Lynda La Plante - The Legacy

The clerk murmured and leafed’ through his book, and the large man with the cigar turned to Evelyne and beamed. ‘Excuse me, ma’am, but I couldn’t help overhearing, there’s more fighters comin’ in for that title. The whole of Europe’s after it so I wish you luck, and may I say your husband’s a fortunate man to have such a beautiful wife.’

Evelyne smiled her thanks, but she was shaking. Aware that the clerk could hear her, she told the fat stranger that her husband was the British Heavyweight Champion. ‘You may have heard of him, Freedom Stubbs, he’s a Romany gypsy, a prince.’

Even to her the statement sounded childish, and the big man laughed. From his back pocket he took a roll of banknotes larger than his fist, turned back to the receptionist and began peeling some off. They were fifty-dollar bills, and he was paying for his room upfront.

A doorman appeared outside and leaned on the window of the waiting cab. He told the cabbie to move on, go round the block — he could return in a few minutes but the forecourt had to be cleared. The cabbie started the engine and they did a slow crawl out of the forecourt. Coming in was a glittering Cadillac limousine, bright yellow and so highly polished that the lamps and wheels seemed to spark. The chauffeur rushed from his seat to the rear passenger door and two burly men in dark-grey suits and smart white shirts and ties hurried to the entrance. They stood like guards as the chauffeur stepped back, holding the car door open.

A square, stocky man stepped out of the limousine, wearing a pale lilac linen suit, a white fedora hat, and carrying white gloves and a silver-topped walking-stick. He didn’t acknowledge the two men standing on guard, but strode past them into the hotel.

Evelyne was still waiting patiently at the desk, as the clerk took forever to flip through the register, and as the brass-framed doors swung open and the lilac clad gentleman entered, the whole lobby went quiet. The two bodyguards walked immediately ahead of him, and two more appeared from behind the potted palms, hemming the squat man between them.

‘I’m sorry, ma’am, but we don’t seem to have nothin’ available right now …’

Evelyne had hoped so hard it would be all right that she was bitterly disappointed. She was unaware that a porter had been sent outside to check on the occupants of the waiting cab, had taken one look at Freedom and given the thumbs down.

She had not noticed the flurry of excitement behind her, she had been so intent on the receptionist. The man wearing the flashy lilac suit was heading for the lifts, the two thickset men making a path for him. There was actually no need, as everyone stepped back quickly as soon as they saw the group. Evelyne clenched her teeth, trying hard not to cry. She knew that by now Edward would be starving and fretful, but she thanked the clerk, and her initial show of confidence ebbed fast as she hurried towards the exit.

She was so eager to leave that she bumped into one of the two bodyguards. She barely touched the man, even apologized, but the next minute she was shoved roughly aside, with such force that she fell against a pillar. This was the final straw and she turned on the man, catching him by the sleeve. ‘There was no need to push me like that, it was an accident.’

She received no reply, but another shove. As she struck the pillar again, she dropped her handbag and all the contents spilled out on to the marble floor. As she scrabbled for her things, she missed seeing the boss give his protector a nasty crack on the shoulder with his walking stick. She only became aware of him when she saw, close to the handkerchief that had fallen from her bag, a pair of highly-polished, two-toned shoes. Her eyes travelled up the lilac pants to look into the dark eyes beneath the fedora hat.

‘You okay, ma’am? Want me to give you a hand … here, allow me.’

As he bent down, she could smell a heavy, sweet perfume. The perfectly manicured hand picked up Edward’s well-chewed dummy and held it out. Evelyne stood up. She was a head taller than the man, and his chubby face beamed up at her as he asked about her accent.

‘I’m from Britain, Wales.’

The fedora was lifted off, he made her a small, courtly bow. As he replaced his hat, he asked if she was a guest of the hotel. Evelyne bit her lip, her eyes filling with tears. He was so friendly, so charming … he took out a clean white handkerchief and handed it to her. She was deeply embarrassed, and try as she might to stop them, her eyes kept filling with tears. She wiped her face and told him the hotel was full, she could not get rooms. She was unaware that the lobby had come to a complete standstill as she talked to him.

The man swept over to the counter, and now Evelyne could see the impact he made on the porters and desk staff. Every move he made was shadowed by his attendants, and now they seemed more than cordial, bowing and scraping as if the man were royalty. She watched him talk quiedy to the clerk, then he gestured for her to join him at the desk.

‘They tell me your husband’s gonna be a contender — I tell you what, if you make sure I get a ringside seat, I’ll make sure you get the best rooms in this hotel, whaddya say, pretty lady? Is it a deal?’

Evelyne was speechless as the clerk laid two keys on the counter.

‘You got a kid with you? A boy, is it? I gotta boy, see, Sonny, I call him Sonny.’ A photograph was taken from his wallet and displayed with great pride, then replaced carefully so as not to crease it.

The clerk coughed nervously, and looked at his ledger. ‘Well, sir, there’s forty-eight and fifty-eight.’

‘How’s that suit ya, Mrs Stubbs? Two suites next to each other?’

Evelyne flushed and managed to say ‘thank you’ several times.

A nearby bellhop was poised on his toes in his eagerness to please. At a wave from the fat, manicured hand he was at Evelyne’s side.

‘Boy’ll help you carry your bags, ma’am, don’t you forget my tickets, just leave them at the desk …’

Evelyne almost curtsied with gratitude, and followed the bellhop out to the waiting taxi. Behind her she missed a strange, chilling scene.

The gentleman in the lilac suit leaned across the polished mahogany desk, swiftly grabbed the clerk by the lapel and pulled him halfway over the counter. ‘You treat a lady with discourtesy again and you’ll be found with your balls stuffed down your goddam throat, you pint-sized prick.’

The terrified clerk, released, gabbled an apology, and found himself lightly shoved against his letter-rack. ‘Make sure they get first-class treatment, flowers, fruit sent up, the whole bit, okay?’

‘Yes sir, Mr Capone, sir. Right away, sir.’

Capone stuffed a twenty-dollar bill in the frightened man’s pocket and moved off towards the bank of lifts. His bodyguard fell into step beside him, opened the lift doors and checked it over before Capone got in. As the last grey-suited man stepped inside, the folding gate was slammed on his hand. He gasped with pain, but made no other sound.

‘Check ‘em out. Who’s with the broad, get me the whole lowdown on ‘em.’

As the lift glided up to his private floor, Capone adjusted his silk cravat in his reflection in the polished brass control panel. He was in a good mood. He began to sing. His voice was strong, not quite Beniamino Gigli, but no one would dare say he wasn’t at least on a par.

A week after Freedom’s arrival in Chicago there was still no fight arranged. Ed was beginning to think Sir Charles was out of his depth. He had to admit the influx of contenders for the heavyweight title didn’t make bouts all that easy to organize. Sir Charles assured Ed that he was trying.

‘I have to look after Freedom’s interests — not quite so cut and dried as we had anticipated. There are a lot of contenders, and Freedom’s nowhere near the top bracket. Thing I don’t want is that he has to plough his way through every boxer arriving in the States.’