Chapter Twelve: A Penny Earned

I was sitting in the lounge of another nice hotel a few blocks from the Lord Baltimore, sipping the Campari and soda I’d ordered from the waitress and taking in the scenery. A young man at a baby grand piano was picking out a slow version of “Maple Leaf Rag” on the keys, his fingers gentle enough to keep the volume subdued. Friday afternoons must be nostalgia time at the lounge, I thought; ragtime was popular when I was in my teens. For a moment I let my mind go back to long summer nights and parties held in barns with cold beer icing down in steel tubs, drunk-friendly, clod-hopping farmers stomping on the straw to anything from “She’ll Be Comin’ Round the Mountain” to whatever someone popped onto the phonograph, sang, or belted out on a rickety upright piano. Sometimes all three at once. Voices overlapped in my memory:

“Have you tried my Millie’s rhubarb pie?”

“Oh hell, Bridget, let the boy have a beer! He’s practically all growed up!”

“If this is the Devil’s music, they must be dancin’ up a storm down in Hades!”

“Clyde Saunders you watch that blasphemous talk in my home! Ragtime is for Libertines!”

“Libertines and loaded farmers!”

I remember leaning against a wooden beam, slowly sipping a cold bottle of beer as I watched the couples dance or chat with one another over a long table heavily laden with home-cooked food. A lively tune was coming out of Mr. Saunders’ wind-up Victrola. Standing near another beam across the width of the barn was Cynthia, the Saunders’ middle daughter. She was in a pretty white dress, matching ribbons in her blonde hair. She was staring directly at me, not smiling. Cynthia was just a kid of fourteen (a whole year younger than me), but you could already tell she wasn’t going to be a kid for much longer. We stared at one another across the matted straw floor and through the noise of the revelers, and I nodded very slightly, also without smiling. She nodded back, and though there was nothing more to it – we didn’t dance or even talk to one another that night or at any time after – the memory has always stayed with me. There’d been something thrilling about sharing a private moment with someone in the midst of public and noisy setting. A girl someone.

I smiled and raised my glass to the farmer’s daughter, wherever she may be now. Does she ever think back to that moment? Does she even remember the neighbors from town, the immigrants with the two sons? Memory – everything you’ve seen, heard, touched, smelled, or felt in your entire life. A particular song on a lounge piano and I was back in a barn in Illinois. What other triggers might have deposited me back inside a musty lecture hall or a police station or a jazz house? A ball game on the radio might have taken me to Cubs Park with my father. A woman walking by wearing a certain perfume, and I’d have been back with Marie-Loraine in her Parisian flat – all youthful energy and injured pride, starting yet another fight over her other “customers” – just as the call of a certain bird would have landed me, however briefly, at her grave.

All right, Caine, you’ve had your stroll, now back to work. Penny would be here in a matter of minutes. She’d suggested this place, telling me she’d meet me after she went home to change clothes (the spinster getup wouldn’t have cut it here). I didn’t let my mind drift this time, I took it carefully, deliberately back five years to Dubuque, Iowa.

Penelope Sills was barely twenty-two years old at the time, grifting with some small-timers who’d grown too old to be reliable in the big con. They traveled the smaller towns, their chief game being to fleece soon-to-be widows by persuading dying husbands to part with a good sum of coin prior to expiring. They reworked the same tiny handful of subterfuges: long-lost relatives, previously unknown stock certificates, deeded properties – all phony, of course. Two somber types who could pass for lawyers, their brightly cheerful secretary (or sometimes a mark’s distant niece), some official-looking documents, and a few words carefully chosen about the future care of the wife. That was all it usually took, convincing the distressed couple that something better awaited them in exchange for a temporary “investment”.

They’d been doing okay for themselves until they picked a shrewder than usual victim who’d had the good sense to call Pinkerton’s. I was nearby wrapping up another case, and the boss wired me to swing by and help out the younger operative already checking things out. Turned out we had files on the two older men, though nothing on the girl. I found the hotel where the three of them were staying and started staking out a nearby gin joint. Sometimes they’d have a drink there and I managed to strike up a conversation one night. I introduced myself as a bible salesman, which is practically a code phrase for “grifter” to other con operators. I espoused the quality of my product using pat phrases with a light touch of irony to make it more obvious. The two older gents stayed in character, pros that they were, but I could tell the girl was young enough to let her guard down.

The idea, naturally, was to manage to catch these grifters at the right moment so that the police would have the evidence to send them over. The mark’s wife had been advised to play along, even going to the bank with the “lawyers” to draw out the necessary cash for the bogus transaction. She was assured she’d have it back in short order, and would have done a helpful service to the community by helping to put these criminals behind bars. The night before the final act, I was in the bar with the three of them again, and Penny stayed after the other two headed back to their hotel.

We chatted and I could tell Penny was far from a hard woman. Like quite a few people who enter the soft rackets, she was in it mostly for the fun. The play-acting and the travel. The money was nice, of course, and she knew from experience that there were a lot less exciting ways to earn it. I looked into those guileless blue eyes and knew the old-timers were assuring her that these marks had it to burn, that they were only taking a little off the top that would never be missed. I doubted a girl like Penny would have slept easy knowing she was helping herself to a poor widow’s life savings. Con men con each other like that all the time, especially the newcomers. Penny wouldn’t be the first to see an exciting future belayed by a jail sentence while her more experienced partners walked.

And so, alone together at the bar, I tried my best to talk her out of it.

“Penny, there’s something I need to tell you. Something important, and I need you to listen.”

“Sure, Dev. I’m all ears.”

“I’m not actually a bible salesman.”

“Yeah,” she snorted out a laugh. “Kinda had that one figured.”

“That’s not what I mean. I’m a detective. I work for Pinkerton’s.” I took out my badge and laid it on the bar between us. “The game’s up, honey. There are other operatives as well as the local law all ready to move in tomorrow and catch you and your partners red-handed. Don’t take the money, Penny. Don’t carry it, make one of the other two do it. If you get stuck with it, take it right back to the bank, or even to Mrs. Pager herself. Do not walk into that train station tomorrow. Certainly not with your partners and damned sure not with the money. I could lose my job for telling you all this.”

She looked at me for maybe five seconds and burst out laughing.

“You must think I’m soft between the ears, Mister. Hell, you’ve as much as admitted to me you’re a con yourself. You think you can show me some badge you got out of a Cracker Jack box and move in for the score after we done all the work?” She laughed again. “Nice try, lover.”

She finished her drink and left the bar, blowing me a kiss from the doorway on her way out.

I was waiting at the train station the next day, sitting on a bench reading a paper. My heart sunk a little when I saw Penny bouncing gaily along the platform, a suitcase in her hand. No sign of the other two. She would have told them about another con trying to cut them out of their own game, and they’d have laughed with her and wised up fast and blown town, telling her they’d meet her at the next station and to bring the money with her.

I stood up and walked toward her in some vain hope that I could get a word in before the arrest, tell her not to say anything until she got herself a lawyer. She spotted me from ten feet away and called out.

“Hey, hon, got any good deals on the Good Book today?”

In an instant, two Pinkerton’s men were on either side of her, taking her roughly by the elbows as two more plainclothes policemen and three or four uniformed bulls closed in. It took her all of a few seconds to figure out this was real. She didn’t scream or curse, didn’t even seem angry, and she didn’t cry. But the vitality was gone from her face since the first time I’d seen her. The cops handcuffed her and led her away. She cast one subdued glance back over her shoulder at me, but I couldn’t read it; her face was still blank with shock. I walked off the platform, repeating those two words that never seem to help much in these situations: “I tried.”

A pair of scented arms hugged my shoulders from behind and I felt a warm kiss on my cheek.

“Sold any Good Books lately?” a female voice whispered in my ear.

I stood as Penny stepped around in front of me. Five-foot-two, eyes of blue, I thought to myself. Her blonde hair was in the same short pixie style she’d worn back in Dubuque, and her eyes were still as wide and bright. She showed off her nicely compact frame in a short black dress with full sleeves, and she’d put on make up, including bright red lipstick. You’d never have recognized her as the spinster beating the tambourine an hour ago.

“How have you been, Penny?” We sat down together around the low table.

“I been just grand, Dev. How you been?”

“Can’t complain.” I flagged down a passing waitress who took Penny’s order for rum over ice. I asked what she’d been up to.

“Little of this, little of that,” she answered breezily.

“Saving lost souls?” I asked.

“Nah, that’s just my pocket money between gigs.”

“You’re still in the game then?”

She gave me a sly smile. “Why? Going to arrest me?”

“I didn’t arrest you last time,” I said, a little defensively. “In fact–”

“Oh, lighten up, Dev,” she laughed. “I’m just giving you the needle. I already told you I don’t blame you for that. Hell, you tried to warn me off.”

“Sorry it didn’t take.”

“Yeah, me too.” She leaned forward a moment. “I never told anyone you tried, though.”

“I know.”

She tilted her head. “How?”

“Because if you had, someone would have talked to me about it. No one ever did.”

Her drink arrived and she raised her glass to me.

“To good times ahead.” I drank the toast with her and tried to feel the situation. Had she really never blamed me for doing ten months’ hard time? Or had she at first but gotten over it? She didn’t seem like the type to hold grudges. Looking at her now, she seemed the same cheerful young woman I’d met in Dubuque. Maybe she was just one of those rare people who make up their minds early on in life to be happy, and stick to that regardless of the occasional obstacle.

“So what are you up to these days? Still with Pinkerton’s?”

I shook my head. “I left there shortly after I saw you last.”

Penny raised her eyebrows. “Wracked with guilt over sending an innocent young girl to the slammer?”

“Nah, I’d already done that lots of times when you came along. I was just getting sick of working for a big firm.”

“So how you making rent these days?”

“Same thing, only I work for myself.”

“No kidding?” she laughed. “You got an office here in Baltimore?”

I shook my head. “I’m just here visiting. Seeing the sights. What about you? Who you working for when times aren’t so slow?”

She shrugged. “Got a couple of mobs I’m in good with. I never get anything real important to do, but if they need a pretty face or just a pair of eyes to help out, I get money coming in.”

“You mean confidence mobs?”

“Christ, yes!” she laughed, almost spitting out her drink. “You think I’d work for the mafia?”

“I think you like excitement, Penny.”

“Sure, the kind a girl gets to live through.”

We chatted on awhile longer as I kept weighing the risks in leveling with her at least a little. Penny would know a lot about the con mobs in this city, who was into what and maybe any big scores that were going down. Her kind of knowledge could be invaluable to me. But was there any real way I could get it out of her without giving up too much of my own? She could sink my amateur scheme in two seconds with a word in the right ear. Would she want to? And how would I know whether she did? I had to remind myself that this girl was now twenty-seven, and had nearly an extra half-decade of experience in the trade. Four years of learning under masters how to use her looks and charm. More if you counted her time in the penitentiary. Sure, she’d only done ten months, but when you’re surrounded twenty-four hours a day by every kind of seasoned criminal imaginable, it’s like going to night school while you’re attending university full-time during the day.

Penny took another drink of her rum, her blues fixed on my browns.

“You want to ask me something, don’t you, Dev?”

“I do.” I sat my drink down on the table. “And you didn’t invite me here just to hash over old times.”

“I didn’t.” We smiled at each other for a few seconds until she asked: “So who’s going to show first?”

I gestured with an open hand. “Ladies first, always.”

I had breakfast at my hotel Saturday morning before driving the Cadillac over to an apartment house on the north side. Penny was having trouble with her landlord. Too many complaints from the neighbors over loud parties and gentlemen callers at odd hours. He wanted her out by the end of next week. She didn’t want to move. She liked her apartment and the location was ideal, close to public transportation and the night spots she favored. She considered going to some of her colleagues over the matter, but such a petty problem might make her seem like a flake, not reliable enough to be counted on when it mattered. Also, most of them didn’t know where she lived and she wanted to keep it that way. Plus she’d owe them a favor. Now she’d owe me one.

When it came my turn, I leveled with her a little. Told her I was interested in a big con operator who went by the name of Clay Stanton. She knew the man, or knew of him, and promised she could find out more. I admitted I’d already met Stanton but under an assumed name, and that Stanton didn’t need to be hearing my real name from anybody. She said that was no problem. I hoped she was telling me the truth.

I parked the Caddy in the street outside a clean-looking building, walked up a short flight of steps and down a hall to an office. I pressed the buzzer by the door a few times and heard the landlord shuffling around inside his apartment across the hall. An unshaven man with squinty eyes opened the door. He checked out my suit and shoes and told me he’d be right with me. A moment later he appeared in a hastily-tied necktie, his suspenders back up over his shoulders, and escorted me into the office.

“You come to see about an apartment?” he asked, settling in behind his desk and shuffling through some papers. I took the chair across from him, leaning back in the seat with my leg crossed at the knee and my hands folded loosely in my lap.

“Matter of fact I am,” I answered easily.

“Got a coupla nice ones. You looking for one bedroom? Two?”

I explained that it wasn’t about an apartment for me, it was for one already occupied by a friend of mine. A Miss Penelope Sills. He blew out a tired sigh.

“Look, Mister, I gave her her chance. Plenty of warnings. She’s too noisy. Got parties going on, fellas coming in all hours of the day and night. Neighbors don’t like it. We got kids in this building. Sorry, but she’s out.”

“I could talk to her for you,” I offered. “Get her to tone it down. She listens to me. Like I said, we’re good friends.”

“Sorry, Mister. Like to help you, but I already got someone waiting for her place when she vacates. Now if that’s all you came here for–”

“Sit back down.” I said it softly but firmly and waited for him to comply. “Like to handle this the easiest way possible,” I told him.

“Aw, Christ, you gonna get tough now?” He seemed more fatigued than frightened by the possibility. One more problem he didn’t need along with late rent payments and leaky pipes.

“Getting tough is for the unimaginative,” I smiled, running a hand along my jaw as I looked around the office. “Tell you the truth, Mister…?”

“Gables,” he said finally.

“Tell you the truth, Mr. Gables, I haven’t really decided what my next move will be. Do I have a call put in to the Fire Chief, have him come down here and make the toughest inspection he’s ever made in his career? Do I have the Treasury folks drop in and spend a week going through your tax records, and let my contacts at the newspaper know about it? Do I go to the bank that holds the lien on this building and have them review the lease paperwork, find a problem that will make the owners uneasy? Or do I start small, have one little old lady after another fall over your front steps and let the lawsuits pile up?”

I had an easy smile on my face the whole time, and my tone wasn’t the least bit threatening. Just a man mulling over all the possible solutions to a minor problem.

I dipped my head slightly and said: “Or maybe a combination of these, one following the other, all nice and spaced out so they look like coincidence. Just plain old bad luck that never seems to let up.” He stared at me hard, weighing me up. Smiling gently, I sat back and let him.

“Who are you, Mister?”

“Name’s Kelly Shaw.”

“You somebody in this town?”

“Getting to be.”

“So how come I never heard of you before?”

“’Cause you never had trouble with me before.” I stood up and smoothed the front of my jacket. “Think it over, Mr. Gables. I can give you a day or two. I’m at the Lord Baltimore Hotel if you want to reach me.”

He picked up a pencil. “What room number?”

“They know me there.” I walked slowly to the door, almost making it.

“Hold up.” He threw the pencil down on the desk and ran a hand through his hair. “Like I care where the twist flops. She can stay if she likes.”

“Thank you, Mr. Gables,” I said graciously. “I appreciate your understanding in this matter.”

“Uh huh.”

“What does Miss Sills pay in rent to you each month?”

“Thirty-five dollars.” His squinty eyes narrowed, concerned I was going to come after him from another angle. He watched as I took out my gold money clip, pulled off a hundred-dollar bill and dropped it on his desk.

“She’s usually pretty good about paying on time,” I mentioned casually. “But if she gets busy, forgets or something, take anything you need out of that.” I didn’t have to tell him there was more where that came from.

He looked at the bill for a moment, his veined hand finally creeping across the blotter to snag it.

“I ain’t gonna have no trouble?”

“With me?” I flashed him my dazzler. “Hell, you did me a favor, friend, that’s all I know.”

I touched the brim of my hat and walked out the door.

I was on Nathan’s back porch Saturday evening, after another excellent meal from Marie’s kitchen.

“The Baltimore Trust Company Building on Light Street,” Nathan said, answering the question I’d just asked him. “The building just went up six years ago and they had to file for bankruptcy two years ago. They’re likely to go into receivership any day now.”

“That could work.” I wrote the details down in my brown notebook.

“This fits into your plan?”

“Uh huh.”

“Would you care to tell me how?”

“Huh uh.”

“Dev–”

“Nathan,” I interrupted him, “I know the waiting is tough. Just a few more days. By the end of this week I’ll know if it’s going to work or not. If it doesn’t, that still gives you time to go to your superiors before the first payment is due on any of those loans. With luck and a little finesse, you’ll be able to steer the bank examiners to Myers and Wiedermann without incriminating yourself.”

“And Myers and Wiedermann will tell them–”

“All kinds of gobbledy-gook. Desperate men usually do. But there’ll be nothing to back up anything they say. Kelly Shaw will have disappeared. The office I’m renting will be bare. Nobody at the Lord Baltimore will know anything of Mr. Shaw’s connection to two bankers. And nobody outside of a different hotel and a car rental lot will have ever heard of Devlin Caine.” I realized I was setting this up like a professional con, ready to fold and disappear without a trace if it went south. Maybe that was a good sign.

“And if your plan does work?” Was that hopefulness in Nathan’s voice or just his natural inclination to cover all aspects of a potential business deal?

“The bank gets its money back, the phony documents disappear, no one’s ever the wiser.”

“And Myers and Wiedermann?”

“That’s your call,” I said. “If I were you, I’d drop some pretty strong hints that they’d be happier working someplace else.”

“So they’ll basically be getting away with what they did,” he sulked.

“Jesus, Nathan, you can have Myers and Wiedermann sent up for embezzlement or you can keep this quiet. You can’t have both.”

He puffed at his pipe for a moment, irritated.

“What all have you been doing this week?” he asked.

“Working my tail off, pal. How about you?”

There was another silence. I was hoping Marie might appear with drinks or coffee or sandwiches, but I guess she’d gone to bed early. When enough time had passed so it wouldn’t look like I was stalking off, I rose from my chair.

“I need to get some sleep.”

“You’re welcome to stay here.” I was about to explain to Nathan that it wouldn’t save any money on my hotel bill even if I didn’t spend the night there. Then I calmed down and realized that it was a sincere offer, that he was trying to make nice.

“I appreciate that, but I have a lot to do tomorrow. For starters, I need to pick up the business cards I ordered today.”

“You found someone who can have them ready in one day?” Nathan asked, surprised. “They must be nice ones.”

“I expect they will be. The guy I ordered them from is a world-class forger, so he should be able to handle a box of business cards.”