by David Fuller
“What changed?”
“I appreciate the way you look at the world.”
• • •
LONGBAUGH thought that the most direct way to Fedgit-Spense was through Moretti. Hightower was a bad bet, he could not anticipate the man’s agenda. But Moretti was more transparent, and there was a chance he would give himself away if pressed. And Longbaugh knew a way to get to him. Moretti may have kept himself at arm’s length from the dirty work of his gang, but in order to maintain control, he still needed to give orders. He was too smart to write things down, as any written instruction would tend to incriminate. One person always had to have access to him. A trusted messenger to carry verbal instructions. And Longbaugh knew who that messenger had to be. He had seen him any number of times, the slick wearing a good suit.
Longbaugh went back to Little Italy and the Tall Boot Saloon. When he had watched for Hightower from the roof, he hadn’t paid attention to the slick’s comings and goings. Now he did. He watched from the same rooftop, tracking the slick when he came out of the bar, moving roof to roof until he ran out of roof. He went to street level and waited for him at the place where he had lost him from above. The messenger quit being cautious once he was that far from the bar. Longbaugh followed him out into the open, and the slick never once looked back, leading him directly to the building where he had first met Moretti.
Longbaugh waited in front until the messenger came back out. Then he entered and went upstairs.
He picked the lock and slipped inside Moretti’s place. He closed the door behind him. He waited there, listening. A large clock tock-tocked. A door shut somewhere. Music played upstairs. A dog barked on the street. Somewhere else in the building someone blew his nose. The hall was dark, but light from individual rooms came through the open doors and fell geometrically across the floor.
He moved, grateful for the rubber-soled shoes that were quiet on both the wooden floors and on the rug that ran the length of the hall. He opened every closed door and peered into each room in turn and found them empty. He looked in the room where Moretti had come in that first night to meet him. Also empty.
He stopped outside one closed door and stood a moment, having heard a sound within. He leaned in close to listen, then put his hand on the knob and turned it as silently as he could manage. It was unlocked, and as it opened, it seemed to breathe inward.
The lean, pale girl, Moretti’s girlfriend/whore, lounged on her bed, wearing the same thin robe she had worn the first night he’d seen her. She leaned on an elbow, narrow hip in the air, open magazine propped on a pillow. She appeared more attractive, but this time she wasn’t being interrupted in the midst of fornicating with her boss. She looked up and was not surprised to see a man entering her room.
“And he said I was closed for the day.”
“I’m not here for that.”
“Doesn’t matter, if he says so, it’s so.” Her low voice, aimed at him, was strangely inviting.
“What room is he in?”
“You just missed him.” She lifted a pinky to the side of her pouty lips. “We have the place to ourselves.”
“Where did he go?”
“He doesn’t tell me things like that.”
“Does he bring others here?”
“Only the very special ones. Like you.”
“Uh-huh. Maybe a rich Englishman?”
“You can be anyone you want to be. An Englishman, an Egyptian, rich, poor. I’m awfully gullible.”
“Uh-huh. Ever hear of a man named Fidgy?”
She let that pinky slide across her upper lip and blinked through cow eyes. “I’m not sure. Come over here and we’ll discuss it.”
She was so obvious that her act was subversively effective.
Longbaugh was not ready for this. Had he known what he was facing, he would have been better prepared. His wallet was where it could easily be lifted and he was wearing his gun against his back. Did she have information? Possibly. He took a step toward her, thinking anything that could get him closer to his wife was a positive step, but then he looked in her lifeless eyes and knew she was a dead end.
He stepped back closer to the door. “When is Giuseppe back?”
“Not for a while.”
“I’ll come back then.”
“No. Stay. Come here to me.”
“I am not ready for you.”
“I’m ready for you.”
The door behind him sighed open and he stepped sideways to look over his shoulder at Hightower coming in. “Now what would your wife say, tourist?”
Longbaugh’s hand went for the Peacemaker, but stopped when he saw Hightower’s gun already pointed at him.
The lean girl came upright, a growl of warning from her throat. “I got this one, Bear.”
“You may not roll him, Edwina.”
“You’re no fun.”
“Get out.”
“I won’t. It’s my room, he said so. And anyway, I’m busy.”
“Be busy elsewhere.”
She stuck her tongue out at him. She sulked and got to her knees slowly, closing her magazine, plumping her pillows and tossing them to the head of the bed. He made a tsk sound to move her along. She put her feet on the floor, threw her head back to shake out her hair, then was up, moving slowly toward Longbaugh. Her eyes locked with his as she walked. Longbaugh backed up a step and she brushed past him, letting her robe catch on his arm so that Longbaugh got a full look at what he was missing. It was almost as interesting as she thought it was. Out of habit, he checked to make sure his wallet was still there.
“Figured I’d seen the last of you, tourist,” said Hightower after the girl had gone.
“Where’s Fidgy?”
“You here for Fidgy?”
“Figured Giuseppe would know where to find him.”
“Well, he might. But so might a thousand others.”
“Giuseppe has good reason to keep Fidgy in his sights,” said Longbaugh. “And you never know what else he might say to me.”
“What he might say to you, now that could be interesting.”
“How long was Moretti collecting Queenie’s fee?”
Hightower smiled at him as if he was an excellent student who had been listening in class. “From the start. Queenie thought she was clever with her secret lover, but it was Moretti’s play from the beginning. He arranged the introduction and had money in hand before she ever heard of her Englishman.”
“Fidgy had to go along with it.”
“Why wouldn’t he? He loves that sort of thing, it entertained him, but then, the man can tell a joke. It amused him that she thought she was giving it away for love.”
Longbaugh thought Queenie would never have survived the Titanic. Fidgy would have flicked her overboard while commandeering a lifeboat for himself. Hightower had known all this when they interviewed Queenie in the opium den. Hightower was far too many steps ahead of him.
“Moretti is a real businessman,” said Longbaugh.
“He’s a whoremonger, but we all have to do something with our lives.”
“He wanted Fidgy indebted to him. He wanted a business relationship.”
“I’d have to say yes to that.”
“Queenie wasn’t the only girl Moretti sent to Fidgy.”
“You’re on a roll, tourist.”
“He meant to blackmail Fidgy into making him a business partner.”
“It wasn’t the leverage he thought it was. Fidgy either didn’t care that people knew he was a deviant with a taste for cheap whores, or thought people wouldn’t believe it. What business do you have with him?”
“I’m interested in art.”
“A clever lie, considering.”
“You’re right. I could never lie to you. Does he supply Moretti with dynamite?”
“He does, at times.”
“I might like to get my hands on some.”
“I thought you were looking for your wife.”
“A pretense. Like he said, she’s only a wife.”
“Don’t say things like that, tourist, I was invested in your love story. You surprise me. I never know what you’re going to say next.” Hightower scratched himself with his hand not holding the gun. “Oh, I thought I should tell you, I heard you come in.”
“I hadn’t meant to disturb you.”
“So I made a telephone call.”
Longbaugh didn’t understand the ramifications of his statement. “I thought with a telephone you need someone to answer on the other end.”
“That’s so.”
He couldn’t wrap his head around it. None of Moretti’s boys would have a telephone. “Who could you call? Not many telephones in the city, as I understand it. And Moretti already lives here. Although Fedgit-Spense might have one.”
“He might at that.”
“So you made a telephone call and someone is coming.”
“Yes.”
Hightower still knew more than he did, but how much more? He craved information, but feared that he gave away what he knew simply by his choice of questions.
Hightower began to put his gun away, then stopped and looked at Longbaugh. “I don’t need this, do I?”
“You mean, would I leave if you weren’t covering me? No.”
“That’s the way.”
“You’re good at pretending to be surprised by the things Moretti does.”
“Am I?”
“He didn’t put a tail on you.”
“Oh, he did, and I wasn’t pretending, I was actually surprised.”
Longbaugh didn’t believe him. “No, you’re the one who takes care of his private needs.”
“You flatter me.”
“Like dealing Queenie to Fidgy.”
“Can’t say I’m above it, but Moretti handles the sex.”
“You handle the muscle.”
“When I have to.”
“Intimidation.”
“Only when it’s necessary. I’m very genial at heart.”
“Sending men out west to frighten women?”
“That you’ll have to explain.”
“You sent your boys to intimidate Etta’s sister. I’m betting some old Pinkertons.”
“I’m fascinated.”
“You have a man in the post office who intercepted Etta’s letters.”
“I don’t, but I know the man Moretti uses.”
Longbaugh was skeptical. “So you’re saying that was Moretti’s trick and had nothing to do with you.”
“If you say it happened.”
Longbaugh ground his teeth. His gut, his instinct, told him Hightower’s fingernails were dirty. Why employ an ex-Pinkerton if it wasn’t to carry out your peculiar chores? He disliked being played for a fool, and he disliked the innocent look on Hightower’s face. He wanted to flush Hightower out in the open.
“Don’t treat me like I’m an idiot, Hightower, you’ve known Moretti’s business the whole time. Moretti doesn’t soil his hands, he sends others, and others means you. You handled that little piece of business with Mina.”
“Mina? Would that be Etta’s sister?”
The mock surprise on his face pushed him the final step.
“You tore open the letter and wiped your hands on it, then you gave it to those sons of bitches to scare her, and yes, that would be Etta’s sister, you know Mina Matthews as well as I do.”
Longbaugh had not expected Hightower’s reaction. His face immediately changed, a moment of shock giving way to a wide, delighted smile, and Longbaugh knew he had made a mistake, but he did not know how or why.
“Mina Matthews.” Hightower spoke the name as a revelation.
What had he said? Hightower already knew her name, what did it matter that he had said it aloud? Otherwise, how would Hightower have sent his people? But whatever he had done, he would make it right. Wherever Hightower went, Longbaugh would be there, if he had to ride under his lapel. He would keep him in his sight until he knew what was what.
“Moretti had lost faith in me lately, and I’d been looking for a way back into his good graces. Apparently I owe you one.” Hightower’s head cocked, hearing something Longbaugh did not. “I’m almost sorry for how I am about to repay you.”
Longbaugh had not heard the footsteps coming down the hall before the knock on the skinny girl’s door.
Hightower grinned. “Because that’s for you.”
“The telephone call?”
Hightower opened the door, and before Longbaugh could reach for his weapon, Charlie Siringo was in the room with his gun aimed at Longbaugh’s heart. This gun he took seriously.
“Hello, Harry.”
It was over that quickly, gone, all of it, Etta, his freedom, all of it, all of it, all of it. His eyes cased the room, watching his freedom slide like a whisper under the door and out the cracks between the sash frame and the window jamb. Too far from the window to crash through, too far from Siringo to charge, and Siringo was blocking the door. Lightning couldn’t outdraw a pointed weapon. Whatever Hightower had learned from him, he would walk away with it and have no tourist’s shadow to inconvenience him. His pride had done it. He had wanted to trip up Hightower and bring him down, and he’d fed him information instead.
“You are a patient man, Charlie.”
“Worth the wait.”
“By the way, tourist, if you were wondering, I had no idea where to find your wife. Until you told me.”
Grasping at straws. “I don’t know where she is, and now that you’ve turned me in to the law, you’ll never know either.”
“Fidgy’s been dealing with a new art dealer these last few weeks, in anticipation of the show. A lady art dealer. Who knew the Brits were so progressive? He mentioned her name, he was quite impressed with her, but then, ladies are his weakness, they don’t all have to be cheap. At the time, her name meant nothing to me. Matthews. Ethel Matthews. I never met her, and in what world would I? I don’t give an elephant’s fart about the fine arts, what use is that in the real world? I was trying to make an agreement between the Spense Company and Moretti, that was my job. Oh, and Moretti never trusted me for all those other things precisely because I had been a Pinkerton. He always thought my true allegiance was elsewhere. But isn’t she clever, hiding out in the open, using what I assume is her real name.”
Longbaugh was dead inside. They were both so used to using aliases, who would have imagined she’d come out as herself? But why not? He had come to New York wanting to use his own name. Why not Etta? He started very slowly to move into a position where he might access his gun, but Siringo saw it almost before he began, and angled his head. “Ah-ah.” Longbaugh returned his hand to his innocent thigh.
Hightower moved to the door. “Now if you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I have just received an invitation to the opening of an art show. I hear it’s a major event, they say everyone will be there. Maybe Fidgy and your Ethel can teach me something about culture. Naturally, I’ll take Moretti as my guest. I’m guessing he’s about to acquire a whole new appreciation for modern European painting.”
Hightower put on his hat and smiled his way out the door, leaving Longbaugh to face Siringo’s gun.
“Back up a step, please, Harry.”
Longbaugh watched how Siringo held his gun. “How did he get you here?”
“Mr. Hightower has been in contact.”
“He came to you?”
“Saw me watching the boardinghouse.”
“One old Pinkerton to another. Professional courtesy.”
“Was he really a Pinkerton? Seems a little overstuffed for that crowd.”
“Did you notice he was someone you might not trust?”
“My interest was you.”
“So you let him guide you.”
“I wasn’t interested in his character. You’re the one’s been taunting me.”
“I saw him kill a man.”
“File a complaint.”
Longbaugh gave up. There was no justice to be had here. Hightower the immoral had played it brilliantly. “Does he know who I am?”
“He thinks you’re an ex-convict named Alonzo, wanted by the law. I was surprised at how happy he was to hear that. You impressed him, but I know how immune you are to flattery.”
“I don’t always hate it. Just tonight.”
“He was glad you weren’t a civilian. Thought he was losing his touch.”
“He reached you by telephone?”
“One at my hotel. I gave him the name when he offered to alert me if he saw you again.”
“He didn’t miss a trick.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“You would. You like to know everything. That’s why you’re listening to me now. I’m going to the Armory Show, Charlie.”
“That could be a problem. I believe I already put you under arrest on somebody’s rooftop. Seems to me where you’re going is Wyoming.”
Longbaugh walked directly at Siringo. “You’re going to have to shoot me.”
“That would be a shame.”
Longbaugh watched Siringo thumb back the hammer. Siringo, of all people, would not be bluffed. It was a desperate move anyway, probably not worthy of him. If Siringo shot him, Etta would face Moretti alone. He stopped and took a step back.
“Let me go, Charlie.” His voice was calm.
“Harry . . .”
“He’ll kill her.”
“Keep your hands where I can see them.”
“You heard him, he’s taking Moretti. Moretti thinks this is some private vendetta. He wants his revenge face-to-face.”
“Everybody’s got a story.”
“She’s using her real name, Charlie. That’s so I could find her. It was a risk, but a risk she was willing to take. You think she should die for that? For using her real name?”
“You never know how these things will turn out. That’s why they’re called risks.”
“You’re going to let me go.”
