him?â
âYes. For about fifteen minutes.â
âInteresting.â
âIn what way?â Miss Lizzie asked him.
âHeâs a hoodlum. A rumrunner.â He turned back to me. âHow is it your uncle knew him? Did he say?â
âNo.â
Still stroking the dog, Mrs. Parker asked me, âDid you get to see George Raft?â
The dog looked up at her, its tiny tongue lolling.
âYes,â I said. âHe was amazing.â
She smiled. âAmazing in a way that makes you wonder how amazing he might be in other ways.â
âYes,â said Miss Lizzie. âAll right, Amanda. What happened next?â
âWe went to the Cotton Club,â I said. âIn Harlem.â I mentioned the man in the white dinner jacket.
âGood-looking guy?â Mr. Lipkind asked me. âEnglish accent?â
âHe was good-looking, yes. But I donât know about the accent. I didnât talk to him.â
âBlack hair, brown eyes, smokes cigarettes? Stands real straight?â
âThatâs him, yes.â
âOwney Madden.â
âAnd who might he be?â Miss Lizzie asked.
âHe owns the place. Also a couple of breweries. Another hood. A Brit. Got sent up for killing a guy about seven years ago. He got sprung last year. Smooth as silk these days, but very definitely a hood.â
Miss Lizzie turned to me. âYour uncle, it seems, knew some rather colorful characters.â
âBut he was a stockbroker,â I said. âMaybe they had investments.â
âGuys like Owney and Larry,â said Mr. Lipkind, âthey donât need investments. They are investments.â
âYouâre on a first-name basis?â Mrs. Parker asked him.
âI get around.â He shrugged. âPart of the job.â
âGo ahead, Amanda,â said Miss Lizzie. âWhat happened next?â
I told them about coming home, going to sleep, and finding Johnâs body.
âYes, dear,â said Miss Lizzieâwishing, I believe, to hurry me past that horror. âI know it must have been dreadful. So you called the police?â
I continued with the story. When I came to Lieutenant Becker, Miss Lizzie turned to Mr. Lipkind and asked him, âWho is he, this Becker person?â
âA big deal at headquarters. Got a lot of juice.â
âBy âjuiceâ you mean power? Influence?â
âRight. Word is, heâs the bagman between the mob and the cops.â
âBagman?â
âAccording to the grapevine, Beckerâs the guy who carries cash from your criminal elementâfolks like Madden and Fay and Arnold Rothsteinâto the department. Down at headquarters, itâs divvied up among the troops.â
âArnold Rothstein?â
âBig gambler. Runs the richest floating crap game in the city.â
âThe name is familiar. Isnât he somehow connected to the sports world?â
Mr. Lipkind smiled. âKind of. Heâs the man who fixed the World Series back in 1919.â
She nodded. âWe are talking, then, about bribes.â
âContributions, the police like to call them.â
âAnd the police can get away with this?â
Mr. Lipkind shrugged. âNew York City. They can get away with whatever they want.â
âThe New York City cops,â said Mrs. Parker, âare notorious assholes.â
The word, coming out of that tiny frame, spoken in that elegant accent, startled me. I glanced at Miss Lizzie. If she were startled, she didnât show it. She simply nodded and then turned to Mr. Lipkind.
âBut if Mr. Becker is such a powerful figure,â she asked, âwhy should he involve himself in this particular investigation?â
âGood question,â said Mr. Lipkind. He shrugged. âI dunno. Unless maybe the cops want to keep Madden and Fay out of it.â
âBut Mr. Becker couldnât have known, before he arrived at John
C. J. Cherryh
Learning to Kill: Stories
John O'Riley
Brenda Sinclair
Christopher George
Stephen Lloyd Jones
Karl Iagnemma
Celya Bowers
Jill Gregory
Aria Cunningham