Jamoulks by Roland Miranda

About Jamoulks:

In the desperate days after the repeal of Prohibition the Great Depression blanketed the country; banks failed, crime ran wild and thousands crowded the soup kitchens and bread lines.

Things weren’t so different for King, the old bum who lived in a crate behind the Steak Out. The boys ran errands, he conned food and hooch whenever he could and stayed on the good side of “Red” Ned Danaher, the beat cop.

All that changed when Snorky gave him an unexpected present, or maybe it was when his home was invaded by the woman and her kid, he couldn’t remember which came first. But it didn’t matter; after that nothing was ever right again.

It wasn’t all bad, Snorky got his and King got the gangster’s twelve-cylinder Cadillac, Dakota was the queen of the clubs and Harry lifted a horse, a whole damned horse, and the old Chinese gent was a hoot. But Harry clipping the Weasel for the horse brought down a whole world of trouble.

 The blue-noses were trying to take Dakota’s kid away, the Brownshirts had something fishy going on down at the docks, Ned had a big, red target on his back and that was before all of Chinatown got blasted. It’s going to take some hard answers to straighten this out and when the dust is clear there are bound to be bodies, all King wants is to crawl back in his house and sleep until Spring.

 Jamoulks is the opening novel of the Gonifs series, a Runyonesque story of Molls and Toughs and the folks that live in the shadows. Jamoulks tells how people of different generations, genders, morals and races can come together and form unlikely friendships when the need is great.

Excerpt:

Sheets had worked the rail at the Track for fifteen years. In his time he had seen plungers, divers, the faint hearted, the blind, the foolish and the weak.

            They all wanted to know. That was why he was in business. He was “in the know.” He sold a tip sheet with the best bets for each day. At a nickel a sheet he made a steady if not gracious living. Just enough to pay his bills and allow him an occasional indulgence. Like betting the Exacta.

            Of course, a man had to be careful. There were a lot of guys cooking the horses. Just one “dirty nose” and an honest man could loose his life savings.

            Not Sheets of course. He was “in the know.”

            That’s why he was looking for Harry. Harry Ray had the touch. He could smell a winner from downtown and make a bet, have it delivered to the windows at the Track and never miss a meal.

            Why all the trouble? Well, off-track betting was illegal. And a man with a profile as high as Harry Ray had to be careful. The G-men were watching him all the time.

            It was whispered around town, he was close personal friends with Big Dore Carlyle. Big Dore was the Man. They didn’t come any bigger. In fact, Sheets had heard, from a reliable source that Big Dore was the one that shortened Snorky’s career.

            Just a rumor of course and it didn’t pay a man to repeat things that he couldn’t prove.

            Some people said that Harry was responsible for giving Judge to the Chink. Sheets didn’t believe it. Harry was a gambler. He didn’t mix in with the rough stuff.

            Sheets did want to know if the other thing was true. How long could a man live boxed up under the floor of a warehouse with all those rats? The thought made Sheet's stomach roll.

            Sheets kept an eye pealed for the action as he made his way back to the stables. He knew every seat in the stands and every hair from every horse. If anything was out of place, Sheets would know it in a second.

            That’s why he saw Manny the Mouse. Now Manny was not usually visible to anyone. He was a small man with bad teeth and dirty clothes and he just wasn’t the sort of thing nice people cared to look at. And the little man had nothing anyone wanted; not even the thieves or the pick-pockets that hung around the Track looking for an easy mark.

            Manny looked mad. But then he always did when someone “saw” him.

            “What you want Sheets?” Manny, was looking for a fat purse to snatch and being yaked at by the tipster would do nothing to help that. He needed to get Sheets handled and out of his hair as quick as possible.

            “Manny, what’s King doing needs eyes at the Track?”

            Manny shifted his weight. It was bad enough that Sheets should “see” him, but to talk business, right here, in front of God and everybody? “So what’s the word, who’s riding a dirty nag? I could use a winner Sheets.”

            “Manny, let’s take our business somewhere more private. I can’t answer a question like that out here. You ought to be more careful. I would have thought Snorky would have taught you that.”

            Manny’s head jerked up. Without thinking he looked

around and then as if remembering who and what he was, he leaned back against the rail.

            “Sheets you know how that one ended? A man from out of Town paid Snorky a little visit. He settled the ‘score’ for me. So don’t talk like you was a guy with some juice. You got something I should know or not. Cause, I got things I gotta do. King don’t like it when I waste too much time, see.”

            It was strange to watch the little man puff up like a toad. Sheets felt threatened, but he knew a thing or two. He was a man that was, “in the know.”

            “Say, Mr. Big Shot, I bet you haven’t heard the latest news. Harry is picking up a horse.”

            Manny smiled. When he used King’s name or mentioned his important friends from out of town, people felt they needed to impress him. No one had ever tried to impress Manny before Snorky broke his ribs. It had hurt like hell and he couldn’t breath right for almost six weeks, but it was worth ever minute. People had a new respect for him. He stuck a dirty toothpick in his mouth and waited. Sheets waited and watched and waited and then he blurted it out all in one breath.

            “Harry Ray is really gonna try to pick up a horse. I heard it when I was passing the Turf bar. They said he bet a guy named Vinny thirty-five hundred dollars he could pick up a full grown horse. Now how’s he gonna do that Manny? I told a couple of guys a man would have to be crazy to try that. What’s a horse weigh? And how are you gonna get a grip on it?”

            But by the time Sheets took a breath, Manny was gone.

            He ran to the call box by the front gate and rang the five one and asked for Ned. He wasn’t there, but could they take a message. Manny thought about leaving one, cause this was something very big, but by mutual agreement none of the Boys would make a mess for Ned. He left the phone hanging.

            That way someone would have to stop by and hang it up and it might be Ned, but if it wasn’t, no one could say that Ned was talking to suspicious characters. Then Manny ran for the stables.

            Sheets hadn’t really said, but the only place at the Track where they had horses was in the stables. Where else would you put a horse? So Manny figured he could find Harry, take a quick look, see if King needed to know and still get back in time to find a widow with a fat purse.

            Didn’t take long to find them. Manny could hear the shouting from a hundred yards away. It was coming from Vincent Rivenna’s stable.

            Vinny the Weasel, was a long time gambler, bootlegger, kidnapper, and friend of bad people far and wide. They said that he made long trips out of the area for work and he was paid by the job and from time to time he was loaded.

            Manny slid to a halt just out side and peeked around the corner. There were twenty or thirty men in the barn. Dakota said that barns had chickens and hay and stables had horses, but Manny could never figure out why there should be a difference. They all smelled of--

            “Manny! Get your skinny over here. I need someone to hold my glasses.” Harry waved his meaty hand at Manny. There was just a bit of sun sneaking around the edges of the building and it looked for just a second like Harry’s eye were twinkling, but it must have been a reflection.

            “Manny the Mouse, this is Vinny the Weasel. A more disreputable man, you will never want to meet. He will steal your fingers while you are shaking hands with him, so count your fingers or keep your hands in your pockets.”

            “Shut up, Ray. Is you or is you not gonna deliver on your bet. I got people I need to deal with and you are wasting my time and cheating--”

            Before he could finish a man stepped out of the shadows. He was very tall and gaunt and had whispy blond hair that grew at odd angles from patches in his scalp. His eyes were strange, not misplaced or crossed or any other identifiable deformity but, so blue that they looked like doorways to some other place. Where that place was and how long it took to get there were things a wise man wouldn’t ask.

            “I wouldn’t call Mr. Ray a cheater. Mr. Ray is friends with a man and a man like that has a lot of ears. Strong words have a way of traveling. If a man, a little man, (there was a hush in the stable), heard that a friend of Mr. Ray’s or Mr. Ray, himself, had been insulted, then he might make a car trip. He might bring a big man with him. You know people don’t like to travel alone. If that should happen, things change. Vinny, you want to talk to the boys at the Steak Out before you say something to Mr. Ray.”

            It took a long time before anyone said a word.

            “I didn’t know you was hiding behind the Freak!” Vinny snapped.

            “I didn’t know that Quirt was in town, Vinny. You got business here or just passing through?”

            The tall man had started back into the dark part of the stable, but he slowly turned around. “Mr. Ray, a little friend of mine said you might have some trouble. Trouble from the friends of Judge. He said it would be a shame if that happened. So we talked it over. I thought someone should watch your back for a while and he thought that sounded like a good idea. Since I was in town anyway, I said I’d do it. You won’t know I’m there, Mr. Ray. Nobody will know I’m there, unless...” And he stared at Vinny for a long, long time.

            Harry Ray smiled at the tall man, “Give my very best to Moose and tell him I said thanks, but no thanks. I don’t need a baby sitter, no offense Quirt.”

            Quirt looked away from Vinny, the release of his cold, icy blue eyes left Vinny weak in the knees and shaking.

            “Might want to let the professionals make that decision, Mr. Ray.” And Quirt walked back into the shadows.

            Manny was looking for a place to run. The albino was well known to the folks that made their living in the dark. He was an enforcer and a hitter and he had lived a long time in a business noted for it’s short career path.

            Harry’s mellow laugh broke the tension. “Okay, Vinny, give my friend Manny your money. He’s a crooked as he can be, but scared like a mouse. He’ll hold the stakes for us and if you try to kill me he’ll disappear into the alleys and sewers and you’ll never see a dime again. Capisce?”

            Manny looked at Harry with deeper horror than he had at the albino. Harry Ray had lost his mind.

            Harry took an envelope from Vinny and pressed it into Manny’s fingers. “Manny, this is just a little bet. Thirty-five hundred so I trust you to hold it, while I make a monkey out of a weasel.”

            Harry, patted Manny’s sweating hands and took off his coat. He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his glasses before handing them to the shaken Manny.

            “Don’t drop my cheaters,” Harry said with a wink.

            Then he flexed his hands, cracked his knuckles and walked over to a horse.

            Manny, was so cold he had chills. The sweat was dripping down his back even under the old shirt and the overcoat. If he could have died he would have lived happily ever after.

            A big hand grabbed him and half carried, half dragged him across to the horse.

            “Wouldn’t do for you to get too far away from the action, pal.”

            Harry was crouched down, back bent, legs spread wide and was backing under the big, dancing horse.

            “Just remember when I get him up, you slide the paper under his hooves. I don’t want Vinny to say I lifted one foot at a time.”

            Harry backed all the way under the horse, wrapped his big arms around the horse's legs like he was hugging Dakota and pressed his neck and shoulders into the horse's belly. He took a breath and pushed up and the Maestro ran in.

            He ran in and knocked Vinny off his feet and into the sort of thing horses leave behind to remind city folks it is a good idea to watch where you walk.

            Vinny was tangled in the straw and the Maestro was puffing like a goldfish on the hook, Harry was laughing and the room was filled with tension.

            Vinny finally got to his feet, face red and a hand in his coat and his eyes bloodshot.

            Harry, staggered across and took Vinny's arm, “He didn’t mean any harm, Vinny.  He’s here to tell me something, aren’t you Maestro?”

            The Maestro nodded and puffed and gasped something that sounded like “Dak o trying.”

            After a few tries he managed a version that sounded like “Dakota’s trying” and after a few more puffs he got it out.

            “Harry, King says come quick, Dakota is sitting on the steps of the church and she’s crying!”

            Harry grabbed his glasses from Manny, picked up his coat and was almost out the door before Vinny's pistol stopped behind his ear.

            “Harry, I think you is trying to walk out on our bet. That is welshing to me and I don’t like guys what welsh.”

            Harry turned around slowly. He could see Quirt moving into position behind Vinny, but a big shoot-out was the last thing he needed. He waved the albino off and smiling at Vinny, he took out his glasses and began to clean them.

            “Vinny, I wouldn’t usually let you get away with that sort of talk, but my lady is having a bad time and I have to go find out what caused it. Don’t worry, I’ll be here tomorrow or the next day we’ll finish this thing.”

            “Harry, we’ll finish this right now. You don’t pick up that horse, you owe me thirty five hundred dollars. Don’t think I don’t know the Freak is creeping around behind me. I’ll let the boys finish him, but by that time, you’ll be dead.”

            Harry looked the crowd over. By the door he spotted what he was looking for. “Hey, Sheets is my marker any good?”

            Sheets jumped like he had been poked with a pitchfork.“Same as cash Harry.”

            “Thanks. Okay,” Harry tore out a page from his book. He scribbled an I.O.U and signed it. “Sheets take this around and find someone that will buy it and bring Mr. Rivenna his money.”

            “But Harry, they’ll kill you knowing you are in a bind.”

            “It’s okay, Sheets. I’ll fade the heat, just get the money and bring it back here.”

            Sheets took the marker and ran from the stable. Harry, turned back to Vinny and winked, “That okay, Mr. Rivenna?”

            “It’s fine, Harry,” Quirt said. He was standing in the stall behind Vinny and in his hands was a double barreled sawed off shotgun. “Mr. Ray is going to leave now and take care of his business. Vinny, you don’t use your brains much, but this would be a good time. There’s no alternative to shotgun, behind. Find out what the trouble is Harry. I’ll make sure Sheets gets your business done. Say goodbye, Mr. Rivenna.”

            Harry saw the muscles in Vinny's jaw strain against his teeth, but he stood very still.

            “I’ll just take Manny and the Maestro with me. I don’t doubt you for a minute Quirt, but there’s no point in making your job any harder. I’ll be here tomorrow and I’ll want a second chance. You got a lot of my money today, Vinny. It’s only fair you let me have a chance to get it back.”

            Harry scooped the Maestro up like he would have a little kitten. The Maestro was a big man, but then things other people found difficult always seemed easy for Harry.

            Harry, dusted the Maestro off as he headed for the car, it would be a tight squeeze. The Auburn wasn’t built for hauling the home team, but Manny would ride on the boat-tail. He’d be scared, but Manny was always scared.

            “Maestro, take a seat. Sorry, Manny, but you’ll have to ride on the tail. Just grab the back of the seat and you’ll be fine.”

            Harry was around the car and behind the wheel before either of the other men made it to their assigned places. Harry was like that, he could move like a deer when he wanted to.

            He didn’t bother to open the door, he hopped into the car, landed on the seat and slid behind the wheel. He fired the big engine as the Maestro shut the door and jammed it into gear. With Manny screaming and holding on for his very life the butter yellow Auburn Boat-tailed Speedster left the Track headed for town.

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About the Author

Roland Miranda is a poet, writer, artist and photographer and the author of a new novel, Jamoulks.

With over a decade spent writing murder mystery plays, he has developed a sense of timing and dialogue which make his off-beat characters seem alive. His first novel, Jamoulks, introduces the gamblers, molls, slugs, touts, enforcers and bums of The City in the Great Depression. How they lived, and loved while trying to stay alive and make a buck. When life is cheap enough even a bum might catch a break, if he can stay alive until morning. So grab your trench coat, fire a butt and come see what lingers in the shadows. Jamoulks is the opening book of the Gonifs series.

 Roland lives in an artist’s enclave four blocks from the Pacific, where his writing is frequently interrupted by two large dogs, a nuisance of cats and a long-suffering wife.