Trouble at the Brownstone

Chapter 12

I allowed George — if that was his name — to get well away from me before I reversed course and went down to the lobby, then crossed Tenth Avenue to McCready’s. I took one of the stools at the bar and ordered the usual scotch on the rocks, making no attempt to look in the direction of the back room. What I did see out of the corner of my eye, however, was that George, who I had just accosted in the stairwell of the Elmont, stood at the far end of the bar in what seemed to be a very private conversation with Liam McCready. And both of them were looking at me as they talked. Situations like that could give a guy a complex.

I ignored them, pretending to focus on the Dodgers game on television. After a few minutes, none other than McCready himself — without George — came up to me from behind the bar. “I do not believe I know you,” he said with a smile, “but I have seen you in here a few times now, and I do like to get to know my customers. I am Liam McCready.” He was husky without being fat, had red hair beginning to go gray, and with Ireland showing all over his ruddy face and evident in his speech.

“Nice to meet you,” I said, shaking the freckled hand that had been offered. “I’m Art Horstmann.”

“I am glad to see you, and also pleased that you have chosen to patronize our humble establishment. Do you reside in the neighborhood?”

“Yes, at least for now. I’m right across the street at the Elmont.”

“By ‘at least for now,’ does that mean your stay there is to be of but a temporary nature?”

“I’m from out of town, a little burg in Ohio that no one has ever heard of, and I have come here looking for my cousin Ted, who seems to have disappeared.”

“Really? And you have no idea what did happen to him?” the barkeeper asked, resting thick arms on the scarred mahogany surface of the bar.

“No idea whatever. Actually, you might have seen him there in your back room, playing bridge,” I said, hoping he had not noticed me in that game one night myself.

“Ah, yes, the bridge players,” McCready said, nodding. “They have always seemed to be indeed a pleasant bunch. So, he was one of them?”

“Yes, so I’m told. And while I am here, I’ll be staying in his apartment right across the street.” I had wondered if McCready might mention what had happened to Chester Miller. He didn’t.

“I am surely sorry to hear about your cousin, Mr. Horstmann — or can I call you Art?”

“Sure, you can, I’m not the formal type. Seems like you have always got a lively crowd in here,” I observed.

“At night, that is truly the case, but during the day it can get pretty slow in here. A lot of our customers are longshoremen from over on the docks,” McCready said, jabbing a thumb in the direction of the Hudson. “But the minute their day shift is done, a good many of them head straight over here. I like to think of our little establishment as a haven where they can relax and enjoy themselves after putting in an honest day’s work.”

“Admirable,” I said. “Have you run the bar for a long time?”

“Several years, it has been. I took it over after my uncle died. I am from Ireland, County Donegal.”

“I never would have guessed it,” I said, and we both laughed.

“They say an Irishman never loses his brogue, you know,” McCready said, “and I suppose I would be a good example of that fine old adage. I gather that you started coming in here because of its propinquity to your current dwelling place.”

“Propinquity — now that is quite a word,” I told him, “one that you don’t hear thrown around every day. I am impressed.” Being around Wolfe for so long, I happened to know what the term meant, but I played dumb, which is not difficult for me.

“Aw, we Irish are always showing off our vocabularies,” McCready said, pretending to be embarrassed. “I suppose ’tis part of our tradition as storytellers. Pay me no mind. Back on the subject of your cousin: Have you had any success in your search for him?”

“None whatever. It seems that Ted has vanished just like that,” I replied, snapping my fingers. “And he has always been such a cautious person. I can’t imagine what would have happened to him.”

“It is strange, all right, Art. I will most certainly keep my eyes and ears open. Being behind the bar, where I find myself much of each day, I hear things — sometimes things I am probably not supposed to hear, if you read me.” He rolled his eyes.

“I read you. But anything you happen to hear will be most welcome. Nobody across the street in the Elmont seemed to know my cousin. I find the residents over there to be a very strange bunch.”

“Oh, and how might that be?” McCready asked, eyes wide.

“It seems like the ones who I’ve run into are very private, to the point of secrecy. By nature, I’m a friendly guy and I like to talk to people, but these new neighbors of mine, if I can call them that, don’t want to talk at all.”

“You said that you hail from Ohio, right?” the barkeep asked.

“I did.”

“Well, I have not yet had the pleasure of visiting Ohio, but from what I have learned in my years in this fair land, people who come from areas away from the East Coast tend to be warmer and more open — like yourself, for instance. While New Yorkers, as I have had occasion to learn, are in general a suspicious lot and not given to making friends easily. Perhaps that is what you now are experiencing.”

“Except my impression is that the people living in the Elmont — at least the ones I’ve met — are not New Yorkers. If anything, I would say they are not even native-born Americans.”

“Really? And where do you think they might hail from?”

“I don’t know, because those I’ve encountered in the halls and the stairways try to avoid speaking to me at all, and when they do, it seems like their grasp of English is somewhere between weak and nonexistent.”

“Hmm. ’Tis something of a mystery, Art. Come to mention it, I have run across a fellow in here, maybe even two or three, who might live in the Elmont and who sound like they originated from somewhere in Europe, I am not sure of which countries. It could very well be that they are among those who are called displaced persons and who have earned the right to come to the United States. As I am sure you are aware, conditions in much of Europe continue to be difficult, even this many years after the end of that horrible war.”

“Yes, I know the rebuilding of the countries over there has been slow, and we are taking in thousands who have nowhere else to go because they’ve lost their homes. Who can quarrel with the action that our country has undertaken?”

“Well said. It might also explain why some of your neighbors across the street are so cautious about talking to strangers. You and I can only begin to imagine what all of the displaced persons here have been through.”

“Good point, I will keep that in mind. Well, it’s time for me to get back to my home away from home,” I said, putting money on the bar to cover my drink and a tip.

“I trust that you shall soon get news about your cousin,” McCready said. “As I told you before, I will be alert as to anything concerning him. You said his name was Ted...?”

“Yes, Ted Horstmann. I will likely be back in here.” The owner nodded a good-bye as I walked out of his tavern, taking a quick look through the doorway at the back room, where the card table sat unoccupied. Once outside, I pondered on Liam McCready’s use of the words “did happen to him” in relation to Theodore. Maybe it was simply his normal speech pattern, or perhaps McCready thought he knew what had already occurred, especially given the fate that had befallen another of the bridge players.

Back in apartment 412 at the Elmont, I took off my sports coat and also the shoulder holster, which I had begun wearing, along with my Marley .38. I was on a case some years ago up in the Bronx in which I left my weapon at home, and the lapse nearly cost me my life. I have never again made that mistake.

I wanted to telephone Saul at home, but there was no instrument in Theodore’s room. The apartment house, if it can be so termed, could hardly afford its residents making calls to heaven knows where. I went downstairs and out, walking across the street and down to a Rexall drugstore on the corner, lit brightly like a beacon on the darkened block. The place was deserted except for a couple of teenagers on stools at the soda fountain making eyes at each other and slurping a chocolate milkshake through straws that went into the same Coca-Cola shaped glass. It could have been a frame out of an Andy Hardy film with Judy Garland and Mickey Rooney doing the guzzling and gazing at each other.

If I popped a balloon right behind them, I would not have broken their trance. The only other person in the shop was a white-jacketed soda jerk who pointedly avoided the loving couple as he straightened goods on shelves in an attempt to look busy.

I eased into the phone booth, closed the door, and popped a nickel into the slot, dialing a number I had memorized long ago. Saul answered after a couple of rings.

“Wasn’t sure that I’d get you at home,” I told him.

“As a matter of fact, I just walked in. I have had myself an interesting evening.”

“So have I. Should we compare notes?”

“Sounds like a good idea,” Saul said, “although I would prefer to do it face-to-face. Got any suggestions?”

“If you don’t mind turning right around and going back outside again. There’s a coffee shop about three blocks from what I’m referring to as my temporary residence. It’s at Forty-Ninth and Eighth, far enough from both the Elmont and McCready’s bar that we’d be unlikely to run into anyone from either of those establishments.”

“I know the place, Archie. Give me twenty minutes to get there.”