Hap Schultz was working behind the bar when I walked into Rocco’s. Let me rephrase that. Hap was leaning on the bar talking to a pretty young lady who was either completely smashed or completely eaten up with Hap’s line of bullshit.
“Hiya Hap,” I yelled as I walked toward my booth in the back corner near the ladies room.
“ How ‘bout bringing me my usual when you can break away from Miss America there?”
“In a minute Max,” he replied without taking his eyes off his prey.
It was four and the happy hour crowd was just beginning to arrive and the noise level was beginning to pick up. Eloise’s shift didn’t begin until eight so I would be spared her scathing stares and open hostility.
It wasn’t long until I spotted Horace Greenberg walk through the door. He was wearing brown trousers with a bright green sport coat yellow shirt and a matching bright green bow tie with a brown derby hat perched at an angle on top of his pointy little head. He looked like a giant leprechaun standing there looking around as his eyes adjusted to the darkness in the pub. The way he was dressed he looked like he could be a stand in for The Raja. He looked in my direction. I waved and he walked over.
He was all flushed either from the effort of walking to the back of the bar or because he was excited to dispense with the information he gathered.
“Well, what did you find that will help us with the story we are working on, Horace?”
“I found out some very juicy stuff on Mr. Barry Meier, the police chief’s son, and some of his twisted friends.
Are you ready?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Evidently he took a train to Chicago with seven hundred dollars in his pocket. He stopped for some adult company at a Windy City whorehouse, Swede Annie’s. After an all night bacchanal, he awoke with a hangover and no money. He retaliated by robbing the brothel and its customers of close to seven thousand dollars in cash and jewels.”
“Bacchanal?” I asked, shaking my head.
“Yes, a drunken revelry, an orgy. From Bacchus, the Greek god of wine, also known as … “Alright, I get the picture. Now get on with your story.” “…Dionysus” he continued, finishing his Greek history lesson. Okay, it seems he isn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer and was apprehended shortly after leaving Annie’s by a couple of Chicago’s finest, who happen to be personal friends with Tony Ricca and one Raymond Tampa Ray Palermo, who resides in Milwaukee. These fine and upstanding officers also happen to be open to accepting financial gratuities from time to time and Tampa Ray, the smart investor that he is, decides it would be in his best interests to intercede on Barry Meier’s behalf and get him the hell out of Dodge as fast as he can.”
“Dodge?”
“That’s an historical allusion, Max.”
“Okay, I’m following you. So where is this going?”
“Do you think that act of kindness by Tampa Ray ingratiates him to Chief Meier? I think so.
“That’s just the beginning. It seems that this Barry Meier is quite a spoiled character going back to his days as a kid at Shorewood High School and before. I won’t bore you with that because it’s the rest of the stuff that is really juicy.”
“Horace, where are you getting all this information?
“You know I can’t divulge my sources Max. Reporters have to protect them or their sources will never trust them again.”
“Horace, you are a mailroom clerk for crying out loud, not a reporter.”
“Not any more, Max. I am your assistant, right?”
“Horace, if I want an assistant, I’ll get married again.”
“Max, do you want to hear the rest of this?”
“Of course, Horace, go ahead and continue.”
“I’m your assistant, right?”
“Aw shit, alright, just for this story. Then I’ll put a good word in for you with Wentworth and maybe he will put you on the street covering yard sales in Beaver Dam.”
“No Max, I want you to put in a few good words for me with the editor of the Milwaukee Journal.”
“You gotta be kiddin’ me. You know they fired my ass don’t you?”
“I’m well aware of that. I just need to get myself in front of the editor and I can take care of the rest.”
Wow, where did Horace find the balls? Maybe he would make it as a reporter.
“Okay, you got it. Now let’s get on with what you found on this Barry Meier character.”
It was at this point that Dan Ciorrocco walked up and said; “Call for you Max. You can pick up back by the ladies room.”
“Thanks Chili Man. Would you bring me another drink and something for the Leprechaun here?”
Dan looked at Horace and stuck out his hand. “I’m Dan Ciorrocco, what are you drinking?”
Horace held out his hand palm down and replied, “Horace Greenberg, pleased to meet you. I would like a slow gin fizz, please.”
“Coming right up,” Dan looked at me and rolled his eyes as he turned to fill the order.
I picked up the receiver as I watched the pretty young thing Hap was cultivating for his evening of fun swing her bottom in my direction as she sauntered into the ladies room. “Max Fly,” I said.
“This is Jim Booth. I was told you called me?”
“Jimmy The Peanut, I’m Thelma Theiland’s friend. I met you at Judge’s last week.”
“Oh yeah, the private dick; how’re you doin?” All the warmth and charm from our previous meeting was missing from his voice.
“I’m fine, Jimmy. Hey can you give me Thelma’s number? I need to talk with her, it’s important.”
“This is her number. I’ll give her the message.” He hung up on me.
Thelma and I seemed to have another thing in common; we both took our calls at a bar. I noticed Horace was sipping on his second slow gin fizz as I walked back to the booth. “Slow down there pardoner or you won’t be able to make it to the door. Those things pack a wallop.”
His eyes already had a glaze to them. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to drive him home. I didn’t need that address on my list of places to forget.
“Okay, where did we leave off?” I asked.
Horace grinned and said, “I was about to tell you about The Castaways, a nice little place in Cudahy where some very interesting people tend to gather for, shall we say, some discreet encounters.”
“The Castaways? Cudahy? I never heard of the place. I heard of Cudahy, I mean I never heard of The Castaways.”
The Cudahy Brothers Company, a meat packing company, gave birth to the origins of Cudahy, Wisconsin, just south of Milwaukee, Sometimes called the "city with no streets" because most are named avenue. Patrick Cudahy chose to build his meat packing plant on the land along the shore of Lake Michigan, originally known as Town Lake, because of its proximity to both water and the railroad and another small town sprung up on the outskirts of the city of neighborhoods.
“So where is this Castaways located in Cudahy?” I asked.
“It’s located on East Layton Avenue in one of those new motor lodges that are going up around the country. It’s about a block from where the Cudahy Meat Packing plant is located. Many of the employees stop there after work.”
“And you know this because?”
“My friend Ricky works at Cudahy Meat Packing. He often goes to The Castaways with a friend named Jim that he works with.
He said that Barry Meier is a regular there as well as Bob Chimilewski his dad’s chief of staff. And listen to this, Horace whispered as he leaned across the table in my direction. The place is a front for some nefarious activity, none of which can get much worse than this, S&M and SM&B.
“Those are acronyms for Sadism and masochism and sadism, masochism and bondage. It’s big time Max, big time there. They have special rooms in the back that you and your partner can rent by the hour. They have hand cuffs attached to the walls and you can buy whips and leather hoods, belts, collars and feathers. Everything. I love feathers. Very erotic don’t you think?”
“I don’t think. So, how does your friend know this? Has he rented one of the rooms?”
“He said he went once but it was a little too physical for him. He prefers to pretend as opposed to actually inflicting pain or having it inflicted on him.”
“I see. So did Meier and Chimilewski go there as a couple?”
“Ricky said they met a couple of girls at The Castaways and then they rented a room.”
“Ricky knows this because…?”
“Ricky and his friend were at the front desk finishing registering for their room when Barry and Bob Chimilewski came in with their girl friends. Ricky said he thinks someone sets them up with the girls as he sees them meeting these same girls everytime they come into The Castaways, which is often. It’s like the girls are regulars, if you know what I mean.”
“I think I do. So Ricky has another main squeeze and you are okay with that?”
“Ricky is bisexual. He likes boys and girls and he was there with a girl and so was his friend Jim. Ricky and I have an understanding, if you know what I mean.”
“I don’t know and don’t want to know. Does Jim have a last name?”
“I’m sure he does, but I don’t know it. Ricky said Jim is a big guy who hooks the cows carcass after it is killed and puts it on a chained conveyor as it bleeds out going down the line in the slaughter house; just gross. You have to be big and strong to handle that job and Ricky said nobody is bigger and stronger than Jim. He said he is bigger than anyone on the Green Bay Packers.”
“Why don’t you ask Ricky for Jim’s last name? I asked.
“I did but he is afraid to tell me.”
“Afraid to tell you, why? Does Ricky still frequent this place?”
“He said secrecy is big with this Jim friend of his and yes, Ricky still goes there from time to time. I went to The Castaways with him once but I just wasn’t into it. We haven’t been back since.”
“I see. So this place caters to normal couples as well as fags?”
“Max, that is so insensitive. I haven’t told many people about Ricky. I told you because we are partners and I thought I could trust you with my secret and that you would be a little more civil and understanding and because this information is going to help us solve this terrible situation Milwaukee is in the midst of and it will help sell our story.”
“Okay, Horace, I’m sorry. Fag just slipped out I guess. So, what do you call yourselves if not fags? Queers? Gay?”
“We call ourselves lovers, which we are. Can we move on Max?”
“I wish we would.”