Chapter Thirty-Four #2
“Thank you for the information on Sadie,” Mrs. Carter says, loud enough for me to hear, but no one else. Not that there’s another soul in eyeshot.
“Did it help?” I reply, matching her volume.
“Yes, she confirmed that Miller and Frederico were involved in the Combination.”
“And you have evidence for who they work for?” I ask about Lucky without saying his name.
“Yes, Sadie was especially helpful on that front, thanks to you. And the wiretaps and statements from the bookers, girls, and madams we brought in from the raids have filled in some gaps, even though they haven’t yet named the name I need.”
I think how precise and formal she is in her speech.
Never a “yeah,” always a “yes,” unlike most of the people I encounter every day.
Does Mrs. Carter think less of me for my accent—the one mocked by the blue bloods who used to frequent my house at the Majestic—never mind how elevated my vocabulary?
“You’re getting closer,” I say, knowing that there’s a “but” in there somewhere. Or we wouldn’t be here.
“We are,” she says. Then she hesitates before continuing. “But it’s still not enough. We need more witnesses to name the Boss.”
“So I figured,” I reply, fishing a cigarette from my handbag and turning away from the wind to light it. “Or you wouldn’t have arranged this meeting.”
“We’re homing in on Mildred Balitzer,” she says.
An image of the bottle-blond prostitute-turned-madam flashes in my mind.
She might’ve been beautiful once, but the ravages of heroin have left her with only the occasional flash of prettiness.
All her money—what little her “husband,” Pete Harris, didn’t wrestle away from her—ended up in a syringe and then in her arm.
Drawing deeply on my cigarette, I lean back into my seat. Never, ever taking my gaze off the lake. “You’ve got her behind bars?”
“We do.”
“Is she functioning without shooting up?”
Mrs. Carter grows quiet. “After a spell.”
“I bet that was a doozy of a spell. She’s got to be one of the most voracious consumers of Cadillac I know.”
“It wasn’t pretty. She’s recovered, so we’re going to focus on her now. Her lips haven’t loosened yet, but I think she might have some promising tidbits to offer.”
“Even though she’s been locked up for weeks? With no end in sight? And no drugs in her veins?” I ask, incredulous that all that time behind bars hasn’t combined with her hunger for heroin to force a confession. I would’ve guessed she’d be trading secrets left and right for her next hit.
“Even still. Although we haven’t really pushed, given her state. Until now.”
“I’m surprised you haven’t used her husband as leverage to get her talking yet. I know you’ve got him in custody.”
“Her husband?”
Is it possible that Mrs. Carter and her cronies don’t know that Pete Harris is Mildred’s so-called husband?
“Pete Harris.”
“Pete Harris is Mildred Balitzer’s husband?” She sounds shocked, and I wish I could see her face. I figured Mrs. Carter was unflappable.
Mrs. Carter stands up abruptly, and I caution her, “Don’t blow your wig. Sit down.”
Lowering herself back onto her bench, she turns her eyes back to the lake. “Mildred Balitzer and Pete Harris are married?”
“After a fashion. I can’t say that I’ve ever met a witness from their wedding, if you know what I mean. What I can tell you is that Pete is dizzy with the dame. Mad as a hatter for her. No one can figure why.”
“So if I’ve got Mildred…”
“And you’ve also got Pete…” I let her finish the sentence.
“Then I’ve got leverage.”
“With both of them, I’d guess.”
“This opens up several promising avenues,” she says slowly. Mostly to herself.
“I should hope so,” I say. Lighting a new cigarette from the butt of the prior one, I inhale deeply. “I guess my work here is done.”
“Not yet,” Mrs. Carter says, her tone turning hard.
“We need to know everything you know about Pete Harris’ work as a booker—including his contacts—and Mildred’s work as a madam.
And the intersection of their work together.
In addition, I’ll need to know their contacts in the Combination, the addresses of the places they lived, worked, and supplied girls, the names of the girls—”
“I’m no professor of the Harris-Balitzer empire,” I interrupt her with a snort. “If you can call the dealings of a booker and a junkie madam an empire.”
“But that doesn’t exempt you from sharing what you do know,” she says. “You need to keep helping me until we bring down Luciano.”
Her words infuriate me; I did not build this life from nothing by following other people’s edicts and rules.
I want to resist, but I know she’s right.
What would happen to my girls and the Lion if I didn’t continue?
The case against Lucky might not proceed—not quickly anyway—and we’d all fall prey to the Combination in one way or another.
How would my family here in America and in Yanow fare without my support?
Even still, I find myself asking, “Don’t you have enough to build your case with the information I’ve already given you? Especially after today?”
“I don’t think either of us can rest until Luciano is behind bars, do you?
” The strength of her gaze and her tone is impressive.
She’s given up all pretense of not talking to me.
“We’re about to indict him and hopefully extradite him back to New York, Miss Adler.
But we need every scrap of evidence to make the charges stick. ”
We meet each other’s eyes, and I know we are going to have to stand together to fight the Mob. Until the deed is done.