The Fall

by Sean Moynihan

  “You okay, Jimmy?” Long asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost, my boy.”

  “That carriage coming at us,” Halloran said quietly. “It’s going kind of fast.”

  He looked at the approaching carriage in the distance as Long and Jahn did the same, and he realized that something was wrong—the large, black carriage pulled by two horses was going significantly faster than normal as it careened towards them, and the driver wasn’t doing anything to retard the horses’ progress.

  Halloran looked back towards Goldman down the street, and he knew then that this was no accident—these were no wild horses running astray as the driver attempted to pull back on the reins.

  “He’s going for Goldman!” he shouted at the detectives. “Quick—grab her!”

  He then started running towards the carriage that was barreling down the street as Long and Jahn took off as fast as they could in the opposite direction to warn Goldman and her followers. Halloran ran hard up the sidewalk and waved at the driver, who ignored his orders to stop. As the powerful horses and carriage came close to where he stood, he suddenly darted out into the street and jumped up onto the side of the carriage, almost falling to the ground. Gripping a silver handle on the carriage’s frame, he reached up to grab the driver’s leg, but the driver swiftly brought a whip down and struck him on his forearm, causing him to yell out in pain and almost release his hold.

  “Stop the carriage!” he shouted over the din of the thundering hooves and rolling wheels. “Police! Stop!”

  But the driver ignored his commands again and pulled the reins to the right, forcing the horses to change their direction slightly. Halloran looked ahead as he held on desperately to the carriage, and he saw Pat Long coming up closer to Goldman, who seemed oblivious to the approaching catastrophe. Jahn was running right behind Long, waving his arms. The carriage kept moving powerfully at the mass of people walking on the sidewalk, and in one last desperate attempt to avert a collision, Halloran reached up and punched the driver forcefully in the ribs, and he could tell that the blow had some effect, as the driver winced audibly and bent over slightly.

  But then it was too late, and Halloran looked ahead again to see the figure of Long leaping to push Goldman out of the way just as the horses ran straight into the small group, throwing people in every direction. The carriage rattled and bumped violently, and the driver then yanked on the reins to get the horses out into the street again, but Halloran reached up and grabbed the driver by his collar and pulled down hard, throwing his mysterious foe to the sidewalk.

  Halloran then leapt down and ran over to the assailant, who was slowly getting to his feet. The young officer rammed into the man’s torso with his shoulder, and the man crumpled to the ground. “You are under arrest!” Halloran yelled into the injured man’s ear. “Put cuffs on him,” he said to his fellow officers, who were fast approaching.

  Standing up, he looked back at the moaning, injured forms of several people who had been walking with Goldman. Jahn was kneeling next to Long, who was on his back and bleeding from his mouth and nose. Halloran quickly ran over to them. “How bad?” he asked.

  “Pretty bad,” Jahn answered, holding Long’s hand. “He got hit with the full force of the team.”

  Halloran looked down at Long, who was still alert.

  “Sarge, I’m sorry,” he said. “We’ll get you to a hospital soon.”

  “Did she get clear?” Long asked haltingly. “Miss Goldman…did she avoid getting hit?”

  “She did, pal,” Jahn said reassuringly. “You got to her just in time.”

  “That’s good, that’s good,” Long said.

  “It’s okay, Sarge,” Halloran said. “You’re going to be okay—an ambulance is on the way.”

  Long just smiled and closed his eyes as Halloran heard the moans and wails of the injured victims lying all around him.

  “We need Detective Sergeant Falconer,” he said, looking over at Jahn. “We need him now.”

  51

  Falconer strode into the hospital ward at Bellevue with Waidler, Penwill, and Houllier at his heels. He stopped and looked around the large room with various nurses, attendants, and doctors tending to the many patients in their beds, and he recognized Halloran standing with Jahn and a few other men near one bed midway down the wall to his left.

  “Over there,” he said to his companions.

  They walked quickly over to the bed, and Falconer saluted Halloran.

  “Thanks for the message, Jimmy,” he said. “How’s he doing?”

  “Well,” Halloran replied quietly, “the doc says he got some broken ribs, a broken leg, a sprained shoulder, and a bunch of bumps and bruises, but he’ll be okay.”

  “Good to hear. Could have been much worse, obviously.”

  “Right, sir,” Halloran said, looking over at Long lying in his bed.

  “Is he awake?”

  “Oh, sure. Come on over—he’ll be glad to see you all.”

  Falconer walked over to the bed with Halloran and sat down in a chair next to Long as the other men gathered around. The sergeant’s left leg was encased in a large cast, and he had a wide bandage wrapped around the top of his head with scattered bruising about his face. Long looked at Falconer and smiled. “Robert,” he said weakly. “Hello there…I guess I was a step too slow this time, huh?”

  “Well, Pat,” Falconer said, “I’m sorry it happened this way, but I heard that you saved some people’s lives tonight.”

  “Yeah, that’s what they’re saying. Can you imagine that? Me?”

  Falconer chuckled. “And we even caught the guy,” he said. “How about that?”

  Long smiled again. “Yeah, well, you know what they say down at headquarters: I always get my man.”

  The men standing around the bed laughed with Falconer.

  “Hey, Robert,” Long said, grabbing Falconer’s hand, “I know this lady Goldman isn’t liked too much around here being an agitator and such, but the fact is, she has as much right as you or me to speak her mind in this country—know what I mean?”

  “Sure, Pat.”

  “So, you’re doing the right thing, Robert. She’s a victim here, and we have an obligation to protect her and get these guys, no matter what the people and the papers say about her. That’s the oath we took.”

  “Yes, I understand.”

  “I want you to know your dad would have been so proud of you for what you’re doing—so proud. You just keep going and you get these guys, you hear?”

  “Yes, Pat. Thanks for that.”

  “Sure thing, kid. Sure thing.”

  “Well, well,” a loud voice said from behind Falconer, “is this your gang from down by the docks, sarge?”

  Falconer and the men turned to see a doctor in a long, white coat standing just a few feet away. He was in his forties, with his hair shaved almost down to his scalp, and Falconer could see that he was powerfully built, with his coat stretched tightly over thick shoulders and arms.

  “Ah, look who it is,” Long said. “Gentlemen, meet Doc Leland, who somehow patched me up.”

  The men all exchanged brief greetings with the doctor, who stepped forward to the foot of Long’s bed. “So how are you feeling, sarge?” he asked Long.

  “Oh, not bad, doc,” Long said. “Not bad, considering.”

  “Well, gentlemen,” Leland said, looking at the men surrounding the bed, “I can tell you that the sarge here had only one question as we treated him when he first came in, and that was whether he’d be okay enough to ice skate up in Central Park in December. And I said yes, he would.”

  Long chuckled.

  “In fact,” Leland said, “this guy wants me to join him, and let me tell you—I’m pretty good on my skates, too, if I do say so myself.”

  “Well, I’m going to hold you to it, doc,” Long said.

  “Yeah,
well, just don’t ignore me and spend all your time with all the ladies up there,” Leland said. “I heard about your reputation, sarge.”

  The men laughed again.

  “All right,” Leland said, looking at Falconer. “I was just checking in. Just know that your sergeant here is going to be all right and we’ll have him up and on his feet in a few weeks.”

  “Thanks, doctor,” Falconer said. “Appreciate your help.”

  “My pleasure,” Leland said. “Okay, sarge, we’ll see you a little later.”

  Long raised his hand slightly and waived and Leland stepped away and moved off to other patients.

  “Well, Pat,” Falconer said, “I think we’d better get back to Mulberry. We’ll check back with you tomorrow, okay?”

  “Sounds good,” Long said, grinning. “I’ll be right here.”

  Falconer smiled. “All right, we’ll see you then,” he said, and then he signaled for Halloran and Jahn to join him a few feet away from Long’s bed.

  “So, the suspect is over at Mulberry?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Jahn answered. “But he ain’t talking, so I doubt we’ll get any information from him.”

  “Well, we’ll see about that,” Falconer said. “Let’s go, Jimmy.”

  Falconer then signaled for the other men to join him, and they walked out of the ward, headed for police headquarters on Mulberry Street.

  52

  Falconer, Penwill, Houllier, Waidler, and Halloran all sat down inside Superintendent Byrnes’ office after being let in by Clubber Williams.

  “Well, gentlemen,” Byrnes said, “this is an unfortunate turn of events.”

  “Yes, it is, sir,” Falconer said.

  “Pat Long is a good man and a good cop,” Byrnes said. “I spent a lot of time with him on the streets back in the day, and I’m just glad he and the others are apparently going to pull through.”

  “It looks that way, sir,” Falconer said.

  “And it’s clear from Officer Halloran’s story here that this was a deliberate act. This suspect intentionally tried to drive over these people.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Although we don’t actually know his identity yet. He’s not giving anything up.”

  “Yes, we’ve heard.”

  “So where do we go from here?”

  “Well, I think we can change this suspect’s attitude and eventually get to the organization’s leadership. But I’m going to need a couple more men.”

  “That’s easy enough,” Byrnes said, looking over at Chief Inspector Steers, who was standing off to the side.

  “They’ll have to be men of…a certain quality, sir,” Falconer explained. “This band of thugs is obviously ruthless and plays to win. I need some men who, shall we say, aren’t afraid to get their hands dirty…who will be willing to do what is necessary to bring these men to justice…who are willing to do what most other men aren’t.”

  “I get your meaning,” Byrnes said quietly. He then turned to Detective Sergeant McNaught standing over near Steers. “Are those two officers, Kramer and Winter, still on desk duty downstairs following their latest problems?”

  “They are, sir,” McNaught answered.

  “Go fetch them for me, please, and grab their personnel files, too.”

  “Right,” McNaught said, and then he quickly exited the office.

  “Meanwhile, I suppose we should get the suspect in here,” Byrnes stated. “I think I can change his mind about talking.”

  “If you don’t mind, sir,” Falconer said, “I would like the opportunity to interrogate this suspect.”

  “Oh? Well, by all means, please do. Meanwhile, Inspectors Penwill and Houllier, how are things going with your French bomb thrower?”

  “Well, superintendent,” Penwill said, “we got close to him at your Grand Central terminal yesterday, but alas, he managed to give us the slip.”

  “I see. But it’s good that you are onto him, and he knows it now.”

  “Yes, Monsieur Superintendent,” Houllier said. “This man cannot escape apprehension forever. We will chase him to the ends of the earth, if necessary.”

  “I trust you will, inspector,” Byrnes said. “And our city is most grateful for your efforts and those of Inspector Penwill here.”

  Falconer heard the door to Byrnes’ office open again, and he turned and looked to see McNaught enter, trailed by two uniformed officers. McNaught directed the two to stand before Byrnes’ large desk, and they complied.

  “Gentlemen, this is Officer Winter,” McNaught said, pointing to the larger officer with snow white hair and a barrel chest. “And this here is Officer Kramer.”

  Falconer and the others stood up as Byrnes spoke to the two men: “Well, then, officers, we’ve summoned you here today to talk about something rather important.”

  “Uh, superintendent, sir, may I ask what it is we did?” Winter interrupted.

  “What’s that?” Byrnes asked.

  “Well, sir, I’m just wondering what it is we’re accused of, because I’m sure there’s a good reason why we did it.”

  “Relax, Winter, you are not in trouble. We’ve actually asked you to come upstairs to take on a special duty, and I’ll let Detective Sergeant Falconer here from the Detective Bureau explain things.”

  Falconer walked over to McNaught and asked for the officers’ personnel files. After examining them for a moment, he walked back to where Winter and Kramer stood. He then looked up at Winter, who appeared to be in his fifties, with a sturdy frame, bright blue eyes, and large, meaty hands that appeared to have been in many physical altercations over the years.

  “William Winter,” Falconer said, reading from one of the files. “Formerly with the U.S. Navy, then joined the department in 1877, served on the street for over a decade and was advanced to the rank of corporal, but then, due to repeated citizen complaints of excessive force, was reduced back to patrol officer first grade.”

  Falconer looked up at Winter, who appeared to fidget slightly where he stood.

  “So, Winter,” Falconer said, “what’s with all the problems? Seems like you’ve had a habit of putting suspects in the hospital over the years, as well as causing excessive damage to local businesses when apprehending said suspects. Can you explain yourself?”

  “Well, sir,” Winters said slowly, “maybe I’ve gotten a little too rough at times, but most of those mopes deserved it, as you know, being a former beat cop yourself. And I’ve tried to be a little nicer lately—that’s a fact.”

  “Right,” Falconer said, and then he turned to the dark-haired Kramer, who was younger, perhaps in his forties, slightly smaller, but still showed a sturdy frame with thick arms, wide shoulders, and had a hard face that seemingly could batter through a brick wall without suffering any appreciable damage. Falconer looked at one of Kramer’s eyes, which appeared to be slightly blackened and swollen.

  “What’s up with the eye, Kramer?” he asked.

  “Just a scrap, sir,” Kramer replied nonchalantly. “Nothing major.”

  “I see,” Falconer said, turning to the files in his hands. “So…Jason A. Kramer, aged forty-six, entered college here in New York City in 1866 to study the classics and philosophy, but was promptly expelled two months into his term for throwing a fellow student through a plate-glass window.”

  Falconer looked up at Kramer, who shrugged.

  “You then went to work on the docks,” Falconer continued, “and became known as an avid participant in underground prize-fighting, where the rules were, shall we say, relaxed and competitors could use any means necessary to win the match. You did well in this avocation, but then applied for the police department in 1878, and rose from patrol officer first grade to corporal, was passed over several times for sergeant, and then finally was reduced in rank three years ago after the police board found you guilty of a pattern of
using excessive force. Does that about cover it, Kramer?”

  The stone-faced officer looked at Falconer for a moment, and then shrugged again. “If that’s what it says,” he replied.

  “Well, not the best records, gentlemen,” Falconer said, walking away and glancing at the files again.

  “Begging your pardon, sir,” Winter said. “We were just told that we’re here for some special duty, but it seems to me that we ain’t really looked upon so favorably. So, I’m not sure why we’re here. Sounds like you want a couple of fellers who aren’t so much into the physical aspect of the job and we aren’t the men you’re looking for.”

  “You’re exactly the men I’m looking for, Winter,” Falconer said, turning back to face the two officers.

  “Sorry, sir?” Winter said, appearing confused.

  “We face a very determined and ruthless band of unidentified cut-throats, men,” Falconer said. “They’ve already tried to kill our victim four times in the past month, and almost succeeded last night in taking her out and several persons who were with her when they deliberately rammed into her with a team of horses and a carriage. We almost lost one of our own sergeants in that incident. I need men who are willing to stand up to these killers. Men who are fighters, and who aren’t afraid to kill, if necessary. Men who are used to…excessive force, if you get my meaning. Are you two willing to take on this job with my team?”

  Winter looked over at Kramer, who looked back at him before turning to face Falconer again.

  “Where do we sign, sir?” Winter said, with the slightest hint of a smile creasing his face.

  “Good,” Falconer said, handing the files back to McNaught. “Now, listen, you are officially off your desk duty and will be reporting directly to Detective Waidler here. You might also be working with these gentlemen—this is Officer Halloran, and this is Inspector Penwill from Scotland Yard, and Inspector Houllier from the French Surete. They are here in our country assisting on another matter, but we might be using them in our investigations, and they might be using us. We are a team—understood?”