The Queen and The Viper

by Adam C Mitchell

  The pencil again sped across the small notepad, to the point Morgan could hardly follow it. Brace up Maggie. It’s almost time. Take off your hat and your beads. Miss Handley dried her eyes on a tiny handkerchief and did her best to put on a brave face.

  Are you going to meet him with me officer?— so he can have a chance to explain? she wrote in reply No Miss Handley. I’m going to meet him, as you! Wearing your hat and beads, best unpin those flowers too.

  But please, please let me——— she said trying to protest

  Don’t waste time arguing with me. Look Maggie if he’s on the level I promise to let you meet him later. I best take your bag top, you take mine and wear my hat just to be safe. Now the noticeably upset woman took off her beads But officer what on earth am I to do? Where will I go, I don’t know anyone but——

  Louise now more than slightly frustrated wrote Look. The gentleman behind us is a detective one of the best. He’ll see that you get to a hotel. Keep close to him and when he says stay, please do it. Until I get in touch at least. Morgan gripped Louise’s shoulder “No you don’t, you take Miss Handley to the hotel. I’ll meet out friend Henderson.” Louise Parish looked up “No offence, Ben but what do you think you’ll get out of him. You don’t exactly have the right god given charms, or well assets do you. He’s not the same man you met before, is he? As things stand you got no bead on him.”

  “I’ll sweat it out of him, if I need it, all right.”

  “What if you can’t, you thought about that. There’s always the slim chance he’s legit. If he is Miss Handley and our friend can have their happy ever after. If he isn’t though, well I’ll be able to give first-hand testimony as to how he operates. After all that’s part of the P.W.B mandate isn’t it. To sniff out and bust people like this. For once put your masculine ego aside, this is a job only a woman can handle.”

  Morgan grimaced “At least go packing, put your gun in her bag and don’t be dainty about using it, and another thing I’m going to hand Miss Handley over to one of the pick-pocket squad in the terminal and tail you and you intended. Got it doll.”

  “Fine, just don’t blow it mister, don’t let him spot you.” Louise adjusted the ridiculous brim on the hat, snapped the beads around her neck. Hastily she used the pad once more. Did Henderson tell you where you were to stay in Liberty. Or how soon you’d get married?

  As soon as the license could be got Miss Handley wrote back as tears again, started to roll down her face. He said I could stay with his family. But I don’t know anything about them, not even where they live.

  “I bet Henderson or whoever he is doesn't either” Ben muttered beneath his breath. He watched Louise go through the contents of Miss Handley’s bag- the little diary- the pack of envelopes like the ones in Johnson’s desk drawer and finally a bank savings book. The train finally slid alongside the concrete platform, juvie redcaps keeping pace with the slowing cars ready to help the oncoming stream of passengers with their luggage. Louise put her arm around Maggie’s shoulders, hugging her lightly as Morgan pulled down the worn carpet bag like suitcase from the overhead racking, “I’ll get a porter for you.”

  “Don’t be silly” the detective hefted the bag easily. “she wouldn’t spend quarter that way. So I won’t either” she nodded cheerfully at the woman, then joined the procession in the isle. Morgan got out his pocket book and pencilled I’m going to get a detective to take you to the Commodore Hotel. Right here in the station, just register and stay right in your room, until sergeant Parish comes for you. Don’t worry about your bag, or expenses. We’ll carry the bill. Understand” By now Miss Handley had given up trying to hide her fear “Yes but I’m afraid” she mouthed silently to Morgan he patted her on the shoulder “nothing to be scared of ——” he said before he realised she wasn’t reading his lips. He followed her out to the platform and managed to locate one of the Terminal constables and filled him in. “Book her into the Commodore, sign her in under a different name to be safe. But first Keep her here on the platform for a while say ten minutes. Better take her out through one of the other gates, just in case the man we’re after is still waiting there. Phone my precinct, you know Homicide and tell them her room number at the Commodore. Then notify them and tell the hotel desk to route all calls to her room through the office of one of the assistant managers. Get them to record all incoming numbers to that phone.”

  Morgan tipped his hat to Miss Handley, leaving her staring blankly at the bandage on the back of his head. He managed to keep track of Parish thanks to the abominable hat. He made sure he was about thirty feet behind her at all times. It was a safe distance for whatever may come for him to jump in, and help his partner. Louise was playing the part of the timid woman, to the hilt—searching the faces of the crowd lining the gate ropes, with just the right amount of hesitation to sell the role. But Morgan couldn’t see anyone who looked like the man in the snap-shot. So what happened next completely through him. A young pimpled looking man of maybe thirty something stepped out of the thinning crowd and tool the suitcase from out of Louise’s hand.

  Other than the overly large sideburns and hooked nose, he had almost clean-cut features and could have almost have been called handsome, in a slick sinister kind of way. If it wasn’t for his bright blue neck tie, against the overly long pointed collar of his shirt, some would say he was almost well dressed. But there was no goatee, or roundness of face in Miss Handley’s snapshot. Yet he swore he recognised the man from somewhere. Could it be? Granted if it was the man he saw, he’d only seen the man’s dark eyebrows in profile- the deeply clefted chin had been covered with a towel when the detective had pointed his service revolver on him. But this had to be Ashford Bell didn’t it, there wasn’t much doubt at least not in the detectives mind, his gut was right he’d bet his shield on it. Morgan had no way of getting close to him ‘Bell’ or ‘Henderson’ or whoever his name really was, would know in a second and spot the detective who drew a piece on him in Room K! His hunch was that this man was defiantly Ashford Bell, and Henderson was either an alias or an accomplice, but time would tell which was true. He couldn't do anything without blowing his tail of the man with being seen himself?

  It was obvious “Bell” knew that Miss Handley was deaf, and showed no surprise when Louise offered him the notepad. Apparently though there was some difference of opinion between the two, the police woman was shaking her head as if she were bewildered. Especially when her escort took her arm forcefully almost dragging her across the central lobby of the train station. Until she eventually protested, pulling away from him she strode over to the ticket windows angrily pointing to the pad, until the apparent Bell began to write in haste. Morgan brought one of the national dirt-sheets, glancing briefly but not not really caring about the headline, something about billions being lost on Wall Street. But that was as far as he read instead just kept it in front of his face, so he could see over the top, moving slowly to within a dozen or so feet.

  But I don’t understand Louise wrote, she gazed at her escort in obvious fascination, then carried on her written volley You’re much better looking. Why send me another man’s photograph? The young man favoured her with a toothy smile that Morgan just wanted to punch, the man offering her back the pad by way Morgan guessed of an explanation. She read it, let a none to happy frown etch itself on her face. Then crumpling the page up before stuffing it in her bag. “I would have liked you even more Edward… If you’d trusted me…!” told me the truth she mouthed as best she could. The pair and it’s brooding tail moved on towards the Palm Terrace-way subway entrance. The possible Henderson-bell was or seemed to have difficulty holding up the written end of the conversation. He kept stopping, writing angrily then again forcefully dragging her along with him. Ben followed them through the ticket stile, downstairs to the uptown platform, which at this time of day was packed to the rafters with commuters. Ben Morgan watched them board the sub-way train, and watched as Louise was led to the rear of a crowded car. The detective managed in t
he nick of time to squeeze onto the front platform of the subway car behind. From his vantage he Parish’s hand release the crumpled ball of paper, before being ushered for some reason to the front car. Her escort literally pushing through the mob of passengers.

  Morgan had to act or possibly loose them, so with a small amount of effort managed to get through the car door, over the car-couplings into the space Louise had just left. Stopping to pick up the paper subtly holding it between his forefinger and thigh, flicking it open with his thumb. When he was sure no one was looking looked down and it read:

  I wanted to be absolutely sure you were not attracted to me, merely because of how I look. That’s why I sent you the fake picture, Now I know you will love me, for who I am not what I seem to be. Is that not better princess?

  Morgan cursed beneath his breath, jammed the paper in a trouser pocket, as the train doors closed and the car finally lurched and spluttered to life. He did his best to search the car isle, ahead. They must have found a seat somewhere He told himself, hoping to god it was true. He unfolded the paper again, elbowing his way forward inch by inch. But they were nowhere on the subway car. Long before the subway cars brakes had screamed for the fifty-second street stop, Morgan knew they were not on the train.

  As they crossed, into what was considered the official quarter of the city passing city hall, banks and countless civil service buildings. Peggy neared a cab stand and laughed swiftly in the borrowed ride. “I think it’s best, you leave me hear Jack.” she told him, putting back in disguised drawl to her voice. “since I’d need to, well change into something less caped before driving any further into the city.

  Plus Jack I need to get rid of Dunham’s car, you can’t an officer of the law and all would probably get thrown in the clink for getting rid of evidence. You’ll get a taxi no problem to your apartment.” For the first time in a while he looked at her keenly “How do you know I live in an apartment, you know what I don’t want to know, but I think your right doll.” he replied quickly.

  “I understand! But before I leave you, I just want to say I owe you everything. I’d heard nothing but bad things about the Queen, but after tonight my minds made up. You’re okay in my book.”

  Jack couldn’t help but grin “Maybe I did” he admitted “but like I said never again. You’re total aces in my book” Again Peggy interrupted, as she drove up to to the curb. “Don’t mention it. It was all in night work, an if I’ve got a fan that’s payment enough. But before I leave I need to ask one more favour.”

  “Just name it” he said without a bead of hesitation. Peggy tossed him the briefcase. “Take this” she told him “make sure this gets to the right people, it contains enough information to topple the House once and for all. There’s dates, rituals, schemes and dockets on a series of jobs planned for later in the year. Plus and this is the icing on the cake a complete list of political office holders and crooked cops who are all in the inner circle.”

  “But the credit” interrupted Jack Malone soberly. Peggy waved the idea away, with a flick of a gloved hand.

  “Who cares about that, I just wanted a bit of fun, you know an adventure and bringing the House down, well it was definitely an adventure. If you will take the evidence, that’ll do for me chick. After all your a cop and a damn good one at that, you deserve the collar not to mention you deserve more than your share of kudos, after the experience you’ve had.”

  Jack got out the car, holding the briefcase tight, then as if talking to an old friend, leaned through the open car window and grasped her hand, her ruby lips parting for a kissed goodbye through the air.”Jusqu’á la prochaine fois mon amour” she said softly.

  She pressed down on the throttle and pulled away, yes until we meet again my love indeed Jack thought as he watched the Queen disappear into the sea of traffic. Pulling the little mask from her face, she was done knowing full well she was safe from being seen. It was about two hours later or so the city hall clock had chimed when she finally parked the borrowed car. It was parked in a place the police don’t go, thanks to an understanding with the gang who ran it, this neighbourhood was infamous for having the best chop shop in the city. Peggy knew the gang in question would have stripped it down by dawn, or sooner. Any evidence would be gone and there would be no ties, linking her and Dunham. Hunkering briefly down an alley she took off her cape and folded it over an arm like a coat, then made her way back to the street and a street corner. She looked back down the way she had walked, just to be absolutely sure and then whistled down a cab, within half an hour she out of the city limits and safe, in a little bolthole of safety, her apartment and home.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Morgan was fuming, as he ploughed like an enraged bull through the throng of the station. ‘Bell’ had duped him with the Finnegan, the old on again-off again routine. Gone in the rear door, made his way with Louise up by the side door of the middle car, and at the last minute hopped back into the platform, while Morgan was distracted reading the note. Of course the police detective couldn’t have done a thing without throwing in his hand, but it was possible he’d been spotted by the dolt he was tailing. Now the so called ‘contentment killer’ as Morgan had started to think of him, would be on his guard-and much more likely suspecting Louise. Morgan felt responsible. He had agreed to take the case of Jack, and it was Jack who’d requested the P.W.B send Peggy and Louise. Now with Jack gone and Peggy at home worrying herself sick, it was up to him to solve the case and keep his partner safe. But now she was literally in the hands of a cold-bloodied killer and his possibly twisted goons!

  For Morgan thankfully old habits die hard, who got off the train as soon as he could and raced to the nearest police phone box, ringing the Telegraph Bureau first, to get the alarm out for the youth who had his partner. Thankfully he was able to fill out the description more fully now, thanks to the time tailing him and his well trained eyes for sizing him up, adding height and weight to the description adding finally “His ears are funny too. Kind of pointed at the top. Causing the perp to brush his hair to cover them. His chin looks like somebody had started to drive a wedge into it. Don’t forget he’s probably packing and dangerous, approach if necessary with caution.”

  He had expected to find a report from her waiting for him, when he called in, but he was wrong about that, the precinct office didn’t have a clue either, the brains in the science lab hadn’t been able to find any prints well useable ones anyway on the cellophane. Plus there was too many on the knobs and furniture in Room K to process straight away, it would take time that know one had! A smart whip at the Telegram Bureau had given him an idea though, calling the Western Union courier department of the Traffic Management Centre. “Yes.. hello there was a bunch of flowers, white roses wired and couriered from this city to a Miss Maggie Handley…. What spell it okay... H, A, N, D, L, E, Y in Rook Falls, sometime today or yesterday. Chances are they went through the Unions Floral Telegraph Delivery Service. Can you find what shop put the order in. Will you… thanks… buzz me back please...name...yes...Detective Ben Morgan of the Twenty-First. Okay goodbye” He was getting impatient in the phone booth, for what seemed like forever, his fingers starting to tap on the phone book tale with added frustration. Eventually turning around to see the station clock. It had been ten minutes, but that was ten minutes to long the telegraph company, finally gave him an address and to Ben’s surprise it was close, a mere few blocks away. He didn’t bother hailing a cab traffic was picking up and more time waiting in traffic wouldn’t get him to Parish any quicker. He decided in the time in took to take off his tie that, if he ran down the back alley’s and side roads he’d cur through the blocks in no time, and he’d be there in less than five minutes. Over to second, then up to Eighty-fourth, he figured would be his best option, years as a beat cop had given him a strange road map in his head of the city, and it was times like this that it did come in handy. Five minutes later he was there and it was a small place to, next to a funeral parlour slap bang in the middle of the
block. A place called The Remembrance Shop. Garish ceramic pots filled with variegated ivy and the infamous white roses in the shops front window, that faced out onto the street. These were flanked by lilies and dried grasses of some sort were yet again in equally garish tin vases- in the centre of the display. There inside of an ice bucket were cut flowers, more white roses and lavender.

  Lavender! Now he knew why that smell in the closet of Room K smelt of church. When he was a pimply nosed juvie, he was forced to go to Catholic Church, and to Sister McLaren's Sunday School, and in that small cell of a room there was a pot, and on every possible ledge imaginable was pots of freshly cut lavender, there was even a small pot over the small stool, he regularly was made to lean over for caning, a punishment for hitting on girls in church. Morgan didn’t realize his hand rub his backside, as he thought back to the stinging pain of that sisters cane. Bell must have had lavender or a sprig of at least, as a buttonhole of the coat he hung in the closet. Taking off his badge he stowed it with his gun, in his inside coat pocket, then with a deep breath he stepped inside.

  There inside was a girl dressed plainly enough for this city, and she was talking to a short-sleeved man with an apron, from behind the counter. As Ben walked in, he heard her saying “you’ll send those wreaths over to the sexton right away? He’s been waiting for them, for two days now and please remember the note the people paying for the funeral want the card to read, ‘from your friends in the House, thanks for playing the game.’ the florist nodded turning as he noticed the detective.