High Spirits [Spirits 03] (31 page)

      
“You’ll help her get established,” Sam said, as if helping former floozies get established was my trade or something.

      
“Easy for you to say,” I muttered unhappily.

      
“I’m sorry, Daisy,” Flossie said, sounding as miserable as she looked. “I’m
so
sorry.”

      
Then, of course, I felt awful, because I honestly didn’t mind helping Flossie. I was only mad at Sam. “Don’t worry, Flossie. I don’t mind, really.”

      
She whimpered a little bit. She hadn’t stopped crying entirely during the several hours since the raid. I wished she would. Heck, I was upset, too, but I’d be cursed if I’d cry in front of Sam Rotondo again.

      
It must have been close to two o’clock in the morning when Sam’s big police-issued Hudson pulled up to the curb in front of our bungalow on Marengo. The only lights on for the length of the street were in my house. And that, of course, meant that Billy, at least, and probably everyone else in the family, were waiting up for me. I darned near lost my resolve and started crying then and there.

      
Nevertheless, I didn’t seem to have a whole lot of options available, so when Sam opened the automobile door, I got out. Flossie stumbled after me. She was a total mess. I suppose I was, too, what with leftover plaster dust and stuff clinging to my formerly beautiful black dress. Even my sequins were dusty. Well, that’s not true. They didn’t sparkle, but that might have been because we stood on the sidewalk on a dark street in the dead of night.

      
“You’d better come with us, Sam. You’ll have to explain what happened.” My voice was cold. I didn’t want to ask Sam for any favors. But this wasn’t a favor, darn it! He owed Flossie and me an explanation to my family at the very least.

      
“Of course I’ll come with you.” He sounded about as outraged as I felt. “What do you think I was going to do? Leave you two here on the sidewalk?”

      
Actually, after I pondered his question, I realized I hadn’t expected him to desert us. I’d be damned for all eternity before I told him so, however. I only sniffed meaningfully.

      
He said, “Gah!” or something along those lines, spun on his heel, and marched up the front walk to the porch.

      
After glancing at each other, Flossie and I followed him. My heart was thudding like a bass drum. I knew Billy was going to be mad as fire when he saw me. He’d anticipated my homecoming several hours earlier, with me not only without Flossie but in much the same condition as I’d exited the house with Maggiori’s pet thug at eight. When he looked at me as I was now, he was going to pitch a fit.

      
Spike started barking as soon as Sam’s big foot hit the first step. I sighed. While I loved Spike like the child I’d never have, I did wish his bark wasn’t so darned loud. And persistent. The dog could bark for hours if we’d let him, which, naturally, we didn’t.

      
In actual fact, poor Spike only let out about five barks before he yipped and shut up. Poor baby. I suspect Billy or Ma or Pa smacked him, told him to hush, and picked him up.

      
It was Ma who opened the door, clad in her robe and slippers and looking haggard and worn. My level of guilt soared into the stratosphere. Sam stepped aside to allow Flossie and me to enter the house, and Ma clapped a hand to her mouth and shrieked, “Daisy! What
happened
to you?”

      
Billy spoke next. “Damnation, Daisy, I thought nothing bad was supposed to go on there tonight!”

      
Hurt, I cried, “It wasn’t
my
fault!”

      
Flossie said, “Oh, this is all my fault!” and began sobbing again.

      
I think Pa said, “Hmm,” but I’m not sure because too much other stuff was going on.

      
At least Aunt Vi wasn’t there. I guess the woman had done the sensible thing and hit the sack at a reasonable hour.

      
Finally Sam growled, “Get inside so I can close the door.”

      
I gave him a furious scowl for his efforts.

      
Billy said, “This is the limit.”

      
I felt like two cents. Maybe less. Definitely less.

      
“Sit down, ladies,” Sam said, indicating that Flossie and I should sit. We did so, on the sofa. Close together. Flossie buried her head in her handkerchief once more. I doubted that the hankie would survive the evening, and I was almost certain I wouldn’t.

      
Billy was in his chair, of course. Ma and Pa took chairs facing the sofa. Sam continued to stand. Bless Spike, he jumped up on my lap.
He
didn’t care that I had the remnants of gangster bullets, shattered liquor bottles, and the dust of speakeasy walls on my dress.
He
knew I’d been through a dreadful ordeal.
He
appreciated my helping the police capture a bunch of hoodlums. Of course,
he
didn’t know that I’d been forced to do so because I’d been stupid in the first place. Then again, he was an awfully forgiving fellow; he probably wouldn’t have minded that, either.

      
At any rate, I appreciated Billy’s dog in that moment and vowed never to live without a dog again. They were ever so much more faithful and understanding than people could ever be.

      
So, while I petted Spike, and Flossie sniffled into her soaking-wet handkerchief, Sam took the floor. “The raid was a success,” were the first words out of his mouth.

      
Nobody moved or spoke for several seconds until Pa finally said, “Um ... that’s good.”

      
Billy was next. He still frowned murderously—at me, of course. “But obviously it didn’t go off without a hitch.”

      
Sam sighed. “No, there was a definite hitch. Jenkins pulled out a Tommy gun.”

      
Billy, agog, said, “A
Tommy gun
?”

      
Ma slapped a hand to her cheek and said, “Sweet Lord, have mercy!”

      
Pa whistled.

      
Flossie uttered a loud sob.

      
Billy’s frown eased slightly, but he still looked angry. “Jenkins is one of the gangsters?”

      
“Yeah,” said Sam. “But he didn’t hit anybody.”

      
With a glance at me, Billy said, “Looks like he hit a lot of walls.”

      
“Huh,” said Sam. “A
lot
of walls. And the chandelier and the table, and a bunch of other stuff. You should have smelled the booze. Fortunately, Gil Waters winged the bast—uh, the fellow before he could kill anybody.”

      
“Thank God,” Ma murmured. She and Pa held hands, and they were both looking at me as if I were their baby whom someone had only barely rescued from certain death.

      
“I thought there wasn’t supposed to be any danger involved in this little adventure.” Again, Billy frowned at me.
Me,
of all people!

      
“It isn’t my fault!” I cried, beleaguered to my boots. Well, my shoes, anyway.

      
“I swear, Daisy, you can get involved in the most—”

      
Fortunately for me, and perhaps for Billy, too, since I wasn’t in any mood to be picked on, Sam interrupted Billy’s next statement.

      
“It isn’t her fault, Billy. We all thought the raid would go without a problem. Nobody
ever
gets hurt when a speakeasy is raided. The goons don’t dare shoot the customers, so they never haul out their guns. They generally just try to get away, which is what Maggiori had planned to do, only we gagged his contact.”

      
I sniffed. “They pulled out guns this time.”

      
With a scowl, Sam said, “Yeah,
Jenkins
did some shooting this time. But that was
very
unusual. Anyhow,” he continued, turning to Billy, “Daisy and Miss Mosser were heroes in the situation. They managed to find out the name of the snitch in the police department, and in spite of their reluctance”—he laid special emphasis on the word
reluctance
—“they distracted the crooks so that they were totally unaware of the police presence at the joint until we battered down the door.”

      
At the mention of her name, Flossie pulled her nose out of her hankie. “M-me?” she stammered. “What did I do?”

      
I patted her arm. “You gave me the name of the police rat.” I deliberately chose the word
rat
, hoping to make Sam flinch. It didn’t work. Figures.

      
She turned drowned eyes upon me. “I did?”

      
“Yes, you did.”

      
“Gee,” said she. “I didn’t mean to. If Jinx finds out ...”

      
“Mr. Jenkins is going to be put away for a very long time, Miss Mosser, so I don’t expect you’ll have anything to worry about from him.”

      
Flossie’s waterlogged eyes grew large. “Yeah? You really think so?”

      
I think Sam caught himself a second before he could roll his eyes. Although I’d never admit it aloud, I didn’t blame him a whole lot. Flossie was a sweet kid, but she had the brainpower of a gnat. “He shot at several members of the Pasadena Police Department. We don’t look kindly upon that sort of behavior. And that’s not even counting the charges against him in Detroit.”

      
“Detroit?” I asked, surprised. “You mean Detroit, Michigan?”

      
Sam gave me one of his looks. “What other Detroits do you know about?”

      
Irked, I growled, “Just asking,” and turned back to Flossie, who appreciated me. I think she was the only one present who did at that particular moment. Well, except for Spike.

      
“And Maggiori’s facing murder charges in New York City, so I don’t expect we’ll be seeing very much of him, either.”

      
“
Murder!”
Even though I didn’t want to, I gaped at Sam.

      
Naturally, he smirked. “I told you these guys were no good and that you should stay away from them.”

      
“I thought you’re the one who wanted her to hang out with them in the first place,” said Billy, noticing a discrepancy in Sam’s testimony, if that’s the right word for it.

      
But Sam was uncowed by discrepancies. “As a general rule. Daisy agreed to help us out in this case, but as a general rule, she shouldn’t consort with fellows like that.”

      
“As if I would!” I snapped.

      
“Hmm,” said Billy, eyeing me strangely.

      
“I wouldn’t! Darn it, Billy Majesty, you know me better than that!”

      
He finally admitted it. “Yeah,” he said with a sheepish grin. “I guess so.”

      
“You
guess
so?”

      
I might have pursued the matter, which would have been very unwise on my part, but sometimes I can’t seem to help myself. However, Flossie tugged on my sleeve at that moment. I turned to her. “Yes?”

      
“Um ... I don’t wanna be a bother or nothing—anything, I mean. But, well, I don’t have a place to stay or ... or any clothes, I guess, unless ...” Her voice trailed off. She looked uncertainly at Sam.

      
I had a feeling I knew what she was thinking. She didn’t want to ask in front of my parents and Billy if she could run and fetch her belongings from the apartment she shared with Jinx. Poor kid. She’d really managed to get herself into a big mess. And she was young, too. I guess one’s upbringing has a lot to do with the decisions one makes in life. Flossie had made her Jinx decision when she was no more than seventeen years old. She’d been a baby, for Pete’s sake.

      
Oh, very well, I know. I married Billy when I was seventeen, but that decision was nowhere near as basically bad as the one Flossie made when she linked up with Jinx, in spite of how it turned out. Why, if it wasn’t for that blasted war, Billy and I would probably be happily rearing a brood—or maybe one or two—children in Pasadena, and Billy would be employed at the Hull Motor Works as an automobile mechanic. Automobile mechanics made really good money, too. Curse the Kaiser.

      
Ma, bless her heart, said, “You may stay with us for a while, Miss Mosser.” She smiled sweetly, even though I knew she wasn’t eager to take on another housemate, and especially one as doubtful as poor Flossie.

      
“Sure,” said Pa, aiming for jollity. “Happy to have you.”

      
Flossie knew they didn’t mean it. She looked at me, pain as well as supplication in her eyes.

      
I glanced helplessly at Billy ... and then I remembered the perfectly brilliant question he’d asked me that day several weeks ago. I got up from the couch. I’d be happy to say I jumped up eagerly, but there wasn’t an eager bone in my body at that moment.

      
“I have an idea,” I said, and limped toward the kitchen and the telephone. There I took the Pasadena Telephone Directory from its little nook and thumbed through it, searching for a name and a number.

      
Ah, there it was. COlorado 728. I dialed the exchange and gave them the number, thanking my stars that I didn’t have to work all night like a telephone operator.
Usually
.

      
It was very late. If Flossie had to spend the remainder of the night in our house, that wouldn’t be
so
bad, but …

      
“Buckingham,” a voice rasped into the receiver. He sounded sleepy but not especially surprised. I guess when you’re a captain in the Salvation Army, you come to expect telephone calls in the middle of the night.