No Pockets in a Shroud Page 4

'Brandon? Who's Brandon?'

  'Don't you know Brandon? Head of the Community Chest. Well, if I yell, come a-running,' Dolan said, going out. 'Where is she?' he asked Tommy.

  'Upstairs. Good luck, Casanova.'

  '“You got me mixed up with Ulysses,' Mike said, going upstairs.

  * * * * *

  Mrs. Marsden was sitting on the davenport, straight-backed, staring at the African Gold Coast fetishes on the mantel when Dolan came down to her.

  'Hello, Mrs. Marsden,' he said.

  'Good evening, Mr. Dolan,' Mrs. Marsden said evenly. 'I wanted to speak to you about Mary Margaret.'

  'What about Mary Margaret?' Dolan asked, sitting down on the davenport.

  'I've sent her away,' Mrs. Marsden said, 'and I've come to ask you not to answer any of her letters.'

  'Oh,' Dolan said, relieved. 'I won't. I didn't even know she had gone away'

  'Last week. I finally decided it was best. Since Mr. Marsden died I've had the responsibility of Mary Margaret alone, and I finally decided to send her to my sister's in Mexico City. She's so young and innocent, you know—'

  'Yes, I know,' Dolan said. 'Well, Mrs. Marsden, you could have saved yourself a trip. I promise you I won't answer any of her letters. What made you think she'd write to me after what happened?'

  'Now, don't insult my intelligence. I know the girl was fond of you—'

  'Not any more,' Dolan said. 'You broke that up. I'd like to ask you a question, Mrs. Marsden. What have you got against me?'

  'In the first place, Mr. Dolan, I don't like men who take money from young girls—'

  'What makes you think I took her money?' 'I saw the cancelled checks. Several hundred dollars' worth.' 'That's right,' Dolan said. 'I didn't think you knew. But I paid her back a hundred dollars. I'll pay the rest as soon as I get it:

  'My, my,' Mrs. Marsden said, leaning a little closer to him, shaking her head. 'These young girls! You've cut quite a swath among them, haven't you?'

  'I hadn't thought of it that way,' he replied, looking at the clock. 'Well, Mrs. Marsden...'

  'I don't wonder they lose their heads,' Mrs. Marsden said, not taking the hint. 'This Bohemian house and all its old furniture and old paintings—'

  'Yes. Well—' Dolan said, standing up.

  'And its fascinating literature,' she said, picking up a book from the coffee-table, holding it up. 'I was glancing through this while I was waiting for you. Did you write it?'

  'No,' Dolan said, blushing in spite of himself. 'I don't know how that got out here.'

  'And such illustrations! This is the first erotica I've seen in years.'

  'I don't know how it got out here. I usually keep it in the bookcase in my room.'

  'Where is your room?' Mrs. Marsden asked, standing up, holding the book in front of her.

  'Right in there,' Dolan said, pointing. 'That's my room.'

  'I'll put this away with my own hands,' Mrs. Marsden said, going across the floor. 'It's dangerous to leave books like this lying around.'

  'I'm sorry I have to rush off, Mrs. Marsden,' Dolan said, following her inside the room. 'But I'm late for rehearsal now,' he said, reaching for the light switch.

  'Don't turn that on,' Mrs. Marsden whispered, her hot breath in his ear. 'Don't...'

  'Well, I'll be a son of a bitch,' Dolan said to himself.

  * * * * *

  It was after eight o'clock when he got to the Little Theatre and started down the aisle to the stage.

  'Wait! Wait a minute up there!' the Major yelled to the players on stage, stopping the rehearsal, then turning to glare at Dolan. 'How much longer is this going to keep up?' he asked angrily.

  'I'm sorry, Major; I couldn't help it,' Dolan said contritely.

  'Do you think we're running this theatre for your special benefit? ... Do you? Answer me?'

  'I've told you I was sorry,' Dolan said nervously, aware that the cast was looking at him over the footlights.

  'You've got to cut this out! I only wish,' the Major said, turning to David and a couple of others from the production staff who sat with him in the auditorium, 'that we hadn't already announced the production. If it hadn't gone this far I'd chuck the whole business. Apologize to the cast, Dolan.'

  'But, Major—'

  'You've never shown the slightest consideration for the people in this cast: you've been rude and impolite and arrogant, acting as if you were the producer, writer, director, and star of every production. I've told you before that nobody in this theatre is any more important than anybody else.'

  'I didn't mean to be rude, Major,' Dolan said in level tone. 'I'm sorry I'm always late. I don't seem to be able to help it.'

  'Apologize!'

  '... I'm sorry, everybody,' Dolan said finally, to the players on the stage. 'I'll not let this happen again. Was that satisfactory?' he asked the Major.

  'Yes. Timothy's been pinch-hitting for you. All right, Timothy,' he called. 'Come on down. Dolan'll carry on.'

  'You stay right where you are, Timothy,' Dolan said.

  'You've been an understudy around here long enough—I quit,' he said to the Major, walking up the aisle, through the lobby into the night.

  * * * * *

  'Dolan! Dolan!' the Major called from the top of the stairs, walking rapidly down them to the car at the curb. 'Just a minute—'

  'It's all right, Major,' Dolan said, turning the ignition key off. 'No hard feelings—'

  'But we open next week—'

  'Let Timothy have the part. He's worked his head off for years. Give him a break.'

  'Dolan—you can't leave me in a hole like this—'

  'You'd be in a worse hole if I stayed. I'm no good, Major—it's best this way. Anyway, since rehearsals began things have changed for me and I won't have time to fool with the theatre.'

  'I didn't mean to embarrass you in there—'

  'Don't let's both be dam' fools, Major,' Dolan said quietly. 'I had it coming. I guess I was rude. I just never thought of it that way before.'

  'But—you need the theatre badly. You need what it can give you. Won't you please—for my sake?' the Major asked, ducking down, putting his head inside the car, under the top.

  'Look out, Major—I'm going,' Dolan said huskily, turning the ignition key, starting the motor. 'If I don't go now I'll never go,' he said, letting in the clutch, rolling away.

  2

  The first issue of the Cosmopolite was delivered to the newsstands the following Wednesday afternoon, and as Dolan was climbing the stairs to his office on Thursday morning he met Eddie Bishop coming down.

  'Well, you son of a bitch,' Bishop said gaily, sticking out his hand. 'You did it!'

  'Did you see it?' Dolan asked, shaking hands.

  'Did I see it? Everybody on the paper saw it.'

  'Come on in,' Dolan said, steering him into the office. 'Myra, here's that goddam Communist. I couldn't have put out the magazine without Myra's help.'

  'Hello, Ed,' Myra said. 'Several people called,' she said to Dolan. 'There's the list on your desk.'

  'I went around the news-stands this morning to check on the sales. That's why I'm late.'

  'How's it going?' Bishop asked, sitting down.

  'All right. I don't know much about these things. I guess it's going all right. Tell me, Ed—on the level now—what did you think?'

  'I thought it was swell, Mike. Truthfully. But it's a lot like the New Yorker, isn't it?'

  'Any magazine this type's got to be like the New Yorker. Except for the society stuff.'

  'That's the only part I didn't like. That society section.'

  'Got to have a society section—and the debutantes' pictures. Pretty good raft of advertising too, wasn't it?'

  'Who got that? You?'

  'Guy named Eckman. Works for Lawrence. Did Thomas see that stuff about the baseball team?'

  'I think he bought the first issue. I picked one up about four o'clock and took it in to him—and he had already finished reading it.'

  'What'
d he say?'

  'He didn't mind the baseball expose as much as he did that editorial about the newspapers being muzzled by the advertising departments. That made him blow his topper.'

  'Well, it's the truth,' Dolan said.

  'Sure, it's the truth,' Bishop said. 'Look, Mike—you don't have to tell me. Don't I know goddam well it's the truth! You're not the only reporter who ever ran up against that in a newspaper. We all do.'

  ' “Freedom of the press",' Dolan said sarcastically. 'God, what a laugh!'

  'I'm going to tell you one thing, kid,' Bishop said. 'I'm damned afraid you're bumping your head against a stone wall. You're going to make a lot of enemies. A lot of people are going to hate your guts for this. Thomas, for instance. You know what he's doing in the afternoon edition? He's writing an editorial on the sport page answering your charges about the dear old Times-Gazette being censored and suppressed.'

  'I hope he does. I hope to hell he does. I've got him nailed to the cross and he knows it. Besides,' Dolan said, grinning, 'it'll be swell exploitation for the magazine. It'll make people buy it.'

  'A lot of stupid goddam yokels who won't believe what you say—'

  'I'll make 'em believe it!' Dolan said, a little fiercely. 'By God, I'll give 'em dates and figures and names. I'll give 'em affidavits. That baseball business is only the beginning. I'm going right up from the bottom, through the city hall, and the District Attorney's office, and into the Governor's mansion—'

  'If you last that long.'

  'Oh, I'll last that long,' Dolan said.

  'I'll lay you a bet that if you go through with this idea they'll have this place closed up so tight in six months you can't get in with a truck-load of t.n.t.'

  'Over my dead body,' Dolan said.

  'All right—you'll see. But, hell, don't get me wrong. I'm for you. Why do you think I came up here to see you?'

  'Why?'

  'Well... I've been on police run for fifteen years, and I've seen some pretty raw things happen. Any time you want an article done, I'll do it. I couldn't afford to have my name signed to it, you understand—on account of the wife and kids—but I'll do it anonymously.'

  'Thanks, Ed, but I'm through with anonymous stuff. There'll be a name signed to anything I print that looks dangerous. Tell you what you might do, though. You might give me a tip once in a while. I haven't any budget yet, but I'll pay you sometime—'

  '—Hello, Dolan,' a voice drawled from the doorway.

  'Oh, hello, Mr. Thomas,' Dolan said, looking up. 'Come in—'

  'Hi, Tommy—' Bishop mumbled.

  'Who are you working for—me or him?' Thomas asked, finally noticing him.

  'Why—you, Tommy. I just dropped in—'

  'Well, just drop out. Or don't you give a damn what goes on at police headquarters?'

  'Okay,' Bishop said, getting up, looking daggers at Thomas. 'See you around, Mike—'

  'Good-bye, Eddie,' Myra said, still typing.

  'So long, Myra—'

  'Sit down, Mr. Thomas,' Dolan said.

  'I think better on my feet,' Thomas said gruffly. 'What's the idea of blasting at me?'

  'I wasn't blasting at you. I was blasting at all the newspapers.'

  'But everybody in town knows you worked for the Times-Gazette, and they'll know you meant us.'

  'That's drawing a pretty fine line—'

  'That story about the baseball scandal has gone over both press wires. You've kicked up a hell of a stink. You'll probably hear from Landis.'

  'I hope so—that was the idea.'

  'Well—I'm interested first of all in the Times-Gazette. I won't stand for you attacking us with vicious editorials.'

  'What you're really afraid of,' Dolan said, 'is that you'll be shown up. You and the other three papers.'

  'We'll make it goddam tough for you if you don't lay off. I'm telling you.'

  'Why, for God's sake, I've only begun. You wait until I really get into action,' he said, pulling a sheet of paper out of his inside pocket. 'These are some notes I've made in the past few days of stories to write—stories the papers should have written months ago. “Dr Carlisle,”' he read. 'You know him, the eminent abortionist, who already has killed a couple of girls and who still is permitted to carry on his wholesale business because his brother is the boss of Colton county. “Carson.” The Supervisor of Streets who gets a rakeoff on all trucks sold to the city. “Riccarcelli.” The guy who has a gambling-house in the biggest hotel in town. “Nestor.” The Police Commissioner, a fanner boy six years ago and who now rides in a Deusenberg. That'll give you a rough idea of what's on the surface. God knows what I'll find when I start digging.'

  'There's nothing new about any of that,' Thomas said. 'Every town in the country has the same thing to put up with. It's part of the recognized system. You're absolutely insane if you touch any of those stories.'

  'Touch 'em! I'm going to milk 'em. I'm going to give that erudite Grand Jury something to do.'

  'You're going to commit suicide, that's what you're going to do. Go ahead if you want to—but remember this, don't print any more vicious editorials about the Times-Gazette or I'll settle with you personally,' Thomas said, walking out, banging his heels on the floor.

  'Sociable fellow,' Myra said, stopping her typing. 'I hope you don't let him bluff you.'

  'I'm scared to death,' Dolan said, grinning.

  'Have you seen that list of calls? A couple of them said it was important—Miss Coughlin and a Mrs. Marsden. A Mr. Cookson also called. Said it was urgent—'

  'That's the Major. The Little Theatre director.' The telephone rang.

  'Hello...' Myra said. 'Yes, this is Beachwood 4556... Chicago? Who's calling? ... All right, operator, put them on—'

  'Who is it?' Dolan asked, frowning, taking the telephone.

  'It's from a gentleman who has something or other to do with baseball. I believe she said his name was Landis ...'

  * * * * *

  LANDIS OUTLAWS SIX COLTON PLAYERS CONVICTED OF ACCEPTING BRIBES IN CHAMPIONSHIP SERIES

  By Humphrey Presnell

  Six first-string members of the Colton baseball team were today outlawed from organized baseball by Commissioner Kenesaw Mountain Landis for accepting bribes to lose the series with Benntown, which determined the 1936 pennant. The players have been on trial five days.

  Their names are Fritz Dockstetter, pitcher; Harold Mullock, second baseman; Joe Trent, outfielder and league's leading batsman; Raoul Deadrick, outfielder; Mercer Castle, first baseman; and Adrian Potts, catcher.

  It was understood that two of the players had made a full confession to Commissioner Landis without revealing the source of the bribe. None of them would make a statement to the Evening Courier.

  Attention was first directed to the scandal by the Cosmopolite, month-old weekly magazine, edited by Michael Dolan, former sports editor of a local paper...

  * * * * *

  'I must say Presnell did all right by us,' Dolan said folding the newspaper. 'All over page one.'

  'It's a big story,' Myra said. 'It's in every newspaper in the country.'

  'I'm tickled to death they got kicked out,' Dolan said. “The bastards. I like Landis. No red tape with him. He'll keep baseball clean. It's too bad politics hasn't got a Landis. By God how they need one! One Landis in politics would do this country more good than six Supreme Courts.'

  'Hell!' Ed Bishop said suddenly. 'Listen to this editorial in the Times-Gazette: “The Times-Gazette joins with every lover of clean sport in wishing the six crooked Colton baseball players a speedy trip to Limbo—“'

  'Thomas wrote that,' Dolan said. '“Speedy trip to Limbo.” Ugh! Go ahead—'

  '“They were the idols of the youngsters in this city—and probably others in the circuit—but they were unfaithful to their trusts, and now they are for ever barred from organized baseball. Splendid. Whatever part we have played in the unmasking of these betrayers is but further indication that the Times-Gazette will not tolerate corruption of pu
blic office or of public men or of- baseball players.” Is that a laugh or not?' he asked grinning.

  'I expected that,' Dolan said. 'All that editorial needs to make it a perfect example of how not to write is for it to have a one-line head: “Crime Does Not Pay.” '

  'It's got it,' Bishop said. 'So help me, it's got it! Look! “Crime Does Not Pay.” '

  'Well, I'll be a son of a bitch,' Dolan exclaimed looking at the paper Bishop held, verifying it. 'Isn't that marvellous? You know something, Ed? You're lucky Thomas canned you. I'd rather starve to death and write what I wanted to than to work for that lousy Times-Gazette.'

  'So had I,' Bishop said dryly. 'At least that's what I'm doing. I'd just got a raise to fifty-five a few days before Thomas came up here and caught me in the office. You're paying me twenty-five. Of course, the real reason he canned me was because he saw me here that day and thought we were cooking up something. Me getting scooped when that tart got shot, wasn't it. Hell, that's only a one-paragraph story. He just used that as an excuse.'

  'Hello, Dolan—Hello, Myra,' Lawrence said breezily, coming into the office.

  '“This is Mr. Bishop, Mr. Lawrence. Late of the distinguished Times-Gazette.'

  'How do you do, Mr. Bishop,' Lawrence said, shaking hands.

  'I put Bishop to work yesterday,' Dolan said.

  'You did?' Lawrence exclaimed.

  'I got him fired, so I put him to work. Myra and I can't do it all. Ed's a goddam good man. Got guts. What's that in your hand?'

  'The new circulation report. I wanted you to see it.'

  'Thanks,' Dolan said, taking it. 'Did Eckman have any luck today?'

  'He hasn't come in yet, but I think we'll do all right now'

  'We ought to do better than all right with everybody in town talking about the Cosmopolite,' Dolan said, glancing at the circulation figures. 'Three thousand, one-one-one. Not bad for the fourth week. We ought to get plenty of advertisers now'

  'I hope we do,' Lawrence said. 'Three thousand circulation at ten cents each isn't much. Are you working tonight?'

  'We've checked the page proofs and they're ready to be set up. Nothing we can do tonight.'

  'How're the subscriptions coming, Myra?'

  'Fair. I've called about a hundred people on the list and got about twenty annuals.'