The Babe Ruth Deception (10 page)

“Do you propose to kidnap her?”

“Why the hell not?”

“She's of age. And you'd never do it, anyway.”

“Eliza, she's our little girl. I've got to do something, something other than physical violence. Whose side are you on?”

“Ours. Yours and mine and Violet's.” She inhaled sharply. “When was the last time you saw your friend Speed?”

“Back in December.” Pacing again, he swung his arm down at an imaginary obstacle. “That dreadful basketball game in Harlem he was staging. What a ridiculous sport. Bouncing a ball up and down a room, back and forth, back and forth.”

“Did he let on about anything like this?”

“God, no. I would have told you. And he would've told me if he knew.”

“Are you sure? Violet would be quite a catch for the Cook clan—it would complete the trip up from slavery.”

Fraser shook his head. “I don't know. I really don't know. I wonder if Speed'll have the same reaction we do.”

“What, precisely, is that reaction?”

“I'd say that's pretty obvious.”

“No, Jamie. After the rage, the disbelief, the fear.” He stopped and looked at her. She was more collected. “We need to know what each of us is thinking.”

His pacing resumed. “That if they persist in this . . . this . . . this dalliance, they'll become the targets of hateful people who'll want to hurt them. Yes, have it your way, that there are lines in the world. That this single ill-considered decision will ruin their lives, shrink Violet's world forever.... What she can do, where she can go, who she can know. Shrink it beyond what it's already shrunk to with her leg. And that's if the romance is successful. The world just isn't ready for a Negro and a white girl to be married. I don't care who they are. Look how they hounded Jack Johnson, that Negro fighter!” He stopped again and spoke to the window. “And I'm sure as hell not ready for it.”

Eliza, lids drooping over eyes growing moist, said softly, “You're right. This is all from that wretched bomb. She thinks this Negro is the best she can do now that she's a—now that she limps.” Again, she shaded her eyes with a hand. “Lord, Jamie, will we ever be done with the Cooks?”

He sat down. The silence stretched between them. Suddenly he felt exhausted. “We need to think about what we're going to do. She said she'd be out late, that we shouldn't wait up.”

Eliza stood and walked to his chair. She took his hands. “You go to bed. I'll talk to her.”

“I'm supposed to trot off and go to sleep? Like it's just any night?”

“Let me do this. I've had longer to get used to this idea. It'll be easier for her if it's just one of us. It won't seem like we're ganging up on her.”

“I'm her father. I have to do something.”

“It'll be easier for her to talk to me than to her father. You know how she idolizes you.”

Fraser stood and they embraced absently. He took his glass to the cabinet and poured himself two fingers worth, then a third. After a swallow he turned to Eliza. “Do you think she loves him?”

Eliza's face fell into a vacant-looking fatigue. “She must think she does. Maybe she does. Not that it matters.” They stayed in silence for several moments, lost in their thoughts.

“You know, Joshua probably saved Violet's life that day,” Fraser said. “She may still see him as her savior, now her savior a second time when she feels so damaged, after that bastard Keswick left her high and dry. But this will bring so much more trouble than good.”

Eliza put a hand along his cheek. “Her father, you know, fell in love with someone who brought a fair amount of trouble with her.”

He bowed his head so their foreheads touched. “Don't,” he murmured, watching her eyes. It sneaked up on him, how much he felt, how he wanted to protect her. Not that he ever could. Or that she needed it. “You need to tell her that this must end. No romance with Joshua Cook. If you won't tell her that, then I'm staying.”

She kissed his lips. “Go to bed, Jamie.”

S
piffed up for a night in Harlem, Joshua parked next to the Brooklyn warehouse. After stepping away from the car, he turned to admire it in the dusky light. It was only a Ford. In his business, it was better not to be too flashy. But it was
his
car. The old man had never owned one. At the rate he was going, he never would.

Joshua turned to the warehouse.
His
warehouse. He liked every part of that, too. Even better than the car, to tell the truth. It felt substantial. As did tonight's expected load of rum. There was a new supplier out past the three-mile limit, a guy who operated out of the Bahamas and claimed to carry premium rum. They were planning to lift some of his product from some dopes out on Long Island's south shore. Joshua used his key on the side door.

“Evening, Mr. Cook.” The watchman called over from his desk at the main entrance. He gave a salute at the brim of his cap. Cecil had insisted they hire a guard, though Joshua couldn't figure out why. This worn-out relic wasn't going to shoot it out with any cops who were suddenly seized with a passion for enforcing Prohibition. Nor was he going to confront competitors who might want to steal from Joshua. A lone guard would have to be crazy to try either. Joshua shrugged mentally. Maybe he kept the neighborhood kids away. Not that he'd ever seen any kids in the neighborhood.

Cecil, wearing workman's clothes, sat in the office at the sorry-looking table, its gouges glinting with the colors it previously was painted. Cecil leaned back and grinned. “If it ain't the playboy of the western world!”

Joshua threw his gloves on the table. He gave his partner a level look.

Cecil whacked the table with his open palm and smacked his lips. “Sure do likes me some of the white meat, boss. Sho' 'nuf, you knows I do.”

Joshua stared a while longer. “I might expect that kind of horseshit from ignorant street niggers or from crackers, but not from you. Don't keep on like that—you know what's good for you.”

Cecil sprang from his chair. Joshua didn't flinch. “So what's that, what's good for me, boss? Is it good for me to be hooked up with some high-yaller big shot who's lost his head over a white girl? 'Cause I'm here to tell you that doesn't feel so good.” Cecil stepped closer and pointed a finger at Joshua. “Don't you get it? Nobody likes you sashaying around with Miss Princess Blondie. The Jew boys don't like it. The greasers don't like it. The mick cops sure as hell don't like it. And I'm the guy who gets to hear about how no one likes it, and let me tell you, I'm hearing it a lot. And, you know what? I don't like it either.”

Joshua forced a smile to his lips and nodded his head. “Okay. Now I've heard it. Again.” He gripped Cecil's elbow with his left hand. Cecil turned back to his seat. “What happened? Why this now?”

“You know that bastard Hanlon, over at the Greenpoint precinct house?”

“Sure. Gave him his envelope, what, two days back.”

“He dropped in, maybe an hour ago. Had that giant guy with him, the one with the lazy eye?”

“Yeah. Dumb as he looks, which ain't easy.”

“Hanlon said he was up at the Plantation Club the other night, saw you there. With your little friend.”

Joshua smiled and took the chair across from Cecil. “Damnation. Never occurred to me that paying off the cops would make them so uppity. A police sergeant like Hanlon could never afford that joint without our money.”

“No fooling. Listen, you got to know that girl's bad for business. If having her on your arm makes the cops stop taking our money, then we got no business at all.”

Joshua pursed his lips and leaned back. “I know it. But if that's the price, I'll pay it. You want me to buy you out, get away from this, say the word. I'll figure out a way.” They both knew that the only way Joshua could buy Cecil out was to go to the shylocks. That wasn't a real way. He'd never dig out, would probably end up working for someone else. That meant the only actual way for both of them was for Cecil to stick around.

Cecil took a quick breath and sat forward. “Not yet. But maybe soon.”

Joshua nodded, noticing how quick his heart rate was. He worked to keep his tone even. “Anything else on your mind?”

“Everything, my friend. Goddamned everything.” Cecil reached over to a small side table where a hot plate held a scarred coffee pot. He poured the brown liquid into a saucerless cup.

“You drink from that? Cup looks putrid.”

“Looks better than any I used in France.”

While Cecil sipped, Joshua went over and poured one, too. He sniffed a bottle of cream, decided against it. Back in his seat, he winced when he took a sip. “Okay. Shoot.”

“Way I see it, we got three big problems. First, we can't keep hijacking other people's liquor. It's too damned dangerous. And we're making enemies.”

“Nobody knows it's us doing the hijacking.”

“Yet. They don't know yet. Just a matter of time, brother.” Joshua nodded. “Okay, second. The reason we keep hijacking other people's liquor is that no one'll sell decent hooch to us at a fair price, because we're the coons. Not to mention the romantic attachments some of us have formed and rammed down other people's throats, which other people don't care for one bit.”

“Right.”

“Right.” Cecil took a breath. “Finally, I ran into one of the fellows from Brother Briggs's operation.”

“Haven't they gone back to Africa yet?”

“Worse than that. He said there's a new investigator on that Wall Street bombing case. The one where you saved the princess? This new guy, he's looking into the Brotherhood, trying to connect it to the bombing. He's thinking it was a Negro protest.”

“What do we care? That damned bomb almost blew me to kingdom come.”

“Don't you get it? That's the biggest problem you've got. Lots of bombers blow themselves up. Pretty common, actually. They may even know you were there, playing knight in shining armor and all. So then they figure you set the bomb but were too nigger-stupid to get out of the way.”

“I never gave my name to anyone.”

“Yeah? How many people helped you pull that girl out? They all know there was a colored man there. The hospital's got records that it took care of a blond girl, her name, that she was hurt in the bombing. You went to see her there. Probably signed the guest book. Only colored man who ever walked through that hospital without a mop in his hands.” Cecil held his hands out. “Who knows what they figure out. What someone might say.”

Joshua sipped more coffee. He put the cup aside. He nodded his head once and looked up. “Okay, Cece. You're right. We need a new plan. It so happens I've been thinking that way. Nothing final. Just some ideas.”

When Joshua had finished describing his plan, Cecil shook his head. Then he grinned. “D'you think all this up yourself?”

“I've been listening, thinking, looking around.”

“How come I'm the one goes to Canada while you go to Europe?”

Joshua shrugged. “I've already been talking to some folks, trying to figure out some contacts. In England mostly. Also, I'll admit it, it's Violet. If we're going to make a go of it, together, we need to get the hell out of the US of A.
Far
out of it. You're dead right about that.”

“Near as I remember, there's white people over in Europe, too.”

Joshua stared down at his hands. “Sure, but it's not as bad. Not near as bad as here. You were there.” He gave his friend a smirk. “You remember when we went on leave?”

“I remember. Those mam'selles were okay.”

“And Canada's not so bad. Maybe a little cold, but if we do this right, you can go down to Cuba every winter.” Joshua noticed that his friend wore a faraway look. He decided to stop talking. This was big. It needed thinking through, getting used to. Cecil needed time. He was worth waiting for.

“It'd mean leaving everything we know,” Cecil said. “Really, not being American anymore. You ready for that?”

Joshua put on a disbelieving look. “For a revolutionary, you're pretty damned sentimental. Okay, I'd have to leave a country that threw me in jail for risking my life against the Germans? A country that doesn't want me to vote, to have any rights at all? A country that'll want to kill me because of the woman I love?” He shook his head. “Brother Cecil, don't get between me and the door.”

“You wouldn't see your family much. Hardly at all. That's no big deal for me. No family to miss. But your ma. Your daddy. Your sister. You ready to walk away?”

“None of them's gonna want me to be with Violet, either. So I've got to choose. I can make that choice. It ain't hard.”

Joshua waited for Cecil some more. When his partner began again, his tone was firmer. “The idea, the goal, that's all great. We go where what we do is legal. We buy the booze cheap, sell it to people we know, and let them take the chances. That's solid. But you know there's a big problem.”

“I do.”

“That's the bankroll we need to start. The way you want to get that is completely crazy. Get you locked up in any nut ward in the city.”

“Well, with what we've been making, we don't have even a third of what we need. And you're right, we're on borrowed time with this operation. Not going to be lucky forever. This plan's expensive. So we got to go get the money.”

“You mean, steal it.”

“Yeah.”

“Are you that tough?”

“You know, in France, we learned that when there's only one way out, hell, there's only one way out. So that's what you do. No use fretting over it.”

“Is she worth all this?”

Joshua smiled. “Absolutely.” Forgetting, he took a sip of coffee. Still terrible, now cold. “So, you in?”

Cecil looked down, then spoke. “Two conditions. At least, two I can think of now.”

Joshua nodded.

“Before going after this, I don't want us taking any other chances. No more little jobs. That's just running more risk that doesn't get us where we're trying to go.”

“Okay.”

“And if we're going to put it all on black and spin the wheel like this, we only do it once, no matter how it comes out.”

Joshua held out his right hand. “Partner, you've got yourself a deal.”