Chapter 26
“Park here,” Arlene directed from the passenger seat, pointing to a spot on the pier in Fish Harbor near her family’s boat. The light from a nearby buoy cast the dock in shadows, making it hard to see. But Arlene recognized the looming shadows of the Van Camp Seafood building and the American Tuna Company across the water. This tiny stretch of harbor was home to eight canneries in all, including the French Sardine Company where Michael and Marie Lazzarini had met and worked.
Dash had driven them across the single narrow and rough-shod road that connected the San Pedro mainland with the port’s Terminal Island. Arlene had navigated, the road as familiar to her as the back of her hand, while Eleanor, Joan, and Flynn were stuffed into the back seat of Pauline’s Buick. Arlene’s car was too small for all of them plus, hopefully, a rescued Don. And Dash’s Cadillac was far too flashy to remain incognito on the waterfront in the wee hours of the morning.
Dash parked, and Arlene let out a breath. This was it. They had to get Don out. She knew this was foolhardy, possibly even the stupidest thing she’d ever done. But their options were limited. “Okay, let’s go over the plan again. Bill said he’s noticed a lot of guards and funny business around Warehouse 6, so odds are that’s where they’re keeping Don if this is where he is. We need to get in and get him out without getting caught. Joan, you’ll—”
“Create a diversion down here on the pier to draw as many of Frankie’s henchmen away as possible.”
Arlene nodded. “Dash, Flynn, and Eleanor, you’ll come with me. Eleanor, you’ll try to distract any of the stooges that don’t immediately run to Joan’s side. Flynn, you’ll take care of the rest.”
He gulped. If circumstances were different, Arlene would’ve laughed. It was rare to see Flynn Banks in a state of anything other than a cocksureness so abundant that she was convinced he might choke on it.
“Dash and I will climb the fire ladder and enter through the roof. If anyone is inside besides Don, Dash will fend them off. The goal is to get Don and get out of there with as minimal trouble as possible. Any questions?”
Joan spoke up. “What happens if the diversion doesn’t work?”
Arlene grimaced. “Improvise?”
Joan nodded, and they opened the car doors, stepping out into the early morning light. Arlene raised her sleeves to her nose and inhaled deeply. “Help me, Dad,” she whispered. She had borrowed her father’s old trousers and black fishing sweater. He’d been a small man, and with the assistance of a belt, they fit all right. Enough to help conceal her and allow her to move swiftly on this rescue mission. The clothes, which her mother had kept hanging in the closet untouched in the three years since Frank Morgan had died, still smelled like him—a mix of cloves, diesel, and pomade. She hadn’t smelled it in so long. Having it surround her once more, filling up her senses, it was like he was here with her.
He would’ve come too. Probably gone in single-handedly, outraged at the idea that anyone would threaten or hurt Don. He’d always called Don his “bonus son.” She blinked back tears and rolled up her sleeves. This was not the time for sentimentality.
She looked around at the ragtag crew they’d assembled, all kitted out in their disguises to avoid being recognized by Frankie’s men. Dash, wearing jeans and one of her brother Bill’s flannel shirts, far from his slicked-back, elegant look as the King of Hollywood. Joan was in one of Pauline’s old house dresses, at least three sizes too big for her and far dumpier than anything Joan Davis had ever worn in her life, Arlene was certain. She suppressed a grin at how beautiful Joan looked even in such unflattering garb.
Flynn looked the most ridiculous of all. He’d found a pair of breeches in Arlene’s old costume box and insisted on wearing them. Said he would be more useful if he felt in character. Thankfully he’d agreed to wear one of Bill’s flannel shirts, but he had it halfway unbuttoned down his chest. Arlene had no idea what practical use that served, but she knew better than to ask. To top it all off, Flynn had borrowed a bandanna from her mother’s things and tied it around his head like a pirate. Dash had pointed out that this was the opposite of a disguise in Flynn’s case, but the man was insistent. As for Eleanor, well, she was still in the same low-cut dress from last night. All of Frankie’s boys already knew who she was anyway.
Dash wrapped a length of rope around his arm, while Flynn grimly clenched a heavy flashlight in his left hand and the wooden handle that they’d sawed off her mother’s shovel in his right hand. Turns out, it wasn’t all that easy to find a rapier that could do real damage on short notice. A sawed-off shovel handle would have to do. Joan and Eleanor flanked the car, each fixing their lipstick in the side mirrors.
Probably no group more ill-equipped had ever attempted to pull one over on a crime boss and his cronies. But Arlene was counting on the element of surprise to give them an upper hand. Her watch said it was nearly five in the morning. They’d better get going or they’d lose the cover of darkness entirely. “Everyone ready?”
They all nodded their heads grimly.
“Thank you. All of you.”
Joan reached for her and gathered her up into a tight hug. “We’ll get him out, I promise.” Arlene swallowed down a well of emotion and nodded.
“Let’s go.” She, Flynn, Dash, and Eleanor crept along so they could hide farther down the dock. Waiting in the shadows cast by another warehouse, they watched as Joan prepared herself. The movie star ran her fingers through her hair, mussing it, and reached down and tore a rip in the hem of her skirt. Then, she began screaming.
“Oh God, help! Someone help me! Help, please!” Arlene had to hand it to her. If she didn’t know better, she would’ve believed the performance.
Suddenly, she heard footsteps and three men toting Gatling guns and wearing pin-striped suits emerged from the shadows that lined the walkway leading to Warehouse 6. They were Frankie’s men. They had to be.
The men looked at each other in confusion before approaching Joan. Flynn moved toward the walkway that would take them to the warehouse, but Arlene grabbed him by the sleeve. “Wait, we have to make sure they buy it.”
The three men had surrounded Joan, and Arlene felt Dash tense behind her. She knew he didn’t like how close they were to his wife. “She can take care of herself,” whispered Arlene.
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” hissed Dash.
The goons were trying to get Joan to stop screaming and crying, awkwardly grabbing at her and patting her shoulder ineffectually. From her hiding place, Arlene listened intently. They were asking Joan to calm down and explain what was wrong. Joan gestured helplessly at the boat behind her on the dock, mumbling incoherently. They shrugged as if to say “Nothing we can do about it,” and turned to return to their posts. Briefly, Joan’s eyes darted to where she knew Arlene, Dash, Eleanor, and Flynn were hiding. Arlene held her breath, hoping the goons didn’t notice. Then, Joan looked down and tore the bodice of Arlene’s mother’s dress, exposing her slip and the top lip of lace on the edge of her bra.
Joan had held her arms in front of her before, blocking any view of her neckline. “No, please, don’t go. Look what he did,” she screamed. The goons turned back to her, and the sight of Joan’s lithe figure silhouetted by the dawn, visible through the dress’s excess fabric, got their attention in a way her previous distress had not. They practically tripped over themselves to rush back to her, once again trying to soothe her and get her to explain who the culprit was.
But all of a sudden, a flash of light from a neighboring boat illuminated her face. The short guy in the middle gasped when he saw it. Arlene could tell he’d recognized Joan. “Say, aren’t you—” he started to ask.
Joan pointed more furiously at a random fishing boat behind her, saying that the man who had attacked her was still inside. The goons turned toward it long enough for Joan to pluck a match from her bra and strike it against the heel of her shoe.
The thugs turned back to see Joan flinging the lit match toward an object beneath her on the dock—an open barrel of gasoline, most likely used to power the launch boat floating quietly in the shallows.
Arlene yelled, “Take cover!” as Joan sprinted in their direction. The force of the resulting explosion threw the three goons back off their feet, dumping them into the water where they struggled to swim. The fishing boat, which Joan had pretended was the scene of her attack, and the gas-powered launch vessel had gone up in flames.
“Shit,” muttered Dash. Joan, who somehow had only a singed skirt to show for her pyrotechnic adventure, joined them in the shadows. “Was that really necessary?” he growled.
“Arlene said to improvise,” she hissed back.
“But, but, but—the boats,” squeaked Eleanor, clearly horrified by this turn of events. Joan looked back and cringed, casting an apologetic look at Arlene.
“Whose boats are those?”
Arlene shrugged. “I don’t know, but Bill probably does. There are a lot of Japanese fishermen who live over here.”
“Find out for me. I’ll buy them new ones.”
Dash glared at her, but Joan shrugged. “What? We can afford it.”
Dash sighed, knowing Joan was right. Arlene watched the line of flames lick its way down the pier, quickly approaching the Buick. They’d be out of luck without a getaway car. “Joan,” Arlene hissed and nodded her head in the direction of the vehicle. Joan’s eyes went as big as saucers, and she sprinted forward. “I’ll meet you round the other side of the warehouse,” she called back.
“Maybe call the fire department too,” Dash hissed after her.
All this time, Flynn had been tugging insistently on Arlene’s sleeve. “What?” she snapped.
“Uh, I think they know we’re here now,” Flynn whispered, pointing in the direction of the warehouse, where three more men were emerging from the shadows.
Dash grabbed at the end of the line of rope he had wrapped around his arm and began to unfurl it, careful to stay pressed against the building in their hiding spot. “Okay, Flynn, we’re up.” Flynn cast him a pleading look. “Just pretend you’re drunk and they insulted your mother.”
Arlene suppressed a guffaw as Dash’s words seemed to do the trick. Flynn visibly steeled himself, looked at Dash, and mouthed counting to three.
Flynn ran screaming from the shadows, wielding the shovel handle as if it were a sword and he was facing down the Spanish Armada. “For God, for the Queen, and for Englanddddddd,” he bellowed, as he tossed the long piece of wood back and forth between his hands and assumed a fighting stance. Dash cast an amused glance at Arlene.
The goons stopped in their tracks, temporarily stunned by this madman who had emerged from nowhere. Dash used their confusion to his advantage, slipping through the shadows. He threw out a massive lasso he’d made from the rope he’d brought, cinching the three gangsters together, their hands and their guns pressed uselessly to their sides. Dash waved Arlene and Eleanor on, urging them to follow him to the warehouse. But just as he turned, one of the gangsters twisted his wrist to take a shot at Dash.
Flynn was too fast for the thug though, raising the shovel handle and landing a blow to the man’s head that knocked him out cold. The goon’s head collided with the other two, and the force of it concussed them all. They lost their balance, stumbling together in their confusion and dragging the deadweight of their unconscious crony. Flynn slugged one of them in the jaw, sending his head crashing into the others, as a spray of blood went flying. That finished the job. The three fell in a heap to the ground, and Dash pulled the rope to drag them against the wall, while Flynn removed a handkerchief from the pocket of his breeches and wiped blood from his already swelling knuckles.
“I’m going to start doing drawing-room comedies,” Flynn muttered.
Dash clapped him on the back. “Good work, Banks.” He called to Arlene and Eleanor, who were still hiding in the shadows. “Come on, you two. Hopefully that was the last of them.”
They scurried down the walkway, the smell of fish growing stronger as the sun rose higher in the sky. Eleanor wrinkled her nose. “How could anyone work here?”
“You can see why Don didn’t want to continue in the family business,” Arlene quipped.
The four of them finally arrived at Warehouse 6, and based on the blueprints, the fire ladder was on the other side of the building. They pressed themselves against the wall, creeping to the corner, keeping their eyes peeled for any more of Frankie’s henchmen.
Arlene poked her head out from behind the corner and surveyed the last stretch of ground they needed to cover. One lone man remained, standing within spitting distance of the ladder. He was bigger than the other guys, a hulking mass who looked like he knew how to use his fists to deliver significant damage. She had no doubt he was also concealing a weapon somewhere on his person.
“There’s one more,” she whispered back to the others.
“Seven guys to guard one man?” Flynn questioned. “What is he? The president of the United States?”
“We’re Frankie’s meal ticket,” Eleanor explained. “Without me and Don, all he’s got is a bunch of debts he can’t pay. We rake it in for him, but everything else—the dice, the ponies, the fights—he’s operating at a loss. Ever since they repealed Prohibition, he’s been bleeding money. He’d do anything to keep us under his thumb.”
“Including kidnapping and assault, apparently,” Dash muttered.
Arlene knew she had to keep her head. They were so close. They’d already taken down six men. They could handle one more. She breathed in and out, counting to five on her inhale and exhale. “This isn’t anything we haven’t prepared for,” she whispered. “Eleanor, it’s your time to shine. Flynn, you’re her backup in case anything goes wrong.”
“I’m sorry, did I not just knock out three men already?” Flynn spluttered. Dash gave his best friend a withering look. “All right, all right. But I’m not hitting anyone else. My hand hurts.”
“That’s ’cause you don’t know how to throw a punch,” Dash retorted. “I can see the headlines now. Hollywood’s favorite swashbuckler felled by bruised knuckles .”
Flynn scowled. But he didn’t say anything more, merely tapped the flashlight in his palm menacingly.
Arlene struggled to maintain her composure. It was a miracle they’d made it this far with the peanut gallery in tow, but they had to keep going. “While Eleanor and Flynn distract the goon, Dash and I will climb the ladder and sneak in. If Don is actually inside, we’ll get him out and meet Joan with the car back out here.” They all nodded. “Go do your thing, Eleanor.”
Eleanor flounced her hair and turned the corner, strutting her way toward the tough guy. Arlene could hear the loud squeak of Eleanor’s voice from around the corner.
“Hiya, handsome, could ya help a lady out?”
A low-throated bass responded. “Depends whatcha need help with, doll.”
“I got a problem only you can fix.”
Dash’s eyebrows rose and he gave Arlene a look. “She’s a natural.”
“It’s a shame she’s pregnant,” added Flynn. “I bet she and I could have some fun.” Dash smacked Flynn in the stomach before Arlene had time to feign outrage.
“Shut up, you two.” Arlene peered around the corner once more. Eleanor was playing the guy like a violin. She’d grabbed onto his tie and turned him so that his back was facing the fire ladder.
Arlene put up her hand and waved them forward. The thug started to turn his head in their direction, and Arlene froze. But Eleanor grabbed the man’s jaw, squeezed it in her hand, and drew him down into a powerful kiss.
“Lucky bastard,” muttered Flynn.
“Go help her!” Arlene rolled her eyes.
Flynn tiptoed the twenty feet remaining, took the flashlight, and held it under his shirt so that the barrel was protruding. He crept behind the goon and shoved the flashlight, still concealed in his shirt, into the guy’s back. “Don’t move,” he ordered. The thug, still dazed from Eleanor’s amorous diversion, raised his hands above his head.
Arlene and Dash ran for the fire ladder, climbing it two rungs at a time. It was only a matter of time before the guy figured out that Flynn wasn’t actually holding a gun, and then there’d be another fight. But the more time they could buy him, the better.
Arlene reached the roof of the warehouse and pried the trapdoor there open. It was heavy, but it lifted away from its hinges with surprising ease. As Dash finished climbing the ladder behind her, she jumped into the dark, landing in a pile of deconstructed cardboard boxes that stank of fish. She looked around, giving her eyes a minute to adjust to the darkness. She’d landed on a narrow walkway, which she presumed was meant for firefighters in the event of a blaze, but it appeared to currently be serving as storage for the cannery’s extra boxes. Dash landed next to her with a soft “Oof.”
She crawled to the edge of the ledge and looked down, cracks of light from the rising sun illuminating the floor of the space. The warehouse was deserted, save for one lone figure in the dead center of the room. His head hung from his neck in a way that suggested defeat, and he appeared to be tied to a chair. It was Don. It had to be. Shockingly, there were no remaining guards. Apparently Frankie thought outside reinforcements were sufficient.
Dash tapped her on the shoulder and pointed silently to the indoor ladder nailed to the wall. She nodded and made her way toward it. She didn’t want to startle Don and have him cry out, so she climbed slowly and methodically, taking care not to make too much noise or slip. Dash followed above her.
The ladder ended about two feet off the ground, so she jumped. She braced her legs and landed with a thump on the cement floor.
“Come back for more?” Don groaned, the words barely intelligible through his gag. He sounded like he was in pain. Worse, he thought they were his jailers and torturers, not his rescuers.
She couldn’t help herself; she ran toward him, stopping in front of him to take him in. He lifted his head with what appeared to be a monumental effort, opening his right eye. His left was swollen shut, and the sight of his battered face made her gasp. He looked at her in disbelief. She tore the gag from his mouth, pulling it to his chin, and pressed a fierce kiss to his lips. He moaned, but whether it was from pleasure or pain, she couldn’t tell. She broke apart from him, still holding the back of his head, and met his eyes.
“Arlene?”
She nodded and knelt to untie the rope around his feet. It was rough between her fingers and the knot had been expertly tied. “Let’s get you out of here.”
“But what? How?”
“Eleanor found me. She saw the message you left in Eddie’s rug. Found your tie. She thought I might know what it meant. She told me Frankie wanted to remind you where you came from. It took a minute but it all clicked. Thank God you left that clue. I never would’ve found you otherwise.”
He wrestled with his bonds, seemingly forgetting for a moment that his hands were tied as he tried to reach for Arlene. “Are you hurt? Frankie’s men, they’re everywhere.”
“I had help. Eleanor, Joan, and Dash.”
Dash leapt down from the ladder and dusted off his jeans, coming to stand next to Arlene in front of Don. “At your service.” He placed his hand to his head and mimed tipping an invisible hat.
Arlene continued to wrestle with the rope at Don’s feet, while Dash undid the rope around Don’s hands in record time. “Used to use that one with the horses,” Dash said by way of explanation.
His hands freed, Don reached for Lena, pausing her frantic attempts to free him. She’d only made the knot tighter as she’d pulled at it. Don grabbed her shoulders. “Why did you come for me?”
The question pierced her heart. Did Don truly think himself so alone? “You think I’d leave you to that—that bully?”
Dash tapped Arlene on the shoulder, nudging her over. “Let me get it.” He undid the rope at Don’s feet with a few swift movements.
“Let me ask you something, Don Lamont,” Arlene queried. “If the tables were turned and I was tied up in a godforsaken warehouse that reeks of fish, would you leave me here?”
“Of course not, but—”
“Much as I hate to interrupt this touching reunion, we should get going,” Dash interjected.
“Right, of course,” answered Arlene. She put her arm under Don’s and helped him stand. “Can you walk?”
He tested his weight on both feet. “I think so. I’m sore, but they stayed away from my legs. Frankie was waiting to be sure I wouldn’t change my mind after I said I wouldn’t dance for him again before permanently debilitating his personal piggy bank.”
He took a step forward and stumbled. Arlene caught him and kept her arms steady around him. “I’ve got you,” she said. He nodded, closing his eyes, and Arlene yearned to know what was going through his head.
They followed Dash to a heavy warehouse door that opened when it was time to pack the boxes of canned tuna into delivery trucks. It had been locked from the outside, but Dash undid the interior pin lock, pulling it open wide enough for them all to squeeze through. But once Dash slipped through the door into the rising sunlight, he called back, “We’ve got company!”
Arlene looked out long enough to see Dash deliver a solid right hook to one of the waterlogged goons that had tried to “help” Joan. Another one was coming at Dash with a piece of wood he’d undoubtedly pulled from the wreckage of the explosion. Dash called over his shoulder, “Take Don and go! Surely, there’s a backdoor. We can handle this.”
Arlene didn’t wait to see what happened next, pulling more of Don’s weight across her shoulders. “Do you think you can run?”
Don started to nod, but his head lolled precipitously to the side. “I’m sorry,” he moaned.
Arlene thought about it for a moment. Even with his lithe dancer’s body, he was so much bigger than she was. She looked frantically around the warehouse for a loading cart or something else she could use to carry him. She couldn’t drag him across the warehouse.
A flash of a dance she’d seen him and Rita rehearsing sprang to mind. He’d leapfrogged onto Rita’s back, his hands and feet extended, while Rita did a jokey dance step toward the camera. If she could get him on her back, she could make it. At least to the other side of the warehouse.
“Don, you remember the gag number with Rita? The one where you’re both pretending to be vaudeville stars?”
His eyes sparked, and he seemed to come back to himself for a moment. “Turn around,” he murmured. She did as she was told and crouched, making sure to displace her weight evenly. “You sure about this?”
She wasn’t at all. But they had to get out of here quick or she’d be a sitting duck and so would Don. “It’ll be like when we were kids in the backyard,” she assured him.
He inhaled, bit his lip, and braced himself before springing onto her back. He groaned as he wrapped his legs around her waist and leaned forward into her back, gripping at her shoulders. “Sunnabitch,” he muttered.
Arlene was nearly doubled over now, the weight of Don on her back pushing her down toward the floor. But she grabbed at his knees with her hands and readjusted herself until he felt steady perched atop her. Then, she ran for the other side of the warehouse and the small door marked “Employees Only.”