Tell Them I'll Be There (19 page)

‘Who's minding the store?' was his first question.

‘I'm sorry, Pops,' Dan said. ‘Harry's in the office, and Lois.'

‘So what's this about?' 

‘I'm sorry to turn up unexpected like this, but I have to see you and, maybe, offer my resignation.'

‘What are you talking about?'

‘Well, I think I may have let you down last night. You trusted me with things but I got it wrong.'

The only person nearby was an old man in a dressing-gown similar to Joe's and he was fast asleep.

‘Pull up a chair,' Baker said. ‘Tell me all about it.'

Dan told him that Barbara wanted him to take her to this club, the Showcase, to hear his brother sing. He told her, he said, he would have to check with Pops first, see if it was OK. But she insisted that wasn't necessary. Pops wouldn't mind.

Baker nodded. ‘Why would I, if it keeps the girl happy?'

‘Yes,' Dan said, ‘but it wasn't that simple.'

He told Baker he had been approached earlier by the crook who owned the Showcase, a man called Vincent O'Hara. This O'Hara said he ‘wanted to get to know him better' and for that reason he didn't want to go there again. But Barbara wanted to go. She made out it was all about his brother. She had only heard Michael on the radio and she wanted to hear him in person.

‘I couldn't turn her down,' Dan said. ‘Anyway, we went and O'Hara set us up. He put us at a little table on our own and when we were pretty close he had a press photographer ready to take a shot.'

‘You were pretty close?' Baker said.

‘We were pretty close,' Dan admitted. ‘Then, when I turned towards Barbara she kissed me on the mouth and the creep with the camera got his shot. I swear I didn't know she was going to do that. She had absolutely no reason to but she did and I don't suppose anyone would believe I wasn't expecting it. So I guess the honourable thing to do is apologize and offer my
resignation
. So I'm sorry and that's it.'

‘You're sorry because you kissed a girl?'

‘I didn't kiss her. She kissed me.'

Joe Baker laughed. ‘This is kid's stuff. You sound like a coupla schoolkids being naughty.' 

‘It wasn't like that,' Dan insisted. ‘It was a set-up and I fell for it.'

‘You were set up by O'Hara?'

‘Well, I don't like to say this, Pops, but I got the feeling Barbara was in on it, too.'

Baker nodded but made no comment.

‘Now the press have got the picture and if I don't have lunch with O'Hara today it will be in tonight's 'papers.'

‘And you missed your lunch.'

‘Yes,' Dan said. ‘I wanted you to know the full story before it came out.'

‘O'Hara wanted to get to know you better. Why was that?'

‘So I could shadow your dealings on Wall Street for him, tip him off when you're buying big. He's convinced you have the magic, the Midas touch.'

Baker nodded again.

‘You don't seem surprised by any of this,' Dan said.

‘It's all happened before, son, with O'Hara. And it's time I did something about it.'

Dan stood up. ‘Well, I'm sorry for my part in what's happened but I feel better now that I've told you. Thanks for everything.'

‘Sit down, for God's sake,' Baker said. ‘You're sorry, but this is not entirely for my benefit, is it? O'Hara has another hold over you. If you don't go along with him he could pull the plug on your brother's remarkable rise to fame. But if you're not with me you can't help him.'

Dan smiled. ‘True,' he admitted.

‘Well,' Baker said, after a moment, ‘you're not resigning. I need you in the business and I need you to help me fix O'Hara once and for all.' He leaned forward confidentially. ‘What you should know is this is not all about O'Hara. Vincent O'Hara is a stooge. The real boss is a man they call The Englishman. Controls most of what goes on illegally in NY. The police know it and quite a lot of top people, including cops, are on his payroll. The thing is, he has a finger in most pies – clubs, cabs, booze – but he's never satisfied. He wants a piece of Wall Street, 
too. Now I've no beef with him but I have with O'Hara. Maybe I can figure something out here. Let me think about it.'

‘What about Barbara?'

‘I'll deal with her. And don't worry about the newspapers. For the kind of people who read that stuff today's news is tomorrow's ass paper.' He stood up. ‘And get back to work, you big dope. I'll be in the office Wednesday.'

He walked Dan through to the reception and out front in his dressing-gown. Dan glanced at the dressing-gown. ‘Was
everything
OK?' he asked. ‘With the doc?'

Baker hesitated. ‘Not entirely. But don't ask me now. I'll tell you later. Few things I need to think about just now.'

When Dan arrived back at Penn Station the late editions of the evening papers were out. He bought one of each and it was right there on the gossip page across three columns in the first of the papers he opened. The headline,
WHEN THE CAT'S AWAY
, was above a picture of himself, Barbara Baker and a pretty convincing kiss.
As high finance king, Joe Baker,
he read,
takes a break and a medical check, his young wife, Babs, and up-
and-coming
Wall Street whizz-kid, Danny Dolan, brother of the new singing sensation, Michael Dolan, get it together at the Showcase
.

I
N LATE
1928 the new prosperity was still gathering momentum. This was the land of opportunity, the promised land where poor men could join in the financial fun and games and become dollar millionaires overnight. These were games that anyone could play. Anyone with a few dollars to spare could buy stock and a stake in some prosperous company and almost all of the larger companies
were
prosperous in 1928.

Most Americans that year were intoxicated, not with bootleg liquor but with the lure and promise of the stock market. Every day there were tales of spectacular overnight gains fuelled by the euphoria of those lucky enough to have bought a little stock and watched it soar in value. Stock prices had become hot news, as keenly read as the baseball results. Each weekday newspapers listed Wall Street prices and the radio stations gave a running commentary on the day's highs and lows. And in late 1928 there were very few lows.

The relentless rise of the market was avidly discussed in the clubs and coffee shops and in the workplace with a riot of jazz and crazy dance music orchestrating the excitement. The masses had become infatuated with the stock market. It was the newest craze, as mad and as popular as the latest dance. It was as if Wall Street had become an all-embracing casino where everyone was welcome and nobody could lose. Place your bets and carry on dancing was the order of the day. And beneath all this was an underlying anxiety. Shop girls and cab drivers and the man drilling the road all wanted to be in on the act and those who couldn't afford to gamble away their meagre earnings felt they 
were being left behind, losing out on the chance to hang on to the coat-tails of the soaring stock prices and get rich in the process along with everyone else.

In the midst of all this Dan Dolan was embarrassed and had the grace to blush at what was featured in the press as a cold betrayal of his ailing boss. He folded the newspaper and turned to the page he ought to have been reading, the daily trading figures. Despite the explosive gains across the market, Dan felt a nagging unease. He had felt this throughout the year and now, as the year was drawing to a close, he felt it even more. It was like watching a giant bubble grow bigger and bigger with the suspense of feeling it was about to burst. He was out of step, he told himself. Everyone else is on a trip to the moon and undreamt of wealth. So what was wrong? Well, if you wanted a house, a car, clothes, there was no problem. Whatever you wanted you could have. All you had to do was find a small deposit, or maybe no deposit at all, and the credit company would stump up the rest. The Easy Payment Plan was all the rage. But the promises to pay of many of the Easy Payment customers had little substance. They were built on insecure jobs, jobs that could disappear overnight, fall to the domino effect of some failed enterprise. Then who would pick up the bill?

To an innocent Irish peasant not
that
long off the boat, it all seemed like ‘funny money' and he couldn't bring himself to believe it would always be this way. He had tried to raise the subject with Paul Merrick, but even someone as level headed as Merrick was not prepared to take him seriously. ‘If that's what you think, line your pockets while you can,' was all he would say.

Now, when he got back to the office that evening, he had to put such negative thoughts aside. Nathan was waiting for him. Michael had left town. He was going to pick up Annie and they were going to disappear for a year or two. Dan listened in stunned silence.

‘It had to come,' he said at last. ‘Michael won't be pushed around by anyone, especially someone like O'Hara.' 

‘But he's giving up so much,' Nathan argued. ‘It could take him years to get back to where he was.'

‘Maybe he doesn't want to be where he was,' Dan said.

‘O'Hara will make sure he doesn't work anywhere,' Nathan said.

‘Can he do that?'

‘Sure he can. That Bononi, the thief who calls himself an agent, he can warn people in the business not to touch him. He'll be lucky if he gets a job in a barber shop quartet.'

‘It's a big country. O'Hara can't stop him from working everywhere.'

‘He can,' Nathan said sadly, ‘and he's started already. Michael had a business card a guy from the Goldkette Organization gave him. Jean Goldkette is this French Canadian who puts out touring bands across the country. Good outfits. Based in Detroit. Anyway, this guy came down one night to hear Michael sing and offered him a job. Michael gave him a call before he left but there was nothing doing. Seems the guy had a visit from some of O'Hara's gorillas.'

‘He'll be OK with Annie,' Dan said confidently. ‘I'm glad he's left O'Hara. Annie's a good girl and they'll make a decent home somewhere, somewhere safe. And they'll get work. I'm sure they will. Michael's a good singer and Annie can dance.' He thought for a moment. ‘He should be OK for cash, shouldn't he?'

‘Should be,' Nathan agreed. ‘But he ain't. Bononi handled all his earnings, paid him a weekly salary. A pretty good one, Michael said, but I told him he was crazy. It was his money not Bononi's and not O'Hara's. But you know Michael. He's no businessman and so long as things are running smoothly and he can sing he's happy. He said Bononi was investing it for him. Buying stock.'

‘In whose name, I wonder?' Dan said. Then: ‘Maybe I should send him some dough.'

‘We don't have an address,' Nathan said. ‘Michael doesn't want anyone, including us, to know where he is. He thinks O'Hara might try giving us the works if he thinks we know where he is.' 

Dan had a number to call. He picked up the phone, indicating Nathan should stay. Jimmy Pickles answered. ‘Dan Dolan here,' Dan said, ‘and I don't want you, Pickles. I want your lord and master.' There was a pause then Dan said, ‘Just put him on, will you?' Nathan sat upright, facing the desk.

‘O'Hara? Dan Dolan. Lousy picture in the paper. You need a better photographer … Oh sure, I know he was working under difficult conditions. Dangerous, too. If I'd got hold of him I'd have strangled him … It was the Press? Sure it was the Press and I reckon in a really classy club the management would have come over and apologized for the intrusion … No, no. No hard
feelings
and there'll be no inside information for you either. Just stay out of my life in future. Oh and by the way, I hear you ran my brother out of town. Was that a good idea? Your biggest earner?'

Dan listened patiently. ‘Yeah, well, you listen to me now. I've no idea where Michael is, or where he's going and neither has Nathan so there's no point sending your monkeys round.' Dan listened again. ‘No, I'm not sore. I'm glad he's gone. I'm glad he got you off his back … I know, I know you did a lot for him but with the talent he's got he'd have made it on his own anyway.' Listens again. ‘Yeah, OK. Have it your way. I just want you to know if he comes to any harm, or you bother me or Nathan, I have a dossier on you and your activities. It's in a very safe place and if there's any trouble it'll turn up on the DA's desk and on the front page of the
Daily News
. And that's a promise.'

Nathan could hear O'Hara's raised voice, then Dan said quietly, ‘Who? Oh, it's in safe hands. A guy called Walker. Happens to be the mayor. You'd like him. But he won't like you if he reads what you've been up to. You know Jimmy. The
clean-up
man … No,
you
listen. Through you I've lost a brother. Michael left a note to say I won't be seeing him for a year or two.' Pause. ‘I don't know. Maybe he means until you're dead. And with the kind of games you play maybe that won't be too long.' Pause again. ‘All right, Mr O'Hara. As long as we
understand
each other.'

Nathan shook his head as Dan put the phone down. ‘You're just stirring things up.' 

‘I haven't finished with O'Hara,' Dan said. ‘Not by a long way.'

‘We had a recording deal set up for Michael,' Nathan said sadly.

Dan decided he'd had enough for one day. He looked at his desk. Whatever there was could wait until tomorrow. Talking to O'Hara, even by phone, had made him feel nauseous. He needed fresh air.

It was a crisp, clear night and in the dark oblong of sky above the towering office blocks of Madison Avenue the stars glistened hard and bright. Dan walked part of the way with Nathan, taking in the sights and sounds. There were plenty of places they could go, all of them illegal and overlooked by the Police Department, but neither needed a drink. When it came to alcohol, illegal or not, Nathan was like Dan. He could take it or leave it.

Most of the shops and offices were closed now and the city was dressed for the evening. Taxicabs disgorged black ties and fox furs. Restaurants and dinner clubs, some noisy and brightly lit, some discreetly subdued, were filling up and, as Dan and Nathan walked through a dark side street to Fifth Avenue, it seemed there was music from every door. A lightly bouncing piano, a swinging band, a soaring trumpet, an urgent tenor sax and, incongruously, from somewhere high up, the plaintive strain of a solitary violin.

Looking down as far as the Flatiron Building, Fifth Avenue was a long narrow canyon festooned with lights that shimmered in the mild evening breeze as if gently dancing to the music of the night.

‘Aren't you going the wrong way?' Nathan asked.

‘I just wanted to walk, take another look at this crazy city.'

‘It's our home town now,' Nathan said.

Dan nodded in agreement. ‘Watch your back,' he said, as they parted and he walked through the knots of revellers on 42
^nd
Street, the college boys with their dangling scarves, the party girls with their bobbed hair, their tight-fitting, knee-fringed dresses and their child-like, high-pitched laughter. He was 
twenty-three years of age yet already he felt too old to dive into the sparkling fountain of youth these kids revelled in.

Amidst all this hedonism and
joie de vivre
, squatting by a hard wall and wrapped in a black shawl, an old lady held out a begging bowl. Dan dropped a dollar bill in the empty bowl and the lady's lips moved silently as she bowed her head in gratitude.

‘You're crazy.' He could hear Michael's voice, knowing what he would say. ‘The old girl's probably got a mansion in Palm Beach.'

A shadowy figure, face mostly hidden, asked in a hoarse
cigarette
smoker's voice, ‘Hey, mister. Wanna do business?'

Dan smiled and shook his head as he went on his way.

The evening had barely started by Manhattan standards but already it was over for someone who was being stretchered to an emergency ambulance, its lights flashing front and rear. At a theatre club on the corner of West 45
^th
an early drunk repeatedly made his way in via the revolving door and was repeatedly bounced back to the sidewalk. On West 45
^th
an orderly queue had formed outside the Five O'Clock club. On West 56
^th
the Napoleon was being raided and protesting men and women were being hustled into waiting police vans. Dan laughed. It was like a hooley at the Drummers on a Saturday night. He had started walking to clear his head, help him think through what was to be done about O'Hara. But he had been sidetracked by the night and the city.

It was quieter and darker when he turned into West 59
^th
Street, but Dan saw at once that someone was sitting on the stoop outside the apartment block. He looked around for other figures that might he lurking in the dark. O'Hara's men, perhaps. But, as he drew near, the man in black came to his feet and Dan relaxed.

‘Hey! What's the idea, sitting out here in the dark?'

‘I'm waiting for you,' Tim said.

Dan led the way and let himself in and without another word Tim followed him inside and up the two flights of stairs.

‘How long have you been out there?' Dan asked, putting a match to the gas fire and without waiting for an answer he went 
into the kitchen and filled the kettle. ‘Have you spoken to Nathan?'

Tim shook his head. ‘No. Should I have?'

‘I thought maybe he told you about Michael.'

‘What about Michael?'

‘He's gone, Tim, and we've no idea where,' Dan said. ‘O'Hara ran him out of town and he's going to have to lie low for a while.' He told Tim what Nathan had told him.

‘They'll find him, Dan,' Tim said, ‘and when they do they'll kill him. Killing people is nothing to them. This boy we need, Martin Ripley, he left town and he's not been seen nor heard of since.'

‘Doesn't mean he's dead. They'll probably hide him 'til it's all over.'

‘Something has to be done about O'Hara.'

‘I'm working on it,' Dan told him. ‘So how is your boy?'

‘I don't know. They won't let me see him. Father Pat can go but anyone else has to be family. And he's on Death Row, Dan.'

‘Is there no hope?'

‘Not much. And there's no publicity. I got a petition going and the whole parish signed it but that's not enough. To most outsiders Tony O'Reilly is just another young hoodlum. The papers promised to do what they can but just now they're full of this Ruth Snyder story.'

Ruth Snyder and her partner in crime, a corset salesman called Judd Gray, were big news, not just in New York but throughout the country. She was a bored and not very bright housewife on Long Island when she started an affair with Gray, the even less bright salesman, and eventually persuaded him to help kill her husband. She had taken out a valuable insurance policy on her husband and once the deed was done, she believed, they would be able to live happily ever after on the proceeds. But the plot they devised was a disaster. Ruth Snyder said the house had been burgled, she had been tied up and her husband murdered in his bed. The police didn't believe a word of it and, blaming each other, Snyder and Gray confessed, were arrested and put on trial.