The Count of the Sahara (31 page)

His voice dropped again as he stood over the table, his finger stabbing the digging rights document over and over. “All those academic prigs, looking down their noses at my work. Do you think those smug bastards would ever get one penny if not for people like me? The almighty Doctor Pond and his bloody arrowheads. Does he really think anyone would give a single God-damned cent if he sits in the desert and digs up rocks just because it’s the right thing to do? I get paid so people give a shit. I get two hundred dollars, they get thousands, maybe millions. The National Geographic Society doesn’t like my methods, but they by-God are happy to sell their magazines with pictures I took, aren’t they?” He stared out the window. His voice dropped, and I realized he wasn’t really talking to me at all.

“I earn my money, chum. Believe it. And what do I get in return? Stabbed in the back. Beloit, my colleagues, my own wife. Even you.”

“Me? What did I do?”

“You’re already planning your escape.”

“N-n-no, I’m not.” He didn’t realize I was working like crazy to find a way to stay.

“Really? You’re really staying?” I really was. I nodded in answer. “Why?”

That was a fair question. Why did I stay on with Meyer when his theater burned down and I nearly lost a hand doing it? Why did I stick it out at home when every part of me cried out to go? Because I couldn’t leave Mama with the Old Man. Now I was staying with this guy, dodging detectives and pulling him out of speaks and making sure his pictures didn’t turn to dust.

“It’s my job.”

He nodded and laid back on the bed, hands crossed behind his head. “Good night, Willy.” I was dismissed from my own room. I left anyway.

Backing out of the room I nearly tripped over Mrs. Cudahy, who just happened to be putting towels away, at eleven thirty at night, within earshot of our room. “Everything okay, dear?” she asked innocently.

“Yes ma’am. Just hunky dory.”

“There’s no one in the basement room tonight. You can bunk there. One night only, mind ya.”

“Thank you, that’s very kind.”

The mother hen clucked. “Nonsense. It’s too late to make other arrangements. But one night only, mind ya.” I nodded gratefully, and she beamed like I was the big, lovable,
einfältiges Kind
she never had. “Alright, downstairs with ya then.”

While I tossed and turned more than usual, I slept like most nineteen year olds—dead to the world—until the sun wouldn’t be ignored a minute longer. It reached through the narrow street-level window and slapped me across the face until I roused myself. It was above freezing for the first time in days, and I could hear melting show drip-drop from the eaves as I laid under the blankets.

I threw off the covers and stood on the faded fake Oriental rug, wiggling my toes happily. Carpeting was just another reminder I was no longer at home. Feet freezing on bare wood or cold linoleum is no way to start a day.

Widow Cudahy insisted I eat breakfast before “buggering off.” This was no great hardship. She always served a big morning meal, on the table promptly at seven, even though most of her roomers were show folks with a very different definition of “first thing in the morning” than she had. I had the whole meal pretty much to myself.

Dearborn Avenue was quiet this early on a Saturday. The sun glinted happily off the puddles of melting slush. A warm breeze, as warm as a wind in March could be, promised an eventual end to a particularly stubborn winter. I didn’t bother buttoning my coat, happy to let it flap in the breeze. I was in such a good mood as I waited to cross Adams that I gave a nod to the skinny, dim looking, bucktoothed kid Havlicek had watching the place. The world’s worst detective turned away, pretending he didn’t see me, and hoping I’d play along.

Whistling “Sweet Georgia Brown,” endlessly, I picked up the tickets to St. Louis at Union Station, got the robes from a very confused Chinaman at the laundry who wanted me to model them and headed back to the boarding house. The sun felt good, and we were heading south where it would be even warmer.

Twenty minutes later, I gave a quick “shave and a haircut” on the Count’s door, which swung open on its own. I poked my head in to see the Count at the table, staring at the papers and pictures in front of him. I came in and placed the robes on the bed. It wasn’t til I was standing right next to him he looked up. “Do you know she’s six months old, and I’ve seen her for less than three weeks?”

“Who?”

“Baby Alice…” He flapped the photo in my face. “My daughter. My baby girl. She was born just before I left for Africa, and I was home barely a week before I left to come to America. She’s no idea who I am. It’s no better with my oldest…” This time he held the picture still, talking to it rather than me. “Marie Terese. Look how big she is. Three years old already. Smart as a whip, and didn’t even recognize me when I was home last. It took two days just to get her to sit on my lap without crying.”

I knew which picture was next in line. He traced his fingers across the picture, silently stroking Alice’s smartly curled hair and the lines of her high collar. His voice dropped to a ragged whisper.

“I have to go home, Brown.”

“To New York?” I knew that wasn’t the answer, but hope wouldn’t surrender easily.

“She refuses to come back to New York until her father arranges the divorce… annulment… whatever the hell he’s planning. I have to go back to Paris.” His voice was low, calm and steady. He’d made his decision. He also didn’t say “we.”

“But we have to be in St. Louis tomorrow night, don’t we?” I could hear the panic in my voice and couldn’t do a damned thing about it. “I bought the tickets already…”

“I’ve already called Lee to cancel. Apparently, I have a nasty case of laryngitis. Can’t you tell?” He inhaled slowly, a long ragged breath then let it go even slower. “I’m sorry.”

“What are you going to do?” It was the question I should ask, not the one I wanted to.

“I’m headed back to New York tomorrow, then the first boat I can get.”

“What if she won’t see you?”

“She will if her father doesn’t get in the way. That’s always been the problem. She’s quite reasonable until Daddy gets involved.”

“What about Havlicek? If he knows what you’re up to he’ll stop you… or tell Kenny. Same thing.”

“I’ll have to find a way to throw the bloodhounds off the trail, I suppose.”

“What about me?”

He slowly gathered the pictures together and stacked them, tapping the bottoms on the table so they lined up neatly. He never looked up. “I’m sorry. I’ll pay you for the week, of course.”

A week? Fifteen bucks and marooned in Chicago, what was I supposed to do? My head spun with the centrifugal force of a thousand questions and absolutely no answers.

“Three weeks,” I heard myself say. It sounded like me, but it was Gerhardt’s angry at everything, workers of the world unite, Wobblie voice. Let the rich bastards think they own you and they do. “I want three week’s pay, and I’m on the clock until you leave for New York.”

“I can’t pay you for three weeks. There’s nothing for you to do. And obviously, I have other places to send my hard-earned money.”

He wasn’t going to get out of this easily, I was like a dog with a sock. “You already owe me for this week, and you’d expect me to give you a week’s notice if I was quitting, right?” He shrugged. “So that’s two weeks. You still need to get all your stuff on the train, right?” He nodded. “And I’ll get rid of Havlicek for you.” Where the hell did that come from?

His forehead crinkled. He stared at me as if trying to see right through my skull. “And how are you going to manage that, pray tell?”

I hadn’t the foggiest notion. The tiniest seed of an idea rattled around in my noggin like a pea in a whistle, but it was nothing like a real plan. “N-never mind. If I can get Havlicek off your back, will you p-p-pay me for three weeks?” I don’t know how I did it, but I kept my eyes on his, refusing to look away. It was a silly, childish staring contest, but I’d be darned if I’d lose. At last he broke away.

“The train to New York is at noon tomorrow. I have to be on it. Without that… Without being followed.”

“You will. Deal?”

He nodded, but that wasn’t nearly good enough. I stuck out my hand. “Shake on it. Three week’s pay, forty-five dollars cash, if you get on the train without Havlicek following or knowing where you went.” His right hand hung at his side for an eternity, but finally he extended it and shook my paw.

With as much dignity as I could manage, I turned and left the room. I needed to think about how I’d pull this off. This called for a long, solitary street car ride.

As we chugged and clanged along Madison Street, I kept asking myself: how would Douglas Fairbanks handle this? It didn’t matter, I wasn’t Douglas Fairbanks. More like Fatty Arbuckle. Chaplin would do something charming that would send the bad guy packing and still get the girl. I imagined the chasing and the furious bad guy stomping and chewing his hat all to the tune of a tinkling piano and I smiled. By the time I reached Kedzie on the way back, I had something close to a vague notion of an idea of an outline of a plan.

I jumped off the street car and up Dearborn, running south as fast as my winter coat allowed. Fortunately, I found Skinny standing exactly where I’d left him. That meant the Count was still at the boarding house, too. Perfect.

I came up behind him as quietly as I could. Then I leaned in to his ear and shouted, “Hey!” Poor guy nearly messed his pants.

“Jesus H Christ on a crutch, what’re ya doin’?”

I pulled myself to my full height and leaned in. “Tell your boss I have something for him.”

“Don’t have a boss. Don’t know whatcher talkin’ about.” He was loyal, but not too smart. I knew how that felt so I backed off a step and lowered my voice.

“Tell Joe Havlicek that I found what he’s looking for. The missing… uhhh… item.” I hoped I made it sound mysterious and enticing enough. I must have, because he bit hard.

“Really? What did you find?” Like I’d tell this yahoo.

“Just tell him to meet me at Union Station tomorrow at nine thirty. The door to the platform. We have to catch a ten o’clock to St. Louis.” He nodded and repeated the instructions.

I leaned in and lowered my voice. “And tell him I expect to be properly taken care of. I’m going to be out of a job if His Nibs finds out about this.” I gestured with my thumb over to the boarding house.

“Got it,” he said. I could see that he did. Fear of getting caught doing something sneaky was something this guy could relate to.

I left him standing there as I hustled back to Mrs. Cudahy’s. Crossing the street, I nearly got hit by a cab. That would have ruined my plans, but if this didn’t work it might be for the best.

Chapter 23

Chicago, Illinois

March 6, 1926

“He’s really going to St. Louis?” Havlicek asked. I held up two tickets in response. “Gotta give it to’m he’s a trooper. Show must go on and all that.”

It was my turn, “You’re really following us down there?” He held up his own ticket.

“If he goes, I go. That’s how the game’s played. Least it’ll be warmer there, right?” It had warmed up a bit, but even a warm March in Chicago is colder than most places any sane person would want to be, and the wind whipped up the platform blowing paper bags, old newspapers, and the occasional expensive hat all over place. The detective shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. “Whaddya got for me?”

I reached inside my own coat and pulled out a shiny black strongbox. “Look familiar?”

His eyes scrunched in confusion. “I thought dere was nothin’ in it?”

“Ta-da.” I thumbed it open quickly, just to enjoy his reaction. He leaned in and his eyes unscrunched. I didn’t have to look, I knew what was in there. It was a small necklace made mostly of smooth red and brown stones with a few blue and green gems mixed in, held together by cheap gold and copper wire, unrecognizable beneath the tarnished patina, all strung together by unsophisticated hands and fit for a barbarian queen.

“I’ll be damned. I really thought he was telling the truth. Doesn’t look like much, does it? I thought this was supposed to be the find of the century.”

I gave my best sad sigh. “Yeah, well he’s a bullshit artist, isn’t he?” I took my time, carefully thinking out each word and pushing my tongue to the bottom of my mouth to fight the stammer. “Most of what they found was junk, and almost all of it went to the museums in Africa and Paris. This was the only thing he could sneak out.” I paused and moved my tongue over my teeth to keep it loose. “He figured the Oriental Institute would pay for it—and they were going to—but the heat’s on thanks to you and they won’t touch him with a ten foot pole. He’s going to try and find some rich geezer in New York or someplace.”

Havlicek took another gander at it. He pointed to the stones. “What’s that?”

“It’s called Carmelite—kind of agate they used in jewelry.”

“And that’s gold? Looks kind of dinged up.” The sap wasn’t completely sold yet, and I was afraid he might pull out one of those jeweler’s eye-thingies for a better look. We didn’t have time for this. I drew on my reserves of panic and hoped I could turn it into the right amount of aggression.

Maybe he needed another push on the carriage. “Jeez, what an idiot.” He looked like I’d slapped him. Good. “What does your mom’s jewelry look like when it ain’t been polished for a while? Now imagine no one’s given it a decent cleaning in fifteen hundred years.” He whistled in appreciation. He reached for it again, and I nearly snapped his fingertip off slamming the lid shut.

“Time’s wasting. He’s prob’ly already wondering where I am. You got something for me?” He gave me a conspiratorial smile, like we were pals or something and reached into his pocket, pulling out a wad of bills. He didn’t hand it over, though, just looked at me with his old ex-cop eyes.

“Why now? You been a straight shooter all along. Not real bright, but a good kid. Why now?”

I looked away for a minute, trying to control my breathing, my tongue and my bladder, then turned to him with a shrug. “Like you said, how long do you think I have before the gravy train runs out? Sooner or later he’s gonna leave me flat. Might as well get something for it, right?”

“Right.” He handed me the money. “Thirty bucks. That’s two week’s salary, right? Mr. Kenny says to thank you very much. I think he likes you, kid.”

I resisted the urge to punch the piker right in the snoot. Instead, I pulled the box closer to my chest. I knew how this particular piece of equipment operated now. “He likes me more than that. What did he really tell you to pay me?”

This got a laugh out of the Pinkerton, and he dug into his pocket, adding another twenty to the roll. “He said fifty. I figured you’d settle for thirty. You’re smarter than you look.” If he really believed that, I was in big trouble.

Fifty sounded about right. It was a nice round number, and nothing to a guy like Kenny. I took the money, grabbing it tight to control the shaking, and handed over the box. For a moment, I thought he was going to look in it again but fortunately the stream of people getting onto the platform was turning into a mob.

“It’s time to go. Luggage is all loaded. He’s gonna be wondering where I am. He’s waiting in the bar car.”

Havlicek snorted. “Where else?”

“D’you always have to bust balls? Yeah, he’s in the club car. I don’t want him to see us together. Give me a minute, then get in one of the cars ahead of us.”

He nodded. “That’ll work. Alright.” He put the strongbox under his coat and picked up his valise. “See ya in St. Louis, kid.” He touched the brim of his hat in salute, and I felt those piggy eyes burn into my back as I grabbed the handrail at the second car and pulled up. I allowed myself one last look back. Yup, he was watching.

As soon as I got inside, I dropped into a seat and leaned against the cold glass. I was panting and sweating, and my hands shook wildly as I felt the wad of bills in my pocket, sure my pants would burst into flame the way it burned there. A fat Pullman gave me a suspicious once-over, but I waved my ticket at him, and he moved along. I leaned back with my head craned to the right as a brown hat and its owner bobbed past the window towards the front of the train. I pressed my forehead to the glass, watching him until he climbed into the first car behind the locomotive.

The conductor waddled to the doorway and hollered out, “All aboard.” I stood up, calmly moved to the door beside him, grabbed the railing and stepped out onto the platform, keeping as close to the train as I could. The train started to move, and I headed towards the caboose. I took one last look behind me, saw nothing, and ran like hell.

“Hey, where you goin’? We’re leaving,” the conductor shouted. Not fast enough for my liking, I thought, and kept running and dodging oncoming traffic until I was safely inside the depot. The only people who paid me any mind were the concerned folks wondering why the big guy was grabbing his knees, huffing and puffing and looking like he might pass out any minute.

“Is he gone?” the deep voice came from behind a pillar.

I nodded and gasped for air. “Yeah… On his way to St… Louis.”

“You’re sure?” I nodded again because it took less air than talking. The Count allowed himself the first smile I’d seen in three days. “How did you manage it?”

“I just gave him the necklace.”

His eyes weren’t clear, but they sure got wide. “What necklace?”

“The one you stole in Algeria. F-f-fashioned by crude hands in a savage land,” my voice dropped to an imitation of his. He still didn’t get it. “The one I was making for you as a surprise.”

“He believed you?” I wasn’t sure if he was relieved or insulted. Relief won out. “He really thought I stole a necklace and was stupid enough to carry it around with me? How could he believe such a thing?”

“He wanted to,” I said. He just nodded thoughtfully. Then I handed him the two tickets. To my disappointment, but not my surprise, he took them both from my hand without looking at me.

His embarrassment lasted only a moment. He gave himself a shake, and his best business smile reappeared. “Well, Mr. Brown. I believe I owe you three week’s wages.” He handed me a wrinkled stack of fives. I was tempted to count it, but took the high road. Instead I nodded and calmly put the cash in my right hand pocket, where they burned just as hot as Kenny’s did in the left.

I couldn’t think of anything to say. I’d used up my whole supply of clever, so I just said, “Thank you, Sir.”

“Thank you, Brown. Thank you very much.” Then he paused, and for the first time, probably in his whole life, the Count de Prorok was at a loss for words. He took a couple of preliminary stabs at a sentence before he could ask me, “What are you going to do?”

It was the first time he’d asked me that, and I fought down the resentment that burned in my gut. “I have no idea,” I said truthfully. “But I’m not going back to Milwaukee.” That was equally true. “What about you? What’s your next move?”

He sighed and straightened his shoulders. “I’ll go to New York, from there back to Paris soon as I can get a boat and win my wife back. I can keep my family together, I know I can, if I can just get there before her family... I think if we agree to live here—New York, I mean—that might make Alice happy enough.” His eyes didn’t believe what his mouth said for a minute, and neither did I, but I nodded anyway.

We slowly walked over to where his luggage was stacked. My battered, flaking suitcase lay on top of the pile. I picked it up and clicked it open, pulled out half the money de Prorok gave me, shoved it inside the socks that served as the National Bank of Willy and pushed it to the bottom of the suitcase. I saw my drawstring bag containing the broken pasteboard sword, the mold for the Libyan Venus, a few beads, glass chunks, and a little copper wire. I shoved the rest of de Prorok’s money into that bag. That made forty-five bucks in my suitcase, and another fifty in my pocket, plus what I had in my billfold.

“Can I buy you lunch before I go?” he asked. I knew he’d have to trade the tickets to St. Louis just for fare to New York. Plus, I didn’t know what else to say. I let him off the hook.

“No sir, a deal’s a deal. I pay my own meals.” I held out my hand. “Good luck.”

He took it in both hands. “And to you, Braun.
Bon chance
.”

We stood a moment longer than was comfortable, both of our eyes looking everywhere but at each other. Then I picked up my suitcase and turned my back to him. I figured I could wrangle a night our two out of Mrs. Cudahy. At least meals were included. It was as good a plan as any.

Walking through the rotunda, I studied the big board. Trains were arriving and departing from all over the country. Imagine, being able to just pick a spot and go anywhere you wanted. Then it dawned on me. I had everything I owned in my hand and a hundred bucks in my pocket. I stopped, unsure whether I should continue outside or not.

Through the revolving doors, I could see flakes falling gently to the sidewalk onto Canal Street. People walked past the glass doors, huddled up against the lake wind, one hand holding their collars closed, the other keeping their hats from blowing away. I looked from the winter outside back to the departure board. The heck with it. It was time to go somewhere warm.