The Devil of Downtown

by Joanna Shupe

  “Wait, Frank and Clay went to see Jack? When?”

  “Right after you met with Mrs. Gorcey. I assumed he would have told you.”

  No, he hadn’t. But then, why would he? It had only involved her and her family. How utterly annoying.

  “What happened between the two of you?” Florence asked. “Because if he mistreated you in any way then—”

  “No, no. Nothing like that. The complete opposite, actually.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “He . . . he gave me anything I wanted. Anything at all. I merely had to mention it and he’d snap his fingers and make it happen. He’s like some sort of sorcerer. And admittedly, it was seductive at first. He saved me time and effort. Problems disappeared when Jack was around.”

  “That doesn’t sound so bad,” Mamie hedged. “But I sense something happened.”

  “I wanted to become a police detective—”

  “What?” Florence said. “There are no female detectives.”

  “Not yet. But there are plenty of cases the men won’t bother with, issues that involve women and children, mostly. I wanted to take those on.”

  Florence’s expression suddenly brightened. “Actually, I love it. It’s the perfect job for you. Obviously Mulligan opposed the idea considering he’s on the other side of the law.”

  “As are others who shall remain nameless,” Mamie said under her breath, referring to Florence’s illegal casino endeavor.

  “Wrong. Mulligan was in favor of it. He met with the Tammany Hall representative and convinced him to offer me an appointment. I was all set to become the first female detective.”

  “And?” Florence prompted.

  “And it wasn’t right. They were going to start me out as a detective, not a roundsman.”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Everything. Could you imagine the resentment of the other officers when I strolled in, no experience whatsoever, as a detective?”

  “I don’t see why that’s a problem,” Florence said. “A lot of men do it all the time, relying on nepotism and favors to get ahead. Why shouldn’t you?”

  “Because it’s not fair. And, it was more than just that.”

  “It was the spider’s web,” Mamie said, her knowing gaze trained on Justine’s face.

  “Spider’s web?” Florence asked.

  Mamie ignored the question. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

  “Yes.” Justine picked at a thread on her coverlet. “I cannot involve myself with a man who bribes and intimidates and threatens to get what he wants, even if it’s for a good cause. Eventually I’d resent it.”

  “Did you tell him as much?”

  “I did. He tried to talk me out of it.”

  “He can be very persuasive, from what I understand,” Mamie said.

  “Obviously he’s unaware that no one is able to change Justine’s mind once it’s decided,” Florence said.

  Mamie’s voice softened. “You love him, don’t you?”

  Justine couldn’t answer past the lump in her throat. She concentrated on breathing and the tiny spider crawling on her ceiling. How appropriate.

  “Oh, Tina.” Florence hugged Justine’s arm even tighter. “This is exactly what I was afraid of.”

  “You did the right thing,” Mamie said on her other side. “Though I realize it’s little consolation at the moment.”

  “Eventually you’ll move on from this,” Florence said. “You shall meet someone else and Mulligan will be a distant memory.”

  The problem was Justine didn’t want anyone else. How could any man ever compare? Furthermore, why would she ever risk her heart again? This was unbearable. “I never really understood when you two were going through your man troubles. I thought you were exaggerating. I was so cavalier with my advice when I had absolutely no idea what you felt like.”

  “One doesn’t need to experience tragedy to offer help or sympathy. And you were never cavalier,” Mamie said.

  “Agreed.” Florence rolled off the mattress and came to her feet. “And I think we should stop talking and start wallowing in our misery as men do.”

  “By doing what?” Justine asked.

  “By getting drunk.”

  Jack thrust both arms in the air as sweat ran in rivers down his body. His opponent lay at his feet. “There’s another one down. Who else thinks they are able to best me?”

  The men in the room exchanged wary glances. Over the last two days, sixteen men had climbed into the ring with Jack. None had emerged victorious. Onlookers from the neighborhood had gathered outside the club’s windows, watching as Jack pummeled opponent after opponent.

  It had started as a way to burn off his rage, exhaust himself into a dreamless sleep each night. A bonus was that it likely would draw out the man who’d shot at Jack. O’Shaughnessy could not let the failure stand. Sooner or later, Jack would come looking for answers . . . and he wouldn’t come alone. The only play was to make another attempt on Jack’s life—a successful one this time.

  So Jack made himself as visible as possible. He let Cooper and Rye worry about scouting the crowds and watching for pistols. Part of him hoped the assassin prevailed. At least then Jack would cease to pine for a woman who thought of him as poison.

  This is not my world—it’s yours. And I do not like who I am becoming by remaining in it.

  “Come on, fellows,” he shouted. “Won’t one of you cowards crawl in here to fight me?”

  A throat cleared to his right. Rye, and he wanted Jack’s attention. Jack went over and collected the towel he’d hung on the ropes and began wiping down his face and neck. “What is it?”

  “The boys ain’t too keen on fighting you in your current mood. How about you climb out of there and we’ll—”

  “One more, Rye. Just one more match.”

  “No, not today. You’re near exhausted as it is, not to mention that fresh scar still healing on your side. And when was the last time you tended to the books?”

  Five days. He hadn’t stepped foot in his office since she left, the sight of the room like a swift kick in the stones. Returning to Bond Street was also out of the question. Probably time to find a real estate agent and sell it because he’d never sleep there again.

  “Don’t worry about the books,” he said. “And I can’t stop. We haven’t seen the shooter yet.”

  “It won’t matter when you drop dead here on the floor.”

  “That’s ridiculous. I am in excellent health.”

  “You wouldn’t say that if you could see yourself.”

  “Stop nagging me. If I’d wanted a wife, I would have married a long time ago.”

  “No, you wouldn’t have because nobody’d put up with you—nobody except her. And you’ve kicked her out.”

  I didn’t kick her out. She left me.

  “Mind your own goddamn business and find me another fighter.”

  “I’m busy watching for O’Shaughnessy. If you’re so eager to kill yourself then you’ll have to do it without my help.”

  Rye walked away, leaving Jack alone in the ring with his thoughts. That didn’t improve his mood. Quite the opposite, actually. He’d rather face down ten O’Shaughnessys than ruminate on her. There was no changing the past.

  Qui n’avance pas, recule. He would advance or die trying.

  Spinning toward the crowd in the main room, he yelled, “One hundred dollars to whoever gets in the ring with me!”

  Eyes widened all around him. A few men shook their heads, but a dozen or so appeared as if they might be contemplating the offer. “Two hundred if you last more than ten minutes.”

  Four men started forward, tall men with thick necks and broad shoulders. Finally. He rubbed his hands together. Maybe he’d fight all of them. Whatever he paid them would be worth it, especially if they landed a few punches. At least then he could tend to physical injuries, whereas there was no relief from heartache. The only way to survive it was to ignore it.

  “Who’s first?” He poi
nted at the biggest of the lot. “Southern Mike?”

  Mike shrugged his assent then climbed through the ropes and into the ring. Jack waved one of the boys forward, who began wrapping Mike’s knuckles in cloth. Jack stretched out his arms as anticipation swirled inside him. The darkness receded for a moment, blessed relief from the madness hovering on the edges of his mind. He could focus on the fight, the punches to throw, and lose himself in the pure physicality of it.

  Rolling his head on his neck, he stared out the window, beyond the crowd. For a split second he caught the glint of metal. Blinking, he saw it. On the other side of the street, a man stood facing the club, a gun in his hand.

  And he was aiming it at the window.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Jack recognized the man and it was not who he’d expected. What the hell?

  Instead of hiding, Jack shouted the one word guaranteed to send a room full of crew members scurrying like cockroaches. “Coppers!”

  The place erupted into chaos. Tables and chairs were knocked over, glass broken, as men darted for the back exit and secret rooms. Jack didn’t move. He stared, almost daring the man across the street to shoot him.

  But the man must have realized the opportunity at a clean shot had passed, because he tucked the pistol into his pocket and started down the street. Donning his shirt, Jack slid through the crowd as quickly as possible. Then he was out the doors and on the walk. He spotted the shooter and followed. It was then he noticed that Cooper was also in pursuit. Good man.

  No way would the shooter get away this time.

  The man turned along Bowery, heading south. Jack decided to cut him off, so he crossed the street and darted ahead. When the man noticed Jack directly in front of him, his eyes went huge. He spun on his heel and took off in the opposite direction—right into Cooper.

  Cooper grabbed hold of the shooter and yanked his arms behind his back. The man struggled, unable to break free, as Jack slowly approached.

  “You fucking idiot,” Jack growled and drove his fist into Robert Gorcey’s stomach.

  Gorcey wheezed and crumpled in Cooper’s hold. Pedestrians gave them a wide berth on the sidewalk. Still, this was far too public for what Jack had planned. “Bring him to the club,” Jack ordered.

  With a nod, Cooper began dragging Gorcey to Great Jones Street. Cooper might appear wiry, but he was strong. Gorcey had no chance of escaping.

  At the club’s front, Jack jerked his head toward the metal doors that led belowground. “Down there.”

  They were in the cellar when Rye found them. The older man spat on the ground at Gorcey’s feet. “Jesus. One of our own?”

  Gorcey’s expression was mutinous, his disgust and hatred directed solely at Jack. “You deserve it,” he snarled. “Beat me all you want but you deserve killing for interfering.”

  “By forcing you to act like a decent human being, you piece of filth. Those children depend on you to provide for them—money you earn by working for me, I might add.”

  “Not anymore. I left—or are you too busy with your whore to notice?”

  Jack didn’t even think, just reacted. His fist cracked into Gorcey’s jaw. “Speak about her like that again and I’ll break both your legs.”

  “Who cares?” Gorcey slurred. “After what I’ve done my legs are the least of my problems. Do your worst, Mulligan.”

  “Are you so cheap you can’t spare the money for your family? I know how much you make, Robert. You could well afford it.”

  “That is not the point,” Gorcey said. “I don’t want to be married to her anymore. I don’t love her or those kids.”

  “Then why’d you marry her? Why’d you come inside her and make those kids?”

  “Because she let me. And she wasn’t so plain and boring back then. That’s what happens when women have babies. They become plain and boring. She never let me fuck her again after that fifth brat was born.”

  “Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” Rye muttered. “No wonder she didn’t want him back.”

  Jack’s eye twitched, his fists clenching. He’d met Mrs. Gorcey and she deserved better than this unappreciative bastard. “A decent woman, sharing your life and giving you babies? That’s a goddamn gift. That is a woman you work hard to keep, not one you leave. But I can see she’s well rid of you. They all are.”

  Gorcey said nothing, his expression unchanged. While Jack didn’t know the other man well, Gorcey didn’t strike him as a genius mastermind. Had he worked alone? “How much did O’Shaughnessy pay you?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t you?” He strode closer and leaned down into Gorcey’s face. “If you weren’t working for me, you were working for someone else. Tell me who, Robert.”

  “Whether you believe me or not isn’t my problem. I’m not working for anyone else.”

  “Actually it’s very much your problem. If you tell me the truth, I might just put you on a train to Kansas. If you lie, however, I’m thinking a ship bound for Brisbane. That’s on the other side of the world, Robert. Either way, you’ll never return to New York.”

  “I’m not working for anyone else,” he repeated, though Jack didn’t believe him.

  “Well, it looks as if I’ve gotten my wish. I was looking for one more man to fight today and it seems I’ve found him.” He rolled his shoulders and advanced on Gorcey.

  “You haven’t asked the most important question.”

  “Such as, why don’t I just throw you in the East River and be done with it?”

  “No. Like how I knew about you and that fancy lady.”

  A cold sense of foreboding slithered down Jack’s spine. “How did you know about her?”

  “Everyone knows. Including O’Shaughnessy.”

  “And?”

  “I’ll tell you, if you let me go.”

  Jack’s fists clenched as his pulse pounded in his ears. No way would he let Gorcey go, but he had to know what O’Shaughnessy planned, especially if it involved Justine. “I won’t let you go, but I may let you live if you tell me.”

  “Not good enough. Let me go and I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”

  “Robert, you seem to think this is a negotiation. I do not negotiate with men who’ve tried to kill me.”

  “Then I guess she dies.”

  That was all Jack needed to know. O’Shaughnessy had targeted Justine as a way to get to Jack . . . and Jack must move heaven and earth to prevent that.

  “Let’s go,” Rye said. “Right now.”

  Jack was already moving toward the door.

  “Wait,” Cooper called. “It could be a trap. If Gorcey’s working with him, this is exactly what O’Shaughnessy wants you to do.”

  Jack paused, fear sinking its claws deep into his chest. This might be a trap . . . but what if it wasn’t? What if O’Shaughnessy had kidnapped Justine? The thought turned his blood cold. “I don’t care. If she’s not there already, then she’s in danger. I have to put the fear of God in him; otherwise, she’ll always be at risk.”

  “Agreed,” Rye said. “We should take a hundred men.”

  “No, that’s what he wants. A big confrontation in the streets where we all get arrested and chaos descends upon the city. I lived through that once and I don’t relish doing it again. This has to be civilized.”

  Rye shook his head. “O’Shaughnessy ain’t civilized.”

  “He’ll come around. Cooper, stay with Gorcey. Tie him up. Rye, let’s go.”

  Justine hurried up the steps of police headquarters, the note tucked in her handbag. She could almost feel the paper in there, burning with importance, as she hurried to Ellison’s office. She hadn’t spoken to the detective since the shirtwaist factory. In reality, the visit wasn’t that far in the past, but she felt like a different person now, someone a bit sadder and harder.

  Thirty minutes ago, she had been leaving the legal aid society when a boy handed her a note.

  $10,000 FOR MULLIGAN’S LIFE. YOU HAVE UNTIL SUND
OWN.

  Trevor O’Shaughnessy had signed it, along with directions to Broome Street Hall.

  Justine had no idea who he was or if he’d really kidnapped Jack but she meant to get to the bottom of it. Ellison’s desk was empty, so she searched the building until she found the detective in a meeting with some other men. She didn’t care if interrupting was rude; Jack’s life might be at stake.

  Knocking on the doorjamb, she waved Ellison over. He didn’t appear happy at the intrusion, his frown deepening. “I need to speak with you. Urgently,” she whispered.

  “Miss Greene,” a man behind a large desk called. “Come in, please.”

  The well-dressed man was about her father’s age, his hair slightly silver at the temples. “How . . . how do you know who I am?”

  “Your father and I are acquainted. You and I have actually met a time or two, not that I expect you to remember. I am Captain Harrison.”

  Ah, yes. “Your niece is Miss Ida Harrison.”

  “Indeed, she is. Was there something you needed from Detective Ellison today?”

  She didn’t hesitate. If Ellison’s help was good, Captain Harrison’s was even better. “I received this note not even an hour ago.” Pulling out the paper, she handed it to Harrison.

  Harrison whistled and passed the note to the other men. “Looks like Mulligan’s got himself in a spot of trouble.”

  That was what scared her. “Who is this O’Shaughnessy person?”

  “The man who’s trying to take over Mulligan’s territory,” Ellison explained. “I’m surprised you didn’t know, seeing as how friendly the two of you are.”

  Justine ignored the dig. “Should I be worried? Will he hurt Mr. Mulligan?”

  “One of them’ll likely end up dead.” Harrison shrugged. “Better for us if those types take care of themselves, anyway.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means we don’t have time to get involved in those downtown gang wars. They sort it out amongst each other. Saves us the trouble.”

  “But, this is clearly blackmail. Can you not do something? At the very least come down to Broome Street Hall and speak with this O’Shaughnessy person. It might be nothing to worry about, but it also could mean a man’s life is in the balance.”