Ill-Fame (A Detective Harm Queen Novel Book 2) (2 page)

And the biggest graft of all was the big mitt game. This is where Queen was raking in most of his chink. He was in charge of the entire scheme, and it was finally chugging along at full force, after some hiccups months prior. He had two professional steerers working every evening of the week: Billy Edwards and “Cheerful” Charlie Howard. They were like slick, shiny lighthouses, luring in wayward businessmen looking for a good time. Except there was no safe shore. Only the crush of ragged rock. Or more literally, the crush of bones from uncooperative rubes.

And to add to the pressure of work, Karoline Ulland was planning an enormous wedding at the end of the summer.

His schedule was full.

To hell with a finger and a class ring. Right?

He held the ring and the finger next to each other, measuring the match. It had been a while since a mystery had presented itself to him, and the old tug of curiosity began to pique his interest. This should be easy to solve in an afternoon, he decided. And a good story to relay to Doc, who would about fall off his chair in laughter at the thought of a couple of hobos discovering a wrinkled finger in their precious lunch. And Doc would want to know where it came from. And he cared about pleasing the old man.

The finger secured in his pocket, he fished out two dimes and flipped them to the hobos.

“I wouldn’t eat that fish if I were you,” he said. His mood had suddenly brightened, as radiantly as the turquoise sky above.

CHAPTER 2

The University of Minnesota campus felt like a completely different world from the big city. It stood in grand glory atop the river bluff, upwind from the stench of Minneapolis proper. Here were expansive green lawns instead of dingy, clanging, smoky streets. A dozen solemn brick buildings stood, formally spread amongst the greenery, a statement of the state’s noble intent to grant its elite sons and daughters a chance at higher education. Shade trees, now just beginning their burst of buds, dotted the wide spaces. Absent were the crowded, smelly markets, the shanty-filled slums, and the gigantic hotels and department stores that blocked the sun from shining in the detective’s usual environment. Queen couldn’t grasp this kind of life, but he couldn’t help but feeling awe whenever he came here. He himself had only finished high school, and instead of dreaming of college, he’d instead worked his way across the Great Lakes as a deck hand on a Michigan schooner. While he had a natural head for numbers, it’d been his fists and his quick thinking that had developed the fastest in his years after primary school. College had never been an option. His father would have laughed at the very notion.

This was a peaceful place, and he could appreciate its tranquil beauty. Students were taking advantage of the warm afternoon breeze, and sitting in circles in the grass, talking and laughing. More chatted as they walked in twos and threes on the sidewalk that followed the road. Queen pulled his gig to the side of Pillsbury Drive and stepped down. He brushed at the dried mud on his clothes. A couple of young, smartly dressed women wearing wide hats and skirts, clinging to books in their arms, walked past, surprising him with their giggles. One pointed at his face and covered a smirk with her hand.

For a moment he thought to take out his handkerchief and wipe the mud from his mug, but then he remembered what was wrapped inside, and used his sleeve instead.

“Are you a professor here, sir? I haven’t seen you before.” He turned to see a boy standing behind him. He was a broad-shouldered, well-cut young man, dressed in a tailored gray suit and matching derby, with a satchel strapped to his side. Queen sized him up immediately from the costly clothes and the gold watch that hung from his pocket. Rich parents, he guessed. The kid was good-looking, but with a babyish face, and his chubby cheeks didn’t quite match his solidly-built physique.

“Do I look like a professor?” Queen asked.

“Well, you parked your buggy right in front of Old Main,” the boy replied with a lopsided grin. “I figured you to be a pretentious teacher running late for class. Who else would have the gall to leave their ride directly across from the front door of the most important building here?”

Queen couldn’t help but crack a smile. He liked the boy’s quick thinking. This was as good a person as any to start his investigation with, and he extended his hand.

“I’m Detective Queen, of the Minneapolis Police Department.”

The kid gave a look of surprise, and then stuck out his hand and they shook. He gave his goofy grin again.

“Pleased to meet you. My name is Richard Darling. But everyone calls me Moonlight.”

Moonlight Darling?
The
Moonlight Darling? Queen knew who he was. Everyone who followed the Minnesota Gophers football team in the newspapers did. He was the team’s star half-back, who had run with reckless joy over the backs of opposing defenses for the last four years. Of course Queen had cracked jokes about the kid’s name like everyone had, when he’d first heard it. It was sappier than the title of one of those romantic pieces of sheet music. The ones with the girl on a swing under the stars and the boy kneeling down beside her. Sentimental gush. But after the kid had broken school records the fun-making stopped. The kid was a bona fide sports hero of the North Star state. For a moment, Queen found himself happily amazed, but quickly regained himself. He still had work to do, and the small talk needed to be brief.

“You fellows really played a fast game this year,” Queen said. “Pummeled Northwestern, by how many points?”

“Not a pummel. Twenty-one to zero,” said Moonlight with slight embarrassment in his voice. “It was a slow-moving affair.”

“But you had dash in the second half,” the detective remembered.

“Yes, sir, I did my best.” The boy cocked his head a little, and looked at Queen intently. “Can I ask you what your business is here? Not that it’s any of mine, of course. I am asking out of curiosity’s sake, more than anything.”

This was a smart lad, Queen thought. A lot of hard drive, just like himself. If anyone has his ear to the ground at this school, it’s probably him. He held out the class ring to Moonlight. The boy took it and his mouth fell open. Queen had been right in his guess. Moonlight Darling knew whose ring it was.

“Was there a finger attached to it?” The kid flashed a wide smile as he asked, unable to hide the dark humor of the situation.

“Here in my pocket,” Queen said, and he patted it securely.

“I know the owner. Moonlight pointed to a distant set of figures, lounging on the grass near another building. “Follow me and I’ll introduce you to the pup.”

“Do you know much about the history here, Mr. Queen?” Moonlight asked as they walked together.

“I don’t.”

“Dear Old Main.” He pointed to the light-colored, four-story, stone behemoth as they walked by. “The first building at the University. Here since the 1850s. It was the only college building for thirty years, in fact. The rest of these,” he said, sweeping his arm to the other dignified-appearing structures spread along the road, “didn’t come until the last twenty years. It’s a school with a crack reputation. I’d always wanted to attend.”

“Did you come for the football program?” Queen asked.

The boy reddened, and turned his head away, slightly. “I came to get away from my father.”

“Who is your father? A mucky-muck, I’d imagine.”

He shook his head with force, and grimaced. “No offense, but not a subject I want to talk about. Mathematics, physics, and Latin. These are the subjects I’m bothered with. And history. I especially love history.” He broke another cheery grin. “Finals are around the corner, and I graduate soon.”

“Good luck.”

“I’ll need it. I struggled a bit during the football season. I’m trying to catch up.”

They approached a group of boys, smoking what smelled like cheap cigars and lying on their sides in the sunshine. They hopped up, staring at Moonlight like he was some glowing god from the heavens. Queen understood their admiration. The boy had a magnetism to him. A confidence and charm that was hard to resist.

“Going to the dance on Saturday night?” asked one, patting Moonlight on the back good-naturedly.

“Which one?”

“The Senior Promenade of course!”

“I don’t waltz and I can’t two-step. And there are more important things afoot. That’s why Detective Queen is here. He needs to speak to Herbert.”

One of the boys’ eyes shot wide open. That must be Herbert, thought Queen. He was lumpy-shaped kid, with a sprinkle of whiskers where a man’s mustache would normally be. A maroon sweater with a giant golden M tightened around his rotund frame. Queen’s eyes went to the boy’s bandaged hand.

“You bet your sweet life, Moonlight. Whatever you say.” Herbert followed them as they walked to a nearby tree.

“Mr. Queen’s got something of yours.”

Queen showed him the class ring, and the boy nodded furiously at its sight.

“I’ve got your finger too,” the detective said.

Herbert looked at the bandaged stump where his finger had been, and then to the lump in Queen’s pocket. Blood drained from his face and he started to wobble. Moonlight put his big arm around the boy’s shoulder and shook him gently.

“You don’t have to see it if you don’t want to.”

“Where’d ya find it?” Herbert asked, looking sick.

“In a fish’s gut, just south of the Lake Street Bridge. Any idea how it got there?”

The boy just stared, disbelief in his eyes.

“I’ll tell you,” said Moonlight, with a glint of excitement. “It’s been the talk of the campus. Even made the
Minnesota Daily
.”

“I don’t subscribe,” Queen said. “What happened?”

“Herbert and a couple of others were strolling along the cliff, about there.” He pointed to River Road to the west. Queen could see the outline of the city on the opposite bluff; the brown-bricked skyline cut against the bright blue sky.

“When?”

“Two days ago,” Moonlight said. He pulled a piece of orange peel from his pocket, and put it in his mouth, slowly chewing.

Probably to freshen up his breath for the multitude of young women drawn to him like mosquitoes to a plump arm, thought the detective.

“And, what then?” he asked.

“I’ll say,” said Herbert, stepping forward. Agitation wracked his face. “It was one of those low-lifes, doncha know. Preaching their revolutionary drivel.”

“An anarchist?” Queen was surprised. Anarchists harassing students on their way to class? Really? It wasn’t completely shocking, he decided. Anyone bent on changing the world would most likely find some sympathetic ears on a university campus. But this was first he’d heard of it. “Was it reported?”

“Immediately,” said Herbert. “A detective came down and questioned me already.”

“Who?” Queen demanded, that familiar fury rising to his chest. He should have been made aware of an incident involving one of his detectives.

“A queer fellow,” said Moonlight. “His nose looked like a limp balloon, and not to offend his position, sir, but he reeked of the cheap variety.”

Queen knew immediately that Moonlight was referring to Chris Norbeck, Queen’s longtime partner, and a man who guzzled more spirit than an Irishman at a funeral. His excessive drinking was the cause of his cauliflower nose, and a rash on his face that looked like someone had poured a boiling pot of water between his eyes.

Despite Norbeck’s love affair with Duffy’s Pure Malt, however, he was a trustworthy detective, and wasn’t the kind to bury an investigation.
So why hadn’t the goddamn ass told him about this?

It had Queen flummoxed.

“He took lots of notes,” Moonlight explained.

“And then gave a smile when I told him about the finger,” Herbert said with a shudder. “Like he found the whole thing a barrel of laughs.”

“I still don’t know what happened. About this so-called anarchist,” Queen said.

“The little ghoul jumped out from behind a tree. The girl I was with fell down, she was so petrified.”

“What did he say?”

“Babbling about the proletariats being suffocated by Carnegie and Hill and Morgan, doncha know. He was waving his hands and screaming. Spit flying from his mouth like we were strolling in the rain.”

“What did he look like?”

“He had a thick, dirty black beard. His face was covered in grime. And he was short. Short and rail-skinny.”

“And then what? After he’d finished his diatribe?”

“I turned away,” Herbert said. “Turned to run, but he leapt at me, doncha know. Like a jack-in-the-box, it was so fast. He grabbed my arm, and I tried to pull it away. Then he did it.”

Queen gave a nod, cuing Herbert to continue. The boy took a gulp and looked around anxiously. “As I took my hand back, he latched onto it with his teeth. My finger. Tore it off like a wild animal!”

“And then he ran to the edge of the bluff and spit it out,” said Moonlight. “Herbert’s blood soaked his lips...”

“Stop, please!” Herbert shouted, covering his ears with his hands.

Moonlight leaned in and whispered. “I can’t believe there are anarchists in Minneapolis, Mr. Queen.” The detective could smell the bitter orange from the boy’s breath.

Me neither,
Queen thought. But these were unpredictable times. Who ever would have imagined the old fox, Doc, would make it to the mayor’s seat again, either? If the hens in the coop could be so damn oblivious, then anything could happen in this city. “Where did he go once he spit out your digit?”

“He ran in circles, like a raving lunatic, and then made for the trees,” Herbert replied.

“Did anyone follow him?”

“A couple of fellows did. He went north to the railroad bridge. His feet were on fire he was so fast, doncha know.”

Queen lifted an eyebrow at the football star. “Faster than you?”

“Me?” Moonlight gave a little laugh. “I doubt it. I didn’t see any of it, though. I was in class.”

So a black-whiskered anarchist was stalking the city’s citizens. Queen was uneasy about the news, and he knew Police Superintendent Fred Ames would be, too. And Norbeck needed a good tongue-lashing for sweeping this between the floor cracks.