Maude Brown's Baby (13 page)

“Yes!” Donald and Jake said in one voice.

“You should open a restaurant.” Jake added.

“I’m afraid nurses are needed now more than c
ooks,” Clara said. “The soldiers’ ward is already full, and more are coming every day. I'm worried that so many have the flu.”

Jake grew quiet, and Cl
ara knew not to go on. Once she had called him a slacker for avoiding the draft. Now she wasn’t sure. So many men had left for adventure and glory. Now they were coming home, horribly damaged and old beyond their years.

“Let’s see Elton’s pictures,” she said to clear the air.

Donald spread the six prints on the table. It was much easier to read the black and white enlargements than it had been to squint at smaller negatives. Jake pointed to one of Elton’s seawall shots.

“This is where I was today, only now, these steel forms have been removed and this is a solid wedge of concrete sixteen feet tall.”

Jake drew his finger to the right across the photograph and tapped twice on the wood and steel framework. “This part of the seawall—where the body’s supposed to be—is finished and the crew has moved farther up the beach. Tonight they’ll begin pouring concrete for the next section.”

“These
pieces are huge!” Clara said. “You don’t realize it until you see workers nearby.”

“And here are the two prints of Maye,” Jake said. “She looks like she’s had a few drinks.”

“Especially standing there in her underwear,” Donald added. Clara and Jake laughed. Donald snatched off his glasses and put the print close to his eyes, which only set them laughing more.

“Say, Don, you don’t need to study her figure that closely,” Jake said.

“That’s not it,” Donald said, his cheeks turning red. “I missed something before.”

Clara, still smiling, put a pot on the stove, lit the burner and adjusted the fire to low heat. She took a Mason jar of soup from the pantry and
twisted the lid, which made a pleasing pop as the rubber seal released the vacuum inside. She poured her stock into the pot, then chopped two small potatoes from the garden and added the bite-sized pieces as filler. Clara then placed three empty soup bowls on the table and sat, just as Donald looked up from the print.

“Here! When we were looking at the negatives this morning, I thought this was a picture hanging on the wall, but it’s a mirror.”
Donald pointed with his index finger. “That’s Elton’s reflection.”

“Let’s see,” Jake said.

“This one, too.” Donald slid the second print toward Clara. “This is Elton, and I can see his Speed Graphic sitting on a small table.”

Jake dropped the print he was holding, and exhaled loudly.

“I’m beginning to see what happened. That’s probably Elton’s hotel room. Maye must have gone there while Beno was still at the club. He got suspicious and followed her.”

Jake stopped abruptly. “My cousin told me once that even the o
ther Sicilians are afraid of Beno.”

Clara returned to the stove to stir the soup and adjust the flame.

“I need to talk to Sergio,” Jake said.

“Your cousin?” she asked
.

“On my mother’s side. He’s older than me, but we played together as kids. He opened a restaurant here and was doing fine until Houston deepened its own port
and took customers away from Galveston.”

“Is that when y
our cousin expanded his menu?”

“If you’re talking about the gambling and the wom
en, yes. He’s a trying to survive. He had to change with the times.”

Clara pointed a long wooden spoon toward
the newspaper at Jake’s elbow. “Last month a customer in one of Sergio’s clubs was badly beaten and left out on the beach. It’s a miracle he survived. And there was the shooting last April. That time a man from Houston died.”

“Sergio didn’t have anything to do with that.”

“Pe
rhaps not, but some of the owners, including Sergio, are getting bad reputations,”

Clara opened the bread
box and removed the loaf she’d made the day before. She sliced it in half, put the knife and half loaf on the table, then returned to the icebox.

“This will keep yo
u going until the soup is ready,” she said, placing the butter dish next to the bread.

Donald enjoyed watching her
move about the kitchen, a fact not lost on Jake.

Clara stirred the soup, tasted it, then
added pepper and a few leaves of fresh basil. She stirred and tasted again. Satisfied, she laid the spoon across the lid of the Mason jar. She wrapped the remaining half loaf of bread in a clean dish towel and put it in the breadbox, then turned, leaning back against the kitchen counter. She looked directly at Jake.

“Galveston is changing," she said. "Most people talk about police payoffs like they’re a normal part of business. Scandal isn’t shocking any more. Even the few honest politicians say the city needs the money that the clubs are bringing in.”

“Maybe so,” Jake said. “But I’ve got to ask Sergio about Elton. I’m going to his club this afternoon.”

“I’ll go with you,” Donald said.

“Strange to be without my camera bag,” Jake said. “Do you at least have your Autographic?”

“Always,” Donald said, patting a slight bulge on the inside pocket of his summer jacket.

“Where is Sergio’s club?”

“Near Murdoch’s Pier. Maye could be there
, too.”

“Is that where Rebecca and Jen work?”

“No, they’re at one of the fancier casinos up the street. The club owner has a driver bring them to work in the evening, then take them home just before sunup, if they come home at all.”

Donald pondered the arrangement until he noticed that Jake seemed amused. He let his fingertips bump along the pickets of a fence as they walked. The day was still warm, but the sun would be down in another hour and the humidity wasn’t too bad. Wind from the northwest. Should be a nice evening.

“Jake, how did you get a deferment?” Donald said at last. “The draft board would have hauled you in as a slacker if you didn’t register when it was your turn.”

“Did I mention that I’m the sole support for my elderly parents?” Jake sighed. “It’s a
constant burden for me.”

Donald bit his tongue.

Sergio’s Flamingo Room offered reasonable food, liquor and dancing, plus non-stop gambling in the back. The club’s unadvertised services depended on the customer’s budget. Those with cash were welcome.

A
thin man wearing a tuxedo—a new employee since Jake had last been to the club—stopped them just inside the door. His waxed hair and moustache appeared to be painted on. He slowly enunciated each word.

“Do you have a reservation?”

“It’s still early, pal, and your place is half full,” Jake said.

The man in the tuxedo stiffened. He glanced briefly toward the bar and raised one hand. Donald squirmed, wishing Jake would relax.

“Still, sir, we require …”

“We’re here to see Sergio.”

“Whom should I say …”

“His cousin. And hurry.”

“Wait here.”

Tuxedo stepped first toward a beefy man sitting on a stool at the bar. He leaned close to speak, covering his mouth with his hand.

The fellow at the bar had no neck that Donald could see, only a pair of chins sagging over his collar and tie. Wide shoulders met at the sides of his head just below the ears. His upper arms stretched the fabric of his evening coat like enormous links of pork sausage. A fleshy lower lip nearly touched his wide nostrils, but for all that, his small dark eyes were the most frightening. They never left Donald and Jake.

“We’ve been waiting a long time,” Donald murmured. He wished Jake had been more agreeable, and was relieved when Tuxedo returned.

“Mr. Leone will see you now. Follow me.” The hulk at the end of the bar slowly returned to his drink.

Tuxedo led them
toward the back. Donald surveyed the dining area. Privacy booths lined the wall. Only a few tables were occupied. A noisy family filled one, the children being fed an early dinner after a day at the beach.

Donald and Jake followed Tuxedo down a wi
de hall, through the kitchen and into a smaller passage that had no windows or doors. He stopped before a blank panel and knocked. Donald heard two sets of footsteps on the other side before the panel opened silently into a large, windowless office. A man motioned them in, then flicked two fingers. Tuxedo nodded and backed out the door.

“
Mio cugino!” Sergio said, hugging Jake with one arm and thumping him loudly on the back. Sergio’s free hand held a cigar aloft. A lone cigarette smoldered in the ashtray, but there was no one else in the room.

“How
have you been?” Sergio said, finally releasing Jake.

“Still standing,” Jake said, stepping back. Sergio laughed.

Donald compared the two men. No one would guess they were related, or that Sergio’s family was Sicilian. Jake’s mother was Italian, but his father was German stock. Sergio was the taller of the two. Donald guessed they weighed about the same. While Jake was considered handsome, Sergio could pass for a movie star.

“What brings you back, cousin?” Sergio asked. He smiled broadly.

“Don’t you know?”             

“Perhaps. But first, who is your friend?”

“Sergio, meet Donald Brown. Don, this is my cousin, Sergio Leone.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Leone.”

“Sergio, per favore!”

“Grazie, Sergio, piacere,” Donald said, shaking hands.

“Ah, your friend speaks a little Italian!”

“Just enough to be
trouble. Look, Serg, I need to ask about Beno.”

“Piano, piano, cousin! Slowly, slowly. Would you like a drink?
”

Sergio stepped toward the built-in bar, but Jake grabbed his arm. Sergi
o’s smile vanished.

“Per f
avore, cousin,” he said, “what do you need to know?”

“A friend of mine is missing. I think
Beno knows where he is.”

Sergio smoothed
the sleeve of his jacket, then spoke. “Your friend? The photographer from Houston?”

“His name is Elton Sparks.”

“Mr. Sparks is a very foolish man.”

“Why do you say that?”

“He was spending time with the wife of Beno.”

“I was afraid of that.”

“Beno found out. This is a town of 40,000 people, but there are few secrets.”

“Do you know what happened?”

Sergio shrugged. “I have heard about it.” He stepped behind his desk, casually sweeping his hand toward the guest chairs.

“Beno was here Thursday night," Sergio offered.
“One of the customers asked for him. They talked, then Beno left quickly.”              

“You saw this?”

“I was told.”

“Do you know where he went?

“To a hotel.” Sergio looked to Donald, then back at Jake.

“It’s all right,” Jake sa
id. “Don is helping me.”

Sergio leaned
back in his chair, drew thoughtfully on his cigar, opened his mouth and let smoke drift toward the ceiling.

“Beno was unhappy t
o see his wife with Mr. Sparks, and I’m sure Mr. Sparks was surprised to learn that the lady was Beno’s wife.” Sergio regarded the end of his cigar, then tapped the ashes into a crystal tray.

“It was an unfo
rtunate mistake for your friend. Beno did not react well. He was unkind to his wife, but she was used to his ways. I heard that he left Mr. Sparks at the beach, perhaps to think about what he had done.”

Jake leaned forward, gripping the front of Sergio’s desk.

“The beach? Do you know where?”

“
The new section of the seawall.”

“And Beno? Where is he
now?”

Sergio sighed. “I do not know. No one has seen him since that night.”

Jake hustled Donald down the Flamingo Room’s broad stairs and onto the street. “We need to call Clara,” he said.

“Why?” Donald stepped in front of
Jake, one hand flat against Jake’s chest. “Why?” he asked again.

“Beno knows I was the one who introduced Maye to Elton, and he knows that with Elton missing, sooner or later I’d come looking for him.”

Jake started to move, but Donald pushed back.

“But Clara?”

“Look,” Jake said, shaking off Donald’s hand, “where Beno comes from, revenge is a sport. He knows I’m in town and where I stay. He might go there looking for me.”

Donald turned away. He slapped automaticall
y at a mosquito, but didn’t bother wiping the blood from his cheek. He darted between a Ford and a passing buggy to the phone booth in front of Murdoch’s Pier, then tugged at the door before noticing the man inside.