night.

  Thirty minutes later, certain they’d not been followed, Sol turned off Jefferson Avenue and coasted to a stop ten yards from the boathouse. Sol moved Dolly’s two bags from the car to the Chris-Craft.

  “We’re all set doll. I just need one thing. Run up there to the market and get me a razor and some blades would ya? A man’s gotta look presentable when we get to Canada.”

  “Where’s the market?” Dolly asked.

  Sol walked Dolly to the door and pointed. “Around that shed, up the hill, between those two warehouses and down the street to the corner.” Dolly agreed and was
on her way.

  Sol watched Dolly as she rounded the small tool shed and walked to the alley leading to the street. When she passed from sight he headed into the boathouse. Sol boarded the Chris-Craft and quickly checked the forward liquor hole. No one had tampered with it; the money was safe. He jumped to the side of the boathouse and grabbed a hose connected to two fifty-five gallon drums. The drums were on an elevated stand and gravity fed the hose. It took twenty minutes to fill the fuel tanks.

  When he had finished Sol checked his watch and muttered, “Damn, bet she got lost. Where the hell is she?” Unfortunately, it was a question that Sol would never have answered.

  Chapter 8

  The setting west sun blinded Ray Bernstein as he peered at the street from his fifth floor apartment. It had not been a good day. They had hunted Sol Levine, they’d hunted him like the dog he was, and the game bag was empty.

  They had come close. Somehow he’d spotted Ray’s men in the market. Ray wondered if Sol had been tipped off. He shook his head. No time to think about that now. The trail had gone cold after that. They’d gone to his girlfriend’s rooming house. Nothing. Some of the girls played cute, but none could say where Dolly and Sol were. Like a wounded animal the two had gone to ground. It would be hard to find them. Ray pulled the blinds closed just as the phone rang.

  “Who the hell is that?” he spat. No one in the room answered, they didn’t know, how could they? Ray picked up the receiver, “Yeah,” he growled. Slowly his face grew hard. He listened closely to the little man on the other end of the line.

  “A friend.” Ray knew there was no such thing; this mutt was looking for a reward. Word had already gotten out. “How the hell did that happen?” Ray wondered. He slurped his drink then nodded his head. “All right, if it’s on the level then twenty-five hundred, not a dollar more.” A moment later Ray hung the receiver on the hook. “Some small timer spotted Sol down on the river. He’s in the boathouse.”

  Milberg and Keywell each rose without saying a word. Milberg picked up his shotgun. The damn thing was a ten-gauge, sawed off to fit under an overcoat. It could blow a man in half. It had come to think of it. Ray hated that smell.

  Thirty minutes later Berstein’s Cadillac coasted to a stop outside the Detroit River boathouse. The three men got out, checked their guns and quietly closed the door to the car. Silently they walked to the boathouse.

  Darkness was spreading across the eastern sky. It didn’t change anything, the city was never quiet. The sounds of distant boats, cars, trucks and factory whistles were part of the background like a cicada’s song in the summer. The men reached the door. Milberg took his position on the left and leveled his shotgun at the handle. Ray stood on the right and did the same with his Tommy gun. Harry prepared to kick in the door.

  “On the count of three.” Harry whispered.

  Chapter 9

  Dolly gave the kid at the store a dollar and a quarter and told him to keep the change. She was feeling lucky tonight and in a few hours a dime wouldn’t mean squat. She nearly sprinted down the store steps. Then she remembered there were men after her, if she wasn’t careful she’d be dead in the time it took to pull the trigger. It would happen, right here, right now.

  She stopped on the top step and carefully studied the few cars parked on the street. Nothing moved, no glow from a cigarette. Then she shifted her attention to the windows and doorways overlooking her route to the alley. Nothing.

  Satisfied, but not comfortable, Dolly took a deep breath. She knew she should walk, blend in, be part of the background. She couldn’t help herself, she stepped off the shop step and began to run. To Dolly it took hours, but finally she reached the dirt path between the two small warehouses. Slowing to a careful walk she edged down the path. Sol’s little shortcut would save her at least five minutes. Down a small hill, behind another warehouse, around the tool shed and she would pop out just thirty yards from the boathouse.

  She was nearly giddy as she rounded the warehouse. She was going to be rich. Sol had told her and she could tell he was on the level. He wasn’t acting. She knew that. Sol had been so scared he could barely light a cigarette.

  She reached the tool shed, rounded its corner and stopped. About ten yards in front of the shed were two stacks of railroad ties and wood planks. Darkness had covered the city, but lights from Windsor and boats on the river lit up the boathouse and the ground around it.

  Crouching behind the two stacks of wood she could see four, no five policemen. “Where the hell had these guys come from?” She’d only been gone fifteen minutes. Dolly quickly ducked into the shed; panic grabbed her by the throat, and she started to shiver. “Buck fever, it’s just buck fever,” she muttered to herself. Standing in the dark she imagined the feel of bullets tearing into her body. “No, no, no…get ahold of yourself honey,” she whispered.

  She’d gone to the market, just for some razor blades, maybe a chocolate. Then they were going to Rondeau, Canada. From there Long Point, Buffalo and finally Toronto. Sol had it all planned, no one would stop the boat, it was too fast. He said there was money, plenty of money, and it was all loaded on the boat. But there were cop cars parked behind the warehouse; “Shit, shit, shit!” she screamed to herself. She thought about running, but surely the cops would hear her, better to wait them out here. The building was small, a bench on one side about six feet long. A window on the other side covered in dirt and cobwebs.

  Dolly stared out of the window. She moved to her right and looked along the edge of the parking area, she could see two policemen there. She thought she saw another to the far right of the woodpiles. She shifted to her left and, SHIT! There was a cop right there! She could see his outline through the window. He was standing with his back to the shed and pissing on a weed. Instinctively Dolly ducked. He hadn’t seen her. She wondered if he heard her open the door to the shed. Dolly was trapped.

  Several minutes went by. Carefully she raised her head and peeked out of the window. The cop moved back to the woodpile. Steam rolled off the weed. After a few minutes Dolly spotted more cops on the other side of the parking lot. She was sure there were more out there, but night was closing in, she couldn’t tell. She knelt on the shed floor. She had to think; cops everywhere, Solly in the boathouse. Maybe they already had him? No, why would they be surrounding the place if they had him? They were going to shoot him, that was it, they were just going to pump the building full of lead and be done with it.

  She wanted to run. Escape, that was it, she needed to escape. She could open the door and run, she’d be up the alley and down the street before… That wouldn’t work. Dolly mulled the word around in her mind ‘escape’.

  She could picture a rabbit, safe inside a pile of brush. Her father would climb on top of the pile and jump up and down and pretty soon that rabbit felt like it needed to escape. It would come flying out of the pile and never, ever, did the rabbit make it past Daddy’s shotgun. Dolly found a stool and carefully, silently placed it in front of the window. Putting her chin on her hands she positioned her eyes just above the window frame. She settled in to see what was going to happen.

  She watched the cops. And they watched the boathouse. Dolly sat there for ten minutes, then twenty. She couldn’t figure out how to warn Sol. Movement to her left surprised her and her head snapped up. Through the moist, heavy air she could see the outline of a big car. Its headlights were off. She couldn’t hear the engine and thought that strange. Then she realized, the ignition had been turned off, it had simply coasted down the little hill and ghosted to a stop in front of the boathouse.

  Three men got out; they all had guns, one carried a machine gun. It was Ray, Harry, and that other guy, Millsomething.

  She could picture his face, mean, deeply cut features and eyes that never smiled. They started walking toward the boathouse. Dolly’s mind raced. They were here for Sol, they had to be here to kill Sol.

  The cops. Surely they would stop the three killers. Silently she begged the cops to stop them. The cops didn
’t move. They just watched. How could she warn Sol? She tried to figure out what to do. She could scream, but it was too late. The men kept walking.

  They were nearly at the door. She didn’t understand. Sol? Where was her Sol? Suddenly two of the cops to her left lifted a spotlight and flipped it on. An instant later a second light exploded from behind a stack of crates lighting the three men up like strippers on a vaudeville stage. Then, nearly in unison, a chorus of voices shouted, “HANDS UP.”

  Men wearing Detroit police coats rushed at Harry, Ray and the other one. Dolly watched as Ray began to raise his gun, but someone shouted, “DON’T DO IT RAY! You’ll be dead before you get a shot off.”

  Ray stared into the light. She could see him clearly. Ray squinted, held his hand up to shade his eyes. He was trying to see past the spotlights, trying to decide. The wet night air suddenly turned silent. Even the trucks on Jefferson had stopped their distant noise. The sea gulls, “rats with wings” Solly called them, had stopped their squawks. Out there, behind the lights the only sound was of men with guns. She watched Ray slowly raise his left arm and toss his Tommy gun with his right. A rush of feet and the three killers were swarmed with police officers.

  The three men were slammed against the wall of the boathouse. One yelled a curse, but she couldn’t tell exactly what he said. A big man wearing a plain long coat handcuffed one of the prisoners then slapped him hard on the back of the head. She wasn’t sure, but she thought it was Harry. Several police had the Purples by the arms, others held onto their coats. The big man pushed between the officers and put handcuffs on the other two.

  She used to be afraid of them. She hated it when Sol took her to their clubs. Someone always got beat up or backjacked or shot or just something. Now…hell, now they looked like schoolboys she thought.