She closed the door. “Western Union, you say? I haven’t seen you before,” she said, giving him the once-over. “What’s your name? You taking Charlie’s route? Haven’t seen him around since . . .”
“Guess so. I’m Jack, ma’am.”
Her eyes lit up at the ma’am. She studied him a moment before she reached out and wiped something from his cheek with a lacey white handkerchief. “Just like Charlie.”
Jack pulled away. “Y-yes, ma’am.”
“You haven’t got nothing better to do than wander around the docks at night?”
“N-no, ma’am.”
“Well, then, be careful out there, Jack.” There was a cough from the room at the end of the hall. She quickly pulled several coins out of her pocket and said, “Spend it up on the other end of the boardwalk. Now, git.”
She opened the door. Butler hadn’t made it home yet but was staggering in the general direction of town. “He ain’t got no legs,” she said, and pushed Jack out. “Fly, boy!”
Jack hopped on his bike and blew past Butler fast enough to spin him around in a circle. He needed Shoe now, the memory of the pink monogram on the madam’s handkerchief spurring him forward. Ophelia Shakespeare had hocked the necklace.
Ophelia closed the door and returned to the back bedroom and the man in the bed.
“Who?”
She let her robe hit the floor and snuggled in next to him. “Just a little nobody delivering something.”
He rolled over on top of her. “I said, who?”
“Just a little one from Western Union. I think he said Jack. But he couldn’t see anything.”
He gave her a rough kiss and got out of bed.
“Leave him be, okay?” She ran her fingers up her arm where it throbbed. She’d be black and blue by morning, but her sleeve would cover it.
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she said. But not really. Sorry only worked the first time. She pulled the sheet up around her and tried to make herself insignificant. There was no use antagonizing him further.
She heard him pull on his clothes, and the clatter of money landing on the nightstand as he left. She wondered if he really cared who little Jack was or if he was just growing tired of her.
She lit a cigarette. Damn typhoid! That one took her first husband, Albert. And damn the streetcar that had run over her stumbling drunk Paul. But most of all, damn Hanner Mackall, who had an uncontrollable temper, and thought the world owed him everything. She snuffed out the fag and pulled the covers over her head. Next time he came, he’d have to throw cash at somebody else.
Chapter Thirty
Smuggling and Snuggling
Jack got as far as warehouse 23. Dead ahead, dark shapes crisscrossed between the water and one of the storehouses. He veered left to the safety of an alley and got off his bike. He couldn’t tell if they were loading or unloading. No matter, it was too late for legitimate business. They were smugglers.
He crept behind 23, but he found the alleyway between it and 22 too tight to navigate. He continued on behind 22 to building 21 and hesitated. The alleyway was wider, but did he want to be this close to whatever was going on? He told himself to get over it, took a deep centering breath, and began inching his way forward, hugging the wall. He couldn’t make himself peek out. There was a line between courage and foolhardiness. With all the feet-shuffling and murmured oaths, whatever they were moving, it was big and heavy. He considered a moment, then dropped on all fours and slowly leaned forward, just far enough to see around the building corner. He caught the tail end of the dirge-like procession disappearing into 20, Mackall’s warehouse. The cargo was going in and not out.
He retreated back down the alley and hid in the weeds behind the building. He wasn’t there long before he heard the creaking of the big wooden warehouse doors on their massive hinges, the whump as they closed, and the rattle of heavy chains as they were locked securely. He hunkered down further and waited.
When the sound of whispering and boots had retreated, he crept out again. The figures had moved from land to boat and were already some distance from the pier. Moving by paddle, he decided. He listened until the splash of the paddles faded and the ghostly image of the ship disappeared into the night. So this was what Shoe was interested in.
He returned to the warehouse. The doors were secured in heavy chain and a lock that even he would have trouble picking. He scanned the front façade of the building. Some of the buildings had windows and loft doors, but not this one. He walked between buildings and checked the side. No luck there either.
The tittering of a woman’s voice sent him up against the wooden siding yet again. Two voices, a woman and a man, and they were pitching woo as if the continuation of mankind relied on their making it a night to remember. God help me, Jack thought. He’d never get past them and off the pier! He worked his way to the rear of the building and slid around the corner. He would follow the back alley until it ended or the rats and water snakes chased him out.
He put a hand on the wall and edged along it, picking his way through the trash. Halfway across the building, he stopped a moment and listened again for the two out front. It sounded like they were still a pint or so away from the bango tango. As he moved forward, he noticed a hatch at the base of wall, open and small enough to wiggle through. He dropped to his knees.
“Back up or I’ll hurt you!”
Jack froze. “Shoe?”
“Jack?”
Rudy lowered the jagged rock in his hand. “Who?”
Shoe pushed him out of the way and stuck his face in the opening. “Jack, the door’s jammed up. Can you find something to pry it open? Be quick. Mackall and his buddies have been in here once already.”
“Probably. Hold on a minute.” He was gone for less than that. “Back up. Coming through.”
Shoe scrambled away on all fours and Rudy backed away as Jack wedged a section of pipe between the door and the hatch. The iron hinges groaned, and with a sudden crack, the wooden door split from its hinges in a shower of wood fragments.
Jack stuck his head through the opening, a quizzical look on his face. “There’s a watcher talking up a lady of the night out front. Won’t be long before he’s making the rounds again. Give me your hands and I’ll pull you out.”
With Jack pulling, they wiggled out faster than they went in. Then they bolted for Bayside Avenue.
At that point, Shoe grabbed Jack’s arm to slow him down. “How did you know where we were?”
Jack gave Rudy the once-over. “Who’s he?”
“Friend. Rudy Becker, meet Jack Byrne.”
Jack grunted and tipped his head toward the red-light district. “I didn’t. I was delivering a telegram to one of the ladies when I saw smugglers unloading a boat. They took it into the warehouse. You’re just plain lucky I had to wait on them. They took the boat back out again, and I’m pretty sure they’re coming back. What’s in the warehouse?”
“These,” Rudy said. He reached inside his coat and pulled out the rock he had been banging against the hinges. “Only a hundred times bigger.”
Jack rolled it around in his hands. “Smuggling rocks? Why?”
“Fossils,” Rudy said. “Mackall’s skimming specimens from the big dig. Big dough on the antiquities black mar—"
He suddenly grabbed the chunk of stone back and shoved it under his jacket. “Shh, company.”
A figure appeared higher uphill, working his way down the avenue. They watched the heavily bundled man alternate between light and dark as he walked through the cones of illumination created by each street lamp. His pace was rapid and directed toward them.
“See you guys back at the Bayside?” Shoe whispered, expecting a run for it. More like a hobble from Rudy who was limping again.
Probably thinking the same thing, Rudy mumbled something profane.
The figure seemed to pick up on them at that moment, veering left and crossing the street without changing pace. Shoe increased his speed, and both parties
pushed past one another with heads down. In spite of Rudy’s hobbling, they maintained their pace until they reached the train depot.
Rudy sat down on one of the benches. “I need a drink. Where to now?”
“Bayside,” Shoe said, “but no drink.”
“Really? That would have been a much easier shot if we had turned left about two hundred feet back.”
“Yeah, well that’s what happens when you wing it.” Shoe turned to Jack. “Still with us?”
“You two sound like nervous virgins on your wedding night.”
Rudy chuckled. “Son, I doubt if you’ve—”
“Shut up, Rudy,” Shoe said. “Wish you’d give that up,” he said to Jack, pointing at his Western Union cap.
“Doing my part,” Jack said. He gave Rudy the stink eye.
“Yeah, well, you can’t do your part if you’re not fully informed. Follow us back to the Bayside and we’ll fill you in.”
“It just so happens you’re the one who needs filling in. I found out something tonight.”
Rudy chortled. “And what would that be?”
Jack turned his back on him, lowered his voice, and spoke directly to Shoe. “The initials O.S., I know what they stand for. It’s Ophelia Shakespeare. I delivered a message to her tonight. She’s the madame at The Nunnery and she’s Mackall’s girl.”
Rudy exploded in laughter. “Son, a whore isn’t anyone’s girl.”
Shoe gave him a shove that sent him staggering on his bum knee, and he wasn’t sorry about it. “I don’t see you making any contributions here. Can it.” He turned back to Jack, who seemed to be ten seconds away from decking Rudy. It was a nice healthy reaction, if ill-conceived. Rudy was twice his size. Shoe put his palm on the middle of Jack’s chest and walked him back a few feet. “Be bigger,” he whispered. “How do you know they’re connected?”
Jack gave Rudy another brief, heated glance before answering. “I could see through to the back room. Not inside. The door was closed. But his dog was curled up right there, sleeping.”
“He never caught your face.”
“Nope.”
“Good. That’s good.” Shoe reached out and patted his shoulder, more to reassure himself. “It’s all good, Jack. Maybe we’re getting somewhere now. O.S. was probably just the middle man, er, woman. And we now we know why Hanner wasn’t at the warehouse.”
“There’s something else too.” Jack pulled out the money the whore had given him and handed one of the coins to Shoe.
Shoe ran his finger across the bawdy-house token. “That’s what they’re tipping now. God Almighty!”
“I don’t think she meant to. She seemed in a hurry. Butch had one just like it and she asked if I was taking Charlie’s place. The Koenigs have been there.”
“Stay out of there,” Shoe said, pocketing the token. “Come back to the hotel with us. We need to look at what we’ve got.”
“I have to check back in, but I’ll be off in a couple hours. I’ll catch up with you then.” He pushed off into the dark.
“Street smart,” Rudy said. “Let him go. You and I, on the other hand . . .”
“Yeah, and you’re a smartass. A real confidence builder, you know that? Come on before I deck you myself.”
Hanner stepped back into the shadow of the clock and let ’em go; three against one wasn’t smart play. He knew enough, recognized all three—the newsman and the land speculator from the cliffs, and the young messenger. He already knew all about the speculator—once a snoopy journalist, always a sharp-eyed problem. Darby could shed light on the newsman. And the third, the boy . . . well, he could get at the boy anytime he wanted.
What he couldn’t figure out was why anyone was actively seeking to solve the murder of a woman who couldn’t be identified and a young’un who ran the streets all night long. He wasn’t sure why anyone would care. This was all too complicated and everybody a problem. Time to make it less so, starting with Miss Shakespeare. Hocking the necklace when she had strict instructions to keep it, the whore had double-crossed him. Ripley? Didn’t respond well to pressure.
Chapter Thirty-One
Always About the Bones
Shoe sat across from Rudy, sipping a cup of piping-hot joe and fingering the fine silver cutlery before him. Things seemed safer within the glass walls of the Bayside Hotel’s conservatory, but it was just one more illusion. They were in the midst of a swirling storm of clues they were unable to connect, and no idea where that funnel cloud was going to touch down next.
He seriously doubted Mackall was unaware of who visited his girl. And if he suspected Jack had seen any activities at the warehouse, it wouldn’t be difficult to find him and dice him up like the Koenig kid. They needed to get him back to Washington, or at the very least, in the hotel behind a double-bolted door.
Rudy was lost in his own thoughts, sipping strong Turkish coffee, gazing thoughtfully out one of the windows. Shoe could see him fitting in with the rich and bored. There was an air about him. Their father had been a good man but working class all the way. It had to be the maternal side.
“Mackall, Ophelia Shakespeare, the necklace, and the murders are all connected,” Shoe said. “Then there’s Darby—in cahoots with Mackall, or innocent, obnoxious bystander? Whad’ya think, Rudy? Two heads are better than one.”
Rudy put down his cup. “Here’s the thing. And maybe it’s the difference in what makes us tick, brother. You spend all your time chasing a literary prize that you will probably never get—not that you aren’t really good at what you do. You look at every assignment as a steppingstone to something else. The big picture, if you will. Now me, when I signed on to all of this, before I realized it was going to be personal, it was all about the money. Without Emerson’s advance, I can’t rub two bits together. What if it’s like that for Darby? What if it isn’t fame he’s looking for? What if it’s about the bones?” He picked up his rock, which he had placed on his linen napkin. “The big specimens must be worth a fortune on the black market.”
Shoe considered his recent money problems. It was always about the bones. He nodded. “Howard Carter’s good fortune in Egypt has permanently eclipsed anything Darby could ever discover.”
Rudy chuckled. “I guess I’m Darby to your Carter. Touché.”
Shoe let the remark pass. “Darby did say nobody gets off that pier that his security doesn’t check. But that’s his side of the pier. Mackall owns the other half. As long as he doesn’t duck or jump the perimeter ropes, he can come and go as he pleases on his own property. Darby can’t control everything. He’s probably willing to let poachers get away with some small stuff.”
“Count on it. Mackall grew up around those cliffs, he’s probably scavenged—”
“—or stolen—”
“—plenty of fossils.”
“Yeah,” Shoe, said, nodding. “That’s the other interesting thing Darby said. There are plenty of fossils in the surf down there. But they’re so plentiful, they aren’t worth a red cent.” Shoe reached over and picked up the chunk of rock and ran a fingernail across the seashell shapes imbedded in its face. Even if he had picked it up in the street, he would have known it was a fossil. “But here’s the kicker. He said if you wanted to smuggle out something of value, you’d have to know what to look for. Who better than Mackall?”
“Mackall’s stealing from Darby? Maybe you got it half-right. Maybe it’s Mackall and Darby working together. Darby knows better than anyone.” Rudy took the fossil back, and using it as a prop, moved it around the table as he illustrated his theory. “Darby extracts it and Mackall brings it up here under cover of darkness and stores it. Then when they deem the time right, they move it out. Railroad? Wagon?” He finished by placing the rock on his napkin and pulling it out into the center of the table.
“Guess you could move it any which way so long as it doesn’t draw too much inspection,” Shoe said.
Rudy nodded.
“If these are worth a fortune, that limits the buyer’s market considera
bly. Only a wealthy person—”
“—with cash to burn.”
“Correct. Someone exceedingly rich, with a place to squirrel it all away for their private enjoyment.”
“Weathersby,” they both said in unison.
China clinked and silverware rattled. Shoe’s eyes darted to the waiter, who was busying himself with the sorting and stacking of cutlery and serving pieces. How much of that had he overheard?
“Too many ears,” he whispered to Rudy, motioning him closer. “Running with your little scenario . . . most of the bones go to the Museum for study and public consumption, with a select few settling in for a nice long stay at a private museum. Darby and Mackall walk away rich men. Money soothes bruised egos and evil men.”
“Too much wealth is immoral,” Rudy said. “Mena knew that firsthand. The necklace is the only possession I ever saw that suggested she came from monied people. It was stodgy old jewelry, so different from her own bold and innovative artwork. I was never sure whether it was a reminder of how far she’d come or the inability to completely let go.”
He reached into his pocket, appeared to change his mind, and switched pockets. “Where did I—" The color drained from his face. “Mena’s necklace. I’ve lost it.”
“You’ve missed it. Check again.”
Rudy patted down all his pockets and shook his head. “I took it out when I was trying to squeeze through the hatch.” He bolted out of his seat. “Dear God, It’s on the ground outside the warehouse.”
“Don’t panic,” Shoe said, rising too. “And don’t even think about going back out there at this time of night. Nobody else is going to find it in the dark. We’ll get it at first light. We’ve been lucky so far, but at some point, that’s going to run out.” He gestured for Rudy to sit.
Rudy sat again, but his expression was unsettling. The look in his eyes wasn’t so much one of agreement as pacification. He was going to return to get the necklace and there was nothing short of hogtying him that Shoe could do about it. Sooner or later, their luck was going to run out. If Mackall found out they were the ones who had been in the hock shop and warehouse, he could find them easily enough. It was time to tie up the loose narrative.
The Dame on the Dock Page 19
