— Chapter Ten —

From the Beginning Then

R

uby’s head was spinning as she talked to Felix outside the Blackstone hotel. Her face was flushed, and she felt cornered. Felix pressed her for more information on what happened that night.

“You’re going to stand right in front of me and answer every question I have,” said Felix. — “YOU GOT ME?” he said in a blasting tone.

“Fine,” answered Ruby. She reached into her purse and took another cigarette to light as Felix began talking.

“I left Jack in the hotel lobby around one in the morning. Jack was walking out to smoke a cigarette in the evening air. When did you catch back up with him?” asked Felix.

“I saw both you and Jack coming back to the hotel last night as I was here across the street from the hotel,” said Ruby. “You said good night to him, and Jack walked out to smoke. When Jack came out of the hotel, he didn’t notice me, as he was smoking. I walked up to him and asked for a light. We didn’t talk much. I could tell he was pretty drunk,” she said.

“I asked if he had fun without me last night. He laughed, walked away from me, and headed back to the hotel. He walked a couple of feet and turned, and asked if I was coming or not. Jack kept walking and went right back into the hotel. I stood on the street for a moment, thinking to myself, ‘Why am I even here?’ A drunk couple drove up to the front entrance and hit the parked car in front of them.

“The night manager and the valet came out to deal with the ordeal. I decided to go to Jack, and I walked into the hotel lobby and towards the elevator. I got off on the fifteenth floor, and I went up to his room. As I got to his room, the door was open. I walked in. He was pulling off his evening wear. I closed the door and walked over to the desk, where I put out my cigarette.

“Jack stopped me halfway and demanded a kiss from me to make things better. I kissed him on the neck and kept walking to the desk. In the meantime, Jack poured me a drink, but I didn’t want the drink. I told him I was sick of him playing around with me. I told him he meant the world to me and would kill myself if this was the end. Jack dropped himself into the wing-back chair and laughed.

“He said I would never commit suicide, and all I wanted was attention. I was so mad at him because he was right. I did enjoy the attention Jack gave me. So, as I was storming out of the room, I spotted a pillow on the couch. I picked it up and hit Jack with the damn thing.

“I can still hear his laugh. —I should never have come to his room,” said Ruby. “The last thing we did was fight. Ending with me hitting him. I wish I could tell him I’m sorry, but —Now he’s dead,” said Ruby as she sobbed.

“Did you leave his door open when you left?” asked Felix.

“Did I what?” Ruby requested, crying.

“Did you leave his door open when you left his room?” asked Felix.

“I suppose I did?” said Ruby. “I don’t remember closing his door. —Hell, I don’t remember anything after I left his room,” said Ruby.

“The police have a pistol from the hotel. They believe this pistol may be the same one that killed Jack,” said Felix.

“What?” said Ruby in a shocked voice.

“Did Jack ever own a semi-automatic pistol? Four-inch long barrel, pearl grips, western engraving on the barrel?” asked Felix.

“No,” said Ruby as she stopped crying.

“Did he have any guns?” asked Felix.

“Just these expensive shotguns made in Europe,” said Ruby. “To shoot, um —”

“To shoot Skeet with,” answered Felix. “Yeah. The only time I have ever seen Jack with a gun was then,” he said.

Felix opened the passenger’s door of his Daniels, D19 Speedster, and said to Ruby. “Okay, hop in.”

“Are you taking me to the police?” asked Ruby.

“No, I’m taking you home,” Felix answered.

“Home? No, I don’t want to go home,” said Ruby.

“Well then, here’s some money for a cab,” said Felix as he pulled a couple of ones from his money clip. “Go home whenever you want. I don’t have time for you right now. I need to go,” he said, closing the passenger’s door. “You’ll get a message from me later,” said Felix.

Felix walked around to the driver’s side of his D19 Speedster, got in, and drove off. Ruby stood for the longest time after Felix left her before leaving the hotel. Felix drove to the police station to talk with McMann. He thought to himself about what Ruby had told him.

“Ruby was in Jack’s room last night, but didn’t say anything about being with him. Jack must have had his door open after she left, but why didn’t he close his door when she left? Maybe Jack passed out in the chair. If the door was open, which means anyone may have walked in and killed him. Thus, Jack may not have known the killer. But why throw the pistol in the trash can? Also, why was the pistol thrown away on the eleventh floor? And why were the words’ ‘1922 Chicago Cardinals’ engraved on the side of the frame?”

He parked his car and walked into the station. He headed straight to McMann’s desk.

“Detective?” said Felix.

“What now, Mr. Kindell?” asked McMann, looking up from his desk.

“I would like to examine the Colt pistol found at the hotel,” requested Felix.

“How the HELL did you find out we have a pistol from the hotel?” asked McMann.

“I’m here to examine the pistol, Detective McMann. I want to find out if the gun is Jack’s or not,” said Felix.

“FINE. Follow me,” said McMann as he got up from his desk and headed to the hallway.

Both men walked down the hall to a counter with a cage. Behind the counter was a police officer. McMann asked the man on duty to pull the box from the Jack Tate case. The man returned with a box. McMann peered into the old wooden box and pulled out the gun wrapped up in a white cotton cloth. McMann took a fountain pen from his shirt pocket and pushed his pen into the barrel of the pistol. He used it to lift the pistol and held it.

“There are fingerprints on the evidence, but they’re from the hotel maid,” said McMann. “So don’t touch —just in case.”

Felix stared at the pistol McMann held and said, “Where was the pistol found?”

“In a trash can next to the back stairs,” answered McMann.

“Which floor was the trash bin at the hotel?” asked Felix.

“The eleventh floor. But you’re already keen on that? Aren’t you?” asked McMann.

“I wanted to confirm if my information was correct,” said Felix.

“Well, have you ever seen this pistol before?” asked McMann.

“No, I’ve never seen this pistol before,” answered Felix.

“This is not Jack Tate’s pistol?” asked McMann.

“No, not that I’m aware of,” said Felix. But the gun must be? —Right?” asked Felix.

“Not necessary?” said McMann.

“The engraving says ‘1922 Chicago Cardinals.’ If this didn’t belong to Jack, why would the pistol say this?” asked Felix.

“I don’t know? It might be a message from the killer,” said McMann.

“A message?” asked Felix.

“Sure,” said McMann. “It’s possible the killer knew Mr. Tate was a football player.”

“If the engraving was a message, why was the pistol not found in the room?” asked Felix.

“I don’t know,” said McMann as he started putting the firearm back into the box the same way he found it. “If it wasn’t a message from the killer, the pistol might have belonged to Mr. Tate,” said McMann.

“You said earlier you believe it was a professional who killed him,” said Felix.

“STOP MAKING ME TALK IN CIRCLES, KENDELL,” shouted McMann. — “I still believe it’s possible until I find something else that will point me in another direction. Look, this pistol is somehow tied to Jack Tate playing for the Chicago Cardinals. Either someone —who knows, a team player — never wanted him on their team. Or someone else didn’t wish Tate to play for the Cardinals,” said McMann.

“Right,” said Felix. “Well, I thought I could be more beneficial to you, Detective. I have never seen this pistol before.”

“Is that right, Mr. Kendell? —Well, you let me become wise to when you CAN be more of a use to me,” said McMann.

Felix turned and walked away, and McMann watched him go. Felix got to his automobile, and he reached into his pocket. Felix pulled out the note found in Jack’s smoking jacket. Once Felix was sitting in his Speedster, he re-read the message. He stared at the signature to make out the letters.

“D-a-d-d-y?” Felix commented to himself. “Jack’s father never called himself Daddy. Could it be —Paddy? And if it is, this note must be from Paddy Driscoll?”

Felix started his D19 Speedster and headed to the South Side of Chicago. Home to the professional football team, the Chicago Cardinals. Felix finally pulled up to Racine Avenue and Normal Boulevard to Normal Park’s field. He walked into the old Morgan Athletic Club and asked if anyone knew where John Leo Driscoll could be found.

A young kid told Felix that Paddy had left and headed to his automobile. He could catch him if he hurried. Felix ran out of the building and toward the parking lot that the kid pointed to. In the distance, Felix saw a man walking towards a 1921 Packard. He yelled out, ‘Paddy! The man stopped and turned around to see who had called out to him. While Felix ran up upon him, he asked.

“Are you Paddy Driscoll?” asked Felix.

“Yeah, I’m him,” answered the man.

“My name is Felix Kendell. —I am a friend of Jack Tate,” said Felix, a little winded.

“Oh, I read what happened in the paper,” said Paddy. “It said Tate was killed at the Blackstone Hotel.”

“That’s right,” said Felix.

“How can I help you, Mister —?” asked Paddy.

“Kendell, but you can call me Felix,” said Felix.

“Okay, Felix. —How can I help you?” asked Paddy.

“I found this note in Jack’s room, and I wanted to find out if this note came from you?” said Felix as he was pulling out the note from his pocket.

“Ya, I wrote the note,” said Paddy. “I slide it under Tate’s door at the Blackstone Hotel for him to read,” he said.

“How did you know that Jake was staying there?” asked Felix.

“Tate dropped a line at our team’s clubhouse, explaining that he’ll be at the Blackstone for the next couple of weeks until practice season begins,” said Paddy.

“Of course!” exclaimed Felix. “You’re the man wearing the golf cap yesterday? We passed each other at the elevator, on Jack’s floor, when I first showed up to find Jack at the Blackstone Hotel,” he said.

“You may be right,” said Paddy. “You said something about my note?”

“Yeah —it says, ‘We need to meet. Think about what you’re doing —you may regret it.’ What did you mean by what you wrote?” asked Felix.

“Am sorry —and you’re who again?” asked Paddy.

“I’m Jack’s friend,” said Felix. “I was there when he was found dead. I’m trying to understand who killed him. I was hoping this note might answer some questions.”

“Sure—okay,” said Paddy. “I wrote the note for Mr. Tate. I wanted to talk with him about the deal he was going to make with O’Brien and if he had thought through this .”

“Thought what threw?” asked Felix.

“O’Brien wants to pay Jack $4,000 but only if he signs the contract,” said Paddy. “It had a clause allowing O’Brien to trade him if he had an offer from another team to buy out Tate’s contract. And he also must sign a life insurance policy, with O’Brien as the beneficiary.”

“I don’t understand —what are you saying?” asked Felix.

“Look, Chris O’Brien, the Cardinals owner,” clarified Paddy. “He’s a house painting contractor. The only thing O’Brien has worth in the future is this football club. He can’t afford to pay Tate AND me this type of money. He’s strapped tight, and I guess he wants Tate as his trump card.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Driscoll —I’m still not following?” commented Felix.

“Well, where do you want me to begin?” asked Paddy.

“From the beginning. —Please?” requested Felix.

“Fine, from the beginning then. But remember, you asked for it,” said Paddy.

“I understand. Go on,” urged Felix.