Chapter Two - Pete Grappler P.I.

Pete and Sam check out the rich husband and come up with some goods on him - then disaster strikes - in several ways...

 

 

Chapter 2

 

(soaring speakeasy music, Sam " play it again)…

 

Cyrus Longbottom.  Scion of one of Chicago’s richest families.. down by the river yet … and a pillar of the community.  Ate lunch with Mayor Fealy just about every week, and I can figure the business they discussed over those little sandwiches…. not much honesty going around in politics these days.. everybody was on the take, and good ol’ Cyrus and Mayor Fealy seemed to spend a hell of a lot of time together.. including the odd trip to Belle DeNuit’s salon and a few meetings with some of the less salubrious characters around town…. I guess they just needed somewhere a little private for their afternoon chats….

 

This meeting had a few of the more interesting personages around town, Little Al, Big Augie, Fishbuckets Scapione … to mention just a couple, so Ol’ Cyrus was into something over his long white neck, though he looked pretty pleased as he climbed aboard his custom Packard Twin Six, man, that was a set of wheels, and Ol’ Cyrus was carrying a pretty heavy looking carpet bag as he left.

 

Cynthia Longbottom was right to suspect Cyrus … hell … he was about twice her age.. and the story on the street was that Cynthia came from a family that built cars for Mr Ford.. so Cyrie boy was happy to spend his afternoons whiling away his time at DeNuit’s.. as long as his little woman at home was happy and he kept bringing home the mezuzelah..or so he thought.

 

Well , Sam and I knew different now … one whole day on the job, and we had Ol’ Cyrus pretty pegged.  Question was … how to catch him with his pants down, so to speak.. and hand sweet Cynthia her divorce all wrapped up in dollar bills with a little cut on the side for Sam and me, of course.. for our good work….

 

I had no illusions that there would be any future for Cynthia and I … hell … I was a broken-down near thirty year old private dick with a couple of love marks from Kraut bullets at the Argonne.. she would soon be Mrs Rich Divorced.. and she wouldn’t be giving me much more than a cup of coffee.. if that..

 

But hey .. this was some broad, you know… and a man can always have a little dream… just for a while before he gets back to the daily grind of being ground into the dirt of a Chicago sidewalk along with the trash on the streets….

 

Sam looked a little distracted as we were about to leave after staking out Belle’s joint, so I put him to the question…

 

“What’s on your mind, Sam?”

 

“Not sure, Mr Pete …I sorta think I want to look into a little somethin’ extra here … just to set mah mind at rest.  Ain’t no-thin’,  just somethin’ bugging me ‘bout that Cyrus fella…”

 

“Spit it out, Sam.  We been together a long time now … come on, ‘fess up … or do I have ta put the rubber truncheons on ya?  Just kiddin’!  An’ " ah "you can cut out that MR crap!”

 

“Yeah " I know " if’n ye don’t mind, Pete " I’d rathers keep it ter myself fer a while.. just ‘til I feel sure?  OK?”

 

“Sure thing, Sam!  I trust you like a brother, you know that… let me know what you figure out!  Now I’d better get back to the office and wait for Cynthia ... Mrs Longbottom, that is … to call for an update on MR Longbottom!”

 

“Yeah, Pete”, said Sam with that look, “CYNTHIA’d sure want you to be on time there!”

 

“Don’t rub it in Sam " she’s one hell of a broad.. you can see that.. and I’m just workin’ for her, you know!”

 

“I know…I know " ‘pends on what you mean by ‘working for’ " lotsa ways ‘bout dat dere!”…

 

“OK, Sam " ya got me " I’ll keep it strictly professional!  See ya at the club later.. I’m buyin’ the drinks!  I figure we can celebrate a little!”

 

“Sure thing, Mr Pete " see ya then!”…

 

That was the last time I ever saw Sam, as he walked away that evening " except on a cold cold slab down at St James Mortuary….. I guess this drink in my hand is for his wake.. here’s to you, Sam…. and another one to follow it down, thanks, Armand " and here’s to you, too……but that was later.. right now I had to get back to my office, take that call, and maybe meet up with MRS Longbottom for that G note in retainer money " otherwise no way would I be buying the drinks tonight… my tab at Luigi’s already hit its glass ceiling.

 

She rang right on time .. she was that sort of broad.. no matter that she had hillbilly grandparents and upbringing and had never seen a telephone before in her life, before MR Longbottom, that is. She was the type who always played it like the lady of the manor… and did it well, too!  I guess looks and money kinda help there.

 

So I filled her in.. not exactly the kind of filling in that was going through my mind ... just business like I’d promised Sam, and she was pretty pleased.  Pleased enough to send a Western Union boy over with a slim envelope for me " a G retainer plus one day’s work.. a cool 1500 bucks courtesy of Mr Longbottom’s bank account " enough to make Old Ma Grappler’s little boy pretty pleased for a while… Sam and I…Sam, yeah.. Sam and I would be painting the town red tonight.. when we met up at the speakeasy.. and he was having the night off.

 

*     *     *

 

Sam walked away from Pete, keeping his thoughts to himself.  That was a secret about being in the information business … keep it in your pocket until someone wanted it enough to part with the ready for it.  Not that he was looking to shake Pete down … just that there was something at the back of his mind that wouldn’t go away., and he wanted to get it straight before letting Pete in on it.

 

Well, he’d soon know.  He had spotted that young guy, kinda leaning against the wall across the way from Miz Belle’s joint, and acting for all the world like he was just hanging around with nothing to do on a cool night.. too cool for that kind of thing.  Sam was sure going to find out what that boy was up to, so he stayed out of sight while the guy strolled off, casual as you can be, as if nothing was going on…

 

Didn’t take too long, neither.  That dude just walked on down the block a little and straight to a parked Ford, black of course, and opened the door to get in. The driver

struck up a cigarette lighter, and took the time to light two cigarettes, giving Sam time enough to see who it was.

 

Mrs Longbottom!  Now what the hell would she be doing out here, with that dude, and’ keeping an eye on Mr Longbottom when she already had Pete an’ me on the job?

 

Sam wrote down the licence plate on a speakeasy flyer he had in his pocket, and wrote Cynthia next to it in big letters, and put it away in his pocket inside his jacket.

 

He watched as the car started up and drove off around the corner, then headed off to Pete’s office, his mind in a whirl over what this could all mean.  He had his mind on the job all right, enough so he thought nothing of another car coming up behind him on that near empty street….

 

*     *     *

 

I was sitting in my office at 11 pm … no Sam at the speakeasy where I’d paid out my tab with a C note, so I came back and brought a bottle with me, figuring he’d show up somewhere soon.  The phone rang, and it was my old friend who loved to hate me, Lieutenant Kincaid down at the Black Maria home base.  We went back a ways, Jimmy Kincaid and I , and he hated my guts with a vengeance, especially after I’d solved that serial dog napping case from Waterloo Heights that had the upper class in an uproar and baying for the police to stop it.

 

“Hi, Jimmy boy!  How’s things down there at Wallopersville?  Still getting in a few licks on some dumbass that can’t put up a hand to protect his face?  Still getting confessions the good old way?”

 

“That’s enough of your lip, Grappler.  We might go back a ways, but don’t push it.  I know your type and I’m watching for you!  Besides, I got some news for you, and you ain’t gonna like it!

 

Yeah, Kincaid and I went back a ways … all the way to the Argonne , where he was a clerk-n-jerk in MacArthur’s HQ while we grunts did all the heavy lifting, and the dying.

 

“Awr, Jimmy … you got some bad news for me?  What’s different?”

 

“This is REAL bad!”

 

“I figured it had to be, with you waking me up to tell me! I was just getting my beauty sleep!”

 

Kincaid was silent for a moment, and I could feel his anger growing…

 

“Look, smart mouth.  You ain’t never been to sleep before 2 am since 1919, so cut the crap! Since you’re so f*****g quick with the words, say something about this!  Your friend Sam is dead!  Automobile accident … hit and run!”.

 

Kincaid had me there, I couldn’t find a word, and I could almost hear him gloating.

 

“Now … ya got that, smart guy?  It’s worse!”

 

What… what.. my head spun round and round like that nifty little airplane on the Universal studios logo….worse?  How could it be worse?

 

“Now that I’ve got your attention, I’m gonna give it to ya straight, like ya deserve!  Someone also took the trouble to put a bullet in his head!  Whatever you were working on this time, smart-a*s, you just got your friend murdered!  I want you down at St James in fifteen minutes to identify him.  I wanna get home to bed!”

 

Now Kincaid was riding it too hard, and he knew it…I could feel my anger growing in me … Sam was dead and he wanted to get home to bed.  Yeah  …  there’ll be a day, Jimmy… there’ll be a day!

 

I grabbed my coat and hopped a lone cab cruising the streets, and gave him the address.  The driver looked at me sort of sad and funny at the same time, he knew the score with that place.

 

St James Mortuary, where the Windy City dumped all its dead people until someone came to claim them, and if nobody did, well, they just shuffled ‘em off on the next garbage scow headed East, or so I heard.  If there was no money in it, the Windy City didn’t want to know.  Wasn’t gonna happen to Sam, not while I and fifteen, make that fourteen, hundred bucks could help it.

 

I rang the night bell and a porter came out, dressed all neat in a white coat like he was some doctor.  I told him I was there to see Lew-tenant Kincaid, and he let me right in.  Yep, a little name dropping sure clears the way here!

 

Jimmy was sitting back in a chair against the wall as I came in, with a couple of blue suits with him.

 

“Well, if it ain’t my old friend, Pete Grappler.”

 

“Let’s get this over with, Kincaid, I’m not in the mood for funny business.”

 

Didn’t phase Kincaid, seemed more like he was enjoying himself.  Yeah, there’ll be a day, Seamus me lad, you’ve my word on it.  He stood up slowly and lead the way into the morgue room, and there was Sam all laid out like a Crusader on a cold white slab.  I guess someone had taken the time to pop his eyeballs back in from how the shot to the back of the head had knocked them out onto his cheekbones, so he looked almost normal for a man with a neat hole in him.

 

“Yeah”, I said, “that’s Sam, all right.  Now who did this?”  I could feel the anger beginning to boil in me.

 

Kincaid leaned back against the wall, and the two coppers took up stations near me, as Seamus me lad said,

 

“We were hoping you could tell us that.  What were you and Sam working on?”

 

“That’s confidential, Kincaid, and you know it.”

 

That riled him,

 

“And this is a murder investigation, your piece of crap!  Gimme some answers!”

 

“Get a subpoena.  Get one of your tame judges to sign it for ya.”

 

Kincaid looked at me with an unblinking stare for about thirty seconds, then it came,

 

“Sam was shot with a .32.  Where’s your piece in the hole, Grappler?”

 

Without thinking I reached down to my ankle, then stopped.  It wasn’t there, I’d loaned it to Harry for Cynthia to protect herself.  Now what, Sam was killed with a .32?”

 

My mind was spinning…fast.  I bought some time.

 

“It’s in the repair shop, Kincaid, you can check in the morning.  Harrison’s on West.  You know the place.”

 

“I know that you and Harrison are thick as thieves, and he’ll cover for you any way he can.”  He moved closer, as did the two coppers, “Now where is that gun?”

 

“I told you … Harrison’s.  Check for yourself.”  Gunshop Harry would cover for me.

 

“I will be, but meantime you’re coming downtown with us.  Nice of you to come down here, all co-operative like, saved us the trouble of looking for you.”

 

“What are you charging me with?”

 

“Nothing!  You’re just a material witness in need of protection.  That’s your best friend on that slab, and somebody killed him which looks a lot like you, and I want the truth.”

 

“You’ve got the truth, Kincaid , Sam and I were like brothers.  I didn’t kill him, but I’d sure kill anyone who tried while I was there.”

 

“As if I care.  ‘Cuff him, boys.  And no rough stuff, I don’t want him crying to one of those centre town judges about how brutal we are in the force.  Couple of those guys was officers in France, and they think they love this guy and any other old field hand trooper.”

 

I guess he said ‘field hand’ to rub it in about Sam.  Well , Armand might not forget, but then, neither do I, Jimmy, neither do I!

 

*     *     *