by E. J. Blaine
The Silver Star agent kicked him hard in the ribs, then shrugged off the pack and took off. Jack untangled himself from the cable, got to his feet, and ran after him.
The agent hurdled the riser onto the next house with Jack a few seconds behind. They sprinted across the roof of the next townhouse and then the agent soared over a narrow alley. He hit the roof on the other side, rolled, and was up and running in a heartbeat.
If he can make it, I can make it, thought Jack. Then he was airborne. The yawning chasm flashed by beneath him and he hit the roof and rolled. At the far side of this house, he saw the agent leap down a small drop to the next roof and keep going.
He couldn’t keep this up, Jack realized. They were coming up fast on Amsterdam Avenue, and the Silver Star man sure wasn’t going to jump that. He had him.
Jack kept up the chase across the roofs of two more townhouses, and then the assassin was out of running room. But he wasn’t stopping, Jack realized. The man took something from his coat pocket. At first, Jack thought he was pulling a gun. But instead he cried out, shouting words Jack didn’t recognize, and there was a flash of pale green light from his outstretched hand. He veered to the right, sprinting for the edge, and Jack realized he wasn’t going to stop.
The Silver Star agent never even slowed. He reached the edge of the roof and leaped into the night, limbs windmilling as he soared through the air. He was trying to make it across the narrower side street instead of Amsterdam itself, and he was aiming not for the roof but for a second floor balcony on the far side. But it was still an impossible jump. No one could have made it.
Even so, the Silver Star man nearly did. Jack pulled up at the edge of the roof and watched in astonishment as the man sailed across the street and past the trees lining the edge of the sidewalk. He reached out for the balcony railing, and his hands barely missed it. He slammed hard into the wall, bounced off, and landed in a broken heap on the sidewalk. Jack watched as he began to smoke and hiss. In moments, a pile of bones and scorched clothes were all that remained.
###
Jack found Doc a few blocks south at the edge of Central Park. She was walking along the sidewalk on Central Park West, shining her flashlight over the wall into the trees.
“Are you okay?” Jack asked. “What happened?”
“I’m okay,” she said more loudly than necessary. “But I lost him.” Then she winked and put a finger to her lips.
“Mine didn’t make it,” Jack said.
Then Doc came close and whispered, “He’s heading south.”
“All right,” Jack said aloud. “Nothing more we can do here. Let’s get back.”
They waited behind a closed newsstand until a figure emerged from the park a block down and crossed the street. Jack noticed he was clutching his right arm to his chest.
“I cut his arm,” Doc whispered as they set off after him. “If we lose him, look for blood.”
They trailed him for blocks, past the south end of the park and beyond, into Hell’s Kitchen. The wounded man turned down a darkened street that took him toward the river. Jack felt eyes watching them as he and Doc followed from well behind. This was a dangerous part of town. He was confident they could take care of themselves, but they didn’t need the distraction right now.
Then their quarry suddenly turned off the street, into a rubble-filled lot on the corner of a narrow alley. He made his way into the wreckage of a burned out building and seemed to vanish.
Doc and Jack traded a look. Then they moved closer to investigate.
The building was a ruin, a collapsed pile of scorched stone and charred support beams. It was the sort of place that could only exist in Hell’s Kitchen. Anywhere else in New York, the site would have been cleared almost immediately, and a new building would be halfway complete by now.
They found droplets of blood in a trail leading into the center of the rubble. But there was no sign of the man himself.
“Where the devil did he go?” Jack asked.
“He has to be here somewhere,” Doc answered. Then she spotted blood on the stones, black spatters in the dim light. “This way.”
They moved slowly, following the trail of drops across the wreckage. The trail led to the shattered remains of a wall and stopped. Beyond it was a massive pile of rubble. There was nowhere else to go. Jack and Doc traded a look.
“He went right through here,” said Doc. “There’s got to be some kind of hidden door.”
Jack was probing the stone with his fingertips. “Well, I can’t find it. Maybe in the daylight. We’ll come back here with more people and tear this place apart if we have to.”
They headed back out of Hell’s Kitchen, before someone decided it was worth taking a run at them. Jack decided it was time to talk to Agent Shelby again. And this time, Shelby was going to listen to them.
###
It was mid-afternoon when Jack and Doc walked into the BOI’s offices in upper Manhattan. A receptionist directed them to Agent Shelby’s office, and Jack stormed in, ready to settle their differences once and for all. Shelby was at his desk. As Jack and Doc came in, he put down the folder he was reading and stood up.
“Well, McGraw and Starr,” he said. Then Jack cut him off.
“Listen, Shelby, I’ve put up with about all I’m going to from you. We’ve told you who’s behind this, and what they’re after. Now we know where to find them, and what you can do about it, so it’s damn well time you started listening to us.”
“Yeah, I guess it is,” said Shelby, to Jack’s surprise. “Why don’t you two have a seat?”
“I…okay.” Jack realized he was disappointed; he’d been eager for a shouting match. But Doc smiled and thanked Shelby and got them into the two chairs in front of Shelby’s desk. Jack was still trying to figure out what had changed.
“Want to guess where I’ve been for the last week?” said Shelby as he walked around them and closed the door. “Washington. Turns out the Bureau has quite a file on your Silver Star. It was a couple levels above my clearance, but thanks to you I’ve gotten read in on it now. Kind of wish I hadn’t. So thanks for that.”
Shelby sat down behind his desk again. “So I take it you two are with this AEGIS group?”
Jack and Doc said nothing. The Daedalus might have been a clue. But apparently nothing was real for Shelby until he’d read it in an official file with “Secret” stamped on it.
Shelby let a moment pass, then went on. “Okay. So what is it you came here to tell me?”
They described what they’d learned over the past several days and laid out the Silver Star plan as they understood it.
“But we still don’t know anything about the poison,” Doc concluded. “We need a sample to study. If I can get it into a lab, I may be able to find an antidote.”
“We’ve tracked them back to a secret base in Hell’s Kitchen,” Jack added. “That’s where we’ll find them. But we need manpower to go in there and root them out. We need your help.”
Shelby nodded and let out a sigh. “And that’s going to be a problem,” he said, rather sheepishly. “Apparently the Bureau has a strict hands off policy with regard to this Silver Star bunch.”
Jack snorted and shook his head in disgust. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Hey, I’m with you this time. But there’s nothing I can do. Orders are we observe, but we don’t engage. That’s straight from the Director himself. Like you said, we don’t have the experience with this hoodoo stuff. There’s no way I can send a team of agents on a raid into Hell’s Kitchen against these people.”
“Well, that’s useful,” said Jack.
Shelby bit his lip and took a long breath. “But I might know someone who can help you,” he said. He glanced up at the closed door. “I’m taking a hell of a chance here.”
“We understand,” said Doc. “Nothing leaves this office.”
“Go to the Cotton Club in Harlem. Guy that runs the place is called Owney Madden. Tell him Jimmy Franco sent you.”
> “Owney Madden the bootlegger?” Jack asked in surprise.
“That’s the guy,” said Shelby.
Jack was astonished. “The BOI’s in bed with a gangster?”
“I wouldn’t put it quite like that,” Shelby said sourly. “Let’s say he recognizes that it’s in his interests for the Bureau to focus its time and attention on bigger threats than him. So he makes sure we know who those people are, and why they’re worse than he is. Your Silver Star guys sound worse to me than someone who runs Canadian whiskey through Hell’s Kitchen, just as an example.”
“All right,” said Jack. “So we go to the Cotton Club and we say Jimmy Franco sent us. What does that buy us?”
“Not a damn thing,” Shelby replied. “It should get you through the door and in front of Madden. From there, it’s on you. Whether he helps you or not, that’s up to him.”
Chapter 6
Harlem was bustling as Jack and Doc walked into the Cotton Club. The air inside was hot and the jazz beat was thumping. Dancers packed the floor. As Jack and Doc came in, the brass section stood up and swung their horns in time with the music.
Doc was holding Jack’s arm, and he could feel her respond. He wished they had time to dance. He knew how much Doc loved dancing, and he would have loved a chance to spend a night out with her, just having fun. But, he reminded himself, this wasn’t that night.
He stopped a passing waiter and told him, “We need to talk to the manager.”
“I’m sure I can help with anything you folks need,” the waiter said with a smile.
Jack didn’t smile back. “No, we need to see Madden.” He noticed the waiter’s eyes widen. “Jack McGraw and Dorothy Starr. Tell him Jimmy Franco sent us.”
“Yes, sir,” said the waiter. He guided them to a spot away from the doors. “If you’ll wait here, I’ll speak to the manager.”
Jack thanked him. On stage, the band brought their song to a climax, and the announcer took the stage.
“Andy Preer and the Cotton Club Orchestra!” he said, sweeping his arm to take in the bowing musicians. “Let’s hear it for them!”
The crowd cheered, and people started shouting requests from the floor. A moment later the band launched into “Sugarfoot Stomp.”
Jack tapped his foot to the music until a tall, gaunt man in a tuxedo appeared. He looked Jack and Doc over dubiously.
“Franco sent you?” he snarled.
“That’s right,” said Jack. “Jimmy Franco.”
The man gestured for them to follow. He led them through a side door into a corridor full of busy waiters and chorus girls running everywhere. The music faded to a distant bass hum as they made their way to the back of the club, then down a flight of stairs.
Doc said, “Thank you, Mr.…”
“Frenchie.”
At the bottom of the stairs, the showgirls and wait staff were replaced by muscled men in cheap suits. They lurked in the corridors and watched Jack and Doc with sullen expressions.
One of them looked Doc over and let out a low, appreciative whistle. Jack stopped and glared back at him. The man met his gaze and took a step forward. Jack squared his shoulders and waited for him to make a move.
Frenchie turned and glared at them. “This way, sir,” he said coldly.
The mobster shrugged, stepped away, and leaned against the wall. They moved on down the hall to a heavy oak door with two torpedoes standing guard outside. One of them knocked, then opened the door, and Frenchie led them in.
Owney Madden sat facing the door from behind a heavy oak desk. He was a compact man, sharply dressed, with a slicked back haircut and a white carnation in his lapel. He looked them over for a moment, then said, “Jimmy Franco, huh?”
“That’s right,” said Jack.
Madden sighed and waved their guide away. “So you’re McGraw. And Starr. All right. Thanks, Frenchie.”
Frenchie left with one more dubious look at Jack, and closed the door behind him. Madden stood up and walked around the desk, his hands outstretched.
“I don’t know what the hell Shelby thinks he’s doing, sending goddamn strangers my way now,” he said. The words sounded like they were meant to be shouted in anger, but Madden’s voice sounded warm and friendly. “But it sure is a pleasure to meet you, my dear.” Madden took Doc’s hands in his for a moment and gave her a winning smile. “Welcome to the Cotton Club.”
“I don’t think Agent Shelby’s going to make a habit of it,” Doc said. “Ours is an unusual case.”
“Well, have a seat,” said Madden. “I’ll pour us some drinks, and maybe you should tell me what’s brought you here.”
They sat down and Madden produced a bottle, glasses, and ice. A moment later they were sharing illegal whiskey with a notorious bootlegger. It was the good stuff too, Jack realized after his first taste. He supposed if anyone in town would have good hooch, this would be the guy. They gave Madden an abbreviated version of the events of the past several days. Jack left out the supernatural elements, but emphasized the strangers staking out territory in Hell’s Kitchen. It had the desired effect.
“Well, I never heard of your Silver Star or this Crowley fella,” Madden said at last. “But I’ve been hearing stories about people going missing in Hell’s Kitchen. Nothing strange about that, but it’s usually folks that you’re not surprised to hear they tangled with someone, you follow? And eventually they turn up someplace. Floating in the river, most of the time. Lately though, it’s different. This is people who wouldn’t be in anybody’s way. And nobody finds them. Folks are getting spooked. Starting to talk. So this burned out lot you tracked your guy to. On tenth, was it? Near the river?”
“That’s right,” said Jack.
Madden nodded. “I know it. I’m the one that blew it up.” He grinned and raised his glass to them and took a drink. “Used to be Skinny Doyle’s place. He ran whiskey through there. We had a disagreement.”
“If this Doyle was running whiskey,” Doc asked, “did he have a basement? Maybe a sub level under that?”
“Place wouldn’t be much use to a bootlegger without one,” Madden said with a laugh. “Sure, there was all kinds of rooms dug out under there. We cleaned them out once the roof came down. But they’re still down there. I guess your Silver Star fellows could have moved in. They could use the old tunnels to move around without being seen.”
“Tunnels?” said Doc. “Do you know where they are?”
“Oh yeah,” Madden answered. “A few of Doyle’s boys came over to our side. We know the place all right.”
“So,” Jack said, “we mean to go in and clear them out.”
“The two of you?” Madden interrupted. He took another drink and winked at Doc.
“We could use some help,” said Jack. “You know your way around Hell’s Kitchen, and you’ve got the men and the firepower. I guess it all comes down to how you feel about interlopers setting up shop in your back yard.”
“It could certainly complicate your business,” Doc said sweetly. “I mean it’s because of them that we’re here. Who can say who might turn up next?”
Madden set his glass down and looked them over.
“Yeah, I get what you want,” he said. He thought for a long moment. Then he hit a button under the edge of his desk, and the doors opened. Frenchie leaned in.
“Get the boys together,” said Madden. “Tell them to load up. We’re going to make some noise.”
Frenchie nodded and withdrew. Madden stood up and opened a cabinet in the wall that proved to be lined with guns. “Grab what you need,” he said. “And you better not be wasting my time.”
###
The boat steamed up the Hudson under the moon. There was a cool breeze on the water and Jack felt Doc lean close to him for warmth. Around them on the deck were a couple dozen gang soldiers armed with Tommy Guns, shotguns, and pistols. Near the stern stood Deadeye with his Winchester, and Duke with a borrowed Tommy Gun.
Madden moved around the deck giving orders. He’d split his m
en into two groups, one for each of two concealed tunnels that led into Skinny Doyle’s old hideout. Duke and Deadeye would go with the first team, while Doc and Jack went with Madden and the second. The men talked quietly among themselves and smoked until Madden gave the order to put them out.
A few moments later, the boat pulled into a moldering pier along the bank. A crewman climbed ashore and hauled in a mooring line. Immediately, Madden’s first team started leaping onto the dock.
“Give us ten minutes to get in place,” Madden said. “Then hit them hard.”
Duke and Deadeye were the last ones off. “Good luck, mates,” Duke said with a casual salute.
“See you inside,” said Jack.
Then they pushed away again, and the men on the dock were lost to the darkness as the boat moved downstream.
“We’re next,” Madden said. “Just like that. Don’t waste any time. We get down the pier fast, before someone sees us. Then we move down the tunnel and take out anybody we see.”
“Got it,” said Doc. She was holding a Tommy Gun she’d borrowed from Madden’s collection while Jack had decided to stick with his two .45s.
Madden laughed. “You sure you know how to use that thing?”
“She does,” said Jack.
“Well, if you two are right about this place, I guess we’ll find out.”
It was barely a minute later that the boat bumped up against another neglected pier. Jack and Doc sprang out and trotted down the dock, surrounded by heavily armed gangsters. They moved under a rotting wooden shelter that covered a set of rusted iron grates. One of the men knelt beside a grate and slid away a metal cover to reveal a shiny new padlock. He nodded to Madden.
“New tenants all right. We didn’t leave this here.”
