The Iniquitous Investigator (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 8)

by Frank W. Butterfield

  Chapter 15

  2710 Market Street

  Galveston, Tex.

  Tuesday, July 20, 1954

  A few minutes after 11 in the evening

  "Well, y'all come on in and have a seat." Mildred walked down the hallway to a kitchen that was brightly illuminated in the back.

  I stood there for a couple of beats before Carter pushed me forward. We walked down the hallway and into a modern green and white kitchen. The outside of the house might have been in bad shape, but this room had every modern convenience. There was a brand-new icebox in one corner. An aluminum kitchen table with a wavy green and white pattern on top was surrounded by four peppermint green chairs. The linoleum floor looked new. It had a green geometric pattern with dots of pink and blue and yellow. The sink was white and looked like it had just been installed as did the electric stove and oven.

  There was a big pot on the stove that was simmering. It smelled like seafood, maybe shrimp, with garlic and hot peppers.

  "Sit down and make yourselves comfortable. How's about a beer? I have Southern Select, Galveston's finest. Lemme grab a couple of bottles from the icebox. See this?" She opened the icebox, which was packed with all sorts of things. "Just came in a couple of days ago. Shorty. That's my husband, John Fontaine. I call him Shorty cause he's taller than you are Red. Anyway, he's fixed this kitchen up real nice for me and he wants me to start trying out recipes cause me and him are gonna open up a diner here and call it Mildred's." As she'd said all that, she'd opened the beers, poured them both in brand-new mugs, and handed one to each of us.

  "Now, what brings you to town?" She pulled out a package of Lucky Strikes and lit one up without waiting for either of us to light it for her.

  I took a sip of the beer. It was cold, I could say that for it. "Mildred, we're here to see if you're OK."

  She looked from me to Carter and took a deep drag on her cigarette. "Sure. I'm fine. Look at this kitchen."

  I looked around and then said, "It's nice. But why do I think of the gilded cage when I look at it?"

  As soon as I said that, Mildred sat down at the table. We did the same. The glossy seat covers squeaked as we did. Mildred put her cigarette in the ashtray and pulled out a handkerchief. She dabbed her eyes and looked at me. "Because it is."

  Carter asked, "What happened?"

  Mildred looked over at the illuminated clock dial that was in the radio on the counter. "Shorty gets home at midnight and you two have got to be long gone by then or there will be blood and I mean it."

  We both nodded. The clock said twenty minutes after 11.

  She took a deep breath. "Well, this is what happened. About three weeks ago, I was upstairs in my apartment above the diner when the doorbell downstairs rang. Now, I get plenty of socializin' during the day so I tend to keep to myself at night so I can relax. I have maybe two real friends in San Francisco and they would never just pop by. So, I walk down to the door and open it and, wouldn't you know, it was Hilda Logan. Hilda and me grew up together in Odessa. That's in West Texas. And she and me and Shorty all used to go around together in high school. Well, school ended. I left town as fast as I could get out but then, in 1937, I ran into Shorty in Houston. We'd always been sweet on each other so we got married and moved here, to this house. That's when I figured out Shorty was working for the Maceo Brothers. They were the mob back then. Well, after about a year of worrying if that night would be the night that Shorty would get a knife in his ribs, I packed my bags, walked over to the train station, and made my way to San Francisco. And I never looked back."

  Her cigarette in the ashtray had gone out, so she lit another one. "After I met you two and figured out who you were, I almost asked you to help me get a divorce from Shorty."

  Looking at me, she said, "You seemed like the type who would know how to do it. Or, at least, you could find out how and get it done."

  She sighed. "So, Hilda shows up and she tells me that Shorty wants to go straight but that he needs me to come back to Galveston to help him make a go of things. He's got plenty of cash stashed away and, as soon as we can, he wants to start a legit business and, well, you know what that means."

  I did. It meant that he wanted a way to launder his cash. By investing in a new business, that would be just the ticket. Particularly if the new business was successful and, knowing Mildred, it would be.

  "At first, I didn't want to but Hilda broke down and told me all about how the glory days of Galveston are over and this new mob family ain't the same. They don't have the tight control over the criminal element that the Maceo Brothers did. The new guys, these Fertittas, they're nephews of the Maceos. And Hilda was right, they don't have a clue as to what they're doing. It really is just a matter of time before the Rangers finally shut all this down. So, here I am and I wanna help but now I realize that Shorty ain't never gonna go straight. All this..." She looked around the room. "This is just gilding, like you said. I'll open a diner over by the seawall. We'll get the tourists in by the busloads from Houston. But, even if the Rangers shut down the open gambling, there's always gonna be backroom trade and Shorty wants a piece of that action. I'm just his cover." She sighed and lit up another cigarette.

  Carter asked, "Isn't Hilda his girlfriend?"

  Mildred laughed and stood up. She grabbed herself a beer from the icebox. As she opened it, she said, "Shorty has a lot going for him, if you know what I mean." She leaned against the counter, took a swig from the bottle, and looked down at Carter significantly. "Hilda lives here. With him. And did when we was married. I'm happy to share. That man is a goddam machine, even now, even at his age. And, truth be told, he knows how to treat a lady right in the bedroom but, boys, I'm near wore out."

  She looked at the clock. "You two need to get goin'."

  We stood up. I said, "We're staying at the Galvez. We'll be here a couple of days. Maybe more. OK if we come back by tomorrow night? Maybe around 9?"

  "Sure thing. Come by at 7, if you want, and I'll make you dinner. And bring those two other fellas I saw in the car with you."

  I smiled and said, "One of them is a private dick--"

  "The one who's been trailing me for a week or so?"

  I nodded. "How'd you know?"

  She began to move us down the hallway. "I've been around, hon. I know when I'm being followed. He looked harmless, so I didn't worry none. Now, you two, scat!"

  With that, she opened the door and quickly pushed us out onto the porch, closing the door and locking it behind us.

  . . .

  Whitey drove us to the hotel. From the outside, it looked like a relic of some earlier time. But I tended to like that sort of thing. It wasn't the Palace Hotel but it was a grand old dame of a building.

  As Carter and Dawson piled out of the car, I said to Whitey, "Meet us here at 9 tomorrow. There's a coffee shop here, right?"

  "Sure is. Remember, son, we're here on island time. Folks are more relaxed than in the big city of San Francisco. So, I'll see you in the morning when I get here." He grinned at me and I just nodded. I was beginning to not like the guy.

  I got out of the car and watched as he drove off. Carter said, "That's a pretty car."

  I nodded and wondered about that.

  . . .

  Once we were checked in, we headed upstairs. Carter and I were in a suite on the seventh floor. Dawson was in a room on the fourth floor. Both rooms, the desk clerk had assured us, were facing the Gulf.

  Once we were up in our suite, I noticed our luggage had been left in the sitting room. The room was freezing. From the look of things, the hotel had recently installed central air conditioning. I turned it off and opened each of the three windows.

  Carter said, "Hear that?"

  I stopped and listened. It was the sound of the surf. And the swaying of the palm trees on the grounds below. The sheer draperies fluttered in the wind.

  We took our valises into the bedroom. Flipping on the switch, we discovered the room had one double-sized bed. A roll-away bed had be
en made up as well.

  This room was in the corner of the building. I opened the four windows in the bedroom. As I lifted up the fourth one, there was a warm gust of air and the bedroom door slammed closed. Carter opened the door, stepped out of his big shoes, and used them as a door stop.

  I took off my coat and my tie. We unpacked our bags and put things out in the bathroom. Once that was done, I walked into the other room and locked the door to the suite, I then turned off all the lights except for the bathroom. Closing that door, I walked over to Carter, who was standing in the window looking out across the hotel grounds that ended at a road that ran along the beach. It looked like there was a seawall that protected the town from the water. Considering there had been two big hurricanes since 1900, that made sense.

  As we stood there, Carter put his arm around me and pulled me in close. As we undressed, things got a little more excited until we finally found our way into the double bed.

  . . .

  When I woke up that morning, Carter's arm was over my chest. I looked out the window at the lapping waters of the Gulf of Mexico. Compared to the Pacific Ocean, this looked like a lake. The sun wasn't up yet, but the sky was illuminated. I looked at my watch. It was a quarter past six.

  "Morning," said Carter.

  I turned over and faced him. I ran my hand along his face. He smiled and kissed me. We looked at each for a long moment. Then he kissed me again and got up from the bed.

  "Where are you going?"

  He stretched out on the roll-away bed and began to toss and turn on the mattress. He pulled the covers over his body and then kicked and squirmed. I started laughing because I could see that the bed wasn't designed for that.

  "What?" he asked, looking innocent.

  "You're gonna break that bed, Carter."

  He tossed and turned some more, bouncing up and down as he did so. Sure enough, he did it one too many times and the whole thing collapsed. He sat up and looked at me with a grin. "There. Now they'll know why we had to sleep together."

  . . .

  Once we were showered and dressed, we made our way downstairs. Carter went to get a table at the coffee shop while I walked over to the desk to check for messages. An older woman walked over to look in the slot for our room and pulled out two envelopes. As she handed both to me, she smiled. Her hair was styled like Mamie Eisenhower's and she had a regal bearing, which was emphasized by a pair of glasses that hung on a rhinestone-encrusted chain around her neck. In a very direct tone of voice with a southern twang to it, she said, "Mr. Williams, my name is Lilly West. I'm the day supervisor at the front desk. If there's anything you need, please let me know."

  I smiled and said, "Thank you Mrs. West--"

  "Miss West."

  I nodded. "Miss West. In fact, the roll-away bed collapsed in the middle of the night. If it's broken, add that to my bill. Do you take Diners' Club?"

  She nodded. "We certainly do." She looked at me for a long moment. "Do you need a replacement for the roll-away bed?"

  "Unless you think we do, then we don't."

  She smiled. "I'm sure one bed will suffice. Good day, Mr. Williams."

  With that, I was dismissed.

  . . .

  Carter was sitting at a table for four. Dawson was with him. I sat down and asked, "Coffee?"

  Dawson said, "On its way. How'd you sleep?"

  Carter said, "Fine. You?"

  "I think this place is haunted. I kept hearing things all night."

  I shrugged, "Probably old pipes."

  "Do old pipes suddenly stop making sounds when you say, 'Shut up, already'?"

  Carter asked, "Really?"

  Dawson nodded and said, "Yep. It wasn't any one thing. No moaning or chains rattling. Just noise. It kept waking me up. Finally, at about four, I sat up in bed and just said, 'Shut up!' And whatever it was stopped. Damnedest thing."

  Right then, the waitress brought by a pot of coffee with four cups. We gave her our breakfast order and she left with a wink to Dawson, who just grinned.

  As the two of them drank their coffee, I pulled out the notes from their envelopes. The first one was from Mike. It said, "Ranger Harold Swopes will meet you at 8." I passed that to Carter who read it and handed it to Dawson.

  The second note was from John, Carter's cousin. It said, "At your house. Call when you can." I handed that one to Carter who frowned when he read it.

  "It's too early to call, but what's it about?" he asked.

  I shrugged. "Mrs. Kopek is already up. Why don't you go call right now and see if he's awake?"

  Carter nodded but he was still frowning. He stood up and walked back into the lobby. Dawson asked, "You're not going with him?"

  I looked at him for a quick moment, leaped out of my chair, and quickly caught up with my husband as he was standing in the lobby looking around.

  "Whatcha lookin' for?"

  "House phone. And I know how to use a telephone, Nick." He was still frowning. I hated when he did that.

  I smiled up at him. "I know. But, you always stand by me when I'm on the phone. Besides, I might wanna talk to Mrs. Kopek."

  His face softened. "What about, Boss?"

  "Just to find out how things are going."

  Carter smiled and squeezed my shoulder. "Sure." He pointed at a phone on a small table between two overstuffed chairs. "Over there."

  Once we sat down, he picked up the phone and said, "I'm in Room 700. Could you call San Francisco for me?" He waited for a moment. "Prospect 9001. And I'll wait." He put his hand over the receiver and, in a whisper, said, "I love you."

  I smiled and whispered back, "I love you, too, Chief."

  He grinned and spoke into the phone. "Hello, Mrs. Kopek. Sorry to call so early." He nodded as she spoke. "Yes, we're in Texas. Is my cousin John there?" He listened for a moment. "Oh, he is? This early? Yes, thanks."

  He looked over at me and said, "Still on Eastern time." I nodded.

  "John? It's Carter. How the hell are you, boy?" He listened for a long while. He started frowning. "They did? When?" He listened some more. "Damn, boy." He shook his head at whatever John was saying. "Well--" Carter sat back and began to listen to whatever story John was telling.

  As he did so, every now and then he would nod. Suddenly, John said something that made him sit up and look at me. "Are you sure?" He grinned and said, "I'm sure it would be fine. Lemme talk it over with Nick." He nodded as John spoke. "Sure. Yeah. I'll call you later today." He nodded again. "OK. Goodbye."

  Putting down the phone, he looked at me and said, "Well, well, well." He grinned and said, "I don't know what you'll think about this, Nick. I really don't."

  "What?"

  "John was fired by the Albany P.D."

  "Then why are you so happy?"

  "He wants to move to San Francisco."

  I smiled. "He does? What about his squeeze?"

  "Roger. Yeah. John wants him to come, too. But that's not all."

  "What?"

  "Velma sent him a telegram. She's selling the paper mills and the house. She wants to leave town, too."

  I could see where this was going. I didn't know whether to be happy or not.

  . . .

  We walked back to the table. By the time we got there, Dawson was halfway through his meal. "Sorry, y'all. I couldn't wait. Too hungry."

  We sat down. Carter picked at his eggs while I dug into mine. Dawson asked, "What was it?" He wiped his mouth with his napkin. "Everything OK?"

  Carter nodded. His eyes were dancing. "John, my cousin." Carter put a bite of egg in his mouth and didn't really stop to chew. "He was fired by the Albany P.D."

  "For what?"

  "Morals." In other words, being a homosexual.

  "Then why are you grinning?"

  I looked at Dawson. "I'll cut to the chase. The whole clan is moving to the City and we'll be putting them up for the duration on the third floor."

  Dawson laughed while Carter turned and looked disappointed. "I thought you'd like this. My
mother, Aunt Velma, John and Roger. It'll be great. Right?"

  I nodded but I wasn't sure. "Do you think you can live with your mother?"

  Carter shook his head. "Of course, not. We can buy her a house. Or an apartment in the same building as your father and Lettie."

  "Of course. But..." I paused for a moment. "Why don't we let your mother and everyone decide what they want to do. Houses for everyone is fine with me. But I doubt your mother is gonna leave the guest room across the street."

  Carter looked truly crestfallen. "You're probably right."

  Dawson asked, "So are you saying that all of your family is moving to San Francisco?"

  Carter nodded. "With Leroy gone and John having to leave town, it makes sense."

  I asked, "Do you think your mother wants to leave?"

  Carter sighed. "It's probably more the case that she doesn't want to be left behind. I'm sure she and Velma have their friends, but John and me are the only family they have left."

  Dawson sighed dramatically.

  "What?" I asked.

  "You're forgetting the most important problem of all."

  "What?" This time it was Carter.

  "That red plum jam."

  Carter and I looked at each other blankly. I could feel a lump in my throat, and I was pretty sure I could see a small tear on the edge of his left eye.

  Chapter 16

  The Hotel Galvez

  2024 Seawall Boulevard

  Wednesday, July 21, 1954

  Just past 8 in the morning

  As we were talking about what might be done to alleviate the coming red plum jam shortage, a man in a cowboy hat and boots walked up to the table. Pulling on his hat, he looked at me and asked, "Are you Mr. Williams?"