Hell's Gate

by Richard E. Crabbe

  Carl was waiting for her. He’d asked the night before if she’d mind seeing him again. She’d liked that he asked and said she wouldn’t mind the company. Tonight he was as dapper as before, but with a bit more flash and color than appropriate for a true gentleman. Ginny had known a number of those. The best of them were always understated in their dress and accessories, more elegant and confident of their position in life. Carl seemed a paste diamond by comparison.

  He had brought her a gardenia for her hair and helped her clip it so it stayed just above her left ear. He said it made her look Hawaiian, especially when she smiled. Ginny tried not to smile too much. She liked Carl and didn’t want to hurt him if her designs on Mike came to pass. At the same time, she was beginning to realize that if Mike was not to be in her future, then Carl was not an altogether unattractive alternative.

  * * *

  As they walked south, Ginny began to comprehend the delicacy of the situation and quickly tried to think of some plausible excuse for going to police headquarters. They turned onto Broadway when they got to Houston and angled over to Crosby then Mulberry, with Ginny increasingly distracted.

  “You awright, Ginny? Somethin’ on yer mind?” Carl finally asked. “You ain’t laughin’ at my jokes like last night. An’ where we goin’ if ya don mind me askin’? Not that I mind da walk wit’ a pretty girl like you.”

  Ginny smiled an apology. “No, no, Carl. It’s just that I’m a little distracted. There’s something I have to see to.” Her mind whirred about like a carousel, stopping at what she thought was a suitable story. “You see I got a letter from my mother yesterday. My brother’s gone. He came to the city a week ago, they live on Long Island you see, and she hasn’t heard from him since, so I’m going to have to stop at police headquarters down here and tell them he’s missing.”

  Carl stiffened. “Whoa! Dat’s no good. Disappeared you say?”

  “Well, that’s what my mother says, but I don’t know whether to believe it or not. Knowing my brother, he’s off on a bender somewhere,” Ginny said, realizing that she hadn’t been acting quite as upset for her dear lost brother as she might have. Carl stopped walking though and she wasn’t sure if he was more upset about the prospects for her brother or of having to go to the police. They were within sight of the building and Carl was looking at it as if it were an oncoming train. He must have realized it because he gave a thin smile and said, “I don’ like da cops so much. Had my disagreements over da years.”

  Ginny nodded as if she understood. “You don’t have to go, silly. Besides, they don’t bite.”

  Carl gave her a frown in return. “Youse don’ know da cops I know.”

  * * *

  Ginny went in, feeling a little guilty for lying to Carl. But if she’d told him the truth about Mike, she’d probably never see him again. She realized then that she really had been thinking of Carl as a replacement for Mike, a fish she might throw back if a bigger one came along. She climbed the steps of headquarters feeling confused. She didn’t like to think of herself as a liar. But then, despite her efforts to get Mike back, the truth was she couldn’t be sure it would ever happen. She sighed as she fished for the note.

  There was a different desk sergeant that night, a man not so inclined toward uncomfortable questions. She handed him the note and asked that it be left for Detective Braddock. An unusual look crossed the man’s face, a look that Ginny couldn’t exactly identify, something between sorrow and pride she might have said.

  “Sure, ma’am, lots of messages for Braddock this evening.” He said it as if she would know why. She left, feeling puzzled and uneasy. She didn’t see Carl at first when she came out and thought with a sinking feeling that he’d gone, that he’d seen through her story. But Carl was just up the block, his face buried in a newspaper, his lips moving slightly as he read. “That was fast,” he said with a quizzical frown. “What happened?”

  “Oh, they, ah, said I should come back tomorrow. The detective who handles missing persons has gone home for the night.”

  Carl nodded as if that made sense. Ginny was about to embellish the lie when she noticed the headline on the newspaper. HERO COP LIES NEAR DEATH, the headline read, then in smaller type beneath GUNS DOWN TWO GANGSTERS IN DEADLY SHOOT-OUT. But what caught Ginny’s eye was a photograph of Mike just below, a picture of him as a patrolman, a helmet on his head that he seemed uncomfortable in. Ginny grabbed the paper from Carl’s hands.

  “Hey, what’s up?”

  Ginny didn’t answer. She had to know what hospital he was in and scanned the article twice before she found it. “Carl, I have to go. I’m sorry, so sorry. I … I just have to go.”

  “Ginny?” Carl started after her as she practically ran down the street. “Ginny!”

  36

  MIKE WAS SURE it was a dream. He felt a hand in his, and he’d opened his eyes just a crack. They didn’t seem to open much more than that. His face felt as if it had been inflated to twice its size, even his eyelids felt bloated. But when he focused he saw Ginny, bending low. He blinked to clear the milky paste from his vision. She was still there, whispering his name and telling him her name. She looked impossibly beautiful, so far beyond even his fondest recollection of her that he had to doubt his sight. She had changed somehow, in ways he could not put into words. She was plainer without the makeup and finery, but her beauty seemed to shine like an Edison bulb.

  She was saying something. It was hard to understand. The ringing in his head made her urgent whisperings blend—syllables ran in unnatural ways, and sentences had no start or end. But he could see the feeling in her eyes and the care carved across her brow. He knew that what she was telling him was true. He didn’t need words to know that.

  Mike wished he could talk. He tried, but when he moved his tongue and jaw, he was paralyzed with pain. The lower half of his face was swaddled in bandages and his tongue was a dead thing in his mouth. Everything hurt with a throbbing ache that went deep into the bone. He wanted to tell Ginny how sorry he was and how guilty he felt for not finding her. He’d tried, though his efforts seemed puny and halfhearted now. It had been his job to find her and he hadn’t done it. He understood as he watched her face that everything else should have come second to that. All that had happened in the last weeks, everything that had seemed so all-consuming, he knew to be almost trivial by comparison. He made a silent promise to himself and to Ginny that if he survived she would never come second again. He gripped her hand, and looked in her eyes, tears running into his bandages, hoping she knew.

  With a sudden surge of energy, he realized what he had to do while he still held consciousness. He signed for a pen and paper, and Ginny, understanding almost immediately, produced both after a brief absence. It took nearly every ounce of his energy and focus and will, but Mike brought the paper close and with a dead hand wrote, “Read your diary. I love you, too!”

  Ginny took it from his trembling hand, now so weak it fell to the sheet, laudanum and shock leaving him limp after so small an effort. She read it and even as he slipped into unconsciousness he heard a sound escape her lips, the wordless sound of love.

  * * *

  “You’ll have to leave now, miss,” a voice said from the door. Ginny squeezed Mike’s hand and kissed his forehead. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said, holding back her tears until she turned away.

  Ginny went out into the hallway, not certain what she should feel. Half of her was elated that Mike was even alive. Half was so deeply uneasy about his condition that her fears nearly overcame her hope. The sight of Mike’s head, shrouded in bandages, his eyes swollen nearly shut, his shaking hands, had nearly unnerved her. Still, she held tight to his note, a life raft in the storm.

  An arm went round Ginny’s shoulder and she started. “You’ll come home with us.” Mary said in a gentle yet unyielding voice, a tone that left no room for debate. She noticed the paper Ginny held. Mary didn’t ask what it held. Ginny felt she knew.

  Mary and Ginny walked down the echoing
tiled hallway, the hospital lights like halos at intervals in each direction. Tom waited at the end, giving them the space Mary had asked for. “I’ll have someone fetch your clothes,” she said. “You can get settled in the spare room. It’s really quite nice.” She somehow felt it necessary to reassure Ginny on that point, though she needn’t have bothered.

  Mary took Ginny’s silence for trepidation, but it wasn’t that at all. It was closer to bewilderment, the feeling that her world had shifted and would not shift back, that everything she’d known had gone under the waves and she’d been deposited on some distant shore. She’d been washed up sputtering, exhausted, and gritty with the sand of her past.

  “Thank you, Miss Mary,” was all she could muster.

  Neither Mary nor Ginny noticed the figure across the street from the hospital entrance when they climbed into Mary’s carriage, but Tom let his eye linger on the dark silhouette, while his hand rested on the butt of his revolver. He thought about Mike for an instant, but there was a police guard on his door, so he forced himself to relax.

  Carl lounged against the back of a coal wagon, watching them leave. He blew a last smoke ring and ground his cigarette against the back of the wagon with something between a sigh and a growl. Even he could not have said which.

  37

  BIG TIM SULLIVAN stuck out a meaty hand, giving Tom a heartfelt smile. Tom took his hand. He was impressed that Tim had taken the time to come, but it was the sort of gesture Sullivan was known for.

  “Thanks for coming, Tim, and for the flowers,” Tom said as they shook. They’d known each other since Sullivan’s early days at the bar on Chrystie Street, where the Whyos held court and Tim had made his start in politics, but they were acquaintances, more than friends, their paths intersecting over the years whenever their shared interest met.

  “Och, it’s nothin’, Tommy. How’s the boy? Hell of a thing he got into.”

  “A little rough right now,” Tom said with a look over his shoulder at Mike. “He’s lucky though. Bullet went right through his mouth. An inch or so higher and he’d probably be dead, a little lower and the jaw would’ve been shattered. As it is, he’s lost a few teeth and they had to stitch a gash in his tongue. They say he’s got a hairline fracture of the jaw, but it’s not too bad. His brain’s shaken up pretty good. A patrolman cracked his head with a nightstick, if you can believe that.”

  “What for?”

  “I’m going to find out what for,” Tom said. “That guy better have a fucking good excuse. My temper’s on a short fuse, and I’m in no mood for bullshit.” Though Tom’s head was aching and his balance wasn’t right, he was mad enough to go after that cop and ask questions later. Technically he wasn’t even supposed to be out of his bed, but he wasn’t about to let a doctor tell him what he could or couldn’t do.

  Big Tim put a hand on his arm. He knew how impulsive Tom could be from the old days. “Better let that cool for a bit, Tommy. How’s Mary holding up? All right, I hope?”

  “Thanks for asking. She didn’t sleep all night. Hell, neither of us did. But she’s strong, stronger than me in some ways. She’ll be okay. She’ll be here later. She’s setting up a room at home for Mike to stay with us when he gets out.”

  “They’ll not be releasing him so soon though, right?”

  “No, not for a few days at least, but you know Mary; lots of nervous energy.”

  Tim pursed his lips. “Understandable.” He looked again at Mike, who could barely be seen for all the flowers that had sprouted around him. They’d been arriving all morning; big bunches in wicker baskets, roses, carnations, ferns, and baby’s breath.

  “Hope the flowers aren’t too much. I asked for somethin’ nice and cheery.”

  “No, they’re fine, Tim. It’s the bunch on the other side of the bed.” Tom pointed to a huge basket, the flowers bursting out in a riot of color, a large, golden ribbon with Get Well Soon in red script draped around them.

  Tim nodded. “Who the hell was it, Tom? They know yet?”

  “One’s a Five Pointer, the other’s with the Gophers from what I hear. Not sure how it happened. Mike hasn’t been able to tell us.”

  “A Pointer and a Gopher,” Tim said. “An odd combination.”

  “Yeah, you could say that. Makes you wonder.”

  “Anything to do with what happened at that stuss game?”

  “Not sure.” Tom had no intention of telling Tim anything about Mike’s suspicions of the Bottler. He didn’t think Tim would consciously do anything to hurt Mike, but he wouldn’t doubt that he might put his interests ahead of Mike’s. On the other hand, Tom didn’t have a problem with asking a few questions. “You ever hear of a gentleman by the name of Saturn? He’s a vice-president at the Knickerbocker Steamship Company.”

  “I’ve heard of him,” Tim said. “Chartered one of his boats last year for my annual picnic. Great fun. I keep asking you to come. You really should.”

  “Never met him though, huh?”

  Tim turned his palms up. “I meet so many damn people, Tommy. Can’t remember ’em all. Probably did, but I don’t remember. Why do you ask?”

  Tom was pretty sure he wasn’t getting the whole truth. Big Tim had more secrets than the U.S. Mint. “Anyway, he got jumped, this fellow Saturn that is, a couple nights ago, just after coming out of the Bottler’s. Three guys.”

  “The same who attacked Mike?” Tim was as interested in that point as Tom. He and Connors had been almost certain it had been Kelly’s doing, but there was no real proof beyond Saturn’s hysterics.

  “Not sure, but Mike and his partner, Primo, broke it up. Two attempts on Primo’s life and this thing with Mike in the last two days; an awful lot of coincidence.”

  “You think there were three? But you said he shot two, right?”

  “Yeah, but there might have been a third.”

  “But Mike hasn’t said.” Tim pursed his lips in thought.

  “Nope.”

  “So let me understand this, Tommy, you learned about the attack on that Saturn fellow because Mike and his partner were there, is that right?” Tim hadn’t decided what to do about Saturn yet, only that Paul Kelly was going to have to learn his place in the pecking order before he got his beak clipped. This new information about Mike’s attackers was starting to give him an idea.

  “Yeah, Mike and Primo pretty much saved his skin,” Tom said, watching Tim’s face for a reaction.

  “But the suspects got away, I assume, or this would not be a mystery.”

  “They had caught one, but let him go after questioning. Mike’s partner was able to tell me that.” Primo had begun to speak that morning and was now conscious and relatively lucid. Tom didn’t mention to Tim that he was going to bring Saturn in to help identify the bodies if he could.

  Big Tim scratched his nose and thought how this information might be of use. There was certainly a nugget of something there. He decided to phone Saturn later that morning. The man might prove more useful than he’d imagined. “You tie these crimes together and who knows where it may lead, eh?” he said. “Maybe the whole is more than the sum of its parts, or something like that?”

  Tom looked at Mike, the bandages on his head so white among the riot of flowers. “That’s what I’m hoping to find out.”

  * * *

  Mary and Ginny, who arrived just after Big Tim left, sat with Tom and Mike all morning. Ginny felt herself to be little more than a bystander. A procession of cops and friends paraded by, sometimes crowding the room to the point where it seemed more like a bar than a hospital, and there was no time to speak to Mike in the way she wanted. Mike felt like a cigar store Indian, unable to talk and barely able to move. He saw how Mary and Ginny had come in together, and was amazed by it, but relieved, too. He smiled inside, knowing how his mother had undoubtedly taken charge and found himself more appreciative of her than he could possibly express, even if he could have opened his mouth to speak. His jaw hurt like nothing he’d ever known, so the best he could manage were grunts
and hoarse whispers. He tired fast and though he tried to put up a strong front, Mary could see his exhaustion and shooed everyone out by noon.

  He’d been put on a liquid diet, which he didn’t mind. He could hardly open his mouth and the thought of chewing made him cringe. He was hungry though and sipped all the broth Ginny fed him. Mary had started to do so herself, but stopped after taking the tray of food from the nurse, and turned it over to Ginny instead. She watched with a secret smile. Mike gulped gratefully, feeling the strength flow back into him with each spoonful.

  Tom went to speak with the doctor. He needed a headache powder. The morning’s activity had given him a real pounder. The doctors had released him only after Tom threatened to walk out, permission or not. The way his head felt, he figured maybe the doctors knew what they were talking about after all. Mike’s doctor, a rumpled, balding gentleman named Alpert, who wore a ready smile under his bushy mustache, told him that Mike would require some follow-up surgery to repair his face. There was a doctor on staff who specialized in such things.

  “Makes the tiniest stitches on staff. He makes the finest seamstress jealous,” Doctor Alpert told him. “He’ll always have scars, of course, but hopefully they can be minimized.”

  “And what about his teeth? He’s lost how many?”

  “Five.”

  “Ugh.” Tom’s jaw hurt just thinking about that. “He’s got to have one hell of a toothache.”

  “I’m afraid so. We’ve given him something for the pain, but there’s a limit to how much we can do with something that severe. We don’t want to send him home a laudanum addict.”

  “Understood,” Tom said. “So what’ll happen with the teeth?”

  “Denture plates,” he answered, “but that’s not my specialty. The oral surgeon took out the roots when we had your son in surgery. When the gums heal he’ll be able to fit him with new teeth.”