Brooklyn on Fire

by Lawrence H. Levy

  “I would appreciate your insight, Mr. Huntington. No matter how deplorable their actions, I understand Liam Riley’s and Shorty’s behavior. I can even comprehend Mayor Chapin’s ambitions. What I don’t understand is Hugh McLaughlin’s role in all of this.”

  “Isn’t greed simple enough?”

  “I understand greed, but McLaughlin is not a stupid man. Surely he had to know that this amount of greed would raise eyebrows.”

  “Do you mind if I speak hypothetically?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Let’s say some individual had been wronged by Hugh McLaughlin, and he wanted retribution. And let’s say this person had many contacts in the financial community, found out what company Mayor Chapin was trying to purchase, and determined that the profit the stockholders would make, though large, wasn’t enough to appear egregious. So let’s say this individual—”

  “The person who’d been wronged?”

  “Yes. Let’s say he was a man of means who had the resources to bid up the price of the company until Mayor Chapin had to buy it at an absurd profit for the shareholders.”

  “McLaughlin could have said no and stuck the man with an overpriced company.”

  “No doubt. But let’s also say this very same man of means was an excellent judge of character, and he knew that once a financial windfall of this size was placed in Mr. McLaughlin’s lap, he wouldn’t be able to resist it.”

  “So in spite of the saying, you can lead a horse to water, and you can make him drink.”

  “All you need is the right incentive.”

  “Hopefully, one day I’ll meet this hypothetical man of means, so I can tell him bravo.”

  Laughter once again floated in from the other room. As he got up to pour himself another drink, he commented, “Well, they seem to be having a lot of fun, don’t they?”

  “Yes, sounds like a jolly time.”

  “That Henry can be very funny.” There was an odd mixture of admiration and contempt in his voice. He downed the second drink in one gulp, then poured himself another. “So, you had quite a day yesterday, Miss Handley.”

  “Yes, indeed.”

  “You caught a murderer, killed another, saved a man from a burning building, got incriminating information on a crooked politician—”

  “Not your ordinary day.”

  “No, and to top it off, you and George Vanderbilt ended your engagement.”

  This prompted Mary to stand. “Do you pry into everyone’s personal lives?”

  “Only those who spark my interest.”

  “Well then, put this in your bank of knowledge. George and I love each other very much. I broke up with him because I didn’t want to see stupid upper-crust prejudices ruin his life. You people are insane.”

  “Be careful who you lump into the same category.”

  “I’m sorry. Are you not upper-crust or is all this wealth around me a façade?”

  “There is wealth, and then there is wealth.”

  “And there is clarity, and then there is clarity,” Mary quickly quipped back.

  Huntington laughed. “I like your fire, Mary Handley. And just think. Not too long ago I wanted to bury you. I apologize for that.”

  “I was aware of it, and it was why I suspected you at first. But you cleverly used my suspicions to point me in the right direction in order to get everything you needed.”

  “But I didn’t get everything. In fact, I didn’t get the one thing I wanted most. You see, you and I have a lot more in common than you think.”

  “I know it’s not our bank accounts. What is it?”

  Huntington poured himself another drink. He was becoming decidedly tipsy, and therefore less guarded. “I want acceptance for the woman I love, as you wanted acceptance for the man you love. You and I don’t give a hoot about the Vanderbilts or Carnegies or any other of those stuck-up snobs with their silly parties and rules. But for various reasons, their approval means something to our loves. You lost George because of it, and I often feel as if Arabella is slipping away. Arabella may seem tough, but she is a sensitive soul who constantly seeks recognition. The social snubs we’ve suffered, people staring at us in the street, gossiping about us, are devastating to her. I’ve accomplished many impossible things in my life, but I’m at a loss as to how to reverse that, make it all better, so to speak.” Real emotion began pouring out. “I do want to please her so.”

  Laughter drifted in from the other room again, and Huntington flinched as if it pained him. Mary started to see him in a different light: not as the ruthless businessman who regularly stepped on those in his way, but rather as a man desperate to please the woman he loved and felt he was failing. It wasn’t enough to forgive his faults, but it did humanize him, and Mary was able to feel sympathy.

  There was a quick couple of knocks at the door, and Archer entered without waiting for a response. He was laughing.

  “You must come and hear Henry’s story about—” He stopped when he saw Mary and he became anxious. “Hello, Miss Handley. Have you come with news of my father’s body?”

  “As a matter of fact, I have, Archer.”

  Mary saw Huntington stiffen, his eyes filling with anxiety. Mary looked at Archer and did what she thought was best. She lied. She told him that shortly after John Worsham was buried twenty years before, his body was stolen. She didn’t know where the body was now, and the only reason she had found out this much was by interviewing an old former cemetery worker who knew someone who sold bodies back then.

  “I’m sorry, Archer, but that’s all I could uncover.”

  “I don’t know why,” Archer said, “but somehow that makes me feel much better.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. I’m sure he would be extremely proud of the fine young man you’ve turned out to be.”

  “Thank you, Miss Handley.”

  “But remember, a major part of who you are is a direct result of this man right here.” She pointed to Huntington. “I don’t think you could have wished for a better father.”

  “You’re right, Miss Handley,” Archer said, then turned to Huntington and smiled. “Are you ready to eat?”

  Huntington smiled back. It was warm, a rarity for him. “Certainly, son. Would you please join us for lunch, Miss Handley?”

  “Is it lunchtime already? Regretfully, I have to be going. Thank you all again for your time.” Satisfied that she had somewhat corrected a wrong of her doing, Mary quickly said good-bye and ran out.

  41

  THE RAIN HAD finally stopped, and the sun was shining brightly as Sean stepped out of the Raymond Street Jail and onto the sidewalk a free man. He was walking with a cane, but he was walking. And Mary was waiting. She had splurged and rented a carriage for the occasion.

  “Welcome to the outside world, Sean.”

  He took a deep breath. “It’s good to smell the air instead of decades-old prison dust.”

  “What do you want to do now? Your choice.”

  “You know, Mary.”

  She did know. The two of them got in the carriage, and they were off. During the ride, Mary filled Sean in on the final details of the case. Sean listened and nodded his head once or twice but stayed silent. After she was through, he spoke.

  “Funny thing is, I originally became a policeman because it was a job—a job I could get. God knows I wasn’t going to be a doctor.”

  “Or a lawyer or anything that required a lot of schooling,” Mary teased.

  “I hated school all right, but what I hated more was the thought of working in a butcher shop. The idea of spending the rest of my life immersed in animal blood and flesh was scary.”

  Mary shuddered. “I don’t know how Dad does it.”

  “Neither do I,” Sean said, shaking his head in wonder. “And the longer I was on the job as a police officer, the more I began to like and respect it. I loved the idea of protecting decent people from the animals that prey on them.”

  “You’ll be back on the force. The doctor says you’
ll make a full recovery.”

  “That’s not the point, Mary,” Sean said, trying to be logical, fighting his emotion. “I couldn’t protect the person I loved most. I couldn’t protect Patti.”

  “You can’t beat yourself up for something over which you had no control. Like you said, there are animals out there, and sometimes they commit acts that no reasonable person would ever consider doing. You couldn’t have predicted it.”

  “Maybe someday I’ll get to believing that, but right now…”

  Not wanting Sean to fall back into a funk, Mary changed the subject. “On the contrary, I should have been able to predict what happened with George.”

  Sean looked puzzled. “Something happened with George?”

  Mary slumped in her seat. She had forgotten that Sean didn’t know, and now she had to relate all the unpleasant details. It was painful rehashing them, but when she finished, she tried to be philosophical about it.

  “Maybe Mother’s theory of Handley symmetry is correct. When something good happens to one of us, something bad happens to another. I get George, you get arrested. I lose George, you get out of jail.”

  “I’m not sure Mother’s going to be in a philosophical mood when she finds out you gave back that very expensive engagement ring.”

  The two of them instantly burst into laughter, and they didn’t stop for a while. It was a great release.

  Green-Wood Cemetery was just a few blocks from Prospect Park. It was built in 1838 and was known for its natural parklike surroundings. As Mary and Sean walked through the grounds, it occurred to them that this was the kind of place Patti would have loved. They stayed silent for a while. It seemed appropriate, as if the tranquility demanded it. Finally, Sean spoke.

  “I’m not sure if I said it yet or not, sis, but I’m really sorry about George. It’s not right.”

  “Many things aren’t, but thanks, Sean. I really appreciate it.” Her look told him she meant it.

  They stopped at Patti’s grave and stared at the headstone. It read, PATRICIA CASSIDY, 1868–1890. Underneath that was the inscription WE DIDN’T NEED POETRY. WE HAD EACH OTHER.

  Mary took a deep breath and then said, “Good choice, Sean. Nothing by Walt Whitman could have been more appropriate or heartfelt.”

  Standing over Patti’s grave, they felt a closeness they had never felt before. Then they did something that they hadn’t done since Mary was born and Sean asked to hold his baby sister.

  They hugged.

  EPILOGUE

  A MONTH AFTER SEAN was released from prison he was back at work. During that period, Mary had taken the time to heal. It was a month full of news. In exchange for Huntington not exposing more of McLaughlin’s misdeeds, the items in the newspaper about Green’s homosexuality stopped. Instead, gossip linked him to several actresses of the day, much to Green’s amusement. It gave Huntington pleasure to pull McLaughlin’s strings, but it didn’t get him back into the consolidation project, and his family still didn’t attain the social acceptance Arabella desired. The Robert Davies Players’ production of Hamlet had opened and closed on the same night after disastrous reviews. One critic ventured to say that the curtain should have come down the moment Robert Davies first entered as Hamlet. However, Robert Davies was not deterred. He still had plenty of his inheritance left and was planning a production of Macbeth. Mary assumed that Shakespeare was rolling over in his grave.

  George was persistent and he and Mary met three more times, trying to find a way out of their dilemma. They couldn’t. At each meeting, George tried to convince Mary once again that he could easily live without Biltmore but not without her, and each time she became more resolute that he was deceiving himself. It was painful for both of them, and though it had become too much to bear, they agreed to see each other one final time. They met at Café Roberto, a coffeehouse in downtown Brooklyn. By then, George had come to accept the inevitable. He even spoke of Biltmore. When he did, his eyes lit up, and Mary knew she had made the right decision. They tried very hard not to make this last parting difficult on each other, but that was not possible.

  “I’m sure you’re right, Mary. I guess I’m just not used to losing.”

  “We clearly differ there. I’ve had a lot of practice.”

  She watched him ride off in his carriage and somehow instinctively knew he was going to be okay. What she hadn’t gotten a grasp of yet was whether she would be.

  The newspaper headlines concerning the Brooklyn Bridegrooms’ efforts to become the first team to win a pennant in both the American and National leagues had been pushed aside by the Long Island Water Supply Company scandal. William Gaynor had turned out to be the tenacious bulldog that Mary thought he was. He sunk his teeth into that piece of political corruption and wouldn’t budge. It was now pretty clear that Alfred Chapin’s political ambitions had been seriously derailed. He would finish his term as mayor but he would never be governor or senator. He eventually went back to practicing law.

  Hugh McLaughlin would not go quietly. He fought back, trying to emphasize the good that the water company would do for Brooklyn and portraying New Yorkers as evil city dwellers who were trying to ruin the tranquil community of Brooklyn. But no matter how vehemently he argued, McLaughlin couldn’t explain away the huge profit he had made on the water company purchase, and William Gaynor would not let anyone forget that. He even filed a lawsuit against the city of Brooklyn for misuse of funds.

  The consolidation of New York and Brooklyn was now inevitable. Green led the charge for New York, while the Brooklyn Ring tried to fight by planting controversial articles in the Brooklyn Daily Eagle that stirred up the fear of conservative Protestants who were concerned about immigrants corrupting their wholesome values. Still, the scandal of the Long Island Water Supply Company was the haymaker that ended this fight. They would argue back and forth over the details for a while. Complicated annexations took time, often many years. Votes had to be taken and bureaucratic traditions had to be observed, but Brooklyn’s most powerful political cabal was tarnished and would not be able to recover in time. More importantly, Hugh McLaughlin’s clout had quickly begun to wane, and Mary would enjoy watching him disappear from the political scene.

  On this particular day though, Mary was not concerned with Hugh McLaughlin, the water company scandal, the consolidation project, or even Brooklyn. This day was special because it was the grand opening of Lazlo’s new bookstore. With the insurance money from the fire, Lazlo had secured a building three blocks from the old bookstore, furnished it, and filled it with books. It was larger than his previous one, and even his upstairs quarters were more expansive.

  Mary beamed when she saw the huge front window with giant gold letters spelling out LAZLO’S BOOKS. However, what took her by complete surprise were the words in smaller print on the bottom right section of the window. They read, OFFICE OF MARY HANDLEY, CONSULTING DETECTIVE. Thrilled, Mary rushed inside.

  The store was already crowded. Lazlo was at the far end regaling a group with the tale of his encounter with the infamous, and now departed, Shorty. He spotted Mary, excused himself, and made his way to her.

  “Lazlo, your new store looks fabulous!”

  “Thank you, but did you really expect anything less?”

  “Of course not, especially not from a renowned genius such as yourself.”

  “I suspect your flattery is derived from seeing your name out front.”

  “It’s quite an incentive. Hopefully, a compliment a day will keep my name there.”

  Lazlo got serious. “It’s not necessary, Mary. You saved my life, and I’m very grateful.”

  “I also was the one who put your life in danger.”

  “True, but think of the excitement with which you provided me, and the fascinating story I can relate ad infinitum well into my declining years.” Lazlo and Mary shared a smile, then she looked around the store.

  “It appears you’ve attracted a goodly bunch. I suppose I should get to work.”

  Lazlo sto
pped her. “Your services are not required here.” Mary was stunned, but before she could question him, he pointed. “They’re required over there.” Sitting in a corner on a bench were two women and a man. “Prospective clients, I presume?”

  Mary walked over to them, introduced herself, apologized for keeping them waiting, and asked if they were all together. They weren’t. They were three separate cases! Mary was delighted inside but hid it in order to appear professional. She asked them who had arrived first and when a woman stood, Mary instructed her to follow her into her office.

  After a few steps, she stopped, begged the woman’s indulgence, and went to Lazlo.

  “By the way, Lazlo, where is my new office?”

  “I thought you’d never ask.” He pointed to a room in the back. This room was larger than her previous office, and as an extra perk, it had a window. There was a brand-new desk, a couch, two chairs, three filing cabinets, and, to top it off, an electric lamp!

  Mary found it hard to contain her excitement, but she managed. There was a client present. Mary’s business cards had been destroyed in the fire, but Sarah had already had new ones made for her. She took one out of her purse and gave it to the woman as she offered her a seat.

  Mary walked behind her desk and sat. She gave herself a moment to take everything in. Her dream of being a working detective was finally starting to come true. She sat erect, folding her hands on the desk, and leaned forward as she looked the woman in the eye. She then spoke the words that she hoped to say many more times over the years as her business continued to thrive.

  “Now, how may I be of service to you, madam?”

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  THOUGH MY STORY is fictional, there are many historical facts intertwined with the fiction. The Arabella Huntington/Collis Huntington/John Worsham triangle is based on truth down to its Richmond, Virginia, roots, as is their son, Archer. Andrew Haswell Green was a real man who was the catalyst and proponent of much of what people admire about New York today. He was the architect of New York’s consolidation and the one responsible for getting it done. The Long Island Water Supply Company scandal did indeed happen, and Hugh McLaughlin and Mayor Alfred Chapin were involved. William Gaynor was the lawyer who exposed the scandal and campaigned against them. George Vanderbilt did build Biltmore down in Asheville, North Carolina, and it still stands today as a monument to his ingenuity and foresight. John D. Rockefeller and Andrew Carnegie are American icons, and I tried to portray them truthfully.