“All right, Behan, go and give it a knock. Big Dom will be openin’ it personally, I’m told, and quite the honor he must be figurin’ he’s laying upon us, I wager. Go on, lad, give it a knock.”
Once inside, McAdams waved a casual hand at the ten uniformed patrolmen who had ridden in the small paddy wagon which now sat parked behind his Studebaker.
“Go on, boys, grab a citizen or two before they all scramble down a sewer pipe,” he said casually. Upon first seeing the police, two dozen patrons had begun a mad dash for an exit hidden at the rear of the club. As they ran, the musicians onstage stood and slowly began to break down their equipment in preparation for moving it all to the equally expansive stage on the third floor. Tomorrow night, after all, would be just another workday.
McAdams turned to face Cosenza. Big Dom stood impassively next to the lanky lieutenant, unconsciously trying to stretch his own five foot ten frame to equal that of McAdams.
“Well, Dominick, it seems an amazing coincidence there’s such a light crowd I’m witnessing. Seems your regulars have chosen this very evenin’ of all such evenin’s not to drop in. The hand of Providence, it clearly is.”
Big Dom frowned. McAdams perplexed him, and he didn’t like it. He didn’t like McAdams much, either.
“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbled. “Providence.”
“You wait here, Dominick, till we can cart you off and square your bail away. I had them bring along a car just for you. Not as jazzy as that Stutz Bearcat you drive, I worry, but a good, solid Plymouth sedan. I’ll be goin’ on upstairs to see the ladies now, if you don’t mind.”
Big Dom nodded. “Go on. Lil’s up there, she’ll get the two girls for you.”
McAdams turned to Behan, who stood a discreet ten paces away casually eyeing a bottle of Beefeater that sat unopened in an ice bucket at the nearest table.
“Sergeant Behan,” McAdams said, his voice cheerful and light. “I’ll be goin’ upstairs now. You keep all the lads down here. It’s tact and Christian charity we’ll be needin’ up in that sin parlor, and I’ll be only trustin’ in meself for that job.” He glanced at the object of Behan’s attention and smiled tightly.
“Why don’t you and some of the boys in blue be checkin’ for evidence, like good policemen ought to. Why, from here, there’s no way of tellin’ if that’s real gin or not. But you let me know, now, lad, when I get back down here.”
He turned back to Cosenza. “I’ll be takin’ my leave of you, now, Dominick. Why don’t you go and take a seat in that Plymouth, my brother. Behan will be out in a short bit to run you down to the station house.”
Dominick Cosenza leaned his hard-muscled frame inward to the lieutenant. He kept his voice low when he spoke.
“I took a count this afternoon, Francis. Make sure those coppers of yours keep it light. A halfa case each, no more.” He tapped at a temple with a thick forefinger. “I got the count right up here, Francis. Remember that.”
McAdams let his own face smile coldly. “And it’s good to know there’s somethin’ up there, Dominick — besides visions of whore tail and dollar signs, that is.”
They held one another’s gaze for five full seconds and then, as if by prearrangement, both looked away in unison. That successfully concluded their business, and Big Dom turned towards the checkroom and his heavy cashmere topcoat.
McAdams crossed the cafe floor to the discreet elevator at the rear wall. He stopped three feet short of the burly, squat man who stood guard there, clad in a tuxedo which stretched across his enormous muscled arms and chest.
“I’ll be goin’ upstairs now, Guido, if you please,” McAdams said in the same cheerful singsong he had used on Big Dom. The man tilted his head and gazed across the floor. When he saw Big Dom give him a discreet nod, he stepped aside.
“Name’s John,” he said harshly as McAdams stepped into the tiny confines of the elevator.
The lieutenant turned and pulled at the operating lever to activate the lift. He smiled at the man as the door began to close.
“Why of course it is, Guido, it’s the only one your mother could spell, God bless her soul.”
Lily crossed the floor of the brothel lounge and greeted him at the elevator. They embraced warmly, exchanging small kisses on one another’s cheeks.
“It’s good you’re here, Francis,” Lily said, her smile radiant and genuine.
McAdams returned the smile fondly. “Ah, Lillian, you’re as lovely as a picture.” Now he stepped back from her, took each of her hands in his, and gave an exaggerated sad frown. “And I’m askin’ meself for the thousandth time, how for the love of Jesus did a sweet young Irish lass such as yourself come to be mixin’ up with the likes of these dagos? If it was the high life you were cravin’, Tommy Sullivan runs a fine old Irish pub on Seventh Avenue, and there’s no more invitin’ a speakeasy than Rory O’Moore’s East Side joint. Then, all these unpleasantries could well be avoided, lass. As me sainted old mother was sayin’ just last night, these wops are no better than murderin’ English dogs.”
Lily pulled him towards her and kissed his cheek once more. “You’re sweet, Francis, but we’ve already spoken of this. Why, it was just this morning you were telling me the very same thing.”
Now McAdams smiled. “The truth is firm, Lillian, and same in the evenin’ as it is at morn. But we’ll move on. Do you have two girls lined up for the facin’ of justice, dearie?”
“Yes, I do.”
He nodded, a serious expression running across his features. “And are they clean, Lillian? In case some of the lads get a bit frisky in the paddy wagon?”
Lily smiled coyly. “Why, Francis, all my girls are clean. They take a bath every night. Most nights.”
He nodded again. “Well, then, run along. Go fetch ’em.”
She glanced around the room, assuring herself that it was empty of anyone but them.
“But Francis,” she said in a low whisper, “is our business confirmed?”
He smiled, his dark blue eyes kind and full of true affection. “Of course, me darlin’,” he said in equally low tones. “Big Dom is on his way, in the trusted hands of good Sergeant George Behan, my right-hand man. Your troubles are all about to end, Lillian, as the Good Lord is my judge. The wheels are set to turnin’.”
She smiled. “I knew I could count on you, Francis. As long as we’re friends, I’ll never see the inside of that damn kitchen.”
Now he smiled. “Nor will my children ever be layin’ eyes upon the bleak and sorrowful walls of the poorhouse, saints be praised.”
Lily left for the rear bedroom, returning shortly with Mabel McGuire and Shakey Miles’s replacement, Margarita Miller. McAdams smiled at them; they were old acquaintances.
“Get yourselves downstairs now, ladies, if you will. Look for Patrolman Krausman. You can’t miss him, he’s the Jew and the only copper won’t be suckin’ on a bottle a booze when you get down there. He’ll run you in to face the wrath of the law and learn you your lessons. Go on now.”
The girls entered the elevator and disappeared. McAdams turned back to face Lily.
“And now, Lillian, where would that baboon, Rudi, be hiber-natin’? In one of the back rooms samplin’ the wares, and gratis to boot, I’d wager.”
She smiled at him sweetly. “Exactly right, Francis. You wait here. I’ll get him.”
As he waited, McAdams watched as a sudden parade of prostitutes, free of their labors for the balance of the night, filed through the lounge and out the rear fire door to a stairway leading to the back alley. McAdams smiled at each one, greeting them by name, and they variously blew kisses, toodle-oohed, or shook their bosoms for him as they went by. Ah, he thought, it had been a sweet day when, ten years earlier, he had been driven by the dismal employment opportunities for a poor young Irish immigrant to sit for the policemen’s civil service exam. A sweet day, indeed.