Brooklyn on Fire

by Lawrence H. Levy

  “Have you been spying on me, George?” Mary responded with a decidedly light touch.

  “I didn’t know you’d tolerate that, but I’d love to.”

  “I’m not sure if I’d tolerate it…yet,” Mary coyly responded. “But what do you know about my day?”

  “Let’s just say a certain individual, a very cold, very deceased one, has mysteriously disappeared.”

  “How did you find out?” asked Mary, surprised that he already knew.

  “You must understand that we are a small, yet very influential, community.”

  “By ‘we,’ do you mean the absurdly rich?”

  “You left out pampered, a very important ingredient.”

  Mary laughed. She was glad to see George had a sense of humor about himself.

  “And because we are who we are,” George continued, “people like to pass on information on the off chance that at some point in the future they might reap benefits.”

  “And when one of you finds out—”

  “Exactly. It spreads like wildfire.”

  “So Arabella Huntington wasn’t exaggerating when she claimed that if we exhumed the body, gossipmongers would appear on every corner?”

  “Not on every corner, just on any corner she would ever consider populating.”

  “And it’s my fault.” Mary paused, letting the result of her actions sink in. If John Worsham had been murdered, Arabella Huntington would certainly be a prime suspect, but there was no proof yet, and she might have been suffering needlessly.

  “What else could you have done? It was your job, Mary.”

  “That’s true, but I don’t like what it has wrought. I need to find that body and finish the job I started. That’s the only way this mess can be cleaned up.”

  “Of course, you realize that may not ‘clean up’ anything? Let’s say you discover Worsham was murdered. It’s been many years, and it might be hard to prove who did it.”

  “And Arabella Huntington will live with the taint of tasteless gossip for the rest of her life.”

  “Precisely.”

  “Then we must get at the complete truth in order to dispense with all the idle chatter.”

  “I was hoping you’d say something like that. Can I be your assistant?”

  “I can’t afford an assistant, George. I can barely afford fare for the streetcar.”

  “Problem solved. I don’t require a salary, and we can use my carriage.”

  As Mary mulled over George’s outrageous yet somehow tempting proposal, they were interrupted by a visitor to their table: Andrew Carnegie.

  “Hello, George, good to see you,” Carnegie said in a very friendly tone.

  George immediately rose and shook his hand. “Good to see you, too, Mr. Carnegie. I’d like to present to you—”

  “No need at all, George. I’d recognize Miss Handley anywhere.”

  Mary immediately responded. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”

  “The pleasure is all mine. I was a big fan of yours during the Goodrich case. So pleased when you nabbed the culprit.”

  “And I had thought my notoriety had vanished.”

  “Nonsense,” Carnegie declared. “And after today’s events, well, it will only grow.”

  There was no mistaking Carnegie’s delight in the Huntingtons’ unfortunate circumstances. Mary didn’t care if he was Andrew Carnegie; he was exhibiting poor form, and she was about to let him know it as only Mary could. George sensed her disapproval and was quick to make a preemptive move.

  “Thanks so much for stopping by to say hello, Mr. Carnegie.”

  “Please, George. Louise and I were dining with John and Laura,” Carnegie said, indicating a table where his wife was sitting with John D. Rockefeller and his wife. “What would your family think if I didn’t at least come over and say hello? And besides, you are with the celebrity of the day.” He motioned toward Mary. “Nice to have met you, Miss Handley.”

  “The pleasure was all mine,” Mary replied with a tinge of sarcasm. Carnegie either didn’t catch it or chose not to, returning to his table with a grin.

  “You didn’t have to shield me, George. I can hold my own.”

  George sat down. “I assure you, Mary, you weren’t the one I was shielding.”

  Mary laughed at the implication that Carnegie needed to be protected from her, a former sweatshop worker. She looked over at the Carnegies and Rockefellers, who were immersed in animated conversation with each other, taking an occasional glance in their direction. Mary turned to George in amazement. “Is everyone in the upper classes an incurable busybody?”

  “I’m afraid they’ve spent so much time and effort acquiring their fortunes that they never had time for hobbies. Now that they’re flush and have an overabundance of leisure time, there’s not much for them to do besides give away their money and talk about each other.”

  “If I weren’t aware of the ruthless methods they used to obtain their wealth, I might feel some sympathy for them.”

  “That is exactly why I want no part of them or their businesses.”

  “What is it you want to do, George, besides being my assistant, of course?”

  And between ordering dinner, leisurely consuming it, and drinking fine wine, George told Mary about his life’s plan. His two passions were art and nature. He had already bought land in Asheville, North Carolina, where he was building a house. He had chosen Asheville for its wonderful climate, it being the perfect place for his mother to recoup from her bouts with chronic malaria. In the long term, he was going to gradually buy fine art to adorn the place, and then also, hopefully, purchase more land. His main purpose was to start a farm where he would employ the latest agricultural methods and the best breeding techniques, and, most importantly, adhere to the principles of the new science of ecology. He cared greatly about creating a place that was safe and healthy for both animals and the land. He loved trees, and he wanted to preserve forests.

  “For every tree I’ve used in building my farm, I’ve planted two more and placed them in a protected area that will never be touched.”

  “So,” Mary said, summing up George’s ambition, “you not only want to live in nature but also to improve it while being surrounded by art.”

  “Well, not the sort of living in nature that implies tents and sleeping outdoors. That isn’t me. I’ll have all the comforts of a mansion on Fifth Avenue and more, including the extra perk of being without all the gossipmongers.”

  “George Vanderbilt—country gentleman.” Mary smiled.

  “You’re making fun,” he said, suddenly insecure. “Does it sound foolish?”

  “Please excuse me, George. I have a tendency to joke sometimes instead of expressing real emotions. That’s my problem, not yours. And no, your plan doesn’t sound foolish. Quite to the contrary, it sounds…perfect.”

  Mary reached over and touched his hand affectionately, and he looked back at her, relieved and grateful that she understood. That’s when she knew that, not then but someday, she and this very gentle man were going to fall in love.

  10

  ARABELLA HUNTINGTON SAT in her Park Avenue garden staring off into the distance with a faraway look on her face. After what had happened three weeks earlier in the cemetery, her upset had transitioned to sad resign, which she couldn’t seem to shake. Her eating was now intermittent at best, and she had lost a good amount of weight. Arabella had always loved going out and socializing, but lately her “going out” had been limited to these solitary visits to her garden.

  Collis Huntington watched his wife from his office. He was a man of action. He had always met problems straight on and solved them. That’s how he had made his fortune, and people marveled at his ability to remove seemingly insurmountable obstacles in order to get his way. But this was different. He was at a loss as to how to help Arabella. His hands were tied, because he was hopelessly in love and had to make sure that whatever he did wouldn’t ruffle a hair on her head.

  Huntington rose from
his desk and opened the French doors that led directly outside. The garden was enclosed by the mansion on three sides, and several rooms had doors facing it. His office was on the northeast end, and Arabella was so lost in her reverie she wasn’t aware of his approach.

  “Lovely day, isn’t it, dear?”

  Arabella looked up, acknowledging him. “I guess it is. I hadn’t really noticed.”

  Then, once again, she turned to gaze blankly out into what was a magnificent backyard, filled with exotic flowers, lush bushes and trees, and even a small vegetable patch. But she wasn’t looking at anything. Hers was the stare of someone either emotionally drained or trying hard to avoid feeling anything at all. Huntington was upset, too. The recent gossip and social snubs they had begun to suffer meant little to him, but they mattered greatly to his family, and that disturbed him. However, he had learned that men like him could not show weakness. Besides, he had to be an absolute rock for Arabella’s sake, especially now.

  “You need to eat, darling. Let me have the cook prepare something for you.”

  She turned to him, this time her eyes filled with desperation. “They’re going to find out, Collis. They’re going to uncover what we did.”

  He knelt down next to her and took her hand. “Don’t worry, dear. No one’s going to uncover anything.”

  “They will,” she said as her panic built. “And then we’ll be destroyed and all will be lost!”

  “Arabella—”

  “I can somehow cope with whatever may happen to us, but what will all this do to Archer? He’s an innocent. What will become of him?”

  She laid her head on his shoulder and started crying. In no time, she was sobbing. He put his right arm around her and with his left hand he gently patted the back of her head. In a way he was relieved she was finally letting out all of that emotion. It might allow them to return to some semblance of normalcy.

  “It’s all going to be okay, Arabella. It’ll be just fine. I’ll take care of everything, darling.”

  Somewhere in the unspoken code that couples share, Huntington knew Arabella had just given him permission to act. And he could do what he did best: go after what he wanted and destroy anyone who got in his way. That included Hugh McLaughlin, Mayor Chapin, and now Mary Handley.

  CHIEF MCKELLAR, WHO had replaced Superintendent Campbell at Second Street Station, didn’t think Sean’s “button theory” had any merit. In fact, he scoffed at it.

  “In all that junk, you really think that silly little button means something? We should send you to Governors Island and have you pore over the garbage. Maybe you can piece together the killer’s whole coat.”

  Chief McKellar laughed, but that didn’t lessen Sean’s resolve. It just made his job more difficult. He’d have to investigate the button on his own time. So he spent his one day off a week on Fulton Street and other shopping streets, going into clothing stores and questioning salesclerks and store owners. After a while he caught a break. One of the owners recognized the button and remembered seeing it on the coats of a particular clothing manufacturer. He rambled on about how he hated the owner of that line and how he overcharged for cheaply made clothes. Sean patiently listened and got an address from him.

  He wrote to the manufacturer, who had a factory in Lowell, Massachusetts, and enclosed in the letter a drawing of the button. The owner wrote back, confirming that he had indeed used that button on one of the jackets he manufactured, and was kind enough to enclose a sketch of the jacket. The jacket was similar to the peacoat the navy used for its seamen except for a few adjustments, the most dramatic being that it came only in a brown color, whereas the navy’s peacoat was dark blue. Most importantly, the owner enclosed a list of half a dozen stores that carried his jacket in the New York area. Sean decided to visit the ones in Brooklyn first.

  This was the third week in a row Sean had spent his one day off working, and he invited Patti to join him. He missed seeing her, and he saw no harm in her accompanying him to clothing stores. At each store he’d ask the salesclerks about the men who had bought that particular jacket. Since there were no exact records, he’d have to rely on their memories, some good, some bordering on awful. Still, after visiting the third store, Sean had a list of about twelve men. He was eager to continue on to the stores in Manhattan.

  By this time, Patti was bored and began to complain. Sean, growing weary of the constant jabber, especially since he had also started getting it at work from Chief McKellar, decided on something highly unusual: he followed his sister’s advice. Instead of challenging Patti and letting their little tiff blossom into a full-blown argument, he conceded that he might have been a bit selfish. After all, this was also her only day off. So Sean put off the rest of his search until the next week. He suggested they visit some women’s clothing stores and then, knowing Patti’s love of nature, have a late afternoon picnic in the park.

  At first puzzled by his quick acquiescence, Patti was thrilled that this new Sean existed and hoped it signaled a turn in their relationship. And Sean was surprised how one small concession could make Patti so pleasant and amenable. As the happy couple left the store, they were too wrapped up in each other to notice a man with a leg brace quickly scurrying into a nearby storefront doorway.

  —

  SHORTY HAD BEEN keeping an eye on Sean Handley, and now he had found the store where Shorty had bought his jacket. He was sure the salesman would remember him. How many men with leg braces could have bought clothes from him? I have to do something soon, he thought, but what? He needed to speak with his employer about what type of action to take, but he didn’t know who his employer was. If he couldn’t contact him, he’d have to find a solution. And whatever that solution was, it had to stop Sean Handley.

  HUGH MCLAUGHLIN IMPLORED his driver to go faster. He had gotten a frantic call from Alfred Chapin demanding to see him immediately. Chapin had seemed completely panicked. McLaughlin leaned back in his seat and vented to Liam.

  “Our mayor should be wearin’ short pants, Liam. He doesn’t have the balls to be dressin’ in full-length trousers.”

  “Maybe it really is something serious.”

  “Yer right, lad. It is possible. It’s also possible that he shit his pants!” McLaughlin burst out with a hearty laugh and Liam joined in. Then McLaughlin added, “Again!” The laughter got even louder as McLaughlin’s carriage thundered through the streets.

  When they arrived at Chapin’s office, they were immediately shown in, and sitting there with a wry smile on his face was Collis Huntington. As for Chapin, he did have the deeply uncomfortable look of a man whose sphincter muscles had just given way.

  Huntington pointed to Liam and said, “Who’s he?”

  “He’s my associate,” McLaughlin answered.

  “Let him associate with Mayor Chapin’s secretary in the outer office.”

  “Liam’s my right-hand man. He’s no slouch, and he’s got a letter from Abraham Lincoln to prove it.”

  “And Mary Todd pleasured me before they fit her for a straitjacket. Now get him the fuck out of here!”

  McLaughlin glared at Huntington, who glared right back at him. Once again, the two cocks in the barnyard were at it, neither one willing to give an inch to the other. However, McLaughlin sensed that this was different from the last time they’d met. He needed to know what was on Huntington’s mind and was willing to cede a small concession to find that out.

  “Go, Liam. I’ll fill ya in later.” When Liam was gone, McLaughlin calmly turned to Huntington. “Yer obviously in a tizzy over something. Let’s hear it.”

  “You two have made the fatal mistake of fucking with my family. Did you think I was going to just take that lying down? You have incurred my wrath, and you’re about to find out exactly what that means. I will—”

  Chapin cut in shakily. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Collis. We—”

  “Shut the hell up…Your Honor.” And Chapin did just that as Huntington continued. “I know you’re not calling
all the shots around here, if any at all, so that leaves Hugh.” Huntington turned to face McLaughlin. “I’m going to give you one chance. Call off that Handley woman.”

  “Handley woman?” McLaughlin asked with a crinkled brow. “I have no idea what yer talking about.”

  “See, Collis?” Chapin interjected. “I told you we—”

  But Huntington rode right over Chapin’s words and continued addressing McLaughlin. “Claiming ignorance, eh? You had absolutely nothing to do with hiring Mary Handley to soil my family’s reputation?”

  “Absolutely nothing.”

  “Okay, Hugh, if that’s the way you want it. I’ll put an end to the Handley woman’s snooping myself, and it won’t be pretty. And one other thing. It was abundantly clear from our little meeting the other night by the bridge that you two have something, how shall I say…clandestine going on.”

  “No, we don’t!” a rattled Chapin protested. “Honestly, Collis, I don’t know where—”

  “Shut up!” Huntington and McLaughlin simultaneously shouted, and Chapin immediately followed orders. Then Huntington looked at McLaughlin.

  “How do you like that, Hugh? We finally found common ground, and soon we’ll be getting a lot closer. I’m going to investigate every aspect of both your lives. If I don’t uncover what naughty little thing His Honor was so concerned about the other night, I’m sure I’ll dig up something. Your Brooklyn Ring isn’t composed of choirboys. And don’t make the mistake of doubting me. That would be tragic.”

  As Huntington headed for the door, McLaughlin stopped him.

  “What is tragic, Collis, is yer comin’ to Brooklyn and thinkin’ ya can order us around. So, get in yer fine carriage, get yer ass across the bridge, and don’t come back. Next time I won’t be so nice.”

  “Excellent. Now that we’ve both put our proverbial cards on the table, you have no excuse. You can’t say you didn’t see it coming when the train hits you.” With that, Huntington was gone. Chapin looked at McLaughlin with a panicked look.

  “Not a word, Alfred.” McLaughlin took out a handkerchief and tossed it on Chapin’s desk. “Use that to clean yerself up. I’m sure you’ve soiled yer pants a couple of times over.”