The Return of Smug Stanley
I piloted Walt’s station wagon out of the surface lot behind the Broadwood Hotel and along the side street until I could turn to the south on Broad Street. I felt good, better than I had in a while. The nap I’d taken had chased away the rest of my hangover. The comfort David had given me had partially settled my knotted stomach. Even the soreness I’d suffered from the previous night’s battle with the trashcan seemed to have passed. I wouldn’t have said that everything was right with the world, but for the first time in a long time, I felt like the future held possibilities instead of just troubles.
The only black mark on my otherwise buoyant mood was the anger I still felt for my husband. I felt it sharply as I crossed over Vine Street and drove past the restaurant, Walt’s Special. I could see through the small panes of the divided light front windows that the interior of the restaurant was crowded. Friday night was always one of the busiest of the week. The dining room would be full from just after six right up until closing at eleven.
Even though I was angry, I still wished Walt a successful evening. I wondered about Owen. I wondered if he’d been able to do his job. I wondered if Walt made it hard for him. I reproached myself for my part of the argument between Walt and me. ‘I shouldn’t have threatened to beat him up.’ I told myself. ‘No matter what he does, I had no right to threaten my husband with violence.’
I pressed the clutch and shifted the transmission into neutral to stop for a red signal. I gritted my teeth and slapped the Bakelite steering wheel with a frustrated hand. ‘Maybe I was wrong, but where the hell does he get off acting like the boss of me?’ I asked inside my mind. ‘We’re supposed to be PARTNERS, damnit!’
I sighed my frustration out against the windshield and felt my stomach churn from stress. I let my mind idle along with the car’s engine while I waited for the signal to change. Just before the signal changed, my mind perked up to remind me that I was missing a tool of my former trade. I jerked the gearshift into first and slipped the clutch to make an illegal U-turn. I drove up to the front of the restaurant and double-parked. I told David that I’d be ‘right back’ and used my key to let myself through the blank door which served as the entrance to the apartment I shared with Walt.
I hurried upstairs to retrieve my snub nose revolver and shoulder holster from the bedroom. I shed my jacket and used the dresser mirror to help me with the no-longer-familiar task of fastening the holster and gun under my left arm. I put my jacket back on and made sure the gun didn’t show underneath it. When I was satisfied that it didn’t, I hurried back down the stairs. I was relocking the door when Julie the hostess stepped out of the restaurant.
“Mister Edwards?” She said to get my attention.
I finished with the door and turned my whole body to face her. Julie had worry on her face and in her voice. I suspected her worry might have something to do with Owen and a potential argument between him and Walt. I asked if that was the case. “Did Walt let Owen work tonight?”
“Yes.” She answered. “Mister Stack didn’t want him here. He yelled at Owen a lot. He even threatened to hit Owen. Owen didn’t back down and Mister Stack gave up. Owen went to his station. He’s been working all evening.”
I was glad to hear that Owen was working. Walt needed him whether he wanted Owen or not. I wasn’t happy that the hostess seemed upset by the harsh words which had passed between the two men. “How’s business tonight?” I asked in a kind voice I tended to save just for Julie.
I never much cared for women, but I always thought young Julie Flanigan was as pretty as a sunrise. She had dark coloring, like mine, in spite of her Irish last name. Because she reminded me of someone, someone I could never quite put my finger on, I frequently wondered about her coloring and the contrast of her name. Many times, I’d almost asked her who her people were. Just that same number of times, I decided her ancestry was none of my business.
“Everyone is worried, Mister Edwards.” Julie complained. “Mister Stack is being short with everyone. He has been for weeks now. You’re not here yesterday or today. Mister Stack almost had a fight with Owen. There’s even a rumor that you and Mister Stack had a fight in the alley last night. Did something bad happen?”
Julie’s concern softened my heart. I could tell by her tone and the pleading look on her face that she hadn’t asked her question because she was worried for her job. She’d asked because she was worried about me and Walt. I thought she was incredibly sweet, so I tried to reassure her. “Don’t worry, Julie. Walt and me are just having a…a difference of opinion. We’ll get it worked out before too long.”
Julie shook her head like she didn’t believe me. “You and Mister Stack…you love each other so much. You’re so good to each other. That’s part of the reason I like working here. I even told my mama and papa about you.”
Julie’s worried speech surprised me a little. Walt and I tried not to be overt about our relationship when we were in public or at work, but we didn’t make a secret of it either. The people who spent the most time around us were likely to pick up on the fact that Walt and I were much more than just friends or business partners. I assumed the employees would eventually figure our relationship out, but I hadn’t considered the possibility of them talking about us to others. I didn’t think Walt and I were conversation-worthy.
Because I was surprised, I asked Julie about what she’d said. “What did you tell your parents about us?”
Julie averted her eyes from mine, like she was ashamed of having spoken about Walt and me to someone outside the restaurant. She answered my question reluctantly. “I just said how nice it was to work here because of how well you and Mister Stack get along. I always tell my mama about you because her name is Edwards too.”
“Is it?” I asked like Julie’s admission was big news. I feigned excitement to make her happy. ‘Edwards’ was a common enough name. It wasn’t as common as ‘Smith’ or ‘Jones’ but it was close. I thought it was funny that Julie made a point of telling her mama about me because we shared a last name.
“Yes,” Julie nodded, “her maiden name was Edwards, Millie Edwards.”
My mouth went dry, and a lump formed at the back of my throat. Julie’s announcement that her mother’s name was the same as my youngest sister’s name stopped me in my mental tracks. I stared at the hostess. Julie stared back. Concern clouded her face as our staring contest drew out like a wire from a die. The way Julie looked when she worried, with her pouty frown and furrowed brow, finally triggered my memory. I realized who Julie reminded me of. She reminded me of my mother. Whenever my mother was worried, she would look at me just like Julie had.
I swallowed hard and gasped out a question. “Your mother’s name is Mildred Edwards?” I asked.
Julie nodded just as a horn sounded from the street. I looked toward the blaring noise to see a knot of cars which had formed behind Walt’s double-parked station wagon. I needed to get back to the car. I had to move it so it wouldn’t get hit. I also needed to get to where David and I planned to meet Smug Stanley. My conversation with Julie had taken too much time, but I hated to leave her when I was so close to finding out if we were related.
I blurted a desperate question at her. “Tell me,” I said, “on your mother’s side, do you have an Aunt Edith and an Uncle Georgie?”
The horn sounded a second time. I looked towards it again and swore. “Give me a minute, GODDAMNIT!”
I brought my attention back to Julie and waited impatiently for an answer. She nodded her pretty, young head again. “How do you know that, Mister Edwards?” She asked.
The horn sounded a third time, and I ran. I hustled away from Julie toward the station wagon. As I hurried away, I shouted at the girl who I suspected was my niece. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow!” I called. “Everything will be fine! Trust me!”
I jumped in the station wagon and drove it away from the angry cars behind. I made another illegal U-turn to the blaring sound of a chorus of angry car horns and drove south along Broad Street.
David asked what I’d needed and what had taken me so long to get it. I told him briefly about the gun against my ribs and about my chat with Julie the hostess.
“You think she’s your niece?” David asked.
“I think she might be. Now I understand why Georgie showed up. Julie told her mother about me. I assume Julie’s mother, Millie, told Georgie. Georgie must have come to see if it was really me. When he met Walt first, he probably got cold feet. He said he thought he was ready, but he wasn’t. I think he wasn’t ready to deal with the idea that I really was alive and partnered with a man.”
“It’s incredible.” David said. “But it’s just like I told you when my train stopped in Iowa. I saw a woman at the station who could have been related to me, but I had no way to know. You’ve been working with your niece, and you had no idea.”
“God’s sense of humor, again.” I said to explain the unexplainable coincidence.
David nodded at the edge of my vision. His next question was about me and Walt. “Will you and your husband be alright when I leave? I hate that I caused this argument between you. Your niece is right. You and he seem so good together. I don’t like the idea that my troubles came between you.”
I tried to dismiss David’s concern and put my thoughts about Julie aside at the same time. “Let’s not call her my ‘niece’ yet. I think she is, but I might be getting ahead of myself. As for me and Walt, don’t fret over it. You didn’t cause anything. I think there was some stuff under the surface that we needed to deal with. You just brought it to a head sooner than it would have come otherwise. Once all this is over and Walt gets his star, we’ll see where he and I stand. Until then, let’s focus on helping your boy.”
“Alright, Law.” David replied. “Thanks. Thank you…for everything. I owe you.”
“Sure, David.” I said and patted his shoulder. “Sure.”
David didn’t say anything more. He seemed to brood for a bit while I drove us around City Hall and then into South Philly along Broad Street. I brooded a bit as well. My mind swam with the idea that me and Julie were related. I wondered what that might mean for the future. I hoped the family nonsense wouldn’t get in the way of her working for Walt. She said she loved to work at the restaurant, and I liked her a great deal, niece or no niece.
I hadn’t solved my problem when I stopped for a signal at Oregon Avenue. David cleared his throat to get my attention. “Law?” David asked.
“Yeah?”
“What are we going to do tonight?”
I was happy to talk about the case to get my mind off of Julie and her revelation. I explained our nighttime task to David. “We’re looking for a tall man named Mel. He’s the last man who saw Ted the night of the murder.”
I described Mel to David just as Smug Stanley had described him to me. I modified the description to make it appropriate for that night’s weather. “Because the weather is warmer, Mel probably won’t wear his green jacket and red scarf.” I finalized the description with a reference to the film character which Stan had mentioned. “He’s supposed to look like Frankenstein from the old movie.”
“Frankenstein…Frankenstein.” David repeated the word and seemed to search his mind for an image. “He looks like the guy in the white coat who kept screaming ‘IT’S ALIVE?’” David asked at length.
David’s question confused me. I had to think hard to remember the film scene he referenced. When I remembered, I corrected David’s misconception. “No. You’re thinking of Colin Clive, the actor who played Doctor Victor Frankenstein. Our man looks like Frankenstein the monster. Boris Karloff played him.”
“He looks like THAT?” David exclaimed in confusion.
I tried to explain. “I’m sure he doesn’t really look like the Frankenstein Monster. He probably looks like Karloff. Stan described him to me as a big man, taller than you, with a deep underbite and a lazy eye. Mel is probably imposing enough that he put Stan in mind of the movie monster.”
My discussion with David reminded me that I hadn’t filled him in on all the details of my discussion with Smug Stanley at the nameless tavern the night before. I took the opportunity to update him. “Stan says he saw Ted on the night of the murder. Ted worked on Stan’s car, then he went off with a guy named Mel. Mel could be the guilty party, or he could be another link in the chain of people who Ted spent time with on that night.
“I say we find Mel and have a talk. We may have to bribe him to talk to us. We might have to rough him up. Can you do that if you have to? Can you grab a man by his collar and hold him fast? Can you stay calm while you do it? Can you hit him if you need to?”
David nodded his head with stoic determination. “I’ll do what I have to for Larry.”
“Good.” I praised David’s resolve. “I’ll tell you when to act. Let me do the talking and back me up if I need it. If I tell you to take a man, you take him.”
“What does that mean?” David asked.
I explained with an example from early that morning. “You grab him like you grabbed Brud. Pick him up if you can. Shake him and hold him tight. Hit him if you have to or if I tell you to. Show him that he’s powerless against you. Got it?”
David nodded that he understood. With our plan settled, he and I lapsed into silence for the rest of the drive to the place where we were to meet Smug Stanley.
* * * *
At a quarter to eight, David and I sat in Walt’s station wagon and waited. We were parked in front of the nameless tavern we’d visited the night before. Across the street, Hank Kellerman’s shop was closed for the night and the windows were dark.
A car with loud exhaust turned the corner at the end of the block and roared up in front of the bar. The car was painted with black primer and had red wheels with chromium hubcaps in the center. A glint of polished metal showed along the bottom of the car body. I assume the glint came from the ‘lake pipes’ Larry had told us about.
“Must be Stanley and his Rocket Oldsmobile.” I said to David.
Stan parked his car the wrong way to the curb. He pulled his car so close to ours that the broad chromium frown of its disapproving grill disappeared against the prow-like nose of Walt’s station wagon. Stan flicked his high beams on to blind David and me. I ground my teeth and wished I could punch some sense into our smug visitor. “Asshole.” I muttered.
“Yeah.” David agreed.
I expected that Stan would get out of his car to tell us the details of where we were going. He didn’t. He sat in his car and revved the unmuffled engine. I took the hint and started to get out of the station wagon. David offered to handle the task for me. “You want me to go?” He asked.
“No.” I said as I heaved myself out of the car. “It’s better if I do it. I’m used to dealing with assholes like this one.”
I shut the door and leaned back through the open window with an afterthought. “Slide under the wheel.” I instructed David. “I may ride with Stan to keep him honest about where he’s taking us. Be ready to follow.”
David did as I asked. I walked around the back of the station wagon and along the sidewalk until I passed the driver’s door of Stan’s car. Stan had his window rolled most of the way up. He continued to rev his engine until I planted my hip against the rear fender of the car. Stan let his engine idle and cranked his window the rest of the way down to give me grief. “Easy on the bodywork old man.” He sneered at me over his left shoulder.
I took a bite out of a fresh cigar and chewed the tobacco into my cheek. I pocketed the rest of the cigar and didn’t move from the side of the car. “You call that bodywork?” I asked. “Did you paint this heap with a brush?”
My insult hit the mark. Stan’s temper flared and he swore at me. “Fuck you, you old faggot!”
I was surprised by Stan’s use of the slur I hated. I thought back to the conversation we’d had at the bar the previous night. I hadn’t said a word to Stan about me being queer. The only person I’d mentioned it to was Hank Kellerman.
The surprise I felt must have shown on my face because Smug Stanley noticed it. A wicked sneer twisted his features, and he repeated his hateful language. “You heard me, fag. The boss spilled the beans at lunchtime today. Told us all about you and your fancy fag husband who has that place uptown. I should have squeezed you for more green than a measly twenty bucks. Maybe I still will.”
Almost every word that Stan said made me angry. I wanted to drag him from his car and smash his face against the bodywork until I felt better. Even as I had the desire to do just that, I realized that beating on Stan wouldn’t get me what I needed. I needed Stan’s help to trace Mel. As far as I knew, Mel was a link between Ted and his killer. I needed to find him, and I needed Stan to help me.
I decided against violence for the time being. I also decided that bantering with Stanley, smug son-of-a-bitch that he was, would get me nowhere. I chose to take action. I walked around behind Stan’s car, jerked the passenger door open, and jumped in.
“What the fuck you think you’re doin’?” Stan demanded.
“Keeping you honest.” I replied as I cranked the passenger side window down so I could spit from it. “Let’s go.” I commanded. “Drive like a regular person so my friend can keep up.”
“What if I don’t?” Stan demanded.
I spat out the open window and threatened Stan with physical violence. “Then I’ll hurt you until you slow down.” I rotated my body toward Stan and used my right hand to snatch ahold of the coarse material of his buttoned-up denim jacket. Stan was a strong, solid man, but he didn’t expect me to lay hands on him, so he wasn’t braced for it. I jerked him toward me and growled anger in his face.
“Look punk. I paid a lot of fucking money for not much help. All you gotta do is go racing and tell me if you see Mel. You’re gonna do that, and you’re not gonna give me any shit, or I’ll fucking kill you. I might be an old fag, but I can still clean your clock any day of the week.”
Stan wasn’t convinced. “You mean you could suck my cock!” He blustered in my face.
“I could do that too if I had a mind to.” I admitted. “You’re pretty enough. It’s a shame you’re such an asshole.” I released Stan with a shove and righted myself in the seat. “Drive.” I commanded.
Stan revved his engine and jerked the floor mounted gear shift into reverse. He throttled the engine again and dumped the clutch. The rear tires churned and squealed against the asphalt pavement. The car lurched backwards. Stan kept his foot on the gas while he wrestled the wheel around to spin the car into a backwards U-turn that nauseated my upset stomach. When he faced the way he’d come, he switched from reverse to first and launched the car forward toward the corner of the block.
I twisted around in the seat to make sure David was behind us in the station wagon. He tooled along behind, keeping up with little difficulty. I assumed David was driving Walt’s wagon harder than it had ever been driven. I hoped there wouldn’t be any damage to the motor or the other parts that made the car move. The last thing I needed was more complications between me and Walt. I also didn’t want to have to yell at Stan again to get him to slow down.
I was already tired of being pissed off and I knew if I gave Stan any driving instructions, I’d have to get pissed off again. I further assumed I’d have to hurt Stan to make him comply. I didn’t want to have to do that for all the same reasons why I hadn’t hurt him yet. I needed his help. At some point, I figured Stan and I would come to blows, but I hoped it would be after he identified Mel to us and not before.
Stan followed Bigler Street toward the waterfront. As we rode, the acrid stench of automobile exhaust filled my nose and further unsettled my upset stomach. “Why does it stink like exhaust in here?” I asked.
Stan answered with no challenge in his tone. I guessed the neutral topic didn’t raise the specter of his hostility. “One of the lake pipes is bent where it meets the manifold. The flanges won’t mate up so the exhaust blows out under the car. Normally, that would be fine, except there’s a there’s a hole in the trunk pan left from a crossmember I took out to lighten her up. The hole scoops the exhaust into the trunk, and it fills the cab. I gotta fix it.”
I thought of the old adage about how the shoemaker’s kids go barefoot and wondered if that chestnut of folk wisdom applied to mechanics as well. ‘Can’t be good for you to breathe all this exhaust.’ I thought. As I had that thought, I remembered about the monoxide the coroner found in Ted’s blood. I wondered how long monoxide would stay on one’s system. ‘Maybe he got it riding in this heap.’ I reasoned. ‘Might not have been from the races at all.’
“Don’t you worry about monoxide?” I asked Stan. “That stuff’s not good for you.”
Stan chuckled like what I’d said was a funny joke. “Yeah,” he sniggered, “I hear it’ll fuckin’ kill ya!”
I didn’t see what was funny, but Stan apparently did. His chuckle built to a laugh, which built to full-blown hysterics. Stan laughed so hard, his control of the car faltered. My side of the car drifted closer and closer to the cars which were parked along the side of the road. We were moving pretty fast, too fast for my liking. I didn’t want to be in a wreck at any speed, but I especially didn’t want to crash at better than forty-miles-an-hour. Out of desperation, I slid along the seat and shoved the steering wheel to correct the car’s course.
Stan stopped laughing and jammed both his feet on the brake pedal. His car screeched to a halt. I slid almost off the seat until my body pressed against the dashboard. The radio knobs hurt like hell as the pointed plastic tried to make holes in my chest.
Behind Stan and me, David had to dive on the brakes of Walt’s wagon and swerve into the opposite lane to avoid rearending the Oldsmobile. He brought the car to a halt in the empty oncoming lane and jumped out to see why Stan stopped like he did. By the time David was out of the car, Stan was on top of me with my lapels gripped in his fists.
Stan screamed in my face, his teeth clenched and his face bright red. He shook me like all of my solid weight was nothing more than a down-stuffed pillow. He screamed in my face. “DON’T YOU EVER TOUCH MY WHEEL! NEVER! NEVER, EVER!”
David pulled the driver’s door open behind Stanley and used all of his strength to haul Stan off me. David dragged Stan out of the car and dropped him on the street. Stan scrambled up and squared off with David like he was ready for a fight. David stepped back and raised his hands to show surrender.
I slid out of the driver’s side of the Olds and tried to diffuse the situation. “Alright, let’s all settle the fuck down.” I said.
Stan was having none of my ‘calm down’ talk. “NO ONE TOUCHES MY WHEEL!” He screamed at me and David.
I kept my voice even and calm. “Alright.” I said. “I’m sorry for touching your wheel.”
Stan said it again, but his tone was lower the second time. “No one touches my wheel. It’s mine.”
“It’s yours.” I agreed. “I’m sorry. Can we go to the races now?”
Stan jerked his denim jacket around to straighten it. The jacket had been badly disarranged from David using it to haul Stan from his car. When Stan’s jacket was straight, he got back in his car. He had to restart the motor because it had stalled when he stood on the brakes. Stan mashed the throttle as the engine came to life and let it roar. He let the engine idle and shouted to me over its rumble. “You coming?” He demanded.
I started to walk around the back of Stan’s car to get in when David stopped me. “Don’t!” David hissed in my ear.
I waved David’s worries away. “He proved his point. That was nothing more than a dick measuring contest. In his mind, he just proved that his is bigger than mine. I’ll let him think that until it’s time to show him otherwise.”
David tried again to stop me. “Law, he’s…you know.”
I agreed. “Yes, I know, mad as a hatter.”
“I was going to say he’s dangerous, but maybe he’s crazy too.”
I shrugged. “What can you do? We need him.”
I walked away from David and got back into Stan’s Oldsmobile. The volcanic rage which Stan had subjected me to seemed to have left him placid. We rode the rest of the way to the races at a relatively sedate speed. We didn’t speak to each other at all.
