When Man Judges For God

Galvin Mennes

Gal went backstage. He knew that Ellen had did all she could to help Rae after the fire, but the rumor was that one of Luke's partners was trying to kill him. Wanting to make it look like an accident. Of course that ex-partner had disappeared. Only to be found by the wharves in pink lingerie with a cement block attached to his feet. Typical of a gang killing of someone who betrayed them.

Gal was worried about that. Why would they put Luke's ex-partner in lingerie, unless they wanted people to think he was homosexual. A lot of people hated homosexuals simply because they were different. People hated it when people like Gal didn't conform to their social, religious, or other views that they have labeled as acceptable behavior. If Luke and Ellen hated him because he was homosexual then Gal could be the next person to end up at the bottom of the wharves.

Gal had left the theater and was taking the back alleys out of the warehouse district and into Hell's Kitchen. Not the best place to live, but it was the only place that he could find where people would rent to him. He passed a few Colored people, waving as he passed. He had no problem with them, if they left him alone. Most did.

He had taken another back alley when he knew someone was was following him. It wasn't just someone. It was several people. Gal was right, he was next. That Ellen Cross and her man could sleep together unmarried, bootleg and kill people, but they couldn't stand the thought of Gal being homosexual. A lot of people drew the line with that. Gal ran in a panic. There were footsteps behind him calling him words like 'fag' and 'cake-eater'.

In his blind panic Gal ran into a dead-end alley. Turning around he faced a bunch of people dressed like dock workers. He didn't recognized any of them. "Tell Ellen and Luke to go to hell."

"I don't know them, but we know you, Gal." Said a voice. He stepped forward. Gal didn't know him. "If they are friends of yours they must be fags too."

Gal didn't have the chance to say anything else. One of them had a baseball bat, the first swing broke is jaw. With a pack like mentality the other men began to connect their clubs as well. The first swing had knocked Gal down, the other swings made sure he wouldn't get up. They began to kick the moaning man as they hit him some more with their clubs. Until he stopped moaning.

The leader spit on the corpse. "This is god's will." The Leader said. Pointing down as the bloody mess that used to be Galvin Mennes. "People who defy god's commandments don't deserve to live in our society. They'll corrupt our children. Bring down god's judgment on New York, because of their sinful ways in the same way they brought judgment on Sodom and Gomorrah."

As the leader continued to stir up his followers. Several of them violated Gal's corpse with more kicks and spitting on the corpse. When they left, Gal's body was almost beyond recognition.

Someone had worked up the courage to call the coppers. They had seen a man being chased through the streets by a gang of men armed with clubs. With the reputation of gangs in the neighborhood there was a reluctance by the Colored folk and foreigners to talk to the coppers for fear of being punished by a gang.

Zack Nathon was built like a bull, his voice had the sound of gravel rubbing together. A hard boiled man who knew his onions. As the college kids would say. Most people took Zack for stupid. He was slow, methodical in what he did, which wasn't stupid. Cautious perhaps, but Zack didn't take caution to be stupid. One thing at a time, as it came up, and when it was necessary. That was the way Zack did things, it worked for him.

Zack wouldn't let the beat coppers move the body. He wanted to see the entire scene. A few coppers had tromped over the scene, a couple of reporters, before it was secured the way Zack told them to. By that time the crime scene had been compromised and Zack knew they had lost evidence as a result.

Cause of death was blunt trauma. From multiple instruments ranging from two by fours to baseball bats. Which were becoming popular as clubs for gang members. Zack didn't know the man from the mangled corpse he found on the ground. Some of the men around the neighborhood pointed him out as a cake-eater. Homosexual. It could be he picked the wrong people to mess with.

"He was a real Ethel." Said one of the officers on scene. Who had this area as a regular beat. "You know how these swishy types are. Well he was the worse."

"You know where he lives?" Zack asked the officer.

"Yep, about six blocks from here. According to witnesses he was almost home when he ducked into a nearby alley. Followed by a group of ten to a dozen men. Nobody wants to say who they were, all too scared I figure."

Zack asked the officer his name. "John Peters, Sir."

"Officer Peters, take me to this man's apartment. I've learned all I'm going to here. They can take the body now, too."

Zack drove Officer Peters to the apartment he directed Zack to. It was two story's up in a building's old converted attic. There was a multitude of languages. The outside stairway was barely able to take Zack's weight. The locked door was flimsy. Zack put his shoulder to it. The apartment was run-down, but there was fresh bright white paint on the walls. A worn Persian rug covering the worn floor boards. A small brass bed, the brass polished and shined. A colorful homemade quilt on the bed with matching colorful pillow covers. A little dog was laying on the bed.

The dog got up and came to the edge of the bed, wagging his tale. "Sorry boy, but Daddy ain't coming home no more." Zack noted the yellow bows in the little mutt's ears. The dog had long hair, wasn't any bred Zack was familiar with, but was happy little guy.

Ignoring the fag's dog, Zack went to his closet and looked inside. There were some cheap off the rack suits, what Zack decided was work clothes, one set had white paint on it. Zack was surprised that the fag painted his own apartment. Maybe he wasn't a bad guy, just confused or something. In any case he didn't deserve to be beaten to death and spit on. Zack looked over at the happy, well groomed little dog. No. The fag may have been jake in his own way.

"His name was Galvin Mennes. Men around here called him bad names, but some of the men, well they came to his apartment when they thought no one was looking." An old Colored women told told Zack. She lived next door to Galvin. "He was an actor once, but he had a thing for other men. It didn't sit well with some white folk. Don't sit well with the Colored folk either. That kind of thing. I figure it was mental, you know. Some people they got a mental illness and can't help doing wrong things."

"It's 1921, I suppose we have to put up with this sort of thing from the modern generation." Zack replied. "We've had fags from the beginning of time. Some aren't such bad guys for being perverts, but most of them keep it to themselves."

"According to the neighbors, Galvin didn't try to hide what he was." Officer Peters said.

"Peters, he's got a dog in there. Treated it real nice from the looks of it. If I didn't know better I'd think that room belonged to a little girl." Zack had secured the door again before leaving the apartment. "I also found a box of jewelry, woman's jewelry, and a few dresses in the back of the closet. I'm figuring he dressed up a girl now and then. Maybe he played the woman, someone didn't recognize him and decided to get revenge when they found out what he really was."

"Nobody said he did. He wore these cheap trendy clothes, like some college kid, but nobody ever saw him dress up like a woman." Peters told Zack.

Zack was walking up to his car. "Galvin was called Gal for the most part, he had an acting gig with the Warehouse Theater that owned by that Miss North. Old vaudeville actress turned to stage plays and directing."

"I know the place, it's supported by a bootleggers. At least a kept woman of one of them. One Ellen Cross who is Luke Mason's mistress." Zack told Peters. "I suppose that will be my next stop."