Authors: Richard E. Crabbe
Suspension (56 page)
They were released by about nine in the morning, when they hobbled out into the bright sunlight, blinking like a couple of raccoons. The local cops had retrieved some clothes from their hotel, and then gave them a ride to the hospital, where a doctor looked at their feet. Iodine and bandages swathed their feet when they left the hospital. Getting their shoes on when they got back to
the hotel was a painful chore. They made arrangements to take the next steamer back to New York and, with the assistance of a telegram from Byrnes, got a promise of cooperation from the Richmond police.
the hotel was a painful chore. They made arrangements to take the next steamer back to New York and, with the assistance of a telegram from Byrnes, got a promise of cooperation from the Richmond police.
“What's your guess on whether we ever find out who those guys were, Eli?” Tom asked while he changed his bandages later that day.
“Well,” Jaffey said slowly, “my uncle used to say that you can't find gold in a coal mine.”
Tom laughed grimly. “Your uncle sounds like a wise man. Five to one we never get anything of value on those two.” He paused for a minute, thinking. “Now that Sangree, on the other hand, we need to squeeze him like a ripe melon.” Tom hoped his follow-up telegram to Dolan and Heidelberg accomplished what he wanted.
“You figure they'll catch him?” Eli asked.
“Shit ⦠I just don't know. He could have cleared out as soon as we left his office two days ago. Be long gone by now. We'll see tomorrow. Done everything we can for now.”
L
ater, on the steamer back to New York, Eli grumbled, “Well, that was a big waste of time. Nearly got ourselves killed and didn't learn a damn thing.”
ater, on the steamer back to New York, Eli grumbled, “Well, that was a big waste of time. Nearly got ourselves killed and didn't learn a damn thing.”
Tom looked at him as if he'd grown a second head. “You think so, eh?” Jaffey would have caught the edge to his voice if he'd known Braddock better.
“Well, yeah. What the hell did we learn actually ⦠I mean, hard facts?”
Tom shook his head slowly, like a teacher with a slow pupil. “Learned plenty. First, this is bigger than we expected. Second, it involves far more people at a variety of levels, especially in this town. Third, Sangree's probably in it up to his eyeballs, whatever it is. That's just off the top of my head. I think we did pretty well, all things considered. We're alive, for one thing, which beats hell out of the alternative. Didn't get much hard facts, I'll admit, but we know more than we did before. You notice the farewell committee at the dock?”
“The two across the street by the tobacco warehouse?” Eli asked. “I thought they were a little too interested in us.”
“Yeah. This bunch has things buttoned up tighter than a flea's asshole. Wish I knew what the fuck was going on.” Tom shook his head. “One thing's for damn sure, Eli; this has got to be more than some fucking contract fraud.”
“Yeah, but what?” Jaffey winced as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
Tom just grunted. He didn't want to voice the word that came to mind. Instead he just muttered, “We're lucky to be leaving town standing up, my friend.”
M
ike's grandmother had left the apartment early to deliver the lace she'd been working on to a store over on Hester. After that she was going to some woman's house she was making a dress for, and stop somewhere to buy more cloth and lace-making stuff. Mike hadn't paid much attention. It was clear she'd be out for a while, and that's about as much as he was interested in knowing. As usual, he kept a chair, their sturdiest, propped against the door. Though he hadn't seen another threatening-looking man in the neighborhood for weeks, he still felt it was a good idea to be careful. A scare like he'd had out by the jakes had a way of sticking in the back of his head and coming back to give him a chill now and again. It had scared him enough so that he'd gotten in the habit of taking precautions. He'd double around the block before he went in the front door, and sometimes he'd cut through from the back street, navigating the maze of fences, outhouses, and litter-strewn lots behind his building. He was always careful on the stairs and at the landings, cautiously peering around corners. He even had some special plans, just in case.
ike's grandmother had left the apartment early to deliver the lace she'd been working on to a store over on Hester. After that she was going to some woman's house she was making a dress for, and stop somewhere to buy more cloth and lace-making stuff. Mike hadn't paid much attention. It was clear she'd be out for a while, and that's about as much as he was interested in knowing. As usual, he kept a chair, their sturdiest, propped against the door. Though he hadn't seen another threatening-looking man in the neighborhood for weeks, he still felt it was a good idea to be careful. A scare like he'd had out by the jakes had a way of sticking in the back of his head and coming back to give him a chill now and again. It had scared him enough so that he'd gotten in the habit of taking precautions. He'd double around the block before he went in the front door, and sometimes he'd cut through from the back street, navigating the maze of fences, outhouses, and litter-strewn lots behind his building. He was always careful on the stairs and at the landings, cautiously peering around corners. He even had some special plans, just in case.
Mike had been counting the change he'd managed to hold onto from selling coal. There was less of it than there had been. The allure of the candies by Brower's front counter had whittled his pile some. Still, he had shepherded his little hoard carefully and had enough to buy some stuff when he and Tom went to Barnum's. A light knock at the front door startled him, and he swept the change off his bed and into a jar before he went to answer it. He didn't expect it was any bad men, not in broad daylight, but still you couldn't be too sure. He bent to peer through the small hole he'd drilled in the door. He'd done it weeks before with his da's old drill ⦠just in case. Before he even said anything to answer whoever was knocking, he took a quick look. At first all he could see was a dark coat, as if the wearer were listening at the door. It was that close. But then the person stepped back and knocked again, rapping right above Mike's head, and he could see the man. It was a little clerkish-looking fellow, with small glasses and a neat bow tie. He looked harmless enough.
“Wait a minute,” Mike called through the door. He pulled the chair aside a little, unlocked the lock, and opened the door about a foot. “Whadya want, mister?”
The man gave him an insipid smile as Mike peered up at him, the kind of smile that adults give to kids they don't want to be bothered with. Mike knew it well.
“Is Mrs. Bucklkin at home, son?” the man asked solicitously. Mike hesitated. There was something he didn't like about this man. He didn't answer,
and the man went on. “I'm from the coroner's office. I have some things that belonged to Terrence Bucklin. This is the Bucklin residence, isn't it?”
and the man went on. “I'm from the coroner's office. I have some things that belonged to Terrence Bucklin. This is the Bucklin residence, isn't it?”
“Yeah,” Mike answered warily. He remembered his grandma going to get his da's things a long time ago, back when she got his body. “My grandma's not home,” he said before he realized it, then tried to make it better by saying “She'll be home real soon.”
“So, you're the man of the house for now?” the man said. “Mind if I come in and wait for your grandmother?” A foot was now over the threshold. Mike started to back up, then stopped. For the first time he noticed the man's hand was in his coat pocket. Something was in the pocket along with that hand, something long and pointy. It was pointy enough so that just the tip of it was poking out through the seam. It gleamed for an instant, then disappeared as, in slow motion, the hand came out. Mike's instincts were sharp for a boy of ten. He slammed his heel down as hard as he could on the foot and slammed the door in the man's face an instant later. A cursing grunt of pain came through the door and a hopping sound. Mike slid the lock into place and was bracing the chair under the knob when something crashed into the door. Splinters flew as a length of blade sliced through the old wood just near his face. Mike retreated, watching in frozen fascination as the door was hit again and again. He saw the door flex, the door jamb start to crack. It wouldn't hold long, he knew. He turned at last and ran to their bedroom at the back of the tenement, slamming the door behind him, pushing a chair against it and a small bureau against that. He needed time.
B
art Jacobs wasn't a big man. Though the door was old and loose on its hinges, it still took too much time before he felt it give way. All the while he cursed the kid and the throbbing pain in his foot where the boy had stomped him. With a final shove he sent the chair skittering across the room and the door slamming back against the wall. He rushed into the room, his knife held out, ready to skewer the little bastard. There was nothing to be seen, but a noise at the back of the apartment brought him around and running. He threw himself at the closed door which opened halfway with a crash of furniture behind. A second shove and he was through. He stood there panting, searching this way and that. There was nothing in the room but the chair and bureau and the single bed. He bent to look under it, sweeping his knife back and forth, not caring what he hit, so long as it was flesh. Nothing.
art Jacobs wasn't a big man. Though the door was old and loose on its hinges, it still took too much time before he felt it give way. All the while he cursed the kid and the throbbing pain in his foot where the boy had stomped him. With a final shove he sent the chair skittering across the room and the door slamming back against the wall. He rushed into the room, his knife held out, ready to skewer the little bastard. There was nothing to be seen, but a noise at the back of the apartment brought him around and running. He threw himself at the closed door which opened halfway with a crash of furniture behind. A second shove and he was through. He stood there panting, searching this way and that. There was nothing in the room but the chair and bureau and the single bed. He bent to look under it, sweeping his knife back and forth, not caring what he hit, so long as it was flesh. Nothing.
“What the fuck?” He stood bewildered for a moment. The apartment was empty. There was no place the kid could have hidden, no closets, no armoires, no bathroom. He did a slow pirouette, momentarily bewildered. A noise from
outside the open bedroom window caught his attention. He dashed over, looking out just in time to see Mike drop the last two feet to the ground from the rope he'd tied to the bottom of the bedpost.
outside the open bedroom window caught his attention. He dashed over, looking out just in time to see Mike drop the last two feet to the ground from the rope he'd tied to the bottom of the bedpost.
“Shit!” Jacobs hesitated for a moment, unsure whether he might go down the same way. He didn't. He watched Mike disappear in the labyrinth of fences, outhouses, sheds, and junk between the buildings, noting the direction, then turned and dashed out the way he'd come in.
M
ike knew this labyrinth maybe better than anyone on the block. He'd played here countless times with his friends. He knew every corner, every turn, every dead end, every hiding place. He knew where he had to go. He was almost hoping the man would follow, even though he was so scared he shook all over. He ducked through a low hole in a wooden fence, not caring as he smeared himself with shitty mud. Brushing himself off, he stopped, listening for pursuit over the sound of his rapid breathing. Sounds of pursuit were coming from farther back, near his building. Mike waited. There was just one way in and one way out of where he was. Sure of his getaway, he set himself up to wait at the right spot. He'd done this before, at play. Mike wasn't playing now. There'd be just one chance, he knew. The fence was high, maybe eight feet. The man would have to come through the hole. Mike shivered in silence, more scared than he'd ever been. His knees actually shookâso much that he wondered if maybe the man could hear his bones rattling. His breathing sounded so loud it could be heard across town. Any attempt to slow it down only seemed to choke him. Still he waited. Another noise, closer this time, sent an icy jolt of fear through him. He listened as footsteps approached. He could see the man in his mind, feeling his way to this spot, maybe following his tracks in the dark soil that the weeds seemed to love so much. The fence moved as the man leaned against it. Fingertips appeared at the top as he tried to vault over it, feet scrabbled against the wood. Mike heard the man curse. A few seconds later a clerkish, bespectacled, bow-tied head popped through the hole.
ike knew this labyrinth maybe better than anyone on the block. He'd played here countless times with his friends. He knew every corner, every turn, every dead end, every hiding place. He knew where he had to go. He was almost hoping the man would follow, even though he was so scared he shook all over. He ducked through a low hole in a wooden fence, not caring as he smeared himself with shitty mud. Brushing himself off, he stopped, listening for pursuit over the sound of his rapid breathing. Sounds of pursuit were coming from farther back, near his building. Mike waited. There was just one way in and one way out of where he was. Sure of his getaway, he set himself up to wait at the right spot. He'd done this before, at play. Mike wasn't playing now. There'd be just one chance, he knew. The fence was high, maybe eight feet. The man would have to come through the hole. Mike shivered in silence, more scared than he'd ever been. His knees actually shookâso much that he wondered if maybe the man could hear his bones rattling. His breathing sounded so loud it could be heard across town. Any attempt to slow it down only seemed to choke him. Still he waited. Another noise, closer this time, sent an icy jolt of fear through him. He listened as footsteps approached. He could see the man in his mind, feeling his way to this spot, maybe following his tracks in the dark soil that the weeds seemed to love so much. The fence moved as the man leaned against it. Fingertips appeared at the top as he tried to vault over it, feet scrabbled against the wood. Mike heard the man curse. A few seconds later a clerkish, bespectacled, bow-tied head popped through the hole.
Jacobs had his shoulders through and had planted both hands on the dirt to pull himself the rest of the way when he saw the foot. It appeared from behind some junk leaning against the fence to his left. He had the bastard, he thought, anxious to butcher the kid. His suit was smeared with shit, his foot hurt like hell, and this little fuck was going to get it. Then he looked up.
Mike brought the old chair leg down with all the force a scared ten-year-old could muster. It was maple, from the back of one of those old, straight, uncomfortable chairs from years ago. Sometimes he and his friends had used it to play ball. It broke over the back of bow-tie's head, cracking with such force
it left his hands numb and knocking bow-tie's glasses into the mud. He had a fleeting image of the head and the glasses and the bow-tie lying still in the dirt before he took off. He ran hard and he ran long, and he didn't come back for a long, long time.
it left his hands numb and knocking bow-tie's glasses into the mud. He had a fleeting image of the head and the glasses and the bow-tie lying still in the dirt before he took off. He ran hard and he ran long, and he didn't come back for a long, long time.
C
oogan was washing down the last of his steak with a bottle of beer. Coffin sat across from him in the dining room at Nash & Fuller, on Park Row. The late-afternoon crowd was thinning, and there was nobody within two tables of them.
oogan was washing down the last of his steak with a bottle of beer. Coffin sat across from him in the dining room at Nash & Fuller, on Park Row. The late-afternoon crowd was thinning, and there was nobody within two tables of them.
“How'd it go with Braddock and the Chinese?” Coogan asked with his mouth full.
“Well, I've got to give Tom credit; he knows how the bastards think. It went all right, I guess. Hard to tell. That Chinaman has the best poker face I've ever seen.”
“So you think they'll go for it?”
“I think so, at least Braddock says they will. Tell you the truth, all we need is a toehold right now. Give us a couple of years and they'll be the ones coming to us to get things done,” Coffin predicted. “We build it enough and we'll control more of the retail trade than the Chinese ever could. Let 'em have Chinatown and the import end. The rest of the pie is so much bigger that hardly even counts.” Coffin almost sighed. He took a sip of his wine, savoring it, like a symbol of their wealth to be. “Once we've got supply and distribution secured, the money will flow, my friend.”
“And Braddock?” Coogan asked, wiping a spot of beer off his shirt absently with the corner of his napkin.
“Well ⦠by that time Tom will have outlived his, shall we say, usefulness,” August said with a wicked grin. “I'll have to cut his career short. Not that I hold him a grudge, mind you.” Coffin grinned at his bit of sarcasm. “It's just business. But we'll see. For now he's being very useful indeed.”
“All in good time, eh, Augie?”
“Exactly. Let him enjoy life, spend big, fuck his whore, who cares? We're after bigger fish. We can fry him later.”
T
om hadn't slept well on the voyage back. He was worried that another attempt on their lives would be made during the night. He hadn't shared his fear with Jaffey, who didn't seem to give the menacing atmosphere of Richmond another thought. The younger man had snored through the night while
Braddock sat wide awake in his bunk, his Colt on his lap. Every creak of the deck, every unidentified noise in the hall outside their door had him gripping the pistol with a sweaty palm. He'd drift off for just minutes before some noise had his eyes wide open and his heart racing. He got off the steamer rubbing his eyes and yawning, feeling foolish for being spooked. They headed to the Marble Palace first. Tom wanted to fill Byrnes in immediately. They found him just coming back from an afternoon court date. They met behind closed doors.
om hadn't slept well on the voyage back. He was worried that another attempt on their lives would be made during the night. He hadn't shared his fear with Jaffey, who didn't seem to give the menacing atmosphere of Richmond another thought. The younger man had snored through the night while
Braddock sat wide awake in his bunk, his Colt on his lap. Every creak of the deck, every unidentified noise in the hall outside their door had him gripping the pistol with a sweaty palm. He'd drift off for just minutes before some noise had his eyes wide open and his heart racing. He got off the steamer rubbing his eyes and yawning, feeling foolish for being spooked. They headed to the Marble Palace first. Tom wanted to fill Byrnes in immediately. They found him just coming back from an afternoon court date. They met behind closed doors.
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