by Rhys Bowen
“I’m looking for my cousin and her new husband who recently arrived from Ireland. I’m wondering if they might have stayed here, seeing that their name is also Kelly.” I gave her a hopeful smile. “Michael and his wife Katherine—a young couple, just married, they are.”
I had hoped that her granite face might have softened when she heard the Irish accent, but she continued to glare at me. “Don’t mention them to me, the no-good pair,” she said.
“Then they were here?”
“They were here all right. Treated them like me own son and daughter, didn’t I? Him with his blarney about us being related.” She hoisted up the bosoms and sniffed. “No more related to him than the man in the moon.”
“So they’re not here any longer?” I asked cautiously.
“Upped and left without a by your leave or a thank you, didn’t they?” she demanded. “Waited until I was doing me shopping then simply upped and left. When I came back there was no sign of them, and they left owing a week’s rent too.”
“How long ago was this?”
“Going on for a month, I’d say. Good riddance to bad rubbish.”
“I’m sorry they treated you so badly,” I said. “It’s Katherine who’s my cousin, not this Michael Kelly. I understand from the folks at home in Ireland that he’s a bit of a rogue.”
“A bad lot if you ask me.” She bent toward me. “I think your cousin married beneath her. Always behaved like a real lady, that one, and talked all highfalutin too—although she could be a proper little madam if she’d a mind to. Had the nerve to criticize my housekeeping, she did. She told me her dogs at home wouldn’t want to eat off my floor. Can you imagine? The nerve of it.”
I swallowed back the smile. From what I could see of the grimy lace curtains and pockmarked linoleum, Katherine was quite right. I nodded with sympathy. “She was brought up rather spoiled,” I said. “But she’s a sweet nature and I’d like to help her if I can. You’ve no idea where they went, have you?”
She shook her head. “It wasn’t as if they said more than two words to me. Kept themselves to themselves, they did.”
“Were they around the house much when they lived here? Did they find jobs?”
“She did. She was out all day and every day, but that great lummox of a husband of hers, he lazed around doing nothing half the day. He didn’t perk up until the saloons opened and then he was out half the night.”
“So he could have been working a night shift then?”
She leaned closer to me again. “You don’t come home from the night shift on unsteady legs, smelling of beer.”
“Do you happen to know where Katherine was working?” I asked. “ “Maybe I could trace her through her job.”
Ma Kelly sniffed again. “Like I told you, we hardly exchanged more than two words. Kept herself to herself, that one, but with her fine airs and graces you’d have thought that she’d have had no trouble landing herself a refined job.”
I tried to think of more questions to ask, but couldn’t. “I’m sorry to have troubled you then, Mrs. Kelly. If any post arrives for them from home, maybe you could have it forwarded to my address. It’s Ten Patchin Place, in Greenwich Village. Molly Murphy’s the name.”
“I can do that,” she said. “I hope you find your cousin. Like I said, she was no trouble at all. He was a typical Kelly. Just like my late husband—couldn’t trust him farther than you could throw him. Went and inconvenienced everybody by dying when all he had was the influenza.” She sniffed again.
“If you do hear anything about Michael and Katherine, please let me know then,” I said. “I’ll be offering a small reward for information.”
“I’ve just given you information,” she said, a gleam coming into her eyes.
“So you have.” I reached into my purse. “Here’s fifty cents for your trouble. If the information leads to finding them, it will be more, of course.”
“I’ll keep me eyes and ears open for you, my dear,” she said, smiling at me most benignly now.
I left Ma Kelly’s unsure what to do next. Katherine and Michael had been living there until recently. Then they had left in a hurry. Had they found a better place to live—a room of their own? If Katherine was working, then it was entirely possible. But how would I ever trace them in a city this size? Paddy’s words came back to me—always start from what you know, however unimportant you think it is. What did I know? I knew that Katherine had found a job, and that Ma Kelly had suggested it might be a job suiting her refined airs and graces. A shop maybe? I knew that ladies sometimes worked in hat or dress shops, but how many of them would there be in the city? Too many for me to check out all of them.
I knew that Michael lounged around most of the day and came back at night smelling of beer. So the next step would be to find out where he did his drinking. If his step had been not too steady, then the saloon wouldn’t be far away. I’d start with the saloon on the corner and work outward.
I knew I’d be asking for trouble if I went into saloons, but I had to follow up on my only lead at this point. I’d just have to put on my most haughty expression and keep a hat pin ready. I slipped it out of my hat, held it between my fingers, and made my way to O’Leary’s Tavern on the corner of Division and Market. It was now around one thirty and the lunchtime trade was in full swing. Through the open door I could see men lined up at the bar, each with a bowl of hot food and a roll in front of him—all for the price of a beer. These free saloon lunches were most popular, especially with single workingmen. At least this looked like an honest workingman’s bar and I thought I’d be fairly safe.
I had scarcely passed in through the open door when one of the wags at the bar called out, “Careful, boys, here comes someone’s old woman, wanting to get her hands on his wage packet.”
The bartender came hastily around the bar to me. “Sorry, Miss. No women allowed.”
“I’m not intending to stay, sir,” I said. “I’m trying to locate a missing cousin of mine and I understand he might frequent this saloon. I wonder if you might have seen him.”
“Lady, I get a hundred men a day in here. Unless they get rowdy and smash up the furniture, I couldn’t tell them one from another and that’s the truth.”
“I just thought you might have noticed this young man. He lived just down the street, until a couple of weeks ago. His name was Michael Kelly—tall, dark haired, good looking, straight from Ireland, had the gift of the blarney, so they say.”
The barman shook his head, then I saw his expression change. “There was one fella used to come in here for a while. Liked to talk big. Boasted about blowing up things and escaping from under the noses of the English police.”
“That would be the one,” I said. “Any idea where I might find him now? He left his boardinghouse a few weeks ago.”
The man shook his head. “I can’t help you there, I’m afraid. Some of these gentlemen are in the bar of an evening—they might know more than me.” He raised his voice. “Young lady here is looking for her cousin. Remember that young fellow name of Mike Kelly—did a lot of talking about being a Fenian and a fighter for home rule? Whatever happened to him?”
An older man in dirty overalls looked up from the roll he was eating. “Last time I saw him, he was talking to Monk.”
“Monk?” I asked.
“Monk Eastman,” the man said, lowering his voice so that the words were barely audible.
“And who’s he?” I asked.
Some of the men looked at each other. “He’s the local gang boss, Miss,” one of them said, lowering his voice and his gaze.
“You think Michael might be involved with a gang?” I looked directly at the older man. He shrugged.
“I mind my own business, miss. I don’t get mixed up with the likes of Monk Eastman. I’m just telling ya what I saw. I saw him in front of the Walla Walla, talking with Monk.”
“He better have been in Monk’s good books, because if not he’d be floating in the East River by now,” someone else
chimed in.
“What is this Walla Walla?” I asked.
“It’s the nickname for the Walhalla Hall—a local social club.”
“A social club? And where would that be?”
Again I saw the men exchange glances.
“Just around the corner on Orchard Street, just off Canal, but I wouldn’t go there yourself, miss. It’s a regular gang haunt. Not a place for nice young ladies, like yourself.”
“Don’t worry, I don’t intend to do anything stupid,” I said. “Thank you for your time and trouble, gentlemen.”
“Not at all, miss.” Several hats were raised. I left like departing royalty. I stood on the street corner, enjoying the sun that had appeared from between the clouds. Several men followed me out of the saloon and one of them took off at a run. I wondered if I had made him late back to work.
My, but that stew smelled good. My growling stomach reminded me that I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Yet another disadvantage of being a woman was that I couldn’t get myself a nourishing lunch for the price of a beer, but would have to seek out a café. Not wanting to stop when I was now hot on a trail, I bought myself a bag of hot roasted chickpeas from a pushcart. I had never tried them before, or even heard of them, but they were salty and crunchy and satisfied the hunger pangs very nicely.
I was in a quandary about what to do next. I knew that it would, indeed, be foolish to go asking questions at a gangland haunt. I needed to tread very carefully. But what harm could there be in walking along Orchard Street in broad daylight, just to get a look at the place? Mostel’s factory was only a block or so around the corner, on Canal Street and I had never felt myself in danger when I walked from the Broadway trolley car. I picked up my skirts, stepped off the curb, and struck out along Canal Street, looking a good deal more confident than I felt.
The Walhalla Hall was a solid-looking brick building with an imposing front door and marble ornamentation. It was, unfortunately, completely deserted, closed and shuttered at this time of day. I even crossed the street and examined it. From the outside it looked respectable enough, apart from the bars over the downstairs windows. There were posters on a billboard in front, advertising coming dances and social events. A perfectly respectable community hall, by all appearances.
I wasn’t sure what to do next. Clearly there would be no activity at the building during daylight but coming here at night would be a big risk to take. I surely didn’t fancy myself coming face-to-face with Monk Eastman or one of his cronies in the dark! I walked up and down the block once more and was wondering whether I might show Michael’s picture to any of the neighbors on the street when I heard the clatter of boots on cobbles. Three small figures came hurtling down Orchard Street and dodged into an alley on the far side of the Walhalla Hall. I thought I heard a police whistle blowing in the distance. With grim determination I set off after the boys down the alleyway. And in case you think I needed my head examined, let me just say that there was more at stake here than just getting information. I had recognized one of the boys. In fact I had put that black cap on his head myself this morning.
Ten
The alley was dark, narrow, full of garbage, and stank. I picked up my skirts to negotiate rotting food and turned the corner with heart pounding. I heard a scurry of boots and a voice whispered, “Someone’s coming.”
“Someone’s coming all right,” I said, loudly. “Come out here this instant, Seamus O’Connor, or you won’t be able to sit down for a month.”
“It’s her,” I heard a small voice whisper and by and by three small faces appeared from out of a coal bunker. They belonged to Shamey and two of his cousins, Malachy and James. I grabbed Shamey by the neck before he could escape again. “Holy Mother of God, I thought you and I had a bargain,” I said. “I thought we agreed no more hanging around with the cousins, no more gangs. You promised you’d go and enroll yourself in school.”
“She’s not your mother,” Malachy said. “She can’t tell you what to do.”
“No, I’m not your mother,” I replied, “but we both know what your dear mother would think of the way you are behaving right now, don’t we? She’d want you to be doing the best for yourself. Do you want to make her worry if she hears that you’re getting yourself into trouble? Do you want to break her heart if she finds out you’ve got yourself killed or thrown into jail?”
Shamey’s lip quivered. “No,” he said, looking down at his boots.
“Well then, remember in the future that a promise is a promise,” I said. “You’re coming home with me right now. And these boys better run home to their own parents if they’ve any sense.”
I took him by the hand and led him away.
“I’m sorry, Molly,” he whispered when we were clear of the cousins. “I came down here to deliver your letter like you said and I met them. They told me I was a sissy and they said that the men would give us a whole dollar for going to smash up a fruit stall on the Bowery. A whole dollar, Molly.”
“A whole dollar—is that a good trade for a life in jail? It’s a crime you know, breaking up someone’s property. Is it a gang member that’s telling you to do these terrible things?”
“It’s the Eastmans.” He looked proud and defiant. “They rule this part of town. They’re going to rule the whole of the city when they’ve shut down the Dusters and the Five Pointers. They’re going to take me on when I’m bigger. I’m going to be a junior Eastman. They say I’m a fast runner.”
“You are not joining any gang, Seamus, so put that out of your mind right this minute. People who join gangs wind up dead. If you really want to help your family, you go to school and study hard and better yourself. And in the meantime you can make yourself some money by being my messenger and right-hand man.”
This perked him up a little. “I delivered your letter, just like you told me,” he said. “I told them I had to hand it straight to the boss because it was important so they took me up and I gave it to him.”
“Did he say anything when he saw who it was from?”
“No, but he nodded and put the letter in his jacket pocket right away.”
“You did well, Shamey. I can use you again, if you’re going to be trustworthy. But if you think of running off with those no-good cousins, then forget it.”
“You can use me again,” he said. “Are you really a detective?”
“How did you know that?”
“Nuala said. She said you told her but she didn’t believe you. She said you had a fancy man who beat you up.”
“Like I said, Nuala talks a lot of rubbish.”
We had reached Broadway and joined the line waiting for a trolley car.
“If you’re really a detective, I could help you,” Seamus whispered. “I could go and find out things for you.”
A thought had struck me. I tried to dismiss it. I wrestled with it. Seamus knew the Eastmans. They had employed him. Would I be putting him in harm’s way if I sent him to ask a simple question of them? I pulled him back from the trolley queue into the shadow of an awning.
“Could you do a real job for me? I don’t like to ask you, but I don’t have a way of finding out myself. It’s about the Eastmans.”
His eyes lit up. “I know plenty of Eastmans.”
“Listen, I don’t want you to get yourself into any danger, but I need to know if a man called Michael Kelly is part of the Eastmans gang. Could you find out for me? Tell them it’s his cousin from Ireland who wants to know. A girl cousin. I’m trying to find him.”
“I can do that. Easy as pie. Do you want me to run down there now?”
“Is anyone around during the day? The hall was closed up.”
“I know where to find them.” Shamey looked grown up and proud. “They’re only around the hall when there’s a dance or something going on. Otherwise they’re at their headquarters.”
“Which is where?”
“On Chrystie Street, around the corner.”
“I don’t want you going to any gang headquarters
,” I said. “Forget that I even asked you.”
“Some of the Eastman guys might be at the saloon,” Shamey suggested. “I’ve been there before with my cousins, delivering messages.”
“I’ll come with you then. I’m not having you going to any saloon by yourself.”
He looked horrified. “They wouldn’t tell me nothing if you came along. It’s a saloon. Full of people. I’ll be safe as houses.”
“Very well,” I said hesitantly. “Ask the question and come straight home then. Here.” I reached into my purse. “Here’s a quarter. That will take care of your trolley fare and in case you get hungry.”
“Gee. Thanks.” His eyes lit up.
“Be home before it’s dark, and no running off with your cousins again.”
“I will. Bye, Molly.” He waved and set off back in the direction we had come. I watched him go with considerable misgivings. I had just used an innocent child to do work I was afraid of doing myself. That couldn’t be right—what had I been thinking of? I started to run after him, but he had completely vanished.
I went home on the trolley and prepared a big plate of sausage and mash, which I knew was Shamey’s favorite. The dinner was ready, it got dark, and still he didn’t come.
I told myself it was early yet. He may have had to wait around until some of the gang members showed up. I told myself that he was accepted by them. He ran their errands. But none of this took away the worry that gnawed at the pit of my stomach.
“That smells good,” Seamus Senior said, looking more sprightly than I had seen him recently. “I think I’m getting my appetite back. Where’s the boy? Out running around again?”
“He’ll be back soon,” I said. “I’ll put this in the oven until he gets here.”
Darkness fell. I served the food to Seamus and Bridie but I was too sick of heart to eat it myself. At last I could stand it no longer. “I’m going looking for him,” I said. “That young scallywag has no idea of time.” And I tried not to let my face betray my worry to them.
