by Matt Braun
Sheep Meadow was a quarter mile or so to the northwest. Once a grazeland for sheep farmers, it was now a spacious field where families gathered for picnics in the summertime. The meadow was ringed by trees washed in the silvery glitter of the moon. There was no one in sight.
Hickok halted near the trees on the southern fringe of the meadow. He looked at Richter. “Here’s the deal,” he said. “You’re gonna tell us about McGlory and Stanley, and there ain’t no other way. Not if you aim to leave this place alive.”
“You won’t kill me,” Richter said with a cocksure laugh. “I’m no good to you dead.”
“Friend, you got it bassackwards,” Hickok informed him in a hard voice. “You’re no good to me alive—unless you talk.”
“Let me have him,” Cody snorted gleefully. “I’ll make him squawk like a duck.”
“What’ve you got in mind?”
“A little trick the Injuns taught me. Works everytime.”
Cody untied Richter’s hands. He slammed him up against a leafless birch and bound his hands behind the tree. Hickok seemed to get into the spirit of things, and helped Cody collect armloads of fallen branches from the woods. Phelan watched them with a bemused look, wondering it they were serious. The stacked branches were soon piled higher than Richter’s knees.
Hickok provided the matches. Cody built a teepee of twigs beneath the branches and lit the fire. He fanned it with his hat and the dried wood caught with a sharp crackle. Flames licked around the tops of Richter’s shoes.
“You’re crazy!” Richter shouted, his expression suddenly frenzied. “You can’t burn me alive!”
“Why shore we can,” Cody said breezily. “I’ve seen the Injuns burn a man to a crisp. Stinks something awful.”
“For God’s sake, it’s not human!”
“Well, we can stop it anytime you say. All you gotta do is start talkin’.”
The cuff of Richter’s trousers caught fire. Flame lapped about his ankles and his mouth opened in a banshee howl of terror. Phelan looked no less terrified, his eyes wide with horror. He grabbed Hickok’s arm.
“Jesus, call it off,” he blurted anxiously. “We’re not savages.”
“Turns your stomach, don’t it?” Hickok said. “But you know, you’re right, Charlie. This ain’t a fit way for any man to die.”
Hickok kicked the fiery branches aside, smothering the flames on Richter’s trousers. He gave Cody a rueful look. “Bill, you been around them heathen red-sticks too long. Damned if it ain’t just a little savage.”
Cody sulked. “You want him to talk, don’t you?”
“Yeah, but you can tell he ain’t fixin’ to squeal. The man’s got brass balls.”
“So what’re you gonna do?”
“Just have to kill him.”
Hickok pulled one of his Colts. He thumbed the hammer and pressed the muzzle between Richter’s eyes. “You got any last prayers, get ’em said. You’re on your way.”
“Wait,” Richter croaked pitifully. “I’ll tell you everything, all of it. Just don’t kill me.”
Charlie Phelan was never sure whether it was all an act. Later, reflecting on it, he suspected Hickok and Cody might have staged a mock execution. But there was no doubt they’d broken their man.
Otto Richter told them everything.
* * *
A bright morning sun flooded Gramercy Park. There was a snap in the air and the horses snorted steamy puffs of frost. The carriage stopped before the Stanley mansion shortly before eight o’clock.
Inside the cab, Hickok and Cody, with Richter wedged between them, occupied one seat. Omohundro and Phelan were crowded into the other seat with Augustus and Katherine. The children seemed to have lost their fear of Richter, who was singed around the ankles, his hands bound behind his back. His eyes were empty with defeat.
Hickok crawled out of the carriage. He assisted Richter down and waited until Cody stepped onto the sidewalk. Late last night they had returned to the hotel, where Richter was held under guard in the suite. The children, upon awakening, greeted the news of Richter’s capture with a sense of deliverance. Their long ordeal was nearly at an end.
“Charlie. Jack.” Hickok looked back into the carriage at Phelan and Omohundro. “You boys keep a sharp lookout till this business is finished. I doubt it’ll take too long.”
Omohundro bobbed his head. “Charlie and me will take care of the kids. Don’t worry about a thing.”
“Wild Bill,” Katherine said in a plaintive voice. “Aren’t you taking us with you? We want to see Grandmama.”
“You and Gus sit tight,” Hickok said gently. “We’ll come get you directly. I promise.”
Hickok and Cody walked Richter toward the mansion. During the night, they had decided to confront Lelend Stanley with Richter’s confession. They were wary of contacting the police until all the loose ends had been tied together. Richter, who feared Billy McGlory more than he feared them, had refused to implicate the underworld czar. They hoped Stanley would break under pressure.
The butler answered the door. Hickok shoved past him, with Richter and Cody in tow. They proceeded along the central hall, checking rooms as they went. Halfway down the hall, they came upon the dining room. Stanley and his mother were seated at the breakfast table.
“Stanley, the jig’s up,” Hickok said bluntly. “You remember Otto Richter, don’t you?”
All the color leeched out of Stanley’s features. Elizabeth Stanley, by now recovered from her illness, appeared confused. “How dare you!” she protested. “Leland, who are these men?”
“Ma’am,” Cody said, doffing his hat. “I’m Bill Cody and this here’s Bill Hickok. We’ve got some bad news.”
“Don’t get no worse,” Hickok said, halting at Stanley’s end of the table. “Richter spilled the beans, gave us the whole story. Ain’t that right, Richter?”
“Yeah,” Richter mumbled with a hangdog look. “I told them.”
Stanley struggled to regain his composure. “I don’t know this man and I want you out of this house. Now!”
“Won’t wash,” Cody said. “Richter put your neck in a noose hopin’ to save himself. You’re headed for the gallows.”
“Unless you get smart, real fast,” Hickok added. “You testify against Billy McGlory and we’ll ask the judge for leniency. That’s your only out.”
Richter stiffened. “Don’t say a—”
Hickok cuffed him upside the head. “Keep your trap shut.”
“Stop that!” Elizabeth Stanley rose from her chair. “I demand to know the meaning of this. Instantly!”
Cody wished there were another way. “Ma’am, I hate to be the one to tell you,” he said, moving a step closer. “Your son—Henry—and your daughter-in-law?”
“Yes, what about them?”
“This feller—” Cody motioned to Richter. “Well, he’s the scoundrel that done them in. And much as it’s gonna hurt you, Leland hired him to do it.”
“How absurd!” she said, outraged, casting a glance at Stanley. “Leland, tell them there has been some mistake.”
“Mother…” Stanley’s voice trailed off. “You musn’t believe these men. I’ve done nothing wrong.”
Elizabeth Stanley stared at him. His features were waxen and he was unable to hold her gaze. She saw the desperate look and she suddenly gasped, a hand to her mouth. “My God,” she said, collapsing into her chair. “How could you?”
“Mother, you have to believe me…”
“I see it in your face.” Her eyes welled over with a sudden rush of tears. “The mark of Cain on my own son. Henry and Amanda and … the children.”
“No, ma’am,” Cody said hurriedly. “Augustus and Katherine are gem-dandy, just fine. We’ve got’em waitin’ outside.”
“Mr. Cody, was that your name? I’m so confused by all this. Where have they been?”
“Well, ma’am, it’s sort of a long story. Why don’t we let them tell you?”
A few moments later Katherine and August
us rushed into the dining room. “Grandmama!” they squealed in unison and threw themselves into her arms. Elizabeth Stanley clutched them to her bosom, her face wet with a mixture of tears and joy. The children hugged her as though they would never let go.
“Would you look at that,” Cody said, absently swiping at his nose. “Guess it was worthwhile after all.”
“’Course, it was,” Hickok said vigorously. “Knew that from the very start.”
“Appears they’ve got some catchin’ up to do. Maybe we ought to get on about our business.”
“Bill, I just suspect you’re right. We’ll see ’em another time.”
Hickok jerked a thumb into the hallway. Richter obediently hobbled past, and Stanley, his eyes downcast, fell in behind. Cody and Hickok, with a last look at the children, followed them through the house. Omohundro and Phelan were waiting in the vestibule.
“All set?” Omohundro asked.
“All set,” Cody replied. “Whereabouts is the jail in this town?”
“Twenty Second Street,” Hickok said. “I know the man in charge. Clubber Williams.”
“How’d he get a name like that?”
“Same way you got hung with Buffalo Bill.”
They marched Otto Richter and Leland Stanley out of the front door.
* * *
“I want you tell me about Billy McGlory.”
Richter stared straight ahead. “There’s nothing to tell.”
“How about you, Mr. Stanley?”
“Captain, I’m at a loss,” Stanley said uneasily. “I don’t know anyone by that name.”
Captain Clubber Williams glowered at them a moment. They were standing before his desk, and Hickok and Cody were seated off to one side. He wagged his head with disgust.
“Mr. Cody. Mr. Hickok,” he said. “I think we’re getting nowhere fast. Would you agree?”
“Yessir,” Cody agreed. “They’re not too talkative.”
Hickok nodded. “Looks like a case of lockjaw.”
“Sergeant O’Hara.” Williams bellowed. “Get yourself in here.”
The door slammed open. Sergeant Alvin O’Hara was built like a tree stump, wide and square without an ounce of suet. He stamped to attention in front of the desk.
“You called, Cap’n?”
“I did indeed, Sergeant,” Williams said. “These gentleman are being uncooperative. Any suggestions?”
“I could take’em down to the basement, Cap’n.”
“Excellent idea, Sergeant. They’re all yours.”
O’Hara grabbed Richter and Stanley by the scruff of the neck. He waltzed them out of the office like marionettes on jiggling strings and closed the door. Cody glanced around at Williams.
“I’d just bet nobody wants to visit the basement.”
“Not with O’Hara,” Williams said wryly. “Of course, whatever the outcome, you gentlemen deserve the credit. I doubt we’d ever have solved the case on our own.”
“Will you have any problems?” Hickok asked. “I recollect you told me it was political suicide to take on the Stanleys.”
“Thanks to you, we have Richter as a songbird. There’ll be no politics involved when we charge Stanley with murder.”
“Well, Cap’n, it couldn’t happen to a nicer feller.”
Williams studied them at length. “Did you hear we found three dead men in Central Park last night? Billy McGlory’s men, they were.”
Hickok looked like a sphinx. “New York’s a mighty dangerous town.”
“And saints preserve us, we stumbled across a satchel filled with cash. Twenty thousand, it was.”
“That’s a powerful lot of money.”
“Yes, it’s all very strange,” Williams said. “Then one of our patrolmen had his horse stolen. Some fine figure of a man jerked him clean out of the saddle.”
Cody feigned innocence. “Sounds like a big night in the park.”
“Indeed, one mystery after another. I’ve been wondering what to do about it.”
“See what you mean.” Hickok knuckled his mustache as though pondering the problem. “Don’t you have a widows’ fund?”
“I’m proud to say we do,” Williams remarked. “Every nickel goes to assist the wives of slain officers.”
“Why not toss in the twenty thousand? Found money ought to go to a worthy cause.”
Williams stared across the desk. He knew Hickok and Cody were behind last night’s ruckus in Central Park. Yet he was equally aware that they were responsible for solving a heinous double murder. One thing balanced another on his scales of justice.
“I admire a lawman with a generous spirit, Mr. Hickok. The widows’ fund thanks you.”
There was a rap at the door. Sergeant O’Hara marched in and snapped to attention. “Cap’n, sir,” he barked. “I’m sorry to report the rascals won’t talk.”
“Perhaps you haven’t reasoned with them sufficiently.”
“We beat the livin’ bejesus out of them, Cap’n. They fear Billy McGlory more than they do hangin’. I suppose it’s his reputation for butcherin’ people.”
“Yes, you’re probably right,” Williams said. “I’m sure you did your best, Sergeant. Thank you.”
O’Hara quick-stepped out of the office. Hickok arched one eyebrow in question. “What’d he mean about ‘butcherin’ people’.”
“McGlory’s trademark,” Williams explained. “Anybody who turns on him gets hacked to pieces with a meat cleaver. You can imagine it inspires loyalty—and silence.”
Cody exhaled heavily. “I tend to doubt I’d talk, either.”
“Well, look on the bright side,” Williams said. “Our friends Richter and Stanley have a date with the hangman. Half a loaf is better than none.”
“Don’t forget the kids,” Cody added. “What counted most was gettin’ them home safe. I’ll settle for half a loaf.”
“You’re right,” Hickok said with a sly smile. “One way or another, McGlory’s day will come. Ain’t that so, Cap’n?”
Williams laughed. “Are you a prophet, Mr. Hickok?”
“I’ve been known to predict a thing or two.”
“I believe you’ve done so again.”
“How’s that, Cap’n?”
“Doomsday is just around the corner.”
Hickok thought Billy McGlory was as good as dead.
CHAPTER 24
DUSK SWIFTLY faded into nightfall. The lamplights along Broadway flickered to life like bright-capped sentinels routing the dark. Theater marquees glowed throughout The Rialto.
Hickok and Cody ambled along the street at a leisurely pace. The weather was brisk and invigorating, and they had decided to walk to the theater. For the first time in weeks, their time was their own. The fight was fought and won.
Neither of them felt any great sense of victory. Richter and Stanley were in jail, charged with murder, and they were satisfied justice would be served. Yet there was no feeling of triumph or jubilation. Their mood was oddly melancholy.
“Funny the way things work out,” Cody said glumly. “Don’t think I ever felt so low in my life.”
Hickok grunted. “Maybe I’ll get drunk tonight.”
“You miss ’em, too, don’t you?”
“Gus and Kate?”
“Who else we talkin’ about?”
“Well hell, guess it’s only natural. We got used to havin’ them around.”
“That’s a fact,” Cody said, thoughtful a moment. “You reckon they’ll do awright with their grandma?”
“Don’t see why not,” Hickok allowed. “She’ll give ’em what they need most. Grandmas are good at lovin’ kids.”
“Yeah, you’re likely right. All the same, I’ll still miss ’em.”
“You ain’t rowin’ that boat by yourself.”
For a time, they walked on in silence. The Rialto was stirring with the pulse of nightlife, and all along the street actors were hurrying toward theaters. They passed the Eaves Costume Company, the major supplier of wigs and beards, tights and
swords for Broadway productions. A man rushed out the door with a Viking helmet, complete with horns.
A block farther down Cody stopped before the window of stage photographer Napoleon Sarony. A genius with a camera, Sarony was all the rage with the stars of Broadway shows. Over the years daguerreotype had been replaced by tintype, and Sarony was the master of a new wet plate process. In the window, handsomely framed, was a photograph of Edwin Booth.
“Look at that,” Cody said. “Edwin Booth, the greatest stage actor alive. Not bad, huh?”
Hickok inspected the photograph. “Why’s he holdin’ that skull?”
Booth was attired in costume for Hamlet. He was posed in a dramatic stance, a human skull cradled in the crook of one arm. Cody studied on it a moment.
“Always heard Shakespeare writes some pretty rough stuff. Way it looks, he must’ve killed somebody.”
“Just more of that stage tomfoolery. Wonder where they got the skull?”
“Beats me.” Cody cocked his head, staring at the photograph. “Maybe I ought to let ’em take my picture. You know, buckskins and all the trappins.”
Hickok glanced at him. “Why you want your picture took?”
“Told you I’ve got a notion about the show business. Might just turn into a regular thing.”
“I still say it’s not fit work for a man. Don’t care how much it pays.”
Cody frowned. “A man’s got to play the cards he’s dealt. Wasn’t that what you always said?”
“Yeah,” Hickok conceded. “So what?”
“Well, maybe I was cut out for the show business. Maybe that’s the hand I got dealt.”
“Know what I think?”
“What’s that?”
“You got a crooked dealer.”
A few minutes later they approached the Lyceum Theater. Hickok still got a mild headache every time he saw his name in lights. Cody, on the other hand, was mesmerized by the glitzy display on the marquee. As they turned into the alleyway beside the theater, the dim figures of several men stepped from the shadows. Billy McGlory and four of his thugs blocked their path.
“Far enough,” McGlory said in a rough voice. “You broke your word to me, Hickok.”
“Hell I did,” Hickok said. “I told you Richter would leave the park alive and kickin’. That’s just what happened.”
