Hell's Gate (34 page)

He'd made his way back to the bow on the promenade deck, coming back down from the topmost hurricane deck when he saw Ginny again, standing against the rail, a woman at her side and two children close by. He picked his way through the crowd, dodging a boy running after a ball and tipping his hat to a distinguished-looking lady with a parasol.

“Ginny,” Mike said behind her. “Ginny?” The way he said it was like nothing she'd ever heard. There was longing in his voice, a desperate tightening of the throat as he stepped off into the space of her name. His relief at finding no one lurking in dark corners flooded through him when he saw her and realized as if for the first time that he'd have her all to himself for the entire day. It seemed almost too perfect to bear.

“Hello, Mike,” she whispered, “Everything okay?”

Esther watched spellbound, her children tugging to go for ice cream.

“Yeah. Looks that way,” he said, staring at her in the morning light.

“What?” she asked, looking at him with a curious frown.

“Nothing,” Mike answered. “I'm just so damn lucky, that's all.”

“I guess,” she said with a little smile. “Oh, I'm sorry, this is Esther and her children, Emily and Josh. I told you they were coming.”

Mike took Esther's hand. “And I'm glad you did,” he said.

*   *   *

The
Slocum
's steam whistle blew twice, signaling for the last of the stragglers while Reverend Haas waited, suddenly alone at the top of the gangway.

“Esther, Ginny tells me you work at the factory. How is it? I heard it was the most modern of its type when it was built.”

Esther looked at the children and whispered “It's a little piece o' hell if you gotta know. But there's worse lemme tell ya. I do okay,” she said with a shrug. “Helps put bread on the table.”

“Oh, maybe I should take this beard off,” Mike said. “I don't think I'll need it now.” He got it off quickly, to the stares of some, and stuffed it and the glasses into a pocket. Ginny reached out to touch his face. It was better, but the scars hadn't healed entirely. A small, angry, red pucker was on one side, a larger one on the other. “Do they hurt?”

“Not now,” he answered. “Everything's perfect.”

He kissed her then under the brim of her snow-white hat, and she was helpless not to kiss him back. She pulled away for a moment, digging in her bag. “I have something to show you,” she said. It was the note he'd scrawled the first night at the hospital, folded into a lacquered snuffbox. “I kept it.”

Mike buried his face in her neck and pulled her close. “I know all your secrets,” he said into the hollow of her neck, the words vibrating into her like ripples on a pond.

“It's not fair,” she whispered back. “Now you have to tell me yours.”

*   *   *

Esther's kids were tugging and whining for ice cream and she finally had to give in. “I'll meet ya later back by the band,” Esther said over her shoulder as Emily and Josh pulled her away. “Have fun you two.”

46

“SEE HIM YET?” the Bottler asked McManus. They had placed themselves in a lower compartment with a porthole overlooking the dock. “You asked Carl if they left together?” Woertz had followed Ginny and Mary home from the hospital days before, had been watching the Braddock place once Mike had been released. He'd called that morning with the news that Ginny and Mike were on their way.

“'Course I did. 'E just got out of the fucking hospital, so it makes sense he'd come. Carl said Braddock's got a beard an' glasses.”

“Maybe he grew it in the hospital to hide the scars. Could be the shot to the head scrambled his eyesight, too.”

Jack shrugged. “I hope. Anyhow, wha' da fuck, if he don't show, there's always anudder way. We can get 'im any time now he's out an' about. I done it before an' I can do it again.”

The Bottler frowned. “Like the last time?”

*   *   *

The
General Slocum
pulled out to midchannel and shuddered as the huge engine was brought up to three-quarter speed, the massive piston thumping in the bowels of the ship, the sidewheels churning the green water into foam, where seagulls dove for fish and flotsam. A cool breeze developed as the ship started to move upstream, smoke belching from its tall twin stacks. Esther and the children had disappeared into the crowd. The city began to slip by, the Williamsburg Bridge appearing ribbonlike as it curved over the river in their wake. The breeze ruffled Ginny's hair and pulled at the broad brim of her hat, which she tied down again for fear it might fly off. Children shrieked and ran, their feet stampeding across the three decks in playful thunder as bartenders started to pull beers. Cooks began preparing a huge kettle of chowder for the picnic and stokers shoveled coal into the boiler. The city, which for many had never been seen from this perspective, seemed oddly quiet, the horsecars, the police whistles, the hammering of never-ending construction, the rumble of freight wagons, the shriek of steam engines, the honking of automobile horns all silent in the distance. Tenements, mansions, warehouses, office buildings, monuments, and skyscrapers shouldered one another for every square inch, were seemingly built one atop the other, and there was hardly a tree to be seen. A gray-brown pall of coal smoke hung over all, a choking blanket of progress taken in with every breath. In the middle of the river the air seemed cleaner, the breeze bracing. The lungs of the
Slocum
's 1,300 passengers breathed a little easier. Fourteenth Street passed, then Twenty-third and Thirty-fourth and the cares of the city were slowly left behind while Professor George Maurer's German Band played songs that set toes tapping and young girls dancing.

They were watching the city pass by, leaning on the rail in a moment of silence, when Ginny looked to her left. A man was there by the rail, a man she recognized, but she could not say from where and couldn't put a name to the face. Still, it didn't seem to be a pleasant memory. Mike noticed the man just beyond Ginny's shoulder a moment later as Ginny turned her back to the stranger. It was the Bottler, and at the same instant Mike felt something hard in the small of his back.

“Got my tickets, huh?” a voice said in his ear. “Don' do nothin' stupid an' da twist don't get hurt. We's gonna take a walk, see.”

Mike was about to move when he saw the muzzle of a pistol peeking from under a folded newspaper pointed at Ginny's back. He stopped and said, “I'll do what you want, Jack. But—”

“But nothin'. Da twist comes along, see. Too bad fer her, but good fer us, hey?”

The Bottler, who had his pistol on Ginny's back, nudged her in the right direction with a warning. “Nothin' funny now, miss. We don' want to hurt you. You're going to be just fine,” he said it low, but loud enough for Mike to hear, and that at least was some slight comfort.

They descended two levels to the lamp room, unnoticed amid the crush of revelers and their children. Mike's mind frantically searched for options. He'd have taken his chances if he'd been alone, would have gone for his gun, probably once they were on the stairs, where he'd have had a slight advantage. But with Ginny in the equation, he could think of nothing that wouldn't put her life in danger.

“So you're playing both sides, huh, Jack,” he said. “How long you think it'll take Paul Kelly to figure this out?”

“What Paul don' know could fill a fuckin' book. Da Bottler's got a sweet operation goin'. Dis boat's gonna put us where not even Paul can touch us. Smugglin', gamblin', whorin,' and a little bare-knuckle now an' again, an' we all make money like we're printin' da stuff.”

“Jack—” the Bottler started to say, but McManus shrugged off the caution.

“Don' worry. Dis mug ain't tellin' nobody nothin'. An' da twist'll be fucking fer Carl tomorra.”

“Carl Woertz?” The name burst from Ginny's throat. Mike almost stopped in his tracks, but got a jab in the ribs with the muzzle of Jack's gun that kept him moving.

Once down below the main deck, there were no passengers to be seen and it was easy to disarm Mike without attracting any attention.

“Youse got a cannon? Hand it over,” Jack said. “Slow! Wit' two fingas.” Mike did as he was told, handing over the new Colt gingerly, grinding his teeth. “Youse got a new one,” Jack said with delight. “You got a bad habit o' losin' yer popper, donchya?”

He chuckled as the Bottler opened a door and backed inside, keeping his gun on Ginny.

Mike followed with Jack behind. “So what poor slob got killed in your place, Bottler?” Mike asked as he went in. A kerosene lamp was the only light in the cluttered lamp room. Mike didn't see all of it and never got an answer to his question. Jack brought the butt of his pistol down hard on the back of his head and the light went out.

*   *   *

Mike regained consciousness as Jack was tying his feet together. There was blood in his eye and a wad of rag in his mouth tied with a gag. He was back-to-back with Ginny, hands tied tight. Ginny was calling him, as best she could, wiggling against him and poking him with her fingers. “Ugh,” he managed as the room spun. His doctor had warned him about undue exertions and further traumas to the head, and he supposed this would qualify. Colors swam and McManus went in and out of focus.

“Got yer attention, you fuckin' piece o' shit? Now, youse're gonna stay in a nice little bundle fer a while,” he said as he stood. “We'll be back in a bit, so you sit tight now.”

Mike remembered his backup pistol, strapped to his ankle. There was at least some hope he'd be able to get to it and surprise Jack and the Bottler when they got back. His hopes rose until Jack turned around and Mike saw the butt of his .32 poking from Jack's jacket pocket. The door closed and the lock clicked into place.

It seemed as though hours passed as Mike and Ginny worked at their bonds with little result. Jack apparently had some experience with tying his victims and they made no progress until Mike spotted a nail protruding from a packing crate on the other side of the room. They had to get up, but it was no easy task to get their feet under them and push themselves erect back-to-back. It took at least five tries, punctuated by slips, falls, and bruises, but at last they were standing. They shuffled to the nail and began to rub the ropes that bound their hands, picking them apart one strand at a time. It was awkward and they had to hold their arms at a painful angle, but they made progress. Mike lost count of the times he stabbed himself or Ginny with that nail. Their wrists were bloody in minutes. With each footstep in the corridor, with every bump and noise, they expected to see McManus burst through the door and their only chance evaporate. Finally, one of the ropes was cut and they struggled almost frantically to be free of them, writhing together and working hard while the bonds fought their every effort, clinging to their wrists.

When at last their hands were free, and their gags off, they clung to each other, trembling with the effort. Sweating and shaking, Ginny gasped, “Oh, my God, Mike. They're going to kill us when they come back. What're we going to do?”

Mike saw a crowbar on a shelf that had probably been used to open the packing crates and he reached for it. They both heard a key in the lock, saw the knob turn as Mike got his hand on the cold steel. But their ankles were still tied and they were too far from the door. It opened and Jack stepped in. All Mike could do was lunge. It was more of a jump actually, and he propelled himself across the room with all the energy that was in him, swinging the crowbar as he did. Startled, Jack raised his injured hand. The crowbar crunched into it and a howl of pain was ripped from Jack's throat as Mike tumbled into his legs, knocking Jack off his feet and smashing him into the wall. He rolled and scrambled to his feet, Mike swinging wildly. But Jack's back was now turned to Ginny and she threw a can of linseed oil at him, a full gallon can that must have weighed at least ten pounds. It hit him in the back, knocking him off balance and bursting open, soaking his back. Mike had rolled to his knees and swung at Jack's leg, seeing it buckle under his blow. Eat-'em-up Jack McManus collapsed against the crate where the kerosene lamp sat. It crashed against the wall, spilling kerosene across the floor, soaking the straw packing that littered the floor.

The straw burst into flame, lighting the hem of Ginny's dress. She swatted at it as Mike flailed again at Jack, hitting something soft, getting a kick in return. He had time to aim his next blow and it smashed Jack's shin like dried cordwood. McManus rolled with a deep grunt of pain, almost a moan. He somehow got to his knees, reaching for his pistol, when the crowbar came down again with a sickening crunch, breaking his arm and setting Jack to shrieking. Another blow put an end to his noise. Mike hit him twice more in the ribs for good measure as Ginny tried to extinguish her dress.

Mike fell panting and exhausted across Jack's body, almost losing consciousness until Ginny cried out. The fire was spreading, fueled by the lamp oil and straw. Smoke billowed and started to cloud the room. Mike worked at the ropes on his feet, his fear growing as smoke bloomed at the ceiling. He could feel the heat on his cheek, his scar burning as if on fire itself. Mike got himself free, and worked on her ropes, freeing her a moment later. Mike retrieved his and Jack's pistols, and they staggered out the door and closed it behind them. Mike had thought for a moment about pulling Jack out into the hallway, but instead ran for a fire hose, Ginny behind him. It was a small fire at that point and he had no doubt it could be extinguished in short order. With Jack in custody and with Kelk and Van Tassel to back him up, he'd find the Bottler and put an end to everything.

A boy on the deck above saw a puff of smoke escaping the stairs and alerted a deckhand. The deckhand descended to the level of the lamp room just moments after Mike and Ginny ran to find a fire hose. Seeing the smoke seeping from under the lamp room door, he opened it wide. The sudden burst of air fanned the small fire like a giant bellows and it exploded toward the door and the flood of oxygen. He didn't have time to see McManus. Horrified, he ran to alert the first mate, but didn't close the door.