Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
CLEVELAND, OHIO
A real man made his own opportunities. Horace Aldridge wasn’t a stranger to that idea. And he had plenty of company. The country was overflowing with new business. Men who had enough boldness were raking in the money while the stock market boomed.
He planned to be among their number.
Seed money was the key to success for someone like him. But he had it now, even if his father-in-law didn’t care for him. Horace smiled down at his wedding band. Sweeping Opal off her feet had ensured a nice flow of cash into his pocket.
“Sweetheart, there you are.” Opal arrived wearing an evening gown made of silk and covered in glass beads. Her cheeks turned slightly pink when he let her catch him looking at the gold band on his finger.
“I love you so very much, Horace.”
Music to his ears.
Horace took his wife’s hands, opening them up wide while he swept over her with his eyes from head to toe.
She was no beauty, but he made sure his expression said otherwise.
“Stunning, my dear! I’m tempted to forbid you to leave because I want everyone to believe I have taken you abovestairs to have you all to myself! ”
Opal simpered. She fluttered her eyelashes and peeked at him shyly. “I do wish I had reason to remain home tonight.” She pressed her lips into a hard line as she stroked her flat belly. Her eyes became glassy with unshed tears.
“Now don’t you worry about that.”
“It has been two years, and my father won’t leave the family business to anyone but a blood relative. I know you worry about it, too.”
It was definitely on his list. Getting Opal to the altar was only part of the battle.
Horace wasn’t about to get left out of her rich daddy’s will.
But first, he had to multiply his seed money by several times through investing in the women’s air race.
After that, he would take Opal on a tour of Europe and buy a brat if necessary.
His wife started sniffling, taking his long silence as confirmation of his unhappiness.
“Now, now. It is a husband’s job to manage these things, Opal. Dry those eyes and off you go. Enjoy the show.”
He pointed at the front door. One of the footmen silently moved toward it to open it for Opal. Horace followed her. His wife turned when she reached the bottom of the front steps and looked back at him.
“Aren’t you coming, dear?”
Horace shook his head. “I have business tonight, dear. Your father might just come to like me in the end when I show him what I can do.”
Opal’s eyes lit up with anticipation. “I have no doubts whatsoever about your abilities! That’s why I married you! Papa just has to stop judging you by your meager beginnings. You’re not a horse, after all, only as good as your bloodline. Papa can be so set in his thinking.”
The driver held the door open for Opal. All along the street, other members of the elite were making their way toward the theaters for an evening of fine entertainment. His wife had spent several hours dressing, and she wouldn’t be home until the wee hours.
Such was the life of a rich man’s daughter. A calendar full of events that her so-very-fine heritage unlocked.
Unlike himself.
No, his entry into the world hadn’t come with any entitlement. Just a thirst for more than he had.
Horace waved to his wife, watching until her car made it to the end of the block and turned the corner.
Opal was a romantic.
Perhaps he should feel guilty over setting out to win her heart in order to get his hands on enough capital to launch himself into the ranks of the elite business world.
But he didn’t. Business was a cold and calculated thing.
Opal was his resource. The elite didn’t marry for love, even if Opal wanted to thumb her nose at her father by believing she was wedding for love.
Horace planned to make the most of her rebellious behavior. That wasn’t enough, though. His father-in-law was a tough old geezer. He wouldn’t let Horace into the family business.
Not yet anyway.
The old man just needed to see what Horace could do with a little money.
A fair enough test between two business-minded men.
The national air derby was going to afford him an opportunity to generate a large profit, very quickly.
Tonight, Horace was going to put into motion a plan that would gain him his own fortune, and fast. Opal’s father would come around soon enough.
He headed into the night, intent on taking a bold risk. One that promised a larger-than-life payoff.
Risk and gain—that was the way to live in 1929!
The future was going to be owned by men like himself. Men who weren’t afraid to risk it all and shake hands with other men who weren’t part of the elite. The Women’s Air Derby was ripe with possibility.
It was the opportunity he’d been waiting for. Tonight, he was going to exploit it.
“Hey, Mr. Aldridge! Over here!”
Horace Aldridge turned and offered an indulgent smile for the gossip rag photographer. On his way into an upscale gentleman’s club, Horace figured it was just about the perfect moment to have the press awaiting his arrival. Just the sort of headlines Cliff Henderson wanted Horace to generate.
Now that the work is underway, there is profit to be had.
Horace didn’t hand off his jacket to the attendant in the club’s cloakroom. Instead, he ducked around the corner and looked over his shoulder before opening a hidden door with a cleverly concealed latch that a person had to be shown how to operate.
Some visitors to the illegal casino allowed the attendant to check their jackets. But he wanted to make certain no one knew where he was.
Just inside the concealed door, a formidable bouncer blocked the stairs behind him. Rumor had it, he’d been a heavyweight boxing champion, and Horace could believe it. The guy’s nose had a bend in it, and his knuckles sported scars on top of scars.
The bouncer nodded politely. “Evenin’, Mr. Aldridge. Card, please.”
Even the regulars had to flash a business card with a special wax seal to get in. The casino’s patrons took their security and privacy very seriously, which was why he frequented this place.
The bouncer grunted his approval and stepped back.
Horace headed down the staircase, hearing the faint clatter of a roulette wheel.
When he stepped into the casino, laughter and loud voices assailed him.
Scantily clad women strolled around, making sure the patrons were enjoying themselves.
Some were dressed in skirts so short he caught a glimpse of the curve of their derrieres, while others sported necklines so daring their gilded nipples peeked out.
“See something you like?” asked a generously fed woman decked out in sequins and rhinestones. She gave him a wink and gestured with a satin-gloved hand at the girls. “Just let me know what you fancy.”
“Business first,” Horace informed her regretfully. “Where might I find Mr. Lazovsky?”
The madam’s expression hardened. Privately applauding her caution, he fished out the business card again and passed it to her.
She looked at it carefully before pointing toward the other end of the casino.
“Far wall. Second door from the left end. Make sure you knock in case he’s busy,” the madam warned him.
Horace strolled through the casino, staying out of the way of the floozies and waiters as best he could.
There were doors every few feet along both sidewalls.
Although he’d never partaken of them, he’d heard each hid a room where Vito Lazovsky, the owner of this establishment, turned a healthy profit supplying dames to his intoxicated customers.
Horace rapped on the door.
“Come in.”
Vito Lazovsky was a hard man with a reputation for getting his hands dirty. The truest sort of gangster.
In each corner of the room, four huge men sat in the shadows, saying nothing. Each one of them dwarfed the bouncer at the top of the stairs and looked twice as tough. Closer to Lazovsky was a Chinese man. Horace had heard the Far East had a unique form of hand combat that was lethal.
Lazovsky sat behind a desk Horace’s lawyer might have had in his expensive law office.
It was covered with stacks of paper, but they were neat.
Organized. At a glance, the pages seemed covered in numbers, inventories, and columns of income and expenses.
Don’t anger the violent gangster by trying to peek at his business dealings, he chided himself.
Hastily, he lifted his gaze from the documents to the man before him.
Lazovsky looked every bit as tough and dangerous as he’d expected. Excellent.
“I understand you’re a businessman, Mr. Lazovsky,” Horace said politely. “My name is Horace Aldridge, and I’m in a position to offer you a partnership I believe could be lucrative for us both.”
Lazovsky didn’t look the slightest bit interested. He didn’t even ask for details of the proposition. Instead, he merely tilted his head to one side, studying Horace for a long time, his black eyes glittering like a snake’s.
Horace’s collar suddenly felt too tight. Was it getting hot in here? He cleared his throat nervously, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “You see, as a senior race official of the upcoming Women’s Air Derby, I’m in charge of plotting its course from California to Cleveland.”
“Dames don’t belong in planes,” Lazovsky stated bluntly. The gangster pointed at the empty chair in front of his desk.
“A sentiment I share,” he replied firmly, settling into the chair. He forced himself to lean back against its high velvet-upholstered back and feign relaxation.
Lazovsky’s thick eyebrows came together to touch over his nose as he frowned. Horace felt a fine sheen of sweat form on his face.
“No one sits in that chair without putting money in my pocket,” Lazovsky warned him. “And I don’t need no help with my business from flying broads.”