The Yankee Club (32 page)

“You’ve been gone eleven minutes.” The guard opened the door. Through the doorway was the inside of a restroom stall. Greenwoody nodded and entered the stall. The guard closed the door behind him.

“The president stayed in Washington,” Kennedy said, “but only a few of us know. If we’re going to do something, it has to be before the announcement. We have twenty minutes to come up with something.”

I handed the envelope and slip of paper to Kennedy. “There’s a briefcase in the safe at the Plaza hotel.”

Kennedy stuffed the items in his suit coat pocket. “Greenwoody wouldn’t have been so
secretive if the briefcase didn’t contain enough information to put Dalrymple and his gang behind bars. There are over a hundred Secret Service agents scattered around the Garden, but the Golden Legion has plenty of security of their own, plus undercover Blackshirts. We can’t just arrest Dalrymple without causing fireworks. If innocent people are killed, it might even turn New Yorkers against the president.”

“We’re nearly out of time.” Stoddard checked his watch. “We need Greenwoody alive to put Dalrymple behind bars. We have to ensure his safety … and his family’s.”

I’d never seen Stoddard so nervous. “Don’t forget about Laura.”

“Her, too,” Stoddard said, “but we don’t know for sure what’s in the briefcase. Greenwoody might be setting us up. We have no choice. We have to act right now and arrest Dalrymple, the Golden Legion, and the whole gang!”

“You say gang; their supporters will say eleven of the country’s most powerful bankers.” Kennedy pulled out a handkerchief and calmly cleaned his glasses. “If things go wrong, how do we explain the use of deadly force against men like that? Congress would introduce articles of impeachment against Roosevelt within twenty-four hours.”

“Damn it, Joe.” Stoddard slammed his fist on the table. “We don’t have any choice. We have to snatch Dalrymple, no matter the cost.”

I remembered two sections I noticed when I peered through the opera glasses. “I might know a way.”

I approached the section of reporters and photographers beside the Dalrymple party. If I was to rescue Laura and Oliver Greenwoody, I had to display more confidence than I felt.

I made my way down the aisle and overheard a couple of men talking about a rumor the president might not make an appearance. I shook hands with a reporter I knew fairly well, one who had trouble keeping secrets.

“Jake Donovan.” He gave me the once-over. “Nice socks.”

I lowered my voice. “You want to break some news?”

“Sure. I’m always interested.”

I nodded toward Dalrymple and Laura seated one section over. “Laura Wilson plans to end her engagement to Spencer Dalrymple this evening. Your paper seems interested in their relationship. I thought you’d appreciate a photo of the special moment.”

“Absolutely, but why are they calling it quits? Another dame?”

“Laura’s in love with another man.”

Several reporters and photographers began to pay attention.

The reporter laughed. “You?”

“I plan to have it out with Dalrymple before the president takes the stage. If you want a
picture that’ll make the front page, wait here until I set it up for you.”

“You been drinking?”

“No, but if this works out, Laura and I’ll be popping a bottle of champagne at The Yankee Club later.”

The reporter raised an eyebrow. “Why are you being nice to the press all of a sudden?”

“ ’Cause I want to see Dalrymple’s look of shock in the papers tomorrow.”

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” By now at least two dozen reporters were listening in on the conversation.

I wanted all the press to hear. “Give me a couple minutes. I’m going to inform Dalrymple it’s over between them. I’ll try not to make a scene, but when I grab Laura Wilson’s hand, that’ll be your signal to come over and snap some pictures.”

“Deal.”

I took a deep breath and climbed up the aisle. I walked to the back of the Dalrymple group, wiped damp palms on my trousers, and bounded down the steps like I was New York’s biggest playboy, all for the benefit of the press.

Before I reached Laura and Dalrymple’s row, two of his thick-necked guards stopped me. “I’m here to chat with Miss Wilson and Mr. Dalrymple.”

Laura twisted in her seat and smiled. “Jake.” She thumped her finger against Dalrymple’s chest. “I told you you were no match for him.”

Dalrymple’s eyes narrowed into slits. He glanced around to the Golden Legion bankers then nodded to his two guards, who let me through.

Greenwoody, like the soldier he was, appeared ready for any contingency. I stood beside Dalrymple and tried to flash the most arrogant smirk possible. “If your guards at the Plaza are any indication of your organization’s efficiency, you might as well turn yourselves in now.”

Dalrymple glanced at Oliver Greenwoody then held up a hand to the members of the Golden Legion with an I-have-everything-under-control look. “Perhaps I underestimated you, Donovan, but you’re too late to stop anything now. After the president’s speech—”

“Go ahead and overthrow the government if you want.” I raised my voice. “The only thing I’m going to stop tonight is your engagement to the most beautiful woman in New York.”

Dalrymple stood and clenched both fists. “Like hell you are.”

He could easily order his guards to haul me away, but I counted on him taking my presence personally. I gestured toward the stage. “I could throw you over that railing.”

“Maybe you should try.”

I had to time the confrontation just right, but some of the reporters had already moved closer. I offered my hand to Laura. “Come on, darling. We’re leaving.”

“No, you’re not.” Dalrymple snapped his fingers, and two guards rose from their seats in
the row behind him.

I held Laura’s hand. “Let’s go.” When she rose, two dozen reporters and photographers descended upon us, snapping pictures and shouting questions. As guards left their seats and blocked the reporters’ paths, Oliver Greenwoody rose and clamped his eyes shut, as if imagining what might have been, a man on a white horse riding in to save the country he loved. He blew out a breath, took his wife’s and daughter’s hands, and headed toward the far aisle.

Dalrymple’s guards tried to shove the press back to their seats. The reporters fought back, bringing even more members of the press. Like a baseball brawl when both dugouts empty, shoves and curses turned into punches. Laura and I ducked as drinks and fists flew. A beer bottle shattered at our feet as we made our way up the steps.

With flashbulbs popping, the mêlée expanded to nearby sections. Garden security joined in the bedlam.

Like we planned, Stoddard pushed through the chaos and led the Greenwoodys up the far aisle to the concourse.

I led Laura through the mayhem, but Dalrymple grabbed my arm as we reached the top of the stairs. “I’ll kill you, Donovan.”

I shook off his grip. Like my father taught me, I drew my arm back to throw a punch. Before I could deliver the blow, Laura socked Dalrymple. The punch landed flush on his jaw as a camera flash went off.

Dalrymple stumbled back. His head cracked against the wall, and he slid to the floor. More bulbs flashed as blood and saliva dripped from his busted lip. Dalrymple’s eyes rolled back, and he blacked out.

Laura giggled as she took my hand. We slipped through the battling guards and reporters and made it up the steps.

A dozen of Stoddard’s men met us on the concourse. We followed them through a door on the far side of the walkway.

With a smile on her face, Laura looked like a runaway bride as we hurried down a long hallway. At the end of the corridor, a guard held the door open. Laura and I stepped outside to where two government vehicles Stoddard had assured me would be waiting sat with engines running. Behind them a half-dozen motorcycle cops and their bikes waited.

Oliver Greenwoody glanced at me as his wife and Dorothy slipped into the rear of the first limo. He snapped me a crisp salute and climbed inside. The dark blue limo with black windows sped off. Three motorcycles roared off and followed behind.

Beside me, Laura caught her breath. A black-suited agent wearing dark sunglasses opened the rear door to the second limo. Laura and I climbed inside. A relieved-looking Gino sipped from a flask.

“Jake, Laura.” Gino kissed Laura’s cheek then handed me the flask. “Son of a bitch! You pulled it off.”

Laura threw both arms around me. She gave me a long kiss then glanced at her hand. “That bastard. I broke a nail on his face.”

I kissed her hand as the limo sped away, followed by the three remaining motorcycles. I sipped Gino’s whiskey and handed the flask to Laura.

She took more than a sip. “Jake, how did you … I mean how did you get away from Dalrymple’s guards and pull this off without anyone getting hurt?”

Not everyone was unhurt. Dalrymple lay unconscious and bloodied. His guards and more than a few reporters would nurse wounds, probably in a jail cell, but the coup had been thwarted. Laura was safe. That was all that mattered.

“Jake might’ve planned and pulled off your rescue,” Gino leaned back in the seat with a satisfied smile, “but he wouldn’ta made it here without me.”

Chapter 20
The Streets of New York

Two days after the incident at Madison Square Garden, Stoddard, Kennedy, Laura, and I sat around a small table in my suite. I’d barely touched the room service breakfast of bacon, eggs, toast, and coffee. My appetite waned the longer Kennedy talked.

Feds had swarmed Dalrymple’s estate and his Connecticut hunting lodge, hauling away truckloads of evidence against him. For the time being, he resided in a Manhattan jail cell. If lawyers kept him from a date in the electric chair, Dalrymple faced at least thirty years in the slammer. The country hadn’t healed enough to see him brought to trial for treason. If I had a vote, which I didn’t, he’d get a cramped cell at Alcatraz the rest of his life.

Kennedy finished his eggs and wiped his mouth with a napkin. He recounted the resolution of the attempted coup against Roosevelt as if describing last night’s Yankees game. The government declined to prosecute the other members of the Golden Legion in exchange for their support of New Deal reform legislation. The economy wouldn’t survive the loss of eleven of the country’s most important bankers, and if congress and the public learned the details about the plot to overthrow the government, they might demand more draconian measures.

Laura appeared oblivious to my growing frustration until she patted my hand beneath the tablecloth.

From the aggressive way Stoddard buttered his toast, I knew he didn’t agree with the government’s decision any more than I did, but he’d returned to the Secret Service. He had to play the role of good soldier even more than before.

Authorities nabbed Paul Cummings at the Canadian border. The Jamaican took a deal to testify against Dalrymple in exchange for a life sentence.

Oliver Greenwoody had agreed to testify before a congressional committee about Dalrymple’s plot, keeping the information about coconspirators a secret, along with the role Laura and I played. Stoddard and Mickey would get all the credit, which suited Laura and me fine.

Kennedy filled Laura’s cup with coffee. “The
Times
picture of you punching Spencer Dalrymple couldn’t have been more perfect. Reporters are still focused on a celebrity love triangle instead of the Golden Legion.”

I liked the second photo even better, an unconscious Dalrymple with blood and saliva
dripping from the corner of his mouth and a front tooth that looked more like half a Chiclet.

Kennedy neatly folded his napkin and placed it beside his plate. The future head of the SEC rose and kissed Laura’s hand. “No one else could have gathered Dalrymple’s trust and entered the Golden Legion’s inner circle in such a short time. Bravo, Miss Wilson.” He shook my hand. “If you two hadn’t worked so tirelessly with Stoddard, without regard for your personal safety, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

Laura and I walked the two men to the door. When they left, I was certain we’d never see either of them again.

“Son of a bitch!” I paced the room, furious the Golden Legion traitors would go unpunished. I understood the government’s decision, but I didn’t have to like it.

Laura took my arm. “Now, darling, the government is safe, Dalrymple is behind bars, and most important, you and I are together.”

She was right, of course. Nothing else mattered, but I’d never trust bankers again. Still, life had begun to return to normal. My bank freed up my funds, Mildred returned my calls, and Dalrymple couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

In the bedroom, Laura and I resumed packing. I stuck an envelope, containing a grand in fifties and hundreds, into my suit coat pocket. I snapped the latches closed and set my suitcase beside the bed. I peered through the drapes at the Manhattan skyline. The city held plenty of painful memories and losses. I couldn’t wait to leave. I’d miss Gino, Danny, and The Yankee Club, sure, but little else.

Hollywood offered vast opportunities for Laura and me. I wanted more literary challenges than churning out Blackie Doyle novels. Dashiell was in the middle of a screenplay for his
Thin Man
novel. Maybe I could tackle a screenplay and Laura and I could work together.

Laura wrapped her arms around my waist and pressed her face against my back. “We’ll be back.”

“Of course we will.” I turned and kissed her. “What time does the train leave?”

Laura checked her watch. “In three hours.” She flashed a smile I hadn’t seen since our high school days.

I took her in my arms and gave her a slow, enduring kiss. Laura pressed her body against me. My excitement grew as she swept her suitcase onto the floor and pulled me onto the bed. Her moist lips locked onto mine. Her hands tugged at my clothes. She broke the kiss and began to unbutton her blouse. My hands trembled as I helped.

A knock pounded at the door.

“Ignore it,” Laura whispered.

“Jake, open up.” Mildred’s voice. “I know you’re in there. I have something special to give you.”

So did Laura.