The Mammoth Book Of Roaring Twenties Whodunnits Part 8

"Yeah," Turico said, "I do." He stepped back from O'Farrell, jerked his thumb at the door and said, "Blow."

"Nice to see you again, too, Mike," O'Farrell said. The two had not gotten along when they were both police detectives, and it was no different now. Turico had always resented how O'Farrell got the high profile cases, but O'Farrell had a reputation for getting results, and Turico didn't. Naturally, Turico had risen to the rank of Lieutenant, since rank had more to do with who you knew than getting results.

Turico moved to inspect the body and McKeever followed O'Farrell to the door.

"Sam, sorry to bust in on you like this."

McKeever waved his apology off.

"Forget it. If the boss is gonna chew me out it's gonna be over this or somethin' else. But just between you and me, Val, you got a personal interest in this?"

"My client pays the bills for this place," O'Farrell said. "I met the girl. I liked her."

"Ah," McKeever said, "the sugar daddy. You got an idea where I can find him?"

"You can get his address from the manager of the building," O'Farrell said. "I don't have it on me. And he's got an office downtown somewhere. If the manager can't help you, let me know."

"McKeever," Lieutenant Turico yelled, "get your a.s.s over here."

"Gotta go, Val. You gonna look into this?"

"I'm not sure, Sam."

"Well, let me know, huh?" McKeever said. "Turico might be here, but this is my case."

"I'll stay in touch." As he went out past the uniformed policeman he patted his arm and said, "See you, Ed."

Did he have a personal interest? G.o.dd.a.m.n right, he did.

6.

O'Farrell was still dressed for the Yacht Club party when he approached Bat Masterson at his desk at The Morning Telegraph. The old lawman turned newspaperman made a show of covering his eyes.

"I'm blind! I'm blind!" he cried, then dropped his hands. "d.a.m.ned if you ain't the prettiest man I ever did see, O'Farrell."

"Cut it, Bat," O'Farrell said. "You're not the only one who can get all duded up."

"'All duded up'?" Bat asked. "I don't think I've heard anyone say that since Wyatt Earp back in ninety-nine."

O'Farrell rushed on, afraid that his friend would start telling one of his stories which would end with him taking a replica of his old gun out of his desk drawer. O'Farrell usually enjoyed Bat's stories, but he had no time for them today.

"Bat," O'Farrell said, sitting down across from his friend, "what's the skinny on the beauty pageant out in Atlantic City?"

Bat sat back and smiled broadly. Approaching his late sixties, both his waist and his face had filled out some, but when he smiled like that it took years off him.

"I know I'm one of the judges," he said.

"How'd you get that job?"

"h.e.l.l, they just up and asked me," the old gunman said. "Who am I to say no to judging a bevy of beauties?"

"Who asked you?"

"Some fella from the what's it called Atlantic City something-"

" Businessman's League?"

"That's it. Said they needed artists to judge and I qualified 'cause I'm a writer. You believe that? I never been called an artist before."

"Or a writer."

"You want me to shoot you?"

"Sorry."

"What's your interest?"

"I'll tell you," O'Farrell said, "but you've got to keep it under your hat for a while."

"That's a hard thing to ask a newspaperman to do, Val, but okay. For you I'll do it."

O'Farrell fed him the whole story, and Bat listened in complete silence . . .

"What do you want me to do?" Bat asked.

"I wanted to find out what you knew about Balducci, and about the pageant."

"Like what?"

"Like are they on the up-and-up, both of them?"

"As far as I know the pageant is," Bat said.

"Does that mean that Balducci isn't?"

"There's been talk that Balducci is in bed with a, uh, certain criminal element."

"Like what?"

"Well, some of the crime reporters have been wondering if he's in with this new Mafia," Bat said. "They wonder if he's not involved with the giggle juice trade and other illegal activities."

"You sound like you're being real careful with your language. Why would a rich man like him want to run liquor with the mob?"

"Well," Bat said, "this new breed of what do they call 'em gangsters is a lot different from the bad guys of my day. You can't tell by white hats and black hats anymore, Val. And who knows why rich men do what rich men do?"

"Okay, so Balducci might be in bed with the Mafia," O'Farrell said, "but the pageant is on the level?"

"As far as I can tell," Bat said. "I wouldn't have agreed to be a judge if I thought different."

"How are you getting out there?"

"They're sending a car for me."

"What time?"

"Around five, I think. Do you want to ride with me?" Bat asked.

"Yes, I would," O'Farrell said. "I think if I walk in with you I'll be able to get around easier."

"Fine," Bat said, "meet me here around quarter to five and we'll go look at some girls. What will you be doing until then?"

O'Farrell stood up. "Trying to find my client before the police do."

7.

O'Farrell knew more about the Mafia and Johnny Torrio which were natural offshoots of Paul Kelly and his Five Points Gang then he wanted to let on to Bat Masterson. Friend or no friend, it wasn't wise to let a newspaperman know all that you knew. However, he'd met Vincent Balducci and didn't see him as a gangster. It was more likely he had some connections crooked and lucrative to Tammany Hall.

O'Farrell was unable to locate Balducci that morning and into the afternoon. He wondered if the police were having the same problem? At least he knew that the man was supposed to be at the Yacht Club in Jersey that evening.

He decided to make one more stop before meeting Bat Masterson to go to New Jersey. There were still some things he needed to know, and his buddy Sam McKeever would have the answers.

O'Farrell had decided not to change his clothes after leaving Bat Masterson, so when he returned to the offices of The Morning Telegraph he was still dressed for the Yacht Club party.

He met Bat in front of the building as a boxy, yellow Pierce Arrow Roadster pulled up. He and Bat got in and the driver pulled away and headed for New Jersey.

"Find your man?' Bat asked.

"No."

"Think he's in hidin'?"

"I doubt it," O'Farrell said. "Men with his money and his connections rarely go into hiding, even if they are suspected of murder."

"And is he?"

"He's on the list," the detective said, "since he was paying the bills for the girl."

"And what's your interest in this, Val, other than him bein' your client?"

"I met the girl and liked her, Bat," O'Farrell said. "She shouldn't have died like that."

"Like what?" Bat asked. "If you told me how she died I forgot."

"She was shot, once, in the temple."

"Any chance of suicide?"

"The word I got from the cops was that she was shot from close range, but there was no gun at the scene."

"Well, that rules out suicide unless someone removed the gun."

"Too complicated," O'Farrell said. "I've found, in my experience, that the simplest answer is usually the right one. Once you start factoring in 'what ifs' you just complicate things, and muddy the waters."

"What about the gangster angle?"

"That muddies the waters," O'Farrell said, as if it was a perfect example of what he had been talking about. "I'm looking for a clean, simple solution."

"You're gonna solve this thing?"

"Bat," O'Farrell said, "I think I already have."

When they pulled up in front of the Yacht Club there were many other vehicles arriving, as well as those which had already arrived. More Pierce Arrows, Rolls Royces, even some sporty Stutz Roadsters.

O'Farrell and Bat were dropped right in front of the Club. A tent had been erected nearby to accommodate all the guests for party, and there were plenty of boats in the water to be involved, as well.

In fact, festivities seemed to have already begun, as not only were the contestants delivered to the docks by boat, but a man dressed as King Neptune, as well. Neptune arrived on a barge surrounded by twenty women in costume, and twenty black men dressed as Nubian slaves.

Once King Neptune and his subjects were on the docks the second barge brought the beauty queens in. There were eleven of them, O'Farrell knew, because Georgie Taylor would have been the twelfth. Apparently, her death had gone unreported to pageant officials, who had not had time to replace her, or they'd been surprised when she hadn't arrived and had gone ahead with eleven.

The contestants were allowed to wear their new risque bathing suits on the barge, showing lots of skin, but were then whisked away to don something more appropriate for the party.

"Well," Bat said, when the girls were gone, "it won't be easy judging the most beautiful out of that lot, tomorrow night. I'd better find the officials and ask them what they want me to do."

"I'll see you inside the tent, then," Val O'Farrell said.

"Better stick with me, Val," Bat said, "at least until I get you introduced to someone in the know."

That was wise, O'Farrell knew. On his own he might end up being kicked out before he could find Vincent Balducci.

"Good idea."

8.