“We had an agreement,” he said to button-lipped Lavish Learmouth.
“I told you it’s not mine,” Lavish repeated.
“Don’t insult me with talk like that.” Morrison pulled his automatic knife, a Presto, out of his hip pocket and got to work on the lining of the overcoat. “I could have hauled you into headquarters, but I didn’t want you to suffer the embarrassment.”
Lavish turned away. He couldn’t bear to watch.
“There must be five or six dozen flasks in here, Lavish.”
“Sixty-six.” He thought he should let Morrison know right then and there that he was going to be keeping a strict inventory.
“Who’s your tailor? That Jew whose brother has the speak on Erie Street?”
Morrison removed one of the flasks from its sleeve, opened it, and took a long drag on it. Lavish protested.
“Detective!”
Morrison wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “We have a deal, Lavish: You keep the information coming and I turn a blind eye to your bootlegging activities. Our deal includes a standing appointment Friday afternoons, and you stood me up last week. And the information in previous weeks has been a little, shall we say, on the light side. And then you go and pull something like this?” Morrison was pointing at the coat.
“I’m sorry, Detective.”
“Sorry nothing. I’m confiscating this whisky. It’s good stuff too, by the way.”
“All of it?”
“All of it. Now, where did you get it? Are you doing a job for someone?”
Looking down, Lavish counted the stains on the carpet and suddenly noticed the bed had been moved. Only by about a foot. He wondered what it might be covering up. Something fresh.
“Yeah, it belongs to Jacobs — his brother, that is.”
“I heard he was moving some inventory.”
“He paid me fifty bucks and said I could keep the coat. I’m supposed to be meeting a guy in Detroit right about now.”
“A friend of yours? Is he a professional?”
“No, on both counts.”
“Forget about him then. And forget about Jacobs. Listen, I’ll give you a chance to earn it back.”
“How?”
Morrison stole another sip from the flask and took a step closer to Lavish. “I’ve been feeling a little in the dark lately, and it’s not just because of the time of year. I’ll give you two days to come across with something good for me.”
“Like what?” said Lavish, blinking.
“Start with Shorty Morand. Ask around; I want to know what he’s been up to. I’ve been hearing things. I’ll keep your shipment safely locked up here. Depending on the quality of the information you have for me, and how quickly you get it to me, determines how much of it you get back.”
“What is it about Morand?”
“I don’t know. And I can’t go poking around for no reason. He knows my habits, he knows my routine.”
Morrison pocketed a fresh flask and the two headed back downstairs. Morrison could see Lazarus helping guests with their bags, taking them out to awaiting taxis. When he returned, Morrison approached him.
“Here’s money to cover a ride home for Mr. Learmouth.” Morrison handed Lazarus a five. “Also, no one goes in that room.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ll be back tonight.” Lazarus went out to hail another taxi and Morrison turned to Lavish. “Remember: two days. If you come up with anything right away, I’ll be at my desk, shuffling paper, otherwise, leave me a message here at the hotel. I’ll be checking in regularly.”
“Got it.”
Morrison headed back through the doors and out into the cold, patting the bulge in his breast pocket. It would definitely improve the coffee at headquarters.
— Chapter 3 —
TUMBLERS
“And then Gorski brought up the Guard.”
“Jesus, Shorty.” McCloskey was standing with his back to the middle of three floor-to-ceiling, half moon–shaped windows that were squinting at Riverside Drive, one hand pressed against his forehead and the other resting on his hip. The room, which actually took up the entire third floor of the building, was empty. He was wrapping up an inspection of the refinished floor when Shorty arrived. Shorty appeared a little more anxious than usual so he had asked him to go first. So far, he wasn’t liking what he was hearing.
“You told me,” said Shorty, “to show some initiative.”
“Yeah, but more along the lines of your deal with those boys in Rouge. This is a little different. Not only does it sound like a waste of time but it’s also going to fill the boys’ heads with a bunch of nonsense.”
Shorty appealed. “Jack, you know I don’t buy into any of this bunk about the Guard, but why not let us run with this lost fortune thing for just a few days if for any other reason than to clear the air of it, and then we’ll get back to regular business and never touch it again.”
McCloskey reached in his breast pocket for his cigar case. He gave it a squeeze and it popped open. His last three White Owls. He pulled one, snipped the end with the cutter he kept tucked in his vest, then started patting his other pockets, looking for his matches. Shorty came forward with his.
“What was it you told Mud?”
McCloskey was getting the cigar going.
“I told him until Friday at midnight — and, Jack, that’s not to say we’ll turn away any business that falls in our laps in the meanwhile.”
“You’re damn right,” said McCloskey. “Show me this key again.”
Shorty handed it to McCloskey, who turned to the window and examined it closely in the northern light.
“Shorty, there isn’t a single scratch on this key.”
“So?”
“So how do you know it’s ever poked a lock?”
“Maybe the lock hasn’t been poked yet,” said Shorty. “C’mon, let me run with this, Jack.”
McCloskey returned it to Shorty. “All right, you run with it, but I want to be kept informed. And if I come across any leads I want you and the boys to follow up on, I don’t care what day or hour it is, you’re going to drop whatever it is you’re doing and get back to work.”
“Got it.”
“You can tell the gang we talked,” said McCloskey, “but this is your game. I’ve got enough on my plate right now.”
Shorty saw this as an opportunity to change the subject. He looked around. “So this is our new place?”
“Like it?” McCloskey walked out into the middle of the floor. “It still needs some work. I’ve got some guys coming back tomorrow to check the wiring before we finish the walls.”
Shorty was inspecting some of the details. “Nice,” he said.
“The previous tenants, they went under. I guess even insurance firms lose the occasional bet.”
“One too many in this case. I have a question,” said Shorty.
“Shoot.”