For the Love of Mike (11 page)

“Whatta youse want me to do wid her, Monk?” Kid asked.

“Take her to my place. I’ll be along as soon as Lefty gets back from dat little errand.” He grinned. It was in no way a charming grin.

“Okay, girlie. Get going and no fuss.” Kid went to grab one of my arms. I am not used to doing anything without making a fuss. I twisted sharply and stuck at him with the hat pin.

“Will you let go of me! This is no way to treat a perfectly respectable lady.” Kid yowled and sucked at his hand. For a moment I had broken free. I grabbed the door handle.

“Watch her, she’s got a knife,” I heard Kid shouting.

Before I could wrench the door open, Monk had grabbed me and held me with one giant paw. “Youse is lucky I don’t use me nucks on women, or you’d be lying dere with a smashed face,” he said, pleasantly enough.

“It wasn’t a knife, it was just a hat pin, like any lady would use in her own defense,” I said. “I don’t know what’s the matter with you people, but if this is the way you treat ladies then I’m glad I’m not married to one of you.” The words came out as an angry torrent, masking the fear that was rushing though me. All of Daniel’s warnings about white slavery had come back to me. I was determined not to let them see I was afraid. “And if you can’t answer one simple question about a little lost boy, then in heaven’s name just let me go.”

“Youse ain’t going nowhere,” Monk said. “Not until you tell us who sent ya. Coppers or Five Pointers or Dusters? Which one youse working for, huh? Take her upstairs instead, Kid. I’ll get to her in a minute.”

I was vacillating between playing the weak and helpless female and doing my Queen Victoria impersonation, haughty and aggrieved. I thought the second might have more chance.

“Will you get it into your heads that nobody sent me? You are making a horrible mistake,” I shouted as Kid twisted my arm behind my back and shoved me out of the door. “I’m an ordinary Irish girl—the name is Molly Murphy. I was asking about Michael Kelly because he’s married to a sort of cousin of mine and I understood they had arrived in New York recently, and the young boy who lives with me, Seamus O’Connor, offered to come down to this part of town and try to find Michael for me. That’s all. Nothing complicated about it.”

We were halfway along that hallway when doors burst open. Whistles were blown and suddenly the hall was full of blue uniforms. “Cops!” I heard someone shout. I could hear the crash of chairs turning over and hasty footsteps up above our heads.

The hand released my twisted arm.

“What the hell do youse tink you’re doing busting in like this?” I heard Monk behind me shouting. “Dis is a respectable social club.”

“And I’m the president of the United States,” the policeman said. “The chief would like a word, Monk, if you can spare the time. All nice and friendly like.”

“Your chief is asking for trouble.” Monk almost spat out the words. “Youse guys know youse can’t touch me. Bring me in and Tammany’s going to hear about it, I promise you. Then you’ll see what heads are going to roll.”

“I told you, it’s a friendly chat, Monk. Nothing more. Nobody’s talking about arrest.”

“Then get the damned cuffs off me.”

“Just making sure you don’t do a bunk on us. Now into the wagon nice and easy and you’ll be back home in no time at all.”

Monk was manhandled out the front door, followed by a squirming Kid. I heard feet on the stairs and saw officers bringing down more men. It was only then that they appeared to notice me.

“What about the dame?” one of them asked.

“Bring her too.”

“I’m not one of them,” I said angrily. “In fact you’ve just rescued me. They dragged me in here.”

I saw two of the constables exchange a grin. “Out you go, girlie, and no tricks.”

I was escorted out to a waiting paddy wagon and shoved into the back with five or six members of the Eastmans.

“Whoever did this is going to be very sorry,” Monk said as the horses got up to speed and we were thrown around. “Who do they tink they’re messing with? Why do they tink I pay them protection money, huh?”

It was a mercifully short ride. As we were taken out, I saw that we were at Mulberry Street headquarters. Up the steps and into the building.

“What have we got here?” a bewhiskered sergeant asked.

“Five Eastmans and one of their molls. Chief wanted a word.”

“I am not anyone’s moll,” I said, stepping away from the column of men. “They dragged me into their building and the coming of your men actually rescued me.” I weighed up whether to use Daniel’s name, and decided that he owed me a favor. “You can ask Captain Sullivan if you like. He’ll vouch for me.”

“Is Captain Sullivan in the building?” one of the arresting officers asked.

“I think he just stepped out for a bite to eat,” the sergeant said. “Put her in a holding cell until he gets back. Oh wait, speak of the devil . . .”

Daniel Sullivan had come in through the front door. “What’s going on here, O’Malley?” he asked. He recognized the largest of the prisoners. “To what do we owe this honor, Monk? Gracing us with your presence?”

“Go to hell, Sullivan, and tell your chief he’d better watch the way he picks on innocent citizens or he’s going to be sorry. Tell him next time to send a hansom cab for me. The seats in your Black Maria are too hard—besides, I got my reputation to consider!”

“Please escort Mr. Eastman and his friends upstairs and let the chief know they’re here,” Daniel said.

“And the girl, sir. Says she knows you.”

Daniel looked at me and I saw his eyes open wide in astonishment. “Molly—what in heaven’s name have you been doing with yourself now?”

“Minding my own business, until these gentlemen pounced on me and dragged me into their building.”

“You know her then, sir?” the sergeant asked.

“Oh yes, I know her,” Daniel said, glaring at me angrily. “Take her up to my office. I’ll talk to her later.”

I tried to protest. I was escorted up the stairs and sat on the hard chair in Daniel’s glass-fronted cubicle, waiting for him. At least Monk Eastman and several of his men were now in custody. Maybe they could be persuaded to reveal if they had done anything with Shamey. I tried not to think what might have happened to him. Now that all the excitement was over, I found I was shivering. I had never seen Daniel look so angry.

At last he came storming up the stairs. “What in God’s name have you been doing, woman?” he shouted at me. “Do you know who those men are?”

“Yes, I do. Monk Eastman and his gang.”

“And didn’t I warn you about gangs? Didn’t I tell you about the turf war going on at this moment and the struggles for the cocaine business, not to mention the white slave trade? What on earth possessed you? You’re lucky to be alive.”

“I know that,” I said.

“If you don’t give up this absurd notion of yours, I’m going to have you arrested and shipped back to Ireland as a public nuisance—do I make myself clear?”

I knew this was a threat he wouldn’t carry out but, all the same, it brought me up with a jolt. I could never go back to Ireland, where there was a price on my head.

I decided to try humility for once. “I’m sorry, Daniel. I knew I was asking for trouble, but I was looking for young Seamus O’Connor. He’s been running errands for the Eastmans and I was worried about him.”

“Seamus O’Connor—the boy you brought over from Ireland?”

I nodded. “His no-good cousins got him mixed up with a gang.”

“And Molly, the champion, took it into her head to go and find him, single-handed? Sometimes I think you were born with a death wish.”

“I had no option, Daniel. I acted because I thought the boy was in danger—the boy is probably still in danger.”

“You could have come to me.” His voice was quieter now. He was gazing at me steadily.

“When will you get it into your head that I cannot keep running to you for help?”

“Are we not still friends?” he said. “And friends can ask each other for a favor.”

“Oh yes, and I can picture Miss Arabella allowing you to have friends like me,” I said angrily. “For one thing, I don’t wear the right sort of clothes.”

I saw him try to stifle the grin. “I’m really sorry about the other Sunday,” he said. “It must have been very unpleasant for you.”

“No more pleasant for you, I’d warrant,” I said, smiling also now.

“You behaved perfectly. I was most grateful.”

“And you could have taken the opportunity to tell Arabella the truth. You could have said, ‘This is the woman I love. I can’t marry you.’ But you didn’t.”

“No, and I despise myself for it. I suppose you are right. My career does mean a lot to me. If Arabella felt I had betrayed her, she would not rest until she had ruined me completely.”

“And yet you could end up married to such a woman? Certainly a pleasing prospect.”

He shrugged and looked away. “I will tell her, I promise. The time has to be right.”

“This is no time to be discussing our unhappy situation,” I said. “Not while young Shamey O’Connor may be in danger.” I got up from my hard chair. “I must go, Daniel, if I’m permitted to do so and not to be charged as a gangster’s moll. I must continue looking for the boy.”

He put his hand on my sleeve. “Molly, I thought we’d been through this before.”

“All right,” I said. “Seeing that you owe me a favor for my good behavior and for holding my tongue that Sunday—you find the boy for me.”

“I will do that. Where was he last seen?”

“He went to get some information from the Eastmans for me.”

“You sent a child to the Eastmans?”

“Hold your horses—all right, I’m not feeling so wonderful about it myself now, but it seemed like a good idea at the time. This child has been used by them as a messenger. I thought he’d come to no harm and he might get more out of them than I would. I’ve been trying to locate a man called Michael Kelly, newly come from Ireland. I have reason to believe he may have joined the Eastmans. Young Shamey was going to find out for me, seeing that he knew about their haunts.”

Daniel made a tut-tutting noise but said nothing and got out his pad. “Description of the boy?”

I gave it to him. “And while you’re about it, I’ve got a picture of Michael Kelly. You could make inquiries about him too—find out if he is known to the Eastmans.”

I fished for it in my bag.

Daniel studied it. “Not unlike me,” he said. “Not quite as good looking, of course.” I went to slap him playfully and withdrew my hand at the last second. “And why are you looking for him?”

“Part of my missing person’s business,” I said. “He ran off with a girl of good family. Here is her picture—her name is Katherine Faversham, or was before she married Michael Kelly. The father wants her found.”

“I’m not surprised if she’s run off with a gangster.” He took the portrait from me, stared at it for a moment, then handed it back. “Not a bad-looking girl either. A little haughty for my taste.”

I was about to remind him that Arabella Norton spent her life looking down her nose at the rest of us, but I decided to concentrate on more important matters. “All I’ve been able to trace so far is that they lived on Division Street until about three weeks ago, when they did a bunk, leaving rent unpaid. I heard a rumor that he might have joined the Eastmans.”

“And how did you hear that?”

“Local tavern,” I said breezily and watched Daniel sigh again.

“All right,” he said. “I’ll do what I can. I don’t think the Eastmans would stoop to killing children—although who knows? They’ve been pretty violent in their actions recently. We’ve had a body brought into the morgue almost every day, although they’ve all been men. They have a different fate for women.” He frowned at me again. “But for that police raid, you might never have been seen again, my dear.” He turned away. “Can I make you swear to me that you will never do such a foolish thing again?”

“I’ll try to behave more sensibly,” I said, moved by his emotion.

“I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you.” He reached out and stroked my cheek. I wished he hadn’t done that. Any other gesture and I could have handled it. This was so tender that tears welled to my eyes. Instinctively I covered his hand with my own and held it to my cheek. Then I controlled myself, brushed his hand away, and rushed from his office. “I’ve got a lost boy to find,” I said.

Eleven

I
was not looking forward to going back to Patchin Place and telling Seamus that I had lost his son, but I didn’t want worry him just as much by staying away.

I turned back to Daniel, who was guiding me down the stairs. “You will do what you can, won’t you? He’s just a little boy. He may think he knows his way around the city but he really hasn’t been here long and . . .” I let the “and” hang in the air.

Daniel put his hand on my shoulder. “I’m sure he’ll be all right. You know boys. He’s found a pal and gone off with him, or he’s gone back to his cousins’ place.”

The latter hadn’t occurred to me. Nuala’s place was not too far away. If Shamey had found himself in a spot of bother, he might well have run there for protection. I should have thought of that.

“I’ll try the cousins myself,” I said. “I can do that without getting myself into any kind of trouble.”

Daniel’s lips twitched in a smile. “Yes, I imagine so. I’ll put men out onto the streets straight away, and I’ll have a little talk with Monk and his friends too, just in case they know something they are not telling you.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“And Molly, please—” Daniel began.

“I know, take care of myself,” I finished for him. “I’ll have to, won’t I, since I’ve no one else to care for me.”

At that moment a great voice boomed up from the basement beneath us.

“Why don’t you pick on someone your own size, you big bullies? Frightening tender young children to death like that!”

I recognized the voice and broke away from Daniel, hurrying down the stone stairs into the darkness. I heard a policeman shout, “Hey, you, where are you going?” but I didn’t stop.

At the end of a dark, dank hallway Nuala was standing, arms folded in defiance over a considerably smaller police constable.

“Let them out of there this minute, or I won’t be responsible for me actions, so help me God,” she said, unfolding her arms and giving every indication of winding up to take a swing.

“Nuala!” I called, relieved for the only time in my life to see her. “Have they got the boys down there? Is Shamey with them?”

“Locked them away like hardened criminals and all for a bit of boyish fun,” she said.

I ran toward her. Shamey’s scared face peered out at me from behind the bars.

“What’s all this about?” I asked the constable, who now looked doubly scared at having to confront two angry women.

“They were identified as the gang that broke up a fruit vendor’s stall this morning,” he muttered.

“A gang you call them?” Nuala’s beefy arm tensed again. “Nothing more than boyish high spirits. Have you got nothing better to do with your time or are you afraid to go after the real criminals?”

Daniel had come to my side. “What’s going on?” he asked.

I pointed to the cell. “Shamey is in there,” I said. “Apparently he helped his cousins to smash up a fruit stall.”

“We didn’t mean no harm,” Malachy, the oldest cousin said.

“Honest, Officer, we was just foolin’ around,” James, the second cousin added.

“Of course you meant harm,” Daniel said coldly. “You were being paid for it, weren’t you? You don’t have to tell me. I know. The Eastmans like to pay kids to do their dirty work, then you get caught, not them. They had you smash up the stall because the owner wouldn’t pay his protection money, didn’t they?” He walked up to the bars. “Take a good look around you, boys. Do you like the look of this place, because it’s not half as bad as some of the cells in the Tombs down the street, and that’s where you’ll be spending most of your lives, if you are foolish enough to mix with gangs. If you live long enough, that is. Would you like to see how many bodies I’ve got lying on a marble slab in the morgue right now? Gang members, every one of them.”

He nodded to the constable who produced a key. “I’m going to let you out this time, but if I find you in here again, then you’ll be very sorry.”

The door was opened. Nuala’s two boys ran into her arms. “He said he’d throw away the key, Ma,” Malachy sniveled.

Nuala hugged them fiercely. “Let’s go home, boys, before these no-good bullies change their minds. But if I ever hear about you working with a gang again, I’ll knock your blocks off, so help me God.” She drove them like sheep ahead of her up the stone steps. Shamey stood there outside the cell, looking up at me with big, frightened eyes.

“And as for you, Seamus,” Daniel said, glaring at him. “You remember me, don’t you?”

Shamey sniffed and nodded. “You’re Captain Sullivan. You used to come visiting when we lived with Molly before.”

“I’m a very important policeman, Seamus, and I’ve got my spies all over the city. If I ever hear that you’ve had anything to do with gangs again, then you’re going to be very sorry indeed. We’ve even worse prisons than this, you know. This one’s like Coney Island compared to the Tombs. So do I have your word that you’ll not make Molly worry about you again?”

“She asked me to go and talk to the Eastmans,” Shamey said, a hint of defiance returning.

“She didn’t realize how stupidly dangerous that was. Now she does. She’ll not be asking you to do a foolish thing like that again, I can promise you. Now go home, the both of you, and let me get on with my work.”

“Let’s go, Shamey,” I said gently. “There’s sausage and mash keeping hot in the oven.”

He nodded. I spared his dignity by not taking his hand as we walked up the stairs. At the top I looked back at Daniel. He was watching me with such an intense look of longing on his face that it gripped at my heart. For once he was the one suffering. Good.

Once outside I put my arm around Shamey. “You’ve had quite a fright, haven’t you?” I said. “I blame myself for sending you to do something that was stupidly dangerous. I’ll never do that again. I’m sorry.”

“The police were watching the place and they grabbed us,” he said. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to ask about that guy for you, Molly.” Then, a few steps later, “Does my father have to know?”

“I don’t think we need to worry him, do you?” I said. “We’ll tell him that you went home with the cousins and Nuala invited you to stay to supper.”

A beaming smile spread across his face. “And it was so good I forgot to come home,” he finished for me, then burst out laughing. It is hard to keep the young downhearted for long. I, on the other hand, had some serious thinking to do. My thoughtless behavior today had brought me to the notice of the Eastmans. They had been looking for me, maybe they’d come looking for me again. I would have to tread very carefully in the future.

The next morning I took Shamey and his sister and personally enrolled them in the local school. “And if I hear you’ve been playing truant, it will be bread and water for a week,” I said, giving Shamey my severest stare.

As I walked home, I was unsure what to do next. I had to hope that Daniel would keep his promise and find out about Michael and Katherine for me. Until then, I had nothing to do. After those weeks at the sweatshop, it was a strange feeling. I went to have coffee and rolls with Sid and Gus and recounted my adventure with the Eastmans. They were suitably impressed.

As the weekend approached and still no word from Daniel, I realized that I could wait no longer—I would have to apply at Lowenstein’s on Monday morning, or I’d miss the crucial moment when the new designs were finished. And if Daniel hadn’t found out any more about Michael and Katherine for me, then I’d just have to do it for myself, even if I was putting myself in danger.

I was walking the children to Washington Square on Saturday afternoon to play with a new whipping top Sid had bought for Seamus when I saw a young police constable striding up Patchin Place.

“Miss Murphy?” He stopped and saluted. “I was told to deliver this by Captain Sullivan. He told me to apologize that he hasn’t the time to deliver it himself, but he said to tell you that he’s had no sleep all week, what with this gang business.” He handed me a slim envelope, saluted, and went back the way he had come. I stood fighting back the disappointment that Daniel himself hadn’t delivered the note. I kept making splendid resolutions never to see Daniel again, then was down in the dumps when I didn’t. This had to stop.

I tore open the envelope. It contained a few lines scrawled in Daniel’s sloping script, obviously written in haste:

Sorry that the news is not happier for you: Michael Kelly was indeed loosely connected with the Eastmans for a short while. They claim to have no knowledge of where he is now or what happened to him. However, one of the cadavers found in a gangland back alley certainly bears a resemblance to your photograph. I cannot give you positive proof, as the skull was smashed with great force, but he was of the same height, build, and coloring. Of course he had no identification on him and nobody has come forward to claim the body.

I fear the news on Katherine is no better. A young woman was pulled from the East River three weeks ago. She also had no identification on her, but was described as fair skinned, light brown hair, blue eyes, about five feet, four inches. She was also pregnant—do you know if this was the case?

It seems likely that Michael was killed and Katherine threw herself into the river in a fit of despair. Both were buried in the potter’s field so we have no way of verifying either identity.

It was signed simply, Daniel.

I stood staring at it until Shamey pulled at my jacket. “Aren’t we going to play in the square, Molly? You promised to show me how to make my top go fast.”

I came out of my reverie. “Yes, of course. We’re on our way.” I thrust the letter into my pocket and took Bridie’s hand as we crossed the street. So the case was closed. I was not looking forward to writing to Katherine’s father with this worst of all news.

We reached the park and I demonstrated how to whip a top with great expertise.

“There. Now you do it,” I said.

“Let’s play tag, Molly,” Bridie yelled. “You catch me!”

“Not right now, sweetheart,” I said. “Molly doesn’t feel like playing at this moment.”

I stood watching them run through dead leaves, hearing their whoops of exuberance and started the letter to Major Faversham in my mind. “It is with deep regret that I have to inform you that your daughter appears to have met an untimely end.”

It was a pity that I couldn’t confirm the awful truth. It would leave the parents never being completely sure. It did seem to be the most logical answer, however. Either Michael had crossed the Eastmans or run afoul of a rival gang and wound up dead in an alleyway. But I couldn’t believe that Katherine had drowned herself in despair. That girl in the photograph with the proud stare and determined chin didn’t look as if she would give in so easily. She had, after all, dared to leave a life of privilege to run off with a family servant. That took spunk. Being pregnant and alone in a strange city, and in grief for her new husband too, might have driven her over the edge, but I just couldn’t see Katherine flinging herself into the East River. If she truly had wound up in there, then somebody else threw her in. Which meant that I should look into this a little further.

Hold your horses, I told myself severely. I had promised myself never again to get involved in a criminal case. I was not the police. I could share my suspicions with Daniel and he could look into it or not as he chose. My work on this case was done. I had located Michael and Katherine and now I all had to do was report the sorry news and collect my fee. It left a bad taste in my mouth, but that was that. On to Lowenstein’s in the morning and back to a life of drudgery.

“You’re no fun today, Molly,” Shamey said, tugging at my skirt.