Mortimer

Chapter 12

“The modernization of a floundering creed,” Mortimer agreed. He sniffed the liquid before setting it down where it would remain until the moment of Holy Communion. Frank took a drink, still puzzled by Mortimer’s comment as the auto harpist came to the c****x of her ditty. With a series of deft strums, she completed her song. Whether in relief or genuine admiration of her work, the room filled with a subdued applause as she walked off the stage.

“So, your old man was Gerard Ascariot?” Frank took a pull from a tumbler containing a foul-smelling liquid—Mortimer leaned away.

“What time does this service start? I must be home in time for my dinner.”

“Not long.” The bartender added ice to glasses. He had been washing a tumbler on Mortimer’s end of the bar, feeling it prudent to keep an eye on this unusual character.

Frank was patient and tried again. “Is it true that it wasn’t even proven that that woman actually killed your old man?”

“Frank, leave the guy alone,” Herbert interjected. “The show’s about to start.”

“Finally!” Mortimer spoke with emotion. He twisted on the stool for a better view.

“I never would have imagined you as the flapper type.” Frank whispered. “But then again, you are hanging with that dame.”

Mortimer had no idea what he was talking about, nor did he care. He settled back on the bar stool, awaiting the piano to chime in to accompany the reciting of the Nicene Creed.

However, something most ghastly occurred instead.

Mortimer’s jaw dropped in appall as four women in sequin dotted flapper dresses, slinked onto the stage. A chocolate colored man at a baby grand, did play the piano, but to Mortimer’s shock and appall, it was not the Nicene Creed. Instead, he launched into a series of major sounding chords and the ladies struck a pose.

“My God!” Mortimer cried, “What kind of service is this?”

isthis?

“Shushhhh!”

Shushhhh

Mortimer jerked his head to look toward the bartender. “What denomination is this church?”

“Shut up!” Another person from the audience shouted. The pianist began to play Black Beauty by Duke Ellington and the girls twisted their hips in tandem, two of the four turned their backs to the crowd, shaking with the music, the sequins glistening in the cheap lighting.

“This is not a church!” Mortimer leapt off the barstool. “This is a ruse!”

The swaying, bobbing and wiggling on stage continued in frenzy at the sound of the music.

Then he felt the familiar grasp on his shoulder and heard a growl in his ear. “You’re coming with me.” Mortimer shrieked and threw the unholy wine into the man’s angry face.

“Why you!” The bouncer dragged his forearm across his cherry dyed face, before leaping toward Mortimer. But Mortimer was surprisingly quick on his feet. He had dashed away and was running down along the bar.

“It’s a ruse! It’s a ruse!” Mortimer cried, “Whoop!” He tripped over an errant table, sending his body flying through the air. He landed and slid on his belly across a wooden table between two lovelorn patrons who leapt up in surprise as he passed.

“Get back here!” The bouncer hurried after Mortimer as the pianist played on. The dancers didn’t miss a beat; this was nothing out of the ordinary.

“I’ll call the pope!” Mortimer was shouting, “The embassy will hear about this!”

“Shut up! You stupid oaf!”

A woman screamed as the bouncer knocked her over, pushing her into a nearby man’s awaiting arms. He whispered something in her ear and she promptly turned and slapped him.

“Ayee!” Mortimer shrieked as he thundered by, arms flailing wildly, eyes wide and searching for a route of escape. “Leave me alone you viperous, uneducated renegado!”

Ayee

“Not so fast!” An even larger creature emerged from the shadows. Mortimer was cornered. On each side, two more bouncer-types scoundrels glowered at him and advanced.

“It’s a violation of the constitution! I plead the 13th!”

The closest grabbed a hold of Mortimer’s once-meticulous lapel. “I’ve had enough of your riff raff,” he dragged Mortimer toward the exit.

“Mortimer, darling!” Lilly Lou ran toward them but Herbert stopped her.

“It’s his funeral baby, leave him alone.”

The slamming of the speakeasy door silenced Mortimer’s voice.

***

“Carter, I need you in my office immediately.” The sergeant made the demand as he passed by the break room.

The evening shift was typically uneventful and the squadron of five officers on duty had just settled down for a game of poker.

Without hesitation, Carter pushed back his chair. “Hold the game.”

“He sounded serious.” Orange stared dubiously at the empty doorway.

“Get used to it, Kid.” Carter grinned at the newest addition to the force. Then to the rest of the table: “And don’t any of you get any wise ideas.”

“Aw, come on Carter, what do you make of us?”

Carter rolled his eyes and left the room.

Several moments later he was seated across the desk of the Chief of Police. His superior had readers perched at the end of his nose and he was glowering at the file in his hand.

“MH-1253 has escaped.”

“That’s impossible.”

His superior shot a sharp look across the desk. “Report arrived thirty minutes ago. Seems she had managed to gain the affection of one of the transporting guards.”

“She was something of a beauty if I do recall.”

“She was last seen in Philadelphia, three o’clock this afternoon.”