Last Stop in Brooklyn

by Lawrence H. Levy

  “Where do you think you’re goin’?” he called out in a loud voice.

  Mary pointed and whispered her response: “I’m with them.”

  “That’ll be a dollar.”

  “They already paid.”

  “You wanna do the ol’ ménage à trois, fine with me. But there’s a two-person rate and a three-person rate.” He held out his hand.

  Mary was being gouged, but she didn’t have time to argue. She quickly plunked a dollar down on the counter.

  “All right, give me the key.”

  “Second key is extra.”

  “Let me guess—a dollar.”

  The hotel clerk nodded. His smug grin revealed he knew Mary wasn’t with the other two, but this was the Gut. Why kick her out when he could squeeze money out of her?

  Mary tossed him another dollar, took the key, and headed for the stairs, suggesting he should switch professions and consider highway robbery.

  The room number on the key was 703, which meant it was on the top floor. Mary remembered from the police report that Meg Parker was killed on that floor. She quickened her pace and was out of breath when she got to the top. Ignoring it, she rushed down the empty corridor to room 703 and put her ear to the door.

  No sound. Nothing. Had he already killed her? Mary started to chide herself for spending too much time with the hotel clerk when she heard a grunt. It was shortly followed by a high-pitched but low squeal. The second squeal was louder. The third one was even louder, and Mary decided it was time to act. She pulled the gun out of her pocketbook, then opened the door with the key and burst into the room.

  “Back away from the woman and put that knife down.”

  But there was no knife, no woman in danger.

  Dr. Lawrence was standing on a chair. A rope was hung from a rafter and tied around both of his wrists. He was bare-chested and barefoot, wearing only cheap, coarse cotton pants. He had a gag in his mouth attached to leather straps that were tied at the back of his head.

  The black prostitute, sporting a black leather necklace with spikes and a black corset, had a cat-o’-nine-tails in her right hand. On the floor next to her, Dr. Lawrence’s bag was open and looked empty, indicating he had brought all the accessories.

  “Get out of here!” she commanded Mary. “This lazy slave didn’t pick enough cotton, and I’m gonna teach him a lesson.”

  She whipped him twice with the cat-o’-nine-tails and blood started streaming down his back. There was no cry for help from Dr. Lawrence but rather a look of total embarrassment.

  “I said leave!” the prostitute once again commanded Mary. Then, with Dr. Lawrence’s back to her, she signaled Mary to please go. He was paying her a lot for this.

  Mary returned the gun to her pocketbook, took out the camera, and snapped a photograph. She wanted to show it to Harper. She was certain he’d say she had made it up.

  My God, Harper! What happened to him?

  Harper had never been so happy. Barefoot, he stumbled through the sand with the cool ocean breeze blowing in his face, feeling like he wanted to be here forever. It was raining, but he welcomed the drops as if they were rays of sunshine warming his body. Suddenly, he stopped, looked toward the ocean, and was overcome with the urge to go for a midnight swim. His motor skills on hold, he was fumbling with the buttons on his shirt, trying to take it off, when he heard someone screaming at him.

  “Harper!”

  He turned. His vision was blurry, but he could tell that it was a woman.

  “Harper!”

  It looked like she had blond hair and blue eyes. And she was pretty, all right. Her face was somewhat contorted, though, and wet. She was angry, really angry.

  “Where the hell were you, Harper?”

  She was marching toward him, sand flying in her wake. Suddenly, his heart filled with happiness, and he went to hug her. “Mary, Mary, Mary.”

  She deflected his embrace. “You deserted me. What happened?”

  Harper almost lost his balance as he looked up. “The sky, Mary. Beautiful.”

  “You’re drunk!”

  “Oh, Mary, you’re wet. You look so beautiful wet.” He went to hug her again.

  “Get away from me, you idiot!” Mary pushed him and he tumbled onto the sand. He started to get up but once his hands dug into the sand he became distracted. He lifted huge clumps and laughed hysterically as he let it pour bit by bit back onto the beach.

  “Wheee!” he screamed.

  “I can’t believe I was worried about you.”

  No sooner did she utter those words than a commotion was heard further down on the beach. Mary decided to investigate, and Harper dutifully stumbled behind her, trying to keep up.

  An angry crowd had formed by the bathhouses. Shouts of “Kill the nigger! Hang the black bastard!” rang through the night air. The sea of people reluctantly parted as two policemen pushed through with a handcuffed black man tightly in their grasps. He was covered with blood.

  “What happened, officers?” asked Mary, shouting at them in order to be heard.

  “I’m really tired,” Harper said as he caught up to her.

  One of the officers cocked his head toward the black man. “This nigger cut a white woman to pieces down by the bathhouse.”

  The crowd followed the policemen with cries of “Fry the nigger!” et cetera.

  Harper waved happily at the black man. “Hey, Edgar.”

  Mary turned to Harper. “You know him?”

  Harper yawned. “He’s my friend.”

  “Your friend? Harper—”

  “Tired, so tired.” Harper lay down on the sand and passed out.

  “Harper, wake up! What do you know? What the hell is going on? Harper!!”

  She bent down and shook him, but nothing was going to wake him up in his state. As the policemen loaded Edgar into a paddy wagon just off the beach with the angry mob still cursing at him, an overwhelming sense of helplessness washed over Mary. She had been convinced Dr. Lawrence was the killer. Without him, she would have to start all over. Assessing the situation made it worse. She had nothing but depressing news to report to Basem and Ameer. Involving Harper was a complete mistake for which she could only blame herself. And who was Edgar? He certainly didn’t fit the description of the man with blond hair and a mustache who was on the train and at the Mitchell farm after the Carrie Brown murder. Would she have to throw out all her work? Could she have been that far off, that wrong?

  Mary plopped down on the sand next to Harper. She checked his pulse. He seemed fine. That frustrated her even more. It was possible he knew something about Edgar, and it was equally possible he had been drunkenly ranting. All she could do was wait for him to wake up. She decided to get comfortable. Ignoring the rain, she lay down next to him on the sand.

  “Damn you, Harper,” she said, then tried to go to sleep.

  23

  Waking up in soggy clothes on a deserted beach is a harsh way to greet the morning. Mary furiously rubbed her eyes, trying to keep any grains of sand from sneaking inside. That’s when the events of the previous night once again rushed through her brain, making her relive the disappointment and confusion. The one positive was that the sun was shining. Her head began to throb as she turned toward Harper, who, much to her dismay, was sleeping peacefully. She leaned over him, shook her hair, and watched as the sand particles landed on his face. He began to stir, lazily smacking his lips before waking in a start and spitting out sand with Gatling gun precision.

  “Good morning, sleepyhead,” Mary said, oozing sarcasm.

  “What happened?”

  “That’s such a complicated question. Do you mean before you got drunk and left me alone with Dr. Lawrence or afterward?”

  “Huh?”

  “Or do you mean your decision to sleep on the beach when every other derelict in the Gut was smart enough to seek shelter from the rain?”

  The cobwebs were still casting their net over Harper’s brain and he was slow in processing the information. “W
hat happened with Dr. Lawrence?”

  “I’ll explain it to you on the train ride back.”

  She helped him get up and brush the sand off his clothes, then they began the trek to the train station.

  “Did you call me a derelict?”

  “Indeed I did.” She pointed at him. “Self-explanatory.”

  It was very early in the morning and though there were only a few people traveling, Mary made sure she picked a car that was empty so they could talk privately. Harper was just starting to grasp some lucidity.

  “The guy’s a pervert?” an incredulous Harper bellowed out.

  “Much to my chagrin.”

  “Wow!”

  “Don’t get so high and mighty, Harper, after what you did.”

  “I keep telling you. I had two beers.”

  “I’ve heard that before.”

  “I don’t know what happened. I’ve never experienced anything like it. The world was wonderful. I felt so…happy.”

  “I’m thrilled for you. Tell me about Edgar.”

  “Edgar?”

  “The Negro you waved to last night, the one who killed a woman.”

  “Edgar killed someone?”

  “Who is he, Harper?”

  “I met him at Les Girls last night. He gave me his beer.”

  “Did you count that in the two or was it your twentieth?”

  “I swear to God I only had two!”

  “That doesn’t hold much weight coming from an atheist.”

  “I never said I was an atheist. I’m a lapsed Catholic.”

  “What does that make you, a Protestant?”

  For the first time the two of them saw some humor in their situation and they laughed.

  “No, Mary, I’m still a Catholic, just not enthused about the many rituals.” He shook his head. “Believe me, I’m no Goody Two-Shoes. I’ve been drunk before and I know what drunk feels like. This was different.”

  “You felt happy. All that tells me is that you’re a nasty drunk.”

  “I thought you were serious about this.”

  “I just spent a miserable night on a wet beach because of you, not to mention all the worry about your safety until I found your worthless carcass. I deserve the right to give you a hard time now that I’ve figured out what happened.”

  “You were worried about me?”

  “That’s all you derived from that? You’re hopeless, Harper.”

  “Okay, I’ll play the game. What do you think happened?”

  “Not think; I know that your buddy Edgar spiked your drink, most probably with opium.”

  “Opium? Impossible, I would have noticed it.”

  “Not if it was in a high concentrate laudanum mixture. I’ve read about almost every drug there is, and your pathetic behavior fits all the signs of an opium high.”

  “Why would Edgar do that to me?”

  “That’s what we have to find out.”

  Lazlo’s Books was approximately halfway between their two apartments, so Mary and Harper agreed to meet there in two hours after they had cleaned up and changed clothes. Mary had gotten ready sooner than she had expected. She didn’t mind being early. She wanted to call Superintendent Campbell before Harper got there. She needed another favor.

  On the way, she once again passed the grocery with the offensive sign still in the window: HIRING. DOGS AND IRISH NEED NOT APPLY. Her frustration with her case, along with her lack of sleep, propelled her into the store, where she approached the grocer.

  “I would like to apply for the position you have available.”

  “Sorry, miss, no.”

  “Why can’t I apply?”

  “Because I’m hiring and you’re not getting the job.”

  Mary became indignant. “What do you have against the Irish?”

  “You’re Irish? I didn’t know. I turned you down because you’re a woman.”

  Mary experienced a rage she hadn’t felt before and in a rare moment of losing control, she kicked a display of teas, which tumbled to the floor. Everyone in the store turned toward her. Embarrassed, she tossed a couple of dollars at the grocer and hastily exited.

  She walked half a block, then stopped and took a few minutes to gain control again. By the time she had gotten to Lazlo’s she had calmed considerably. The store was fairly crowded with browsers and Mary was happy that Lazlo’s business was doing well when it wasn’t “Snail Thursday.” Lazlo was in the center of the store, having just directed a woman to the mystery section. He motioned for Mary to join him. As she approached, she saw Gerta behind the counter ringing up a sale on Lazlo’s new cash register.

  “What happened to Martha?” Mary asked, referring to Lazlo’s salesclerk.

  “She moved to Manhattan and got a job there,” Lazlo replied. “Gerta immediately volunteered to take her place. Took the bother right out of looking for a replacement.”

  Gerta and Mary waved hello to each other, then Mary smiled at Lazlo, knowing full well Gerta had taken the next step in cementing their relationship whether he realized it or not.

  “Yes, very fortunate.”

  “Oh, Mary, the gentleman over there has been waiting for you.” He pointed, and sitting on a bench by the window was Dr. Lawrence. Lazlo had that familiar impish glint in his eye, as if Mary were about to snag yet another client. She decided not to burst his bubble, so she didn’t address it and approached Dr. Lawrence.

  “Hello, Dr. Lawrence. Why don’t you step into my office?”

  As soon as they were in her office and the door was closed, Dr. Lawrence began speaking at breakneck speed. “Whatever you think you saw last night, Miss Handley—”

  “I know what I saw, Dr. Lawrence,” Mary calmly replied, “and I have a photograph to prove it.” Mary hadn’t developed the photo, nor did she know if there was enough light for the figures to be discernible. It didn’t matter. He’d seen her snap the picture, and he was scared.

  “What do you want?”

  “The truth would be nice.”

  “You realize that can be a flexible commodity.”

  “Not in this case. Your study, the title of which should probably read A Cover for Dr. Lawrence’s Unusual Habits—”

  “It was the first time. That nigger convinced me—”

  “Please, Dr. Lawrence, I’m trying to afford you a certain amount of respect. I’d appreciate your reciprocation.”

  He nodded his head, realizing quickly that denigrating Negroes would not sit well with Mary and that she was not naïve enough to accept corruption by the devil as a valid defense.

  “Here’s what I propose. First, I want you to tell me if there is anyone you know who might want to impersonate you.”

  “Someone is impersonating me?”

  “It’s not anything to be concerned about. You’re perfectly in the clear.”

  “In the clear? That implies I was once a suspect in a crime.”

  “Your behavior is suspect, but not in a crime. At least, not anymore. Think. Someone who may look like you, who knows about your study. Anyone.”

  “Not anyone I know. Honestly, I do give plenty of speeches. I suppose it is possible any number of people could attempt an impersonation, but why?”

  Mary searched his face for any hint of deception. “I believe you.”

  “It is the truth.” He looked and waited. “What else do you propose?”

  “I propose to do nothing.”

  “Nothing?” Dr. Lawrence knew there had to be more.

  “Nothing. You, on the other hand, will cease your study for whatever reason you want to give: not enough subjects, lack of a control, an emergency at home, I don’t care.”

  “But everyone expects—”

  “Like I said, I don’t care. What I do care about is a phony study being published promoting prejudice and racial hatred. Even if it encourages only one person to act upon that hatred, that’s one too many.”

  “I’m dealing in facts.”

  “Facts involve palpable evidence that is viab
le, not opinion and innuendo. You forget. I have evidence of one of your data-collecting techniques, possibly your only one.”

  Dr. Lawrence opted not to contest Mary and got to the point. “If I refuse?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? You’d force my hand, and that photograph would magically see the light of day.”

  “You’re blackmailing me.”

  “That hadn’t occurred to me, but now that you mention it, yes.” Mary smiled at him. He was one of the entitled who viewed America as his exclusive, private club and it felt good to watch him squirm. Dr. Lawrence had no bargaining position and accepted his fate.

  “I suppose I only have myself to blame. If I hadn’t wanted to amuse Austin by showing him your female feistiness, this never would have happened.”

  “Yes, misogyny can have some nasty ramifications. Of course being a hypocritical, racist pervert didn’t help your cause either.”

  A slight nod signaled Dr. Lawrence’s assent to her deal as he turned and left. Her victory over him gave Mary a certain amount of satisfaction, but there was still major work to be done. She had to find the Carrie Brown killer and free Ameer. From all the eyewitness accounts, it couldn’t have been Edgar, but maybe he knew something.

  24

  Superintendent Campbell had been happy to get Mary’s phone call. He was happy whenever he had a chance to get out of the office and feel like he was a detective again. He did his best to mask his excitement when he picked up Mary at Lazlo’s Books on the way to Kings County Penitentiary, where Edgar was being held. She hadn’t told him about Harper.

  “Who’s this?”

  “Sorry, Chief, I should have warned you. Superintendent Campbell, this is Harper Lloyd.” They shook hands as Mary and Harper entered Superintendent Campbell’s carriage.

  “Warned? Are you consorting with criminals, Mary?”

  “No, but I thought you should know that he’s an investigative reporter and can be especially annoying.”

  “Thank you, Mary,” said Harper. “I’m flattered.”

  “I see. You two are dating.”

  Mary emitted an exasperated sigh. “Why does everyone say that?”

  “Because,” Harper answered, “it’s technically true. We did have a date, and you were very concerned about me last night.”