Chapter Twenty-Six
Polly
New York, New York
I pull my fedora low on my forehead as I gaze around the room, looking for Mrs. Carter.
Instead of a disguise, which might have made it more likely that I’d stand out than blend in, I dressed more dowdily than is my norm.
No fur today, despite the cold, and I feel naked without the luxurious items for which I saved and saved.
Only a heavy wool overcoat, a gray scarf up to my neck, and the fedora; no beret or cloche hat that leaves my features exposed.
I want to be an invisible traveler, just an ordinary, forgettable woman on her way to somewhere else.
I scan the room first for cops waiting to set me up and, seeing none, for Mrs. Carter.
I nearly despair of locating her when I finally spot the prim-looking colored woman in an undesirable booth in the far rear.
Why on earth is she sitting there? The two of us at a booth will stick out like two sore thumbs.
We don’t need any extra eyes upon us, especially ones that might recognize us.
I wait a long moment as I gaze in her direction—willing her to notice me.
Our eyes finally meet, and then I pointedly glance at the counter.
It is packed with dark-suited businessmen going to and from the office, as well as travelers of all shapes and sizes, laden down with bags and suitcases.
There is nowhere more perfect for us to hide in plain sight.
Two empty stools sit at the very end of the counter to the right, and I slowly walk toward them.
I take the one next to a gray-haired woman, leaving the stool closest to the wall free for Mrs. Carter.
Then I hold up my coffee cup for the waitress to fill.
After she pours the steaming, fragrant liquid into my cup, I keep my eyes fixed on the menu laid out on the counter, as if I’m considering the date nut bread with cream cheese.
I pay no attention to Mrs. Carter as she settles on the stool next to me and orders a coffee of her own.
Even though I arranged the meeting, I wait for her to speak first. I don’t want to relinquish any advantage that initial silence might bring. What I might learn.
“Thank you for reaching out, Miss Adler. Although, I confess to being surprised. I certainly never thought I’d be hearing from you. Not after our last encounter,” she says quietly and primly, taking a sip of her coffee while she, too, studies the menu.
“Do you mean at the jail or the courthouse? I saw you at my trial,” I say, my voice also quiet but sharper than I’d intended. Dang it, I think, don’t alienate her.
“I meant the jail. Where you made clear that you had no intention of sharing any information with me whatsoever,” she replies, continuing to drink her coffee calmly.
I admire her unruffled demeanor; she’s impervious to my tone and the strangeness of this meeting.
But then, she’d need to be self-possessed to work as a colored woman lawyer in the district attorney’s office.
I take another sip of my coffee. Two can play at unflappability. “You know better than most that situations can change.”
“Indeed, Miss Adler,” she says, taking the next turn at silence.
“And I think we can both acknowledge that the larger situation in the city has altered. After all, a certain loss has taken place.” I continue, hinting at the death of Dutch and the fact I might have inside Mob knowledge about the latest developments.
Mrs. Carter leans toward me ever so slightly. A tiny motion that wouldn’t register to any other patrons sitting at the counter. She’s inviting me in. “I’m wondering how this recent change and loss have affected you—and your business.”
I hesitate. How to reveal just enough to have her understand the gravity of the situation under Lucky, and not so much to be considered a snitch in my world? I remember those words of Robert Frost again.
“The change created uncertainty in my area of business. And whether by coincidence or design, a very lucky fellow has taken advantage of that uncertainty,” I say.
“I see. And that lucky fellow has stepped into your industry and is making alterations that are less than pleasing?” she asks, settling her cup carefully in its saucer.
She attempts nonchalance in her tone, but she can’t hide her excitement at what I might know about Lucky and his involvement in the prostitution business.
We both know how enormous this development could be to her.
“Yes, he’s consolidating the structure and centralizing the way employees are deployed. And that works in tandem with a group of lawyers and bondsmen who keep those employees from being…detained,” I answer, closing my menu as if I’ve finally settled on my order.
“And this is having a negative impact on your business?”
“Not just on my own business. But the consolidation and centralization is harming everyone who works in my industry here in New York.” I pause.
I want to make certain she understands that this isn’t simply about Lucky’s interference or the bottom line.
“The most troubling impact—the one that prompted me to write you and meet you here today—is the inability to protect my employees in this new structure.”
She scooches a little closer. “They are being placed in harm’s way with the new structure?”
“The employees are being moved from establishment to establishment at a moment’s notice, oftentimes to very unsavory places, and, in some cases, disappearing altogether.”
I hear the softest intake of breath. “Disappearing?” Mrs. Carter asks, as if she can’t quite believe it.
This surprises me, as I heard she worked in the Women’s Court.
When there, wouldn’t she have encountered all sorts of violence done to women?
From abused wives, to drugged-up streetwalkers at the mercy of their pimps, to desperate petty criminals, any of whom might be covered in wounds and bruises.
In that realm, women vanish all the time.
I nod, and an image of Virginia on that terrible night flashes through my mind. Tears threaten to well up, and I push them back. I must stay on task here.
“Mrs. Carter, would I be right in assuming that you have a professional interest in my business?” I venture.
Keeping her gaze straight ahead, Mrs. Carter murmurs, “You would be correct in supposing I have a professional interest in your work. Perhaps not your business specifically but the industry as a whole.”
“Would I also be right in assuming that you find what I’m telling you about the recent changes to that business deplorable?” I tiptoe a little closer toward my real request.
“I do indeed.”
The elderly woman sitting to my left rises and departs, probably for a train.
Mrs. Carter and I freeze. The empty stool poses a threat.
Anyone might settle there—a nosy businessman, a bored housewife traveling to visit family, or even someone from Mrs. Carter’s office stopping in for a bite before heading home on the train.
Either way, neither one of us exhales until a portly letter carrier, his navy cap emblazoned in brass with his post office number, plops down on it.
As I sigh in relief, I give the room a quick scan. It is then that I see him. A uniformed officer is chatting with the hostess. Not just any cop, but a cop I know.
“We need to leave right now,” I hiss at Mrs. Carter.
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t look now, but there’s a policeman near the front door.”
“That doesn’t mean we have to run out of here,” she hisses right back. “We’re just two ladies waiting for our trains.”
“I know him.”
“From prison?”
“From greasing his palm more times than I can count so he’d leave my house alone.”
A sharp intake of breath from Mrs. Carter, and I know she understands. “We’d have to walk right past him to leave,” she protests.
“Get up and walk toward the ladies’ room,” I whisper. “You’ll see a service door between the toilet and the kitchen. Slide out and wait for me in the back alley.”
“How on earth do you know about that?”
“In my line of work, I’ve always got to know where the nearest exit is.”
I watch as Mrs. Carter puts coins for her coffee on the counter and walks in the direction of the ladies’ room, as if she has all the time in the world. She’s good, I cannot help but think. Once she nears the service exit, I rise and follow her lead.
By the time I step into the back alley heaped high with garbage bins and strewn with refuse, I can’t help but laugh.
If you would’ve told me that I’d be shimmying out the back of a Chock full o’Nuts to willingly meet a prosecutor in an alley, I would have bet one thousand dollars at my mahjong table on no.
I see a small smile on Mrs. Carter’s face, and I think now is as good a time as any.
“Mrs. Carter, I have a proposition for you.”