by Tom Bradby
Owney Madden sat alone, flanked by a pair of showgirls who scuttled away as Quinn was wheeled in front of him. ‘Joe.’ Madden offered his hand. ‘I’m glad you could make it.’
‘Good of you to invite me.’
‘I knew you’d be sore about that.’ Madden clicked his fingers. ‘What will you have?’
Quinn shook his head.
‘Scotch for the gentleman.’ Madden ignored Caprisi. ‘Take a seat, Joe.’
‘I’d rather stand.’
Madden lowered his voice an octave. ‘I said take a seat.’
Quinn did as he was instructed and contemplated the Scotch that was placed in front of him. ‘What do you want, Owney?’
‘I’ve always looked out for you, Joe.’
‘I know that.’
‘You’re a good boy and I’d like you to stay with us. I don’t want you to have to take a ride out to Staten Island.’
‘What have I done wrong?’
‘What have you done right? You’re making some of my friends nervous and they’ve asked me to have a word with you, to see if something can be worked out. If you’d been prepared to help us find the killer … But now it’s gone too far.’
‘Don’t you trust the police, Owney?’
‘Are you kidding me?’
‘What do you want me to do?’
‘I’d recommend taking a long vacation, all expenses paid.’
The ice clinked in Quinn’s glass as he swirled the amber liquid.
Madden lit a cigarette. ‘We’ll give you ten thousand to see you on your way and we’ll put you on the payroll when you come
back, if that’s what you want. If not, we won’t trouble you again.’
‘Is that all?’
‘And you give me your word you’ll never come back to this case. Is that a deal?’
‘What happened today that made you want to pull me in?’
‘Joe, I’m trying to do you a favour here.’
‘Who is the man you have to protect?’
Madden bristled. ‘Be careful, Joe.’
‘He’s the guy who keeps the show on the road for you, right? You don’t need to speak to the mayor over there, because the Bag Man – or whatever you call him now – looks after your rackets and takes in the graft.’ Quinn glanced at Jimmy Walker and his cronies. ‘He makes sure they get their cut.’
‘If you figure the mayor takes our money, then you’re not so smart.’
‘Who is he, Owney? Schneider? The Bull? Or is it someone else?’
‘I need to know if you buy the deal.’
‘I’m asking myself what the Bag Man and his cronies did that made someone want to cut them up so bad.’
‘Joe—’
‘There was a little girl in a small house in Brooklyn—’
‘That’s enough.’
‘So what did they do, Owney? They screwed her and dumped her body in an incinerator – then got a taste for it?’
Madden’s eyes were flinty.
‘Is that what you’re trying to cover up? You’ve got to chase your guy across town like a nursemaid to clean up his mess? Is this how you want it to be?’
‘If you play ball, Joe, we’ll make you a rich man – richer than you ever dreamt of. If you fuck us over, then Ben and the guys will have their say. There’ll be nothing more I can do for you.’
‘So your golden goose, your Bag Man, gets his kicks from tearing up young girls and you have to put up with it, because he keeps the wagons rolling?’
‘That’s enough.’
Quinn was only inches away from him. ‘You think I care about your threats, Owney? You want to know what it feels like to find out your father’s one of them … a rapist, a murderer? You can all rot in—’
‘Your father?’ Madden was startled. ‘Gerry Quinn? Give me a break. Your old man was almost as stubborn a fool as you.’ His face twisted. ‘Sure we had to buy him off the Ruth Scher case, but you know how we did that? He had a son he truly loved, a strong, fit, smart kid who could knock seven bells out of all comers on any canvas across America. A son he used to tell everyone he was real proud of. We gave it to him straight, Joe. Play ball or find the kid at the bottom of the Hudson.’
Quinn was finding it hard to breathe. ‘But that’s not—’
‘He was a father. He made the right choice. Don’t look so shocked. He was a goddamn pain in the ass. Like you, he ignored the warnings. We couldn’t let him nail the Scher business and he drove a hard bargain. We had to promise we’d make sure nothing like it happened again – but how in hell am I supposed to control these scum-balls?
‘So here it is, the same pitch. Find your broad and get out of town. You have until sundown tomorrow. In six months, if you want to come back and give me the reassurance we need, we’ll talk about it.’
Quinn got up, but Madden grasped his jacket. ‘The decision has been taken. Your time is done, Joe. Don’t screw me over on this. The others didn’t want to give you this break.’
‘Is that what it is, Owney?’
‘Yes, my friend. That’s exactly what it is.’
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
THE CAB DRIVER WAS THE TALKATIVE KIND. ‘THE CEMETERY OVER IN Greenpoint? You want me to go via the East River? There was a trolley-bus turned over down the end here. Jeez … Those trolley-bus drivers! Think they’re kings of the road …’
Quinn’s head lolled on the leather seat as the rain-soaked side-walks gave way to smudged images of the Brooklyn seaboard. They hurtled down Delancey Street and rolled onto Williamsburg Bridge. The night air was thick with the rhythmic clatter of tugs and ferries ploughing through the choppy waters below.
The driver bore left and headed north on Kent, past a line of dilapidated piers and abandoned warehouses that stretched to Newtown Creek. The light was poorer. Crumbling tenements were squeezed between factories, lumberyards and gas-storage facilities. A few lone figures trudged through the tall iron gates on their way home.
The driver crossed the creek and let the taxi ride down towards the cemetery.
Thunder rolled across a gunmetal sky and a flash of lightning cast the pawn shop on the corner in sharp relief. A gust of wind lifted a discarded newspaper the length of a block. A solitary automobile tracked the wet pavement.
Quinn pushed his hands deep into his damp pockets and ducked into the cemetery. It was pitch black this side of the stone archway and his feet slipped on the wet turf. He wiped the rain from his face and turned up his collar. Silhouetted on the brow of the hill ahead of him he saw a hunched figure.
‘Dad?’ He bent down, draped an arm round his father’s shoulders and pulled him close. ‘Christ, you’re soaked through. How long have you been here?’ Quinn swung around, so that he was between his father and his mother’s headstone. Gerry’s face was blue with cold. The rain streamed down the deep lines across his forehead. His eyes were dull and lifeless. ‘You’re freezing.’
Gerry said nothing.
‘Why didn’t you tell me, Dad?’
Gerry put his hand over his son’s. It was like ice.
‘You did it for me. I know you did it for me …’
Gerry Quinn tightened his grip. Cold wet fingers interlocked with Quinn’s own.
‘I’m sorry, Dad.’
‘It’s all right, my son.’ They held each other against the wind, until Gerry released him and bent forward to remove a couple of stray leaves from his wife’s grave.
Quinn hooked an arm beneath his father’s and pulled him to his feet. He helped him to the sanctuary of a stone shelter in the centre of the graveyard, from which paths stretched like the arms of a cross. Gerry wiped the water from his face and shook it off his fingers. The distant lights of the shipyards glinted in his eyes. Quinn was close enough to feel his father’s breath on his face. ‘It’ll be the death of you,’ he said.
‘Maybe that would be a blessing.’
‘Don’t talk like that.’
Quinn lit two cigarettes and handed one to Gerry. An aircraft buzz
ed overhead, its lights dimly visible through the gloom. Another roll of thunder crashed through the sky.
Gerry smoked his cigarette to the stub. It fizzled and went out as he flicked it onto the turf. ‘I guess you found Abe,’ he said.
‘He was sitting in his daughter’s room, surrounded by memories.’
‘Do you know what they did, Joe?’
‘Not all of it.’
‘They choked the life out of us all, that’s what they did. Ruth Scher was just a girl, shy, nervous, none too pretty, but she was real excited that day. The sun was shining. It was going to be one hell of a morning. They’d told her she was headed for a good job uptown. Her parents waved as she walked up the rise. Then, on the other side, our friends pulled up in an automobile to offer her a ride. Why should she refuse? They were the guys she knew from the agency and it would be quicker that way. She’d have time to look into a few store windows on Fifth Avenue.’
Gerry breathed in hard. ‘So they drugged her and took her to a house a couple of blocks away from where her parents lived. They abused her, all of them in turn. They strangled her and shoved her body in a furnace. And then they laughed at us. No fingerprints, no witnesses. They laughed.’ Gerry stepped out into the rain and faced his son, water dribbling down his face again. ‘What could I tell you, Joe? What could I tell your mother? What was there to say?’
‘It wasn’t your fault, Dad.’
‘It was my case. Abe Scher looked me in the eye and asked for his daughter’s killers to be brought to justice. When you wanted to know about life in Centre Street, how could I tell you what a coward I’d become?’
‘You’ve never been a coward in your life.’
‘Are you sure about that? I killed your mother as sure as if I’d pushed her off that building myself.’
‘That’s not true.’
‘You don’t know.’
‘Dad …’
‘I should never have told her the trouble I was in. After that, she wanted to know every damned detail and it made her sick.’
‘That’s why you took Martha in.’
‘I thought it might help … put something back. Your ma wanted to meet Ruth Scher’s parents. She wanted me to go back on the case. We fought. Sometimes she got better for a while. How was I supposed to explain this world to her? Why would I want to?’
‘Who’s the Bag Man?’
‘Do you think he’s dumb enough to reveal himself?’
‘You must know.’
‘That’s not how it works. He’s like a shadow. One of the cabal’s acolytes will sidle up to you. He makes his pitch, lays it on the line. “Who’s the boss?” you ask, but he just smiles. They all know and you know how far up the line the sewer runs. If they want to nail you or your wife or your sons, there’s no one and nothing can stop them. They keep the cash flowing through to Tammany, and the fat politicians, who have their snouts deep in the trough, cover their backs. They don’t tell you who the Bag Man is but, then, they don’t need to. In your heart you know, from the first moment you walk through that door.’
‘Schneider.’
‘Schneider? Can you imagine him shooting the breeze with Hegarty, O’Reilly or the rest?’
‘How come he’s so rich?’
‘He’s a sensible fellow. He married an heiress. He has no need to hide his wealth.’
‘What about the commissioner?’
‘Grover Whalen? He doesn’t have the first idea what’s going on. No, this came over from the old country, and that makes our shame all the greater. McCredie runs the place, doesn’t he? He always has.’
‘When you heard about Amy Mecklenburg,’ Quinn said quietly, ‘you knew it had begun again.’
Gerry didn’t answer.
‘You had the file sent over. The details were all there – a recruitment agency, the set-up that it was a family affair …’
‘I knew she was dead by the time I got the file.’
‘And you had to do something before another girl got caught in their net. You’d promised to kill off Ruth Scher’s case if the perpetrators were scattered to the four winds and nothing like it happened again. They’d reneged on your deal, so you killed Matsell first because he was the easiest to get to.’ Quinn paused. ‘You pushed him off that roof.’
‘I should have roasted him over a slow fire.’
‘You told Duncan you knew who was after him. Why wouldn’t he trust you of all people, a cop they’d bought off years ago? You arranged to meet him at the edge of the park.’
‘I’m sorry about the driver.’
‘Moe and Dick would have been next in line, until they saved you the trouble.’ Quinn rubbed his temples. ‘The rest of them have to figure it’s you.’
‘They suspect me. They suspect Yan. They suspect Schneider. They were hoping you would help them out, but now they’re afraid you’ll expose them for what they are.’
Gerry took out a pack of cigarettes, lit one and retreated to the bench inside the shelter. He stamped his feet on the concrete floor and kicked the clumps of earth back onto the gravel path. ‘You remember the way Mom used to send you down to the El station with that stupid Chinese umbrella?’
‘They were the best times.’
‘You ever wonder why I mostly asked her to send Aidan?’
‘Of course.’
‘I loved you, kid, but Aidan and I, we just talked about ball games. You asked about real stuff. Was it true what they said about the Fifth Avenue diamond thief? How about the stick-up guys over in Brooklyn?’ Gerry looked at him. ‘And, pace by pace, you forced me to ask myself what use was a cop if all he did in a city like this was to put away the stick-up men.’
‘I liked just being there.’
‘And I liked you to be there, but everyone wants to believe he’s a hero in his own story. The hatred, the way you see yourself, it turns you inside out. It poisons everything.’
‘It’s okay, Dad.’ Quinn smoked his cigarette and ground it out on the concrete floor. He wanted it to be okay. But the wreckage of the past weighed them down. He leant against the pillar and tried to press away the pain behind his eyes. ‘What are you going to do?’
‘I have to finish what I started. I owe that at least to your mother.’
‘Mom’s dead. You owe it to her to get away from here. We can load up Aidan’s new model tonight—’
‘And go where?’
‘Hell, I don’t know. They need cops in Detroit, don’t they, and Philadelphia and Los Angeles?’
‘I’ll never leave this city, Joe. This is my home. It’s not just your mother. I owe it to you, to Aidan and Martha, to Ruth Scher and Amy Mecklenburg, and to the other victims our friends in Centre Street have yet to select. You think I could just turn my back on all that?’
Quinn stared out at the night sky. ‘I can help you.’
‘This is not your fight.’
‘It belongs to all of us.’
‘No, Joe. It belongs to me.’
Silence settled between them. The city seemed to have receded beyond the graveyard’s cold embrace.
‘Martha told Aidan she couldn’t marry him,’ Gerry said. ‘He doesn’t know where she is.’
‘Do you?’
‘I figured you might.’
Quinn avoided his father’s gaze.
‘Be careful, Joe. It would destroy him. You know that, don’t you?’
‘I guess I’ve always known.’
A figure appeared at the cemetery gate and walked up the hill towards them. He moved swiftly, head bent and face concealed beneath the brim of his hat. Quinn didn’t realize it was Caprisi until his partner was right in front of him. The rain spilled off the brim of his fedora. ‘You’ve got to get out of here, Joe,’ he said. ‘The guys at Centre Street have overruled Madden. They’re spooked by what you said at the press conference. They’ve decided you know too much – and they want your girl. They’ve heard we’re after Liam O’Brien and they think she may have seen some of the faces at the Plaza.’
A couple of automobiles screeched to a halt outside the cemetery. Doors slammed and dark figures swarmed towards the gate. As they moved under the light by the entrance, Quinn caught sight of Hegarty and O’Reilly.
‘Go,’ Gerry said. He pushed his son into the shadows.
Caprisi shoved a set of keys into Quinn’s palm. ‘Take the Gardner. I left it out back.’
‘Move,’ Gerry said. ‘We need to go now.’
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
THEY SLID ON THE WET TURF ALL THE WAY TO THE EAST GATE AND the gloomy sidewalk beyond it. Quinn got into the Gardner beside his father, started up and nudged it down the lane.
As they crossed Newtown Creek, a black Buick pulled out behind them. It came on fast, so Quinn flashed up his headlamps and accelerated along Meeker Avenue. He swung right at the junction and headed towards McCarran Park. Keeping his foot hard down, he slewed past the incongruous domes of the Greek Orthodox Church and wove through Williamsburg and Stuyvesant Heights.
Gerry turned back to watch their tail. ‘Two men inside,’ he said.
‘Where do we go?’
Gerry glanced at the road ahead, then back over his shoulder. ‘We’ll have to face them. Head for the Bush Terminal.’ He took out his revolver and checked its chamber.
Quinn skirted Prospect Park, then drove back west towards the Bush Terminal District. The streets were narrower here, and sailors and pierhead workers were still about on the damp sidewalks. The stores and restaurants bore mostly Scandinavian names and Quinn flattened a large billboard for the Nordisk Tidende newspaper as he rode onto the kerb to avoid a group of revellers.
He slowed as he approached the terminal.
‘Keep going,’ Gerry said.
Quinn drove past the railroad sidings and along the line of the piers, where a stream of figures still ran between the steamships and the giant steel and glass loft buildings that stood alongside them.
‘Pier four,’ Gerry said quietly. ‘Go to the end and spin around.’
Quinn turned right and drove down the pier. There were fewer ships berthed here and the last few loft buildings along the row stood in darkness. He swung the Gardner into a warehouse, turned it around and killed the lights.
