PART TWO
18[ToC]
Because of duties in maintaining peace along the uncertain boundary lines that divided a defeated people from those who had triumphed, Captain Shirley Wells was detained in the border lands of France and Germany long after his badly reduced regiment had returned to their homeland. Wells had been the first sergeant of a company that became noted for its discipline within and its activities afield. His promotion to a commission had been earned.
Shirley had entered the service as an enthusiastic youth. In a few brief years he had grown to a serious-minded man. A six-footer, deep-chested, broad of shoulders, he had the physical ability to enforce the decrees and orders of his superiors while the general terms of boundaries were being formulated. Patiently and firmly he worked with the peasantry of any district where he was assigned to gain their confidence and earn the praise of his superiors. On July 2nd, 1921, his nation and the others interested having completed the general terms of boundaries and occupation, the service by regulatory groups was ended. Shirley Wells had been gratified in earning a commission, now he was happy indeed to know that he was to return to civilian pursuits, for he might have to work out some peace terms in his home town.
More than eighteen months ago, while his regiment was resting after an effective foray against the enemy in the vicinity of Lyons, he received a letter informing him of the death of his father and indicating that a telegram had been sent. He never received the telegram, and judging by a lack of replies to his letters, he doubted that one had been sent.
Now he was an orphan. In letters from friends he learned that his elder brother, Carson, was in charge of the family bank at Bransford, a suburb of Chicago, and that he was connected with active interests in that city. He learned, too, that Carson now lived in the ancient but beautiful home formerly occupied by his parents. What about the boys and girls with whom he was associated in school days? Was Loretta Young married? Was the strong little bank, the pride of two generations, still rendering the service that had made it famous? And what of the other family assets? This returning soldier was deeply involved in the complications that come to all veterans who are hastily transferred back to civilian duties and are to encounter the radical changes that have been made to maintain a vast fighting force in distant lands.
However, Shirley Wells noted little difference in conditions in the cities of Washington and Chicago as he hastened homeward. Buildings and streets appeared about as usual but the general populace appeared indifferent and unconcerned. Unemployment prevailed, but he seemed to contact more women in business places than he did in former days.
At Chicago he transferred to the morning local for Bransford. He was disappointed that he found no old-time acquaintances among those who were bound for the suburbs. The first person to recognize him was the station agent at Bransford and his greeting was casual as he trundled the truck of empty milk cans to the far end of the platform. "Maybe these London tweeds are taboo in this central zone," he grumbled as he made his way up the shaded street to the business district.
At the bank, he planned to walk right up to the receiver's window and ask old Powell if this was Tellson's bank and was Mr. Tellson in? As a schoolboy he had often kidded the aged cashier as to the close resemblance of these quarters to the little, gloomy, narrow affair described by author Dickens as being located at Temple Bar in the city of London. But the aged cashier's place was occupied by an alert young man who asked to be of service and Shirley could only inquire if Carson was in.
The aged woman working at a filing cabinet turned quickly when she heard the voice of the inquirer. She walked to the counter to get a better view. "Why, it's Shirley!" she cried as she ran out in the corridor. "It's Shirley!—twice as big!" She made ineffective attempts to hug and caress the big man, who laughingly lifted her up to plant a kiss on either cheek. "That's the first—and best—welcome I've had since I landed in America, Aunt Carrie," said he. "Now I feel that I am home."
Carson Wells came from the little private room at the rear. The greetings of the brothers were not so effusive. Shirley was invited to the private room by his brother.
"I want to loaf around for a week or two," the veteran explained. "I want to hunt up a few old friends and hear 'em detail the awful experiences they suffered during the war. If you can find me a temporary hangout where I can store some keepsakes while I get myself oriented, it will be quite all right."
"The housing situation is a little tight just now," said Carson, "but we should be able to find quarters somewhere. The Grand Union is badly congested of weekends and rooming houses are full up. I live in the three west rooms of our old home and Mr. Breen and his family occupy the rest. However, there's plenty of room at the farmhouse, and Davis, the tenant, certainly needs a lot of personal supervision, the way things have been going lately. At times I have felt that I should share the big house at the farm but my wife protests—"
"Are you married?" interrupted Shirley. "And who is the fortunate lady?"
"Why, sure I'm married. Didn't you get our announcement? I married Loretta Young a year ago last April."
Shirley Wells occupied quarters at the family farmhome for nearly four years. In the first few weeks he drove an ancient model back and forth to the little city to renew acquaintances. The American Legion, quartered in a small room over a meat market, was one of his hangouts. Here, two or three of the unimportant members were in constant attendance quibbling and complaining that the general public did not plan and build for their uses the ornate structure they had in mind. For a week or two he frequented the local movies, but compared with past experiences he failed to find the production up to the announcements that the portrayals were stupendous and thrilling. Social affairs in the community seemed confined to "groups." Luncheon clubs, such as Rotary, Kiwanis, and Lions seemed to dominate commercial activities while the Dramatic Club and P.T.A. organizations took care of other community gatherings.
But to Shirley Wells, the one big change from old-time conditions was in the liquor business. The saloons that flourished in the days before his enlistment were not now operating. Of the seven places where liquor was sold only one maintained a resemblance to former conditions. Dinty O'Neal's place, across the tracks, appeared about as disreputable as it was in former days. Some of the young sports laughingly insisted that Dinty's home-brew was in a fair way of making the city famous.
Two of the uptown places continued to operate a few pool tables and sell soft drinks. One room, formerly occupied by a saloon, was now the office of a trucking company with headquarters in Chicago. Shirley was later to learn that young Anzio, the new bank employee, was a nephew of the manager of the trucking company.
Shirley gave little attention to the affairs at the bank. Carson seemed unwilling to share the responsibilities of a business that was severely affected by the growing depression. As a youngster Shirley knew much of the details of the business but he realized that he had no present-day knowledge of credits and loans. He made no effort to intrude.
Knowing that he must rely on his own efforts to earn a living, Shirley secured desk-room in the elaborate offices of Fred Townsend, a personal friend and a leading lawyer in the community. Here he acted as a receiver in several complicated cases and was often busy in securing evidence. This employment occupied much of his time and gave opportunity to note the trend in community affairs.
Meanwhile, Carson found a customer for the family farm. "The Model Trucking Company wants the place for storage," he explained, "and they are the only concern on our books that has a growing account." Shirley moved into town to an apartment over the Banner office.
Indeed, the trucking company was an active concern. Trucks grew in number. Night shipping was a principal activity. Local "night hawks" were to learn that coal and corn composed most of the incoming loads, and the finished product went to Chicago. Local distributors were supplied only from that central city.
As is usually the case, revulsion follows negligence. Now sober-minded but financially distressed citizens would correct the prevailing evil. The eighteenth amendment must be repealed. The people of the nation were voting to undo what had been done.
Locally, Reverend James Branch of the Fourth Avenue Church called a meeting of ministers and church officials to discuss the probable loss of the amendment that was to have been the cure for liquor evils. The call to the meeting was announced in the local newspapers.
Shirley Wells had not been specifically invited to the conference. He was curious to learn, however, if there was a cure for this festering ailment that afflicted the nation other than the repeal of the amendment. He quietly took a back seat at the small but select gathering in the church parlors to listen to the protests and complaints. And there was little else in the several talks—protests against the lack of law enforcement; complaints that Chicago gangsters were broadening their sphere of activity to include adjacent cities and suburbs in the distribution and sale of raw alcohol and needled beer. In these discussions no speaker offered a solution to the problem.
The Reverend Branch presided. Following the several talks he recognized Shirley Wells and in an elaborate introduction, reciting his war service, he asked Shirley if he had a solution for the problem now under discussion.
"I came here seeking information," said Shirley quietly. "I surely must be the most ignorant one present. I wasn't in the States when the amendment was passed and have had limited opportunity to note the effects. It is apparent, however, that there is something wrong, radically wrong, with the whole population—both the criminal and the law-abiding."
"Why! what's wrong with the better element?" demanded the chairman quickly. "It was the law-abiding citizen that planned and urged and voted for the eighteenth amendment to the Constitution. Our planning and work was effective. And now, they would nullify our past labors."
"And then, what did you do?" demanded Shirley as he rose to his feet to emphasize what was to follow. "You, figuratively, folded fat hands across pudgy stomachs and left the enforcement of your edict to the officers who were friends of the bootleggers. Your failure to act causes this repeal."
"Is it your idea that the better element of a community must quit their business to take up the matter of law enforcement?" the chairman asked in scornful tones.
"It's my idea," retorted Shirley as he advanced from the rear to the center of the gathered group, "it's my idea that anyone who launches a new, untried craft in unexplored waters had better stay at the helm instead of leaving the management of the boat to those who deride the plan. It wouldn't have taken much of your time, Doctor Branch, to have organized an enforcement committee to assist the policeman who was a friendly acquaintance of the former liquor man, who has now turned bootlegger. Policemen are selected because of their acquaintance with the underworld and they are very human. Void of any contacts with the better element of the community, they allow their friends to run wild in lawlessness until the affair gets beyond control. That's what happened in Bransford; that's what happened everywhere. Lawless greed flourishes in the atmosphere of negligence.
"But I didn't come here to quarrel with the better element of my home town," concluded Shirley as he reached for his hat. "I had hoped that you had a solution, a plan, to meet the oncoming conditions. Just now the States are voting to repeal the amendment. It seems certain that it will be repealed and within the next year or two, the old saloon will be functioning as in former days. It will pay a tax to the government on the product sold, it will pay a tax to the city, it will furnish a bond to operate legally and at stated hours, and its return will be welcomed by many. But remember that the greedy and grasping back of it all will overdo, as always, and the amendment will be re-enacted. This time, if it has the support of a well-organized enforcement committee, it will function despite the efforts of the greedy."
19[ToC]
The Bransford Morning Herald contained no account of the meeting at the Fourth Avenue Church. News of the rebuff as administered to the better element by a rank outsider was slow in gaining circulation. But the incident was not wholly suppressed. Judge Parker, who had been present, chuckled the incident to a few friends; Holstroff, the merchant, recited the details to a few customers as they discussed the probable outcome of the state elections now being held; and Joe Dansford, the church janitor, told the incident of how the meeting ended in a general row, without the formality of a motion to adjourn. Lacking a correct account, the general public of the little city elaborated the story to include fisticuffs and swear words.
Carson Wells, of the Wells National, heard the story and was much concerned. It affected his leading customer. Just now, banks were closing in increasing numbers, local factories were shut down, retailing limited to bare necessities, and only one concern in the community earned money. Carson, as well as the managers of the Model Trucking Company, realized that in the event of the repeal of the amendment, ruin was inevitable. It was Carson's problem to stop such publicity. Shirley must be silenced. He was found at the public library and was invited to come to the bank after three o'clock.
"That vindictive speech you made at the church meeting is proving very costly," said Carson as the brothers seated themselves in the little consultation room in the rear of the bank. "It affects your own personal affairs, and seeks to wreck the only concern in the city that is functioning and making money. Your interest in this bank demands a retraction of what you said at that meeting."
"Why, I didn't know I had an interest in this bank," said Shirley in even tones. "In the years past, I have been shunted around from pillar to post, living on the few small fees received from receiverships and bankruptcy petitions. And I didn't think that I had banking interests. I certainly am an object of personal negligence, but hereafter the matter will have my attention."
Carson was nonplused at both the answer and attitude. He had planned his remarks, however, and he proceeded along prepared lines.
"Your remarks at that meeting were uncalled for. Your insistence created enemies. No one at the meeting was in favor of repealing the amendment and restoring the unwanted saloon. Yours was the attitude of the drinking ne'er-do-wells of the underworld. Two of those present at that meeting have withdrawn their account, others will do the same. You were simply undermining your own foundations."
"And just what sort of a structure stands on my foundations?" drawled Shirley. "I am a sort of a misfit in the community structure. I do not live in my family home, am not employed in my family bank, was moved away from my family's farm, have never been consulted on business or social affairs since my parents died. Really, I have no foundations that could be undermined."
Carson's face reddened as he listened to the truth. He walked to the water-cooler, took a drink, and returned to his seat. "In some things you are right," he confessed. "When you came home from France, I hoped you would seek a professional career—would turn to politics and make a name for yourself and the family. It seemed my business to work hard and aid in building that career, but you didn't go the way I hoped."
"Just what aid did you render in building such a career? It takes money to acquire a profession. How much did you contribute?"
Again Carson was unable to make a specific answer to the cutting, personal questions. He cleared his throat. "I didn't make any contributions. I wasn't asked. I was...."
"Do you have to ask for your own property, in this day and age?" demanded Shirley. "When Father died, I was an heir to one half of what he possessed: home, farm, bank, bonds, and money on hand. Very properly, in the absence of the other heir, you took charge of the property and managed the business. But on the return of the other heir you made no accounting. In fact, you resented his interest in anything connected with the business."
"When you returned from the war," said Carson, "we were approaching a depression that grew to disastrous proportions. Banks are the first to feel such a calamity. My whole time has been devoted to curtailment—to restricting loans and seeking deposits. Truly, we haven't earned a cent since the war ended."
"So that's the reason you bought the fancy, high-priced limousine and gave several parties at the country club! That's the reason why you maintain those luxurious quarters in Chicago! You were wanting to show the public that...."
"Never mind what I was doing," interrupted Carson angrily. "It's what you have done that is the matter under discussion, and we are getting nowhere. We might as well adjourn."
"Not yet," demanded Shirley hastily. "Keep your seat. The show has now reached the second act. Let's sit it out." It was Shirley who stood up as Carson resumed his seat.
"Our family was always reticent. We avoided publicity; didn't want Mister John Q. to know about our affairs. You surely remember how reluctant our father was when it was found that his private bank must be nationalized. One little share was issued to Aunt Carrie, one to John Powell, his old, trusted employee, and he held the rest. He didn't want the public to know about his private affairs.
"I think I inherited most of his secretive qualities," Shirley continued. "I listened to a lot of rumors and then I began to investigate. My findings lead to but one conclusion: you allied yourself with gangsters in the hope of participating in their enormous gains only to find that you are the biggest sucker on their list."
"I didn't favor anybody," said Carson hotly. "Our relations were simply that of banker and customer."
"And to maintain cordial relations you deeded to them a fine but isolated farm where, uninterrupted, they could produce 'rotgut' to supply the entire Chicago area. Have you been out there lately? Father used to call it Forest Home. The Hereford cattle that he reared topped the market. It's different now. The gates are locked. A thug stands out in the roadway to divert traffic. In the night, truckloads of corn and coal arrive to produce the 'hell-fire' that is bottled, labeled, and distributed over the district."
In the midst of this recital Carson dropped his head down on his arms, folded on the table.
"I don't know a thing about the conditions here at the bank," Shirley continued in softer tones, "but there are public records that tell an incriminating story. The records at the courthouse show a mortgage to the Reliable Insurance Company on our home here in the city. My signature on such a mortgage was forged. I didn't know about this until I was forced into this investigation. You, and your bank, must have needed money very badly and you committed forgery to get it. Based on this fact alone, one has a right to believe that you are fooling the busy bank examiners with forged securities. It's just a question as to what hour you will be uncovered and convicted."
Carson still reclined his head on folded arms. Shirley was preparing to leave. "We are broke, Carson. I haven't a dime and you have less. But I am not going to stay in Bransford and be a party to your downfall. My word alone would prove your guilt. I don't know where I am going, but I intend hiding out until this thing blows over. But before I go, Carson, I want an interview with your criminal friends to tell 'em what a set of dirty, crooks they are."
Late in the afternoon, as Shirley was busy in clearing his desk of unneeded papers, his friend Townsend dropped in to confer on some pending matters.
"I am sorry, Fred, to tell you I am leaving," said Shirley as he closed the desk. "I don't know where I am going and I don't want the public to know where I am located. If you have the time, I would like to tell you the cause of it all and put you wise to some incidents that seem sure to happen."
"I think you are going to confirm some suspicions I had formed in connection with the Larwell estate. The account at the Wells Bank didn't conform to the little credit slips as issued."
"You are on the right road, oldtimer," said Shirley, and he proceeded to relate what was said in his recent conference with Carson. He cited the incident of the forged deed and detailed conditions at the farm. "The Wells National is not only broke," he added, "but Carson is involved in several criminal activities. I don't want to be present when the crash comes; I don't want my evidence to convict him. I am going to hide out where a summons-server cannot find me."
"Maybe you are right," said Townsend thoughtfully, "but there are some things you should do before you leave. The crash will come, no doubt; Carson's share of the estate will be charged with his criminal actions; yours is not involved. Before you go, you should give to someone a full power of attorney to take care of your interests. In the midst of juggled accounts and forgeries, there may be something left, and anyhow, the receivership cannot be closed without your consent."
"You are right, as always, Fred, and you are the very person to have that power. Let's get it done right away. I have another thing on hand that must be taken care of after supper."
"When are you leaving, and have you enough money to get you out of town?" asked Townsend as the two returned from across the hall where the instrument had been notarized.
"I think I will leave tonight. The bubble may not burst for a while. I want the public to become accustomed to my absence. As for money, when I pay for my supper, I may have as much as forty cents left."
"You are braver than I thought and as stubborn as I suspected," said Townsend as he searched his pocketbook. "Here's a twenty. That may get you across the river and on your way. You will make your way all right, but if your case becomes desperate draw on me under the name A.Z., and I will understand. Your financial affairs are in desperate condition but the case is not hopeless. You are young and healthy but you lack a definite plan of life. If someone will throw you a line while you are floundering in this slough you will come out all right. Now what's this thing you are to do after the evening meal?"
"I've made a phone date to tell Anzio and his set of crooks what a rotten set of gangsters they are. It won't take me long to tell 'em and then I am ready to leave."
"You might not be able to make a get-away from those mobsters. Taking an enemy for a final 'ride' is one of their favorite pastimes. And anyhow, you can't tell 'em anything that they don't already know. You have no right to do such an uncalled for thing."
"Oh, yes I have," said Shirley as he took his hat preparing to leave. "My visit might precipitate an incident. Anyhow, I'm on my way."
Shirley left the office. Townsend went to the telephone in the front room.
20[ToC]
Shirley had delayed his evening meal to fit his appointment at the Model Trucking Company. Near eight o'clock he crossed the street to go up the alley to Cherry Street. At the crossing of the dark alley he encountered a policeman and was greeted casually by that officer. In front of the lighted office he accosted another officer, standing in a darkened area near a car parked in front. "Maybe this is a warning," he thought, as he stepped into the well-lighted office.
He was greeted cordially by Anzio and was introduced to the two others present. "This is Don Carlin, our custodian here, and this is Jan Damino, our most trusted employee." Carlin was a slight young man, but his companion differed much in size and considerably in age. Damino, aging to baldness, was a commanding figure. Thick-chested, with arms and legs of considerable size, his seamed face revealed a ragged scar from temple to chin. Both nodded acknowledgment of the introduction and Carlin brought a chair for the visitor.
"I'm glad you've come," said Anzio in pleasing tones. "Your brother reports that you have been badly informed as to what this company is doing. We want to correct any such wrong ideas."
"No one has given me any information about you," said Shirley scornfully. "I was out to the old farm and saw with my own eyes just what's going on."
"Ah! You paid us a visit and we didn't know it. Somebody has been negligent."
"That's right! Your carefully guarded distillery had a visitor. I used to live out there. Knowing about your locked gates and posted guard, I went on the farm from the rear. I edged up to see your still in operation in the old shed. I saw your bottling plant in the big barn. It recalls the old adage: 'You can't fool all the people all the time.'"
Anzio's face clouded as he planned a reply. "You didn't go in close enough to see what was being bottled and labeled? You are willing to spread a false report without having the facts?
"What you glimpsed in your casual snooping was the details of the one business in this community that is prospering. Out in your family's old farm, Doctor David Allen, formerly of St. Louis, is preparing, mixing, bottling, and labeling 'Allen's Stomach Bitters' that has been famous in the South and Southwest for many years. He is now pushing sales in the North and East. Because of its vegetable content, just a small amount of alcohol is a part of the mixture.
"You saw only the sidelines in your snooping and you are putting out a lot of misinformation," concluded Anzio, "and to set you right, I have arranged for our trusted employee, Damino, to take you out there and show you the whole works. The night shift is on and I want 'em to show you every detail of the business."
"Will Damino furnish a round trip ticket?" asked Shirley, as he arose from his chair.
"I don't quite know what you mean," countered Anzio.
"Oh, yes you do," said Shirley emphatically. "Damino here is a 'one-way' man. It's his business to destroy opposition. I wouldn't ride with him down State Street, let alone a country road. With him at the wheel, we couldn't get past that thicket down by the bridge."
"Get him out of here," roared Anzio as he waved to Damino to obey his commands.
Damino approached his quarry cautiously. With his right hand he fingered an inside pocket of his coat; withdrew the hand to place it on Shirley's shoulder. "Let's git goin'," he said as he shoved Shirley toward the door.
Shirley had seen a move that he thought important. He grabbed the extended right arm to give it a jujitsu move up and to the back of the body. It made the assailant grunt and his left knee buckled in its uncertain stance. Quickly Shirley reached in the inside pocket to withdraw a lengthy Colt revolver. Shifting the weapon to his right hand, he brought it down in a mighty blow on the temple of his assailant. Damino fell to the floor. Carlin fled the room by the back door. Shirley turned to find Anzio frantically searching the contents of a drawer in the nearby cabinet. Placing the gun in his pocket, Shirley seized a tall, steel-legged stool to bring it down on Anzio's unprotected head. Anzio joined Damino on the floor. Shirley walked out the front door.
On the sidewalk Shirley encountered the policeman. "What's going on in there?" he demanded.
"Not much, just now," was the reply, "but I was certainly busy for a short time. Why are you here?"
"Your friend, Fred Townsend, is responsible. Fred is seemingly not in touch with our present city administration, but he sure has a strong pull with our chief. Fred phoned him to send two or three of the force down here to see that you were not killed or taken for a ride. We don't know what it's all about, but we're here. Ah, here's company," the officer added as another policeman came out of the alley, shoving Carlin in front of him.
"Is this the finish?" inquired the alley officer. "This fellow," pointing to Carlin, "came out of the back door rather hurriedly and began searching in a pile of junk. I thought that was a part of that play. What's it all about anyway?"
"This is the finish, my friends, and I am very much obliged for your presence," said Shirley as he prepared to leave. "But there's a couple in there that may need first aid. Go right in; give what assistance you can, and call me if I'm needed."
Shirley watched the perplexed officers as they went into the front office. Then he walked leisurely up the alley to Oak Street. Nearing the railroad, he heard a freight train slowing down at the water-tank. Now he hurried to pass down the train to a boxcar with an open door. He crawled in. As the train pulled out, he went to a front corner, sat down to pull off his shoe and place a neatly folded twenty-dollar bill on the inner sole.
Whatever his future was to be, Shirley Wells was on his way.