For the Love of Mike

by Rhys Bowen

  Back down Broadway on the tram, then along Canal Street. It was poorly lit after the bright lights of Broadway and the Bowery and seemed empty and deserted. No pushcarts here, no street life going on—no movement at all except for figures who slunk through the shadows and men who emerged from corner saloons. Why hadn’t I thought of changing into boy’s clothes? I had done this once and was delighted how I could pass invisibly through the city. Now I felt horribly vulnerable and was annoyed at myself. I was no better than the helpless females I so despised. I’d be reaching for my smelling salts and wearing a corset if I wasn’t careful! I pulled out my trusty hat pin and curled my fingers around it. Now ready and armed I turned onto Orchard Street.

  The front door of the Walhalla Hall was still closed, but I could see some lights on inside. I hesitated, unwilling to rap on that formidable door. I walked past, trying to find a window I could peek through, but they were all too high. I crossed the street to observe it from the other side. Nothing much seemed to be going on. I continued down the street, annoyed with myself that I had not asked Shamey the name of the saloon the Eastmans were known to frequent. I really had no idea where I was going or what I was looking for. On the corner I paused and spotted the street sign. Chrystie Street! That name rang a bell. Shamey had said that was where the Eastmans had their headquarters. I was about to take the plunge and walk in that direction when I heard footsteps behind me.

  I tried to remain calm and nodded a civil good evening as a man passed me. Instead of passing, however, he stopped.

  “Can I help youse, lady?” he asked in a strong Bowery accent. “Dis ain’t no neighborhood for a lady like yourself to be out alone. Youse lookin’ for someone?”

  He was young and skinny, a harmless looking little chap with a fresh, clean-shaven face, dressed in a smart black suit with a jaunty derby on his head.

  I felt a sigh of relief escaping. “Why, thank you, sir. Actually I’m looking for a small boy. I sent him to this neighborhood before dark to run an errand for me and he hasn’t returned. He’s nine years old—Irish like me. Skinny and dark haired. You wouldn’t have seen him by any chance, would you?”

  “You know I tink I did,” he replied. “A whiles ago now.”

  “Oh, thank heavens. If you could show me where you last saw him . . .”

  “He was talking to some guys outside the Walhalla Hall. Come on, let’s go and see if he’s still there.”

  He gave me a reassuring smile. We crossed the street together and headed back to the Walhalla. The area around the hall was still deserted.

  “Dey might have gone in,” my rescuer said. “Let’s go ask inside.”

  He pushed open the front door. I hesitated. “Are you sure it’s all right to go in there? I mean, isn’t it a dangerous place where gangs hang out?”

  He laughed. “It’s just a neighborhood social club, miss. They hold parties here—weddings and wakes, all that kinda stuff. Even church socials. And you’ll be safe enough wid me.”

  I stepped inside. He closed the door behind us. We found ourselves in a large, dimly lit room with chairs around the walls and a large expanse of floor.

  “Not much happenin’ tonight, is there?” he asked. “Dead as a doornail. Let’s check the back.”

  He strode across that big floor, his boots making loud tapping noises on the wood floor, his white spats flashing. Beyond the hall was a long dark hallway. Light was coming from under a door at the far end. The young man sauntered ahead and confidently rapped on the door, opened it, and went in. Emboldened by his apparent lack of fear, I followed.

  “Hey, Monk,” he said. “You know that dame you wanted? I got her for you.” And he shoved me inside, slamming the door shut behind us. The man standing in front of me was no thin and harmless-looking little chap this time. He was also quite young, big-boned but not very tall, with a large pudgy round face, a lot of dark hair on top of it, and a derby a couple of sizes too small for him perched on top of the hair. Where the other fellow was neatly dressed, this one was scruffy, with suspenders over rolled-up shirtsleeves and—I started in surprise as my eyes took in the shape—a live pigeon sitting on his shoulder. His appearance verged on the comical until I noticed some kind of club sticking out of his waistband. “Who’s dis dame, Kid?” he demanded, also with a strong New York accent.

  “You know how Bugsy said some redheaded dame was asking questions at O’Leary’s today and then she was poking around the hall? And you said we should bring her in. Well, I tink she’s the one what you want. I caught her snooping around again now—says she’s looking for a kid dis time.”

  I had recovered from my shock just enough to realize that I was face-to-face with Monk Eastman himself. Not a pleasant thought. I just hoped he had a finer nature I could appeal to. “Yes, sir. I’m only trying to find my lost nephew, sir. Seamus O’Connor. I sent him down to this part of the city with an errand and he should have returned hours ago—but he’s very smitten with your gang and I know he’s hung around you in the past, with his cousins, that is.” I knew I was babbling, but I was watching his face for a sign that he might be softening toward me.

  “And today you wanted to know about Mike Kelly, right? Doing too much snooping altogether, if you ask me.” He stepped toward me, eye to eye with me, but intimidating in his bulk. “Okay, so who sent ya? Because whoever it was is going to find out dat Monk don’t like no snoops.”

  “Nobody sent me,” I said.

  “Then youse don’t got nothing to worry about, have ya?” He opened the window behind him, brushed the pigeon from his shoulder, and it took off into the night with a loud flapping of wings. I saw the flash of something bright on his fingers. A lot of rings, maybe?

  “Whatta youse want me to do wid her, Monk?” Kid asked.

  “Take her to my place. I’ll be along as soon as Lefty gets back from dat little errand.” He grinned. It was in no way a charming grin.

  “Okay, girlie. Get going and no fuss.” Kid went to grab one of my arms. I am not used to doing anything without making a fuss. I twisted sharply and stuck at him with the hat pin.

  “Will you let go of me! This is no way to treat a perfectly respectable lady.” Kid yowled and sucked at his hand. For a moment I had broken free. I grabbed the door handle.

  “Watch her, she’s got a knife,” I heard Kid shouting.

  Before I could wrench the door open, Monk had grabbed me and held me with one giant paw. “Youse is lucky I don’t use me nucks on women, or you’d be lying dere with a smashed face,” he said, pleasantly enough.

  “It wasn’t a knife, it was just a hat pin, like any lady would use in her own defense,” I said. “I don’t know what’s the matter with you people, but if this is the way you treat ladies then I’m glad I’m not married to one of you.” The words came out as an angry torrent, masking the fear that was rushing though me. All of Daniel’s warnings about white slavery had come back to me. I was determined not to let them see I was afraid. “And if you can’t answer one simple question about a little lost boy, then in heaven’s name just let me go.”

  “Youse ain’t going nowhere,” Monk said. “Not until you tell us who sent ya. Coppers or Five Pointers or Dusters? Which one youse working for, huh? Take her upstairs instead, Kid. I’ll get to her in a minute.”

  I was vacillating between playing the weak and helpless female and doing my Queen Victoria impersonation, haughty and aggrieved. I thought the second might have more chance.

  “Will you get it into your heads that nobody sent me? You are making a horrible mistake,” I shouted as Kid twisted my arm behind my back and shoved me out of the door. “I’m an ordinary Irish girl—the name is Molly Murphy. I was asking about Michael Kelly because he’s married to a sort of cousin of mine and I understood they had arrived in New York recently, and the young boy who lives with me, Seamus O’Connor, offered to come down to this part of town and try to find Michael for me. That’s all. Nothing complicated about it.”

  We were halfway along that hal
lway when doors burst open. Whistles were blown and suddenly the hall was full of blue uniforms. “Cops!” I heard someone shout. I could hear the crash of chairs turning over and hasty footsteps up above our heads.

  The hand released my twisted arm.

  “What the hell do youse tink you’re doing busting in like this?” I heard Monk behind me shouting. “Dis is a respectable social club.”

  “And I’m the president of the United States,” the policeman said. “The chief would like a word, Monk, if you can spare the time. All nice and friendly like.”

  “Your chief is asking for trouble.” Monk almost spat out the words. “Youse guys know youse can’t touch me. Bring me in and Tammany’s going to hear about it, I promise you. Then you’ll see what heads are going to roll.”

  “I told you, it’s a friendly chat, Monk. Nothing more. Nobody’s talking about arrest.”

  “Then get the damned cuffs off me.”

  “Just making sure you don’t do a bunk on us. Now into the wagon nice and easy and you’ll be back home in no time at all.”

  Monk was manhandled out the front door, followed by a squirming Kid. I heard feet on the stairs and saw officers bringing down more men. It was only then that they appeared to notice me.

  “What about the dame?” one of them asked.

  “Bring her too.”

  “I’m not one of them,” I said angrily. “In fact you’ve just rescued me. They dragged me in here.”

  I saw two of the constables exchange a grin. “Out you go, girlie, and no tricks.”

  I was escorted out to a waiting paddy wagon and shoved into the back with five or six members of the Eastmans.

  “Whoever did this is going to be very sorry,” Monk said as the horses got up to speed and we were thrown around. “Who do they tink they’re messing with? Why do they tink I pay them protection money, huh?”

  It was a mercifully short ride. As we were taken out, I saw that we were at Mulberry Street headquarters. Up the steps and into the building.

  “What have we got here?” a bewhiskered sergeant asked.

  “Five Eastmans and one of their molls. Chief wanted a word.”

  “I am not anyone’s moll,” I said, stepping away from the column of men. “They dragged me into their building and the coming of your men actually rescued me.” I weighed up whether to use Daniel’s name, and decided that he owed me a favor. “You can ask Captain Sullivan if you like. He’ll vouch for me.”

  “Is Captain Sullivan in the building?” one of the arresting officers asked.

  “I think he just stepped out for a bite to eat,” the sergeant said. “Put her in a holding cell until he gets back. Oh wait, speak of the devil . . .”

  Daniel Sullivan had come in through the front door. “What’s going on here, O’Malley?” he asked. He recognized the largest of the prisoners. “To what do we owe this honor, Monk? Gracing us with your presence?”

  “Go to hell, Sullivan, and tell your chief he’d better watch the way he picks on innocent citizens or he’s going to be sorry. Tell him next time to send a hansom cab for me. The seats in your Black Maria are too hard—besides, I got my reputation to consider!”

  “Please escort Mr. Eastman and his friends upstairs and let the chief know they’re here,” Daniel said.

  “And the girl, sir. Says she knows you.”

  Daniel looked at me and I saw his eyes open wide in astonishment. “Molly—what in heaven’s name have you been doing with yourself now?”

  “Minding my own business, until these gentlemen pounced on me and dragged me into their building.”

  “You know her then, sir?” the sergeant asked.

  “Oh yes, I know her,” Daniel said, glaring at me angrily. “Take her up to my office. I’ll talk to her later.”

  I tried to protest. I was escorted up the stairs and sat on the hard chair in Daniel’s glass-fronted cubicle, waiting for him. At least Monk Eastman and several of his men were now in custody. Maybe they could be persuaded to reveal if they had done anything with Shamey. I tried not to think what might have happened to him. Now that all the excitement was over, I found I was shivering. I had never seen Daniel look so angry.

  At last he came storming up the stairs. “What in God’s name have you been doing, woman?” he shouted at me. “Do you know who those men are?”

  “Yes, I do. Monk Eastman and his gang.”

  “And didn’t I warn you about gangs? Didn’t I tell you about the turf war going on at this moment and the struggles for the cocaine business, not to mention the white slave trade? What on earth possessed you? You’re lucky to be alive.”

  “I know that,” I said.

  “If you don’t give up this absurd notion of yours, I’m going to have you arrested and shipped back to Ireland as a public nuisance—do I make myself clear?”

  I knew this was a threat he wouldn’t carry out but, all the same, it brought me up with a jolt. I could never go back to Ireland, where there was a price on my head.

  I decided to try humility for once. “I’m sorry, Daniel. I knew I was asking for trouble, but I was looking for young Seamus O’Connor. He’s been running errands for the Eastmans and I was worried about him.”

  “Seamus O’Connor—the boy you brought over from Ireland?”

  I nodded. “His no-good cousins got him mixed up with a gang.”

  “And Molly, the champion, took it into her head to go and find him, single-handed? Sometimes I think you were born with a death wish.”

  “I had no option, Daniel. I acted because I thought the boy was in danger—the boy is probably still in danger.”

  “You could have come to me.” His voice was quieter now. He was gazing at me steadily.

  “When will you get it into your head that I cannot keep running to you for help?”

  “Are we not still friends?” he said. “And friends can ask each other for a favor.”

  “Oh yes, and I can picture Miss Arabella allowing you to have friends like me,” I said angrily. “For one thing, I don’t wear the right sort of clothes.”

  I saw him try to stifle the grin. “I’m really sorry about the other Sunday,” he said. “It must have been very unpleasant for you.”

  “No more pleasant for you, I’d warrant,” I said, smiling also now.

  “You behaved perfectly. I was most grateful.”

  “And you could have taken the opportunity to tell Arabella the truth. You could have said, ‘This is the woman I love. I can’t marry you.’ But you didn’t.”

  “No, and I despise myself for it. I suppose you are right. My career does mean a lot to me. If Arabella felt I had betrayed her, she would not rest until she had ruined me completely.”

  “And yet you could end up married to such a woman? Certainly a pleasing prospect.”

  He shrugged and looked away. “I will tell her, I promise. The time has to be right.”

  “This is no time to be discussing our unhappy situation,” I said. “Not while young Shamey O’Connor may be in danger.” I got up from my hard chair. “I must go, Daniel, if I’m permitted to do so and not to be charged as a gangster’s moll. I must continue looking for the boy.”

  He put his hand on my sleeve. “Molly, I thought we’d been through this before.”

  “All right,” I said. “Seeing that you owe me a favor for my good behavior and for holding my tongue that Sunday—you find the boy for me.”

  “I will do that. Where was he last seen?”

  “He went to get some information from the Eastmans for me.”

  “You sent a child to the Eastmans?”

  “Hold your horses—all right, I’m not feeling so wonderful about it myself now, but it seemed like a good idea at the time. This child has been used by them as a messenger. I thought he’d come to no harm and he might get more out of them than I would. I’ve been trying to locate a man called Michael Kelly, newly come from Ireland. I have reason to believe he may have joined the Eastmans. Young Shamey was going to find out for
me, seeing that he knew about their haunts.”

  Daniel made a tut-tutting noise but said nothing and got out his pad. “Description of the boy?”

  I gave it to him. “And while you’re about it, I’ve got a picture of Michael Kelly. You could make inquiries about him too—find out if he is known to the Eastmans.”

  I fished for it in my bag.

  Daniel studied it. “Not unlike me,” he said. “Not quite as good looking, of course.” I went to slap him playfully and withdrew my hand at the last second. “And why are you looking for him?”

  “Part of my missing person’s business,” I said. “He ran off with a girl of good family. Here is her picture—her name is Katherine Faversham, or was before she married Michael Kelly. The father wants her found.”

  “I’m not surprised if she’s run off with a gangster.” He took the portrait from me, stared at it for a moment, then handed it back. “Not a bad-looking girl either. A little haughty for my taste.”

  I was about to remind him that Arabella Norton spent her life looking down her nose at the rest of us, but I decided to concentrate on more important matters. “All I’ve been able to trace so far is that they lived on Division Street until about three weeks ago, when they did a bunk, leaving rent unpaid. I heard a rumor that he might have joined the Eastmans.”

  “And how did you hear that?”

  “Local tavern,” I said breezily and watched Daniel sigh again.

  “All right,” he said. “I’ll do what I can. I don’t think the Eastmans would stoop to killing children—although who knows? They’ve been pretty violent in their actions recently. We’ve had a body brought into the morgue almost every day, although they’ve all been men. They have a different fate for women.” He frowned at me again. “But for that police raid, you might never have been seen again, my dear.” He turned away. “Can I make you swear to me that you will never do such a foolish thing again?”

  “I’ll try to behave more sensibly,” I said, moved by his emotion.

  “I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you.” He reached out and stroked my cheek. I wished he hadn’t done that. Any other gesture and I could have handled it. This was so tender that tears welled to my eyes. Instinctively I covered his hand with my own and held it to my cheek. Then I controlled myself, brushed his hand away, and rushed from his office. “I’ve got a lost boy to find,” I said.