The following is an excerpt from my current work-in-progress.
MURDER AT THE GALLIANO CLUB is the next book in the Galliano Club series, coming Summer 2022.
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The Bison Club was the most exclusive in Lido, housed in a three-story mansion a few blocks from the town square. Owen always felt a glow of satisfaction as he drove around the circular drive, past the massive pillars and the pale gray painted brick. Yes, the club was devoted to charitable works, but more importantly, it was where the
elite of Lido relaxed in masculine comfort seven days a week.
Standards were high, although everyone knew loopholes had to be found now and then. For example, the membership committee could hardly refuse when Dr. Brian Lanigan nominated Sean O’Malley, his brother-in-law and a somewhat coarse policeman. Doc was a legacy member, respected family doctor, and the police department’s medical
consultant, not to mention Owen’s fraternity brother during their years at Syracuse University. No one could blame Doc for his sister’s poor taste in husbands.
Given that Chief of Police Doyle was also on the membership committee and obviously had a soft spot for O’Malley, the nomination was approved without discussion.
The dining room was nearly empty when Owen arrived. He sat alone and enjoyed a nicely underdone slab of roast beef, washed down with a bottle of sparkling grape juice that the West End Brewery in Utica marketed as extra dry Champanneto Mum.
His wait was rewarded when O’Malley and Lanigan walked into the dining room. Owen waved and they ambled to his table.
“Doctor, Officer.” Owen gave a broad smile.
Ties were mandatory at the club but O’Malley still looked like he should be in uniform. Weathered face, cruel mouth, fingers fidgeting without a nightstick to hold. Doc Lanigan on the other hand, didn’t look a day older than when Owen met him during Pledge Week. Clean-shaven, brilliantined hair swept back from a high forehead, perfect
teeth and a cleft in his chin.
“Won’t you join me,” Fisher said after handshakes all around and polite inquiries after wives and children. “I was just pondering some dessert.”
The other two men accepted his invitation and sat. While the newcomers ate their lunch, the conversation ranged from new automobiles to the upcoming gubernatorial election pitting incumbent Al Smith against the Republican challenger Ogden Mills. O’Malley added darkly that the Socialists were fielding a candidate, too. Some upstart named
Jacob Panken who should be in jail and not spouting Bolshevik propaganda, to which Owen and Doc both fervently agreed.
“I’m sure you gentlemen would agree that the only thing that could improve upon club lunches would be a strengthening tipple afterwards,” Doc said. “I think this Prohibition nonsense has gone on long enough.”
“Hear, hear,” Owen said quickly.
O’Malley didn’t reply.
The waiter served coffee, giving Owen a chance to shift the conversation. “I wonder if I could talk about a business issue with you,” he said to O’Malley.
“Business?”
“Excuse me,” Doc said smoothly. “I’ve just seen someone I need to speak with.”
O’Malley slurped coffee as they waited for his brother-in-law to move out of earshot.
“I’m sure you are aware that Lido Premium’s foreman has gone missing,” Owen started. “Causing quite a disruption, as you can imagine. Everything has fallen on Henry Blick’s shoulders.”
“So?” O’Malley said. "He can afford it."
“One of our best workers is a fine fellow by the name of Karol Dombrowski. He wants to become a policeman.”
“That’s a Polack name.”
“Yes, well, the point is that Henry Blick thinks highly of Dombrowski and would be quite upset to see him leave Lido Premium.” Owen paused to make sure O’Malley was following and went on when the other man nodded. “I’d like to do Henry a favor and keep Dombrowski from leaving.”
“You want Blick to owe you,” O’Malley said.
“No, no, not at all. I’m simply concerned for Henry. It will be easier for him if Dombrowski stays. So I was wondering if you could arrange for that to happen.”
“For what to happen?”
“For Dombrowski to, ah, not leave Lido Premium to become a policeman.”
O’Malley leaned back in his chair. “I’m a bit confused,” he said. “You mentioned a business issue. This sounds more like you want me to do you a favor and sink this fella with the police department so Blick will snuggle up to you.”
Fisher patting his lips with his napkin to mask his chagrin. It was just like an uncouth copper to be so blatant, so lacking in subtlety.
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