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Authors: Michael Murphy
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for me. Our arrival at The Diamond House saved her further embarrassment. “You should leave the investigation of an assassination attempt to the cops or the feds.”
The Model T parked halfway down the block.
“I can’t do that.”
“I had to try.”
Why was she trying to get me to return to Florida? I thought she understood why I wanted to find Mickey’s killer. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”
For a moment, I thought she might level with me. The moment vanished with a smile.
“A lady always keeps some secrets from a gentleman.” She shifted gears and waved as she drove off.
Her words sounded like a line in one of her plays. I limped toward the front door of The Diamond House. Would the man in the Model T follow me inside or wait in his car? He pulled away from the curb, and a cold chill shot up my spine. He sped past without giving me a glance. He hadn’t been following me. He was following Laura.
Determined to find out the guy’s identity, I held up my cane and hollered as an empty cab drove by. I searched frantically for another. By the time a cabbie finally pulled up, several minutes had gone by and Laura and the man tailing her were gone. I’d never find them in this traffic, but I had to warn Laura.
Inside the speakeasy, I slipped into a phone booth and called the Longacre Theatre. Laura hadn’t arrived yet. I left a message for her to call as soon as she got in.
Well-dressed men and flashy women getting an early start on having a good time packed The Diamond House. The manager, in a tuxedo with a red rose in the lapel, approached with an Irish brogue. “ ’Tis Jake Donovan. It’s been a long time. Too long.”
I tried not to display my concern about Laura. “I’m expecting a call from Laura Wilson from the Longacre Theatre.”
“Of course. I’ll notify you as soon as she calls. Would you like a table?”
I’d come to find Frankie and spotted him alone at the bar, chewing on a toothpick and nursing a drink. “Jake!” He spit out the toothpick and downed the rest of his drink. He hurried toward me and pumped my hand. “The papers made it sound like you’d bought the big one.”
I owed Frankie my gratitude and my life. “I might have if it hadn’t been for you.”
The manager showed us to a table near the stage where a man sat with his back to us at the piano. He played a show tune from a play Laura and I had seen years ago, though no one paid him any attention.
I sat at the table and dropped my hat on the chair beside me. “Mildred told me she fired you.”
“It happens.” Frankie glanced toward a table on the other side of the stage where a buxom blonde in a tight dress sat holding the arm of a man twice her age. “Sheesh.”
“I like the way you handled yourself at The Yankee Club and when Mickey and I got shot. In my current condition, I need a driver. I’ll pay you fifty bucks a day.” I pulled out my wallet and slapped a fifty on the table.
Frankie let out a slow whistle. “That’s twice what Mildred paid me. Before you cough up some serious dough, I should come clean about some stuff. I did time in the big house, five years ago, for grand theft auto.”
“I’m sure it was a youthful indiscretion.”
“I wasn’t taking some dame for a joyride.” He puffed up with pride. “On a good week, I lifted a dozen cars.”
“Mildred told me you worked undercover for the police.”
He glanced around as if to make sure no one had heard. “Hey, not so loud. I’m no stool pigeon.”
I slid the money closer to Frankie. “You going to be my driver or not?”
Frankie stared at the bill then slipped the money into his suit coat pocket.
“We’ll need a car.”
“No problem. I know a guy.” Frankie headed for the bar.
Onstage, the piano player banged the keys in frustration. He snatched a smoldering cigarette from an ashtray on top of the piano. When he took a puff and blew out the smoke, I recognized the famous songwriter who worked with
The Model T parked halfway down the block.
“I can’t do that.”
“I had to try.”
Why was she trying to get me to return to Florida? I thought she understood why I wanted to find Mickey’s killer. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”
For a moment, I thought she might level with me. The moment vanished with a smile.
“A lady always keeps some secrets from a gentleman.” She shifted gears and waved as she drove off.
Her words sounded like a line in one of her plays. I limped toward the front door of The Diamond House. Would the man in the Model T follow me inside or wait in his car? He pulled away from the curb, and a cold chill shot up my spine. He sped past without giving me a glance. He hadn’t been following me. He was following Laura.
Determined to find out the guy’s identity, I held up my cane and hollered as an empty cab drove by. I searched frantically for another. By the time a cabbie finally pulled up, several minutes had gone by and Laura and the man tailing her were gone. I’d never find them in this traffic, but I had to warn Laura.
Inside the speakeasy, I slipped into a phone booth and called the Longacre Theatre. Laura hadn’t arrived yet. I left a message for her to call as soon as she got in.
Well-dressed men and flashy women getting an early start on having a good time packed The Diamond House. The manager, in a tuxedo with a red rose in the lapel, approached with an Irish brogue. “ ’Tis Jake Donovan. It’s been a long time. Too long.”
I tried not to display my concern about Laura. “I’m expecting a call from Laura Wilson from the Longacre Theatre.”
“Of course. I’ll notify you as soon as she calls. Would you like a table?”
I’d come to find Frankie and spotted him alone at the bar, chewing on a toothpick and nursing a drink. “Jake!” He spit out the toothpick and downed the rest of his drink. He hurried toward me and pumped my hand. “The papers made it sound like you’d bought the big one.”
I owed Frankie my gratitude and my life. “I might have if it hadn’t been for you.”
The manager showed us to a table near the stage where a man sat with his back to us at the piano. He played a show tune from a play Laura and I had seen years ago, though no one paid him any attention.
I sat at the table and dropped my hat on the chair beside me. “Mildred told me she fired you.”
“It happens.” Frankie glanced toward a table on the other side of the stage where a buxom blonde in a tight dress sat holding the arm of a man twice her age. “Sheesh.”
“I like the way you handled yourself at The Yankee Club and when Mickey and I got shot. In my current condition, I need a driver. I’ll pay you fifty bucks a day.” I pulled out my wallet and slapped a fifty on the table.
Frankie let out a slow whistle. “That’s twice what Mildred paid me. Before you cough up some serious dough, I should come clean about some stuff. I did time in the big house, five years ago, for grand theft auto.”
“I’m sure it was a youthful indiscretion.”
“I wasn’t taking some dame for a joyride.” He puffed up with pride. “On a good week, I lifted a dozen cars.”
“Mildred told me you worked undercover for the police.”
He glanced around as if to make sure no one had heard. “Hey, not so loud. I’m no stool pigeon.”
I slid the money closer to Frankie. “You going to be my driver or not?”
Frankie stared at the bill then slipped the money into his suit coat pocket.
“We’ll need a car.”
“No problem. I know a guy.” Frankie headed for the bar.
Onstage, the piano player banged the keys in frustration. He snatched a smoldering cigarette from an ashtray on top of the piano. When he took a puff and blew out the smoke, I recognized the famous songwriter who worked with
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