From the Tales of Saint Anthony, the Johnny Holiday Mysteries
These short stories follow the lives of people who populate the fictional city of Saint Anthony (Minneapolis, Minnesota), and make their appearance in the first Johnny Holiday novel, The...
John Fields was eager for a night of R&R, as his lodge members called it...not rest and recuperation, but ribald-revelry. Tonight it was his turn to pick up the girls, visit the apothecary and return to the lodge with enough cocaine and opium to keep a dozen people loose and full of energy all-night...until the sun came up.
He was eager to undertake the mission, despite the stormy weather, john always enjoyed taking a drive down lake street.
It was well before sundown, but as the rain clouds thickened, the sky had become dark as night, and what felt like a biblical-deluge had begun to drench the city...John was not deterred.
He navigated Lake Street in bumper to bumper traffic with his windshield wipers working overtime; he merged into a line of cars filled mostly with men, though there were some couples, all looking to do the same thing as he was doing, all hoping that a pretty young woman (or a young man), that a beauty with blonde hair and blue eyes would jump into their car for a night of sex and booze, drugs and debauchery.
In the era of prohibition Saint Anthony had become the most licentious city on the northern plains, a destination for those who delighted in the skin trade; Lake Street, from Nicollet Park to Cedar Avenue was little more than an open-air brothel. It was the main reason John had wanted to move here, that and his lucrative job at the Grain Exchange.
When John pulled up to the curb in front of the druggist, he rolled down his window and gave a handful of bills to a street hustler who was quick to step forward though he was soaked to the bone.
"Two balls of cocaine, one opium and three girls for the night," he ordered.
He counted the bills in a flash before pocketing the money, nodded and flashed some hand signs to someone down the block, who John could not see; seconds later another boy came to the car to hand him a brown paper bag. Then he pointed to a spot up the street where he could pull over to pick up the girls.
Traffic was slow moving, and he was just in front of the Round-up, a local tavern that John enjoyed visiting when he was taking in a baseball game at Miller Field.
There was a commotion at the front door. A hulking figure of a man had been shoved out of the bar, then a bright flash of lightning appeared to strike the sidewalk a mere twenty-feet in front of him, its thunder shook everything, including John inside his car.
He pushed hard on the brakes and came to a quick halt, one second later he was hit from behind.
John cursed his bad luck. He still had to pick up the girls and now a crowd was blocking the place where he was supposed to pick them up. There was confusion all around, and he didn't know what to do.
He got out of the car, stepping into the heavy rain.
John wanted to inspect his rear bumper for any damages, even as the man in the car that struck him, laid heavy on his horn and cursed at him, telling him to move on.
His heart was beating fast.
The big man who had been fighting ran past him like a locomotive heading east down Lake, another man jumped out of the doorway of the druggist and followed after, and there were two cops in following behind in hot pursuit.
Just then John noticed a sickly looking blonde almost hiding around the corner from Franky's bar. He waved her over and she got into the back seat.
John gave the finger to the pale swede yelling at him to move on. Got behind the wheel and pulled away.
One girl will have to do, John thought.
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