Chapter 7
A Thursday Night at “The Mel”
Eddie (Edith) Swain had patrolled the bar at the Melody Inn almost her entire life. She had literally grown up at this Circle City bar, restaurant and night club first opened by her father Leo in the mid 30s. She was just a kid then but at that time, the near northside was becoming the place to be for people emerging from the depression.
Leo had taken what was a derelict store space and turned it into an art deco piano lounge and restaurant for those with money enough to move to what was in those days, “uptown”. A long narrow room with the mahogany bar along the right with stools for only 8 patrons, a row of 6 tables down the center and a half dozen vinyl booths along the left wall. Focusing the eye on the back wall was a large plaster arc with an half-shell back in which sat the piano, that was played every night for dancing and singing entertainment.
After the war, Eddie began helping out her dad behind the bar and serving up food from the kitchen as the crowd and musical tastes changed. The piano was replaced with a big Wurlitzer juke box. And in a big innovation for the 1950’s, individual chrome stations were placed in each booth for the patrons to flip the pages of song lists, put in a quarter and get 5 songs of their own choosing without having to get up and go to the main player. That was high electronic magic for its day.
The crowd changed too. GI’s were starting their own families moving into the bungalows and Victorians of the neighborhood as the elder residents fled further uptown and to the suburbs north of the city. And just south of The Mel, across 38th Street which bifurcates the city, African Americans were taking over the old houses downtown and in those very segregated times causing the whites to want to move.
As Leo’s health began to fail, it was Eddie who now effectively ran the establishment. Leo died in 1965 leaving the Melody to his daughter as the sole owner. She hardly ever left the place. Mornings were spent checking stock and ordering supplies for the restaurant and bar and overseeing the succession of cooks, mostly black, who toiled in the heat of the kitchen. In came the lunch crowd of workmen in that midtown area, no offices were within miles of the place. Then it was the after work crowd of the downtown white collar guys heading north to the burbs who stopped in for a quick beer or cocktail before going home to face the wife and kids. And then it was dinner hour for the locals, mostly singles and college kids who rented rooms in the big houses in the area that were gradually being gentrified. There would be a few young couples, but no kids. In Indiana in those days, places that served liquor could only have children in the place if there was a separate family room for eating. As Eddie had never married, she did not miss having kids around. She had the Mel.
Nothing much changed in the Mel during the 60s other than some of the music on the Wurlitzer. The menu never changed. Steaks, burgers or battered catfish with fries, pork chops with green beans, or spaghetti with meat balls. The only innovation was a full sized popcorn machine, just like the ones in movie theaters. The popcorn was free and liberally salted. Eddie calculated that beer consumption went up at the same rate as the salt was increased.
It was into that Melody Inn that Jack Driscol, a newly minted rookie police officer walked one late afternoon in early 1970 and strolled up to the bar, sitting on an empty bar stool. Eddie took in the image of this slender, fairly tall young man with dark hair. He was good looking,not pretty,obviously athletic by his ease of movement, certainly appearing self assured. And if anything, his dark blue police uniform made his look even younger than his 25 years.
Eddie sidled down the bar, standing in front of Jack. “Hello officer. I assume you are off duty and on your way home if you are here for a drink.”
Jack grinned and extended his hand to Eddie. “Actually no, ma’am. I am on duty. My name is Jack Driscol and I have been assigned to patrol this neighborhood. I’m just going around getting to meet local shop owners and residents. I want you to know who I am and that I will do my best to keep the peace here and help out where I can. If you ever see or hear anything you think I should know, here’s the number to call and I’ll be by as soon as I can.”
And with that he handed her a card with his name and the precinct phone number. Then he turned it over. “And here is my home number. Feel free to call me at any time. And I mean that.”
Eddie watched his eyes. She always watched the eyes of people who came into her place. They were the true indicators of character; far more than words showed. Jack’s dark blue eyes were level and relaxed, taking in her and the surroundings. Eddie decided then and there that this was a man to be trusted. From that day, he became a regular, one of Eddie, and the Mel’s, family.
Jack often stopped for lunch, parking the black and white police car out front to let locals be aware of the police presence. He brought with him his partner, Dan Jenkins, another rookie that Jack had known while he was in the Army. Both had been MPs in Viet Nam. Dan was one of the largest men Eddie had ever seen. But he was a gentle giant, quiet and always deferring to Jack.
Jack brought Rachel to the Mel on their first date. It was a Thursday, and they sat in the back booth, putting quarters in the juke box and chatting and getting to know each other and laughing. As they were leaving that night, Eddie gave Jack the thumbs up and hugged Rachel as she went out the door. It was not long after and they were married, and every thursday night was date and dinner night at the Mel as long as Jack was not on duty.
It was about 18 months later that Jack came alone. Eddie sat in the booth opposite Jack, listening to his story about how his police work had split them up. Rachel could not stand the wait at home, not knowing if he would be back ok or not. And each day it grew worse for her and she had filed for divorce. Eddie shifted around to the seat alongside Jack and hugged him while the tears flowed quietly in them both.
Over the next 25 years, Jack rarely missed a thursday night at the Mel. After his divorce he bought a 1920s craftsman style brick house a couple miles away. His career kept him totally occupied other than watching sports and playing basketball with a pickup group of locals at the YMCA each Sunday. He and Dan were promoted up the ladder on the force with Jack making Lieutenant of Detectives in Homicide with Dan as his Sargent. Eddie celebrated with him with his accomplishments. And she was there for him when tragedy struck and Dan was killed and Jack booted off the force.
Now well into her 70s, Eddie still showed up every day. It was her life. She did hire some young men and women as bartenders and waiters, giving her more time to sit with her regular customers. And Jack had been the most regular of all. Every thursday night, the back booth was reserved. Everyone who knew Jack, knew where he would be and they came to him.
It was the thurday after Jack had been up to Crawfordsville and met with Will Gordon. As he always did, first he went over to the corner of the bar where Eddie sat, watching over things and gave her a hug. “How are you feeling Eddie? Is that cough any better? I wish you would quit that smoking.”
“Ahh, Jack. It’s too late for me to quit. Besides, I live here in a bar. There’s always smoke around. What can I do. Anyway, how’s it going for you. Your the one I’m worried about. Have you found the real murderer yet. It’s ridicules that they’re trying to pin this on you. It’s that stupid Assistant DA, trying to make a name for himself. I cant believe that Lew Martin is going along with this.”
“Eddie Lew’s a good guy. If he can find any evidence he’ll do the right thing. Anyway, can you get my steak rustled up? I’m hungry tonight.”
Eddie had moved off her stool over to the beer cooler underneath the bar rolling back the cover and pulling out a long neck Stroh’s beer, popping off the cap and handing it to Jack. “Your always hungry. Hey, we got a new cook. Tonight we have veal scallopini as a special on the menu.”
“What? Eddie, you trying to go upscale on me. I’m an out of work broken down PI. Are your prices going to go up too. I’ll have to find me another hole in the wall if it keeps going like this,” Jack said with a laugh. “Naw, my usual please and don’t let that new cook let that steak go beyond barely rare.”
“Don’t worry Jack. I’ll fire him if he messes it up.”
Jack headed down the bar putting some popcorn in a basket from the roaster then crossing over the room to the last booth where he sat facing the door. As he always did since Jenkins’ death, he dropped a quarter down the chute of the juke box and pressed D17, He could hear the mechanics of the big Wurlitzer behind him shuffle the discs and Dr. John’s version of “My Buddy” came over the speaker system as he took the first pull on his beer. He was home.
Jack had barely started his steak he was aware that a man in a sport coat with khaki slacks and an open collared blue shirt, came through the door and walked down the bar past the tables and came up to Jack’s booth.
Jack looked up to him. “While I live and breath. It’s Pete Stanchic, Circle City’s famous PI to the rich and mighty. Come to crow over my demise.”
“Come on Jack, I’ve long gotten over how you beat me on that extortion case. Can I sit down?”
“Sure, like a beer.?”
“No thanks, I can’t stay. I just wanted you to know something. “I’ve just spent some time downtown at the request of Lieutenant Martin. He wanted to grill me about a report on a case I had worked on for a client.”
“And who might that client be?
“Well, the client ain’t no more, if you get my drift. And you were part of the case.”
“Ahh, so you were the one who did the report on me and Rachel that was lifted from Charles Gordon’s files. When did you give it to him?”
“That’s just it. I didn’t give it to him. I gave it to Milton Porter. He’s the one who paid me. “
“Did you give it to anyone else?”
“No, there was only one copy, Porter was explicit about that.”
“So that’s the one that went missing from Gordon’s files. And so how did Porter come to have one to turn over to Lieutenant Martin and the DA.?”
“I assume he made a copy and that’s what he gave the DA. But Martin showed me that report. It’s not all there.”
“I was hired to find out if Mrs. Gordon was having an affair. I followed you two a lot. But you two always seemed to be on the up and up. And I said that in my report about you. However, there was a second part of to the report. That’s the part that is missing. She was having an affair. A long time affair. It was with Milton Porter. The report the DA has has been doctored.”
“Can you prove it?”
“Jack, my office was broken into. All my details have been lifted. And..I’m being threatened. Some spanish guys who said they were from Panama, have been to see me. They made it clear that it would not go well for me if I were to say anything. I’m only telling you and then I’m taking a vacation. I think this all stinks and you should know. You’ll have to take it from here.”
“Thanks Pete. Sure you wont have a drink?”
“Some other time. I have a plane to catch.”
Jack watched him go out the door. Eddie came over. “Want me to warm up your steak.”
“That’s ok I have enough to chew on at the moment”
An hour later, Jack was at the bar in front of Eddie saying goodbye as he reached for his wallet. “Don’t worry about it Jack. I put it on your tab. You can pay me when you get the big money from your next client.”
She waved off his protestations and Jack was giving her a hug as someone tapped him on the shoulder. It was Lew Martin.
“Jack, I knew you would be here. Just remember, I wasn’t here. I just stopped to tell you that Martin Porter has an alibi. His Mercedes was parked in the underground garage at the First National building at 7:43. He used his automatic garage card to enter. He said he was in his office preparing for a meeting with a client at 11 which he was at in another office in the building downtown. However, no one remembers seeing him at his office, or leaving. You’ve still got some work to do.” And with that, Lieutenant Detective Martin turned and went back through the doors.
Jack looked over at Eddie. “Well, another interesting Thursday night at The Mel.”
Chapter 8
The Other Side of the City
Jack headed the Studebaker south across 38th Street, through the black neighborhoods, then followed the river until he hit 16th Street and could head to the west side, the industrial side of the city. Small frame houses, most built after the war lined the streets. These were where the white working families lived. But as the factories closed and the union jobs left, it was those left behind that barely hung on; those who were too old or too poor to move anywhere else. All they had was their whiteness to separate them from the black neighborhoods on the other side of the river. Jack needed information and he knew where to start.
Leaving the Studie locked in the parking lot of the strip mall, now mostly devoid of shops, he crossed the street and pushed open the door of the Side Pocket Tavern. It was a dank dark place that smelled of beer and smoke and fried food. Heads turned to the door from those sitting on the stools at the bar which ran along the right wall. It was all men with long unkempt hair and scrufty beards. Plastic topped round tables filled the center space with a few customers, some women, sitting sipping bears, plates of burgers and fries in front of them. The only noise in the place came from the back where there were three pool tables, mostly in the dark except for the shaded lights hanging over them. That is where Jack headed. He knew who he would find.
Better dressed than the others in the place, with designer jeans, a Hawaiian print shirt and tooled leather cowboy boots with thick heels to elevate his short stature, was a hawkfaced man with a thin mustache. His darkly tanned face was in the light as he leaned over the edge of a pool table with his cue poised to take a shot. At Jack’s approach, he looked up, withdrew his cue from the table and stood holding it with its butt on the floor.
“Well, I’ll be, look who’s decided to come down and join with the rest of us criminals and reprobates. Have they kicked you out of the fancy parts of town now that you are a well known murderer.”
“Hello Charlie. I just wanted to experience real life and thought of you.” Charlie Bevans was a con man, petty thief and grifter who Jack had known, pursued, jailed and then helped after he finished his time. And Charlie had helped him in return. If anything semi or fully illegal was going on in the City,, Charlie knew about it. His time in the pen had given him all sorts of connections and contacts. And if Charlie felt there was a way he could profit, he was open for business. He did however, have a knack for not ever being caught again. And Jack had often overlooked some deal or game Charlie was involved in as long as it didn’t hurt innocent people. In return, Charlie was a good source to Jack as long as he wasn’t asked to name names on the record. And Jack needed him now.
“Can I buy you a beer after you lose to this guy?” Jack joked pointing at the man opposite the table holding cue. With that, Charlie ran the table with six straight balls into the pockets. While he collected his ten spot from the young guy whom he had sandbagged, Jack went to the bar and came back with his Stroh’s and a Bud for Charlie. Handing it to him he said, “I dont see how you can drink that stuff. I thought you had better taste than that.”
Charlie took the beer. “Well at least I have taste. Those Strohs are just water with burps. Come into my office,” and he headed over to a corner booth opposite the pool tables.
“Still hustling the rubes, I see”
“Well Jack, somebody has to teach them about the cold cruel world. And I thought I had taught you better than to be hung with a murder rap.”
“I ain’t hung yet Charlie. I didn’t kill Gordon, may he rest in peace … or in hell. It was a frame job.”
“Oh right. You know every guy I met in the joint said the exact same thing.”
“I’m hoping it don’t get that far. That’s why I’m here Charlie. I need some info. And I hope you can give it to me.”
“Jack, hope never got anybody anything but heartache. And I dont give away anything. I doubt you have any money. What you got for me in return?”
“My everlasting love and affection,” Jack replied to Charlie’s guffaw.
“Just as I thought, You got nothing.”
Jack getting serious leaned over the table and spoke in a hushed tone. “I’m looking for some cocaine.”
“What? You crazy Jack? You got enough troubles.” Charlie seemed genuinely concerned.
“I don’t want to buy any, I’m looking for some sellers. There’s a new crew in town, From Panama. They are involved in extortion, muscle jobs and drugs. And they have big money and protection here in the City. I think they’ll be trying to push out all the local guys. And who knows how that might affect some friends of yours.”
“And you think they are involved in Gordon’s murder and set you up to take the fall?”
“Pretty sure. They persuaded Pete Stanchic to leave town, rapidly you might say. And you know Pete, he’s been around a long time and is very well connected. He don’t scare easy. I saw him last night before he skipped, he wasn’t going to hang around and find out how this plays out.”
Charlie sat silently, eyeing Jack across the table. He’d known Jack for over 30 years. They’d had an encounter as teenagers when Charlie had been hired to do a grab job and Jack had chased him down, but let him go once he got the goods to return to the owner. Jack had always been fair to him. And midst all his current troubles, Jack sat quietly, confidently, waiting.
“OK Jack, you may be right that this information might be important to some people here in the city. I mean we can’t let them ‘furriners’ come in here and take over our good ol’ ‘murrican businesses. Who knows what could happen with that? Tell you what. Give me some time to make a few calls. I’ll let you know if I hear anything. In the mean time, keep your nose clean, it you get my drift. “
Jack reached across the table and shook Charlies hand. “Thanks Charlie, I knew I could count on you. Can I buy you another Bud?”.
“Given the obvious state of your finances, I think you shouldn’t be goin’ round buying drinks for people. Anyway, I have to get back to work. I think that feller is ready for another lesson.” He laughed as he nodded toward the young man who was still practicing at the table Charlie had left.
It was the following Tuesday. Jack was in his office putting his things into boxes. He could no longer justify the expense of the office given he had no clients and no prospects for any until he was proved innocent. The phone rang. Jack walked over to his desk and picked it up.
“Jack, It’s Charlie. You got it right. Some of my local acquaintances have had their sources of supply cut off. Just like that. People down the line have disappeared. Like you said, the only connections now come through Panama. It’s only coke that’s affected, not weed. There’s too much of that’s around from local suppliers, mostly from Kentucky and moving big shipments across the US boarder is too tough and anyway, the big money is in coke.”
“Do you know who they are and how they are getting it in?”
“That’s the interesting part. It seems that the former suppliers were “encouraged” to give up the names of the local distributors so they have been contacted by the Panama guys. They promised almost unlimited supply and quick delivery. One of the guys told me he had asked them about how reliable and protected the supply was and the Spanish guy got real cocky and said they were totally safe. They have a corporate cover. They fly the stuff in on private jets. And Jack, here’s the really big part of the story, they have protection inside the DA’s office. They are warned of any potential busts. This is really a big time operation and they don’t mess around. You gotta be careful how you go about this. I probably should not have learned what I did. If it ever gets back…..”
‘You got any names or details to give me?”
“Just one, the guy doing the bragging let slip that “Ramon has it covered”. Oh, and the street guys hang out at a bar down on the south side, El Amigo. You prob’ly heard of it. It’s where a lot of the illegals from below the border gather. That’s all I know”.
“Look Charlie, first of all do lay low for a while while I follow this through. I owe you big time.”
“Right Jack. That mean’s you pay me next time…if there’s a next time.
After Jack hung up, he looked across his desk to the cork wall where he had names and list of motives and opportunity. There were still two on both lists, Will Gordon and Wilton Porter. He wrote “Ramon” on a card and thumb tacked it off to the side. As an afterthought,he went back to the desk and wrote “DA’s Office” on another and tacked it next to Ramon After looking at the wall a bit, he returned to packing his boxes.
Sitting on the table next to go in a box, were a set of files. These included the one he had stuffed with information from Benny down at City records regarding Charles Gordon’s shifting of resources and creation of shell companies in Panama. Without really thinking, he opened the file and began looking through the list of names of the entities Charles was using to hide his money.
Nothing really made sense until he got to one, “RV Enterprises”. He had originally assumed it was some cover business about leasing Recreational Vehicles. That would be a big cash in and out business, lots of ways to fake invoice cars and ‘sell’ them on. All done in transactions that would generate a paper trail for cash. But what if it referred to something else?
Going back to the box that he had put the contents of his desk, he reached back in and pulled out the Circle City Business directory. And there it was, “RV Enterprises: International Investments” Below that the golden nugget of print jumped out, “Principal: Ramon Vargas”. They had an office downtown in the First National Bank building. The bank founded by the Gordon family. The building where the firm of Porter, Liston and Read had its offices. And it was the building where Wilton Porter checked his car into at 7:42 am on the morning of the murder after which he spent the morning with a “client”.
There’s no such thing as a coincidence Jack thought. But here were a hell of a lot of coincidences.