The Jade Racket
A noir short story
The Soaring Twenties Social Club published this story last month and I figured it was time to get off my behind and send it out to all of you.
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The light from the brightly lit Midnight Café spilled out onto the corner of two particularly dead streets at 1 A.M. on the north side of Chicago.
Caroline Jade sat at the bar, leaning confidently on both elbows and casing the place without looking like she was casing the place. She sipped her coffee (two creams, two sugars) and watched the door. The man across the triangle-shaped bar pretended to take no notice of her while reading his paper. He wore a dark suit and a hat and unconsciously twisted the ring on his finger while he read.
Caroline was approaching forty with raven hair and an oval face. Her figure, which she made no effort to hide under a black silk dress, was somewhere between slender and hourglass. Exquisitely womanly, one might say.
She liked the coffee at the Midnight and it was one of the only places open at that time of night. She liked Bert, the old man behind the counter, who knew her and her name but kept to himself and didn’t ask any impertinent questions, or many questions at all. Just ‘More coffee, ma’am?’ and ‘Anything else I can get you, ma’am?’. He was white-haired and balding but unbent and proud, marching into old age rather than being dragged.
“Anything else I can get you, ma’am?”
“I’m fine. Thanks, Bert.”
The old man nodded then asked the only other patron if he wanted anything then returned to polishing a glass.
Caroline was too old to be flattered by the forced inattention of the man across the bar. She had long since gotten over that kind of thing, had been very young when she forced herself to no longer let a little attention turn her head. She couldn’t afford that. Not anymore.
Seated at the far corner of the bar, Caroline had a view of the whole café so she got a good look at the blonde who approached on the sidewalk outside from down the street, turned the corner, and came in the café entrance.
She was young, girlish even, heavily made up, which clashed with the bright café lights, and dressed to the nines in blue silk. She sidled up to the man across the bar, put an arm around his shoulders, and placed a kiss on his cheek.
“Hey, baby,” he said. “You like making me wait?” His tone was playful.
She purred. “You waited, didn’t you?”
“I’ll wait till kingdom come for you, baby.”
“Where are we off to?”
“You’ll just have to wait and see.”
She giggled and he grinned.
He dropped some bills on the bar, tucked the paper under his arm, and offered her his other arm. She took it and they waltzed out the door.
Good for them, Caroline thought. Young love. Too bad she’s half his age, he’s married, and I’d bet a hundred that isn’t his wife. Oh well. They look happy.
A man in a gray suit and hat with broad shoulders and an easy-going, rugged face came in. Caroline hid a smile as he walked around the bar and sat down next to her. Bert moved respectfully to the other side of the bar.
“Hi. I’m Frank. Do you come here often?”
“I do actually but that seat’s actually taken.”
“Oh, sorry. Waiting for someone?”
“Something like that.”
“Not waiting for anyone, you just want me to leave?”
There was a twinkle in her eye. “No, I am waiting for someone, he was just supposed to be here twenty minutes ago.”
“I’m sorry, Miss Jade. I got held up. I had that thing to take care of.”
“Ah, that thing. So that was more important than meeting me here on time? I was here all alone and unprotected.”
It was Frank’s turn to put a twinkle in his eye. “I know you can handle yourself.”
“You do indeed.”
“Besides, Bert’s here. Howya doin’, Bert?”
“Good evening, sir.”
“All set then?” Frank said. “I got the car around the corner.”
“Just a sec,” Caroline said and drained the rest of her coffee. She put a ten down on the bar. “Thanks, Bert. See you soon.”
“Good night, ma’am.”
Frank opened the back door of the Packard and ushered Caroline inside, then got behind the wheel.
The city streets were blanketed in darkness and silence, the only sound coming from the growling engine and the shifting transmission as Frank steered the car west on Illinois then took a right on New Orleans and a left the next block on Grand. They drove west down Grand, across the river, and finally about twenty blocks later pulled off in front of a warehouse where a little man wearing a trench coat despite the summer heat took one look at Caroline in the back and knocked on the big door. Inside a chain rattled and the door slowly raised. Frank drove inside and the door closed behind them.
Inside, the huge warehouse was dimly lit from the ceiling but extra light was provided by the headlights of two cars parked thirty yards away.
Caroline raised her dress on her right side and double checked the .22 holstered on her inner thigh. Frank checked his Colt .45 inside his jacket.
Frank got out first and Caroline followed. The cavernous space echoed as the car doors slammed closed.
The other two cars turned off their headlights. Out of one climbed a tall man with a high, imperious brow and a haughty expression on his lean face. From the other emerged two men: a fat man (clearly the boss) in a navy pinstripe with florid cheeks and a pencil mustache, and from behind the wheel a man with the proportions of a refrigerator.
Caroline took the lead and Frank followed.
“Good evening, Alderman Davis,” Caroline said to the tall man standing alone in front of his car.
“Nice to see you, Miss Jade,” he replied in a sonorous voice.
“Gino,” Caroline said to the fat man, inclining her head.
He waggled a fat finger. “We’re not on a first name basis, are we, Caroline? But I must say, you look lovely. I wish we were meeting under better circumstances, under which I might induce you to take off that delicious dress, but,” he shrugged, “I can’t always get what I want. That’s what Brick keeps telling me,” (the fridge remained impassive) “though I usually do get my way.” He leered.
Behind her, Caroline felt Frank tense but she was unfazed by his attempt to do just that. “Shall we, Mr. Salerno?” She indicated the square table with three chairs around it. She let Frank pull out the chair for her and she sat down. Davis and Gino Salerno followed suit.
Alderman Davis cleared his throat. “Normally I wouldn’t handle business like this” (meaning, with people like you) “in person but I thought it might be best to come to a swift and agreeable resolution for all parties concerned.”
“You’ll get no argument from me,” Salerno said.
Caroline smirked but said nothing.
“Quite,” Davis said. “As previously agreed, Mr. Salerno’s operations were to be limited to east of Dearborn and south of Oak while Miss Jade’s operations were to be limited to west of Dearborn and south of Oak. However—”
“She set up a joint east of Dearborn,” Salerno blurted out.
The alderman looked at Caroline. “Well, Miss Jade?”
“I did. However, it’s south of the river and according to our original agreement, the area south of the river was not included.”
“South of the river was off limits, you know that, you dumb cow,” Salerno said, turning red.
Davis said, “I think what Mr. Salerno is trying to say is that it was implied that the river was the southern border for the operations concerned.”
“That’s right! Implied.”
Caroline shrugged. “Well that’s my misunderstanding, I guess.”
“That’s right,” Salerno said.
“But I opened that place really just to counter the two you opened on Wells and Elm which, if memory serves, are west of Dearborn and north of Oak, respectively.”
Salerno spluttered. “I don’t have any joints on Wells and Elm.”
“If I may,” Frank said, “I can vouch for the fact that there are such places and that Mr. Salerno collects on them.”
“Oh?” Davis said.
“Yeah? How do you know that, wise guy?” Salerno spat.
“Because I beat the information out of Freddie Four-fingers tonight.”
“You what?!” Salerno jumped to his feet, knocking over the chair. “That’s my man, my man he beat up,” he said to Davis. Salerno lunged. The fridge restrained him. “Get your hands off me and let me at him.”
“Let me hit him,” the fridge said in a deep bass. “Please, Gino. That’s what you pay me for.”
Frank put a hand inside his suit jacket. Caroline watched disinterestedly.
“Fine. Kill him.”
Frank pulled the gun and pointed it at the fridge.
Alderman Davis held up a hand. “Now, now. None of that. Mr. Salerno, please restrain yourself and your man. We don’t need this to get ugly. Frank, put the gun away. I think we’re all aware of the situation we’re in regarding the legality of our work here and I needn’t remind anyone that the police would be very keen to no longer be told to look the other way in regards to your so-called joints.”
Salerno’s fat eyes narrowed. He looked at Davis. “No,” he said slowly. “We wouldn’t want that.” He chuckled. “Plus if all the cops in this city stopped coming to my places I’d be out of business.”
“You and me both, Gino.”
He scowled. “Don’t get chummy with me. You okay with having a man defend you? I thought you were some tough broad.”
Caroline smiled pleasantly showing even, off-white teeth. “I don’t mind at all, especially since I married him.”
Salerno laughed. “Better watch out, Frankie. The spider’s caught you in her web.” He turned to Davis. “So, what’s the resolution you’ve been going on about, Alderman?”
The man sighed, the lines seeming deeper on his face. “I was going to suggest that Miss Jade close her joint south of the river. However, with the revelation that Mr. Salerno is operating two additional spots outside of the agreed-upon area, it seems only fair for Mr. Salerno to close one location—whichever one he chooses—and you both get to keep your one additional spot that was outside the bounds of the original agreement.”
Salerno stood up again. “Unacceptable I—”
“What would you have me do, Mr. Salerno?” The alderman was getting angry now. “We are not going back to the days of Capone and gunning people down in the street. Not in my part of the city. We’re businesspeople, not animals.”
Salerno stopped then sank back into his chair, a strange gleam in his eye. “No, no,” he said slowly, “we can’t have that. I’ll close the joint on Elm.”
“Good, it’s settled then,” Davis said. He made to get up.
“What about Freddie, boss?” the fridge said.
Salerno held up a hand. “It’s alright, Brick. Freddie’s a big boy. He can handle himself. If he got beat, well, I’m sure he got beat fair and square.” He glared at Frank.
Frank glared back.
Davis stood up. So did Caroline. They shook hands. Salerno turned and left without acknowledging the other two.
Davis sighed. “I hope he’s not going to be trouble.”
“You can count on it,” Caroline said.
***
Frank and Caroline parked in the dark alley off Franklin. A quick knock on the door and both were ushered inside the back entrance to Caroline’s main joint, down a short hallway, and directly into the back office. Frank deposited himself into a chair while Caroline put a manicured fingernail between the blinds and surveyed her kingdom.
Out in the smoke-filled room the gambling was going strong despite the time: past 2 A.M. and getting later by the second, though no one on the floor showed signs of slowing down. Well-dressed men and women filled the place, all decked in suits and dresses and wielding wallets and purses full of cash. The lucky added more. The unlucky lost some. The really unlucky and degenerate ripped the pearls from their necks to plunk down on the table. Groans of despair mixed with giggles of delight. The air was thick with smoke. Cigars smoldered here and there but most burned through cigarettes with a passion. There was a drink at every elbow. In the corner, a foursome played jazz and blues.
Caroline sat behind the desk and poured them a drink. Frank knocked back the whisky. Caroline sipped.
“I don’t think Salerno’s going to stay quiet for long,” Frank said.
Caroline shook her head, her dark curls bouncing. “You can count on it. The man’s a fool. How bad did you rough up Freddie?”
“Hospital.”
“Not the morgue?”
“No.”
“That’s something.”
“I know my business.”
“You do. It’s going to be ugly one way or another unless Salerno’s got him on a tight leash. Hospital, he comes back for revenge. Morgue, you start a war.”
“You think Salerno’s going to close down the place?”
“Not a chance.”
A series of short taps at the door interrupted. Frank checked the door then unlocked it.
A man in a navy worsted suit with a sharp nose and deep-set eyes stuck his head in. “We got a problem upstairs.”
Frank got up. “I’ll go.”
“You may want to come to, boss,” the man said.
Caroline followed Frank out and they both followed the man in the navy suit along the wall toward a door where a man stood guard. He let them through and they climbed the stairs to the second floor and exited into a long hallway with doors on either side. Halfway down, outside one of the doors a strawberry-blonde straight out of the Iowa cornfields was sitting on the floor crying softly. She wore stockings and little else. A big beefy man was standing guard in front of the closed door through which bangs and muffled shouting could be heard.
Caroline rushed over. “Cassidy, are you alright? Frank, get her a robe or something. Was he rough with you?”
The girl nodded. She had strong but fetching features that were marred by tears and a deepening bruise over one eye.
Caroline stood up. “Open it, Bill.”
Bill unlocked the door.
“About time! What kind of place are you people running here? Do you know who I am? You can’t keep a guy locked up like this. What’re you, her replacement? You’re too told, you hag. Give me another young girl.”
The john was approaching fifty, his slicked black hair was disheveled, and he was down to an undershirt and briefs. His narrow eyes made him look like a rat. A rat in a cage.
“I’m warning you. I paid good money. Get me another young girl. I don’t want some old cow like you.”
Caroline smirked but spoke soothingly. “No problem, sir. Pleasure is our business here. Come on, now,” she indicated the bed, “sit down and let’s not worry about poor Cassidy out there. I’m sure she had it coming. These young hussies don’t know who they’re dealing with.” She sat him down. “I know you’re not interested in me. That’s just fine. We’re here to please you. Let me give you a back rub while we get another girl who’s more to your liking. Sound good? Great.”
She climbed on the bed behind him.
“I guess it’s a start but you’re gonna have to do better than this. It’s like that bitch doesn’t speak English. I told her what I wanted and she’s giving me the run around. Is that guy going to watch?” He pointed at Frank in the doorway. “This ain’t a peep show, pal. Jesus, I’d like to have a word with the guy who runs this place.”
“You’re talking to her.”
Caroline grabbed a fistful of hair and pressed the stiletto under his chin. “I wouldn’t move. This won’t kill you but you won’t like it. You know what I hate about guys like you? You think you own the world. You walk around with your fancy degree—maybe you’re a doctor, maybe you’re a lawyer, or the county judge, or a stock broker—and you think that the world is bought and paid for. And you think when you come in here that you’re a customer. But you’re wrong. You’re a pig and this is the slaughterhouse. Oh, calm down, I'm not going to kill you. You come in here and I, the humble butcher, bleed you dry of your wads of cash, daddy’s money and your stocks and bonds. And my weapon of choice? Vice. And you know what else? I don’t like johns hitting my girls. They come here under no debt or obligation because I run a clean joint and they make good money and I make good money but I also see them like the daughters I never had, all grown up and a little wayward but flesh and blood nonetheless. So I don’t—” she pulled hard on his hair, “like it—” yank “when you—” yank “hit them.”
Caroline knocked him on the head with the pommel of the stiletto and pushed him to the floor. “Throw him out with the trash. Use the back exit. No need to spook the paying customers.”
Frank and Bill trundled in. Frank struck the john across the face with the butt of his pistol and they grabbed him by the arms and dragged him out and down the hall.
Caroline slipped the tiny knife back between her cleavage and went down the hall to the girls’ dressing room to check on Cassidy.
The girl, now swathed in a white cotton robe, was lying on the couch with a steak over one eye.
“You alright, hun?” Caroline said.
Cassidy nodded.
“Let’s see.”
She removed the steak. The redness above her eye was going down but was being replaced by a deep blue mark.
“You’ll be alright. Take whatever time you need. You can hang around here if you like or I can have Frank drive you home.”
“I wanna go home.”
“Alright. Get dressed and Bill will bring you down and out the back.”
“Thanks, Miss Jade.”
“Sure, hun.”
An hour later, Frank came into the office. Caroline was sitting at the desk counting stacks of money: the night’s take. She didn’t look up but said, “Who was the john?”
“Some railroad guy, judging by his papers.”
Caroline nodded. “I wasn’t far off.”
“What’s the take?”
“I’m not done counting yet. Couple thousand at least.”
The blinds were open. Out on the casino floor, a lone man was sweeping the floor. The band was gone. The customers too, some richer, some poorer.
“Kicked some ass, tonight, babe.”
“That I did,” Caroline said with a wry smile. “You did too, I noticed. Twice even.”
“Not too bad for a night’s work. Why don’t we go home and you can show me what’s under that dress.” His eyes wrinkled at the corners as he smiled wide and popped the hat onto his head.
“Don’t count your chickens,” Caroline said, getting up and flicking the brim of his hat.
***
“Anything else I can get you, ma’am?”
The Midnight Café was nearly empty again the next night. Caroline sat in her usual spot. A couple nuzzled each other over their coffees across the way. A man read the paper by the window. Outside a guy in a white suit, hat pulled low, walked past the window, glanced inside at the door, thought better of it, turned the corner, and went past the other window.
“No thanks, Bert.”
Caroline sipped her coffee. It was hot, really hot, the way she liked it. She had Bert bring it nearly to boiling before he put the cream in.
A Packard screamed around the corner and screeched to a halt.
Frank got out and came barreling through the door like he was trying to bowl over an offensive lineman and expected resistance.
He was out of breath. “Thank God I found you. Alderman Davis is dead.”
“Salerno?”
“It’s a good bet.”
Over Frank’s shoulder like deja vu Caroline saw the man in the white suit walk past the window, turn the corner, and go past the other corner.
“Down!” she screamed as two cars pulled up at the corner, windows down, and started pumping lead through the windows of the café.
The café erupted in a cacophony of pinging bullets and shattering glass. Caroline felt Frank push her around the corner of the bar. He appeared around the corner on hands and knees, gun in hand.
Then, the firing stopped.
A blast rang out from behind the counter.
Bert was standing, shot gun in hand, firing out the shattered windows at the retreating cars. A second blast and screeching tires and all was still.
“Bert! You’re bleeding,” Caroline said.
Bert, standing over them, looked at his right shoulder. “Ah, so I am.” He shrugged. “Didn’t even feel it. I had worse in the war.”
A soft, pathetic moaning emanated from the other side of the bar in the direction of the couple that had been sitting there opposite Caroline. She watched as Frank got to his feet, Colt .45 in hand, and peered over the top of the bar.
“They’re gone, sir,” Bert said.
“Yeah,” Frank said, “but are they gone for good?”
“Your guess is as good as mine, sir.”
Frank helped Caroline to her feet. “We gotta get out of here.”
“Go on, ma’am. I’ll be alright,” Bert said with a grim smile.
She smiled apologetically. “Thanks, Bert.”
On the way out they passed the couple on the floor. The man was tending to the woman who was bleeding from the leg and groaning softly. The man at the window was dead, face down on the newspaper.
Frank charged out the door in front of Caroline, pistol in hand. He checked up and down the street and across the intersection then motioned for her to follow.
The streets were eerily quiet after the explosion of noise from the guns. The sound of whizzing bullets and screeching tires seemed to echo around the streets. Or maybe it was just in her ears.
Frank opened the back door of the Packard. “Come on. Hurry up,” he said insistently.
Caroline glanced around one last time, looking everywhere, sure the man in the white suit hadn’t been a coincidence, sure that he was going to spring out of the shadows in the alley across the street or out of the pavement itself and level a gun at her.
She got in the car, her heart still pounding and pulled up her dress to place the .22 back in the holster. Her hand came up wet. She was bleeding from some unseen, unfelt wound on her leg. She didn’t remember getting hit. Maybe it was from broken china on the floor. She focused on the blood, on trying to remember the attempt on her life and she cursed herself for being naïve enough to think that Salerno wouldn’t try something so soon, wouldn’t go heavy right away.
“Slow down. No one’s chasing us.”
The engine noise diminished slightly.
“I’d like to get my hands on Salerno,” Frank growled. He snorted. “They scattered like rats from a sinking ship. Didn’t even have the courage to wait and see the job was done properly.”
“For once I’m grateful.”
They drove on, straight for a while toward the outskirts of the city. Frank took a couple turns then pulled up in front of a dark two-story house in a quiet neighborhood. A single street lamp burned fifty feet away.
Caroline looked around skeptically.
“It’s the new place you told me to get. Something quiet and out of the way.”
“Right. Let’s go.”
Inside, Caroline settled at the small kitchen table, square with four chairs. It was a plain house. Nothing special. The wallpaper was new, a subdued yellow with flashes of blue. Frank knew her well, but the half-dozen mattresses she spotted in the living room on the way in told her some of what Frank had in mind for the place. You need mattresses for soldiers. You need soldiers for war.
Frank closed the icebox. “Sorry, no ice.” He set the whisky down in front of her and one on the opposite side of the table for him.
She jerked her head in the direction of the living room. “Planning for trouble?”
Frank turned his rugged face downward and put a hand on the back of his neck. “Yeah, what can I say? I’m a suspicious guy.” He looked at her. His eyes narrowed. “What’s the matter?”
Caroline grimaced, more annoyed than in pain. “My leg. It got cut somehow at Bert’s.” She put her foot up on the empty chair. Frank got down on one knee to examine the cut.
“Hmm,” he said with a grin that cracked his leathery face ear to ear, “we’re gonna have to take the leg.”
Caroline rolled her eyes. “Stop it. Do you have any antiseptic?”
“I’ll see what I can find in the bathroom.”
Caroline sipped the whisky and listened to Frank rummage in the bathroom down the hall, banging drawers open and shut.
“Nothing doing. But I’ve got a clean handkerchief that’ll work for now.”
He tied the burgundy handkerchief around her ankle and pulled tight.
“Thanks. You get some sleep. I gotta go take care of something.”
Frank was more puzzled than shocked. “What?”
“I gotta take care of something.”
“You can’t go back out there, not until we figure out what we’re doing next. Salerno just tried to kill you.”
Caroline stood up, looking up into his rough, seamed face despite her heels. “He doesn’t know where I am and I’m not going anywhere he’ll find me. I will be fine.”
“What are you going to do? Is this about Salerno?”
“Yeah, it’s about him. I gotta go see someone. But I don’t want this person getting spooked.”
“At least let me drive you.” He was pleading now.
She put a hand on his chest. “I will be fine. I was running around taking care of myself long before I found you, or you found me.”
“Yeah, but you weren’t getting shot at back then.”
She smiled, small and wry. “That you know of.”
“I’m not going to talk you out of this?”
She shook her head.
“Just be careful.”
“I’ll be fine.”
He put a kiss on her forehead.
She grabbed the car keys from the table and walked out of the house, aware of the slight burning and the tension of the handkerchief on her leg.
She drove the Packard east until she hit Halstead then turned south.
Stopped at the next light, a shadowy figure emerged from the corner and approached the car. The mass of beard and hair held out a hat and peered through the window. He smiled his most polite smile.
Caroline looked at the light. Still red.
He was still looking at her. He glanced in the back of the car, then looked back at her. His polite smile changed to a leer as he tried to open the door.
Caroline smiled back and pulled the .22 from its holster, pointing the business end directly at the center of the man’s grimy face. He threw his hands up and cowered and, as the light turned, Caroline hit the gas.
She put the gun on the passenger seat and kept driving for over a mile until she got to Bridgeport, a neighborhood just southwest of downtown Chicago. She parked in front of a one-story house with wide brick steps leading up to the front door, a stonework facade, and latticed windows.
The light inside the front window, visible through the curtains, made the house look cozy in the early morning light. She mounted the steps and rang the bell. It was just a moment before the door was opened by an elderly woman in pajamas and a bathrobe. She was about seventy, with gray hair, and a thin face. Her small eyes darted around as if looking to see whether or not Caroline was alone.
“Hello, Mrs. Carmichael. Do you remember me?”
“How could I forget? Well, don’t stand on the step all day. Come in.”
Caroline followed Mrs. Carmichael inside, through the tiny living room, and into the kitchen.
Mrs. Carmichael busied herself at the stove.
“I hope I didn’t wake you.”
Mrs. Carmichael waved a hand over her shoulder. “I don’t sleep so good these days. I was already up. Coffee?”
“Please.”
Caroline was dying for some coffee. It had been a long night.
Mrs. Carmichael poured the beans she had been grinding into the pot of water already boiling on the stove and stirred.
Neither woman said anything as the coffee brewed. Mrs. Carmichael kept her back to Caroline.
Once she tired of looking at the thin woman’s faded pink robe, Caroline cast her eyes around the modest kitchen. There were jars of nuts and roasted chickpeas on the counter, a small spice rack in the corner. The icebox was still the old style. The icemen were becoming less and less common. The floor, a blue and white pattern, had a few cracked tiles. The lace curtains over the window above the kitchen sink looked like they could use a dusting.
Mrs. Carmichael finished her stirring and poured a cup of water into the boiling pot then brought two mugs to the table and poured coffee into each.
“The cold water makes the grounds fall to the bottom. It’s how we used to make coffee when I was little. Makes a good cup. I don’t go in for those kettles they have these days. Sugar? The cream’s from yesterday.”
“Both please.”
Mrs. Carmichael sighed as she sat down opposite Caroline. She gulped the steaming coffee like it was going to be her last then finally asked the question. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m calling in a favor.”
Mrs. Carmichael nodded. “Ah. That. I didn’t actually think you’d be back. Figured you’d get yourself in trouble and come to a sticky end. You always were a dangerous sort and the way you handled Arthur, well…”
“I’m very much alive and well. I nearly came to a sticky end last night. About that.” Caroline leaned back in the chair. “I’ve recently learned that Robert, your little Robert who I remember as a boy of twelve or fifteen, he’s been running with the Salerno crew.”
The old woman cast her eyes down, like something about her coffee was suddenly interesting. She shrugged. “I wouldn’t know anything about it. I don’t see Robert much anymore.”
“I think you suspect more than you let on.”
She shook her head. “He’s not getting in any trouble.”
“A mother would say that. He’s in with a tough crowd, running with people like me. If you send him to me, I’ll make it worth his while, get him enough money that he can leave. Maybe buy you guys a nice quiet place out in Los Angeles. Lovely weather out there. Alice, your husband was a bastard and I was happy to help you. Now you owe me. I don’t care if you didn’t think I’d ever come back. Here I am. Like the Grim Reaper, I always turn up sooner or later.”
“What do you want?” She was resigned.
“Send him to me. I have a joint at Franklin and Grand. Tell him to ask for me by name. They’ll let him in. Most people don’t know my name or that I own the place. Then he helps me. After that, we’re square. I’ll never bother you again.”
“But why Robert? Can’t you find someone else?”
“Because he’ll listen to his mother and because you owe me.”
Mrs. Carmichael nodded slowly. “I can’t make him do what you want.”
“I know. That’s my problem once he comes to me. Everything up until that point is on you. Do we have a deal?”
Alice Carmichael raised her eyes for the first time in minutes and looked straight at Caroline. “Yes. We have a deal.”
“Good,” Caroline said, getting up. “Send him to me today.”
“I—I don’t know where he is. How can I possibly contact him?”
Caroline sat back down, reached across the table, and took Mrs. Carmichael’s hand. It was thin and bony, worn by care and age.
“This is important, Alice. You and I, we’re connected by a bond, the bond of what I did for you. That was important to you, right?”
Alice nodded.
“This is important to me just like that. It’s about survival. You understand then why it’s important that you send your son to me today.”
She hesitated. “I’ll do my best.”
“Good. That’s all I ask. Franklin and Grand. Send him,” Caroline said, and left.
***
Robert Carmichael sat down opposite Caroline. He was thin, all hard bony angles. He resembled his mother strongly, except for his eyes which were deep set and heavily lidded.
“You summoned me.”
It was a statement, not a question, thrown out in an almost haughty manner.
Caroline didn’t rise to the bait.
“I did. I saw your mother this morning. She seems well.”
No reaction from the kid.
“We were quite close when I was younger. I suppose you don’t remember me all that much. You were pretty young the last time I saw you. I left and hadn’t been back for a long time.”
“No, I remember you, Caroline. Caroline Jade.” There was a wistful note in his voice, a tenor with a hard edge. “I had quite a thing for you. I think every guy in the neighborhood fell for you at one time or another. Kind of a right of passage. You’ve come a long way.”
“I have, though we all have to start somewhere.”
“So why am I here?”
Caroline raised an eyebrow. She reached toward the desk and picked up the silver cigarette case lying there. She stood up and leaned across the desk to offer Robert a cigarette, holding the pose for a second longer than necessary. She sat back down and plucked a cigarette for herself which Frank, hovering by the door, duly lit. She took a long drag then exhaled, holding the cigarette in her right hand and leaning back in the chair. She crossed her legs.
“Gino Salerno tried to kill me last night. I know that. You know that. We had a pretty kosher relationship, me and Gino. He had his turf, I had mine. The politicians and the judges and the police got their cut. Everybody was happy. And he had to go and ruin it. Now, chaos. The trouble is, I got my start in chaos, so I’m happier than a pig in—well, you get the picture.
“Now, I can’t have people trying to kill me. It’s bad for my health. Which is where you,” she pointed at him with the cigarette, “come in.”
It took only a moment for the realization to hit home. “You want me to kill Gino.”
“You’re a smart boy. You always were. And you’re good to your mother, even though she’d like you to call more often. You really should. Children shouldn’t neglect their mothers. But, back to the point. I want you to kill Gino Salerno and I’ll pay you. Say, ten thousand dollars?”
Robert laughed, short, bitter. The sound died halfway up his throat. He ran a hand through his hair. “You’re crazy. Get myself killed for ten thousand? No way. You’re out of your mind. If that’s all, I’m going to leave now. Nice to see you, Caroline. Still looking great by the way.” He winked.
Frank put a hand on Robert’s shoulder and forced him back into the chair.
“Not so fast, lover boy. Listen to what the lady’s got to say.”
“You bed her?” Robert said to Frank.
Frank looked hard at him, then smiled with genuine mirth. “I did what all the boys back in Bridgeport couldn’t, if that’s what you mean.”
“Put it back in your pants, both of you. And Robert, be so good as to listen to my offer, my entire offer.”
Robert sat and looked at her with a half-bored expression.
“Good. Thank you. So, as I was saying, I will pay you ten thousand dollars to kill Gino Salerno. You can do it. You can pay someone else to do it, I don’t care. Gino, dead. That’s it. The other part of the offer is going to make the first part sound really good. And the second part is this: Frank here is going to make sure you don’t leave here until you agree to the first part. If you don’t agree, you don’t leave. If you agree and we let you leave and you don’t do it, I pay a visit to your mother. She’s a lovely woman and I’d hate for anything to happen to her. To make myself perfectly clear, I’ll start with her house and then, if that’s not motivating enough for you, I’ll move on to her. Not so bored now, huh? It’s okay to hate me but understand, I don’t enjoy being this cruel. I’ve just come to realize what’s necessary, what the occasion calls for. And in this case, desperate times call for extreme measures. Ask Salerno. He’d understand.
“And I know, the Salerno crew will be looking for you if you pull this off but I’m sure ten thousand will be more than enough to set yourself and your mother up in California or South America or wherever you want to go. That’s your business. I don’t run a travel agency.”
Robert sat there for a second, seeming to retreat behind his deep-set eyes. Then he looked up at Frank beside him. “She mean that, big man?”
“Yeah.”
Robert nodded slowly to himself. His mouth was tight. “I hate being backed into a corner.” He extended a hand across the desk and helped himself to another cigarette. He put it to his mouth. His hand was shaking.
Frank lit the cigarette.
“You know,” Robert said, finding something on his pants leg to pick at, “I’ve never killed anyone. I might mess it up.”
“There’s a first time for everything,” Caroline said with a smile of steel. “You’ll get over it. Oh, and time is of the essence. You have two days.”
Robert got up. He dashed the cigarette in the ashtray. “So long, Miss Jade. Next time I see you, I’ll be ten thousand dollars richer. Oh, and if you don’t pay up, I’ll put a hole through your pretty face. I’ll be a hardened killer by then so don’t think I won’t do it, even if I did love you once.”
“I don’t doubt it, Robert.”
He eyeballed Frank on his way out. The door slammed shut.
***
The headline read North Side Racketeer Slain.
Caroline squinted at the picture. It didn’t look much like Salerno but the papers couldn’t print any closeups. They still had some standards.
She sipped her coffee, feet up on the desk, dress askew, in a position for which her mother would have scolded her. Since the Midnight Café was closed for repairs and the streets were still unsafe, Caroline was forced to have her late night coffee in the back office at the Franklin joint. The music from the gambling room trickled into the office despite the closed door. She looked around the room. Desk, chairs, coat stand, cork board with a calendar and bits of paper, a filing cabinet. Nothing opulent or extravagant. Nothing that was hers. She felt sometimes that she had molded herself to fit the room rather than the other way around. Her lifestyle had a way of doing that.
The doorknob jiggled and her hand instinctively went to the .22 on her thigh.
Frank came in and pulled off his hat and coat.
Caroline put her feet back on the floor and sat up.
“Well?”
“Salerno’s number two wants to talk.”
“Good. Sounds like he’s got more sense than his former boss.”
“And there’s one more thing. The kid ate it while trying to escape.”
Caroline arched an eyebrow. “Hazards of the trade. Still, he came through.”
“And the money?”
“Pay his mother. I’ll give you her address. You can deliver it. I’m guessing she won’t want to see me ever again.”
“You’re still going to pay her? That’s ten grand.”
“What am I if I don’t keep my word? If I don’t I’ll have nothing left but brute force and that’s not what got me here. Pay her.” There was ice in her voice.
“You got it.” Frank shuffled his feet. “We’ll have to arrange a suitable place for the meeting. Salerno’s people aren’t to be trusted.”
“I’m sure you will sort out the details.”
Frank grinned. “And I appreciate your trust.” He held out his arm. “Now, Miss Jade, how about a little five card stud?”
Caroline got to her feet gracefully, like an uncoiling lynx, and took his arm. “Alright, Mr. Bishop,” she said, smiling all the way up to her eyes. “But I have to warn you. The house always wins.”
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, strictly a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance, perceived resemblance, or similarity to any other fictional works, to actual events or persons, living or dead, and any perceived slights of people, places, or organizations are products of the reader’s imagination. This fiction is the result of a partnership between a human writer and the character(s) he accessed with his creative subconscious as he raced through the story with them. No AI of any kind, generative or otherwise, was used in any way to write this story.
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Great story! Like the good hard-boiled ones of yesteryear they make me long for cigarettes and dark corners.