The Leather Duke

“You’re so right, Mr. Fletcher,” wheezed Wiggins. “And as far as that goes, a wife never knows what her husband does away from home. Mrs. Piper thought her husband the soul of propriety, but my operator got an entirely different picture of Piper, away from home. He was a boozer, a fighting boozer. Picked quarrels with strangers. There was a place on Lincoln, near Fullerton he had a fight with a man only last week...”

“Get the man’s name?”

“No. He was a stranger in the tavern. Piper they knew. The bartender thought Piper knew the man, though. Said they sat at a table for a long time, talking and bickering, then suddenly Piper hit the other man in the face with a whiskey bottle. The other man knocked Piper down, kicked him in the stomach, then ran out before anyone could stop him.”

“Get anything on Carmella Vitali?”

“He’s got a police record. Quite a record. Twenty-eight years old and has been arrested nine times, the first time when he was only thirteen years old. Did six months in the parental school, but hasn’t served any time since. Probation two different periods.”

“What’s he been arrested for mostly?”

“Hoodlumism, vagrancy. Assault and battery, five times. Got fined three times.”

“Small stuff,” said Johnny.

“Oh, don’t underestimate him, Fletcher. One of those assault charges was pretty serious. The victim pulled through, but if somebody important hadn’t put in a good word for him he’d have gone up for quite a spell.”

“Who was it put in the plea for him?”

“Alderman Jensen, of the 22nd Ward. The man whose skull Carmella fractured refused to sign a complaint. Jensen got to him.”

“Who was it?”

“Man named Havetler.”

“Don’t know him. Mmm, what about Towner?”

Wiggins was quiet for a moment. Then his voice came on, again apologetically, it seemed to Johnny. “That’s the tough one, Mr. Fletcher. My man’s still down at the Star morgue. He’s telephoned in a couple of times, but he hasn’t given me one thing about Mr. Towner, that everyone in Chicago doesn’t already know...”

“I told you I don’t know a thing about him. You and the whole city may know Towner, but I don’t. What’s the dope on him?”

“He’s a very rich man. His father started the business in 1884, first a tannery, then another, then the leather factory. Forty-nine per cent of the Algar Shoe Company, 51 per cent of the Transo Shoe Company, stuff like that. When he died, he left a net estate of around eleven million dollars.”

“When was that?”

“Oh, quite awhile ago. Nineteen thirty.”

“Harry Towner got the entire estate?”

“All except a few small bequests. But Harry Towner’s done all right on his own, don’t worry about that. They say he’s worth thirty millions today.”

“In other words, he’s lousy with money? But what about his personal life?”

“Married twice. Once to a showgirl when he was twenty. Father got it annulled. Then he married Harriet Algar of the Algar Shoe outfit. Two children, a son Elliott and a daughter, Linda.”

“Extracurricular?”

“Huh? Oh, I see what you mean. Discreet, very discreet, if any. Newspapers wouldn’t print such things, not about a man worth thirty million. Towner’s a big man in this city, a big man.”

“All right,” said Johnny, “he’s big. And I’m paying you big money. I’ll call you again in an hour. I hope you’ve got more for me then than you’ve given me now.”

“My operators are still at it, but it’s getting late...”

“Keep them at it,” snapped Johnny and hung up.

He opened the door of the phone booth and almost collided with Carmella Vitali, who moved up from the bar.

“Hi, pal,” Carmella said, baring strong, white teeth. “Shooting any pool lately?”

“Not much,” replied Johnny. He looked past Carmella at a pair of sleek, swarthy young men in pin-stripe suits who could have passed for twins. Both were chewing gum and grinning as they watched Johnny and Carmella. “Not in the mood tonight, Carmella. I’ve got a girl here—”

“Sure, I saw you come in. Nice girl, ain’t she?”

“Yes.”

“Good taste. Same as mine.”

“What?”

“My girl. She broke a date with me tonight.”

“Nancy Miller?”

“Yep. Kinda surprised you brought her up here. Nancy likes nice places. Good food. Champagne cocktails.”

“We only dropped in for a few minutes.”

“Nancy’s idea?”

“Mine.”

“Mmm, thought it mighta been hers. Grand kid, but likes to rub it in. Just a little bit, you know. I quit my job and she breaks a date. You know, keep a fella in line. Girls like fellas with steady jobs.”

“Oh, you’re so right, Carmella. Well, I guess I’d better not keep her waiting.”

Johnny tried to step past Carmella, but the two sleek, swarthy men somehow moved up beside Carmella and blocked Johnny. Carmella grinned toothily.

“What’s the hurry, pal? Nancy’s dancing now with the old strawboss...”

“Kessler?”

“Yeah, sure, the bird who kept riding me at the factory. Old enough to be her father. Harmless. There’s a little matter, I kinda hate to bring up. A buck you owe me. From last night.”

“You put soap in that chalk.”

“Naw, it was already in. We keep that piece for wise guys who come around, making bets.”