All our eyes had watched in fascination, our heads turning with a jerk to see the branch go zipping across the room and banging into the wall, and now they all slowly swiveled back to the satisfied and grinning Mr. Kirkland.
“See? Piece of cake!”
CHAPTER 55
About nine in the morning every Friday, the detectives from the NYPD gathered. Finn told me all about it, as I’d asked him all sorts of questions. All the arrested people had a chance to voice their opinion about their arrest. Then the surrounding detectives would decide if they would book ’em. It was a day that partly saddened Finn. Some people were so frustrated with their lot in life, the lost potential stark in their haunted eyes. Then there was the plain old fucked-up luck of others. And yet, there were moments that were hilarious. The smarter felons knew that with this audience, if they were a little witty, they might get a friendlier result as the detectives clarified the exact charges. The idea that this was a show, like I’d commented, was highlighted by the fact that there was a little stage and a microphone for the accused to speak into.
Finn would make his way over to the pub after this ritual. When I arrived, he and Miles were already seated. The smell of beer and peanuts permeated the air as my footsteps crunched through the hay on the old floorboards.
“Hi, Finn.”
“Lane, I’d like you to meet Miles Havalaar.”
“Miles, wonderful to finally meet you,” I said as I held out my hand. I was a little worried that I might overwhelm the rather shy-looking Miles. He seemed to be a thoughtful man, who took his time and made careful, deliberate decisions. As he took a contemplative breath, his eyes smiled with a certain kind of glimmer. I was betting that he was quite a witty raconteur.
We chatted and I told them about some funny little events that happened at the office as the waitress brought over three baskets of crispy fried fish and heaping servings of French fries.
Over lunch, with the ice plenty broken, we started in on business. Miles first filled me in on his trip on the Hindenburg. Then Finn asked his questions. “So Miles, as you’ve been digging around both as yourself and as the millionaire within . . .” said Finn with a smirk. “Have you found out anything about that pawn piece and what it means exactly?”
With a grudging smile at the millionaire within comment, and because he was obviously pleased that he’d been able to pull it off, he replied, “Yeah, that little game piece is very interesting indeed.”
I sat up straighter.
Miles continued in his slightly Cockney accent, “We all know that Rex used those as a kind of lethal calling card, but he was tied to his symbols in a deeper way than that. I think that’s why he used the scroll design on that railing in the bridge in Central Park. And he loved the pawn. Everyone was a pawn to him. In fact, I’ve been wondering if we should not be asking what the pawn is, but who?”
Finn and I exchanged a glance, then Miles continued. “Anyway, Rex never had many pawns made at once. So, he had two on him when he was killed. Kirkland took one and your dad took the other, Lane, right? At that time, no one figured they meant anything but a tool to manipulate and bring fear to people. I don’t know if he had any others. My guess is at most one more. But Rex was all about being bigger than just himself. I mean, he saw himself as the center of the universe, but he wanted this organization to be more than just a moneymaker. He wanted the Red Scroll Network to be something more than just another gang. He wanted his impact to last. Did you know he made everyone involved get a red scroll tattooed on them?”
I interjected, “I bet that’s why they call Eliza Lady Red; it’s not just her hair . . .” I had heard things about that little tattoo, and it was on a part of her anatomy that was rather unmentionable. I felt Finn looking at me closely right at that moment.
“Oh, I know where it’s located,” I chortled, completely unabashed.
Finn, trying unsuccessfully not to blush, asked another business question. “So, do you know why anyone would want those pawns now?”
Choosing not to pay any attention to our playful little interaction about the tattoo, Miles blithely went on, “I haven’t found anything conclusive, but I have an educated guess that I’d be willing to bet big money on. Yeah, I think the pawn is a kind of an icon or symbol of Rex. I bet, that before he died, he set up something to ensure that his legacy would not only live beyond his mortal body, but that it would go to whomever he wished. Yeah, controlling things from the grave, like.”
Finn said, “So you think the pawn is some sort of key to receiving the Rex Ruby legacy or inheritance?”
“Yes. Exactly.”
“Makes sense,” I said, as I bit off another bite of French fry with a snap of my teeth.
Miles said casually, almost to himself, “Yeah, and since the two silver guns have been missing . . . it has to be the pawns.”
“What?” exclaimed Finn and I at the same time, both of our eyes snapping toward him. “What about those guns?” asked Finn.
Miles jumped at our sudden and loud response. Finn said, “Fill us in on what you know about the silver guns.” We knew where they went, but we didn’t know their story. Did Rex just have them made because he liked unique firearms? Or was there more purpose behind their design?
Miles shifted his eyes between the two of us and carried on where he left off. “Well . . . Rex had a silver gun with a red scroll on the handle for his own personal use. Everyone was deathly afraid of that gun; it was the one he used to execute people. Especially his own people who had failed him or particularly personal enemies. But the gun was actually a twin. There were two made.” Finn and I both nodded. “He used one, and the word on the street was that he kept one at home. Unused. But like a treasure to him. They say he slept with it under his pillow. Might be that it’s all just stories, but that’s what I know.”
I said, “Well, my dad got the one off him when he was killed. I have it now.”
“You have one?” Miles exclaimed. “Can I see it sometime?” he asked with ghoulish interest.
“Uh . . .” I replied, with a look of uncertainty at Finn. “Sure.”
Finn asked, “But no one knew where the second gun was?”
“Nope. Never heard of it after Rex was killed. Some say he was probably buried with it. And since I had never heard of Rex’s own everyday gun being found by the Lorians, I figured no one else probably knew if it survived either.”
I filled in some of the gaps of the story that we knew. “Well, we know where it was, at least. Somehow, Eliza had gotten her hands on the gun. We don’t really know how, but now that we know her grandfather was Rex, the degrees of separation between her and that gun are fewer. But she lost it over the Queensboro Bridge a few months ago. It’s possible it’s still out there, I feel like it is, but there’s no proof. For all intents and purposes, I think people would consider that one out of the picture. So, if no one heard about the silver gun my dad had, then I think we can safely assume that Donagan and Tucker were looking for the pawn. And now . . . Donagan has it.”
Finn said, “What’s puzzling is that it’s been so quiet. If Donagan was able to get the inheritance with that pawn, I feel like he would have made that very known. It would be a monumental victory for him.”
“Unless he’s waiting for the perfect timing. Something is holding him back,” I said.
While thoughtfully stroking his chin, Finn asked, “Say, Miles, have you heard of a Mr. Hambro working for or against the Red Scroll Network?”
Miles gave it some thought as he finished his pint. “No, doesn’t ring a bell.”
“Hmm,” I said. “You’re right, Finn. Hambro’s wrapped up in this for sure. It shouldn’t have surprised us, since he received that envelope. That picture my parents left in the safe just confirms that he’s involved. Plus, don’t forget Venetti. Miles, what about Louie Venetti? Do you know much about his connections?” I made sure to keep my voice nice and low while saying Venetti’s name. Nothing brought terror to a place more than that man’
s name.
I considered the fact that Venetti had been awfully quiet and unusually absent for a quite a while now. Only surfacing that one time to extricate Val and me from a sticky situation. I was grateful Venetti had kept an eye on us, but then again . . . It was Uncle Louie. The Uncle Louie. Strange kind of benefactor.
Miles finished his pint, then said, “No, I really don’t. I mean, I’ve been in this business for a long time. However, most of my work was in Europe.”
I was making figure eights on the wooden tabletop with my middle finger as I thought about the many players and motives in this mystery. “Business, huh?” I said to mostly to myself. Then louder, I said, “Well, try this on for size. Venetti has always been about business. What if that’s what’s linking them all together? What if Venetti isn’t really an ally, but let’s just say that we all fall on the same side right now. The Red Scroll Network would have threatened his business, so with an eye out for remaining the big guy in town, what if he worked with my parents against Rex?”
The men both nodded as they thought that through. “Still doesn’t explain why he’s had an eye on me,” I continued, “but it might explain some of his involvement.”
Finn added, “And Hambro has been a powerful businessman for quite a while. I highly doubt he was an agent like Kirkland and your parents, but what if he just gave information to the authorities whenever he heard of dubious things going on in the high-roller world?”
“That’s definitely a possibility,” I said.
We all finished our lunch, a little more thoughtful and less talkative than when we started out. We had come up with some good theories and now we needed to think about where to take it from here.
CHAPTER 56
After that most intriguing lunch with Miles, I was back at City Hall trying hard to concentrate on the work at hand. I started to put some press packets together, hoping that while I worked on that menial task I could think through a few things.
I made my way down the assembly line of stacks of papers to be included, collating the materials over and over again. My mind then drifted with a wry smile to my morning meeting. My weekly standing appointment with Miss Morgan, spy kid extraordinaire. Apparently. We’d had a most interesting conversation.
I had found her waiting outside, leaning up against the soda shop, wearing a smug, impish grin.
“Don’t rub it in, Morgan,” I said in greeting.
“Oh, I’ll be rubbing it in for quite a while,” she said, enjoying every moment of being my rescuer the night of the ball.
“Okay, in you go. Let’s get your morning ice cream.”
Over the turkey sandwich that I made her consume before the ice cream that she desired above all else, she let me in on how that plan had come about. She told me that Finn had run into her right before the ball. He had heartily laughed when he found out that Morgan had taken upon herself the role of daytime bodyguard for me. Word on the street had been that Donagan was out to get me. Given her own past with that crew, she was honestly worried about me, at which she blushed and I grinned. So, she and her band of little urchins took shifts in watching me go to work and come home at night. I couldn’t believe that I hadn’t spotted her.
She’d said, “Oh I was careful to stay out of eyesight, knowing you’d spot me. But you didn’t know some of my friends, yet. And I have to say, I was mighty glad to run into Finn when I did. I was starting to get the feeling that even I was getting out of my depth.”
“Even you . . . hard to imagine,” I’d responded with a roll to my eyes.
“Yeah,” she’d said, completely missing my sarcasm. “I know. So, I told him everything and he came up with the plan for watching the perimeter around the ball.” I had almost laughed outright when she used the word perimeter, sounding like a military guard. I put my napkin up to my mouth to hide my smile.
“Well, I can’t thank you enough for helping me out, Morgan. Really.” At which her chest puffed up proudly, as a shy look simultaneously crossed her face. I wondered if anyone had ever told her “thank you” and “job well done.”
“So, you know how to make a petrol bomb, huh?” I was snickering, thinking that Finn must have helped out with that.
But no. She’d prattled on most frighteningly, “Yes. I read about petrol bombs this summer in an article about the Spanish Civil War. They used ’em against the Soviet tanks. Actually, if you want a bigger explosion, the fumes of gasoline are the best over the whiskey bottles we used. You fill a tank only about an inch or so. It’s the fumes that make a good explosion, y’know. If you want a longer burn, you use more gasoline so it gets all over everything. But if you’re not careful, the fire can go up real fast; gasoline is so volatile. If you want a really good burn, you have to use fuel from a smoker. You know, the gas for one of those diesel trucks. Not as flammable, but burns real long.” At that point I’d started choking so hard, she’d pulled an Aunt Evelyn and started smacking me on the back.
I laughed quietly to myself as I finished up my last packet. Happily tamping them all together and stacking them on my desk, I turned to see Fiorello walking past.
“You busy, Chief?” I asked.
“Always. But come on in,” he replied and I brought my chair into his office. I filled him in on everything that Miles had discussed with us and the resulting theories. But I had a lot of questions. “Fio, it still doesn’t explain anything about Hambro. I mean, I can’t see a motive anywhere. And Marty’s death was deliberate, not just a mugging gone wrong, or something. What do you think?”
Fio rubbed his forehead. “You ask a lot of questions.”
I gave him a disgruntled look and said, “You make that sound like it’s a nuisance . . .” My sentence died on my lips as I thought of something.
“What, Lane?”
“You know, the last time Roarke and I saw Marty alive, he said that he was determined. That he’d be asking a lot more questions. What if he made a nuisance of himself? What if he got in the way of some business deal going down?”
“Now that’s a possibility, Lane.”
I also offered one last tasty tidbit to see what he would do with it—to test a funny little hunch I had about Hambro. My mind kept going back to those photographs of him and Mrs. Hambro and I wondered if he hadn’t really vanished, but was just hiding, let’s say. In the best place to hide: plain sight. I thought I’d say something to Fio, to see if he’d take the bait. If he did, I’d follow him and see what happened. I just felt that he knew more than he was letting on. “You know, Fio, I was thinking that I might have a theory about Mr. Hambro. He may be closer than we think. I need to digest it a little more, but I’ll get back with you as soon as I develop it a little bit.” He tried to finagle more details out of me, but I would not say another word.
Later that day I followed Fio on his way home. He took the bait. I found Fio talking on the sly to someone who looked very intriguing indeed.
CHAPTER 57
Tucker was alone at the side of a brazier, warming his hands for a moment’s respite on his way home. There was no one left to talk to. Fate had run its course and he was left alone. It had never bothered him before. But now, well . . . He had emotions he didn’t—couldn’t—understand. He continued his job on Wall Street, needing to do something constructive. He wasn’t safe in the apartment he used to call home, so he moved to a small, insignificant motel. He needed to be quick and agile.
He had started to feel like a cornered animal. Eliza had clearly taken sides with Donagan and if what he heard on the street was right, Donagan had beat him to the gold pawn. All his dreams of attaining Rex’s legacy were going down the drain. With a sudden burst of anger, he turned and savagely punched the wooden side of a cart that had stopped right next to him on the street. The pain in his hand cleared his head and he actually liked the ache it left behind. It was real. He understood it. He could do something about it and it just plain felt good to take his anger out on something.
If only Lane hadn’t turned away from hi
m. God, he was livid about it. He wanted her like no one else. And she was this close, he thought, feeling the anger rising. And she slipped away. Damn it. He turned and with the other fist, struck the cart yet again, making its horse shimmy at the bump. Both fists now bloody, he rubbed his hands over the fire, unaware of the drips of blood that dropped into the flames with a small hiss.
She had turned so easily from him. Yet he had seen inside her, and it was not all sunshine and roses. There was darkness in there. Just like me. But somehow, she turned from it. From him. He hated this feeling of impotence. He wanted revenge. He wanted to do something. And if he couldn’t have her, no one could.
Just then, the hackles on his neck rose and a presence made itself known. He felt it before he heard him. “Hello, Donagan,” he said with a curl to his lip, unable or unwilling to mask his distaste.
“Hello, Tucker,” Donagan said with a lick to his lips.
“What can I do for you, Connell?”
“Actually, it’s what I can do for you.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Hear me out, don’t hear me out. I don’t fucking care. I have what I want, but since a certain someone who loves red shoes has been such an irritation to me, I thought I’d have a little fun with her. And I thought you might want in on that action.”
Tucker’s ears perked up at that. Donagan got the pawn he so desperately wanted, what should have been his. And maybe being in league with him on something would draw him just a bit closer to connive a way to get it back. And have Lane get her just desserts? Yeah, he’d be interested in that.
Donagan could see Tucker’s interest before Tucker even understood it. A sneer tugged at his marred lips. He pulled at his hat, bringing it down slightly more on his right side. He puffed up his chest, knowing they were all going to fall quite nicely into his little trap. The power of it was intoxicating. He deserved the Rex Ruby legacy. He was the legacy. He just needed to get the others out of the way. All the others.
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