by Joanna Shupe
“To detective, yes. I had been a roundsman for four years. Helped keep a ward boss safe during an election night altercation in ’90. He repaid me by having me promoted.”
Her stomach sank a bit—and it must have shown on her face. He said, “That’s how the city works, Miss Greene. You are kidding yourself if you believe otherwise.”
“I still have to try. Perhaps my father could help.”
“Or perhaps you could ask Mulligan.”
She frowned at his sarcastic tone. “That was unnecessary, Detective.”
“I apologize.” His mouth twisted with what seemed like honest regret, like he’d take the words back if he could. “I admit, I am a little bothered by your association with him. Here I thought I was helping you because you had no other option. Only, it turns out you’re cozy with one of the city’s biggest criminals.”
“It almost sounds like you’re jealous.”
“Maybe I am.”
Sweet Lord. She’d been joking but his response was utterly serious. Her jaw fell open and she took a step back, putting distance between them. Contrition washed over his features and he held up his hands. “No, not like that. Not in a romantic sense. But, in a professional sense. I thought you needed me.”
Confused, she tried to make sense of what he was saying. He wanted her to be dependent on him and only him? He wouldn’t assist her in getting a position in the department and he told her to stay away from Mulligan. Was this what men considered as professional “advancement” for women? She thought her gender had been gaining ground, with new jobs and new possibilities. Soon, women would get the vote. And yet.
Would there always be a man holding them back?
The idea was depressing.
“I’ll speak to Croker. Thank you for the advice. You know, I’ve changed my mind about the elevated. I feel like walking a bit. Take care, Detective.” She darted in front of an omnibus to cross the street and then kept heading west. On her own.
Without anyone telling her what to do.
The next afternoon, Justine was back downtown, staring at the front of the building. She’d loitered on the walk for a good twenty minutes now, waiting. Keeping a sharp eye on her surroundings.
It was the middle of the day, yet no matter the hour, the World Poolroom was one of the most dangerous places in the Bowery. Thieves, confidence men, smugglers . . . any manner of rough character might be found drinking and gambling in there. She decided to wait on the walk instead of risking life and limb by going inside. Someone would eventually leave and she could ask him or her about Mr. von Briesen out here.
Minutes later, she was rewarded when a red-haired woman stumbled out of the poolroom door and onto the walk. The woman squinted into the sun, wincing as if in pain. Her clothes were wrinkled and stained, her gait unsteady. Was she inebriated, or recovering from being inebriated earlier? Justine couldn’t tell.
“Excuse me,” she called. “Might I speak to you for a moment?”
The woman rocked on her feet then put her arms out to catch her balance. “Who wants to know?”
“My name is Justine. I would like to ask you a question or two.”
“I don’t have time for questions. Barkeep’s fixin’ to fight me about my tab.” She started off down the street, her steps wobbly but fast.
Just then, the door flew open again and a man emerged. He had a white apron tied around his waist, his mouth carved into a fierce scowl framed by bushy brown muttonchops. When he spotted the retreating redhead, he darted after her, catching up easily and forcibly dragging her back toward the poolroom. “You’re gonna work off that money, Bess. Upstairs, in one of the rooms.”
“Fuck off,” the redhead spat as she tried to squirm out of his grip. “I ain’t no whore.”
Justine couldn’t prevent herself from intervening. “Wait, how much does she owe you?”
The barkeep narrowed his eyes on Justine. “Thirty-five dollars.”
Thirty-five dollars! That was outrageous. “For a morning bar tab?”
“Try four days’ worth of tab. I’m tired of carrying her. She’s gonna pay up one way or another.”
“How?”
“I hardly see how that’s your concern, miss.” The barkeep opened the door and started to tow Bess inside.
“Wait! I’ll give you the money for her tab if you’ll let her go.”
“Why?”
It was a fair question. She was a stranger on the street, offering to square up this woman’s expensive bar tab.
Yet, she couldn’t watch someone be forced into an illicit act against her will, merely because she was short of funds. Plus, if Bess had a four-day bar tab here, perhaps she was well versed in the goings-on at the World Poolroom. She might be a font of information, anything that might lead to Mr. von Briesen.
“Yeah, why?” Bess parroted. “You can keep whatever religious pamphlets you’re peddlin’, honey. I don’t want ’em.”
“No, I’m not here to save your soul. I have some questions, is all.”
The barkeep lifted a shoulder. “Suit yourself. If you have thirty-five dollars to spare, I’ll take it and you can get this loudmouth harridan out of my bar.”
Justine dug in her small purse for the bills to settle Bess’s tab. Counting it carefully, she handed the money to the barkeep. “There you go. Now release her.”
He shoved Bess roughly, causing the redhead to stumble, before disappearing inside. Justine put a hand out to steady the other woman and helped her to the shade near the side of the building. They sat on the stoop of the rooming house next door.
“Go on, ask your questions.” Bess practically sneered at Justine, but Justine ignored it. They weren’t here to become friends, and she didn’t expect gratitude for paying the bar tab. She’d given the money because it had been the right thing to do.
Reaching in her small purse, Justine took out the sketch of Mr. von Briesen. A sketch artist hired by the legal aid society had assisted with the portrait based on his wife’s description. “Do you recognize this man?”
“No. Should I?”
“He disappeared. The nineteenth of June, to be exact. The last place anyone saw him was here at the World Poolroom.”
Bess took another peek at the portrait. “Never seen him before.”
“I understand there are peter players here, that this man may have been a victim. Is there anyone who might know what happened once they put him on the street?”
“Take your pick.” Bess waved her hand around them to indicate the Bowery. “Anyone might have seen.”
“Are there girls working inside the poolroom? Serving girls or . . . others?”
“Prostitutes, you mean? They’re on the upper floors.”
“I’d like to talk to some of them. Do you think you’d be able to help me—?”
Bess pushed off the stone step and got to her feet. “You want to see ’em, pay for an hour just like everybody else. I’m done talking. I’m going back inside.”
“You’re going back in? After you were chased out?”
“Sure. I got some nice lady to pay my tab for me. Now I can run it up again.” Bess sauntered to the poolroom door and disappeared inside. Because of the bright sunlight, Justine couldn’t see through the glass to make sure the woman was all right. She supposed the barkeep would either serve Bess or toss her out again.
Justine sighed, disappointed but not discouraged. It took more than one surly drunk to cause her to give up. These investigations were all about talking to people and gaining their trust. She hadn’t really expected to solve Mr. von Briesen’s disappearance on the first try.
The trick would be getting to the second floor to speak with the girls there. If Mr. von Briesen had hired a companion for the night, perhaps one or two of the women might remember him.
Shielding her gaze from the bright light, she craned her neck to look at the upper floors of the building. Was there another way up there, other than through the poolroom?
Noise at the curb caught he
r attention. A black brougham skidded to a halt in front of the poolroom, the driver jerking hard on the reins. The driver was familiar, and a shiver ran down Justine’s spine despite the heat.
Mulligan.
Before she could blink, he was out of the brougham and on his way to her. The look on his face was far from pleasant. In fact, he looked downright irritated. His mouth, the mouth that had nearly kissed her the other night, was flat and unwelcoming.
He licked me.
She could almost still feel that brief, warm wet slide on her skin. Tasting her. What would that tongue be able to do elsewhere, on other parts of her body? Swallowing, she pushed all those thoughts aside for later. As in, never.
So, what was he doing here?
“What are you doing here?”
She shielded her eyes from the sun with her hand. “I was just wondering the same about you. Have you come to bet on the horse races?” She could think of no other reason why Mulligan was here, glowering at her outside the World Poolroom. Then a horrible thought struck her. “Is this one of yours?”
“No, my poolrooms are just poolrooms. We don’t drug and rob patrons as a regular practice. Seeing as we’ve cleared that up, tell me why you are visiting this particular establishment.”
“I am looking for someone. He was last seen here on June 19th.”
“Who?”
“A German man, von Briesen. We think a group of peter players robbed him and put him on the street. His family is quite concerned.”
“Do your brother-in-law and Otto Rosen know you are investigating here, at this particular place?”
“I don’t know. Why?”
“Because they will both answer to me if the answer is yes. You have no business being in this particular stretch of the Bowery. It’s dangerous.”
“Is this why you are here? Because of me?”
“When they told me you were here, I came as fast as I could.”
Part of her was flattered that he worried over her safety, but the bigger part of her was annoyed he thought she was in danger. “That was unnecessary. I am perfectly safe.”
“No one is perfectly safe here, least of all an unaccompanied woman.”
“It’s the middle of the day and I have no intention of going in. My plan is to question patrons out here, which I have already started doing.” He appeared confused so she elaborated. “A woman came out from the poolroom and she was fairly inebriated. The barkeep chased her down because she owed him money, so I helped out. In return, she answered my questions.”
“Helped out?”
“Paid her bar tab in exchange for answers. I showed her the sketch of von Briesen. Unfortunately, she hadn’t ever seen him before and went back inside.”
He shook his head and muttered a string of French curse words. “Let’s go get your money back.”
“What? Where?”
“Inside. Come on.”
He started toward the poolroom door so Justine grabbed his arm, stopping him. “Wait. I don’t need my money returned. I offered up my assistance free and clear. He was going to make her do terrible things to work off her debt.”
Jack’s expression softened, his gaze turning warm, almost affectionate. Her chest fluttered at that look, one that probably caused women to swoon at his feet. The foot traffic streamed on both sides of them, but this man commanded every bit of her attention with his bright blue eyes and chiseled face. He lifted a hand and dragged the backs of his knuckles gently across her cheek. Her knees trembled, her body caught under his spell. Had she melted into a puddle on the sidewalk yet?
“You have a good heart, and I admire you for it,” he said. “But you’ve been swindled, chérie, and I mean to make it right.”
Chapter Eleven
Jack could tell by her face that she didn’t believe him. God save him from uptown do-gooder heiresses.
She blinked at him and he dropped his hand, already missing the feel of her soft skin. “No, Mulligan. You’re wrong. She was inebriated, and cursed and spat at him. He said she owed four days’ worth of bar tab.”
“Justine, this is more my area of expertise than yours. You were swindled. They probably saw you standing out here on the walk and decided to con you.”
Stubborn until the end, she shook her head. “No.”
“Shall we place a wager on it?”
Ah, there was the seed of doubt. She bit her lip and chewed it, indecision pinching her lovely brows. He waited, the fear at her roaming this neighborhood alone slowly ebbing. He had vowed to forget her after she left his club in fear. Then the second he’d learned of her errand at the World, he’d raced to her side. Had he ever traveled south so quickly? The news had terrified him.
She’s here. She’s safe.
And Tripp and Rosen would be answering for this.
But that was for another day. Right now, he had to prove himself right and perhaps gain another favor from Miss Greene. The possibility made him dizzy.
This favor would not be so innocent as allowing him to escort her to a fundraiser.
Perhaps she read his intent on his face because she asked, “What would the wager entail?”
“If I’m right, you owe me a favor. And I offer the same in reverse should I be proven wrong.”
“So if I’m right then you owe me a favor.”
“Yes.”
“I can’t think of anything I want from you,” she said with a wrinkle of her nose.
“You can’t?” he murmured. “What a pity.”
There were many, many things he’d like from Justine, not all of them suitable for polite conversation. Most of them centered on the topic of her pussy and his tongue.
Then she grinned. A sly, secretive grin that caused Jack’s knees to damn near weaken and goose bumps to break out on his skin. Jesus God, that look. As if a wicked thought had crossed her mind. No, more like a dirty, illicit thought. And he very well might die if he didn’t discover it.
Though he doubted hers had been as dirty as his own.
“I have something,” she said, eyes shining. “A favor I need with Tammany Hall.”
Disappointment punched through his stomach. Indeed, what had he expected? She wasn’t corrupt and wicked, like him. Never would be.
He started for the World’s main entrance and waved her along behind him. “Well, certainly don’t spoil the surprise by telling me. Come along.”
He flung open the heavy door. The stench of sweat, blood and whiskey filled his nostrils, the scent as familiar as breathing. The interior was bright enough for him to quickly take stock of the room, the number and positions of everyone inside. The place was as safe as he could reasonably expect, so he headed toward the long wooden bar. Several patrons were standing at the bar, their backs to him.
He leaned against the edge, right next to a redhead he’d know anywhere. “Bess! How have you been, love?”
Bess turned, her face registering surprise then genuine pleasure. “Damn, Mulligan. It’s been a long time.”
“It has. You are looking well, though. Paul, good to see you,” he said to the barkeep. “I like the new look.” He pointed to the man’s expertly groomed muttonchops.
Paul cast a wary glance at Justine before coming back to Jack. “Hello, Mulligan. We don’t see you often in these parts. Did you come down for a drink or to place a bet?”
“No, I have my own places for that. I’m actually here with my friend.” He hooked a thumb to where Justine stood. “I understand you took her for thirty-five dollars. I’ll be wanting that back.”
Paul and Bess exchanged a look. “Now, Mulligan. We don’t want any trouble,” Paul said.
“Which is why you’ll return my friend’s money and give her an apology.”
“Aw, damn,” Bess said. “You can’t blame a girl for trying. Do you see the way she’s dressed? She can afford it.”
“That’s hardly the point and you know it.” Jack rapped his knuckles on the bar. “Thirty-five. Right now.”
Bess reached inside h
er bodice while Paul dug into his apron. Within seconds Jack held thirty-five dollars. “Now, the apology.”
Both mumbled apologies to Justine, who’d drawn closer during the exchange. “No harm done,” she said without a hint of ill will and took the money. “You’re forgiven.”
“Good. That’s settled. You know a man named von Briesen?”
“Of German descent,” Justine put in. “Last seen here on June 19th.”
Bess and Paul both denied knowing the man. “Check with Mac. He does the books in the back. He might remember.”
Jack led Justine to the poolroom, which was packed with bodies. Men of every color and background were clustered around small wooden tables where they stared at the race results on the wall. A screen in the corner hid a telegraph machine that steadily transmitted results from the track. Everyone along the line made a fortune off the city’s poolrooms, even Western Union.
Payouts were handled much like a bank, with a counter surrounded by bars. There were guards, as well. If anyone thought to rob the place, they’d never make it ten feet before they were gutted.
Jack walked up to the counter and leaned an elbow on the wood. “Good day. You must be Mac.”
“I am, sir.”
“My name is Mulligan. I need some information.”
The banker’s eyes went huge. “Mulligan, as in . . .”
There were a hundred ways to finish that sentence. Instead of bothering, Jack gave the man an easy smile. “Listen, you know a man named von Briesen? German fellow.” Justine slipped the paper sketch through the bars.
“No.” Mac passed the paper back. “Sorry.”
“We’ll go upstairs to ask the women next, if that’s all right.”
“Sure.” Mac pointed. “Polly’s the woman in charge. Through that door there.”
Jack started toward the door Mac had indicated—only to realize Justine wasn’t with him. Instead, she was glued to the action in the betting room. Boys carried slips of paper back and forth from the screen in the corner to the wall. These were the race results, which were then written on the board. Minimum bets here were cheap, not like Jack’s rooms, which made the World more affordable for the average Bowery resident.
