H&H Auto
The warehouse-sized garage which housed H&H Auto Repair stood in the middle of a long industrial block on 5th Street, between Porter and Shunk. The businesses which bookended the red-painted brick frontage and yawning garage door were all of a similar type. As David and I crossed the street from where I’d parked the car in front of a gin mill tavern, I noticed a machine shop, a tool and die outfit, a sheet metal shop, and a boiler repair firm. The whole street vibrated and hummed with mechanical activity. The sound was like the rattle and boom of artillery from a far-off battle.
I stopped on the sidewalk in front of the door to the garage office. I wanted a second to decide how best to approach the owner of the place. I didn’t know if he’d be agreeable or hostile to our purpose for visiting him. After some brief reflection, I decided to deal with the man on my own. “Wait here.” I said to David and pushed into the office.
A portly, bald man who could have been ten years my senior, sat behind an oil stained and cluttered desk. His soiled grey shirt and turned-up sleeves gave me the idea that he didn’t run his business from behind his desk. Like many tradesmen I’d known, he seemed to treat the office as a necessary, but distasteful part of his work. He put down a smudged receipt blank he’d been working on and pulled a pair of half-glasses from his round, carelessly shaven face. He tucked the nub of a pencil behind his right ear and greeted me like I was a customer. “Help you, mister?”
“I hope so.” I said. “I’m Law Edwards. I’m a private detective working on the Ted Danton murder case.”
The bald man’s thick neck changed color when I mentioned Ted. The skin went from winter pale to ruddy red as anger rose from the man’s dirty collar until it dyed his entire head. The man heaved his solid bulk from his swivel chair with so much violence, the chair rolled on its casters to slam into the wall behind. It bounced off the yellowed plaster and returned to rest against the back of the man’s thick legs.
“I’M TRYING TO RUN A FUCKING BUSINESS HERE!” He roared. “I DON’T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT SOME FAIRY WHO GOT HIMSELF KILLED! GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE AND DON’T COME BACK!”
The man’s rage caught me off guard and left me flatfooted. I’d expected some resistance to the request I planned to make, that of taking up the valuable time of the man’s employees to ask them questions about a murder. I hadn’t been prepared for the explosion I’d just withstood. I was still trying to figure out how to respond when David and his ancient suit burst through the door into the office. He’d been drawn by the shouting. The man behind the desk aimed an angry finger at David and shouted some more.
“WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?” He demanded.
I answered for David as a way to keep some control over the conversation. “This is David Ploughman.” I said with deliberate calm. “He’s the father of the young man who was arrested for Ted’s murder. I’m trying to prove his son didn’t kill his friend.”
The man’s anger left him like water from an upended bucket. He lowered himself into his chair and sprawled in the seat like the effort he’d expended on his rage had sapped his energy. He flopped his head in David’s direction and spoke to him. “You’re that boy’s father?” The man asked. “I’m sorry.” He apologized and waved his hand at the far wall. “Have a chair if you want one, both of you.”
I grabbed a pair of dusty, hard chairs from the opposite wall and set them in front of the desk. I sat on one and David sat on the other. The man righted himself in his chair and shoved some of the debris around on his desk. He uncovered a charred bulldog pipe and a flat, pocket-sized can of tobacco. He filled his pipe and lit it. “Smoke?” He asked David and I as he waved the tobacco can at us. “I think I have some papers around here if you want to make a cigarette.” David refused the man’s offer, and I lit a cigarette from my pocket.
The man introduced himself to us. “I’m Hank Kellerman. This is my place. It’s called ‘H&H’ because my son Henry used to work with me. He was going to run the business one day, so I could retire. He’s gone now. Lost him in the Ardennes Forest. The ‘Battle of the Bulge’ they called it, back in ’44. Me and the misses, we’re supposed to go over there next year to visit him, visit where he’s buried. They tell me it’s beautiful in the springtime.” Kellerman sighed, then drew on his pipe. He realized it had gone out and set it aside like he was disgusted with it.
“It’s a hard thing to be a father when your son is in trouble.” Kellerman said, now quiet and sad instead of angry and shouting. “I’m sorry about the way I treated you both. I hope you’ll forgive me. What can I do for you? I didn’t know there was any question about who killed Ted. I thought it was all settled.”
I responded to Kellerman. “I met with David’s son, Larry, this morning. I think he’s innocent and so does his lawyer.”
“No offense,” Kellerman said, “but aren’t you and the lawyer being paid to believe that?”
“I’m not being paid at all.” I admitted. I didn’t know if David planned to offer me money for my help or not. The matter hadn’t been discussed. I told Kellerman the truth as I knew it. “The lawyer is a public defender. He gets paid the same, win or lose. The lawyer told me that he believes Larry’s story. I believe it too. David and I are old friends. I would tell him if I thought Larry was guilty.”
“What’s Larry say about what happened?” Kellerman asked.
I told a sanitized version of the story Larry had told me that morning. “Larry and Ted were on the outs. Larry didn’t like the way Ted conducted himself, but he couldn’t afford to get his own place. Until he could, he decided to go along to get along. On the night of the murder, the two boys went to the street races together, but Larry went home alone. The next morning, the cops beat his door down and hauled him in. He didn’t have an alibi, so they booked him for murder.”
“That doesn’t sound right.” Kellerman said. He picked his pipe up and tamped the tobacco down with a smeary thumb. He set the pipe aside again. “How can they do that with no proof?”
I didn’t bother with the explanation Scofield had given me. Instead, I used Hank Kellerman’s words against him to make a point. “They’re fairies.” I sneered. “No one gives a fuck what happens to them.”
Kellerman hung his head in shame. “I’m sorry I said that. I apologize to you, Mister Ploughman. I didn’t mean to say nasty things about your son. I met him once, right after I hired Ted. He came to walk Ted home from work. He thanked me for giving his friend a job. He told me they were new to the city and happy to find work. He shook my hand like a man and called me ‘sir.’ You taught him right, Mister Ploughman.”
David appreciated the kind words about his troubled son. “Nice of you to say, Mister Kellerman.”
Kellerman went on. “When the police came to ask me about Ted, they said Larry had killed him. I didn’t believe it. I couldn’t hardly imagine the nice young man who shook my hand would murder someone. Later on, I read it in the papers. I still didn’t hardly believe it, but the papers were so sure. I’m glad to hear I wasn’t wrong. I believe he didn’t do it. How can I help?”
“Let us talk to your men.” I said.
Kellerman checked his watch and compared it with the electric clock on the office wall. “It’s almost four. Four is quitting time. I can’t hold them after four. We open up in the morning at six. If you want to come back then, you can have them as long as you need. You’d have to come tomorrow though. We’re not open on the weekend.”
I didn’t want to lose the opportunity of the moment. The men were there, and we were there. I also worried about the way Kellerman’s mood had shifted as quickly as it did. I thought it possible he’d change his mind overnight and refuse us in the morning. I remembered the gin mill I’d parked in front of and tried to use it to my advantage. “Tell them to go to the tavern across the street when they’re done here. We’ll treat them to a few rounds and talk in between. You come too.”
Kellerman smiled for the first time since I’d entered his office. He had a good, wide smile that made his fat face look cherubic. “Mighty nice of you. I think the men would like that. I’ll let them know.”
Kellerman stood, slowly this time, and offered his hand over the desk. David and I shook with him. He walked us out and promised to bring his men across the street as soon as they’d had a chance to clean up and change.
* * * *
I flicked my forgotten cigarette into the gutter as we left Hank Kellerman’s office. I lit another and escorted David into the smokey gloom of the nameless tavern I’d parked in front of. The establishment was a standard neighborhood gin mill with a narrow frontage, a long bar down one side, and a few tables in the back. There was no jukebox, no radio, and no food offered. The tavern was nothing more than a place to get drunk. At the time of day when we went in, the establishment was starting to fill up with rough, dirty men just released from their work at the local industry. I assumed that soon, the tavern would be as full and rowdy as it ever got.
I moved to the edge of the bar, into a narrow alcove created between it and the front window which looked out into the street. I had a quick planning session with David. I pointed my cigarette at him and used it to punctuate my instructions. “I’m going to get a table at the back. You stay here and play host. When the men come, I want you to pour liquor into them. As soon as they empty a glass, make sure it gets filled up again. I want them relaxed and talkative. Don’t ask them about Ted and don’t talk about Larry. Stick to general topics, fun stuff. Ask them about cars or local sports or whatever.
“When they come in, send Kellerman back to me. I don’t think he’ll know anything. The boss never does. I’ll talk to him first, so the others will have a chance to have a few drinks and loosen up. Once I’m done with Kellerman, I’ll send him up to you and you send one of the others back to me. We’ll rotate like that until we’ve talked to each of them. Sound good?”
“Sounds great!” David exclaimed. He seemed downright joyful over having a part to play in the interviews we were about to conduct.
The bartender came up to us while I was trying to decide if I had any more instructions for David. I ordered a short beer for me and one for David. When the bartender brought them, I peeled off a five-dollar bill and gave it to him. “That’s for you.” I said as the man folded the bill away. “I’ve got some friends coming in a few minutes. I want to make sure they don’t get thirsty.”
“Don’t worry.” The bartender promised. “Your friends will think they’re drinking from a firehose.”
I thanked the man and waited for him to walk away. When he did, I confirmed the plan with David. “Remember, you’re the happy host, the life of the party. Keep the mechanics happy and keep them drinking. Good luck.” I said. I stuck my cigarette in the corner of my mouth and took my short beer toward the tables in the back.
I selected a table out of the way, against the back wall of the place. From where I sat, I could see along the bar, straight to the front door. I smoked my cigarette and waited. I finished the first cigarette and lit another. I was crushing the second butt in the chipped ceramic ashtray when Hank Kellerman pulled the door open and held it for three men. I assumed they were his mechanics.
I noted the number of men but didn’t pay much attention to what they looked like. I figured I would see them soon enough. I didn’t want to base my impression of the men on the little bit I could see of them as I squinted through the tobacco smoke in the dimly lit tavern. I watched as the four men from H&H Auto gathered around David. I was pleased to see that David made short work of a friendly greeting, then deferred to the bartender who was in immediate attendance.
I considered my five bucks well spent when the entire H&H staff had drinks in their hands in less time than it would normally take to catch a busy bartender’s eye. Soon, Hank Kellerman followed where David pointed and made his way back to me. He put his tankard mug of beer on the table and shook my hand. “Thanks for the invite, Mister Edwards. Mighty nice of you and Mister Ploughman to treat us like this.”
Kellerman pulled the chair away from the table and sat down carefully, like he didn’t trust the chair to support him. In his other hand, he held a rocks glass with one-finger of brown liquor in it. Kellerman drank the liquor and shuddered as it hit bottom. He set the empty rocks glass next to his full beer and took his charred pipe from his pocket. “Mighty nice, indeed. I don’t get out much these days. It’s good to be around people.”
I said words of agreement while Kellerman knocked his pipe out on the edge of the table. He patted his pockets but couldn’t find what he was looking for. He swore mildly as he held his shirt pocket open to peer into it. He looked into the pocket like he hoped his eyes would find something his fingers had not. “Damn, forgot my tobacco.”
I held my cigarette pack out to Kellerman and shook it to make a cigarette stand up beyond the cellophane wrapper of the dark green paper pack. Kellerman accepted the cigarette and returned his pipe to his pocket. “My old brand.” Kellerman observed as he noticed the printed crest on the tip of the cigarette. “I used to smoke these, Trafalgar Square kings. The wife made me stop. She thought I smoked too much. I switched to a pipe. I smoke less now, mainly because I never remember to put my tobacco in my pocket.”
I struck a match for Kellerman to light his cigarette. I lit another for myself with the same match. “My husband is always after me to cut down.” I admitted. “I smoked cigars for years. He doesn’t mind those, but he doesn’t like when I smoke cigarettes. When we’re together, he always tries to replace my T-squares with a cigar.”
Kellerman stared at me like he didn’t know how to handle the mention of my husband. I guessed he wasn’t sure if he should chuckle politely at what could have been a bad joke or commiserate with me that he and I both had similar struggles with our spouses. I was surprised I’d mentioned my relationship with Walt as easily as I had. I reflected that since Kellerman had stopped shouting and exposed his true personality, his melancholy sadness had been disarming. I judged him to be a good man, so I explained myself to him.
“My partner is a man. He and I own a restaurant called Walt’s Special. It’s uptown, on Broad and Vine. He’s the head chef and I’m one of his assistants. A chef is the last thing in the world I’d ever thought I’d be. I was on the police force years ago, then I was a private detective for a while. For the last nine years, I’ve been working in kitchens. I’m only playing detective now to help David. When this case is settled, I’m going to put a hair net on and go back to being a chef.”
Kellerman whistled smoke from his mouth with a long ‘whew’ noise. “Broad and Vine, huh? That’s high class up there. Carriage trade and all. You must do well.”
I shrugged off the implication that Walt and I were rolling in dough. “We do alright. The mortgage is high and the ingredients cost. We deal with the carriage trade, but they expect everything to be perfect all the time. That takes money. We do alright, but we’re not setting the world on fire.” I compared Walt’s restaurant to Kellerman’s garage to imply camaraderie between us. “You’re a business owner. You know how it is.”
Kellerman nodded deeply that he knew how it was. He raised his beer mug to his lips to gulp at its contents, then he set it on the table with a clunk. “It’s funny,” he observed, “you’re just like me. People give you folks a hard time, but we’re not very different. Ted and Larry taught me that. Ted was a hell of a mechanic. He was young, but he was good. He could do anything, tune-ups, overhauls, suspension work, clutches, driveline stuff…anything. He was also a pleasant young man. I liked him.
“I guess he’d been with me about two weeks when I found out he and Larry weren’t just roommates. I was shocked. I’d always heard queers were sick, the same as those bastards that mess with kids. Ted was just a normal guy. The old me would have fired him right out of my place, but since my son died, I don’t seem to have it in me to judge people like I used to. I guess…I guess I can’t help but think that we’re all someone’s son. Mister Edwards, I lost my boy. If the good Lord said to me, ‘Hank Kellerman, I’ll give him back to you, but he’ll be queer,’ I’d take him and I’d love him and I’d be proud of him for all the world to see.”
I appreciated Kellerman’s speech. I decided I liked the man. I lifted my short beer to clink the glass against Kellerman’s mug. “Cheers, Hank.”
Kellerman smiled his broad, cherubic smile. “Cheers, Law.”
Now that Kellerman and I were friends, I asked him to tell me about Ted. Kellerman drew on his cigarette and blew the smoke out toward the middle of the room. He grinned contentment at the blue-grey cloud. “Tastes good. I missed these.” He had another gulp of his beer, then asked me a question. “Did you ever meet him?”
My mind automatically called up the unpleasant image of Ted’s mangled and faceless corpse. I pushed the thought away as best I could. “No.” I answered.
Kellerman grinned again, I assumed at the memory of Ted. “He was a small man. Not short, maybe five-eight or so, but small. I almost didn’t hire him because I didn’t think he’d be able to pull the wrenches. He had this way of walking. He’d sort of strut, with a bounce in his step and his chest way out. He had this reddish hair that he’d comb up on his head. When I first saw him, he reminded me of a rooster.
“I had a sign in the window that I needed a mechanic. He took the sign down and strutted into the garage like he was cock of the walk. He held the sign out to me and said, ‘my name’s Ted and I’m your new mechanic.’”
Kellerman let out a guffaw which shook his fat body. “I thought, ‘oh yeah, you arrogant little so and so, we’ll see.’ I decided to test him. We’ve got this worthless, army-surplus generator in the back of the shop. The engine is completely wheezed, worn out. It’s got no compression. The good Lord himself couldn’t make it run, but I keep it as a test for new men. I told Ted that he had an hour to make it run, and I wasn’t going to allow him any new parts.”
Kellerman lifted his beer to wet his voice and had one more draw on his cigarette. He crushed the butt in the ceramic tray. I offered him another, but he declined. I finished my cigarette at the same time and didn’t light another.
“Law, that boy went after that generator like his life depended on it. In less than ten minutes he knew what was wrong with it and in fifteen he made it bark off. It wouldn’t stay running, but he oiled the cylinders to make it build enough pressure to fire. No one had ever made that generator do half as much in twice the time. I hired him on the spot.
“I still worried he wouldn’t be strong enough for the heavy work, but he out-smarted me there too. He went down to the boilermaker on the corner and talked them out of a couple lengths of scrap boiler tube. He brought it back to the garage and cut it down to make cheaters. He’d use the pipes on the end of the wrenches to give himself the leverage he needed to make up for the strength he didn’t have.”
“Impressive.” I said.
“It was damn impressive.” Kellerman agreed after another slug of beer.
I appreciated Kellerman’s story of how the heroic Ted defeated the evil, worn-out generator, but that wasn’t the part of Ted’s personality I was interested in. I needed to know about his other side, the side that got him killed. I put a hard edge in my voice as a challenge for Kellerman. I challenged him to tell me the whole truth about Ted. “I heard he was a slut.” I said and deliberately used the insulting word to elicit a reaction.
The grin which Kellerman had worn disappeared like I’d slapped it from his face. He blinked hard and played with his hands on top of the table. “Yeah,” Kellerman admitted, “I knew that too. I didn’t like it, but I tried not to let it bother me. Ted really was a good mechanic. He could turn the work out and the stuff he worked on never came back with trouble. He was paying for himself and making me a tidy little profit. I warned him to stay away from the customers. I also told him if I caught him fooling around again during work hours, I’d fire him so fast it would make his head spin. As far as I know, that was the end of it.”
“What happened?” I asked.
Kellerman averted his eyes from mine, like he didn’t want to answer my question. I waited because I assumed he’d tell me what I wanted to know when he was ready. I was right.
“One of the customers telephoned to check on their vehicle. Ted was doing a valve job on it. I went to find out how much more time he’d need to finish. He wasn’t around, so I asked Stan, one of the other mechanics, if he knew where Ted was. He smirked at me, the smug so and so, and told me that Ted was in the tool room with our other youngest guy, Phil Fischer. I assumed Phil was helping Ted find something, so I went into the tool room to check.
“I opened the door and caught Ted on his knees in front of Phil. I don’t have to tell you what they were doing. Phil was mortified. He must have apologized a hundred times. I told the big, simple ox to get back to work, and I sent him out of the room. Ted didn’t say anything. He just waited, like he wanted to see what I was going to do. I tried to treat the situation like I would when any of my men screw up. I asked him one question. I asked him to tell me why I shouldn’t fire him.”
“What did he say?” I asked.
“He said he was the best mechanic I had. He said the fact that he was a ‘cock hound’ didn’t change the other fact. He made me mad when he put it that way, but I couldn’t argue with him. I was trying to make up my mind what to do when I thought about Larry. I asked Ted about him. ‘Aren’t you cheating on your friend?’ I asked. He said he and Larry weren’t together anymore. I didn’t know they were still living together. I didn’t find it out until the police came to tell me that Ted was killed.”
I finished Kellerman’s story for him. “So, you let Ted stay because he was good for business.”
“Yeah.” Kellerman agreed. “And…and because deep down, I thought he was a good kid. I didn’t like the stuff he did, but he always worked hard. He never talked back to me and every week when I gave him his pay envelope, he thanked me for keeping him on.
“I kind of got the idea that Ted had been tossed out of a good number of places in his time. I think he kept expecting me to do the same thing. I think it surprised him every Friday when I told him that I’d see him on Monday morning. I said it to him on the last Friday he was alive. Come Monday, when he didn’t show up for work, I missed him. I still miss that arrogant, strutting rooster.”
Kellerman picked up his beer mug and drank down what was left in it. He and I had chatted for longer than I expected. I didn’t think he’d have much to tell me, but I’d been wrong. I was glad I’d taken the time to hear his story. I turned over what he’d said in my mind and came up with one thing which didn’t make sense. I asked about it. “If you liked Ted, why did you shout at me when I first introduced myself.”
Kellerman apologized again and explained. “The news people and the reporters made my life hell the first week after Ted was killed. They hung around all the time. It cost me business. I finally had to run them off. I don’t like to holler and threaten, but I can do it when I have to. When you showed up and said you were a detective, I thought you were just another reporter with a bull story.”
Kellerman’s explanation sounded fine with me. I tried to think if there was anything else I needed to ask. I remembered about the car I was supposed to be looking for. “Do you know anyone who owns a black 1949 Oldsmobile coupe with red wheels and exhaust out the side.”
“Sure,” Kellerman said, “Stan the smug so and so I told you about. He’s got one. He’s got it all set up for drag racing. He runs every Friday and Saturday night down on Delaware Avenue.”
