Authors: Michael Murphy
I sat and studied the map. Fatigue dulled my senses, but I forced myself to concentrate. If I read the map correctly, the lodge was less than three miles from a town called Homersburg. I grabbed the phone and dialed the operator.
A minute later, Gino came on the line. I’d barely spoken when he shouted, “Where the hell have you been? Me and Danny and Frankie—”
“Gino, I need your help.”
On a weathered bench beneath a streetlight, I waited for Gino and surveyed Homersburg, which
was not exactly a town. A tiny post office, a few shops, and a general store with a single gas pump came together where two dirt roads connected. Several houses extended beyond the intersection.
No cars passed by during the first hour of waiting. Then a screen door banged open. A couple stepped from their house with a young boy in tow. The kid ran ahead of his parents, kicking a tin can that clattered along the side of the road. The father appeared to notice me and pointed across the street. The family crossed to the far side of the road and ignored me as they passed by.
I ran a hand along the stubble of my chin and wiped a smear of oil from my torn, wet suit coat. No wonder they would have nothing to do with me.
The door to the store squeaked open. A man approached carrying a metal cup. I recognized a friendly smile as he drew closer. He stopped and handed the cup to me.
Coffee. I inhaled the rich warm aroma and drank with trembling hands.
“ ’Spect you’ve fallen on hard times. A lot of that going on these days.”
I took another sip. I wanted to explain about my appearance but couldn’t. I finished the coffee and gave the cup back. “Thanks.”
The man offered me a buck. “There’s a cot in the back of the store. It’s uncomfortable as hell, but you’re welcome to spend the night.”
I held up a hand. “Thanks, anyway. A friend will be by soon to pick me up.”
“Sure they will.” He stuffed the bill inside my suit coat pocket and headed back to the store. “If you change your mind, just knock.”
The store owner’s kindness reinforced my belief that the country was worth saving. Minutes after he went inside, headlights approached from the south road.
Gino pulled up in my Model A. He checked me over as he drove us down a back-road route to New York City. “Good thing I showed up. I don’t think hobos would let you catch a freight looking the way you do. I shoulda brought a change of clothes. Care to explain why I’m picking you up in some hick town at four in the morning?”
I’d seen up close how desperate a handful of men who thought they deserved to run the country could be. I didn’t want to risk Gino’s life. “I’ll tell you what I can.”
“Look at you. Whatever you’re mixed up in, you clearly can’t do it alone. I want to know everything … from the beginning.”
He was right. Gino had repeatedly demonstrated his friendship and trust since I returned to the city. I started at the beginning from when Laura and I discovered the key to the busterminal locker in Mickey’s ashtray. We reached Manhattan mid-morning as I told him about stabbing Friedman and jumping overboard seconds before the
Betsy Ross
exploded.
Gino shook his head. “What can I do to help?”
“The best way to save Laura is to stop Dalrymple.”
“Yeah, I got that figured out, but just how are we going to do that?”
The best way would be to keep Roosevelt from going to the Garden. I checked my watch. It was too late to do that. He was already in the city by now. How could I reach Stoddard to warn him? Damn, I was running out of options. “Drop me off at the Plaza. I have to talk Oliver Greenwoody out of making this terrible mistake.”
“Talk? Only a writer would think words could get you out of this mess. You’ve gotta bust some heads. Me and Danny—”
“Greenwoody’s not like Dalrymple. He’s a reasonable man.”
“You kidding? He’s a Mussolini fan.” Gino parked across the street from the hotel. “I don’t need to remind you Laura’s in serious danger.” He reached inside his suit coat and shoved a pistol in my hand. “If words don’t work, shoot the bastard.”
If I killed Greenwoody, the Golden Legion’s plan would crumble. They wouldn’t have the man on the white horse to take over the country. Could I kill Dorothy’s father to save Laura, to save the country? Of course I could. I stuffed it inside my suit coat hoping I wouldn’t have to use it.
“It’s Ma’s. Return it in good shape, ’cause she don’t know I borrowed it. You’ll need more help than that. Let me round up some of the boys—”
“The best way for you to help is to go to the Carlyle and pick me up some decent clothes.” I ran a hand over my face. “And a razor. Even if I stop Greenwoody, I’ll have to get into Madison Square Garden to save Laura. Don’t think they’ll let me in looking like this.”
“Danny wouldn’t let you in The Yankee Club looking the way you do, and if you don’t mind me saying so, you stink like the East River, so I doubt you’ll even get into the Plaza.”
“Dorothy Greenwoody will get me in to talk to her father.”
A guy couldn’t ask for a better friend. I shook his hand.
Gino gave me a hug and kissed my cheek. “Now get out of here and work your magic with Greenwoody’s daughter.”
Inside the hotel, a wall clock in the lobby read noon. I entered a phone booth, dialed the front desk, and asked for Dorothy. She sounded delighted that I’d called. Even more so when I told her I was in the lobby.
I waited next to a tall potted plant, not wanting to draw attention to myself.
In a flowing lemon-colored dress and flowered hat, Dorothy dashed into the lobby. She spotted me and rushed to my side. She wrinkled her nose and put both hands on her cheeks. “What happened?”
“It’s a long story.”
“I can’t wait for you to tell me all about it.” She led me toward the elevator. Inside, she
took my arm. “I have to get you out of those clothes.”
The elevator operator shot me a knowing glance and punched the button to her floor.
“I fell off a boat,” I explained to the man.
“Yes, sir.”
In her room, Dorothy called the front desk to send someone up for a rush cleaning job. She handed me a terry-cloth robe, suggested a shower, and showed me to the bathroom.
I hid the gun in the robe and left my filthy clothes outside the bathroom door. A warm, soothing shower took away most of the aches in my body but did nothing for the pain of worrying over Laura. I changed into the robe and checked myself in the mirror. The robe was too small for me to cinch around my waist and ended a foot above my knees. When I stepped from the bathroom, Dorothy stifled a laugh.
She answered a knock at the door. The bellhop’s mouth dropped as he stared at my robe. He handed her a sack without taking his eyes off me. “It’s the best I could do on short notice.”
“Thanks, Bucky.” She stuffed several bills in his hand. She dismissed an obvious admirer and gave me the bag of clothes.
I carried the bag into the bathroom. Anything would be better than Dorothy’s robe. I glanced inside the bag. Almost anything.
Dorothy laughed at the red Rutgers University Queensmen sweatshirt, khaki trousers, and deck shoes. At least everything fit, although the shoes squeaked when I walked. I covered the gun in the back of my trousers with the sweatshirt.
“They’re clean and dry.” Dorothy kissed my cheek and ran a hand though my hair. “You smell much better. You look like you could use some brandy.” Dorothy poured liquor from a flask and handed me the glass.
I took a sip and gulped the rest, which warmed me from the inside.
“You must tell me what happened.” Dorothy sat in a faux-leather chair and smoothed her dress. She appeared as excited as if I was about to tell her the plot of my next Blackie Doyle novel.
“First”—I set the empty glass on the table—“I have to ask a couple of tough questions.”
She snapped forward in the chair. Her flirtatious behavior vanished. “Ask away.”
I took a chair beside her, determined to not make the questions sound like an interrogation. “What do you know about your father’s political plans?”
“There’s been talk about Roosevelt appointing Father secretary of war and of Father possibly running for vice president in ’36.”
“What about his association with a group called the Blackshirts?”
“Blackshirts?” Dorothy cocked her head. “Never heard of them.”
The concern on Dorothy’s face told me she was telling the truth.
“I have to talk to your father.”
Dorothy checked her watch. “He’s getting ready for the president’s speech at Madison Square Garden.” She glanced at the clock on the wall. “Good heavens, we’ll be leaving in less than an hour. Why don’t we skip the Garden and go dancing instead.” She rested her hand on my knee. “We could come back here later.”
“I need to see him before he leaves. Your father … he might be in a lot of trouble.”
“Jake, what’s wrong?” She twisted her hands together.
“Your father’s about to make the biggest mistake of his life.”
She jumped to her feet. “Tell me.”
“You should hear it from him.”
Dorothy poured herself a drink and swallowed the brandy in one gulp. “I’m sure you’ve got this all wrong.” She took my hand and led me to the door. “But I’ll take you to their suite.”
“Jake Donovan?” In a floor-length gown, Peggy burst out laughing at my Rutgers sweatshirt. “Queensmen. They really should change their mascot.”
“Jake needs to talk with father.” Dorothy led me into the room.
“He’s almost ready.” Peggy fidgeted with her pearl necklace as she closed the door. “What’s this about?”
Oliver Greenwoody came from the bedroom, nervously tugging on his bow tie. He saw me and froze like he’d seen a ghost. Had he heard I’d been killed in a boat explosion?
Peggy straightened his tie. “You look as nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs.” Her behavior convinced me she didn’t know any more about her husband’s treachery than Dorothy did. “Jake wants to talk to you before we leave.”
For a moment, I half expected gunmen to burst into the room and haul me away. Greenwoody took his wife’s arm and led her to the door. “You and Dorothy wait in her room. I’ll be along in a few minutes.”
Dorothy and her mother exchanged nervous looks. Peggy took her daughter’s arm and led her from the room.
After they’d left, Greenwoody slumped into a leather chair in front of a glossy wooden table. “I heard you were dead.”
“Sorry to disappoint you.”
“Me? I’m relieved.” He tugged on the collar of his shirt. “Is something wrong?”
“You either ordered or condoned what happened to Laura and me.”
“Laura? What? I did no such thing. What’s this all about?”
To avoid using Gino’s gun, I chose my words carefully. “I’m working for someone close to the president. I passed along information about the intention of the Golden Legion to stage a coup and remove President Roosevelt, declare martial law, dismiss Congress, and install a fascist
dictatorship in the United States.”
“The Golden Legion is a group of businessmen concerned the president’s gone too far.” Greenwoody spoke like a commanding general. “They asked me to … to help them intervene. Fascist dictatorship … hogwash.”
“They tried to kill Roosevelt in February.”
“No, no, no. Spencer Dalrymple assured me they had nothing to do with that.”
“Dalrymple’s a traitor. The question is, what are you?”
Greenwoody cleared his throat. “The Golden Legion will offer Roosevelt a chance to stay on as president. He merely has to declare an emergency and turn over operational control of the government to a committee.”
“Led by you.”
“Led by me.”
“And if he refuses?”
“If he refuses, the Golden Legion and its … associates are prepared to use force, if necessary.”
A ringing phone startled us both.
Greenwoody answered the call. He listened then spoke two words: “Five minutes.” He hung up. “Spencer Dalrymple and Laura Wilson are waiting in the lobby to take me and my family to Madison Square Garden.”
I began to pace. “You think you’re what America needs, a man on a white horse ready to ride in and rescue America from financial ruin.”
He banged his fist on the table. “I’m not a fascist, Donovan.”
I stood with my back to the door. “Then you’re a pawn.”
“Nobody’s using me!” He jumped from his chair and stood inches from my face. “I’m a general who’s commanded better men than you.”
I held my ground. “Well, General, if you hadn’t agreed to participate in this coup, they’d have offered the position to someone else. Lindbergh, maybe.”
Greenwoody’s face whitened. He backed up and gripped the edge of the chair. “Dalrymple approached Lindbergh. If his baby hadn’t been kidnapped last year …” He straightened up and regained his composure. “It’s too late. What’s done is done. You’ve had your say.”
“What will your wife and daughter think when this fails and you’re in prison for treason? What would your grandfather think? You
can
be the country’s hero on the white horse. Stop this from happening!”
“If you’ll excuse me.” Greenwoody grabbed his top hat.
I reached behind my back and drew my gun. “You’re not going anywhere.”
Greenwoody threw his head back and laughed. “You’re going to shoot me?”
The door burst open. Peggy shrieked when she saw the gun.
Dorothy stood beside her mother, confusion on her face. “Jake, don’t do this.”
“I’m stopping your father from making a terrible mistake.”
Dorothy studied her father. “Are you in trouble?”
Greenwoody looked like he’d shoot me if he had a gun. “My daughter used to trust me, Donovan. You’ve turned her against me, toying with her heart.”
“No, Daddy.” Dorothy held her father’s hand. “I toyed with Jake’s heart. I’ve known from the beginning he’s in love with Laura Wilson.”
I gestured with the gun. “Tell them.” When Greenwoody hesitated, I raised my voice. “Tell them, damn it, or I will.”
“Tell us what, Oliver?” Peggy cocked her head.
Her husband avoided her gaze. Greenwoody looked like a defeated man.
The door burst open. Peggy screamed. A hand grabbed my wrist.
I smashed my attacker’s nose with my elbow, feeling cartilage crack, but a second man managed to twist the gun from my hand. Two more guards tackled me from behind. I struggled as they wrestled me to the floor.