Stick McLaughlin Read online

  Table of Contents

  Synopsis

  Acknowledgments

  PART ONE Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  PART TWO Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  PART THREE Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  About the Author

  Books Available From Bold Strokes Books

  Synopsis

  Times are tough for sixteen-year-old Stick McLaughlin, running from a trumped up arson charge and hiding among hobos in 1918 Boston. Denied the companionship and support of lifelong soul mate Ellie, Stick edges her way through prison as “Mac,” only to be thrust alone and wide-eyed into the very definitely Roaring Twenties. She swallows what’s left of her pride through the final year of her sentence—serving as maid to a wealthy family—but stockpiles many invaluable lessons about rapidly-changing life in 1924.

  Confrontations with bootleggers and a particularly enthralling flapper go a long way toward molding a strong, confident, clever “Mac,” who hits the streets with a gang of her own, determined to claim the good life she deserves by beating the corrupt system and Boston’s ethnic mobs at their own game.

  Little does she know that the lost love she’s mourned for years is closer than she thinks. But have time and circumstance conspired against her once and for all?

  Stick McLaughlin: The Prohibition Years

  Brought to you by

  eBooks from Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

  Please respect the rights of the author and do not file share.

  Stick McLaughlin: The Prohibition Years

  © 2014 By CF Frizzell. All Rights Reserved.

  ISBN 13: 978-1-62639-262-5

  This Electronic Book is published by

  Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  P.O. Box 249

  Valley Falls, New York 12185

  First Edition: October 2014

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

  Credits

  Editor: Cindy Cresap

  Production Design: Stacia Seaman

  Cover Design By Sheri ([email protected])

  Acknowledgments

  When a dream born in high school takes about fifty years to come true, you’d better focus on the achievement—not look back and shake your head incredulously that it happened at all. But you only publish your first novel once, and you don’t do it alone. The significance of all those paths you crossed is humbling.

  I’m eternally grateful for encouragement lent by English teachers, newspaper colleagues, and some very special friends. And little did I know that many years later at a reading by an author I idolized, I’d find such a precious friend in the amazing Lee Lynch. I am sincerely honored by her enthusiasm and support for Stick. They are gifts I will treasure always.

  There aren’t adequate words to thank Radclyffe for taking a chance on this rookie and welcoming me to the generous, award-winning Bold Strokes Books family. I am proud to be a member and thrilled that Stick now lives in Rad’s house.

  And I send a wave up to Mom and Dad, who would have been overjoyed to hold this book in their hands. I did it, guys.

  And, finally, I thank my partner, Kathy, for her devotion and courage, through endless readings and rereadings, the hours of plot talk, and days as an “author’s widow.” Chances are there’d be no Stick without you, honey.

  To Kathy, my better half in all the best ways.

  For loving, listening, supporting, and believing from the start that a dream like this could come true.

  For being my rock, forever my one and only.

  PART ONE

  October 1918

  Dorchester neighborhood

  Boston, Massachusetts

  Chapter One

  Old man Henderson clamped onto the back of Stick’s frayed jacket collar and nearly hauled her into his store, but lots of twisting and squirming sent her darting down the alley to freedom for the second time this month.

  “Goddamn kids!” He shook his gnarly fist in the air. “I’m goin’ for the cops!”

  Ten minutes, a trolley jump, and five blocks later, Stick scrambled under the loading dock at Cirelli’s Meat Packing Plant and took a much needed breath. She couldn’t help but grin as she filled a ragged carpet satchel from her bulging jacket and pants pockets. Two cans of Boston Baked Beans, two cans of brown bread, four potatoes, assorted lollipops, and a fistful of chocolate-covered malted milk balls. It was a good day’s haul, and Stick figured Mama might even shed a grateful tear before reacting with a heavy-handed slap. Little sister Dottie would think it was Christmas. Ray wouldn’t approve at all. Stick knew his high-and-mighty big brother superiority would make all that hard work feel shameful.

  Stashed into a front pocket, the biggest cherry lollipop was set aside just for Ellie when they met for her walk home from school. With about fifteen minutes to spare, Stick gathered up the satchel, adjusted her black newsboy cap, and crawled out into the October afternoon. Ellie liked the cap and always grinned a bit shyly when she told Stick she did. And that just warmed Stick inside and out.

  Ellie was the prettiest girl Stick had ever seen, and no one could be luckier than to have Ellie alongside, smiling, laughing, walking through their forlorn neighborhood of weary triple-deckers. She brightened everything in sight. Stick walked taller when Ellie was around, aimed for tidiness and good manners, too, because Ellie was special. Not because her father was a trolley driver and kept bread on the table and Ellie in nice clothes. Ellie was special because of her smile and her open heart. She longed for Stick’s company, and the feeling was mutual.

  Stick had given up trying to figure out why.

  They were girls, after all, and wasn’t it improper to want the companionship of another girl so badly? Mama and Pop never spoke of such a thing, but Father Ignatius, their parish priest, had hinted at it on many a Sunday—way back when they all used to attend St. Leo’s as a family. Stick remembered those days fondly, not so much because of the church, but because they were a family back then.

  So often in those days, she wished her best friend was with them, part of their family. Or that she was part of Ellie’s. Stick firmly believed that their closeness qualified as family. But Father Ignatius preached about the wrath of God, if ever friendships between women or men developed into something more. Sinful, he’d said. Stick snorted as she briskly walked the eight blocks to Ellie’s school. Sinful. Ha. What she spent the day doing was far more sinful than wanting to be around Ellie. But at sixteen, they both were undergoing family pressures, the “time to be dating” finger-shaking from both their mothers, and it was getting harder to avoid the issue without argument. Ellie dealt with her home life with great diplomacy. Stick just kept to the streets.

  With long blond hair, baby blue eyes, and that turned-up nose, Ellie was ever
y boy’s ultimate goal. And Stick’s angel from heaven. They’d been friends since first grade and vowed they always would be. When Stick’s dad died in the train yard accident three years ago, Ellie held Stick’s teary face to her shoulder for hours. And a year later, when Stick’s mama ordered her to leave school for work like her brother and Stick fell into a despondent state, Ellie walked with her all across Boston and held her on a bench on the Common till suppertime. She baked Stick cookies every day for a week until the smile returned to Stick’s face.

  And Stick had been there for her as well, like when she raced into the street to save Ellie’s dog after the ragman’s horse kicked the poor thing in the head. Stick ran flat-out for five miles, from their Dorchester neighborhood halfway to Neponset to get Smoochie to the veterinarian. But Smoochie didn’t survive, and Stick surrendered her shoulder to Ellie on the Westons’ porch till well past bedtime.

  One week later, Stick found herself daydreaming through the 5&10 when a knick-knack shelf of tiny ceramic dogs caught her eye. The beagle figurine, Smoochie’s identical twin, fit perfectly in the palm of Stick’s hand and eventually in Ellie’s. Bursting into tears, Ellie threw her arms around Stick’s neck and kissed her cheek and neck several times. Stick hugged her close and was thankful to be behind closed doors in Ellie’s bedroom. Their bodies pressed together eagerly, so perfectly, she’d had no desire to move. For a change, she was someone special instead of just a kid from the streets, and it felt so good just making Ellie smile.

  And then there was the summer day Stick helped Ellie and her mama plant flowers in the boxes that hung off their front porch. She’d never planted flowers before; there was never money for such frivolous things at her house across the street. So she tackled the project gleefully and, in appreciation, Mrs. Weston invited Stick to stay for supper. It was the first of many grand and delicious meals she enjoyed at the Weston home over the years. Each one ended with a little intimate chat with Ellie on the porch. Just last week, their hushed good-bye ended with Ellie leaning up on tiptoes and kissing Stick’s cheek.

  Crossing Washington Street now, Stick grinned at the memory as she squinted at the trolley car rattling by. Mr. Weston was behind the wheel, and they waved and smiled at each other. Stick grinned all the way to the schoolyard corner and leaned against the lamppost, toying with the lollipop in her pocket. She couldn’t wait to see Ellie. Her breath was short, and she couldn’t stand still. Her palms started to sweat.

  “Hey, Stick. You just hangin’ here?”

  She turned to see two boys her age trotting across the intersection. Davey and Baggers were neighborhood guys, one small and one wide, but okay in her book, up to about as much good as she was in the world. Together, they’d pulled their share of stunts around town in the past few years.

  “Hanging, yeah,” she answered as they gathered closer. She adjusted the satchel strap on her shoulder and tugged her cap down tighter over her forehead. “What’s up?”

  “We were going past Henderson’s.” Baggers snickered, hitching his pants up around his broad waist and reinforcing his name. “And he comes chargin’ out, sayin’ he’s callin’ the cops. We ain’t even done nothin’!”

  “So I say we give him something to whine about,” Davey added. He jammed his fists in his pockets and rocked back on his stubby boot heels, his face glowing with mischief.

  Stick glanced back toward the school, but there was no sign of Ellie yet. She shook her head and frowned. “Uh-uh. Not getting in on that. He almost nabbed me today. Ain’t going back no time soon.”

  Baggers elbowed Davey. “Toldja she wouldn’t.”

  “Listen,” Stick said, leaning toward them, “good thing I’m tall. If I’s as shrimpy as you, Dave, I’d never got loose from the ol’ man.”

  “Aw, Stick. Come on.” Davey shuffled his feet and whipped his father’s Fedora off his head in frustration.

  “Yeah, Stick. You’re the best at this,” Baggers tried. “We get him talking, and you do that sleight of hand magic you do.”

  Davey was just as persistent. “I even got us some Co’Colas from Johnny-O for later. Traded him my dad’s Geographic, the one with the naked pictures.”

  Again, Stick shook her head. “I’m done for today. Was a close call with him and I ain’t going back to his place for a while. I got some decent stuff.”

  “What decent stuff, Stick?”

  They all turned to see Ellie gazing up at her.

  “Uh…Beans,” Stick blurted. “I—I got some beans and…and bread today. But me and Mr. Henderson, though, we don’t get along.”

  Ellie rolled her eyes. “Nonsense,” she said, slipping an arm through Stick’s. “Let’s all go. I’ll talk to him. Come on, guys.”

  Stick pulled back quickly. “No. I—I mean not now. It’s not a big deal. These guys wanted to go, not me, so they can go. I…I came to see you.”

  Ellie glanced at Davey and Baggers and then blushed toward the ground.

  Stick jumped into the silence. “We gotta head home, guys. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  The boys mumbled in disappointment as they turned away, and Stick led Ellie back across the street.

  “Did I embarrass you?” Stick asked.

  Ellie shook her head and then grinned. “Maybe for a second, but it…it felt good to hear you say that in front of them. I was…proud.” And she looked away shyly.

  “I’m the proud one, Ellie. You’re…um…So, you ain’t embarrassed to be seen with me?”

  Ellie looked up sharply. “After all these years, Stick, why would you ever think that?”

  “Well, you know I’m not like you. My family…We’re…I mean we don’t…Ellie, I really ain’t the fine example of womanhood that you are, and—”

  “Stop.” Ellie halted them outside Kennedy’s butcher shop and then had to push Stick aside and into the alley to let a customer pass. “You stop right now, Elizabeth McLaughlin,” she said.

  Stick’s eyebrows shot skyward. Only her family, teachers, and Ellie ever used her real name. And it usually signaled serious talk ahead.

  “All that matters to me is who you are.” Ellie poked between the looped wooden buttons of Stick’s jacket. Bashfully pulling her eyes from Ellie’s glare, Stick concentrated on the firm set of her mouth, lips so rosy and smooth, plush…kissable. Stick’s gut tightened and her heart rate kicked up. Yep, kissable.

  “You’re Stick. My very best friend. My Stick.” Ellie palmed Stick’s jaw. “And to me, you have everything that’s important in this world. You have honor and loyalty, and you’re strong and brave and have warm, yummy eyes just like melted chocolate.” Ellie paused and withdrew her hand. She giggled at the blush on Stick’s cheeks. “And you have the biggest heart, and I’m proud to be with you because I lo—”

  Ellie’s fingertips flew to her mouth, too late to catch the words. Stunned by her near admission, her eyes widened, frantic with apprehension.

  A corner of Stick’s mouth slowly curled upward. She set her palms cautiously on Ellie’s shoulders and squeezed tenderly. “I love you, too, Ellie,” she whispered. Stick’s heart pounded euphorically as she lowered her head and gently touched Ellie’s mouth with her own. The plush velvet of Ellie’s lips set Stick to shaking all over. Feeling Ellie returning the kiss, brief as it was, nearly dropped Stick to the dirt.

  Nothing in her experience compared to the sweet, consuming sensation of kissing Ellie. Stick couldn’t believe she’d been so bold, but she knew she’d be forever thankful. The whole world disappeared when their lips touched. The chill of the overcast day, the worries about tomorrow’s supper, nothing mattered. Her mind went blank, swirled off to someplace like heaven. She couldn’t even remember feeling her feet on the ground.

  They each took a modest step back, looking everywhere but at each other. Finally, Stick reached out and delicately brushed a few loose strands of hair from Ellie’s cheek. “I have a little present for you.”

  Stick dove into her pocket for the three-inch cherry lollipop.
br />   Ellie recognized the shy desire in Stick’s gaze and it caused her to wonder if a little romantic kiss between friends had been inevitable. A slight tremor wiggled along Ellie’s spine. It was only a little kiss, but it made Ellie’s heart thump and her arms feel useless and weak. She was unnerved and a bit overwhelmed to realize it was a kiss she wanted to experience again, but next time she really would like to have the security of their friendship, Stick’s strength and familiarity, wrapped around her. Finally, she remembered to swallow.

  Stick looked different to her somehow, or maybe Ellie was seeing her differently. The keen surveillance of Stick’s eyes had softened, centered on Ellie’s with a comforting glow. Stick’s stern, patrician nose and long jawline lent her a proud, almost defiant look. And that slipped into a broad, humble smile. It wasn’t the first time the descriptive handsome had come to Ellie’s mind, and she almost blushed at the thought.

  Tall and much too thin for her height, Stick had earned her neighborhood name, as had so many others, and only the non-locals mistook her for a boy. The locals knew that the lanky teenager with the boyish figure and striking features was one of them from birth; she was smart, street savvy, and just as tough as the boys. It was all a matter of survival in tough times, and Stick was a survivor. Ellie was ever so proud of that.

  At the sight of the candy in Stick’s hand, she leaned forward without thinking, whispered a quick thank-you onto Stick’s mouth, and set a kiss on her lips that lasted a few seconds longer than their first. She really enjoyed kissing Stick. In fact, it was exhilarating…and perfect.

  *

  “I love feeling your arms around me like this, so tight and snug.” Ellie kissed Stick’s neck lightly, endlessly excited by the intimate turn in their friendship. Private time was a rare, precious thing, and Ellie summoned every reasonable excuse to rendezvous like this in the shadow of her house. For Stick’s strong embrace, she’d risk everything.