Ms. Etta's Fast House (18 page)

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Authors: Victor McGlothin

BOOK: Ms. Etta's Fast House
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“Hell, I had to, Cora got tired of watching. Man, I never knew such a petite little thing could be so greedy.”
“Shoot me now, Ollie,” he wailed. “Please hit me over the head with something heavy and put me out of my misery.” Ollie stood there grinning, while M.K. kicked himself for being outfoxed by circumstance. He was just about to turn and walk away when he heard something in the back bedroom. M.K. pushed Ollie aside and then wandered a few paces past him. “What was that?”
“Sounds like the shower running to me,” Ollie answered, with a raised brow. “It could be the beginning of round two.”
“Ooh-wee, paging Dr. Phipps!” M.K. moaned hungrily. “I'll be right there. Do wait up. Hey, Ollie, send out for some sandwiches and soda pop. It's gonna be a long night. The doctor is in, and he's making house calls. Which of 'em did you say was the greedy one?”
19
A T
WISTER'S
C
OMING
B
altimore learned that Dinah worked the late shift at the hospital on Wednesdays, and he also knew it was Barker Sinclair's poker night, both providing him the perfect opportunity to work the crooked cop's wife into his busy schedule. Going on three weeks, he'd met her at his apartment and each time she grew more attached to his charming ways and sexual prowess. Baltimore was a tiger in the bedroom and Dixie had a bad case of jungle fever, a very bad case.
Over the past two days, Baltimore was haunted by the eerie feeling that someone was following him. As long as he didn't have to pump hot lead in Barker before he'd made some good money, he could deal with casting a long shadow even if it landed on someone else. When Baltimore stepped out of his apartment building, that someone emerged from his shadow and into the street light. An early model Dusenberg limousine rested along the curb with the motor running. Baltimore pretended to ignore it until the chauffeur leaned on the horn as he glided past. Before he opened his mouth to voice objections to being tooted at, the same square-shouldered brute from the Jewish mobster's mansion climbed out onto the city sidewalk and thumped a lit cigarette into the gutter.
“What?” Baltimore barked rudely. He contemplated going after the hired muscle but wasn't much in the mood for getting his clothes dirty. Besides, it would have been more trouble than it was worth to make a point, so Baltimore decided not to make a fuss.
“You're that Floyd guy, right?” the large thug asked. Considering how the two of them came extremely close to blows once before, Baltimore almost knocked him on his square behind for insinuating that all colored men looked alike.
“Maybe next time I'll leave you with something to help you remember me better,” Baltimore answered instead.
“No disrespect, the light ain't so good,” he lied. While Baltimore studied his expression for signs of insincerity, the back passenger side window of the expensive automobile lowered and a stubby white hand poked out to summon him over.
“I was starting to think you'd forgotten our agreement, Mr. Floyd,” Schmitty Rosenberg grumbled, once Baltimore was seated inside. “It's been quite some time since you barged into my home claiming to organize a hefty fortune for me.”
“For us,” Baltimore said curtly. He appraised the rich man's fancy tuxedo and top hat resting on the seat before remembering how bothered he was by the surprised visit. “And I don't appreciate you coming around here laying for me. I told you what was going to happen and none of that's changed. I put my time in and it's about to pay off. By this time Friday, I'll deliver as promised.” The brooding white man wanted to know Baltimore's strategy specifically, but that was not going to happen, since he'd just put the finishing pieces together courtesy of pillow talk with Dixie Sinclair. It didn't matter that she was sharing intricate details of her husband's business dealings. That woman would have gabbed all night long if Baltimore hadn't convinced her to get on home before Barker was finished with what he'd been up to.
“So far, Mr. Floyd, you've been all bark and no bite,” Rosenberg complained. “I rather looked forward to having a ravenous wolf in my midst so don't disappoint me. By the way, I have secured that sizable item that you requested. It's parked at the landing near the waterfront, next to the drydock warehouse. You know the place?” When Baltimore nodded that he did, Mr. Rosenberg pulled out two black satin gloves to wrestle on his thick hands. “Good, then you have two days, or I'll send someone by to get your attention, and Mr. Floyd, you don't want that.”
“Let me tell you what you don't want, Mr. Rosenberg, that's for me to get my dander up due to white folk hanging around my place. You'll get what's coming to you, I'll see to that.”
“You, as well, will get what's coming to you,” the mobster replied calmly. “
I
will see to that. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have tickets to the opera and I won't be late.”
Baltimore found himself standing on the sidewalk, watching the European antique slip off into the night. If he hadn't already put in a call to a couple of associates he could count on, the situation might have gotten dicey. As luck would have it, two very capable operators were headed toward St. Louis on the northbound redeye, two men Baltimore trusted with his life.
The following morning, Baltimore was up at the crack of dawn. He pounded the decorative ceramic tile inside of Union Station until the schedule marquee changed. A company man dressed in a black and white uniform came around and changed the sign reading “On Time” to “Arrived” for the train from Kansas City.
Right on schedule,
Baltimore thought, as he marched out onto the platform to greet his partners in crime.
With a host of others, he stood patiently while passengers stepped down off the Midwest Express. Baltimore smiled big and wide when reliving the gambling room caper he pulled with a group of fellas he'd put together almost a year ago. The situation intensified when a hotheaded fool deviated from his plan and got himself shot after getting cocky. Subsequently, he was recognized by an off-duty Kansas City cop moonlighting as a security guard. Baltimore's smile evaporated when the thought of something like that happening again crossed his mind. He'd gotten away by the skin of his teeth and wasn't planning on going back to jail, not for anybody.
Pudge Gillis exited the train first. Seeing him dressed in a tailored suit caused Baltimore to swell up with laughter because Pudge, shorter than average height, had always worn his clothes a size too big like he expected to grow into them. The natty pale blue suit was a good look, he was a grown man wearing expensive clothes that actually fit him. Baltimore extended his hand to the nut-colored man with almond-shaped hazel eyes and gushed with joy. “Pudge, you're sharp as a tack and a sight for sore eyes.”
“Hi ya, Baltimore. You don't look so bad yourself,” said Pudge, carrying a small suitcase.
“Where's Dank?” Baltimore asked when the other man didn't appear immediately.
“Oh, he'll be off directly,” Pudge answered, speaking of his traveling companion. “We dealt gin rummy most of the way, so he's probably on board try'na scrub off that whooping I put on him.”
“Yeah, I'm still licking my wounds,” admitted a tall, deep ebony-hued man with an athletic build. “Move outta the way, Pudge, so's I can shake my friend's hand.”
“Dank Battle,” Baltimore howled as the ex-boxer shook with him. “You look like a million dollars with a ham sandwich on the side.”
Dank beamed at the compliment, then he ran his thumbs down the lapels of a brown colored wool-blend five button suit. “Yeah, but I lost my last three dollars to Pudge on the way up.”
“Come on, fellas, I'm sure y'all could stand some grub and black coffee to pep you up,” Baltimore assumed.
Pudge patted his full belly and sucked on his front teeth. “Naw, we caught a meal on that iron sled we just hopped off of. But I could use a bed big enough to swim in. It took some considerable effort to shake Dank's folding money from those giant mitts of his.”
“Don't fret, I've worked all of that out,” Baltimore assured them. “Let's head to the car and catch up before getting down to brass tacks. Boys, it sure is good to see y'all. I know Kansas City won't be the same while you're gone.”
Dank chuckled, in step behind Pudge. “Huh, Kay Cee ain't been the same since you left,” he offered with a wink. True, Baltimore had spent some time in their city and stole a few hearts while putting his hands on some very important men's money. He fled town leaving behind a lot of scorching memories and lovesick women. Unfortunately, he could never return without risking a murder rap for gunning down a pair of colored policemen in order to rescue Henry from their clutches. Both Dank and Pudge had difficulty believing it when Baltimore informed them how his ex-best friend was now very close to becoming a lawman himself. They viewed it as a ridiculous career move. After all, Henry had skirted the other side of the law too many times to go changing his ways, even for a woman as demanding as Roberta.
When the threesome reached the parking lot, Pudge admired a fancy cream-colored convertible. Being a lover of fine automobiles, he was tempted to steal it until Baltimore explained that it was his car. Dank suggested Baltimore hide his keys when his back was turned, but Pudge reminded them he was an expert at boosting anything with wheels, that's why he was invited in on the heist. Dank was the brawn, quick on his feet and faster with his hands. Baltimore proved to be the valuable brains behind the outfit. Together, the trio was efficient and effective. They didn't need Henry for this one, not unless the house of cards collapsed on top of Baltimore's business venture.
The motel where he stashed the new arrivals was an out-of-the-way “Colored-Only” lodge off Aldine Avenue, a quiet stretch of road bordering “The Ville.” Since Baltimore had procured a room with double beds and stocked the pantry with enough food to hold them over, there was nothing left to do but clue them in to the entire set up. “Let me lay it out for you, so you can sleep on it until I come back later this evening,” Baltimore said, with the utmost sincerity. “Here's the long and short of it. There's a white cop running smack and supplying the local dealers.”
“Aiche?” said Pudge, with a surprised expression. “You brung us up here to steal heroin? I don't mind a lot of things, but I ain't one to get too close to the pump.”
“Me neither, but there's this man, a Jewish mobster, who's willing to pay a lot of money to get his paws on a major shipment. We're taking it not so's we can get involved in pushing that poison,” answered Baltimore. “Our deal is sweeter than candy, so listen up and watch those cavities. All the smack pumping through these parts come from Mississippi or Chicago. Those Miss'sip boys got way too much fire power to take down, but it just so happens I got an inside track to the load rolling in from Chi-town. It's simple. We pull a snatch and grab, nice and easy-like, and y'all catch the next train with twenty grand each to play rummy with on the way home.”
“Twenty thousand? Dollars?” Dank yelled eagerly. “Man, them's the kinda cavities I like. Hell, my teeth starting to hurt already. When can we get at that candy?”
“Hold your horses, Dank. I need everybody to be clear on a few things. First, I'll need Pudge to swipe a car this afternoon. Nothing too flashy, just sound enough to make it to Springfield, Illinois, 'cause that's where the drivers like to take a dinner break. We'll ditch the stolen car there and pick up another one on the way back. There's less of a chance to get pulled over with one on the hot list when you cross over state lines. Next thing, these white boys are crooked cops, so if it gets ugly, shoot to kill. We don't need state troopers spoiling our getaway. Now here's how it'll play out from there.” Baltimore went on to share only the details he deemed necessary. Tell a man too much and he'll have too much to remember was his philosophy and he stuck to it.
At six o'clock sharp, Baltimore returned to the motel to get the ball rolling. He left his car in the parking lot and rode away with the fellas in the Chevrolet Pudge had boosted from a nearby supermarket. They drove it to the three-ton cargo truck Schmitty Rosenberg provided by the Mississippi River landing, and then jumped on Route Fifty-Five North, headed toward Springfield. After the sun disappeared over the horizon Baltimore pulled into a service station and filled the gasoline tank to the brim. When they reached the outskirts of the small town, Pudge swapped stolen cars and waited near the roadside diner where the robbery was set to take place. He passed the newly acquired vehicle off to Baltimore, joined Dank in the truck and then waited. Baltimore pulled over on the shoulder of the highway and kept an eye out for a St. Louis squad car traveling south. He couldn't afford getting too close to the jack point and risk the chance of Barker recognizing him beforehand.
A little after an hour of watching cars whiz by, a police car roared past with two white men inside. Baltimore went to start up the Buick Pudge had pinched when they hit Springfield, but it wouldn't turn over. “Come on, you raggedy death trap!” he cursed. “Come on and crank for your ole buddy Baltimore.” He continued rubbing the ignition wires together to kick it over, while peering up at the road. Just as the police car drifted out of sight, the second-hand car fired up. “Yeah, baby, yeah!” he cheered. “Let's go get that candy.” The vehicle sputtered and spun its tires until eventually lurching onto the road.
Baltimore gunned the motor and gave chase. He appeared across the highway from the roadside diner just as Barker Sinclair sat down to a cup of coffee. His partner and Henry's ride-a-long superior, Tasman Gillespie, took his seat at the booth near the front window so he could watch the patrol car. As Barker headed for the restroom to relieve himself, Gillespie flirted with the busty waitress like he always did on the way back to the city. Baltimore waved a yellow handkerchief out of his passenger side window to alert his crew it was time to move.
Gillespie didn't give it too much thought when a large cargo truck rolled off the highway into the tiny lot, although it momentarily blocked his vision of the police car. He glanced at the muscle-bound colored man who'd climbed out of it, seemingly to test the tire pressure on the driver's side. Gillespie had no idea that someone else was working feverishly at hotwiring his ride home. It wasn't until the truck had ventured back onto the thoroughfare that he hopped up from table, screaming his head off. As if it had disappeared into thin air, the patrol car and their shipment vanished into the night.

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