by Kat Ross
“Eleven. Be there an hour early so I can get you into position.” He gave a humorless smile. “You know where the Avalon is, don’t you, Miss Pell?”
Chapter 8
It was strange to see the club in daylight, with no one in the main room except a boy sweeping up sawdust from the night before. The Avalon looked smaller somehow, and seedier. I could see the peeling paint of the murals and dark rings staining the mahogany bar, like the metal puzzles Moran was so fond of.
He greeted us at the front door, leading us up the lefthand staircase and down a corridor to a cramped room barely large enough for the three of us. It was empty save for a window that looked into an office plastered with posters for old boxing matches. The glass was tinted a smoky hue unlike anything I had seen before.
“The room was originally built for use as a hidey-hole during police raids,” Moran said in an amused tone. “John Morrissey stashed contraband here — or favored customers, if their pictures had hit the Rogues’ Gallery.”
“Rogues’ Gallery?” John echoed.
“Commissioner Byrnes published it a few years ago,” I said. “A photographic record of the four hundred worst offenders in the country, with biographical sketches and details of their crimes. It’s been a valuable tool for law enforcement.”
Moran smiled. “I own a copy myself. Fascinating reading. In any event, when I bought a stake in the Avalon, I ordered some modifications.” He tapped a finger on the glass. “I commissioned it specially from a Venetian glazier. The other side appears to be a mirror. You can see them, but they can’t see you.”
My sister would give her eyeteeth to know about this. “Can we hear what’s being said?” I asked.
Moran nodded. “There are pinholes that permit sound to pass through the wall.”
“Anything else before the meeting begins?” John asked.
“I’ve had boys tailing the three of them for the last few days. Nothing out of the ordinary so far.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s ten-thirty. I’ll leave you now.”
We settled in to wait.
“What do think he uses this room for?” John whispered.
“God only knows.”
“It could all be an elaborate set-up.”
“It could.”
“But we’re in the muck now. No going back.”
“No,” I agreed.
Quincy Hughes was the first to arrive.
I mentally reviewed what Moran had told us before we left his mansion the evening before. Quincy was a third-year law student at Columbia. I actually knew him myself in passing; his family was wealthy and moved in society circles. Mine wasn’t at the same level, but our friend Edward Dovington sometimes invited John and me to parties at the mansions of the city’s plutocrats. I recalled a handsome boy with bright blue eyes and acne scars pitting his cheeks. Moran said Quincy was ambitious and planned to go into politics.
He looked the same, if older and warier. Moran left him alone in the office and we watched him pace up and down. At one point, he strode over to the mirror and examined his teeth. It was an odd experience to be looking directly at him, inches away, and know he couldn’t see us.
Then the door opened and Moran entered with Joseph Allen White and Thaddeus Shaw. It was easy to tell who was who.
Joseph was built like a greyhound, with the excitable energy of a little kid. He had dropped out of school and lived with his parents in Corona, Queens, near the racetrack. Moran said he’d always been a loose cannon, but he’d never been in serious trouble. Joseph was more of a mischief-maker, which elevated him on my list of suspects nonetheless.
Thaddeus Shaw . . . . Well, John claimed he was known on campus as an oddball and I had to admit he looked the part. He had buggy eyes and peculiar, tiny teeth. I felt a stab of sympathy. He might have been the nicest person in the world, but it didn’t take much imagination to see other boys picking on him simply for his looks. There were six hundred students enrolled in Columbia’s medical college so John hardly knew him. In contrast to Joseph, his demeanor was quiet and watchful.
Moran poured them each an inch of whiskey and passed the glasses around.
Joseph downed his in one go. Quincy cradled the glass in his hands, swirling the amber contents. Thaddeus stared at Moran and set his own drink on the table.
“You know I don’t take spirits, James,” he said.
Moran picked up the glass and tossed it back. The others watched him warily. Joseph’s foot jittered against his chair leg.
“I won’t beat around the bush,” Moran said. “You all know what’s happened. Something or someone is coming after us. I need to know everything. Rumors, suspicions, it doesn’t matter how outlandish. Don’t even think about holding back on me.” His voice was soft but menacing. “Let’s start with Danny. Who saw him last?”
There was a long silence. Then Joseph spoke. “I guess it was me,” he said. “We went out for a night on the town.”
“When was that?” Moran asked.
“Couple of days before he died.” Joseph grabbed the bottle and poured himself another dram of whiskey. “Danny wanted to gamble so we went to the Bronze Door on Thirty-Third. His luck was on fire. Never seen anything like it.” He downed the whiskey and shuddered as it burned a path down his throat. “Didn’t matter the game. We hit the faro tables, then stuss and blackjack. He won every single hand. Every fucking one. They finally threw us out for cheating though Danny insisted he didn’t.”
Moran and Quincy exchanged a look. Thaddeus was expressionless, his bulging eyes locked on Joseph.
“What happened next?” Moran asked.
“Danny was furious because they wouldn’t let him keep his winnings. Honestly, he’d been acting strange all night. Neither of us felt like going home so we bought a bottle and took it to Central Park. We sat by the lake.” Joseph’s leg was going a mile a minute. He gave a shaky laugh. “You’re not going to believe the next part.”
“Try me.” Moran had gone very still, his knuckles white around the glass.
“Well, he started talking about his mother and a story she used to tell. Some Jew thing about a monster called a golem.”
My eyebrows climbed to my hairline and I shared an astonished look with John.
“We were lying on the grass, passing the bottle back and forth. Danny was more than half in the bag. Never could hold his liquor.” Joseph barked another nervous laugh. “He said these golems would do their master’s bidding, like slaves.”
Moran’s gaze fixed on him with unwavering intensity. “What else?”
“He told me someone was following him. Kept looking into the trees. It was a strange night. I mean, Danny! He hardly ever drank. I’d never seen him like that before.” Joseph fell silent for a moment, staring into space. “Then he said golems could also be used for protection. That some rabbi called one to guard the Jew ghetto.”
“Where the hell are you going with this?” Quincy interjected, an impatient edge to his voice. “Did someone come after you?”
Joseph stood and wandered over to the mirror, staring right at us. His voice was low and I strained to hear him.
“It had rained the night before and the ground was soft. Danny said we should make a mud man.”
Shaw spoke for the first time since he had refused the drink. “Like a snowman?”
“Sort of, but lying down. It was easier. So we did. I was drunk, too. It was just a joke.” Joseph wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “Danny wrote something on a paper and put it in the thing’s mouth.”
He stopped talking. He was still looking right at us, so close I could see the sweat beading at his hairline.
“Well?” Quincy demanded. “What happened?”
Joseph spun around to face the others. “The fucking thing sat up.”
Quincy burst out laughing and was silenced by a sharp gesture from Moran.
“What did you do?” Thaddeus asked.
“What do you think?” Joseph snarled. “We ran like hell.”
<
br /> Quincy’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not joking.”
“Do I look like I’m joking, Q?”
The acne scars on Quincy’s face flushed red against his skin. “So this is all your fault.”
“Not mine,” Joseph said defensively. “Danny did it all!”
“You could have stopped him,” Moran pointed out. He sounded surprisingly calm.
“How the hell was I supposed to know it would actually work?” Joseph’s voice rose to a high pitch. “Some kind of Jew black magic. And he’s not even around to fix it!”
“Enough. What happened next?”
“Nothing. When we got out of the park, we parted ways and staggered home. I thought the whole thing was a crazy dream until two days later when I heard about Danny. I thought maybe, somehow, I dunno, it had killed him.” His voice took on a whiny edge. “I didn’t know what to do. I obviously couldn’t go to the police.”
“You should have told us,” Moran said icily.
Joseph picked at his cuff. “I just did.”
Quincy and Thaddeus shook their heads.
“So this golem is still out there?”
“I guess so.” He’d lapsed into a sullen monotone. “I don’t know.”
“Any of you see Danny after that?” Moran demanded.
Joseph and Quincy shook their heads. Thaddeus Shaw cleared his throat. “I didn’t, but Francis did. He’d gone to meet Danny at school the day of the accident. He told me later, just before he . . . .” Thaddeus trailed off.
“Died,” Quincy finished quietly. “In another freak accident.”
“What the hell is going on?” Joseph burst out. “Francis fell off a plank. I read about it in the papers. Nobody saw any golem around.”
“Maybe this golem can change itself to look like us,” Thaddeus suggested.
“But what does it want?” Quincy muttered. “Goddamn Danny.”
“Think for a second,” Moran snapped. “Danny was already scared when he made the golem. It’s why he did it! Doesn’t that tell you anything?”
Thaddeus nodded. “Something else was already after him. The same thing that killed the others.”
“I don’t know for sure, but I intend to find out,” Moran said. “Did any of you see Francis’s double?”
They were silent. “Maybe Cash did,” Quincy said after a minute. “Maybe that’s why he killed himself. He knew he was next.”
“Or Cash had something to do with it,” Thaddeus said. “He knew something—”
“No.” Moran cut him off. “I’ve known Cash for years. Besides which, I saw him myself when he was supposed to be dead.”
Joseph jumped to his feet. “Someone’s messing with us!”
“Maybe.” Moran’s black eyes raked across his friends. “Or it’s one of you. No one else knows about the Pythagoras Society.”
The room erupted as they all started talking at once, shouting and arguing.
“Sit down and shut up,” Moran barked. “All of you.”
The men reluctantly complied.
“If it is one of you, I’ll find out,” he said. “And you’ll wish you were never born.”
“One of us what?” Quincy demanded acidly. “I don’t even understand what’s going on. If you do, please explain it to the rest of us.”
Moran regarded him. “Someone or something impersonated Danny and Francis. Cashel, too. Maybe this golem, maybe not.” He leaned on the table. “A few days ago, I saw someone who looked a lot like me. So you can imagine my concern.”
They all looked shocked.
“Christ, James. Why didn’t you tell us?” Quincy asked, sympathy mingled with fear on his face.
“Because it sounds insane.” He looked at them each in turn. “And I’m not sure who to trust.”
“What exactly are we talking about?” Thaddeus asked softly. “The devil?”
No one answered.
“We have to tell the police,” Quincy said, at the same instant Moran forcefully said, “No!” and Joseph gave a bleak laugh. “Tell them what? They’d never believe us.”
“I’ve already hired private investigators,” Moran said. “That’s as far as it goes for now. I can’t risk this getting into the papers.”
A brittle silence descended. Thaddeus Shaw took out a pocket watch. “I have to get to class,” he said, rising. “If there’s anything I can do, James . . . .”
Moran waved a weary hand. “We’re done here. For now.” He gave each of them a hard look. “You’ll keep your mouths shut about this. Not a word to anyone, understood?”
The young men all nodded. Thaddeus Shaw put his hat on. “I assume you’ll all be at the funeral tomorrow? For Francis.”
There was another round of glum nods. Thaddeus returned it and strode out the door with an awkward, hitching gait.
Joseph Allen White bounced to his feet. “I have somewhere to be, too.” He ducked his head. “Good luck, James. You know where to find me.” He left without a backward glance, clearly relieved to be on his way.
That left Quincy Hughes. He remained in his chair, his vivid blue eyes regarding Moran with a measuring gaze. “Three of us dead in the space of a month. What else do you know, James? You’re holding back.”
Moran sank down into the seat opposite. “It’s going according to the order of signatures in the society’s charter. There’s only one copy and I have it. So who the hell else knows about that?”
Quincy’s eyebrows rose. “Christ. I haven’t thought about that thing in years. You kept it?”
“Naturally. Assuming it wasn’t Danny’s fault, which of them strikes you as most likely?”
Quincy thought about the question for a long minute. He rubbed his forehead. “Neither, really. But if I had to pick . . . Joseph was the last one to see Danny alive. He’s always drawn trouble like flies to shit. Always taken a joke too far. The golem is a perfect example. Joseph’s pranks have a way of spinning out of control. If he did stir something up best left alone, I’d guess it was by accident.”
Moran nodded. “But . . . .”
“Yes, there’s always a but, isn’t there? Between the two of them, Shaw’s the one I still barely know, even after all these years. God only knows what he’s capable of.” His mouth twisted in distaste. “He works with corpses, disease, death. He’s comfortable with it. It’s a stretch, but I can almost imagine him cursing us out of some . . . I don’t know, macabre curiosity.”
“Then I’ll see him dead,” Moran growled.
“You can rely on me, James,” Quincy said. “We need to stick together. The club served a purpose once, but we’re older now. And you and I . . . well, let’s be honest. We’re in a different class, aren’t we? We need to protect each other’s reputations.”
“I’m glad you see that,” Moran said dryly.
Quincy rose to his feet. “I’ve heard the rumors about you.” He sounded amused. “I’m not sure what you’re playing at, but as long as you keep the family name clean and leave me out of it, you won’t hear any complaints.”
“How kind of you.”
Quincy nodded absently. Moran’s ironic tone seemed lost on him. “Have you thought of leaving the country for a while? Until it blows over?”
“I don’t think it’s something I can run from.”
“Perhaps not.” He leaned forward, his expression suddenly intent. “What does it look like?”
“Like me,” Moran replied. “Exactly like me.”
“Are you sure—”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
Quincy put his hat on and buttoned up his cashmere coat. “Don’t worry, we’ll sort this out, James. I’m at your disposal.” He paused at the door. “I was wondering about something. According to the charter, who’s next in line?”
“You don’t remember?” Moran smiled. “It’s you, Q.”
Moran turned to the one-way mirror and gave us a nod. A moment later, we met him in the corridor and he led us into the empty office. The glass was indeed a perfect mirror on this side,
surrounded by a gilded frame.
“So?” he asked, leaning against the table. “What do you think?”
I gathered my thoughts. There was a great deal to mull over. “Well, one thing I can tell you is that Joseph Allen White told the truth. There was a golem. Do you remember when I met you coming out of the sewers?”
Moran managed to keep a straight face. “How could I forget?”
“We were chasing the thing and we finally unmade it, thanks to John. But we never knew who had summoned the golem, so that was definitely enlightening.”
“It still doesn’t make sense,” John muttered. “Rabbi Mezritch said they had to be made by a man of God. Someone who’d studied the scripture for years. Danny doesn’t fit the bill at all. From the way Joseph told it, it sounds like a hare-brained, spur-of-the-moment impulse. So why did it work?”
We were all quiet for a minute.
“His luck,” I ventured. “Joseph said it was on fire that night. Maybe he somehow . . . twisted chance.”
Moran frowned. “Even if he did, I don’t see how it matters for me.”
“And the golem is most definitely dead,” John pointed out. “But whatever’s stalking you isn’t.”
“Then we’re back at square one.”
“Not necessarily. It might be useful to find out if the same phenomenon occurred with the others,” I said. “Think about it this way. The accidents they died in were very unlucky. But maybe it cuts both ways.”
Moran frowned in thought. “Odds,” he murmured. “Probability theory.”
He looked reassured and I understood that this was something he could finally understand.
“Precisely. I can’t say it will save you, but the more you know about how this all works, the better your chances.”
He nodded slowly. “Makes sense, Pell. So how do you want to proceed?”
“We need to know more about Cashel and Francis, about everything that happened during their last days. That means witness interviews. Any ideas?”
“Francis and I have barely spoken in the last year, but Cashel and I stayed friendly. He was always close to his mother.”
“Would she see you?”
