by Joanna Shupe
“That’s absurd. You have no proof that I or any of my men are responsible.”
“I don’t need proof. This isn’t a court of law. I am the one deciding fates in these parts.”
“Maybe word’s gettin’ out that you’re slipping, Mulligan. You cannot blame me for everything that goes wrong.”
Slipping? Burying his fury, Jack smirked at the younger man. “I cut my teeth on bastards like you before I had hair on my balls. I took them down and I’ll be happy to take you down, too.”
“We’ve stayed to our neighborhood. Haven’t bothered your businesses. You have no right to come in here and threaten me.”
“Are you calling me a liar? Because there are men trailing my dancers and my policy shops are being robbed. No one other than you would even dare.”
“You have a lot of enemies, Mulligan. More than you can imagine.”
Did O’Shaughnessy think this was new information? “Comes with being at the top, which you’d be wise to remember.” The other man said nothing, merely stared at Jack with burning resentment. Jack slapped a one-hundred-dollar bill on the bar. “For the damage,” he told the bartender.
“We don’t need your money,” O’Shaughnessy snapped.
“Apparently you do, or else you wouldn’t be robbing my policy shops. One week, Trevor. Every penny. And stop following my dancers.”
“Or what?”
“Or I’ll unleash hell on you and anyone loyal to you.” It had been a long time since someone had challenged Jack like this. He’d missed it, actually. As if they were old friends, Jack clapped O’Shaughnessy on the shoulder. “Though part of me hopes you won’t show. I haven’t completely annihilated a man in a while.”
“A week or two, at least,” Rye put in.
Jack laughed and started for the door. “Sorry to interrupt your night, fellows,” he told the crowd. “Next round’s on me.”
Silence trailed them out of the saloon and onto the street. Jack began whistling as they started for the carriage. “That went well.”
“He reacted exactly as you said he would,” Cooper noted.
“It’s what I would have done in his shoes.”
“So what do you think he’ll do next?”
“Repay the money and plot my imminent demise.” Again, Jack would have done the same in similar circumstances.
Cooper held open the carriage door. “I didn’t expect you to part with a hundred dollars.”
“Counterfeit.” Jack had access to quite a lot of fake money, thanks to a man he’d met a few years back. One who owed him a favor, naturally. “O’Shaughnessy tries to use it and he’ll have the Secret Service at his door.”
Rye and Cooper both chuckled. “You are devious, Mulligan.”
“Goddamn right I am. Only way to succeed in this city.”
Hurrying down Rivington Street, Justine dodged a group of children playing ball. The Lower East Side was comprised of many groups, mostly Eastern Europeans from Germany, Poland and Russia. It was a neighborhood always changing, growing and stretching upward to accommodate those who took up residence here. A synagogue was under construction across the street, while a German newspaper was opening down the block. Justine loved watching the transition as the immigrants made this city more vibrant, more diverse.
Moreover, this particular neighborhood wasn’t directly associated with Mulligan. Chances of running into him here were slim.
Was she avoiding him? Absolutely.
Three days had passed since she’d foolishly gone to the athletic club to see him. In that time, she’d remained busy, as always, taking care to circumvent the blocks that Mulligan claimed. She could have almost forgotten about him altogether if not for the incessant questions from Mamie and Frank.
Those, and her dreams at night. Mulligan had starred in more than a few, his touch hot and knowing, leaving her sweaty and shaken in the morning. It was mortifying. She was nearly afraid to fall asleep at night.
A familiar figure lingered outside a five-story building at the end of the block. He was tossing a baseball back and forth with a young boy when Justine arrived. “Thank you for meeting me,” she said, trying to catch her breath. “Have you been waiting long?”
Detective Ellison patted the boy on the head, gave him the ball and turned to Justine. “Not long. Only a few moments.”
“Well, I appreciate you taking the time. Your case, the politician’s son, is it over?”
“Yes. We’ve made an arrest, so I have some free time today.”
“Who was responsible?”
“A friend of the deceased. Nothing sordid, just two drunken idiots fighting. One ended up dead. So, this is the shirtwaist factory you were telling me about.” He glanced at the structure behind her.
“Yes, on the fifth floor. I’ll show you the way.”
They went inside, the dark interior serving as a blessed respite from the outdoor heat. She wiped the perspiration from her forehead with a handkerchief. Bustling about the city in the summer was not for the faint of heart. Which probably explained why most of high society left for Newport in June and didn’t return until after Labor Day.
Not Justine, though. She stayed in town. The beach was boring and tedious.
“The usual plan of attack?” Ellison asked as they climbed.
“Yes, I think so. I have already seen the conditions. You are welcome to the owner, Mr. Bay.” One of the legal aid clients had mentioned this shirtwaist factory, complaining of the cruel conditions and long hours, and Justine had come to see the horrors for herself. It had been easy to gain access to the floor after telling the secretary she was there to interview for a position. Mr. Bay had asked her to leave, of course, but not before she saw what was happening inside.
Then she’d waited outside after hours and approached a few of the workers. Employees often had a lot to say when their employer wasn’t around, such as the hours and conditions, the wages and requirements for keeping their positions. Using this information, Justine would bring Detective Ellison for a visit with the owner. Ellison was quite good at intimidating these men. Shaming them into doing better by their workers. A badge helped, of course.
At the top of the fifth flight of stairs, Justine bent over and put a hand to her stomach. This was her third climb today above four floors and her legs were growing tired. “The door is just over there.”
Ellison went first, not bothering to knock before he entered. His detective badge was clipped to his lapel, visible to all. Justine followed and closed the door. A secretary looked up from her desk in the reception area. “May I help you?”
“Yes,” Ellison said. “We’d like to see the owner.”
She eyed his badge and returned her gaze to his face. “Mr. Bay isn’t available at the moment. Perhaps you’d care to come back another time?”
“When will he return?” Justine asked.
“I could not say,” the woman answered.
“Is there someone else we may speak with? A manager or supervisor?”
“I’m afraid not.”
Frowning, Ellison exchanged a look with Justine. Without another word, he walked around the desk toward the factory. The secretary popped up and tried to stop him, but he was already over the threshold. Justine trailed him, darting around the girl and into the corridor. The workspace was a long dark room in the back of the building, the windows having been boarded up at some point. Owners often did this, claiming it prevented employee theft. What it really prevented was proper airflow and respiratory health.
When they arrived, however, an entirely different scene greeted her.
Gone were the dark windows and gloomy interior. Today, the windows were open, allowing in a slight breeze, and the overhead bulbs were lit. The terrified silence of her previous visit had also disappeared. Workers were chatting and laughing, sewing while socializing. A few even stood, stretching their arms and shoulders, before walking to the washrooms in the back—washrooms that had been locked the last time she’d been here.
&n
bsp; Most shocking? Not a child in sight.
Her jaw dropped. What had happened here? It was definitely the right address, the same shirtwaist factory. She even recognized some of the workers from before.
“Uh, this isn’t exactly what I expected,” Ellison murmured.
“It was much different. No light, no air. And there were children here, locked in.”
“Well, they are not here now.”
Confused, Justine walked to the tables where the workers were busy sewing and talking behind their machines. She approached one. “Good afternoon, ma’am.”
The woman’s gaze darted nervously to Ellison before settling on Justine. “Hello, miss.”
“I was here a week or so ago and everything was different. What happened?”
“It’s a miracle.” She grinned. “A few men came in the other day and took Mr. Bay into the back. We didn’t think anything of it until the thumps started.”
“Thumps?”
“Loud noises. Like a fight.”
A fight? Justine looked over at Ellison, who put his hands on his hips. “Then what happened?” he asked.
“The men left after a bit. Mr. Bay came out and his face was”—she waved her hand in front of her face—“swollen and bleeding. He left and hasn’t been back since.”
“Who were these men?”
“I couldn’t say, miss. One was handsome, well-dressed. Looked like the leader. I overheard talk that he was some important man from over near Five Points, but you know how girls gossip.”
Justine blinked several times. An important man from Five Points . . . handsome and well-dressed? It couldn’t be.
It couldn’t be.
Who else, then? What other handsome Five Points man would come here to rough up the owner? There was no one else.
She’d offhandedly mentioned this factory to Mulligan during their lunch, including its location. He must have decided to come intimidate Mr. Bay into treating the workers fairly.
But, why?
Granny’s words floated through her mind. Clearly he hopes to gain the one thing he’ll never have: you.
That made no sense. None of this made sense. She’d run out on him three nights ago. There was no reason for the two of them to ever cross paths again.
So, why had he bothered?
“You know who it was, don’t you?” Ellison asked, staring carefully at Justine’s face.
“I might,” she hedged then thanked the worker. “If there is any further trouble when Mr. Bay returns, please find Detective Ellison at police headquarters.”
The woman nodded. “Whoever that man was, he was like our guardian angel.”
Justine wasn’t so certain about that, but she couldn’t deny that Mulligan had done a good deed for these workers. She and Ellison left, the angry secretary glowering at them on the way.
“All right, come clean.” Ellison followed her down the steps, his boots slapping on the wood. “How do you know Jack Mulligan?”
Chapter Ten
Justine concentrated on taking the steps carefully in the dim stairwell. “We cannot be certain it was Mulligan.”
“Important and handsome man from Five Points? There aren’t many who fit that description, and only one has the power to scare that factory owner into changing his entire operation. That’s Mulligan. So, tell me how you have him doing favors for you, too.”
She waited until they were on the walk before she answered. “I never asked him to come here and intervene. I . . . We had lunch one day and I told him about this factory. The day you turned me away.”
“You and Mulligan had lunch?” Ellison made a choking sound in his throat. “Are you pulling my leg?”
“No. He practically forced me to go because I hadn’t eaten.” It sounded stupid to say the words aloud.
“And you agreed? Do you know who he is? How he lives his life? He runs most of the illegal activity south of Fourteenth Street.”
She hated Ellison’s tone, as if she were a daft female, one too naive to be trusted. “I am well aware, Detective. I know of Mulligan’s reputation.”
“Do you? Do you, really? Because if you did, I don’t think you’d get within ten feet of the man, let alone have lunch with him.”
“I know he operates some saloons and poolrooms. That he oversees most of the gambling downtown.”
“And the booze and the smuggling. Oh, and let’s not forget blackmail. The boxing matches alone could get him thrown in the Tombs. He’s swimming in criminal activity.” Ellison dragged a hand through his hair. “He’s not a nice man. I daresay there’s not a gentleman to be found in New Belfast Athletic Club.”
“No one has harmed me there—”
“You’ve been inside?” He walked in a tight circle, muttering what she suspected were curse words. “Are you insane?”
This was ridiculous. She appreciated Ellison’s concern, but he wasn’t her father or her husband. He was a police detective who had helped her on occasion. As such, that did not give him the right to make her feel small and helpless. “I will take your words under advisement, Detective. However, I am perfectly capable of handling myself in the Sixth Ward—or anywhere else for that matter.”
“Is that so? And the rapes and murders there, you think you could handle yourself? The women kidnapped and forced to work in brothels, that wouldn’t happen to you because you’re the daughter of Duncan Greene, correct?” He leaned in, his expression hard as his voice rose in volume. “Wise up, Miss Greene. All those things happen in this city and they happen to all kinds of women. Your Fifth Avenue address won’t save you. In fact, it makes you a bigger target because they’ll know your father will pay a king’s ransom to get you back.”
She didn’t want to fall victim to his hysterics but he was starting to make her nervous. Relax. You’re careful when you’re traveling the city alone. Not to mention that she carried a pistol on the rare occasions when she was out at night. So, she wasn’t completely defenseless. “Are you saying Mulligan will kidnap me for ransom? Because he has enough money.”
“There’s never enough money for a thug like Mulligan. You need to stay as far away from him as possible. I know you like to come downtown and save people, but he is beyond redemption.”
Was that why Mulligan appealed to her, because she thought to save him? That hadn’t occurred to her before Ellison mentioned it. She’d been drawn to Mulligan, but not for altruistic motives—at least not that she was aware of. He was handsome and charming. Dressed like a swell and spoke like an aristocrat. A woman would need to be dead not to be drawn to that sort of man. “Noted.”
Ellison blew out a long breath. This was as agitated as she’d ever seen the calm detective. “I apologize for yelling. It’s just . . . The things I’ve seen in these neighborhoods. I’d hate for them to happen to a woman like you.”
What did that mean, a woman like her? An uptown heiress? Justine didn’t care for the implication that her status and trust fund made her more valuable. Meaning, women without those things were allowed to be raped, murdered and kidnapped? “Thank you, Detective. I appreciate your concern. For the record I do not plan on furthering my acquaintance with Mr. Mulligan.”
If her response was a bit frosty, he didn’t notice. He gestured toward the sidewalk. “Good. Now, come on. I’ll walk you to the elevated. My wife is cooking a roast and I have a chance of actually making it home in time for a hot meal.”
They started toward the train line. She decided to bring up an idea to Ellison, one she’d been considering. “You once said things would be easier if I had my own badge. I am starting to think you’re right. With whom should I speak in order to get one?”
Ellison made a noise as he dodged a child sprinting up the walk. “It isn’t as easy as that. There are no women on the force who carry a badge and have the power to arrest someone.”
“So, I’ll be the first.”
“You don’t understand. This isn’t like asking for an invitation to a ball. Female detectives aren’t done.
”
“Chicago has one.”
“That’s Chicago. They’re provincial. It’s practically the Wild West out there.”
“That seems unfair. They are hosting the World’s Fair to worldwide acclaim. Have you ever been?”
He frowned down at her. “No, but I don’t need to visit somewhere to know what the place is like.”
Um, wasn’t that exactly why one visited, to have a true picture of a city? Ellison continued to surprise her today, with his condescension and ignorance. He’d always been so willing to help her that she’d considered him progressive. A supporter of women’s rights and the rights of workers. Had she misjudged him?
“Listen, if you just tell me with whom to speak, I’ll try and convince him. I won’t even say it was your idea to begin with.”
“That’s because it wasn’t my idea. It was an offhanded comment made when I was overworked.”
“Think about it,” she continued. “I could handle the types of cases the male detectives can’t.”
“Like wife deserters and child labor?” He stopped in the street and put his hands on his hips. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, he was bumped from behind.
“Move it, copper.”
Ellison glared at the offender’s back then looked at Justine. “See that? And if that’s what they do to male detectives, imagine what they’d do to female detectives. The idea is preposterous.”
“That’s not what I asked. Tell me who to speak with. I’ll take care of the rest.”
“Fine, you have time to waste? Go see Richard Croker.”
“The head of Tammany Hall?”
Ellison’s lips curled into a mocking smile. “Tammany makes nearly all of the recommendations for appointments and promotions. And the fact you don’t know that shows you are not ready to work in the police department.”
No, she hadn’t known. She assumed the police department worked on merit, which now sounded ridiculous. She really ought to have known better. Corruption ran through New York City faster than water. “Is that how you were appointed?”
