You Might As Well Die by J.J. Murphy Page B

get into her car. “I’ll see you at the bank.”
    Benchley rubbed his chin as the car pulled away. “I’m about to have a twinge of remorse. Should we go through with this?”
    “Certainly. I’m about to have a twinge and tonic,” Dorothy said. “Come on. Let’s go in.”
    But at that moment, the bootlegger Mickey Finn and his moll, Lucy Goosey, the former striptease dancer, emerged through the door of the speakeasy.
    “Mrs. Parker! Mr. Benchley! Fancy meeting you here.” Finn smiled, and his teeth were just as yellow and rotten as when Dorothy and Benchley had last encountered the gangster.
    “Not fancy at all,” Dorothy said sourly. “Lousy meeting you here, actually. What brings you out of your hideout?”
    Finn cackled. He was a redheaded devil—devilishly handsome and devilishly dangerous, Dorothy thought.
    “Not a social visit. Purely business,” he said in his faint Irish brogue. “I’m sure you recall very well that I supply Mr. Soma with his finest liquor, smuggled down from Canada. I have to constantly check on my interests, don’t you know.”
    “I don’t know and I don’t care,” Dorothy said, turning to go inside. “My only interest in your interests is in imbibing them.”
    Finn smiled as he stepped aside to let her in. “A word of warning, Mrs. Parker. You won’t want to quench your thirst here very long. My darling Lucy spotted Izzy and Moe leaving as we entered.”
    “Izzy and Moe?” Dorothy asked. The names sounded familiar. Had she read about them in the newspaper? Were they gangsters—or worse, Prohibition agents?
    Mickey Finn confirmed her suspicions. “Aye, they’re government agents who enforce the Volstead Act. They always come in disguise. Today they were dressed as a priest and a rabbi. How do you like that? A priest and a rabbi walk into a bar—”
    “A priest and rabbi walk into a bar,” Dorothy said. “And ten minutes later, it turns into a raid.”
    Benchley asked Lucy, “How can you be sure it was Izzy and Moe?”
    “Cop shoes,” Lucy said. “Even a penniless priest wouldn’t wear those cheap black shoes that cops always wear.”
    Mickey Finn cackled again, patting Lucy on the behind. “She’s a smart lass, ain’t she? Well, enjoy your relaxing little drink. Just make sure it’s little.”
    Finn turned and guided Lucy down the steps.
    “Wait,” Dorothy said. “Did you warn Tony?”
    “I daresay I didn’t.” Finn paused at the bottom of the steps. “When there’s a raid, the owner dumps all the liquor. Then, of course, he has to buy more. Why would I pick my own pocket? See you around.” He steered Lucy toward his waiting white limousine, parked across the street.
    Benchley turned to Dorothy and Sherwood. “I guess that’s that. We don’t want to be here if the place is about to be raided. The party’s over before it even got started.”
    “No, that’s just it,” Dorothy said. “This is our ticket. Come on.”

Chapter 15
    I nside the dark speakeasy, they spotted Tony at the bar. He saw them, too.
    “No, no, no!” Tony hurried toward them, wagging a long piano player’s finger. “If my wife sees you here, we all catch hell.”
    Dorothy held up a hand. “You’ll thank us when you hear what we have to tell you. You’re about to be raided. Mickey’s girl saw them here a few minutes ago.”
    Tony frowned. “You’re certain?”
    “If Mickey Finn wouldn’t know, who would?” she asked. “Did you have a rabbi and a priest in here a short while ago? They were Prohibition agents.”
    Tony’s face darkened; then he swung into action. “Carlos, get rid of that liquor!” he yelled to the man behind the narrow bar. “Put on the coffee and tea. But first, give these three each a drink on the house. Make it quick.”
    Carlos nodded, moving quickly and without question.
    Tony turned and addressed the room. The speakeasy wasn’t as crowded as it would be on a Saturday night, but there were enough people to make the place seem