Chicago Max
by Gary Inbinder
Chapter 4: A New Client
part 2
"Does your brother have a criminal record?"
"He had one arrest, last year, for drunk and disorderly. He got into a fight near the sporting house where he plays piano. I bailed him out of the county jail. He made a court appearance and paid a fine."
"Sounds like your brother has a temper to go with his drinking habit. Do you know what caused the fight?"
"A patron of the establishment made some comments about my brother's playing. He called Benny a 'No-talent kike who played piano like a barrelhouse coon.'"
"I see. Well, some would say that was sufficient provocation. Did your brother have a lawyer at the hearing?"
"Yes, I got one of my friends to represent him for a nominal fee. However, the hearing was over quickly with little formality. The lawyer really didn't need to be there."
Max nodded his head in tacit agreement before saying, "I'm afraid your brother needs a lawyer now — a good one. If he was booked last year, he has a record with his photograph, detailed description, personal information and something new: fingerprints.
“A witness might come forward and provide a description of your brother. Let's assume the witness can't identify him by name. The police will use that description to search records. If they get a match with your brother, they'll look for him and, when they find him, they'll question him and most likely arrest him. He should go to them and tell his story before they come looking for him. But first, he needs to talk to a lawyer."
Levy frowned. "Perhaps I could get my friend, although criminal practice is not his specialty. Then there's a firm we use for our business." He named a well-known downtown law firm.
Max shook his head. "I'm afraid they won't do, Mr. Levy. I know how they operate. They'll charge a fortune for a senior partner who'll say hello to your brother, give the file a once-over, then hand it to some nice young gentleman fresh out of law school.
“Your brother needs someone with plenty of trial experience, who knows all the angles of the system, the cops, the DA's office and the judges. I know such a man. Have you heard of Manny Rosen? His office is on South Racine."
"I... I've read about him in the newspapers."
"Good. I've worked with him as an investigator on several cases. Your brother will be well represented, if we take the case."
"Excuse me, Mr. Niemand; you said ‘if.’ You haven't decided?"
"I can't speak for Rosen. As for me, I'd need to interview your brother first. Can you telephone him to let him know we're coming?"
"He... he doesn't have a private phone. There's a pay telephone on the landing outside his apartment."
"That won't do. If we go to his apartment now, will he be home?"
Levy's pale face flushed; his eyes looked down at his hands. "I... I believe so, but he won't be alone. He... he lives with a... a woman."
"Does this woman have a name?"
"Yes... a stage name. Lil Diamond. She... she's a chorus girl in a vaudeville on South State Street."
Max pondered silently. “So, the kid's shacked up with a frowzy chorine, he plays barrelhouse piano in a brothel, and he robs his old parents to pay his gambling debts. That'll endear him to the public, not to mention the twelve good men and true who could hang him or send him up for a long vacation in Joliet.” Finally, Max said to Levy, "She's a potential witness, so we'll need to talk to her, too. Where do they live?"
"On South Peoria Street, near Harrison."
"All right. How did you get here?"
"By hansom. I paid the driver to wait for me."
"Good; we'll take the cab. First, I'll telephone Rosen to see if he can meet us at your brother's apartment. That is, if you wish to proceed."
"Yes... yes, I agree. But... but you haven't said how much this will cost?"
"I charge a fifty-dollar retainer plus expenses. If Rosen takes the case, he'll bill you and pay me. As for Rosen's fees, that's between you and him."
"Excuse me, Mr. Niemand. Fifty dollars is a great deal of money. If... if I hire Mr. Rosen, would I still require your services?"
"Rosen's job would be to provide a defense for your brother. My job would be to investigate and, if possible, find the real killer, in which case your brother would be cleared, case closed. Of course, this is all hypothetical. Your brother hasn't been charged with a crime, and consulting with Rosen is just a precaution before he goes to the police."
"I... I see. And what if Mr. Rosen doesn't take the case?"
"Let's wait and see, Mr. Levy. Shall I telephone him?"
Levy hesitated a moment and cleared his throat before saying, "Yes... please do."
* * *
Benny Levy was drunk. Not dead drunk, or slobbering drunk, or genially drunk, or pugnaciously drunk. Just drunk. Benny, Max, and Manny Rosen sat around a baize-covered card-table; its surface was marred by numerous cigarette burns and shot-glass rings. A bottle of cheap rye was well on its way to becoming a dead soldier.
Benny was a smaller, darker version of his older brother, with the addition of a waxed moustache, less attention paid to his wardrobe, and a colorful vocabulary that matched his unconventional lifestyle.
Seated at that table, under the yellow glow of a hissing gas mantle chandelier, the Hawk and the lawyer had been grilling the kid for more than an hour, probing his story for inconsistencies. To the kid's credit, he had not wavered, which meant he was either a good liar or telling the truth.
They did learn something of value. Benny recalled Moe answering a telephone call about the time Max had phoned. He also described Moe's nervousness, and Benny believed there was someone else in the store. He did not see anyone, but he did remember smelling cigar smoke. When Max asked Benny if he were sure it was a cigar and not a cigarette, the kid replied, "It was a cigar, all right, and not a cheap one, either. I can tell the difference between the smell of good tobacco and burning horse shit."
Benny also confirmed that he worked at the Gardenia Club, the significance of which Max did not share with Rosen.
Lil Diamond watched the proceedings from her seat on the edge of an unmade Murphy bed in a shadowy corner of the one-room apartment. Tall, dark, with long black hair flowing over her back and shoulders, she might have been attractive, but her looks had faded since they reached their zenith around the time Teddy Roosevelt led the charge on San Juan Hill.
Her face, unpowdered and unpainted, displayed an unhealthy sallow tinge made worse under gas light; dull brown eyes exuded weariness accentuated by dark circles and a spreading network of wrinkles around the orbits. Her shabby, flower-patterned housecoat remained open, revealing a sagging un-corseted bosom under a white chemise, swelling hips and thighs nearly bursting through linen drawers, long, still-shapely legs in black cotton stockings and rather large, slippered feet.
If Lil had any virtues, modesty was not one of them. She showed as much on stage when she kicked up her heels with a line of equally immodest young women, amusing the rowdy crowd in the entr'acte between the trained seals and the Chinese magician who sawed a woman in half.
Max reckoned she would not be much use as a witness. This was her day off, and she had slept until well after Benny had returned from Weinberg's shop. "A girl's gotta sleep sometime," or so she said.
Harry Levy sat apart from the others, on a small chair in an angle of the third floor room, gazing out the bay window. He focused his attention on a light snowfall that swirled within the bright aura of a street lamp. His mind drifted away from the incessant questioning and Benny's boozy responses and turned its attention to the sounds of the street and the surrounding apartments. Streetcars rumbled and clanged; brakes squealed; dogs barked; horse hooves beat the brick pavement; the screams and shouts of a nearby domestic argument ended in curses, loud sobs and the violent slamming of a door.
"No more questions, OK? I'm tired." Benny grabbed the bottle and poured a double shot.
Harry turned his head toward the table but said nothing.
Lil stretched her arms and yawned. Then she bent over and starting rubbing her right leg. "I think it's fallen asleep," she mumbled.
Manny looked at Max and gestured with his eyes toward the door. Max replied with an affirmative nod.
"All right folks," Manny said. "My colleague and I are going into the hallway for a confab. We won't be long."
Max and Manny exited the apartment. Floorboards creaked as they walked down a threadbare runner to the other end of the landing. The hallway smelled of boiled cabbage and dirty diapers. They stopped in a dark corner next to a clanking radiator and a fire escape exit.
Manny smoothed back the few dark hairs remaining on his shiny, balding head. He looked up at Max with a disapproving grimace. "This Levy kid's what our people call a shanda fur die goyim. I grieve for the family."
"He's also what your people call a schmuck, but that doesn't make him a killer. Moe's head was smashed in like a ripe watermelon. I don't think the kid has it in him to murder that way. And I don't think he would have bent the family heirloom over Moe's head for two grand, especially when he had a big brother to bail him out."
"I agree, but what do you think Mueller will do?"
Max did not say anything about the matchbox, which might corroborate Benny's story about the hidden cigar-smoker. On the other hand, the matchbox came from the whorehouse where Benny played piano. Mueller might say, So the kid had a smoke to calm down after he bashed Moe, and carelessly left the matchbox behind, along with some ashes.
"If Mueller can make the case to the DA, he won't look any farther than Benny. He'll have Benny's prints on the murder weapon, be able to place him at the scene of the crime, and state a motive, even if it's a thin one. He'll keep looking for witnesses, but not for long. He might not arrest the kid right away, but he'll caution him not to leave town and put a tail on him, just in case."
Manny scratched his head and thought a moment before saying, "Maybe I'm a sucker for taking the case, but I'll do it. Do you want to work according to our usual arrangement?"
"Yes, but I don't want the police to know I'm working with you, at least, not yet."
Manny nodded. "All right. I guess we ought to go back now, and break the good news."
Copyright © 2015 by Gary Inbinder
