The Girl In The Glass Part 10

"This was a new new type of Klan. They were still race haters, but they sold themselves to the populace on the platform of law and order. Imagine. There weren't enough colored people out there on the island for them to get that worked up about, so they kind of transferred their energy into hating the Catholics, the Jews, the immigrants. They were down on what they considered the dissolution of the white race by all of the foreigners coming into this country. And they were heavy supporters of Prohibition." Brogan lifted his gla.s.s, as if making a toast, and took a drink. type of Klan. They were still race haters, but they sold themselves to the populace on the platform of law and order. Imagine. There weren't enough colored people out there on the island for them to get that worked up about, so they kind of transferred their energy into hating the Catholics, the Jews, the immigrants. They were down on what they considered the dissolution of the white race by all of the foreigners coming into this country. And they were heavy supporters of Prohibition." Brogan lifted his gla.s.s, as if making a toast, and took a drink.

"What part of the island were they located in?" asked Sch.e.l.l.

"All over the d.a.m.n place. They formed these little bands to guard the sh.o.r.eline against bootleggers and would prevent them from landing. Shoot-outs, lot of violence there. White supremacy is what they've always been about, and that's basically what they're still about. Eventually, their own political infighting undercut their power. By the end of the twenties a lot of it disbanded, but I'm sure it's still there. There were times during their heyday, we're talking less than ten years ago, when they'd be allowed in churches and schools to give speeches, hoods and all. Lot of pastors were big supporters. Some shameful s.h.i.+t."

"That's a scary group," said Antony.

"Scary, yeah," said Brogan, "but mostly just a bunch of ignoramuses. There's guys a lot scarier than them out there."

"Who's that?" I asked.

"Guys with the same philosophy, but with real power, brains, and money. I hate to say it, my friend, but you'd be mincemeat with these b.a.s.t.a.r.ds whether you were a swami or...where are you from, Guatemala? Mexico? Anyway, you'd be finished."

"Why the teardrop?" I asked.

"That's no teardrop, chum. That's a drop of blood. It's all in the blood. Their big fear is the mixing of the white race with, quote, unquote, inferior blood."

MURDER AT A PARTY.

Sch.e.l.l paid The Worm, who thanked him kindly and used some of the money to order another round of drinks. I pa.s.sed, my first still unfinished. For a few minutes, Sch.e.l.l and Brogan exchanged facts about b.u.t.terflies, and then the conversation moved on to acquaintances and old times, and Antony jumped in. Before we left, Sch.e.l.l inquired as to a name, someone he could contact on Long Island who might have been or still was seriously involved with the Klan.

Emmet went through his usual thinking phase where you could envision him flipping through the stored pages in his mind. "Of the klaverns that haven't broken up, they've all pretty much gone underground. I remember reading about a guy who was a big deal with this mess. Stephen Andrews. He's an old guy, might be dead by now. He was out in Freeport. Check out this t.i.tle he had-he was a Grand Exalted Cyclops. I suppose in the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king. He might still be around. If he is, and he'll talk to you, you might be able to get some more out of him." Antony, Sch.e.l.l, and I stood up, and Emmet slid over to the edge of the booth to shake each of our hands. "Great to see you guys again," he said.

"I may be back for some more," said Sch.e.l.l.

"If you need to get something quick, call the library and leave a message for me at the desk. They all know me."

Brogan b.u.mmed one more cigarette off Antony and then turned to me and said, "Listen, son, the future's in information. That's where the money and power are going to be. By the time your kids reach your age, they'll have machines that do what I do. And they'll be free. Only one problem."

"What will that be?" I asked.

He waved a hand in the air. "Don't worry about it. First we have to get through the next war." We bid good-bye to Grace, who told us to come back and see her soon. Then we were out in the alley.

"Brogan's crazy as a loon," said Antony as we traced a path around the ash cans and junk.

"Yeah," said Sch.e.l.l. "He knows his facts, but when he starts to talk about the future, it's time to inquire as to how many of those p.i.s.s gins he's consumed."

"I guess they call him The Worm because he's a bookworm?" I said.

"No, kid, they call him The Worm because he's a f.u.c.king worm," said Antony.

"What do you mean?"

"Can you imagine hanging around with that guy for any length of time? He's murder at a party."

"Emmet can't turn it off," said Sch.e.l.l. "The world to him is merely an accretion of facts. After a while, he burrows under your skin, and you just want him to shut up. Hence, The Worm."

"Does he live in a freight car or something?" I asked.

"He's got a place up on Park Avenue. Nice place," said Sch.e.l.l. "You wouldn't believe the people who hire him. The guy has dough."

"He dresses like a b.u.m," I said.

"Life of the mind," said Antony.

After leaving Grace's Paradise, we went back to the station and caught the two o'clock train out to Port Was.h.i.+ngton. For the first part of the journey, no one spoke, but after Jamaica, Sch.e.l.l bent forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped together, and said, "Why would the Klan want to kill Barnes's daughter?"

Antony and I sat there in silence, waiting for the answer.

"Well, if the Klan killed her," said Sch.e.l.l, "considering it was a group, and a group with a political agenda, no matter how screwed up, I'd say it would have to be either revenge for something or to make a statement. Otherwise, why leave a calling card? Obviously, the girl couldn't have done anything to warrant it."

"Does the mother's use of the term 'dybbuk' indicate that she's Jewish?" I asked.

"I'm wondering about that," said Sch.e.l.l. "Not necessarily, but it's a strong possibility."

"So maybe they killed the girl because she was half-Jewish?" I asked.

"Why, though? There's a good-size population of Jews on Long Island. Why pick this girl?" asked Sch.e.l.l.

"Emmet said they don't like the blood to mix," said Antony. "Maybe, like the kid said, it was because she was half-Jewish."

"But Barnes and his wife didn't seem really up-front about her being a Jew. I'd bet in that blueblood landscape he travels, that's not the best advertis.e.m.e.nt. If she is, most people don't know, so how would the Klan find out?"

"What do you want the guy to do, put an ad in the paper? Headline: 'My Wife's a Jew,'" said Antony. Sch.e.l.l c.o.c.ked his head to the side and vaguely nodded. "Good point. It just doesn't seem to make sense, though. From what Emmet said, it doesn't wash with the law-and-order facade of the Long Island Klan."

"There's one other thing," I said.

Sch.e.l.l looked over at me and sat up straight.

"The hat?" asked Antony.

I nodded.

"Okay, go ahead. We'd have to spill it sooner or later," he said.

"What hat?" asked Sch.e.l.l.

"Remember that hat I wore when I was Parks's mother?" asked Antony. Sch.e.l.l nodded.

Even though he'd told me to relate the story, the big man jumped in and proceeded to lay out the entire adventure of the hat, our attempts to recover it, and our overall deceit. As much as I cringed as Sch.e.l.l told the tale, I was thankful to Antony for ending with the statement, "Don't blame the kid, Boss. I put him up to it."

"Deception seems to be the order of the day," said Sch.e.l.l, looking over at me.

"Sorry," I said.

"Make that two, Boss," said Antony. "I just didn't want you to think I was losing my professional edge." Sch.e.l.l laughed. "Your professional edge?" he said.

"I didn't want you to think I'd try to do anything but a good job."

"Okay," said Sch.e.l.l, "let's move on before this slides into the mawkish. You've told me you lost the hat the night of the seance, then you went to retrieve it from the girl, and Diego lost it again when he was attacked by bootleggers on the beach. You two live an eventful life. But my question is, what does this have to do with the murder of Charlotte Barnes?"

"After that, the hat turned up again," I said.

"The kid saw it on a guy at the wheel of a car we pa.s.sed on the drive when we were leaving the Barnes place the day we met Lydia Hush," said Antony.

"The same hat?" asked Sch.e.l.l.

"I think so," I said.

"I figured maybe Barnes was running a bootlegging operation, bringing booze in from Canada, and those guys in the car worked for him," Antony said.

"A guess," I whispered.

Sch.e.l.l took it all in and then answered me by saying, "No, no." He held his hand up. "That makes sense actually. So you two think the girl was murdered in revenge for her father's rum-running operation? That makes a lot more sense than a random kidnapping and murder. Emmet said the Klan are strident Prohibitionists."

"Seems a rather severe punishment," I said.

"I don't think making sense is their strong suit," said Antony.

"This means that we're going to have to pay a visit to the Exalted Cyclops," said Sch.e.l.l. "He might know if there's that kind of bad blood between Barnes and the Klan. When we get back to the house, Antony, I want you to get the Broomhandle out and get it ready."

"Boss, really, the Mauser?" said the big man. "Do we need the stock?"

"No, it's got to be concealed."

"What's the Broomhandle?" I asked.

"This old pistol," said Antony.

"A gun," I said. "I didn't know we had one."

"Oh, yeah," said Antony.

"Have you ever used it before?" I asked.

"Once," said Sch.e.l.l.

"Do we really need it? Guns make me nervous," I said.

"People who'd kill a little girl wouldn't think twice about offing two con men and a Mexican."

"You have a point there," said Antony.

"Just think, Mr. Cleopatra, if you hadn't lost that hat, we'd have never suspected this connection," said Sch.e.l.l.

"I try to do what I can," said Antony.

DOWN THE TOILET.

The next day, using the simple means of a local phone book covering Freeport, we found the home of the Exalted Cyclops on the outskirts of that town. It was an unremarkable, one-story dwelling, painted brown, with a lawn and rosebushes, at the end of a cul-de-sac.

"I thought somebody so exalted would have a bigger place," said Antony as we drove past to give it the once-over. "I guess cyclopping doesn't pay a h.e.l.l of a lot."

"That's probably him right there," I said, pointing to an old man, thin and slightly bent, heading slowly around the side of the house toward the backyard.

"Go back around," Sch.e.l.l said to Antony. "Diego, you and I'll find him. Antony, you wait a minute and set yourself up at the side of the house."

Antony nodded, turned the car around, and pa.s.sed the place again. This time he pulled over to the curb ten yards beyond the edge of the property. We got out, closing the doors quietly. Sch.e.l.l and I took the lead, and the big man followed. We didn't head for the front door but strolled around to the backyard. The old man was there, sitting at a picnic table, smoking a cigarette. He didn't hear us approaching and only looked up at the last minute.

"What do you want?" he asked when he saw us. His head looked like a dried apple; his hair was an afterthought-a few strands blowing around in the breeze. Behind big gla.s.ses, his eyes shrunk down to slits, and he made a face like he was chewing gla.s.s.

"Mr. Andrews," said Sch.e.l.l. "I need to ask you a few questions concerning the Klan."

"Well," said the old man, "I'm not answering any questions, and I think you'd better get out of my yard."

"I'm afraid that won't do," said Sch.e.l.l, and he sat down across from him at the picnic table. Andrews looked over at me and his eyes widened. "What the h.e.l.l is that?" he asked Sch.e.l.l, pointing to me.

"Ondoo, spiritual savant of the subcontinent," said Sch.e.l.l.

"May the scales fall from your eye, my most exalted one," I said and gave a little bow.

"That's border n.i.g.g.e.r," said Andrews. The veins in his scrawny neck bulged and his hand shook.

"'Border n.i.g.g.e.r?'" said Sch.e.l.l. "Mr. Andrews, I have to inform you that Ondoo is considered a prince in the mystical realm."

"Listen, mister," said Andrews, launching his cigarette b.u.t.t at Sch.e.l.l with a flick of his finger, "my boy is just inside that house, and if I call him, he's going to come out here and break your neck." The cigarette hit Sch.e.l.l's shoulder and bounced off, dropping ash on his sleeve. Sch.e.l.l swiped the ash off himself and said, "Call him."

"Calvin," yelled Andrews.

"Yeah?" we heard from the kitchen window.

"Get out here, we've got trouble."

Two seconds later the screen door opened with a squeal and there appeared on the back steps a young man with a crew cut and a baseball bat. He wore a white T-s.h.i.+rt beneath which his muscles bulged.

"What's wrong, Dad?" he said.

"Remove these two a.s.sholes from the yard," said Andrews with a smile.

"What the h.e.l.l's this one?" asked Calvin, pointing the bat at me as if he was the Babe, indicating a home run.