Prohibition is the law of the land, but Nellie needs cash - after socking a gangster in the face, she's got ten days to make it right. Frightened and caught empty-handed, Nellie turns bootlegger.
She accepts a job from her sly friend Lola to pick up...
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We take a cab. Nellie finishes up her makeup as we drive along. I know just what mean-spirited things my mother would have to say about a girl who's finishing up her mascara in the back of a public vehicle.
Nellie offers me her compact mirror, and I refuse it.
"It's all right. You look aces."
The driver knows just where he's going. Nellie arranged it. Not just anybody can call for this cab.
We head deeper downtown. We pass one of my colleagues on patrol at a street corner and some of the other passengers holler out the window.
Nellie smiles at me, her thin brow perched way up high.
"Worried?"
"No," I say.
"Lola must really like you."
I shrug.
"You're right," she agrees, "Who can say?"
"Do you really like Felix Müller?"
"I can see why Lola likes you."
We don't talk the rest of the way. I let the street signs fly by without reading them. Our cab halts suddenly in front of a large banquet hall. I'm on the end so I scramble out. Fellow passengers push past us, laughing, excited. The city lights are bright in their eyes and I'm drawn toward the entrance with them, but Nellie pulls at my arm.
"Am I going to need to take care of you?"
"No."
"Can you find your own way home?"
My scowl must be a good enough answer. We join the other hopefuls and ring a bell at the banquet hall's foyer. One by one the girls speak into the receiver of a ratty-looking telephone, then wait along the wood paneling.
It's my turn. I put the phone to my ear.
"Name?"
"Howard," I say, "Lester Howard."
There's a pause. I chance a look over at the girls and they're suddenly quiet. I'm taking too long. I square my shoulders.
"Who are you here to see, Mr. Howard?"
"Mary, Queen of Scots," I say.
"You're all right," the voice says, "Next."
I hang up the phone and join the girls.
"Nifty, huh?"
I shrug. No wonder this place has been left alone. Different passwords for different guests? Now that's what I call organized.
I expect some tough guy to come through the banquet hall doors and invite us in a back room somewhere, but instead the wood paneling slides away.
The girls take the hidden short steps with great abandon. Nellie and I follow; once we've gone about five steps through the passageway the ingenious door closes.
