“I got this from a newsboy just now,” Gerard said while dropping the New York Times on the counter, “he was firing at you while you sped away?” Maxie placed scrambled eggs for an order on a plate. “We were on Death Avenue,” he replied, “I was trying to get away but the traffic and trains wouldn’t let me.”
“Why were you on that street?”
“I was helping the Bureau of Investigation.”
“It says here that he was a deputy sheriff in Ferry Landing.”
“That’s right and he was aiming a Chicago typewriter at us.”
“How can a typewriter kill you?”
“That’s another way of saying Tommy gun.”
“Oh, I see.”
Maxie turned to Clarence and said, “There’s something here you need to look at.” He unfolded the flier and Clarence read it. “I think I see why,” Clarence said, “bring a picnic lunch?”
Gerard looked up from the newspaper. “Bring a picnic lunch to where?” he asked. Maxie placed the poster before him. “A special event where you can bring a picnic lunch and dress to the nines with white stuff you can buy in the bedding department,” he remarked, “an extra-long piece of rope and a match might also come in handy.”
Maxie turned to Clarence. “If you don’t come in that day I’ll understand,” he said, “I don’t want you doing a dance over a fire.” Clarence shook his head. “I would feel safer here,” he remarked, “I would have more people around me than I would at home.”
“I took the liberty of calling Jim Harper,” Gerard said, “he owes me a favor.”
“I would say that’s who we need,” Maxie said, “where did you meet him?”
“I had a break in in my Manhattan Townhouse last year and he helped me solve the case.”
“Was it Reverend Gray?”
“It was somebody else.”
“Do you know who it was?”
“They caught him and put him in jail for six months for stealing my Rembrandt.”
“I didn’t see a Rembrandt in that house.”
“That’s because I moved it to Great Neck.”
“Do you know when Jim Harper is going to be here?” Maxie asked.
“He says he’ll call you on the telephone this afternoon.”
As usual the diner was crowded. The radio played “Ida Sweet as Apple Cider.” Misty crossed to Maxie. “I wish we had better dates,” she said, “but the guy I was on them with is sweet as apple cider in his own way.” Maxie smiled to her. “Applesauce,” he remarked, “you’re the sweeter one of the two of us.” He shook his head. “You were never at one of my poker games,” he said, “why don’t you come tonight?” She kissed him sweetly on the lips. “At least I know the game is honest,” she said, “you’re running it.”
The telephone rang at the Ferry Landing Sheriff’s Office. “This is the New York City Coroner’s Office,” said the man on the opposite end, “can we please speak with Sheriff Anthony Costello?”
“This is Anthony Costello.”
“I need you to identify a body.”
Maxie answered the telephone after it rang. “Maxie this is Fire Chief McMillan,” said the caller in a rich Irish dialect, “we need to know when you want us.”
“Want you for what?”
“The Langston Sheriff called just a few minutes ago and he said the Klan is coming after you tomorrow.”
“Why did he call you?”
“We have thirty Irish Catholics, a colored and a Jew in the department.” McMillan replied, “Sin go léir is gá dúinn thart anseo na morons.” Maxie shook his head. “I don’t know the Irish language.” Maxie said. He shook his head. “I said ‘that’s all we need are those morons,’” McMillan commented. Maxie laughed. “And how,” he remarked, “and how.” Both were chortling. “Besides it would be a good way to say good bye to the old horse and wagon and hello to the new Mack Fire Truck,” McMillan noted. “I’m sure Assistant Fire Chief Feldman will be willing to help even though that’s his day of worship.” Both men understood the problem. “Now Maxie, I understand that you don’t like people repaying favors even though you do it yourself,” the fire chief said, “but don’t be a Leathcheann and let us do it after all the times you helped us.” Leathcheann means idiot.
“I’ll need all the help I can get.”
“Well, Ádh mór to you or maybe I should say ‘good luck’ as it is in English and I’ll be there tonight to win some money from you.”
“I hope to see you then,” Maxie added. The telephone call was ended.
Costello assigned Stan Chase to examine the body in the morgue. The drawer was slid open. “That’s Andrew Fullerton,” he said, “I can tell because I worked with him.” The coroner slid the drawer closed. “He died on Tenth Avenue,” he said, “they were having a gun battle and he hit a train and the other car got away.” They started walking away.
“What do you mean hit a train in a gun battle?”
“Trains go down the middle of that street and many people die on it.”
“Were they in the same car as him?”
“He was alone in a 1918 Oldsmobile when he hit the locomotive.”
“That was his car.”
“He was in that car but the other car swerved away according to witnesses.”
“Did anyone read the license plate of that car?”
“No.”
“Did anyone see the type of car it was?”
“They could tell it was a convertible coupe with three people inside.”
“That sounds like the car Thermopolis owns.”
“We could not trace the owner without the plate number.”
“That car is owned by Maxie Thermopolis.”
“Is that the New Jersey diner owner in the papers?”
“Exactly, and that’s who did this.”
“They said the driver was a blond but two other passengers had the guns and one of them was large.”
“The driver would be Maxie Thermopolis.”
“I’ll call the police and they’ll be looking for him and his companions.”
“Don’t bother, we know where he lives.”
“There was a Thompson submachine gun and a revolver found in Mr. Fullerton’s Car too.”
“He had to protect himself.”
“Ballistics found that the Tommy gun had the serial numbers filed.”
“I don’t know for nothing about that,” Chase said as a lie, “I really don’t know.”
“Was he involved in any illegal activity?”
“I don’t know for nothing.”
“They found that most of the shots that hit his car were from a gun owned by the Bureau of Investigation.”
“I don’t know for nothing.”
“If one of the men in that car is with the BOI then you’ll have to know for nothing since there may be questions.”
“Like what?”
“Like ‘do you know of anybody who might be involved in illegal activity?’” the coroner said. Chase stopped in his tracks. “I don’t know for nothing,” he remarked.
Christine listened to the conversation between Costello and Chase, which originated from a Manhattan payphone. “You didn’t tell them he was involved in anything illegal,” Costello said, “that was great.”
“The bullets were from the Chicago typewriter of that guy Harrison.”
“What would he be doing in the car with Maxie?”
“I don’t know.”
“He may have fingered us so we have to pretend we didn’t know he was dealing hooch.”
“That’s what I started to do.”
“And we also have to pretend that we did not learn that Keystone Cop was there.”
“Fullerton got killed after he hit a train on Tenth Avenue.”
“I really think you handled that correctly.”
“What can we do about it?”
“Let’s wait until after Saturday to discuss this.”
Maxie answered the call at the diner. “They said that they’re going to pretend that Fullerton was not involved with the mob,” Christine said, “they suspect the Bureau of Investigation is on to them.” Jim listened to the call from the counter.
“Is there any more information?”
“No, I didn’t hear anything else but they plan to discuss the rest after Saturday.”
“I think we put them behind the eight ball.”
“I wonder why they’re waiting for Saturday.”
“I don’t know”
“I’ll keep on listening.”
“That’s what I hoped you’d say.”
They ended the call with salutations.
Costello and Chase exited the sheriff’s office. “We have to pick up those new uniforms for tomorrow tonight,” Costello said, “and everything is going as planned.”
“When are we going to strike?”
“We need to wait for the right time.”
Jim Harper watched from his second floor office in a small Victorian building across the street, following them as they passed through an alley. He watched as they met a man in the alley and exchanged money for two boxes. What was in the boxes? He did not know. He held a light meter toward the group. After determining that there was the proper light, he opened his Brownie and clicked the shutter. “I want this to be all done in the daytime because I want to make an example of this,” he heard Costello say, “that’s why I’m not using the traditional time for this.” Quickly thinking, he dialed Maxie’s home.
Maxie hung the earpiece on the hall telephone and descended the stairs to the living room and the poker game. “We have something to worry about,” he said, “and I mean with the sheriff’s department.” He related what Jim told him. Misty, Clarke, Clarence, Michael, George, and Joey were around the poker table. Maxie sat and found that his hand was only high card. All of the other players had their hands up with other cards laid before them. “I’m out,” he said while tossing them to the table. Clarence shook his head. “The honest player,” he remarked, “that’s what I like about you Maxwell Tiberius Thermopolis Junior.”
“Where are my parents?” Misty asked.
“They decided to go for a walk,” Maxie replied
Gerard and Myrtle were in front of the Ferry Landing Volunteer Fire Department. The doors were open. Inside the firehouse a tall and strong man was checking the hoses on the both the horse drawn and motorized fire wagons. In the back was an older wagon that was meant to be pulled by a team of firemen.
“It’s a nice night,” Gerard said, “they have very little traffic on this street.” He looked down at the sidewalk. “I was thinking maybe we can go up to Asbury Park later and take in the amusement parks,” he went on, “I hear they have a nice carousel there and maybe we can leave Misty and Maxie alone for one night.”
“I would not leave my daughter alone with that male version of what is called a ‘Gold-digger’ today.”
“I have to disagree with you and I think he is a perfect gentleman.”
“He is taking advantage of her and you’re blind to it.”
“I had my doubts about Maxie Thermopolis before but they were all wrong!”
“He is a man of ill repute if he holds a poker game every Friday!”
They heard the fireman shout with his strong Irish accent “Man of ill repute I would not bet my arse on it!” The man approached in a nonthreatening manner. “I take it you’re Misty’s parents?” he asked. “Gerard and Myrtle?”
“We are her parents,” Gerard said.
“I’m Chief Henry McMillan,” he said. They exchanged greetings. “I first met the Thermopolis Family when I came over from County Cork as a ten-year-old,” McMillan said, “we are only three days apart in birthdays so I can tell you that man is not a Gold-digger as sure as George M. Cohan wrote Yankee Doodle Dandy.”
“I have to disagree with you, Mr. McMillan, because no man of his stature would go for my daughter unless they’re like that,” Myrtle remarked.
“So, you think that way, eh?”
“Yes, that’s what I believe.”
“Maxwell T. Thermopolis doesn’t give a lick about a person’s lot in life,” McMillan remarked, “Maxie wanted to go to France and take time in the trenches after the Lusitania was sunk but he was not allowed because he could not read the chart without his glasses.” She was unwilling to listen. “He said that all the Soldiers and Sailors should have a meal before they go away so he met the trains over at Pennsylvania Station in Manhattan,” McMillan continued, “and he lived here.” Gerard was listening while his wife only gave Henry a glance. “While over there he met this fine Italian woman who lived in a tenement on the lower east side,” Henry went on, “she was a fine Roman Lass while her father, the dumb guinea, did not want them courting.”Myrtle began to turn. “He would say in Latin that he was not their kind,” the chief went on, “and Maxie, who speaks fluent Latin, argued back.” Myrtle was finally listening. “Her father grabbed all the family’s baggage and money to take a trolley out of town,” the chief went on, “and broken hearted Maxie never saw her again nor did he receive any mail so you think about what you said and ask him about it.” Myrtle looked to her husband and did not verbally admit she was wrong.
They all saw a man stroll down the street with a stack of paper in one hand and a bucket of glue and a brush in the other. That ominous man wore all white, including the pointed hood and did not speak a word. He glued the paper to a telephone pole beneath a green-hat styled streetlight. In the beam they could see that it only read “Klavern.” An arrow pointed straight down the road. The man moved on silently. “Tá siad grúpa de Dímheabhraigh,” the chief said, “they’re one insane bunch.”
The Klansman turned the key for Maxie’s doorbell. George left earlier. Maxie looked out the window. “Clarence beat it into the kitchen and how!” he exclaimed. Clarence raced into the kitchen. “I’ll answer the door,” Maxie said as he slowly slipped into the hallway. Quickly rethinking the plan, Clarence raced down the basement. “I’m looking for your porch monkey,” the Klansman said. Clarke and Joey reached for their guns. “I don’t have a porch let alone a monkey on it,” Maxie remarked, “you might want to look for John Scopes or Charles Darwin I would say you’d have a better chance with them.” The Klansman forced his way passed Maxie. Clarence raced up the stairs and out the rear basement exit. “I want to know where the ape is and I want to know now!” the Klansman shouted.
“Oh, so now you’re looking for an ape, before it was just a monkey.”
“Tell me where he is!”
“I think he went back to the zoo.”
The Klansman began to race around the house. When they entered the kitchen, Maxie noticed Clarence in the yard. While the Klansman searched, he pointed to the covered panel delivery truck. Joey and Clarke followed the Klansman down the basement. Clarence grabbed the lead pipe from his car before diving into the truck. Joey and Clarke followed the Klansman out the rear entrance. The Klansman stood by the covered truck, pointed to the 1920 Nash, and said, “That’s his car so I know he’s here.” Clarence lifted the canvas with one hand and the pipe with the other. “I have a bean shooter that will hit any coon!” the Klansman shouted. Seen by only his allies, Clarence tapped the Klansman’s Head with the pipe and watched him fall unconscious.
Clarke removed the Klan headgear. Everyone was shocked to find that it was Deputy Chase. As they removed the rest of the outfit they found he was still wearing his uniform, and keys.
“We should get him back to work don’t you think?” Maxie said with a smirk. Quickly thinking, Maxie and Joey grabbed the body and dragged him to Maxie’s Car. Joey took the keychain from his belt. “He’s going to have a real headache when he comes to,” Maxie said, “I’ll do the driving.” Maxie opened the rumble seat and they tossed him in.
They turned in panic as the Bureau of Investigation rolled up to the car. “What just happened?” Harrison said through an open window. Maxie removed the Klan flier from his pocket and gave it to Harrison. “Is that a Klansman in there?” Harrison asked. Maxie nodded. “It is,” he remarked, “and the Ferry Landing Sheriff’s deputy.”
“Where are you taking him?”
“To the sheriff’s office.”
“Get in the car and we will follow.”
Gerard and Myrtle saw Maxie’s Ford being followed by the government cars as it rounded toward the sheriff’s office. “It’s all under control!” Maxie shouted out the window. “Everything’s copacetic it’s a Klansmen and he’s also the deputy!”
Chief McMillan dashed into the firehouse. “I better get the brigade,” he shouted “they may be at Maxie’s Diner tonight!” He pressed a button and the bell sounded out.
Maxie pulled his car before the sheriff’s office. One of the federal cars rolled up alongside. “Thermopolis it might be a good idea to take him to our hotel,” Harrison called, “there’s a doctor there and he may be able to look after the man!” Maxie agreed and the cars raced away.