Michael Mayer - Time Trippers The Nights of the Round Table

“Jonathan, we’re going to get lost….this is crazy.”

“No way, we can find our way back easy - Manhattan’s a grid and I got some nickels for the El anyway.”

“What if the gangsters find us? I’m scared.”

“We’ll slip off before they know it, besides they won’t hurt a little kid - they just want to talk to the Babe - didn’t you hear?” Jonathan said. “They’ll just think we’re a couple of kids hopping a ride… don’t worry…this is fun! Heeeheeeeee!”

After a wild ride, the car was bumping down the cobblestones of 10th Avenue along the railroad tracks. They turned right onto 29th Street and stopped in front of a warehouse with a squeal of brakes. Jonathan nudged Lauren and they dropped carefully to the street. One of the gang standing in front of the warehouse saw them.

“Hey, you kids, get outta here! G’wan, take a powder - stupid kids…” The kids took off and in the dim light, the gangsters couldn’t see who they were as they led the now blindfolded Babe by the arms into the warehouse.

“Easy boys, easy on the arms,” Jonathan heard Babe Ruth say coolly.

“Hey Jonathan - this is where the Cowboys are! Remember?” Lauren said with a smile after they ran around the corner.

“Cowboys? Are you crazy…oh yeah… remember where the alley was?”

“Yeah - over there…lets go!” Lauren replied. They shifted towards the alley calling “Pat! Pat! Hey, Cowboys! You there?”

It was late after 11 pm, but somebody must have heard them because out of the alley came Pat and some of the Cowboys.

“Youse back? What gives?” Pat said.

Jonathan told him everything.

“You gotta be kiddin me? Da Babe, HERE? Kidnapped? Da warehouse around the corner…say, dat’s a mob hangout. Nobody big, just gamblers mainly. Say, I got an idear…..we have a secret way into the building nobody dat ain’t in our gang knows about……so youse two is now officially drafted as Westside Cowboys. Got it?”

“Got it!” the kids replied.

“Let’s go!” Pat said.

The motley crew stole silently down the street keeping to the shadows cast by the street lamps.

“You, Jerry and Al, I want you to walk in front and bug them mugs on guard, get them to chase you, see? We’ll go in the back way. Got it?”

“Sure,” they replied.

“Youse, Skinny, Mose and Lauren, go and tell da cops. We’re gonna need all da help we can get.”

“You OK with that Lauren?” Jonathan asked.

“Yep!” she replied.

Pat motioned the rest down an alley, into the basement of a building next to the warehouse. They picked their way through the dimly lit underground maze to a coal pile near the furnace. Pat removed a few bricks making a hole big enough to crawl through. He went in first, followed by the rest.

“Keep quiet!” Pat said, “They gotta be upstairs….come on.”

Jonathan smiled, “Just like Ninjas!” he whispered.

“Ninjas, sminjas, just keep ya yap shut, OK?” Pat whispered back.

Lauren, Skinny and Mose ran around looking for a cop and finally found one walking his beat a couple of blocks away. The elderly, white-haired patrolman looked them over and refused to believe the incredible tale these kids were telling.

Lauren insisted it was true.

“So, some gangsters kidnapped Babe Ruth himself, and are holding him in the warehouse on 29th Street, are they? Is that so? Now, get along home t’ bed with yez before I run yez in ye young ruffians. And you!” addressing Lauren, “What’s a pretty little girl like yourself doin out at this hour with these ragamuffins? Yer parents must be worried.”

Lauren looked up at him with her big eyes. “I’m NOT a little girl and I’m here with my Lito, I mean….Grandpa…and we hopped the gangster’s car and rode on the back to the warehouse…my brother is inside with Pat and the rest of the Cowboys,” she explained innocently.

The old policeman bent down “Hopped a car? Babe Ruth? Cowboys ye say? Sure and that’s a mighty tall tale, so it is! You know, little girl, that makin’ up a false police report’s a crime?”

She nodded gravely. “It’s not a tale - IT’S TRUE!”

“Yeah, that’s right, it ain’t no tale. If youse don’t believe us, OK, sure, run us in, we ain’t lyin!” Mose pleaded.

“All right then, come along wit yez!” the cop said in his thick Irish brogue. “Sure and if I was yer father wouldn’t I be takin’ me belt t’ yez and tannin’ yer hides so I would. We’ll get it straightened out at the station. Come along now.”

Meanwhile, back on 49th street, our taxi took off in a hurry.

“Talley Ho! Cavalry to the rescue!” Benchley said enthusiastically.

“More like the Keystone Cops,” Dottie observed. “Mr. Benchley is not exactly Douglas Fairbanks…” (Fairbanks was the supreme action star of the silent movies.)

“Never was there a crew of misfits and oddballs like this!” Harpo said with a smile. “This is the unlikeliest looking bunch I ever saw…” he said waggling his eyebrows like Groucho.

“Thanks for trying to make me laugh but…” I said sadly.

“Don’t worry, these mugs won’t hurt kids, you can bet on that.” Cagney said as the taxi tore down 8th Avenue.

Tora-san grunted approval, keeping his hand on the gangster’s shoulder to pinch him if necessary.

“Did anybody call the cops after all?” I asked.

“I asked FPA to call Rothstein AND the cops. Like I said, Rothstein will fix this a lot quicker.” Ring said. The taxi driver said he’d be there in no time.

The kids were tiptoeing silently through the darkened warehouse and saw a pool of light near the office on the second floor. Quietly stealing up close behind some boxes, they heard this little conversation from the three gangsters standing and the Boss, Derby Hat himself, sitting facing the blindfolded Ruth.

“Come on, Babe, play ball… there’s a lot of money in it for you and us, we don’t want to have to hurt you…” they heard Derby Hat say. Jonathan nudged Pat.

“I know that guy - saw him at the game today.” Pat glared at him putting his finger to his lips for Jonathan to be quiet.

“Lemme think what to do,” Pat said.

“Look fellas,” the Babe said, “ if I promise to play under the next two games, you’ll let me go?”

“Sure, sure! There’s a big payout for you and us; nobody gets hurt and nobody’s the wiser,” the gangster said.

“What about all those witnesses?” Ruth asked.

“Forget about it, nobody knows any of my boys, besides, ain’t nobody followed us nohow. But listen good, you take our dough and hit a homer; doublecross us and you’re gonna have a terrible accident, see? Get me?”

“Sure boys, sure, you don’t have to worry.” Ruth said. “You guys better let me go or I’m gonna be missed - you don’t want this kinda thing in the papers, do you?”

“What kind of thing? We’re just having a little chat. Some of my boys got a little rough, sorry about that. Besides, you wouldn’t want it getting around that the great Babe Ruth is taking moolah from the mob? What would your fans and the kiddies think? Don’t forget those pictures of you and all those Flappers I got at some of them parties you been to - what would your wife think? We just wanna keep this quiet - I know we can trust you, right?”