The Leather Duke

“That’s right, The Duke himself. Guess he wants to ask me a few things about the leather business. I told him last night at the club that he ought to make a few changes around here and—”

Elliott Towner came out of an office, some twenty feet away. “Fletcher!” he called. “Here.”

“Ah, the young Duke,” exclaimed Johnny. “See you later, Taffy.”

He breezed past Nancy’s desk and headed for Elliott Towner. “How’re you this morning, El?” Johnny asked as he came up.

“I’m fine,” Elliott replied grimly. “But I don’t know how you’ll feel in a few minutes.” He stepped aside so that Johnny could enter The Leather Duke’s office.

It was a big room, some twenty-four by thirty feet in size. It had a rug about three inches thick and some hand-carved teakwood furniture. Harry Towner sat behind an enormous desk, a fat cigar in his mouth. Elliott came into the office behind Johnny and closed the door.

“Mr. Fletcher,” began Harry Towner, “I see you’ve a bruise on your face this morning. Something go wrong with your little stake-out last night?”

“Oh, nothing much, Mr. Towner,” replied Johnny easily. “Hardly worth mentioning. Six or seven men attacked Cragg and me, but it didn’t amount to much.”

“No, I don’t suppose so, since there were only six or seven. But let’s get to the point, Fletcher; about this Mafia business...”

“Yes?”

Harry Towner puffed mightily on his cigar three or four times, sending out clouds of smoke that should have warned Johnny. “I want a short answer, Fletcher, a yes or a no, if it’s possible for you to use those words. Are you, or are you not, an undercover man?”

“Why, Mr. Towner,” exclaimed Johnny. “Whoever gave you the idea that I was an undercover man? I’m a counter sorter here at this factory. I’m employed up on the fifth floor—”

“Yes or no!” roared The Leather Duke.

“Yes,” said Johnny.

“Yes, what? You’re an undercover man?”

“No. Yes, I’m a counter sorter.”

Towner took the cigar from his mouth and laid it carefully on the edge of an ash tray. He placed his hands flat on his desk. “Now, answer the next question briefly, not with a yes or no, but briefly. Why did you come to see me at the club last night?”

“Why, I didn’t come to see you, sir. Sam and I went to the club to call on Mr. Elliott and the doorman happened to phone you. I had asked for Mr. Towner, and—”

“I’m trying to be patient, Fletcher,” Harry Towner said thickly. “So answer me briefly — please! Why did you want to see Elliott?”

“Because of one of your company rules, Mr. Towner.”

The Leather Duke pressed down hard on the top of his desk with his hands. “There’s a company rule about calling at the Lakeside Club...?”

“Oh, no, that isn’t what I meant. There’s a company rule about giving employees an advance on their salaries. You see, Sam and I are stony and since Mr. Elliott was kind enough to buy us our lunches yesterday, we thought, well—”

“No!” whispered Harry Towner. “No, no, no!”

“Yes,” said Johnny. “We came to the club for one reason only, to get Mr. Elliott to buy us our dinners.”

“It’s true, Dad,” exclaimed Elliott Towner. “They practically invited me to have lunch with them yesterday, then when the checks came they insisted I pay for them. Made quite a scene at the little place across the street.”

“No, no,” said Johnny, “that wasn’t a scene. I merely pointed out that it wouldn’t be good company policy to allow a couple of Towner employees to spend all afternoon washing dishes, inasmuch as—”

“Fletcher,” said The Leather Duke, “that business about the Black Hand...”

“Words, Mr. Towner. To keep your mind occupied until the dinners came. But I told you only the truth, sir. About the Black Hand and — about us. I said we were working here as laborers. We are. I gave you a history of the Black Hand, a true history. If you misunderstood...”

Harry Towner suddenly pushed back his big chair and got to his feet. “Wait, Fletcher. Be still for ten seconds. Don’t say another word.”

He turned his back to Johnny and smacked his right fist into the palm of his left hand. Johnny looked at Elliott Towner, smiled weakly. The Leather Duke’s son gave him a bleak look in return.

Chapter Ten

For thirty seconds the only sound in the room was the heavy breathing of The Leather Duke. Then he turned.

“That story you just told me about how you got that bruise, Fletcher...”

“The truth, sir. After we left you last night, Sam and I rode up to little Italy; we went into a poolroom and I got into an argument with Carmella. He and four or five of his friends attacked us. As a matter of fact, I can prove that. There was a witness, a man who works up in the counter department...”

“His name?”

“Joe Genara.”

Harry Towner stabbed at his son with a forefinger. “Go upstairs, Elliott. Ask this Genara man—”

“All right, Dad,” said Elliott. He started for the door, but as he opened it, Towner called, “Wait!”

He turned back to Johnny. “You’d let him go up and ask?”

“Of course, sir.”