The Big Mitt (A Detective Harm Queen Novel Book 1) (23 page)

“Hello, gents. You like the lobster today? Only forty-one hours from Boston. The freshest seafood in the Midwest, by God!”

Everyone knew that the best way to get on Coffee John Fitchette’s good side was by complimenting him on his food, and the men at the table made their rounds of congratulations to the beaming cook. He waved his hand modestly, threw his drink down his throat, and motioned for the waiter to bring another bottle.

“We haven’t had time for a personal celebration yet!” John boomed. “Fill up the glasses. Let us imbibe a final smile! A toast is in order.” He hoisted up his large frame, and the others followed.

“To our esteemed Doctor Ames, now mayor of Minneapolis, but always our friend. There has never been a better or more beloved man in the city, and may he live long and stay mayor for another ten terms!”

The men echoed his sentiment with “Hear, hear,” and more drinks were poured around the table, as they again lowered themselves into their chairs.

“Tom, pull up a seat,” Doc said. There wasn’t any room at the table, so Cahill scooted a chair up behind Queen, who didn’t particularly care for this. But he held his tongue. “Where is Fred Connor? He needs to be here, as well,” the mayor continued.

“A wonderful thought,” Coffee John said brightly, “I think he’s a swell fellow, but you know he’s colored, Doc. Those of us at the table here don’t mind of course, but my other patrons might, and I can’t turn away customers on the count of some Negro eating here, as crack an officer as Connor may be.”

“I asked him to run an errand for you,” Colonel Ames said, cutting off the pass on his brother, who Queen knew was about to say something in his bodyguard’s defense. “He’ll be back shortly. Let’s get down to the business at hand, shall we? Now that everyone is here.”

“Right,” Doc agreed. “You are the men who have helped me more than any others in last fall’s electoral victory.” He swept his hands over the table, including everyone present in the gesture. “‘To the victors go the spoils,’ the old adage says. So too, must they go for our merry little band. I’m an old man now, and I am closing in on shore. God willing, once these two years are over, I’ll retire and have some brief chance to smell the proverbial flowers. Access to the garden, however, requires funds. Here, gentlemen, is our chance to provide some meaningful income to supplement the pittances we’re paid, for the enormous duties we face as the protectors of Minneapolis.”

Queen couldn’t resist speaking. He had known this little meeting would happen, but hadn’t expected it so quickly, and the mention of greenbacks flooded his head with reminders of his own precarious financial position. He also knew from long experience that certain plums didn’t hang long on the tree. “I know the resort madams in the First Street, Main Street, and Eleventh Avenue districts. We’re on good terms, and I can easily collect whatever fees you plan to charge,” he said.

“This isn’t going to be a discussion, so much as a meeting to hand out assignments,” Colonel Ames replied, his eyes sparkling with pleasure as he sensed Queen’s desperation. “That particular task will be taken care of by Mr. Gardner. Gardner, can you handle that job?”

Irwin Gardner’s face stiffened in surprise. “I think so, sir. I’m not a member of the police department, though.”

“You are as soon as we swear you in. You’ll be made a special officer. Your responsibilities will continue at my brother’s office as you help Dr. Clark with patients. This extra duty will be well compensated, and won’t take much of your time.”

“Congratulations, Irwin!” Doc declared, and the others at the table repeated his sentiment. Queen half-heartedly stood up and did the same, and then flopped back down.

Gardner in charge of graft collections? Queen was flummoxed. Gardner had no experience in the delicate art of collecting fees from madams. It required a quick tongue and a loose smile, but most important, an understanding of the brothel business. Gardner was trained to bandage wounds, not to shake down women for cush.

“Another appointment for which we need an able man is Captain of Police. Someone to work with the new officers, and to make sure that they’re appreciative of their new positions. When we considered whom to appoint for this job, we decided on a man who carries weight on the streets of Minneapolis. Someone who has the respect of both high society and the working man.” Colonel Ames licked his lips and took a sip of his drink.

This won’t be an easy job, Queen thought, but it might have its financial rewards down the road. Every new officer had to shell out a fee for the right to wear the uniform. Getting some of these hoodlums Doc has hired, as fresh fish, to actually dig into their pockets and hand over money will take a lot of arm-twisting. But it was a prestigious position in the department. He had a feeling, as Colonel Ames again looked at him with a half-smile, that this job wasn’t coming his way. As a detective it wasn’t suited for him anyway, unless Colonel Ames’ final coupe de grace today would be to demote him to a beat patrolman.

“There isn’t anyone that we know more capable, or more of a man of the people, excepting my brother himself. He’s been a loyal Ames man since we first met him. John Fitchette, will you accept our appointment?”

Coffee John bellowed like a bull moose in heat. His eyes were wild with excitement, and he almost threw himself on the Ames brothers, thanking them profusely for their kindness. A smattering of applause filled the air.

“Hot dog!” he cried. “I always wanted to wear a blue jacket. Johnson!” A waiter scuttled over to his side. “We got any champagne?” Johnson nodded confirmation. “This is about the best goddamn day I ever had. Bring it out, and the nice crystal flutes from the back! And don’t smear them!” The applause grew a little louder when he mentioned the champagne.

“A good day all around!” Doc affirmed. “You’ve got something to discuss with Harm, though.”

The Colonel‘s expression turned stale. “This matter hasn’t been fully ironed out, Alonzo. I really insist that we wait before we talk about it. There are certain details—”

“I don’t think waiting is a good idea. This is something that requires immediate action. I’m a man of action. Do you think that shifty mayor Carter Harrison in Chicago waits before he leaps? I knew his father, you know, before that bullet felled him in his own home.
There
, another reason not to wait. Assassination. Anything can happen at any time.”

“We’ll speak now, but privately,” Colonel Ames said. Animosity was slithering out of the colonel’s pores, and Queen enjoyed the exchange tremendously. “Please excuse us for a moment, gentlemen. We have something to discuss. It will concern you all in due time, but Detective Queen has some preliminary work to do.”

“You’ll be back for your scallops, Queen?” asked Coffee John, as he emptied the last of his bourbon glass. “I was about to fry them for you.”

“I will,” said Queen. “And a glass of your fizz.”

“Gardner. Can you come too? I think this may require your presence,” Colonel Ames said. He turned to Coffee John. “Can we speak somewhere quietly?”

“You’re welcome upstairs, Colonel. The second floor is my ladies’ dining room, as you know, but it’s closed for a repair to the ceiling.”

“Do you need anything from me, Colonel Ames?” piped up Cahill, standing at attention.

“No, Tom. Stay here. You’ll have plenty of work once this is over.”

Queen muffled a scoff. He knew Ames wanted to siphon information to Cahill slowly, acclimate him on how he planned to run his police force. Cahill was an innocent, but loyal to the core. The colonel would break down the boy’s morals bit by bit until he created the vassal he envisioned. Queen had a half a notion to take Cahill aside and explain what he was in for. As enjoyable as that might be, though, it would probably get him knocked down to cleaning the jail toilets.

They followed the colonel upstairs to a room much more elegant and feminine than the simple main floor they’d just come from. Queen didn’t know much about fine furnishings, but he’d read the advertisement Fitchette had placed recently in the
Minneapolis Tribune
, and assumed the carpets on the floor were really from Brussels, and the chandeliers were real crystal. Expensive sideboards, china closets, Vienna chairs, hall trees and parlor furniture dotted the large, airy room. The supreme accent was a Miller grand piano, which Coffee John hired a pianist to play on the afternoons when ladies’ clubs filled the room with their meetings and refreshments.

Queen felt no sense of dread, but more of amusement, as Colonel Ames led them to a table. He anticipated the same manipulative colonel he’d visited with after his meeting with Doc in his personal office. Once apart from his brother, the colonel was less inclined to hold back in his opinion. Queen figured he’d be dealt some choice, explosive words outside the mayor’s hearing range. He wasn’t disappointed. Ames turned on him and the spittle flew freely.

“Jesus Christ, Queen. Do you know how close you are to being fired for insubordination? I don’t give a damn about how much my brother likes you or what you’ve done for him in the past. You’re under my command. Do you know what I would do to you if we were in the Philippines right now? You’d be stripped down to nothing and digging holes in the middle of a mosquito-infested jungle. What the hell were you doing, anyway, chasing whores around this morning?”

“Like I told you, I was following up on a clue.”

Colonel Ames let out a sound like a snarl. He was beyond furious, but fighting to maintain control. Christ, for our differences, we are still similar when it comes to keeping it in, Queen thought suddenly, startled by the revelation.

“You swore to me you would follow orders,” Ames managed to say. Irwin Gardner stood silently by, stunned by the conversation.

“I didn’t swear to that.”

“You
need
to follow orders.”

Another revelation was dawning on him, one that comforted him more than the last. Colonel Ames despised him, but hadn’t asked for his badge, despite Queen’s disobedience. If it ever were to happen, it should be right now, but here he was, still a Minneapolis police detective. Queen was starting to believe that he had more leverage than he once thought.

“I killed someone today,” he said matter-of-factly. “Well, not exactly killed him. I stuck a broken bottle into his eye and he ran into the river and drowned. It was the man who killed Maisy Anderson.”

A low whistle slipped out of Irwin Gardner, and Queen noted that he sounded impressed, which gave him a pinch of satisfaction. Surprise, however, didn’t register in Colonel Ames’s face as he figured it might.

“You think I don’t know already?” Ames replied. He took out a cigarette and a match and lit it with a steady hand, blowing a curl of smoke before continuing. “You visited Adry Hayward, brother of the infamous murderer. One of Dander’s lunatics ambushed you and you confronted him. That confrontation led to his demise. He happened to be the shooter of the girl you so desperately want justice for.”

Queen lifted his jaw from his stomach. How in God’s name could he have gotten this information so quickly?

“When I mentioned I’d found the girls, in front of Mayor Ames, you looked surprised. You’re telling me you already knew? Who told you?” Queen asked.

The Colonel’s eyes had changed, from ferocity to something steely and cool. “Not your concern. This is a good lesson for you, however. Whatever autonomy you’ve had in the past is officially dead. I am to be made aware of every move you make. Every report you fill out. Every dribble of shit you produce from that high and mighty ass of yours.” He paused, letting his words permeate the air for effect.

Queen wondered if Norbeck had spilled the beans, or if Ames had had him followed. He’d been careful, but not thorough. The idea of Colonel Ames, in the midst of a giant transition of power, tailing him, would have made him laugh earlier this morning. Now, he couldn’t laugh if a clown dropped from the ceiling with a bottle of seltzer water and shot it into Ames’s big mouth.

“So,” Colonel Ames continued. “Your search for the whore’s killer can cease now that you’ve sent him on a holiday to the Gulf of Mexico. We need to turn to the business at hand.” Ames tapped the ashes from his cigarette into a teacup on a table nearby. “Generating green is our immediate goal, and Gardner has come up with an idea. Would you please share with the detective?”

Gardner took in a little breath and stepped forward. “Mr. Queen must certainly be aware of this kind of operation already.” If he was looking for affirmation, Queen decided he wouldn’t give it to him. Gardner shifted a little on his feet. “We don’t know each other that well, Mr. Queen, but I don’t have, shall we say, a pristine history. Were you aware?”

“On the level, Gardner, I’ve never given you much thought at all. You’ve always seemed content mopping up blood after Doctor Ames’s appointments.”

“Doctor Ames has always been especially kind to me, and encourages my medical studies. Without a father in my life, he’s given me advice and support. I owe a great deal to him.”

“Did he pull you out of some gutter somewhere?” Queen asked, “Dust you off and put you to work? I’ve read Horatio Alger before. You don’t seem to have quite the same pluck as Ragged Dick.”

“I’ve been determined, especially since he’s taken me under his wing, to become a doctor. But I’ve also been on the wrong side of the law. I’ve seen some things. We have friends in common.”