The Darling Dahlias and the Naked Ladies (26 page)

Mr. Diamond was staring at her, shaking his head as if he did not quite believe what he was hearing. Bessie understood his confusion. Leona Ruth often had that effect on people.

“Lady,” he growled, now almost plaintively, “will you
pu-leez
just get to the point? Where is that blonde?”

“Not so fast, Mr. Gold.” Leona Ruth became brisk. “The point is that I know who you are, and I am eager to do my patriotic duty as a citizen to help you capture the criminal you are lookin’ for. All I ask in return is a tidbit of inside information. I am sure that Mr. Hoover wouldn’t mind in the slightest if one of his government agents gave just a teeny tiny hint to a valuable informant.” She smiled meaningfully and repeated the phrase, with emphasis. “A
valuable
informant.”

“Mr. . . . Hoover?”

“Mr. J. Edgar Hoover, of course.” Leona Ruth tittered. “You didn’t think I was talkin’ about the
president
of the United States, did you? Just a tidbit of information,” she cajoled. “What’s she done? What’s she wanted for?”

There was a moment’s silence while Mr. Diamond, knitting his brows, worked through all of this. Bessie had just come to the conclusion that the man really was a thickheaded dimwit when he smiled, snatched off his hat, and took Leona Ruth’s gloved hand in one pudgy paw.

“Okay. Okay. Now I gotcha. Yes, ma’am. Sure thing. Now I unnerstand.” He dropped Leona Ruth’s hand. “You wanna deal. Well, I don’t think Mr. J. Edgar Hoover back in Washington, D.C., would be too mad at me if I told you that the broad in question—the blonde—is wanted by the police in Cicero, Illinois. She shot Salvatorio Raggio.”

“Shot!” Leona Ruth’s eyes widened and she fell back a step, her nostrils quivering. “You mean, she’s a . . . a
murderess
? I was at the Beauty Bower, gettin’ shampooed and set in the comp’ny of a
murderess?
”

Mr. Diamond said through his teeth, “You got it, ma’am. What’s more, she shot Sal Raggio with a Remington 51 that was give to her by one of Al Capone’s gang members.”

Leona Ruth’s hand went to her mouth. “Al Capone!” she squeaked. “Did you say Al . . . Capone, Mr. Gold?”

“Yes, ma’am, that’s who I said. The gentleman who give her the gun—Diamond, his name is, Frankie Diamond—was convicted twice, once for runnin’ numbers and once for sellin’ illegal booze, for which he was sent up two years. It was an unfair trial and a rotten conviction, but that’s the kinda criminal associates this broad has got. I hafta tell you, lady, she ain’t got no decency. She don’t play fair with nobody, neither her friends or the local flat-feet.”

Liz elbowed Bessie in the ribs. “
He
gave Miss LaMotte the gun himself!” she whispered excitedly, and Bessie nodded. “They must have been involved,” she whispered back. “Romantically, I mean.”

Leona Ruth put her tongue between her teeth, shaking her head, big-eyed.

“You don’t believe me on this,” Mr. Diamond went on, “you just go to the phone and call up Captain Ricardo at the Cicero police department and ask him who he’s lookin’ for in the murder of Mr. Salvatorio Raggio. He’ll put you wise—if you can get through to him, that is. I didn’t have no luck callin’ Cicero just now myself.” His voice hardened. “Okay, lady? Now it’s your turn. Cough it up. Where is this broad? Where can I find her?”

“W-where?” Leona Ruth stuttered. Her face was white, and Bessie could see that she was genuinely frightened. Whatever she may have imagined Miss Jamison’s offense to be—tax evasion? petty theft? littering?—murder obviously wasn’t on the list.

“All right, sister, let’s cut the comedy.” Diamond leaned forward so that his face was only inches from Leona Ruth’s. In a threatening voice, he growled, “I ain’t got time to fool around. This here is a dangerous woman we’re talkin’ about. She carries that gun of hers around in her pocketbook, ready to shoot anybody who looks at her crosswise. You said you know where to find her. So tell me, or so help me I’ll—” He lifted his hand.

Leona Ruth looked cornered. “She’s stayin’ with her aunt,” she began in a halting voice. “The old lady lives on Camellia Street, right across from the—”

Bessie couldn’t let Leona Ruth spill the beans on Miss Jamison. Knowing it was now or never, she abruptly charged forward, brushed past Mr. Diamond, and seized Leona Ruth by the arm, knocking her hat askew.

“Why, Leona Ruth Adcock!” she cried. “I have been looking all over this town for you, and here you are, standing on Robert E. Lee, right here in front of Mann’s! Your sister sent me to tell you that you’re wanted at home, this very minute! It’s an emergency.”

“My . . . my sister?” Leona Ruth faltered. “But I don’t have a—”

“Oh, swell, Miss Bloodworth! You’ve found her!” Liz rushed around Diamond and took Leona Ruth’s other arm. “Your sister says it’s a case of life and death, Mrs. Adcock. We hate to interrupt your conversation with this gentleman, but you’ve got to come with us. Right now! There’s not a second to lose.” And both Bessie and Liz began to pull Mrs. Adcock away.

Diamond was suddenly jarred into action. “Hey!” he exclaimed indignantly. He reached out and grabbed Bessie’s arm. “What’s with yous dames? I’m talkin’ to this lady. She’s about to give me some very valuable information.” To Leona Ruth, he said, “Across Camellia Street from what?”

Leona Ruth replied, “Across from the Magnolia—”

“Help!” Bessie cried, trying to wrench her arm free from Diamond’s grip. She let go of Leona Ruth and whapped the man with her handbag. “Get your hands off me!” she screeched. “Help, police!”

Hanging on to Leona Ruth, Liz stepped forward. “Let her go!” she yelled at Mr. Diamond. “You let Miss Bloodworth go, you big thug!” She turned back to Leona Ruth and began to pull. “Hurry, Mrs. Adcock! It’s an emergency. There’s not a minute to lose!”

“Wait! You can’t go!” Diamond protested loudly. Still holding Bessie’s arm, he grabbed for Leona Ruth’s sleeve, pulling her jacket half off and tilting her hat across one eye. Leona Ruth screamed and dropped her shopping bag, and an assortment of nuts, candies, and raisins spilled out and rolled across the ground. “Across Camellia from the Magnolia what?” he demanded.

“Help!” Bessie shrieked frantically, and hit the man with her handbag again. “Get your hands off me! Help!”

Leona Ruth was staring at Diamond as if she were mesmerized. She began, “Across from the Magnolia Man—” But she didn’t get to finish. Liz clapped her hand over her mouth.

At that moment, the glass door to the store slammed wide open and Mr. Mann, the proprietor, strode out, wearing a white shirt with red sleeve garters, a black bow tie, his usual red suspenders, and a white apron. He was a burly man with powerful shoulders, at least two heads taller than Diamond.

“What’s goin’ on out here?” he demanded. “Ladies, is this fella botherin’ you?” He peered through his gold-rimmed bifocals at Bessie. “Why, Miz Bloodworth, for heaven’s sake! And Miz Adcock!” He turned to Diamond. “Get your big fat hands off these ladies,” he barked, pushing him backward, forcing him to release his hold on both Bessie and Mrs. Adcock. “You oughtta be ashamed of yourself!”

“Oh, Mr. Mann, I am so glad to see you!” Bessie cried, straightening the sleeve of her dress and righting her hat. “Mrs. Adcock has an emergency and has to go home, right this minute, but this gentleman is attempting to detain her. Could you talk some sense into him for us?”

“Oh, you bet, Miz Bloodworth,” Mr. Mann replied. He was scowling furiously, his face as red as a turkey’s wattle. “I don’t know who the Sam Hill you are or what you think you’re doin’, stranger,” he bellowed, “but I’ll thank you to keep your hands to yourself. It ain’t polite to molest a Southern lady.”

“Keep yer shirt on,” Mr. Diamond said, taking a step backward and raising his hands as if to defend himself. “I ain’t molestin’ nobody. I am only tryin’ to get the information I was promised by this lady right here.”

“Well, I advise you to give up tryin’,” Mr. Mann snapped. He thrust a thick forefinger into Diamond’s nose. “Whoever the hell you are, I want you off my proppity, right now. You hear?”

“But it ain’t what you think, Mr. Mann!” Leona Ruth was struggling to free herself from Bessie and Liz. “His name is Mr. Gold. He’s a gov’ment agent! He’s here in Darling to arrest—”

“A gov’ment agent?” Mr. Mann shouted, and his face got so red that it looked as if he were about to explode. “A gov’ment agent, huh? Well, I don’t give a good gol-durn who he’s here to arrest, Miz Adcock. And I don’t know why in tarnation you’re actin’ like it’s your duty to defend him.”

“Of course I’m defendin’ him,” Leona Ruth shrilled. “He’s doin’ important business for Mr. Hoover. He—”

“And I am tellin’ you for your very own personal good that he’s got no bidness layin’ his dirty hands on Miz Bloodworth, or on Miz Lacy, or on you. And I am surprised right down to my toe bones that you are tryin’ to make excuses for him. Gov’ment agent—ptui!” And he spit contemptuously on one of Diamond’s shiny shoes.

Bessie knew exactly why Mr. Mann was so furious. Deep in the wooded hills to the west of Darling, between the town and the Alabama River, Mr. Mann’s second cousin, Mickey LeDoux, ran the biggest moonshine operation in all of South Alabama. Mickey supplied an excellent corn liquor not only to the residents of Darling, but to Monroeville, Frisco, and all the little villages roundabout. What’s more, everybody in town—including Sheriff Roy Burns—knew for a certain fact that Mr. Mann had a secret shelf behind the horse harness and saddles in the back room at the Mercantile, where he would be glad to sell you a bottle or two of Mickey’s best. Hearing the words
government agent
, Mr. Mann had quite naturally assumed that Mr. Diamond was a revenue agent—a revenooer, as the locals called them—and that he was planning to arrest Mickey Mann and anybody who was associated with him.

Afterward, Bessie wondered what might have happened next, but as things turned out, whatever it was didn’t get a chance to happen. Whether it was blind luck or Divine Providence or maybe even the work of the devil, at that very moment, Deputy Buddy Norris came roaring up Robert E. Lee on his red Indian Ace motorcycle, a cloud of dust spinning along behind him like a miniature tornado. He was wearing his khaki deputy’s uniform and jacket, his leather motorcycle helmet and goggles, and his gun. Bessie didn’t know whether he was on duty or not, because Buddy loved his work so much and was so diligent about it that he wore his uniform constantly. Some folks guessed that he even slept in it, with his gun under his pillow.

Seeing Buddy coming, Mr. Mann stepped into the dusty street, windmilling both arms. “Hey, Buddy, stop!” he yelled. “We got us a problem here.”

Buddy Norris skidded to a stop, kicked down his motorcycle stand, and lifted his leg gracefully over the machine. He was a tall, lean, well-built young man with a shock of brown hair across his forehead and a straggly growth of beard on his chin. He was known to be somewhat reckless and accident prone, but he was a good deputy and a better law enforcement officer, in most people’s estimations, than Sheriff Roy Burns. Bessie agreed, for she knew Buddy Norris well. He had mowed her grass twice a month every summer from the time he was ten until the sheriff had picked him to take Deputy Duane Hadley’s place. A decent young man, willing to help, if sometimes a rapscallion.

“A problem, you say, Mr. Mann?” Buddy asked pleasantly, hooking his thumbs into his belt and pushing his jacket aside so that his holstered weapon was clearly visible. His deputy’s badge, polished to a fare-thee-well, was prominently displayed on the lapel of his brown jacket. He smiled his Lucky Lindy smile at Bessie and gave her a little salute.

“Afternoon, Miz Bloodworth.” His glance went to Liz, approving her yellow hat. “Miz Lacy. That’s a right purty hat.”

He didn’t look at Mrs. Adcock. Bessie knew that he had once hit a baseball through Leona Ruth’s front window and she had made him pay for the broken glass by spading up her spring garden, which at the time was about the size of the baseball field out behind the Academy.

“A real serious problem,” Mr. Mann said sternly. “This fella here has been annoyin’ these ladies. He—”

“He’s not annoyin’, he’s a gov’ment agent!” Leona Ruth cried. “He’s here to—”

“I’m afraid that Mrs. Adcock is very high-strung,” Bessie said sweetly. “If you want to know the truth, Buddy, you go right on over to the Exchange and have a little talk with Verna Tidwell. She’s on the switchboard this afternoon. She’ll tell you who this man really is. He is from—”

“I don’t give a good goose turd who he is or where he’s from,” Mr. Mann said heatedly, “although it is purty obvious from the way he talks that he’s a damn Yankee from up north.”

“He’s also armed,” Bessie said.

“Armed?” Liz repeated in surprise.

“Under his jacket, left side,” Bessie explained. “My father had one of those shoulder holsters. He was attacked by a crazy man at his funeral parlor once when he was laying out the man’s wife, and after that, he wore it every time he worked on a corpse or did a funeral. I could always tell when he had it on by the bulge in his coat.”

“Armed, is he?” Buddy drawled. His glance sharpened and he took a step closer.

“Armed? Well, o’
course
he’s armed,” Leona Ruth protested. “I tell you, he’s a gov’ment agent, sent here by Mr. J. Edgar Hoover to—”

“Lemme see your badge, Mr. Gov’ment Agent,
sir
,” Buddy said. Like Mr. Mann, he was taller than Diamond, and younger and fitter. And unlike Mr. Mann, Buddy had a gun.

Diamond cleared his throat and looked nervously away. “I ain’t carrying no badge right now.”

“Because he’s incognito,” shrilled Leona Ruth. “He’s undercover! He is on the trail of a—”

“Miz Adcock,” Mr. Mann said with exaggerated politeness, “I reckon you don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, so I’ll ask you to jes’ keep still and let us menfolks get this sorted out.”

“No badge.” Buddy made a tsk-tsk noise. His voice hardened. “Then lemme see your gun. Slowly, now, Mr. Gov’ment Agent. No fast moves.”