Five Points

by J. R. Roberts

  “I’ll let her go right up.”

  “Thanks.”

  Clint took the telegram to his room and opened it when he was inside. According to Bat a young man had been seen in the company of Mrs. Wellington several times during the days before she died. According to Bat, he was, “tall, slender, a handsome lad.”

  Sure fit the description of Ben Mandelbaum to a T.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  When Bethany got back to the rooming house that night, she knocked on Ben’s door. He answered immediately. She could tell by the redness of his face that Ma had slapped him once or twice that day.

  “Can I come in?”

  He nodded, backed away.

  “I went to see him today.”

  “Who?”

  “The Gunsmith.”

  “Why did you do that, Bethany?” he demanded, grabbing her by the shoulders.

  “I had to, Ben,” she said. “I had to tell him that you didn’t kill that woman.”

  “And did you tell him who did?”

  “No.”

  “Well . . . it’s good that you didn’t,” he said. “Tellin’ him it was Willie would lead him right to Ma.”

  “Ben,” she said, “I probably led him to Ma just by talkin’ to him.”

  “Well,” he said, “he came by to see Ma while I was there. He was with Captain Byrnes.”

  “What happened?”

  “Nothin’. Ma talked her way out, like she always does.”

  “Sometimes I wish she wouldn’t,” Bethany said. “Sometimes I wish they’d just put her away.”

  “And then Willie would take over,” Ben said. “That wouldn’t help us at all.”

  He was still holding her by the shoulders, but more gently now. It made her uncomfortable.

  “Ben, let me go.”

  Ben stared at her, but instead of letting her go he pulled her to him and kissed her, mashing his lips against hers. She pressed her lips tightly together and tried to pull away, but he was too strong. He didn’t know how to kiss very well, but even if he did, he was her brother . . .

  Finally, she managed to push away from him and catch her breath

  “Ben Mandelbaum, don’t you ever do that again.”

  “Bethany, I love you.”

  She turned, opened the door, and ran down the hall to her own room. She let herself in and locked the door behind her, then she wiped her lips with the back of her hand.

  Alone in his room Ben cursed himself, then cursed his whole life. A mother like Ma, a half sister he had evil feelings for, a life that was going nowhere. Sometimes he just wanted to put a gun in his mouth and pull the trigger.

  But he couldn’t get the taste of his sister off his lips.

  Later, there was a knock on Bethany’s door. She opened it cautiously. Ben was standing there looking contrite.

  “I just wanted to tell you, Ma sent me to find you and bring you back.”

  “For what?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “It was after Adams and the captain left. She was mad, tol’ me to go get you and bring you back to her.”

  “She probably wants to talk about Denver,” Bethany said. “I don’t want to talk about Denver. Let her get the story from Willie when he gets back. She’s gonna believe his lies, anyway.”

  “What should I tell her?”

  “Tell her she won’t have to worry about me anymore, ” Bethany said. “Tell her I ain’t comin’ back.”

  “What are you gonna do, Bethany?” Ben asked. “How’re you gonna make a livin’?”

  “I’ll talk to George,” she said. “He’ll help me.”

  “George Appo?” Ben asked. “He’s too old for you!”

  “I’m not gonna marry him, Ben,” she said. “I’m just gonna ask him for help.”

  “And what do you think he’s gonna want in return? ” Ben asked. “He’s a dirty old man—”

  “He’s not even ten years older than me. You’re just jealous, Ben. It’s . . . It’s sick!”

  “Bethany, don’t—”

  She slammed the door in his face, then buried her face in her hands and cried.

  Ben left the building, shoulders slumped, wondering how Ma was going to react to the news.

  Bethany listened at her door. When she was convinced that Ben had gone, she opened it, hurried down the hall, and ran out of the building.

  TWENTY-NINE

  Clint left the hotel the next morning with very little strength in his legs. If he spent every night with Angie, he wouldn’t be able to walk at all by the time he was ready to leave New York. The woman had one of the most voracious sexual appetites he had ever run into.

  There had been a message waiting for him at the front desk with Owen—or Ted. It was from Delvecchio, asking Clint to meet him for breakfast in a restaurant that was just a few blocks away on Broad-way.

  Clint found the restaurant to be small, clean, and doing a brisk business. It was, however, far different from the tavern, and not the kind of place Captain Byrnes would frequent. Delvecchio had already arrived and was seated at a back table.

  “No chance of Byrnes runnin’ into us here,” the detective said.

  “I agree.”

  They both ordered steak and eggs from a tired-looking, middle-aged waitress, then sat back with their coffee cups. Clint found the coffee weak, but said nothing.

  “Why such an early meeting?” Clint asked.

  “Too early for you? Did you have a rough night?” Delvecchio asked.

  “No, I meant—”

  “I know what you meant,” the other man said. “How did I find something out so quickly? I didn’t, really. I just did some quick checking on Mother Baum. Her man, Willie O’Donnell, is out of the city.”

  “Do we know where?”

  “No, but let’s guess Denver, shall we?”

  “What’s this Willie like?”

  “Deadly,” Delvecchio said. “Likes to hurt people, likes to kill. And he’s got friends who like the same things.”

  “Why’s he with . . . Ma?”

  “Ma, Mother, Mother Baum, the Old Lady, she’s called lots of things.”

  “Byrnes said she was called Queen of Fences.” Delvecchio smiled.

  “That’s her favorite. I think she may have coined it herself. Anyway, Willie’s probably warmin’ her bed for the same reason he does everythin’ else— profit.”

  “So Willie probably went with the kids to Denver to . . . What? Teach them? Watch them? Help them?”

  “You tell me. What’d you find out in Denver?”

  Clint didn’t bother telling Delvecchio that he hadn’t found out anything, that he’d had to send Bat Masterson a telegram to try to find something out.

  “A young man was seen in the company of the dead woman for a few days before her death.”

  “That would be Ben. Anybody see a young girl around?”

  “Not that we know of.”

  “Yeah, but Ma would never send Ben alone. Bethany’s the smart one.”

  “Yesterday Ma said Bethany was a stupid girl.”

  “That’s because she hates her,” Delvecchio said, “but Ma knows she needs her. Ben would be useless without Bethany.”

  “So what would happen if Bethany decided to leave Ma?”

  “Well, Bethany’s life would get better, Ben’s would get worse, and Ma would probably hate the girl even more. In fact, I’d go so far as to say Bethany would make a bad enemy out of Ma.”

  “She came to see me.”

  “Bethany?”

  Clint nodded. “Last night.”

  “What did she want?”

  “She begged me not to kill Ben, told me he didn’t kill the woman in Denver.”

  “She tell you who did?”

  “Not a word. Either out of loyalty to Ma—”

  “Or fear,” Delvecchio finished. “Bethany’s not afraid of Ma, but she’d be afraid of what Ma would do to Ben.”

  “The girl needs help,” Clint said. “She needs somebody to advise her, h
elp her make up her mind.”

  “Well, she’s got somebody,” Delvecchio said. “She’d just have to be smart enough to ask him.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “George Appo,” the detective said. “Part Asian, part Irish, best pickpocket in the city.”

  “Did she learn it from him?”

  Delvecchio nodded.

  “George has two protégés, Bethany and a kid called Red.”

  “I’ve met him,” Clint said. “I wasn’t off the train ten seconds when I found his hand in my pocket.”

  “The kid’s got a great touch,” Delvecchio said. “I’m surprised and impressed you caught him.”

  “What about Bethany?”

  “She’s got talent, but she’s not a natural like the kid.”

  “Anything romantic between her and Appo?”

  “No,” Delvecchio said. “He’s only about ten years older than she is, but I don’t think anything’s goin’ on between them. He’s just her mentor.”

  “So then she’ll go to him for help?”

  “I’m sure if she goes to anybody it’ll be him.”

  “Okay, good,” Clint said, “then you take me to see him, and maybe we can get him to tell her what we want her to hear.”

  “What makes you think George Appo is gonna help you?” Delvecchio asked.

  “He and I have a mutual friend who will vouch for me,” Clint said.

  “Sorry, friend,” Delvecchio said, “but me and Appo are acquaintances, not friends.”

  “I wasn’t talking about you,” Clint said. “I was talking about Red.”

  “The kid? He might be hard to find.”

  “He told me to put the word out on the street and he’d hear about it.”

  “Okay,” Delvecchio said. “I’ll put the word out. Where should I say he can find you?”

  “What’s wrong with right here?”

  Delvecchio looked down at his cup and said, “Well, for one, the coffee stinks.”

  THIRTY

  Two hours and a lot of cups of weak coffee later, the kid Red came sauntering in.

  “So, now you need Red’s help, huh?” he asked, looking at Clint and Delvecchio. “Hey, I know you.”

  “Delvecchio.”

  “Right, the private detective. You put the word out that Mr. Adams wanted me, right?”

  “Right.”

  Red looked at Clint.

  “So what can I do for you, Mr. Gunsmith?”

  “I want you to take me to see George Appo.”

  “George? Why?”

  “Because I think a girl named Bethany needs help, and I think she’s going to go to him for it.”

  “Whatsamatter with Bethany? Why don’t she come to me for help? We’re friends.”

  “Then all the more reason you should take me to see George,” Clint said. “I want to help Bethany.”

  Red looked at Delvecchio.

  “Is he tellin’ me straight?”

  “Yeah, kid,” Delvecchio said. “He wants to help the girl.”

  “Well, okay,” Red said. “I gotta talk to George first. Where will I find you?”

  Clint looked down at his weak coffee.

  “Right here.”

  “Right,” Red said. “I’ll be back in an hour.”

  As Red left, Clint suddenly slapped his forehead with his palm.

  “What?” Delvecchio asked.

  “I was supposed to be picked up this morning by Captain Byrnes.”

  “Oh, yeah. To go talk to those other fences. Well, now you don’t have to do that.”

  “I know,” Clint said, “but Byrnes doesn’t know it.”

  “So he probably went without you,” Delvecchio said. “It’ll keep him busy.”

  “It’ll probably make him mad.”

  “More coffee?”

  “Do they serve beer here?”

  “No.”

  Clint shrugged.

  “I’ll have some more weak coffee.”

  True to his word, Red was back in an hour.

  “Okay,” he said. “George says he’ll talk to you.”

  “Not here, I hope,” Clint said.

  “No,” Red said. “George has class. He wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like this.”

  “Where then?”

  “The Metropole.”

  “They have good coffee there,” Delvecchio said.

  “Okay,” Clint said, standing up. “Let’s go.”

  “Not the detective,” Red said. “Just you.”

  “See?” Delvecchio said. “I told you. Not friends.”

  “I’ll see you later,” Clint said to the private detective.

  “I’ll come by your hotel.”

  “Lead on, little man,” Clint said.

  “Hey, my name’s Red.”

  “Okay, Red,” Clint said. “No offense meant.”

  The Metropole was indeed a classy place. Clint had been there once, years before, but it hadn’t changed. He bet it still served the best steak in town.

  “Come on,” Red said. “George is inside already, at his table.”

  As they entered, they were stopped by a man in a tuxedo, but Red said, “Outta the way, we’re here to see George.”

  “Oh, no,” the man said, looking at Red, “it’s you.” He wrinkled his nose, as if he smelled something bad—and maybe he did.

  “Yeah, I’m back.” Red turned to Clint. “George is this way.”

  As he followed Red across the restaurant, Clint asked, “What’s with you and the guy in the suit?”

  “He don’t think I’m clean enough to come to a joint like this,” Red said. “But if George says it’s okay, it’s okay.”

  “George is a big man in this city, huh?”

  “George is the biggest pickpocket in town,” Red said, “the king.”

  Well, why not? Hadn’t he already met the Queen of Fences?

  Why not the King of Pickpockets?

  THIRTY-ONE

  As Clint and Red approached the table, a man stood up and extended his hand. His eyes were just slightly Asian, his hands slender, with tapered fingers. A pick-pocket’s perfect hands, Clint assumed. The man himself was not very tall, was slender and probably not yet thirty. He was dressed extremely well.

  “Mr. Adams? I’m George Appo.”

  “Mr. Appo, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Have a seat,” Appo said. “Have you had lunch?”

  “Actually, no,” Clint said. “I’ve been drinking bad coffee for the past few hours.”

  “Well, we can fix that.”

  The two men sat down, and Appo waved a waiter over.

  “A pot of coffee, Lee,” Appo told the waiter. “Mind if I order for both of us?”

  Clint said, “Be my guest.”

  “Steaks, Lee,” Appo said. “With everything.”

  Lee, the young waiter, looked at Red and asked, “Three?”

  “Two,” Appo said. “Red, you better go.”

  “Aw, George . . .”

  “Go ahead,” Appo said. “Mr. Adams and I have to talk.”

  “Grown-up talk,” Red said, nodding.

  “That’s right.”

  “Aw, gee . . .” Red said, but he turned and left with a desultory slouch to his shoulders.

  “Red likes you, Mr. Adams,” Appo said. “He doesn’t usually take to strangers that quickly.”

  “I’m flattered.”

  “My point is, I wouldn’t have agreed to see you unless Red vouched for you. Also, he said it had something to do with Bethany.”

  “It does. Have you seen her lately?”

  “By lately you mean—”

  “Today?”

  “No. The last time I saw her was day before yesterday. It was right here, as a matter of fact. Has she gotten into trouble since then?”

  “No,” Clint said. “I think she got into trouble way before that—but let’s not go that far back. Let’s just go to Denver.”

  “She and Ben just got back from Denver.”
<
br />   “Where Ma sent them, right?”

  “You’d have to ask Bethany.”

  “Look—” Clint said, stopping short when the waiter brought the coffeepot and two cups. He poured them full and then left.

  “Taste it,” Appo said.

  Clint did.

  “Good?”

  “Very good,” Clint said, “and miles better than what I’ve been drinking so far today.”

  “You were saying something about Denver?”

  “A woman was killed and her house was cleaned out,” Clint said. “I believe the goods are on their way here.”

  “To Ma, to be fenced?”

  “That’s what I think.”

  “Why does this put Bethany in trouble? She wouldn’t kill anybody.”

  “What about Ben?”

  “That boy? I’ll tell you the truth, Bethany has the nerve to kill if she had to, but not that boy. He just doesn’t have it in him.”

  “I don’t think either one of them did it. I think it was a man named Willie O’Donnell.”

  “Well, that makes more sense,” Appo said. “Willie’s a born killer. He likes it.”

  “Bethany came to me and told me Ben didn’t do it, but she wouldn’t tell me who did. But she’s got to tell somebody.”

  “Me?”

  “You’re her mentor, right?”

  “Doesn’t mean she’d put her head on the chopping block,” Appo said. “If she told anyone, Ma would have Willie kill her.”

  “Really?”

  “Ma Mandelbaum doesn’t have it in her to love anybody but one person.”

  “Who’s that? Willie O’Donnell?”

  “No.”

  “Herself, then?”

  “Wrong again. It’s Ben.”

  “Ben? But she treats him—”

  “Like dirt, I know,” Appo said. “She’s trying to toughen him up.”

  “And what about Bethany?”

  “The truth?”

  “I’d appreciate it.”

  “She’s jealous of Bethany.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she’s smart,” Appo said, “and because she doesn’t need her.”

  The waiter returned with steaming plates of steak, potatoes, and other vegetables. Both men leaned back so he could put them down.

  “She needs help, Mr. Appo,” Clint said, “and I’m willing to help her.”

  “What does she have to do?”

  “Tell you or me who killed the woman in Denver,” Clint said. “I’ll make sure he can’t hurt her.”