Here we go again...I shuddered, afraid of Musey’s threats, worried about both Burton and Sammy. Thank goodness Sammy was safe in Houston—60 miles away from Galveston.
I waited for the violinist to start playing, to drown out our conversation before I badgered Burton for more information. “What I want to know is, why did Musey show up out of the blue? Do you think he followed us? Or did some snitch call him the moment we arrived?”
“Possible,” Burton nodded. “Musey and Johnny Jack obviously have friends here, or they get a piece of the take. For all we know, the gang controls this place. I wouldn’t be surprised if Mario’s was a front for mob activity, an easy way to launder money.”
“Makes sense. But why did he threaten you like that? He’s taking a big risk, confronting you in public. I thought mobsters worked in the shadows, behind the scenes.”
“Musey thinks he’s the head honcho while Johnny Jack is gone.” Burton rearranged his silverware as he spoke. “Nounes must still be out of town, maybe looking for new suppliers and outlets for his booze, or perhaps new business partners. So Musey sees a chance to take over his pal’s operation, when he’s not looking.”
“While the big cat is away, the rats come out to play.” Suspicious, I glanced at the diners, who tried to avert their eyes. “They seem innocent enough. Still, I wonder if anyone here is also involved in the Downtown Gang? In any case, I’m getting the willies. Why don’t we shake a leg?”
“You mean do the Charleston? Here?” Burton cracked.
I smiled at his joke. “You’re a riot.”
“What about dessert? No ice cream?” Burton teased, knowing my cravings for sweets.
“You said the magic word. I’m not ready to go home.”
After we paid, Burton helped me with my coat and we began heading for the hat check stand. That’s when I heard a woman cry out, “My beaded bag! Help! Somebody stole my purse!”
Burton rushed over to the attractive young woman, and diners gawked while the maitre d’ and staff gathered round. I stood near her table, craning my neck to listen.
“Madam, are you sure there hasn’t been a mistake?” The maitre d’ looked upset as he tried to calm the crowd. “Perhaps it was misplaced during dinner. Why don’t we help you look for it? We can search the premises at once.”
“Of course I’m sure.” The flapper’s short curls bobbed, and she threw down her white napkin, indignant. “I always carry an evening purse to dine out. One minute my bag was on the table, the next moment it was gone.”
“When did you first notice it was missing?” Burton asked her.
Nervously, the young woman clutched her throat, gasping, “Say, you’re the man involved in the tussle with that bully. My purse disappeared right after he left. I’ve looked everywhere, in my coat pocket, even under the table. I’m so worried! I kept my valuables in there.”
“Were you seated here all night or did you go to the powder room?” Burton asked.
“We’ve been right here the whole time,” her dapper date confirmed, squeezing her trembling hand. “She never left my side. Some scoundrel lifted it right off the table!”
“If you give me your information, we can investigate further,” Burton offered.
She frowned, her blue eyes anxious. “Say, who are you? A cop?”
“I work with the police department, yes.” Burton smiled to console her. Thank goodness he didn’t announce that he was a Prohibition agent to the unsuspecting guests. We’d had enough drama for one evening.
“Before I give out any private information, you should search your entire staff!” The flapper pointed at the workers standing by, singling out our waiter. “Start with him! He hovered over me all night, admiring my jewelry. Probably trying to find a way to steal my purse!”
The poor young waiter’s face turned beet-red as he turned his pockets inside out and the maitre d’ patted him down. “Nothing, madam,” the maitre d’ said with relief.
“Well, then I want all of your workers searched, including the kitchen help. At once!”
Nodding, the maitre d’ clapped his hands and asked our waiter to get the remaining kitchen staff. Clutching my mesh bag, I motioned for Burton to come over. Of course I empathized with the victim—getting robbed was my least favorite activity—but this could take all night.
Who was this rich gal anyway, and why did everyone kowtow to her demands? She seemed familiar, yet in her low-cut shimmery beaded gown and jeweled choker, she looked more like a vamp or a gangster’s moll, not a society princess. Were those real gems or rhinestones?
“Does every person here need to be searched and interrogated?” I sighed to Burton. “Robbery isn’t even your department. What if it takes all night?”
“Just being a good Samaritan. But you’re right. I can think of better things to do with our time. I’ll get her information so we can leave.”
While Burton wrote down the victim’s name and phone number, I surveyed the dining room, wondering about the timing of the theft. Had the thief used our confrontation with Musey as a chance to steal the bag—or would Musey’s men be that stupid and greedy?
Outside, stars covered the night sky, twinkling like white Christmas lights. “Glad Musey’s gone. He gave me the creeps.” I shuddered.
“Musey is a creepy fella.” Burton smiled. “Sure it’s not too nippy for you?”
“I like the cool night air. Such a pleasant change from the muggy summers.”
“You said it. Galveston is almost tolerable in the fall.”
“Say, why don’t we get ice cream cones at Tootsies? Then we can take a walk on the Seawall,” I suggested.
“Sounds swell.” Burton helped me get into his Roadster and we headed to the beach.
As we strolled along the Seawall, he took my hand, and I snuggled against his shoulder, glad for a change of scene. Now the unease and awkwardness I’d felt earlier after Derek’s surprise visit was gone, almost forgotten. The waves curled and unfurled as we listened to the ocean sounds, the screeching seagulls, the roar of Model Ts and Cadillacs and Studebakers driving down Beach Boulevard.
Still, the ugly confrontation with Musey stuck in my mind, and I couldn’t help but bring it up again: “Do you think it’s just a coincidence that the woman’s purse was stolen after Musey appeared? Think he may be connected?”
Burton shook his head. “Frankly, petty theft is beneath a hard-boiled hood like Musey. He’s in the big leagues, not a common criminal. I doubt he or his men would stoop so low as to swipe a handbag. That’s like taking penny candy from the five-and-dime—an easy mark.”
I held onto Burton’s arm as we watched the waves crash onshore. “Maybe Musey thinks we’re easy marks. He has some nerve, threatening a Fed agent in such a busy restaurant. What does he want with you?”
“Musey’s just testing me while Nounes is gone.” Burton shrugged. “He wants money, power, control, like any typical gang leader.”
Great—that’s all Galveston needed: more cut-throat gangsters vying to be top gun, literally.
******