The Professor and the Bootlegger

The Professor and the Bootlegger

By

Margaret Lake

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Author of

historical, contemporary

and fantasy romance

illustrated children’s book

and graphic novels

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www.margaretannlake.com

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DEDICATION

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Many thanks to my father, who suggested the theme for this book. And even greater thanks go to his wife, Dee, who is no longer with us. My father inspired me to write this book, but Dee was always his inspiration.

DESCRIPTION

1927 – Howard Jenkins is a history professor, immersed in the medieval world, in love with the past. His younger brother, Reginald, is a ne’er do well who plays at being a student to please their parents. When Reginald’s gambling debts involve Howard in a bootlegging operation, Howard is blasted out of his secure academic world. Howard’s only question now is, what would King Richard do?

The one good thing to come out of this dreadful situation is Madge Rhodes, a lovely, young widow who Howard has decided to court. However, Madge’s cousin, Maisie, a flirty little jazz baby, has ideas of her own about Howard.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Description

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PART I The Professor and the Bootlegger

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PART II The Professor Gets Taken for a Ride

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PART III The Professor Falls in Love

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PART IV The Professor Fights Back

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Contact

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Copyright

April, 1927

Howard Jenkins was feeling just as lazy as the students he was trying to teach. The windows were open to catch the fresh, spring breezes, and half the students were gazing at the clear, blue skies. The other half were, unfortunately, sleeping. His own brother, Reginald, ten years his junior, among them.

He hadn't wanted his brother in his class, but Reginald needed the history credit, and the boy figured Howard wouldn't dare fail him. He knew their parents would be gravely disappointed if Reginald didn't graduate.

Still, it was his job to teach these young people European History. They probably thought it was all about long dead people who slept in between wars. To Howard, history was a living, breathing thing with people who laughed and loved, wept and mourned, and worried about how they would feed their families.

Time to shake them up. Mr. Jenkins, he bellowed. He was pleased to see Reginald knock his book off the desk as he jumped to attention.

What two Houses started the Wars of the Roses in England?

Uh, Reginald stammered.

Anyone? Howard turned to the back of the class where a blonde sophomore raised her hand. Miss Lawrence?

Howard noted that Reginald turned his head to gaze at the young girl so swiftly, it was a wonder he didn't snap off his neck. At least he'll pay attention to the girl, he thought smugly.

Lancaster and, um, York? Miss Lawrence answered tentatively.

That's correct. But that was just the bare fact. There was a beautiful love story to be told about the first Duke of Lancaster and Katherine Swynnford.

He told him their story; a tale filled with love and longing and greed. The only thing John of Gaunt wanted more than Katherine Swynnford was a throne, and he sacrificed their love to his ambitions.

By the time he finished, Miss Lawrence and the other girls were completely mesmerized, the boys restless, shuffling their feet or shifting in their seats.

He liked to think it was his ability to bring these people to life that made his classes so popular. In reality, half the girls in his class had a crush on him, and most of the boys were there because it was rumored he told risqué stories about long ago kings and queens.

The bell rang and everyone, including Howard, came back to the present. He'd already written the assignment on the board, so the students gathered their things quickly and ran out the door. Everyone, that is, except for Reginald.

With an inward groan, Howard turned to his brother. He knew what the boy wanted to talk about and he had hoped to avoid this conversation. Reginald's last test grade was deplorable, and he knew his brother expected him to fix it. There was nothing Howard hated more than conflict.

Reginald, he turned and nodded.

I'm not here to talk to you about my grades, Reginald told him flatly.

No? Howard raised an eyebrow. Maybe it wasn't grades but he knew his brother wanted something.

Yeah. I'll just take History over again next semester. It's not the only course I'll have to take over, he told him.

Reginald ... Howard began.

I know, I know. The old man will just have to face up to it.

I'm proud of you, Reginald, he smiled, unless you want me to be the one to tell him.

Nope. I'll do it. Have to grow up sometime, right?

Howard was still skeptical. He couldn't look him in the eye, and Howard was more sure than ever that his brother wanted something from him.

Right. And?

Reginald took a deep breath and made an effort to look his big brother in the eye. It wasn't easy. Howard's soft blue eyes could turn to steel in an instant, and Reginald dreaded being pinned under that cold stare.

Look, I need a favor, but if you're going to be like that ...

Suit yourself, Howard told him, turning to erase the blackboard.

Will you turn around and hear me out? I hate it when you go all cold and judgmental.

Howard turned around slowly to face his brother, crossing his arms over his broad chest. He didn't bother pushing his glasses up his nose, but looked at Reginald over the rims.

I'm listening.

Okay. Reginald blew his breath out and plunged in. I need money. I've got myself in a bit of a jam and I need a thousand dollars.

A thousand ..., Howard choked out, dropping his arms and straightening to his full six feet. What the hell have you gotten yourself in to?

Tch-tch. Such language, Reginald admonished him. If Howard was reduced to swearing, he was halfway toward caving. His big brother hated confrontation and if he got upset enough, he'd give in.

I repeat. What have you gotten yourself into? Howard asked, shoving his glasses back into place.

See, there's this place I go to now and then to have a drink.

And you ran up a thousand dollar bar tab? Howard gasped, shocked. Even speakeasies don't charge that much for illegal whiskey.

No, it's the back room activities. Gambling, Reginald hastened to add when Howard's eyes bugged out.

G ... gambling, Howard stuttered. W ... why? H ... how c ... could you?

Stuttering was good, Reginald thought. Howard had about reached the breaking point. He was such a milquetoast ... living in the past instead of enjoying the present. Reginald knew how to live. Maybe it was about time he took his big brother in hand and taught him how to have fun.

Just give me the jack, Reginald replied, ignoring Howard's questions.

C ... cash! Y ... you want m ... me to just h ... hand you a thousand dollars in cash?

If it'll make you feel better, you can come with me to give Bruno the money yourself.

D ... damn right I w ... will, Howard replied hotly.

Okay, I'll pick you up at ten. Thanks, Howard. I'll see you then. Reginald flipped Howard a wave and left the classroom, chuckling to himself. It had been ridiculously easy to get the money out of Howard and even easier to maneuver him into coming to The Manhattan Club. Just wait until he got a load of Maisie. That bearcat would have ol' Howard doing the Black Bottom in no time flat.

Howard watched his brother leave with an inward sigh. How had he gotten himself mixed up in Reginald's troubles again? He'd been getting the boy out of scrapes since he'd grown out of knee pants. All he'd wanted to do tonight was grade papers, fix himself a light dinner, and spend the rest of the evening reading. Now he was stuck going with Reginald to some gin mill at ten o'clock at night, for heaven's sake.

As he thought about that he remembered he had to go to the bank to draw out the money ... money he'd carefully saved, and which he was sure he'd never see again.

* * *

Howard waited nervously outside his apartment building. The university provided housing for its faculty, and he was grateful for the convenience and low rent. Not tonight. Tonight he just wanted to get off campus and back again without being seen. It wouldn't do for a respectable professor to be seen coming and going at such late hours.

At least Reginald was on time so Howard wouldn't have to loiter among the bushes. Driving away with his own brother, no matter how late the hour, was a lot more dignified than looking like some Peeping Tom.

He hopped into the Model T as soon as Reginald came to a jarring stop. The car was littered with cigarette butts, magazines and textbooks that looked like they'd never been opened.

You might try taking better care of your automobile, Reginald. After all, Father bought it for you for your high school graduation. You should appreciate that.

I earned it, didn't I? Managed to graduate and get into the university. For all that, he should have gotten me the Deusy I wanted.

I'm afraid you'll never understand, Howard sighed. Where are we going?

The Manhattan Club. It's a pretty classy joint. Too classy for that ancient suit of yours. Why don't you get a new one?

I might like to do that but I can't afford it after bailing you out of scrape after scrape. A thousand dollars! Howard shook his head. This is the last time, he warned. You'll either stay out of trouble or get out of it yourself.

Reginald didn't say a word. No sense making promises he had no intention of keeping. Besides, he knew he could count on good ol' Howard. He'd do anything to keep Mom and Dad from finding out their little boy was a screw-up. And if he could talk Howard into the deal he had in mind, he'd be on easy street anyway. No more college, no more old geezer cars ... nothing but fancy cars, fancy women and a fistful of jack to flash around.

They drove out of town until they came to an old farmhouse that appeared to have seen better days. Only a few lights were on, and Howard began to get nervous. He was carrying around a lot of money. Who knew what kind of people Reginald hung around with?

Reginald bypassed the house and drove around back. Howard relaxed a little when he saw there were quite a few cars already parked. They stepped out onto a dirt surface, and Reginald led him up a well-trodden path to the cellar doors.

Howard couldn't believe his eyes. Two police officers, in full uniform, flanked the doors. Were they going to be raided? That's all he needed. Tomorrow's headlines to scream, UNIVERSITY PROFESSOR ARRESTED IN GIN MILL RAID with a subtitle adding, Caught with $1,000 in ill-gotten booty.

Hey, Jimmy, Wes, how's it going?

It seemed Reginald knew these two. Were they real police officers or just dressed up to look like them?

Nice to see you, Mr. Jenkins. Wes touched his billy club to his hat then pointed it toward the doors. Mr. B. is waiting for you.

That's all right, Wes. I'm ready for him. Reginald brushed off his jacket and straightened his tie. Oh, this is my brother, he added casually.

Pleased to meet you, sir, Jimmy told him. Hope you're as regular a customer as your brother here. Jimmy raised his eyebrows and smiled a toothy grin at Howard.

Tip them, Reginald hissed at Howard.

Okay, now he could add bribing a police officer to the list of charges that would appear in tomorrow's paper. Howard dug in his pockets and came up with a handful of change and gave them each a dime.

Ha, ha, Reginald pretended to laugh. My brother the joker. He scooped the remaining change and handed the coins to Wes. Divvy that up, and thanks for all your good work.

Reginald grabbed Howard by the arm and hustled him down the dark cellar stairs.

What good work? Howard whispered. What are two police officers doing at an illegal speakeasy? He looked around uneasily even though it was pitch dark. Are there rats here?

Rats are just what Wes and Jimmy are here to look out for. We don't want anyone ratting out the location of this place.

When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Howard could see a dim light bulb illuminating a door a dozen feet away. Reginald gave a fancy knock and a panel slid open.

Password?

The Painted Lady, Reginald told the eyes at the opening. How ya' doin', Artie?

Hey, Reggie! Mr. B'll be glad to see you.

I'll bet.

Artie swung the door open wide, and they walked into a sort of anteroom with a small table and a chair. This area was much better lit, and Artie looked Howard up and down.

Who's the flat tire? Artie asked, sneering at Howard.

That's my brother. I'm trying to talk him into getting a new suit.

Might help, might not, Artie shrugged.

Howard was beginning to bristle at the man's effrontery. After all, he was just a doorman for an illegal operation.

Look here ..., Howard began.

Thanks, Artie. We'll go on in now. Reginald grabbed Howard's arm again and dragged him to the other door. Wouldn't do to keep Mr. B. waiting.

Just shut up and follow my lead, Reginald hissed at Howard. Don't mess with these bimbos.

Howard didn't have a chance to answer because the minute Reginald opened the door, his senses were assailed by more noise and smoke than he'd ever been subjected to in his life. Even a student pep rally wasn't this bad.

As he took off his horn-rimmed glasses to wipe them on his handkerchief, a green-spangled vision slithered up to Reginald. When he put his glasses back on, it turned out to be a black-haired floozy, with eyes as green as her dress.

Reggie, baby, I've been waiting for you, she pouted prettily.

Yeah? And just what were you waiting for? Reginald put his arm around the girl and jerked her to him. Cash or check, baby?

Check, you bad boy, she simpered. Why don't you introduce me to your cute friend?

Howard couldn't believe his ears. Could these two actually be negotiating the payment for sexual favors, right in front of everyone?

Maisie, meet my very much older brother. Howard, this is Maisie Gallant, a very special friend.

How do you do, Miss Gallant. Howard took her hand and bowed over it.

Is this guy the goods? Maisie giggled.

Look, baby, take care of him, will you? Give him whatever he wants on my tab. I've got a little business to discuss with Bruno.

Better make it fast, kid, or the bank'll be closed, Maisie laughed.

Maisie took Howard back to her table and asked him what he wanted.

It's too late for coffee. I'll never sleep. Perhaps a cup of tea? he asked.

One cup of coffee and you don't sleep? Maisie asked with raised eyebrows.

I have insomnia. Sometimes a cup of chamomile tea helps me to relax. I don't suppose they have chamomile here? he asked hopefully.

No, Maisie shook her head gravely, but I think I can get you something that will work just as well. Maisie signaled the waiter. A cup of brown plaid tea for my friend here.

I never heard of that herb. Is it very strong? I don't want to fall asleep right here, Howard asked solemnly.

Just don't drink it straight down, Maisie giggled.

The tea came right away and Howard blinked at the aroma. Smells sort of mediciny, doesn't it?

Take a sip and let me know how you like it.

Whew! Howard exclaimed. Tastes something like iodine.

Drink up, bunny. I promise, it's good for what ails you.

Howard was intimidated by the laughter in those green eyes, so he took another sip. This one went down easier than the first, but it was still pretty strong.

Take some water. Don't gulp it. A sip of tea, a sip of water.

Yes, that's better. Almost nice, Howard agreed. He was beginning to feel more relaxed and interested in his surroundings.

There was a tiny dance floor, crowded with couples doing what he could only assume was the Charleston to the rhythm of Donny Donaldson's Dancetime Dukes. At least that's what the banner said over the orchestra.

Howard found the music strangely compelling and was beginning to tap out the rhythm on the cloth-covered table.

Hey, Howie, wanna dance?

Hmm, oh, dance, Howard pushed his glasses back in place. "Um, no, I don't think