He was deep in the Shanties in one of the poorest sections of town when he saw it. A sign hanging on the front of a bar, made of old, weathered wood; yet painted on the sign itself was a white hammer set on a black bell, and below that were words telling passersby it was the Third Ring Pub.
Garvey took out his sketch of his John Doe’s tattoo and held it up. It matched perfectly.
It was about as far from an upscale place as he could imagine. It stank of old beer even from the street and the door had been broken in numerous times, the innards of its heavy lock exposed in the shattered wood. Garvey braced himself, then pushed the door open and walked in.
The ceiling was low and the splintered wooden floor was covered in sawdust. Garvey began to take measure of his surroundings, but before he could he realized the quiet susurrus of bar talk had died the moment he walked in. He looked around. The corners were packed with men in overalls and threadbare canvas pants, all of them standing up to look at him. Their forearms thick and scarred and their faces bright red with drink and years of work. They stared at him, hardly holding back their contempt, and Garvey became intensely aware that this was a union bar through and through, and he was wearing a suit and a demeanor that screamed police as loud as it could.
Garvey smiled, tipped his hat, and quickly walked out.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Hayes and Samantha rode up the elevator to find the forty-seventh floor of the Nail had erupted. Runners bolted back and forth from office to office carrying messages. Every other room was filled with shouting. Evans had been called away to an emergency meeting, and Hayes and Samantha waited before his office for three hours. Hayes slept and snored and would not quiet no matter how many times Samantha woke him. After the fourth time she gave up and sat as far away from him as she could.
When Evans tottered in he looked decades older than when they’d last seen him. He looked at them bleary-eyed and said, “I see you got my message.”
“No,” said Samantha. “I don’t think we did.”
“Oh. Then you just predicted it. Come in. Some people very much want to talk to you about this.”
She began following and on the way in kicked Hayes, who awoke with a snort. They both sat down before him, Hayes still yawning. Evans was silent for a very long time before saying, “You know what this is about.”
“Yes,” said Hayes. “The Bridgedale Station.”
“Yes. It’s very bad for everyone.”
“McNaughton’s not connected, though,” Samantha said. “Not really. Right, sir?”
“No. Only vaguely associated. But the public wants to see it. After all, we helped engineer the trolley lines, and it’s already rumored that the passengers were union members. They want to see us exploiting the workers and sending them to slaughter. You know how it is. Have you talked to anyone?”
“Talked?” said Hayes. “Besides Garvey? No.”
Evans looked at Samantha. “You?”
“I don’t know anyone to talk to,” she said.
“Hm. That’s good.”
“Anything else?” asked Hayes.
Evans checked his watch. “Give me two minutes.”
“Why?”
“Because Brightly’s on his way here now.”
“Oh, goodness,” said Hayes drily. “He’ll be in a right state, won’t he.”
Evans nodded. Then they all sat in silence, thinking.
The doors opened and Brightly himself rushed in, moving at top speed. Samantha was surprised to find he was a giant of a man, sporting a strained smile. The smile vanished as Evans stood up. Brightly said, “Oh, no no. No, that’s fine. Sit right there, Jim. I’m fine. Hayes,” he said, nodding to him. “And you must be Miss Fairbanks, how nice to finally meet you. Jim here has nothing but good things to say about you.”
“Why, thank you. It’s nice to meet you, too.”
“Yes, yes. Pity we have to meet under such circumstances. The work you’re doing is fantastic, simply fantastic. You’re invaluable, my girl.” He came and delicately sat on the edge of Evans’s desk, close to her, casual but domineering. He reached into his pocket, pulled out his watch, and checked it before replacing it. Then he put his hands in his lap, bowed his head as though in prayer, and said, “Well. We all know why I’m here. You were at the scene today, correct?”
“Right,” said Hayes.
“How was it? In there, in the tunnels?”
Hayes thought for a while. Then he said, “Do you remember that October at the vulcanization plant?”
Brightly looked surprised. “What? Yes, of course I do. How could I forget?”
“It was worse than that. Far worse.”
His eyes grew wide. “Dear God… Worse than that, even?”
“Yes. We’re lucky the police sent everyone packing,” Hayes said. “I was in that damn trolley car. If the press had gotten a snap of it we’d have panic in the streets, I’m sure of it.”
“Christ almighty,” said Brightly. He exhaled hugely, then gathered himself. “All right. And people saw you there?”
“Well. Yes.”
“Good. All right. Now, your previous investigation was highly classified, which is good. But Shroff, well, Shroff got word that you identified all the bodies at the scene. Is that correct?”
“Somewhat. I only identified a few.”
“Hm. And they were all from your recent investigation?”
“Pretty much.”
“I want names,” said Brightly. “All of them. And what you’ve got about them. Every little thing.”
Hayes gestured to Samantha. She said, “I’ll have them to you by the end of the day, sir.”
“Yes. Good. Give them to Evans here. Yes?”
“Certainly,” said Evans.
“All right,” said Brightly. He took another deep breath. “Now. As your inquiry was so classified, Hayes, I don’t think too many people know that, well, we had a list of all the people who died, not to mention good and documented reason to dislike them. So thankfully that pretty concrete association is still not public. But listen: to counteract the bad press, we’re going to have to do something. I’m launching a full public inquiry into anything we might have on what happened in that trolley. Anything that McNaughton might have had to do with it. Extremists, malcontents, anyone with any connection. I’m going to announce it later today with the board. Make sure it gets into the right papers. We hope to have something solid for them by Christmas. And, naturally, you’ll spearhead, Hayes.”
“And the union investigation?” asked Hayes. “What about that? Are we still worried they’ll throw off your… production time on your big projects?”
“Forget the other nonsense,” Brightly snapped. “Forget rooting out unioners. People are starting to think we’ve killed a dozen people, and they will think it by the time word gets out. Most of the city still doesn’t know. We need to act fast.”
“Right. And this time if we do find something, we’ll do something about it, right? Or will we wait to see if we can find out more?”
Brightly eyed him coldly. “That was a strategic tactic. You know that.”
“Yes. Very strategic and very effective. If we’d done otherwise, why, all those boys would be safely locked away in cells, and we’d still be in the clear. Thank goodness we didn’t.”
“If you think I don’t regret that decision, you’re wrong,” said Brightly. “Dead wrong. It’s for that very reason we need to be even more vigilant in this new investigation.”
“Please, Cyril, just keep doing what we tell you to,” Evans said. “Especially now, in this emergency.”
“Oh, I will. I will,” Hayes said. He took out a cigarette and began walking it along his knuckles, the cigarette disappearing below his pinky at the end and reappearing on his thumb to start again.
Brightly got off his perch and squatted before Hayes. He was still taller than Hayes by an inch. Brightly reached forward and plucked the cigarette from his hands and crushed it into dust. Hayes watched the toba
cco rain onto the carpet around his feet.
“Look at me, Cyril,” Brightly said softly. “Listen to me, please. I know I made mistakes. I admit that. But we need you to be on your best behavior now. We need you to do everything you can. Everything else, everything else that’s happened before, that’s in the past. We need your help. Will you give it to us?”
Hayes frowned. “All right. I’ll do what I can.”
Brightly nodded and stood up and took a breath. “Good,” he said. “Good then.” Then he reached into his pocket again, checked his watch, and walked to the far corner of the room, where he looked out the window with his hands behind his back.
Evans jumped in, taking up some unseen cue. “A list of tasks is being compiled at the moment. You’ll get them in the morning. You’ll follow them up and report to me. Based on this information another set of tasks will be compiled. And so on, until we’re satisfied. We’ll relate your findings to our Public Affairs Division and, in due time, release them to the public. This is all happening independent of the police, mind.”
“Independent?” said Hayes.
“Oh, yes,” said Brightly calmly, returning. “People already suspect we’re somehow puppeteering the Department around. Like anyone could gain control of something so corrupt and disorganized. But this is all going to be about appearances. I don’t want to see anyone with a badge coming near us for a while.”
“That means Garvey, Hayes,” said Evans.
“I know what it means,” he said.
“Naturally, neither of you will be named,” continued Brightly. “The information will be credited to a variety of sources. But your efforts will be greatly appreciated, and you’ll be compensated in your own way. Clear?”
Hayes nodded wearily. “Clear.”
“And you, Miss Fairbanks?”
“I understand,” she said.
“Good. Now, girls and boys, I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you all to leave. Evans and I have more appointments today. Many, many more.” Then Brightly went and looked out the far window again, hands behind his back and face carefully kept clear of them both, and did not look at them again until they left.
“God, who could envy us now?” said Hayes as they rode down the elevator together. “If you thought our old work was dull as dirt, this one’s going to be worse.”
“I didn’t think it was too dull,” said Samantha. “It was mostly records work, which I did all the time before. It’s not that bad.”
Hayes studied her with a disbelieving eye, as if she were a strange breed of creature he’d never seen before. “Every once in a while I think you’re pretty smart,” he said, “but then you go and say something like that.”
She rolled her eyes. “Exactly what do you think is going to make this new work so terrible, Mr. Hayes? Everyone on the board will be paying attention to us. This is our chance to prove ourselves.”
“But we won’t actually be proving anything,” said Hayes as the doors opened. “Sure, we’re supposed to be looking for any connection, but what would happen if we actually found something that implicates the company in what happened on that trolley? It’s the last thing they want.”
“So what do you think we’ll be doing?” Samantha asked. They crossed the lobby to exit through a side entrance.
“Putting on a show,” Hayes said. “A real song-and-dance routine where we talk and talk and report all day, and find nothing. Just something to make the newspapers feel safe. But it won’t work. They’ll panic anyway. Personally, I’m looking forward to hearing what Tazz has to say about this.”
“Tazz? Why?”
“Because a lot of his problems just got solved, I should think. Several violent undesirables acting in his name just got eliminated, and now they look like martyrs for his union. With blood on McNaughton’s hands and everything. His reaction will be very telling, I’d say.”
Samantha considered this. “Well, for whatever it’s worth, I very much doubt if the company could have ever been involved in something like this.”
“Your loyalty is almost charming,” said Hayes. “But for once I agree with you.”
“You do?”
“Oh, yes. McNaughton’s powerful enough that they don’t need to kill anybody. And Brightly was afraid back there. Terrified. Him and Evans. Neither of them has any idea what’s going on. They’re innocent. Or ignorant, at least.”
As they walked through the hallway they were forced to the side by a crew of men maneuvering an enormous painting up onto the wall. Several of the workers climbed up and stood on ladders to help guide the painting onto the hooks in the wall. Samantha and Hayes stopped to watch, caught up in the stress of the moment.
The picture was a strange one. It showed two men standing in a cave, one off to the side with his arms crossed and his face serenely satisfied. He was short and dumpy, dressed in furs and shabby clothes. Samantha got the impression that the painter had been directly told to make him “rustic.” The other man, who was the primary subject of the painting, was much more civilized, wearing a gentleman’s idea of outdoor clothing and sporting a patrician mustache and sideburns. She immediately recognized him as William McNaughton. He was cradling something in his hands, a delicate device made of frail, silver gears. It seemed to be giving off a faint sheen of light, like it was a holy relic.
“That’s McNaughton,” said Samantha. “And that’s Kulahee there? On the side?”
“It would be, yes,” said Hayes. “They took this one out for touch-ups the other day. Looks like they’re done.”
“What’s that in his hands?”
“Oh, some machine,” sighed Hayes. “I suppose they told the painter just to paint ‘an invention’ and he did the best he could. Or maybe it’s symbolic. McNaughton offering Kulahee’s creation to the world.”
“Why are they in a cave?”
“Kulahee spent a lot of time in the caves around his home,” said Hayes. He grunted, then squeezed his eyes shut and pinched his nose. “He… he kept some things down in there. Spent a lot of time digging around in them. Famous local myth, the caves of Kulahee.”
“Are you all right, Mr. Hayes?”
“Yes. I’m fine,” said Hayes. “Just… had a headache since we went down into the tunnels.” They began walking down the hallway to the doors. Hayes kept one hand pressed to his temple. “The air down there really got to me.”
“Are you sure you’re well?” asked Samantha.
“Yes.”
“You’re shaking.”
“No,” he said. “No, I’m… I’m…”
He coughed and pitched forward. One knee buckled and he fought to stay upright, but then it failed again and he crumpled to the floor, the other leg askew behind him. Spasms wracked his body and his skin turned the color of bleached bone and something red-black ran from his nose. Samantha ran to him, shouting out his name. She grasped the sides of his head and pulled his mouth open to show his tongue thrashing about in his mouth. Then his eyes rolled up into his head and he went still.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Samantha stood over Hayes, not sure what to do. She looked up and down the hallway but saw no one. She wondered if she should call for help. Then a tremor shook through Hayes’s body and he surged gasping back to consciousness. He grabbed her arm and panted, “Get me out of here.”
“What? Why?”
“They… can’t see me like this. They can’t.” He struggled to say more, but then his eyes watered and he shook his head.
Samantha pulled him to his feet and hefted one of his arms around her neck and began to hobble out of the Nail. She worried that the people outside would stop them and demand to know what they were doing, but no one did. They hardly looked at them at all.
“Where am I going, Mr. Hayes?” she asked him.
“Home,” he whispered. He barely seemed awake.
“Home? Yours?”
He nodded and his head lolled back. He raised one trembling finger and pointed down a back alley. “Through there,” he
whispered.
She grunted as she maneuvered him into a better position, then began limping down the alley with him. He was extraordinarily light for a man. Underneath his enormous coat and all those clothes he must have been a pigeon-boned thing with hardly a scrap of fat on him. He muttered deliriously as they walked, singing little songs to himself and speaking to invisible people. Many times it seemed to be in a foreign language. Samantha did her best to ignore it, but as she readjusted her grip on him his head fell forward and she happened to catch a few rhymes of one of his little songs.
Her eyes shot wide and she dropped him. He fell in a heap in the alley, yet kept muttering. She stood over him, breathing hard. Then she stooped to listen again. She swallowed, terrified, and then shook her head. “No,” she whispered. “No, I don’t believe it.”
“What?” said Hayes. He blinked and licked his lips. “Where are we? Are we nearly there?”
Samantha’s mouth compressed until it was a bloodless line. She swallowed again and said, “Yes. Nearly.”
She picked him back up and continued through the maze of back alleys, following his semi-lucid directions. Finally a set of warehouses loomed before them and Hayes gestured at the cracks between them and murmured, “There.”
They emerged onto a small abandoned cobblestone lane. “Now where?” she asked.
He pointed at one of the largest warehouses.
“You live there?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Mr. Hayes, is this a joke?”
“No.”
She dragged him to the big wooden doors and Hayes slumped against them and fumbled through his pockets. Litter and empty cigarette tins rained onto the ground, small bits of loot stolen at impulse, pens and paperweights and cheap jewelry. Finally he rummaged up a massive iron key. He worked it into the lock and turned it and something clicked and clanked loudly inside the door. Then it swung open and they stumbled in.
The Company Man Page 14
