The Yankee Club (22 page)

Batting her eyes, Belle gave him the kind of smile that could separate a man from his wallet. She strolled to him, held out the train ticket and spoke in a Southern accent. “Excuse me. Could you help me? I’m wondering if this is the right train to Florida.”

He studied the ticket. “Yes, it is.” His eyes swept over the contours of her dress. “Are you traveling alone?”

She smiled. “Just little old me, sugar.”

The man sucked in his gut and held out his arm. “A nice girl like you shouldn’t travel unescorted, Miss …”

“Starr. Belle Starr.”

He tipped his hat. “What a beautiful name for a Southern lady.”

With a wink to me, she took the man’s hand and climbed the stairs of the train. Through the window I watched them head down the aisle and sit beside each other. Belle waved to me as the train pulled out of the station.

Belle, safely on her way out of the city, gave me one less problem to tackle. Hawkins required immediate attention. I called Landon Stoddard from a phone booth in the station. He told me to stay put. He’d meet me.

I sat in a row of wooden chairs along with departing passengers and reflected on our next move. Hawkins would provide a link to the Golden Legion if we could get him to talk. I’d enjoy seeing Mickey’s killer on the other side of an interrogation.

Stoddard was the perfect type to work the detective over, shake loose enough information to send him to the chair and bring in the feds to take down Dalrymple and his band of traitors. Laura could go back to being an actress, and I’d return to writing.

What then? Where would that leave the two of us? Could I win her back?

The huge wall clock revealed four hours remained until Mickey’s funeral. A young woman’s chatter across the aisle caught my attention. Thin, late teens maybe, and dressed in a plain cotton dress, she held a young man’s hand. I tried not to listen as she fought to reassure him they were about to do the right thing.

I tried to focus on how to stop Dalrymple and the Golden Legion, but the young people’s predicament dominated my thoughts. Perhaps I paid attention because of their pained expressions or maybe because I made a big mistake in this very station two years earlier.

The boy leaned forward in the chair, rubbed his hands together, and stared at the two
suitcases between them. Anyone could tell he loved her, but he seemed like the practical one. He listed everything stacked against them—her parents, his parents, money. They had just enough cash for two train tickets. She offered only one argument. They loved each other. He looked up and met my gaze.

Fearing I might somehow get involved, I took my cane and headed for the restroom. Inside, I stood by the sink and peered at my reflection in the mirror. The swollen bruise under my right eye looked worse than earlier, and I noticed a cut on my hairline. Something shiny shimmered in my hair. I removed one more piece of glass from Tony Vales’s shattered cooler and flicked it into a trash can.

I washed more dried blood from my forehead, trying not to appear like some kind of street thug. In the past few days I’d taken a few punches, been shot in the leg, and threatened by Tony Vales. I was more worried about Laura. The only way to ensure her safety was to take down Dalrymple and the Golden Legion.

The kid stepped inside as I dried my face and set my hat on my head. He glared at me in the mirror. “I saw you staring at my girl.” He balled his hands into fists. “You want to do this here or outside?”

I rubbed a hand over my face, trying not to smile.

His face reddened. “You think your fancy clothes are going to turn Sarah’s head. I don’t think so.”

I held up one hand. “Look, son—”

“I’m not your son.” He struck a boxer’s pose. “Come on.”

“I overheard your conversation. That’s all.”

The young man relaxed his hands. He leaned against the wall and banged his head with a loud clunk. “I’m sorry. She’s got me all twisted up inside.”

“Get used to it. A woman will do that to a man from time to time.” I stepped toward the door.

He stuffed his hands in his trousers and stared at the floor. “We have tickets to Wyoming, and—”

“I really don’t think I’m the right person to—”

“It was Sarah’s idea for us to run away. My cousin lives on a ranch with his old man. Wouldn’t make much money, but there’d be enough for us to be together.”

I barely heard anything after the words
run away
.

“You’ve been in love right, mister? I mean, a fella your age …”

“Sure.” I never fell out of love with Laura.

“I told Sarah I should go alone, save up some money, and send for her in a few months. If her parents come around, if mine do—”

To quote Tony Vales, “
If
and two bits will get you a cup of coffee.”

“I guess. She thinks if we don’t do this now, we never will.” He let out a ragged breath. “I don’t know what I should do.”

“How old are you?”

“Nineteen. Sarah’s eighteen.”

I wasn’t one to give advice to total strangers, certainly about running away, but the kid needed a kick in the pants. “Whether you go off to Wyoming or stay here, you’ll have each other. Running away never solves anything. Stay home. Her parents or your parents will come around.” I left the boy to consider my advice and returned to my chair.

The girl sat alone and dejected near two suitcases. She dabbed at her eyes with a balled-up handkerchief then glanced up as the kid approached. She rose from the chair, took his hand, and smiled at him. She reminded me a lot of Laura. They looked nothing alike, but she gazed at the boy with the same glimmer I used to see in Laura’s eyes.

“Jake.” Stoddard waved from across the terminal. He wasn’t alone. Laura walked beside him, hurrying toward me.

I rose and met them halfway.

Laura covered her mouth. “Oh, Jake. You’ve been in a fight.”

“I won.”

She threw both arms around my neck and kissed me. She’d never been one for a public display of affection, but I enjoyed the moment, whatever her motivations. She buried her face in my chest and squeezed me like she used to.

I’d waited two years for this moment. I couldn’t let go. We were in a crowded terminal buzzing with commotion, but with my eyes closed it felt as if it was just the two of us.

Stoddard cleared his throat. “This display is uncomfortable even by Penn Station standards. People are starting to stare.” He nodded toward the exit.

Laura and I followed him outside into the brightness of the May sun. We ignored “Employee Only” signs, crossed several tracks, and stood between two trains. Stoddard crossed both arms. “What happened?”

“Tony Vales happened. He thought I killed his brother because a dirty cop wanted him to think that.” I gave them the shorthand version of my altercation at the flower shop. Laura looked horrified, Stoddard disappointed.

He shook his head. “I would’ve jammed the glass farther into his neck.”

Laura nodded. “He’s serious.”

I had little doubt Stoddard would’ve killed Tony and been done with it. “What happened in the flower shop wasn’t why I wanted to meet. Belle Starr remembered a detail about the man who shot Mickey. He’s a homicide detective named Hawkins. The driver was a member of the
Blackshirts, the shooter, NYPD. Someone had to coordinate this.”

Stoddard rubbed his hands in delight. “Just when I thought Paul Cummings had skipped town you come up with this Hawkins guy. He’s our best link to the Golden Legion. We need to persuade him to talk.”

“How are you going to get an NYPD detective to …?” Laura’s eyes darted between Stoddard and me. “Oh.”

A railroad worker in blue coveralls walked around one of the trains. He carried a lantern in one hand. “You’re not allowed here, folks.”

Stoddard assumed his gruff government agent expression. He slipped his wallet from his suit and flashed his Secret Service badge.

“Enjoy your visit.” The worker hurried past us and continued down the line.

“Let’s go talk to this Hawkins.” Stoddard stuffed the wallet back in his suit and headed back to the terminal. He looked as determined as a bull charging a red cape.

I grabbed his arm. “I suppose you plan to just barge into the police station and borrow one of their interrogation rooms.”

“If he’s not at work, we’ll pay him a visit. If he’s working, I’ll tail him, find where he goes when he’s off.” He removed his hat and ran a hand through his hair. “We may be running out of time. Roosevelt will be in the city Thursday night for a speech at Madison Square Garden, and the Golden Legion is off
skeet shooting
.”

Shooting. I couldn’t shake the image of Dalrymple and his gang taking target practice.

Laura and I followed Stoddard to the phone booths along the far wall.

“I have a friend in NYPD who owes me a favor.” Stoddard went inside a booth and closed the door.

“He has friends?” I gazed around, looking for the young couple. The suitcases were gone. Perhaps they’d taken the train to Wyoming, or maybe they’d taken my advice.

Laura’s eyes glistened. She brushed hair from my brow. “You could have been killed. This is the second time in days.” Her hand lingered on my cheek. Her eyes met mine, reminding me of the young girl’s look. “I know I said we couldn’t talk about us until this was over, but I’m afraid I may never get the chance. Jake, I … love—”

Flash. A reporter held a camera at his side. “Thanks, Miss Wilson, Mr. Donovan. That will make a swell picture for my paper.”

Laura gasped.

I’d waited two years to hear Laura say she loved me, but a picture like that could blow her cover. I went after the man, pushing through the crowd, but the reporter had disappeared.

I returned. Laura stared across the terminal as if in a trance.

Stoddard came out of the phone booth with a disappointed scowl. His gaze darted
between the two of us. “Did I miss something?”

“A reporter snapped a picture of Laura and me for the papers.”

“Son of a bitch!” Stoddard lowered his voice. “I leave you alone for two minutes. You’ve been acting like newlyweds since we got here.”

Laura let out a sigh. “Excuse me for caring!”

Stoddard’s forehead wrinkled. “We have to talk to Hawkins and see if the hit on Mickey was related to the president. He’s working today, and I don’t want to raise concerns at the station. We might have to wait until tomorrow and surprise him at his apartment.”

“You know where he lives?”

He gestured toward the phone booth. “I do now.”

When Laura dropped me off at the Carlyle, I held her hand. “You’ll be at Mickey’s funeral.”

“Of course I’ll be there.”

I watched her drive away then went inside. I used most of my remaining cash to settle Belle’s account and pay for another night at the hotel. I’d have to hock something valuable like my watch and find a cheaper place.

A cabbie drove me to St. Timothy’s. He pulled up in front of the church and held out his hand. “That’ll be eleven bucks.”

In my wallet, two small bills peered up at me. “I only have two fives. I don’t suppose you’d cut me some slack. We’re at a church, and—”

“Don’t care if I drove you to church or a whorehouse, I’ve got a family to feed.”

My trouser pocket contained two quarters. I dropped them into his hand. “I’m tapped out.”

“Four bits? That’s it? Get out.”

“Sorry.” I took my cane and climbed out.

The cabbie slammed the car in gear and squealed tires as he sped off.

Gino hurried down the church steps. “What was that all about?”

This wasn’t the place to talk about my finances. “I’m a little short, that’s all.”

“How short?”

I led Gino past arriving mourners. In the parking lot I told him about the limo ride with Spencer Dalrymple and the financial squeeze he slapped on me.

“Let me get this straight, Laura’s fiancé used his clout to buy your publisher and freeze your bank account. All that to get you to leave the city?”

I shrugged. I couldn’t explain all the reasons he wanted me out of the picture.

“Why didn’t you come to me? I’m insulted.” Gino lit a cigarette and took a long puff.
“That’s why I’ve never trusted banks. I’m strictly a cash and carry guy. When do you leave for Florida?”

“You think he can pressure me into going back. Now I’m insulted.”

He set one hand on my shoulder. “I’ve never seen you back down from gangsters and thugs. You’re one tough son of a bitch, but you’ve got a history of running from personal problems.”

We were outside a church, so I resisted the temptation to sock him. Gino had always been straight with me. I listened while he ticked off a list of times I’d fled from problems. After high school, my father wanted me to attend college. Instead, I enlisted, and the army sent me to France. After Pop died, I joined the Pinkertons, left New York, and traveled the country. Laura wouldn’t marry me, so I moved to Florida.

“How much do you need?” Gino dropped his cigarette and crushed it beneath his shoe.

“I can hock my watch.”

“How much?”

“A couple hundred. I’m going to check into a cheaper hotel.”

“No you’re not. Don’t let Dalrymple see you sweat.” Gino slipped an envelope from his suit pocket. Keeping it close to his vest, he fanned through several fifties and hundreds and handed the envelope to me. “Here’s a grand.”

“You brought a thousand bucks to a funeral?”

“I carry a grand everywhere. Remember, as kids, I always kept a quarter in my shoe, didn’t I?”

“You never loaned me your quarter.”

Gino chuckled. “Times have changed. Prohibition’s been good to me. I’ve got plenty stashed. Stop by The Yankee Club when you need more.”

I didn’t plan on needing more. After we took Dalrymple down, my funds would be available and Empire Press wouldn’t be answering to the bum.

I took the money and stuffed the envelope in my suit coat pocket. I swallowed a lump in my throat. “Thanks.”

“Don’t get all mushy on me, Donovan.”

We’d been friends most of our lives, but I couldn’t believe Gino’s generosity. “How can I ever repay your kindness?”

“Fifties and hundreds. Tens and twenties will do in a pinch, but they make a bulge in my suit and make me look like Mae West’s left side. You can repay me when you get things straightened out.”