Sugar House (9780991192519) (34 page)

"What if I say no, Joe?" Ziggie pulled the
front of his jacket back to reveal a .38 in the waist of his pants.
Joe looked down at the weapon, smiled at Ziggie, and did the same.
"All right, all right… no need to get so serious. Take your pretty
little cousin home, Joe. I'll see you around." Ziggie stumbled off.
Joe grabbed Marya and pulled her out of the ballroom.

"You're gonna get in a heap of trouble if
you're not careful, Marya" was all he said as they walked to the
waiting cab. Marya sat silently in the cab on the way home, while
Frank and Pauline debated which rides were the best. Marya looked
slightly remorseful as Joe helped her up the stairs to her house.
Frank and Pauline went inside, and Joe told Marya to wait on the
porch. He walked around to the back of the house to the old water
pump and poured water on his handkerchief. He returned to Marya and
wiped the dark charcoal off her eyes as she sat at the top of the
steps.

"Thanks, Joe. Thanks for helping me out with
that guy. Who is he, anyway?"

"Nobody you want to be talking to, Marya. Why
don't you knock off all this going out and get a job to help out
your parents? I can probably set you up with a nice salesgirl job
at one of the department stores."

"I said thanks, Joe, not hey, Joe, I'd like
to be a stiff and stay home every night. You have some nerve acting
all morally superior… last time I looked I didn't see you wearing a
priest collar. You run liquor into this city every day, and you're
mad because I go out and have a little fun! How dare you, you
pompous ass!"

"It's two different things, Marya. I'm trying
to make a living. You're just out for a good time. And I'm a man;
women need to behave differently."

"You're younger than me and you sound like
you were born fifty years ago, Joe. Times are different now,
haven't you heard? Women can vote and work and smoke and drink in
bars… it's the 1920s not the 1820s. Lord, you sound like my
parents. And don't think I'm so tipsy I didn't see you flash your
gat at that gangster. Why don't you just lay off and mind your own
business?" She pulled herself up from the stoop.

"Didn't think you'd listen, you crabby goat.
Do me a favor. Next time you decide to go off and get liquored up,
don't bring Pauline along."

Marya slammed the door behind her as she went
in.

"Women!" Joe muttered under his breath, as he
went into his house.

The following morning, Joe woke to a driving rain and
a dark gray sky. He pulled on an overcoat and headed to the Sugar
House to meet with Charlie after breakfast. Charlie was sitting in
his office as usual when Joe opened the door.

"Come on in, Joe. I've got some good news.
Seems that bastard Cammarato isn't only a thief but an idiot too.
He believed your story about the new customs agents and tried to
unload your cargo in St. Clair. But he had to wait a couple of days
till somebody could get there with a truck. Abe and Ray found him
just sitting there on the boat with those two stupid goons. So Abe
decided to sit on them and watch the loot while Ray headed back to
let me know the scoop. So I tell Ray to grab Ziggie and make their
way over to Cammarato's house to keep an eye out. That fat sister
was hanging clothes on the line in the back when they got there, so
Ziggie decided he'd go have a chat with her. Meanwhile, Ray goes in
the house and busts the place up good. Ziggie don't touch the fat
broad, but he scared her real good, and all the while she can hear
all her china being thrown against the wall. They leave for a few
hours and go to the speakeasy down the street and have a few
drinks. Later, when it gets dark, Ray throws a little bottle bomb
through the front window just to make sure we get our point across.
Next morning I get here and the dago bastards are driving your load
into our garage. Mighty considerate of them, doncha think?" Charlie
reached out and clapped Joe hard on the shoulder and laughed.

"They mention anything to you about a
twenty-five percent tax, Charlie?" Joe asked, relieved that his
story had been corroborated and happy the cargo had been
returned.

"Nope. No mention of any taxes, and they've
decided to run their operations north of the city from now on, so
you and Cappie shouldn't have any more problems with garlic eaters
from here on out. They sure must love that fat sister of theirs."
Charlie slapped his knee and laughed again. "How about I take you
out tonight to my place for a few drinks before you and Cappie head
back to Wyandotte?"

"Sounds great, Charlie. I'll meet you there
at nine. I've just got one more thing to take care of before we
take off again." He shook Charlie's large hand and headed out the
door. The air was still cool, but rain fell in buckets. So Joe
grabbed a cab to the Ford plant instead of taking the
streetcar.

It was lunchtime by the time he reached the
plant. Droves of men were heading out of the gates to find a quick
drink and a bite to eat. He asked a few of the workers who passed
by if they knew of his Uncle Feliks. One man told him that he
usually ate at the blind pig on the corner across the street.

Joe knocked on the back door of the building.
All the windows were boarded over, and the tavern appeared
abandoned except for the sound of laughter and conversation that
could be heard through the thin siding. Joe knocked three times on
the back door, and an oval flap in the door slid open revealing one
brown eye and a very thick eyebrow. Joe said, "sturgeon," the
password. He heard the slide of a lock from the other side, and the
door swung open. Joe walked into the dark crowded barroom. Smoke
clouded his field of view, and he squinted as he searched for his
uncle. He found him sitting at a back table eating his free lunch
of kielbasa with a side of pickles and chips. An empty mug of beer
sat in front of him, so Joe ordered two Stroh's at the bar and
carried them over to the table.

"Thirsty, Uncle Feliks?" he asked, setting
the glasses down.

"Hey, Joe! Thanks. What are you doing over
here? You trying to get hired on at the plant? I could speak to a
guy for you… you're a little young, but we could tell them you're
older." Uncle Feliks took a long drink of beer and wiped his lips.
"What are you—fourteen?"

"Almost sixteen. But I didn't come for a job,
Uncle Feliks. I wanted to proposition you with an opportunity." Joe
took a sip of beer and set it back down. His uncle looked at him,
curious.

"Yeah? You got something on the side,
Joe?"

"Nah, I don't pull any side jobs. I'm happy
just working for the Sugar House… don't want no extra trouble. I
was thinking about something else entirely. I heard you've had some
bad luck lately, and I thought it might be a good time for you to
head out of the city for a while." Joe reached across the table and
grabbed a potato chip.

"Oh that. Don't worry about your old Uncle
Feliks, Joe. Just had a bad run is all. I've got a line on a sure
thing and I'll make it all back tonight."

"No one's gonna take your bet, Uncle Feliks.
You owe money all over town, and the only reason you don't have two
broken legs right now is because you owe most of it to the Sugar
House. Besides the angry husbands that are looking to cut off your
balls…"

His uncle winced. "What do you know about
that? That's nothing for a boy to be worrying about, Joe." Uncle
Feliks blushed slightly in the dark room and reached for a
cigarette in his coat.

"It is when there's a price on your head.
This city is smaller than you think, Uncle Feliks, and I don't need
you going and getting bumped off for a measly two thousand dollars.
I don't think Uncle Alexy could take it after losing…" Joe couldn't
say
my father
. "Anyway, I've got some dough saved up, and I
thought you might like to take a trip till the heat dies down. My
mother misses her sister, and I'd like to find her for her. I'll
buy your passage to Poland; you go back to your hometown and look
for her and bring her back. I'll settle your bets. In a couple of
months, everyone will have forgotten about you sleeping in occupied
beds, and you can come back. Whaddaya say?"

"I don't know, Joe… I never really wanted to
go back to Poland." He drained the last of his beer. Joe signaled
to the barman to bring over two more beers, though he still had
half of his first one. "I'll need to think on it for a couple
days."

"No time to think. I gotta head back to work
in the morning, and I have to buy your train and boat tickets
today. Not sure when I'll get back to the city, and you've reached
the end of the line with the Sugar House. I mean it, Uncle Feliks,
I met with Mr. Leiter this morning, and he said you've run up too
big of a tab to be ignored anymore." Joe finished his first beer
and set the empty glass down.

Two of the Sugar House enforcers picked that
moment to walk into the saloon and sit down at the bar. One looked
over at his uncle with an unfriendly grin, tipped his hat, and
waved. Joe looked back at the two toughs and signaled to the
barkeep to give them a beer on him. They drank down their beers,
tipped their hats again at Feliks, and went out the back door.
Uncle Feliks looked a little shaken. Joe ordered him a third
beer.

"You can pick up the tickets at my house
after your shift, OK?" Joe patted his uncle on the arm. "It'll be a
nice trip, and think how happy your brother's widow will be when
you bring back her sister. You'll be the hero of the family, and I
won't let on about our little agreement?" Uncle Feliks drained the
remainder of his last beer and looked at Joe.

"You got my brother's spunk, you know that
Joe? Your ma ever tell you he tried to get me to go and fight in
the Great War with him?" Joe shook his head no. "'Come on,
Feliks—fight for your new country,' he said. But I wouldn't go.
Damn coward, I guess… shoulda been me that died instead of
him."

"Now you can redeem yourself, Uncle. Wait
till you see the party they'll throw for you when you bring back
Aunt Anna! I'll see you after your shift." Joe grabbed his hat from
the table and walked back out onto the street. The rain had abated,
but a soft drizzle still fell. The people on the street scurried to
avoid getting wet. Joe grabbed a streetcar at the corner and took
it to the railroad station.

He exited the streetcar at the entrance of
Roosevelt Park, the elegant processional park that led to the
entrance of Michigan Central Station. Eighteen massive stories
towered over the circular drive, and Joe could hear several trains
pulling in and out from behind the grand station. He hurried down
the tree-lined boulevard, wishing he'd stopped to buy an umbrella
when the streetcar passed through the downtown shopping district.
The rain had grown heavier, and he pulled up the collar of his suit
coat as he walked up the steps to the station.

Joe walked through a large hall, past several
boutiques, a thriving barber shop, and a restaurant, toward the
ticket office.

A line of five people deep stood in front of
the ticket booth, and he took his place at the back. The line moved
quickly. Joe purchased one ticket for New York to depart the
following morning. He then found the concierge and purchased
passage to Europe for his uncle via telegram.

Tickets safely in his front pocket, he walked
to the café for a quick cup of coffee. From here he could observe
the crowds passing and enjoy the beautiful architecture.. The large
copper skylight in the vaulted ceiling provided minimal natural
light on such a gray, rainy day, but the station was awash in
bright electric light. Pairs of massive columns flanked the hall
like soldiers in dress uniform, providing security and an air of
regality. Departing passengers carrying suitcases and trunks
hurried past him toward the concourse.

Blurred colors of women's dresses reflected
in the marble walls, reminding Joe of the young women who had spun
around the ballroom at Electric Park. The memory of his drunken
cousin cussing him out on their front porch flashed in his head.
Marya was really too pretty to be flaunting her body and drinking
with strange men. The number of rapes and kidnappings had kept pace
with the city's increase in population and illegal drinking
establishments; Joe was worried something bad was going to happen
to Marya if she didn't change her behavior.

Joe paid for his coffee and grabbed his hat
from the chair next to him. As he placed it on his head, he saw a
commotion near the long tunnel that led to the train platforms. A
group of people at the entrance were vying to get closer and asking
for autographs. Curious, Joe walked toward them. He climbed on the
pedestal of one of the columns to see over the crowd. A tall man
wearing a straw hat stood next to a very small woman in a cloche.
He couldn't see their faces, but he realized who the woman was when
he heard a gentleman in the crowd call her name.

"Ms. Bow! Please, over here. Can I get an
autograph?" A young man was jumping up and down and shouting,
trying to get the tiny woman's attention. Just then, Joe caught
sight of the woman's pretty face and recalled her image from the
cover of the
Photoplay
magazine that fronted the newsstands.
There stood Clara Bow right before his eyes! The most famous movie
actress of all time… the "It" girl, the woman who personified the
twenties, female sexuality, frivolous fun, drinking, and the
flapper. She appeared slightly disheveled and nervous in the
growing crowd; her enormous brown eyes looked around anxiously for
a way out. She glanced up at Joe's perch and smiled slightly. It
appeared to Joe as a plea for help.

Joe jumped down and entered the mob with the
confidence of a police chief at a murder investigation. He pushed
the young man who was still shouting at the movie star to the side
and reached Ms. Bow and her companion. He turned toward the crowd,
took off his bowler hat and waved it over his head to get the
attention of the throng of admirers.