"That's a scary group," said Antony.
"Scary, yeah," said Brogan, "but mostly just a bunch of ignoramuses. There's guys a lot scarier than them out there."
"Who's that?" I asked.
"Guys with the same philosophy, but with real power, brains, and money. I hate to say it, my friend, but you'd be mincemeat with these bastards whether you were a swami or…where are you from, Guatemala? Mexico? Anyway, you'd be finished."
"Why the teardrop?" I asked.
"That's no teardrop, chum. That's a drop of blood. It's all in the blood. Their big fear is the mixing of the white race with, quote, unquote, inferior blood."
MURDER AT A PARTY
Schell paid The Worm, who thanked him kindly and used some of the money to order another round of drinks. I passed, my first still unfinished. For a few minutes, Schell and Brogan exchanged facts about butterflies, and then the conversation moved on to acquaintances and old times, and Antony jumped in. Before we left, Schell inquired as to a name, someone he could contact on Long Island who might have been or still was seriously involved with the Klan.
Emmet went through his usual thinking phase where you could envision him flipping through the stored pages in his mind. "Of the klaverns that haven't broken up, they've all pretty much gone underground. I remember reading about a guy who was a big deal with this mess. Stephen Andrews. He's an old guy, might be dead by now. He was out in Freeport. Check out this title he had-he was a Grand Exalted Cyclops. I suppose in the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king. He might still be around. If he is, and he'll talk to you, you might be able to get some more out of him."
Antony, Schell, and I stood up, and Emmet slid over to the edge of the booth to shake each of our hands. "Great to see you guys again," he said.
"I may be back for some more," said Schell.
"If you need to get something quick, call the library and leave a message for me at the desk. They all know me."
Brogan bummed one more cigarette off Antony and then turned to me and said, "Listen, son, the future's in information. That's where the money and power are going to be. By the time your kids reach your age, they'll have machines that do what I do. And they'll be free. Only one problem."
"What will that be?" I asked.
He waved a hand in the air. "Don't worry about it. First we have to get through the next war."
We bid good-bye to Grace, who told us to come back and see her soon. Then we were out in the alley.
"Brogan's crazy as a loon," said Antony as we traced a path around the ash cans and junk.
"Yeah," said Schell. "He knows his facts, but when he starts to talk about the future, it's time to inquire as to how many of those piss gins he's consumed."
"I guess they call him The Worm because he's a bookworm?" I said.
"No, kid, they call him The Worm because he's a fucking worm," said Antony.
"What do you mean?"
"Can you imagine hanging around with that guy for any length of time? He's murder at a party."
"Emmet can't turn it off," said Schell. "The world to him is merely an accretion of facts. After a while, he burrows under your skin, and you just want him to shut up. Hence, The Worm."
"Does he live in a freight car or something?" I asked.
"He's got a place up on Park Avenue. Nice place," said Schell. "You wouldn't believe the people who hire him. The guy has dough."
"He dresses like a bum," I said.
"Life of the mind," said Antony.
After leaving Grace's Paradise, we went back to the station and caught the two o'clock train out to Port Washington. For the first part of the journey, no one spoke, but after Jamaica, Schell bent forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped together, and said, "Why would the Klan want to kill Barnes's daughter?"
Antony and I sat there in silence, waiting for the answer.
"Well, if the Klan killed her," said Schell, "considering it was a group, and a group with a political agenda, no matter how screwed up, I'd say it would have to be either revenge for something or to make a statement. Otherwise, why leave a calling card? Obviously, the girl couldn't have done anything to warrant it."
"Does the mother's use of the term 'dybbuk' indicate that she's Jewish?" I asked.
"I'm wondering about that," said Schell. "Not necessarily, but it's a strong possibility."
"So maybe they killed the girl because she was half-Jewish?" I asked.
"Why, though? There's a good-size population of Jews on Long Island. Why pick this girl?" asked Schell.
"Emmet said they don't like the blood to mix," said Antony. "Maybe, like the kid said, it was because she was half-Jewish."
"But Barnes and his wife didn't seem really up-front about her being a Jew. I'd bet in that blueblood landscape he travels, that's not the best advertisement. If she is, most people don't know, so how would the Klan find out?"
"What do you want the guy to do, put an ad in the paper? Headline: 'My Wife's a Jew,'" said Antony.
Schell cocked his head to the side and vaguely nodded. "Good point. It just doesn't seem to make sense, though. From what Emmet said, it doesn't wash with the law-and-order faзade of the Long Island Klan."
"There's one other thing," I said.
Schell looked over at me and sat up straight.
"The hat?" asked Antony.
I nodded.
"Okay, go ahead. We'd have to spill it sooner or later," he said.
"What hat?" asked Schell.
"Remember that hat I wore when I was Parks's mother?" asked Antony.
Schell nodded.
Even though he'd told me to relate the story, the big man jumped in and proceeded to lay out the entire adventure of the hat, our attempts to recover it, and our overall deceit. As much as I cringed as Schell told the tale, I was thankful to Antony for ending with the statement, "Don't blame the kid, Boss. I put him up to it."
"Deception seems to be the order of the day," said Schell, looking over at me.
"Sorry," I said.
"Make that two, Boss," said Antony. "I just didn't want you to think I was losing my professional edge."
Schell laughed. "Your professional edge?" he said.
"I didn't want you to think I'd try to do anything but a good job."
"Okay," said Schell, "let's move on before this slides into the mawkish. You've told me you lost the hat the night of the sйance, then you went to retrieve it from the girl, and Diego lost it again when he was attacked by bootleggers on the beach. You two live an eventful life. But my question is, what does this have to do with the murder of Charlotte Barnes?"
"After that, the hat turned up again," I said.
"The kid saw it on a guy at the wheel of a car we passed on the drive when we were leaving the Barnes place the day we met Lydia Hush," said Antony.
"The same hat?" asked Schell.
"I think so," I said.
"I figured maybe Barnes was running a bootlegging operation, bringing booze in from Canada, and those guys in the car worked for him," Antony said.
"A guess," I whispered.
Schell took it all in and then answered me by saying, "No, no." He held his hand up. "That makes sense actually. So you two think the girl was murdered in revenge for her father's rum-running operation? That makes a lot more sense than a random kidnapping and murder. Emmet said the Klan are strident Prohibitionists."
"Seems a rather severe punishment," I said.
"I don't think making sense is their strong suit," said Antony.
"This means that we're going to have to pay a visit to the Exalted Cyclops," said Schell. "He might know if there's that kind of bad blood between Barnes and the Klan. When we get back to the house, Antony, I want you to get the Broomhandle out and get it ready."