The Dagger Men: A Novel of the Clay Shamus

by Michael Panush

  “Ava Silver.” Eames released her. “I apologize. This newspaperwoman and her gossip rag, the Weekly Sophisticate, have been a thorn in the side of Sickle City for years. My men should have paid more attention to whoever snuck aboard.” He glared at Silver. “I’m afraid there’s no room for newshounds aboard the Heavenly Chariot. You’ll have to leave.” He glanced back at Clay. “Mr. Clay, why don’t you escort her off?”

  Silver beamed at Clay. “My. He’s a big one.” She put her hands on her hips. “How about showing mercy on a poor girl reporter?” She sighed as Clay took a step toward her. “Ah, applesauce. All right, big guy. Let’s go.” She walked past Clay, heading past the table. Silver paused to grab some wine and took a long sip. “A little top shelf giggle juice for the road.” She set the cup down and licked her lips.

  Clay crossed the table. “Come on,” he ordered. “We’re leaving.”

  “You’re no fun, Mr. Clay.” Silver trailed after Clay. They moved out of the dining room, leaving Sickle City’s powerful to make their plots in peace. Silver gave them a parting wave. “You’ve given me plenty of information for the next issue of the Weekly Sophisticate. Be sure to snag a copy to see your name in headlines.”

  Eames bellowed out his rage. “Get her out of here!”

  They reached the deck and then the gangplank. Eames’ pet police officers followed them a little, but Silver didn’t make a dash back to the deck of the Heavenly Chariot. She waltzed down the gangplank, crossed the observation deck, and stepped into the elevator. Clay hurried over to join her as the elevator doors hummed shut. Evidently, Silver had gotten what she came for. The doors closed and the elevator descended. Silver produced a pad and a pencil. She tapped the tip against the paper as they rushed down through Tier Tower.

  “So, Mr. Clay, is it?” she posed the question calmly. “How about an exclusive? What’s it like to be the top enforcer of the Big Cheese Heeb on Haven Street?” Clay said nothing. “Oh, tight-lipped, ain’t you? Well, how about those Dagger Men? Now that sounds like a scoop worth learning about.”

  “You believe it?” Clay asked.

  Silver nodded. “Uh-huh. I’ve covered the pagan rites of upper class snobs at their secret society gentleman’s clubs and Voodoo in Hogshead Street. I’ve seen plenty of strange things, so Jewish mysticism would fit right in.” She paused as she looked at Clay. “You don’t look Jewish, you know. Matter of fact, you don’t look like much of anything—except for a guy who spends his free time carrying around automobiles and eating raw eggs. I’ve heard about most of the people who work for the good rabbi of B’nai Bootlegging on Haven Street, but I don’t think I’ve run into you before, Mr. Clay. What’s your story?”

  He couldn’t tell her that he was a golem. That would have to be kept secret, apart from his few friends. “No story,” he said. “I’m just a guy who works for the rabbi.”

  “Just a simple mug, eh?” Silver asked. “No such thing, in my lofty experience.” The elevator doors hummed open. “Look, I’m not being a snob or a bigot. I’m a Jew myself—well, a half-Jew, on my mother’s side. Daddy was an upper crust rich boy who didn’t stick around, and I keep my mother’s name to avoid embarrassment. In return for plenty of dough from my father’s family, of course.” They stepped into the lobby. “Let me introduce you to my daughter, Mr. Clay.”

  “Your daughter?” Clay hurried after her as she crossed the lobby, heading to a collection of round couches and Chesterfields set before the clerk’s desk. He had been tasked with escorting Silver away from the airship, but—somehow—Silver’s brisk manner had turned the tables. She simply acted like she was the boss and everyone seemed to think that she was.

  “Sure.” Silver pointed to a small girl sitting on the couch, next to what appeared to be a runty, black-and-white dog with a scrunched face. “Sophie, dear heart, come and meet Mr. Clay. He’s your mom’s latest confidential source.”

  “That’s not—” Clay stammered. “I never said—”

  But Sophie Silver had already dog-marked her book, hopped off the couch, and hurried over. Sophie seemed about Harvey’s age, with a pleasant face framed by elfin ears. She had her mother’s auburn hair, cut to a similar length without imitating Ava’s straight, flapper bob. A white pea coat covered a thin sweater and a smart, checkered skirt. She smiled politely at Clay and curtsied. “Good afternoon, sir. I’m delighted that you’re helping my mother. She’s one of the best reporters in the city and her writing at the Weekly Sophisticate is always witty and illuminating.” She patted the small dog sitting on its haunches next to her. “You’ll find that she’ll give you a fair shake.”

  “That’s not—I’m not—” Clay stared at the dog—and found it wasn’t a dog at all. “What is that?”

  “Lucky?” Sophie asked. “Oh, yes—he’s not a dog. He’s a panda cub, actually.”

  “Got him from China on one of my jaunts.” Silver picked up the suitcase next to Sophie. She produced a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, and busied herself preparing one. “Had to head into some dangerous, mist-shrouded country to discover him, and decided to bring the little fellow back. He’s a cute little devil, isn’t he? I suppose when he’s bigger, we’ll send him to a zoo, but until then, he makes a fine pet for Sophie.”

  Lucky moved closer to Clay and gave him a quick sniff. Clay stepped back.

  “Tell me, Mr. Clay, do you have a ride home?” Silver asked.

  They had taken Rabbi Holtz’s Cunningham—and Clay didn’t have the keys. “No.”

  “Excellent. I’ll give you a ride back to Haven Street and it will give us more time to chat. Nothing like a ride in a luxurious automobile to truly loosen the tongue.” She patted Clay’s head. “Stay here with Sophie, big fellow. I’ll slip into the proper glad rags and off we’ll go a-motoring. Ta-ta!” She gave Sophie a kiss on the cheek and hastened away, leaving Clay with her daughter. They stood there awkwardly for a few moments. Lucky tried to sniff Clay again. This time, Clay lowered his hand. Lucky gave his finger a quick lick. Clay pulled away as the rough tongue brushed his fingers and Sophie stifled a laugh.

  A few minutes later, Silver returned—completely transformed. She appeared to be every inch the flapper, with a fringed bottle-green dress under a shimmering fox fur coat and a cloche hat. She even had a pair of motorist’s goggles, dangling around her neck. She motioned outside and Clay and Sophie fell in step behind her. Lucky followed on his leash, his stubby legs struggling to keep up. They headed out and reached the sidewalk, where the valet brought around Silver’s car. She offered him a substantial tip and he tipped his pillbox hat as he shuffled away. Clay stared at Silver’s car, a sleek Duesenberg roadster that resembled a steel torpedo and matched the emerald color of her dress. It put Clay’s Studebaker to shame.

  Silver got behind the wheel and patted the white leather seat next to her. “Have a seat, darling. Sophie, you may take the back. Make sure Lucky’s properly secured. I don’t want him running into traffic if he mistakes a street pole for bamboo.” She turned to Clay as he sat next to her. “Wondering where I got the boiler, Mr. Clay?”

  “The question crossed my mind.”

  “Well, do you recall when I said that my father’s family pays me a great deal of money to avoid using their name when I write my columns? It’s rather a lot of money. Pays for trips around the globe, fancy vehicles, and young Sophie’s education, as well as imported food for Lucky.” She started the engine. “Where to, darling?”

  “Palisade Park,” Clay explained. “Haven Street.” Once again, Silver simply hadn’t given him time to protest.

  “The amusement park?” Sophie asked. “That’s a swell home, Mr. Clay.”

  “Sounds rather dreary to me.” Silver hit the gas. “But off we go.” The Duesenberg roared into the street. Silver fought for space like a lion at the kill, claiming her pathway through the crowded thoroughfare and zooming off to
Haven Street. Clay slumped in the seat, the wind roaring in his face. Silver and Sophie both put on goggles, but he could handle the wind. The meeting with Eames and the others hadn’t gone well, and Clay felt a lot better in Silver’s company. Though he couldn’t tell her the truth, he had a feeling that he could trust her—and that was more than he could say for Eames, Sapphire, and the rest. One thing was for certain: they weren’t prepared for the Dagger Men. Clay began to wonder if he couldn’t say the same thing about himself.

  ~~~

  In the late afternoon, when mist rolled in from the ocean and spilled over Haven Street and the waves growled as they smashed in nautical rage against the supports of the dock, the Duesenberg came to a halt by the entrance to Palisade Park. Silver hadn’t bothered with questions as they motored along to the park, but now she killed the engine and glanced at Clay. “Why are you so keen to keep this Dagger Men story hushed up, Mr. Clay?” she asked. “If there truly is some group of religious radicals intending to turn Sickle City in Sodom and Gomorrah, surely the public should know about it? And yet, you seem to desire the whole problem to quietly be dealt with.”

  Clay stared ahead, following the Ferris wheel with his carved eyes. “That’s what I want.” He had always kept things secret as a matter of course, and now he needed to come up with a reason why. He fell upon it instantly. “The goyim hate us enough already. We don’t need to give them any more reasons.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t say that,” Silver replied. “In fact, apart from the occasional snobbery, I’d say we Hebrews are as welcome in America as any other collection of immigrants. We’re not treated like the Blacks or the Chinese, for instance. My word, the horrors that are perpetrated on those poor souls...” She sighed as she opened the door. “But I do take your meaning. We have found something of a sanctuary in Haven Street, and you don’t want to see it jeopardized. I just hope these Dagger Men fanatics don’t take that decision out of your hand.”

  Sophie leaned out of the door, Lucky tucked under her arm. “Can we go in?”

  “A superb notion, dear heart.” Silver opened the door. “Lead on, Mr. Clay.”

  He couldn’t seem to get rid of them. Clay sighed and led them under the colorful archway and onto the dock. They passed under the roller coaster as it made another circuit, the rumble of the carriage against the wood and the merry screams of the passengers echoing over the crashing of the waves. The sky grew darker, with dark clouds mingling with the gray. Rainfall seemed inevitable. Clay led the Silvers over to the Elephantine Hotel. Harvey waited for him on the porch, seated in a cushioned deck chair before a thick volume on demonology. Zipporah stood a little way apart, struggling through her swordsmanship exhibition. She tried to hack up bananas and pineapples, but the audience didn’t seem interested in standing still. The old Australian slouch hat she used to collect donations from spectators only had a few coins and dollars against the weathered fabric. She sheathed her blades when Clay approached.

  “Harvey.” Clay had to call the boy’s name to make him look up. “I’m back.”

  “Oh.” Harvey perked up and carefully closed the book, then bounded down the stairs. “Hello, Mr. Clay. How was the meeting?” His eyes moved to Ava Silver and then darted to Lucky, who rolled over on the planks and whined at the sky. “Is that a panda?” He stared curiously at the panda, the book under his arm.

  “Yes.” Clay supposed he should introduce the Silvers. “Its name is Lucky. This is Ava Silver, and her daughter, Sophie. Miss Silver works for the Weekly Sophisticate. She was trying to spy on the meeting with Grand Sagamore Eames, and now she wants to interview me about the Dagger Men.” Clay stared at her. He could state his intention clearly now. “And I do not want to be interviewed.”

  Zipporah walked over and offered her hand. “Zipporah Sarfati. Pleased to meet you.” She nodded to Harvey. “The squirt is Harvey Holtz, Rabbi Holtz’s boy. He’s a good kid.” She pointed to Lucky. “He bite?”

  “Not at all. Lucky is very well behaved,” Silver explained. “Can’t say the same about me, of course.”

  Sophie glanced at Harvey, who hesitantly held his hand above the panda. “You can pet him, if you wish.”

  “O-okay.” Harvey knelt down and petted Lucky. The panda whined and pushed its head against his palm. Harvey looked back at Sophie, and his face flushed red. He recoiled from the panda, as if petting anything was the furthest from what he desired. He stumbled back, nearly dropped the book, and managed to steady himself. “Good afternoon, Miss S-Silver. I am very pleased to make your acquaintance.” He managed a clumsy bow. “I welcome you to Haven Street and I would be honored to provide some information—within reason, of course—to you. Your mother, I mean. Not that I wouldn’t want you to interview me, of c-course.”

  She smiled at his awkwardness. “Thank you, Harvey. Do you live in an amusement park?”

  “Not exactly. I h-have my own house, on Atlas Avenue,” Harvey explained. “Would y-you like to see it? Perhaps you could see my room, and my collection of pulp magazines and occult texts? I have quite a few sacred books, you know, and I’d be happy to—” He paused suddenly. “Oh. It started raining.” Sure enough, the first drops of rain poured down from the sky and fell over Palisade Park in gray curtains. The rain dripped off the roller coaster and the colorful painted booths in the midway, dulling every color. The few guests ambled away, the rain ruining their fun. Clay and the others stepped under the awning of the Elephantine Hotel, sheltering under the pachyderm’s bulk.

  Clay watched as Harvey and Sophie continued their conversation. He emitted a slight creak—a chirp of happiness. The boy might have trouble fitting in, but now he seemed to have found a friend. Maybe Ava Silver wasn’t so bad after all. Her daughter had given Harvey a bit of childhood normalcy and Clay appreciated it.

  But the normalcy didn’t last. As they stepped under the awning, Zipporah tapped Clay’s shoulder. “Clay.” She pointed to the archway. “You remember the giant—the Nephilim bones from the museum?” Clay nodded. “I was wondering why the Dagger Men bothered to pinch a bunch of dusty bones. Now I know why.”

  “What do you mean?” Clay stared at the archway.

  “The rain,” Zipporah explained. “It ain’t falling like it should.”

  She was right. The rain came down in dripping lines all over Palisade Park, but it fell at curved angles near the archway. Something invisible blocked the rain, and the drops spilled and fell on this unseen object. Whatever it was moved closer. The archway shuddered and snapped. Wood fell to the ground as the shape moved closer, and then, in a sudden instant, Clay and everyone else realized what had just entered Palisade Park.

  The ghost of a giant—of a Nephilim—stood before the porch of the Elephantine Hotel. The giant had shimmering silver skin, as if it had been built of gossamer stretched over a massive frame. Clay barely came up to the giant’s chest, which bulged with muscle. Assorted animal skins from a dozen different beasts, including lions, camels, oxen, and perhaps the tanned hide of a man, formed a crude cloak around the giant. It carried a heavy club, which looked like it had been made from a tree trunk and carved into a siege weapon. The giant’s face seemed to be mostly beard and teeth, with glowing, pale blue eyes. It headed straight toward them, already raising its club.

  Zipporah realized what was happening. “Down!” she cried. She pulled Harvey from his chair. He squeaked in panic as the club hurtled toward the porch. It could have crushed at least three of them. Silver grabbed her daughter and pulled her close, as Lucky released a series of whimpers. Clay couldn’t let any of them come to harm. He charged toward the ghostly giant, running down from the porch with his fists swinging at his sides.

  The club caught him, striking his side and knocking him hard onto the ground. Clay skidded on the pier, the slick planks carrying him along. He crashed into a wooden devil, and it shattered under his weight. Splinters jabbed at him. Clay grabb
ed the devil’s head and hurled it at the giant. The cherry red wood shattered against phantom muscle and splinters pattered to the planks. Clay came to his feet as the giant trundled toward him, raising its club for another strike.

  “I’ll distract him! Lead him into the midway.” Clay waved to Zipporah and Harvey. “Protect Miss Silver and Sophie!” He moved back, facing the giant. Sure enough, the hulking apparition followed. It may have been big, but it certainly wasn’t smart.

  “I’ve got a spell that might get rid of ghosts, Mr. Clay!” Harvey dug into his satchel. “They work on human ghosts—but I don’t know if they’ll work on a giant ghost.” He fiddled through the pages, rain soaking his spectacles and pattering against his face. Clay gave them a quick wave and then turned away. He hurried into the midway, running into the collection of booths offering games of chance and skill. The giant followed him, its club already speeding down like a comet.

  Clay ducked as the club took out half of the nearest booth. Striped fabric ripped, the booth’s contents—a milk jug toss—flew through the air. A milk jug slammed into Clay’s midsection and knocked him down. Baseballs poured out of the milk jug’s mouth, bumping into Clay’s face in an endless stream. He ignored the pain, spat a baseball out of his mouth, and rolled over. The giant towered above him, its club held high in the rainy air. Clay didn’t have time to get out of the way. He braced himself for the club’s descent. It would probably smash him in too, or just knock him through the pier and straight into the ocean.

  But Zipporah’s twin scimitars struck first. She charged at the giant, her blades outstretched. Clay could see her through the spectral giant’s body, as if he was watching some distorted picture of Zipporah in a malfunctioning moving picture. She raced in and rammed the blades into the giant’s back.