“The fellas at Broome were holding back on us,” Jaffey said over dinner, his mouth full of steak.
“Oh, yeah,” Tom agreed ruefully. “Not going to get anything from these folks. Whatever they were up to is well hid. Eli … we are into something here that’s far bigger than we’d imagined.”
“Got that feelin’. Can’t say I’m comfortable here either.” Eli looked around the dining room. “Had the feeling we’ve been watched all day. Can’t shake it. Can’t say I’m sure who’s watching, but the feeling’s there.”
“Keep your voice down,” Tom said, looking at the other tables to see if he’d been heard. “I thought the same thing. Noticed a couple faces on the streets more than once today.”
They finished their meal and went up to the room. Tom took note of where the stairs were, walking to each end of the hall to peer up and down the staircases. He checked utility closets too, rattling the knobs to see if they were open or not. He and Eli went to the toilet together. Back in the room, Jaffey pushed a chair against the door.
“That ought to make enough noise if somebody tries sneaking in.”
Tom nodded and went to check the windows. They were four floors up with no outside stairs. At least they wouldn’t have to worry about someone getting in that way.
“Only one way in or out. Sleep light,” he warned.
Tom wasn’t aware of the time when he woke much later from a dreamless doze. He’d been catnapping for some time. It had to be late, maybe two or three, he guessed. Something had woken him and his senses were suddenly on alert. The creak of a floorboard out in the hall focused his attention on the door, his head snapping around like a bird dog on point. The dim light seeping under the door from the hall cast a moving shadow. Tom watched as it stopped. Quick as he could, he hit Eli with one hand and grabbed for his Colt with the other. Tom was rolling out of bed when the door burst open. The chair clattered across the room. There was a dresser near the bed and Tom dove for its cover. At almost the same instant, the doorway erupted in sound and flame. A shotgun lit the blackened room like lightning, leaving Tom’s ears ringing. The bed exploded in a snowstorm of feathers. Jaffey’s bed was next. Jaffey was dead if he hadn’t moved, and there was no way to tell in the dark. No sooner had the shotgun shredded their beds than pistols took up the barrage. A second black form in the doorway cut loose with a pistol in either hand, emptying them at the beds blindly. Bullets ricocheted around the room as sheets of yellow flame leapt from the pistols. Splinters flew. Glass shattered. A big pitcher and the bowl it stood in disintegrated in a shower of porcelain and water. Tom did his best to make himself small behind the dresser. It was dark, and he doubted that the gunmen could see what they were shooting at, so he waited till the storm petered out.
As he expected, there was a momentary lull once the pistols had given up their bullets. The two gunmen stood silent for an instant—no more than a heartbeat, really. Tom could see the shotgun coming up again. The man had reloaded while the other had emptied his pistols. Tom wasn’t sure if Jaffey was in any shape to return fire, but he figured this was his one chance. With the two backlit by the hall light his chances were pretty good. Tom brought the Colt up, aiming around the corner of the dresser. The one with the shotgun must have seen the movement, and he started to bring the gun to bear. Suddenly, from Tom’s left, a pistol barked, lighting the room an instant before his Colt. Tom fired again to be sure, but it wasn’t necessary. The man fell, crumpling backward in the hallway. The second man disappeared. Heavy feet pounded down the hall.
“Jaffey,” he shouted through the smoke and floating feathers. “You all right?”
“Yeah.” A voice from the other side of the room broke through the ringing in his ears. He sounded surprised.
“I’m going after him,” Tom said. He was through the door, vaulting the sprawled body, and sprinting down the hall almost before he finished saying it. He heard feet pounding behind him but didn’t look back.
Sleepy heads were poking out of doorways, and some even ventured into the hall, watching, groggy and open-mouthed, as Tom and Eli ran by. A door slammed up ahead and they both bolted for the stairs to follow. Tom was through first. He leapt down the stairs two at a time with Jaffey close behind. As they reached the next landing, shots exploded in the stairwell. Tom dove and rolled, coming up against the wall. Jaffey flattened himself against the other side. Neither returned fire. Tom took a moment to reload, as did Eli.
“You see him?” Eli called. The sound of running feet were his answer. As they took up the chase again, they heard another door slam at the bottom of the stairwell.
“He’s outside.” Tom panted. They burst through the door just in time to see a form rounding the corner onto Carey.
It was a long chase through the darkened streets of Richmond. Tom, dressed in his underwear and socks, and Eli in only his shorts, ran up Carey then followed their man down toward the canal, making a left on Seventh. He had nearly a block lead on them. Catching him was going to be tough with no shoes, but they kept on. It wasn’t worth a shot from that distance, not with a pistol in the dark, so they saved their ammunition and ran as fast as they could. They caught glimpses of the man as he ran over the canal and turned toward the hulking form of the old Tredegar Iron Works. The buildings loomed in the night—massive forges, foundries, sheds, and chimneys formed a maze and a perfect refuge. Tom saw that there was no way they’d catch him before he got lost among the blackened buildings, so he puffed to Eli to try a last sprint to close the gap. He thought to try for a shot while their man was still in the open, but they needed to be closer to have any chance. Tom’s feet were raw and bleeding and he was certain Jaffey’s couldn’t be any better, but he put on a last burst of speed and drew within about a hundred yards of the man.
It was too late. Tom could see that, but he pulled up short, steadying his aim with two hands. A hit at that distance would be nearly impossible, especially at night after a long run, but he had to try. Jaffey stopped beside him, taking aim too. Almost simultaneously their pistols lit up the night. Tom fired methodically, doing his best to steady his breathing and aim true. Jaffey just blazed away. Eight times their pistols barked, but the man kept running, seemingly untouched, then he disappeared in the shadow of a building at the edge of the canal.
“Did you see that?” Jaffey asked, breathing hard. “I think we hit him. I think I saw him stumble.” Back in the city, they could hear cop’s whistles and voices in the night. They seemed to be getting closer.
“I don’t know, Eli. Let’s move in, but be careful.” Tom panted. “You have any bullets left?”
“One.” Jaffey huffed.
Tom had saved one too and was glad Eli had kept his wits about him. “Okay,” he said, wincing with each step. “Let’s see.”
It took an hour to find the body. It was floating facedown in the canal. One of the local police found him. There were three bullets in him, none of which would have been instantly fatal, but they were enough to stop him. Tom cursed their luck. Judging from the wounds, the man probably drowned. A dead man was little use to them. The man with the shotgun was in a similar condition back at the hotel, they learned.
“You boys been busy,” one of the cops observed laconically, once they had identified themselves.
“Yeah,” Tom replied glumly.
It took the rest of the night to explain to the local police exactly what they were doing shooting up the town. They sat in police headquarters, their guns temporarily confiscated, their bloody feet leaving sticky red smudges on the floor while a string of cops questioned them. Tom and Eli didn’t tell them everything they suspected about the case, just enough to keep the cops satisfied. Early in the morning Tom and Eli were brought down to view the bodies. They lay on tables in the basement of the headquarters building. It was the first time they got a good look at them. The one who had been fished out of the canal looked to be asleep on the worn wooden table he was laid out on. There were three small red holes: one in his upper ri
ght arm, on in his left calf, and one in the lower left side of his back. The one they had shot in their room was in ghastly condition. One of the bullets had caught him in the face, ripping most of his lower jaw away, punching a big hole through the back of the skull. The local cops claimed there was nothing on either of them by way of identification. Tom accepted that with a grim nod. Jaffey wasn’t quite as successful at concealing his suspicion.
They were released by about nine in the morning, when they hobbled out into the bright sunlight, blinking like a couple of raccoons. The local cops had retrieved some clothes from their hotel, and then gave them a ride to the hospital, where a doctor looked at their feet. Iodine and bandages swathed their feet when they left the hospital. Getting their shoes on when they got back to the hotel was a painful chore. They made arrangements to take the next steamer back to New York and, with the assistance of a telegram from Byrnes, got a promise of cooperation from the Richmond police.
“What’s your guess on whether we ever find out who those guys were, Eli?” Tom asked while he changed his bandages later that day.
“Well,” Jaffey said slowly, “my uncle used to say that you can’t find gold in a coal mine.”
Tom laughed grimly. “Your uncle sounds like a wise man. Five to one we never get anything of value on those two.” He paused for a minute, thinking. “Now that Sangree, on the other hand, we need to squeeze him like a ripe melon.” Tom hoped his follow-up telegram to Dolan and Heidelberg accomplished what he wanted.
“You figure they’ll catch him?” Eli asked.
“Shit … I just don’t know. He could have cleared out as soon as we left his office two days ago. Be long gone by now. We’ll see tomorrow. Done everything we can for now.”
Later, on the steamer back to New York, Eli grumbled, “Well, that was a big waste of time. Nearly got ourselves killed and didn’t learn a damn thing.”
Tom looked at him as if he’d grown a second head. “You think so, eh?” Jaffey would have caught the edge to his voice if he’d known Braddock better.
“Well, yeah. What the hell did we learn actually … I mean, hard facts?”
Tom shook his head slowly, like a teacher with a slow pupil. “Learned plenty. First, this is bigger than we expected. Second, it involves far more people at a variety of levels, especially in this town. Third, Sangree’s probably in it up to his eyeballs, whatever it is. That’s just off the top of my head. I think we did pretty well, all things considered. We’re alive, for one thing, which beats hell out of the alternative. Didn’t get much hard facts, I’ll admit, but we know more than we did before. You notice the farewell committee at the dock?”
“The two across the street by the tobacco warehouse?” Eli asked. “I thought they were a little too interested in us.”
“Yeah. This bunch has things buttoned up tighter than a flea’s asshole. Wish I knew what the fuck was going on.” Tom shook his head. “One thing’s for damn sure, Eli; this has got to be more than some fucking contract fraud.”
“Yeah, but what?” Jaffey winced as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
Tom just grunted. He didn’t want to voice the word that came to mind. Instead he just muttered, “We’re lucky to be leaving town standing up, my friend.”
Mike’s grandmother had left the apartment early to deliver the lace she’d been working on to a store over on Hester. After that she was going to some woman’s house she was making a dress for, and stop somewhere to buy more cloth and lace-making stuff. Mike hadn’t paid much attention. It was clear she’d be out for a while, and that’s about as much as he was interested in knowing. As usual, he kept a chair, their sturdiest, propped against the door. Though he hadn’t seen another threatening-looking man in the neighborhood for weeks, he still felt it was a good idea to be careful. A scare like he’d had out by the jakes had a way of sticking in the back of his head and coming back to give him a chill now and again. It had scared him enough so that he’d gotten in the habit of taking precautions. He’d double around the block before he went in the front door, and sometimes he’d cut through from the back street, navigating the maze of fences, outhouses, and litter-strewn lots behind his building. He was always careful on the stairs and at the landings, cautiously peering around corners. He even had some special plans, just in case.
Mike had been counting the change he’d managed to hold onto from selling coal. There was less of it than there had been. The allure of the candies by Brower’s front counter had whittled his pile some. Still, he had shepherded his little hoard carefully and had enough to buy some stuff when he and Tom went to Barnum’s. A light knock at the front door startled him, and he swept the change off his bed and into a jar before he went to answer it. He didn’t expect it was any bad men, not in broad daylight, but still you couldn’t be too sure. He bent to peer through the small hole he’d drilled in the door. He’d done it weeks before with his da’s old drill … just in case. Before he even said anything to answer whoever was knocking, he took a quick look. At first all he could see was a dark coat, as if the wearer were listening at the door. It was that close. But then the person stepped back and knocked again, rapping right above Mike’s head, and he could see the man. It was a little clerkish-looking fellow, with small glasses and a neat bow tie. He looked harmless enough.
“Wait a minute,” Mike called through the door. He pulled the chair aside a little, unlocked the lock, and opened the door about a foot. “Whadya want, mister?”
The man gave him an insipid smile as Mike peered up at him, the kind of smile that adults give to kids they don’t want to be bothered with. Mike knew it well.
“Is Mrs. Bucklkin at home, son?” the man asked solicitously. Mike hesitated. There was something he didn’t like about this man. He didn’t answer, and the man went on. “I’m from the coroner’s office. I have some things that belonged to Terrence Bucklin. This is the Bucklin residence, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” Mike answered warily. He remembered his grandma going to get his da’s things a long time ago, back when she got his body. “My grandma’s not home,” he said before he realized it, then tried to make it better by saying “She’ll be home real soon.”
“So, you’re the man of the house for now?” the man said. “Mind if I come in and wait for your grandmother?” A foot was now over the threshold. Mike started to back up, then stopped. For the first time he noticed the man’s hand was in his coat pocket. Something was in the pocket along with that hand, something long and pointy. It was pointy enough so that just the tip of it was poking out through the seam. It gleamed for an instant, then disappeared as, in slow motion, the hand came out. Mike’s instincts were sharp for a boy of ten. He slammed his heel down as hard as he could on the foot and slammed the door in the man’s face an instant later. A cursing grunt of pain came through the door and a hopping sound. Mike slid the lock into place and was bracing the chair under the knob when something crashed into the door. Splinters flew as a length of blade sliced through the old wood just near his face. Mike retreated, watching in frozen fascination as the door was hit again and again. He saw the door flex, the door jamb start to crack. It wouldn’t hold long, he knew. He turned at last and ran to their bedroom at the back of the tenement, slamming the door behind him, pushing a chair against it and a small bureau against that. He needed time.
Bart Jacobs wasn’t a big man. Though the door was old and loose on its hinges, it still took too much time before he felt it give way. All the while he cursed the kid and the throbbing pain in his foot where the boy had stomped him. With a final shove he sent the chair skittering across the room and the door slamming back against the wall. He rushed into the room, his knife held out, ready to skewer the little bastard. There was nothing to be seen, but a noise at the back of the apartment brought him around and running. He threw himself at the closed door which opened halfway with a crash of furniture behind. A second shove and he was through. He stood there panting, searching this way and that. There was nothing
in the room but the chair and bureau and the single bed. He bent to look under it, sweeping his knife back and forth, not caring what he hit, so long as it was flesh. Nothing.
“What the fuck?” He stood bewildered for a moment. The apartment was empty. There was no place the kid could have hidden, no closets, no armoires, no bathroom. He did a slow pirouette, momentarily bewildered. A noise from outside the open bedroom window caught his attention. He dashed over, looking out just in time to see Mike drop the last two feet to the ground from the rope he’d tied to the bottom of the bedpost.
“Shit!” Jacobs hesitated for a moment, unsure whether he might go down the same way. He didn’t. He watched Mike disappear in the labyrinth of fences, outhouses, sheds, and junk between the buildings, noting the direction, then turned and dashed out the way he’d come in.
Mike knew this labyrinth maybe better than anyone on the block. He’d played here countless times with his friends. He knew every corner, every turn, every dead end, every hiding place. He knew where he had to go. He was almost hoping the man would follow, even though he was so scared he shook all over. He ducked through a low hole in a wooden fence, not caring as he smeared himself with shitty mud. Brushing himself off, he stopped, listening for pursuit over the sound of his rapid breathing. Sounds of pursuit were coming from farther back, near his building. Mike waited. There was just one way in and one way out of where he was. Sure of his getaway, he set himself up to wait at the right spot. He’d done this before, at play. Mike wasn’t playing now. There’d be just one chance, he knew. The fence was high, maybe eight feet. The man would have to come through the hole. Mike shivered in silence, more scared than he’d ever been. His knees actually shook—so much that he wondered if maybe the man could hear his bones rattling. His breathing sounded so loud it could be heard across town. Any attempt to slow it down only seemed to choke him. Still he waited. Another noise, closer this time, sent an icy jolt of fear through him. He listened as footsteps approached. He could see the man in his mind, feeling his way to this spot, maybe following his tracks in the dark soil that the weeds seemed to love so much. The fence moved as the man leaned against it. Fingertips appeared at the top as he tried to vault over it, feet scrabbled against the wood. Mike heard the man curse. A few seconds later a clerkish, bespectacled, bow-tied head popped through the hole.
Suspension Page 46
