I interjected, “But really, it’s not her style. It doesn’t have her flair, for cryin’ out loud. This is a brute force scare tactic on the NYPD and the mayor.”
“We are just talking about pinball and slots, right? Is it really that much money?” asked Roxy.
Fiorello, Finn, and I all responded with wide eyes. Fio said, “Oh yeah. When we started taking down the slots and I had fun with my trusty sledgehammer . . .” He waggled his eyebrows appreciatively. “At the time, I believe Louie Venetti was making tens of millions.”
Morgan sputtered, “Tens? Of m-millions?”
Eric whispered, “Holy cow.”
“And that was money people should’ve been using for milk, bread, their rent . . . that’s why the machines had to go!” Fio clunked his glass down with resolute determination.
I nodded. “So, yes, Morgan. It’s a major racket. And pinball is just as luck-based. You just drop the ball in and hope it hits the slot that pays out the cash. There isn’t any challenge or prowess that can get you ahead. Even in poker, it’s at least not all luck. You can learn and develop strategy.”
“Grrrrr,” growled Fio.
I flashed my eyes at him with good humor. “I know! I know you don’t like card sharks, Fio. Just an observation.”
He harrumphed and carried on. “So. Do we think we need to be on the lookout for a city-wide calamity like we had with Daley Joseph and the bombs on the bridge?”
I caught Sam’s eye and shared a knowing look with him. We hadn’t met yet at that time, when we’d received threats against the mayor and then a big threat against a major landmark. At one point, it resulted in me dangling off the Queensboro Bridge to clip the wire of a set of bombs that had been strategically placed. When I cut the final one, a burly guy had offered his hand to help haul me back onto the bridge, but Finn took over and grasped my hand to pull me up. Sam had been that burly guy.
Finn shook his head. “I don’t think that’s their game. We haven’t had any threats to other places or city leaders other than the NYPD. But we do have Peter’s funeral tomorrow. We need to make sure that’s covered, every minute, all hands on deck. What do you think, Sam?”
“I agree. We need to have everyone on it. But we also need to make sure it’s not a diversion. That they won’t use it as a distraction.”
“Good point, Sam,” said Fio. “All right. Eric and Morgan? Can you have your crew work the perimeter of the event and listen up for any word on the street of anything going down?”
“Yessir,” they replied in unison.
Taking a good look at Morgan, Fio said, “I’ll also get Dead Shot Mary to work in the crowd with any other of her rather invisible detectives. In fact, Morgan, let’s set up a meeting for you and her to lead your crews together. Sam and Finn? You coordinate your official police units and I think we’ll have it covered.”
We wound down the evening after I begrudgingly passed around the delicious cannoli. Finn stayed behind after everyone left so we could talk. We finished up the dishes and Mr. Kirkland and Aunt Evelyn went off to their rooms. I dried the last glass and Finn reached up to put it away in the upper cupboard.
Finn looked at me and said, “You know, I’m still wondering about Uncle Louie. He’s been too quiet. We need to find a way to check up on him.”
“Yes, he bore the brunt of Fio’s actions against the slot machines. But he’d had ample time and opportunity to get back at him, yet he remained convinced that Fio was good for the city, and therefore good for his business. But you’re right. We need to confirm that.”
I put down the towel and looked over at Aunt Evelyn’s writing desk with its sweet keepsakes decoratively placed. There was a silver framed photograph of her when she was all of twenty with a handsome young man in Paris, a small palette with old paint colorfully smeared over it, and a little red card that she had been writing on earlier that said Happy Valentine’s Day. A slow grin spread across my face.
“It’s not until the day after tomorrow, but I have an idea,” I declared.
“You always do.”
“I’ll have to talk with Aunt Evelyn first. And let’s get through the funeral. I think it’s going to be a big day.”
CHAPTER 43
The day after what Lane called their council of war, Morgan found herself sitting across from Dead Shot Mary with Eric at her side, the dawn not quite touching the city sky yet.
Mary Shanley looked nice and dowdy in her matronly outfit, uptight hat, and little purse that sat upright like a soldier on her desk. Despite her unassuming attire, Morgan noticed, Mary’s eyes were glittering with intelligence and moxie. Morgan had liked her immediately and was impressed with her arrest record, not to mention her cunning, patient methods.
Eric had a skeptical look in his eye when they’d first met Mary. Amused with the situation, Morgan had decided not to fill him in on Mary’s looks, so she could fairly see his mind trying to reconcile the frumpy woman with the savvy detective.
Mary clasped her hands on her desk. “All right! So I’ll have my people work their way into the crowds, about two people per block, on either side. All along Fifth Avenue, we will have thousands show up. It’s going to be a nightmare to keep an eye on the whole thing. But at least we can have our people on the ground listening, watching. We have four relay points where we can send anyone who sees or hears anything and they can get information to me. I’m having those four relays hold a bright pink purse, so our people will see them easily. Again, we’re looking for anyone with ill intent, or if we see Mr. Wulf and Eugene Murk, or Daphne Franco. Got it?”
Morgan and Eric looked at each other and nodded grimly. Morgan said, “Okay. We showed all our people copies of their mug shots. I think we got it covered. Should we meet up here about three o’clock to debrief?”
“Perfect. And good luck.” Mary stood up and marched them to the door.
Eric and Morgan walked out of the precinct, shrugging into their coats. The night still hadn’t made its final farewell to the morning, and their breath made puffs of steam as they discussed their plan of action.
“She’s surprising, isn’t she,” commented Morgan.
“You can say that again. I don’t know what I was expecting, but definitely not that. She really will blend in,” said Eric, shaking his head in amused appreciation.
“I know. I love that about her,” said Morgan solemnly.
“What’s on your mind? You look pensive.”
“Well,” said Morgan, trying to form her thoughts. “I don’t like how spread-out everything is. Too much to control.” She shivered a little, which didn’t escape Eric’s notice.
He scrutinized her face, her demeanor. Her mouth was tight, her gray eyes serious. When she was consumed with an idea or a job, this was her usual look. But she had tiny wrinkles at the corners of those beautiful eyes and slightly dark smudges underneath. That was new. Morgan’s shoulders looked tense, ready for a fight. He breathed in slowly and released it before he spoke.
“I’ve had Connor and Diggy keep an eye on Daphne’s men. Thought you should know there hasn’t been anything new. No sudden moves, no late nights other than going to the bars.”
Morgan’s eyes shot to him. “Why did you do that?” she accused. “I don’t need help or babysitting.” She hurled her words at him.
Now her stance was braced even more, her anger aimed at him. He knew she’d react that way. He just kept them walking ahead, letting her vent her pent-up rage.
“I can’t believe you did that behind my back. Daphne’s crew didn’t come after me when I escaped. I knew they didn’t want me for anything else. Their message had been received by Lane, they knew I’d tell Lane and the gang about Daphne murdering Donagan. They’d just been waiting for the perfect time. So no big deal. I’m fine.”
“I know.”
“I mean, everything is under control. I just need to focus on our job now. Right,” she said, smoothing her trousers, composing herself.
“Yep.”
&nbs
p; Eric walked steadily, patiently waiting. Her head was just under his by a couple of inches. She didn’t wear a hat, and her dark gold hair was decidedly lighter these days. It was a deep blond, but the old days of dirt making it a grayer blond were long gone. When she was younger, she dressed and walked and talked like a boy. Smart move. These days, she still opted for trousers, but a much more feminine cut. Once, when he came to pick her up for a job, he even caught her with one large hair roller at the back of her head, just turning the ends of her hair into a curl under. He pretended not to have seen it as she whipped it out of her hair, smoothing it down self-consciously.
He would never have laughed at her. He knew she’d be mortified at the thought of someone witnessing her desire to primp. When he saw the roller, Eric had quickly dropped to the ground as if tying his shoe needed immediate attention, so she hadn’t even seen him looking her way. Then he’d rambled on about their next work meeting.
In the same way he read her then, he knew she needed to get those thoughts out now. And to see that it didn’t make him feel awkward or that he thought less of her.
“So, uh . . . why did you send Connor and Diggy over there?” she asked, her voice now curious and not accusatory.
“I figured it was smart to keep an eye on them. You know, Daphne told Lane that she was going to attend Peter’s funeral. At least, she hinted at that. They are up to something.” Eric knew she’d love to dig into the mystery and it would change her obvious emotional turmoil into something constructive. That’s what he would’ve wanted. Morgan had to have been terrified when Daphne’s men held her captive, and that would most definitely have long-term effects. People like Morgan—and he himself— needed to have something specific to do. To feel useful. It put things in perspective.
She quickened her pace a bit and took a deep breath, looking suddenly more like herself. Her momentary bout of weakness had come and gone. “I agree. I think Lane and Finn are right, in that Daphne isn’t rekindling her European ventures yet, but I can’t shake the fact that she’s up to no good here. The timing is too coincidental.”
Amused, Eric said, “And you know how Fio feels about coincidences. . .”
Morgan emitted what he would almost deem as a giggle. He let out a satisfied breath of air. They made their way to get some breakfast, then headed to Fifth Avenue.
There they met up with their crew in an alley on the east side, between 47th and 48th streets. Morgan quickly filled the kids in on their tasks, the relay points holding the pink purses, and ideas of what they might pick up on. Then she got to the point she’d been highly anticipating. She grinned from ear to ear.
“And, Detective Brodie was able to secure us a small budget for our services. I am happy to tell you that we are on official duty with the NYPD. Here’s your first payment. The next at the end of the day, after our work has been completed.”
Morgan pulled out a slim wallet from her front pocket; she’d never be stupid enough to put a wallet in her back pocket. She handed each of her seven associates a whole dollar bill. Then to Eric she handed two.
She felt so pleased, so satisfied, to give her loyal crew an actual payment that they didn’t have to pilfer, steal, or finagle. No one had any words. Not even Connor.
Only Diggy could manage one word in amazement: “Gosh.”
Each kid, all different sizes, shapes, and colors, carefully folded then slipped the precious bill into a front pocket. They all looked so in awe, so proud, Morgan wouldn’t be surprised if none of them actually spent it. The dollar meant so much more than just one hundred pennies.
Since the funeral was a highly populated event, they decided to split up to cover more ground, and the danger to them individually was lower, so they didn’t need to be in pairs like usual. The sun was now up, making the sky brighter, but it was a gray sky. It seemed fitting.
Eric and Morgan looked at each other as their crew walked in different directions and instantly seemed to disappear, their skills at evasion and camouflage so profound. A blue sea of policemen was forming all up and down Fifth Avenue, leading up to St. Patrick’s Cathedral. Usually, a parade had a light and colorful atmosphere of expectation. This was a heavier feel. Suddenly, Morgan felt the weight of the day, not just the job.
Her eyes met Eric’s. She took a step closer, letting her shoulder touch his as together they watched the police get ready for the procession.
CHAPTER 44
I was up early on that gray day, the sunrise just then reaching the city. I found a note on the kitchen counter from Aunt Evelyn saying that they’d find me later at the reception, and that she knew it was a hard day ahead, but that we’d make it through and it would be a beautiful reminder of the precious nature of life and friends. It was just like her to leave a note of encouragement. And Mr. Kirkland left a loaf of nut bread for me, next to my favorite mug for a good hot tea or cup of coffee.
I threw on my dark heather gray wool coat and walked out the door, a huff of my hot breath steaming up the cold February air. I was glad to have on my knee-high black boots for warmth. I walked over to Lexington and waved as I caught sight of Roarke.
His caramel-colored wool coat was impeccable and the soft scarf at his neck was the color of hot chocolate. “Thanks for coming over to meet me,” I said in greeting, giving him a big hug.
“Happy to, Lane. C’mon, we’ve got a big day ahead.”
We walked down to the 77th Street subway station and clanked down the steps. It was warmer there, and I smiled as I heard the strains of that violinist who frequented this stop. Roarke turned in that direction and ambled over, both of us throwing a few coins in the open violin case. I took a step closer to him and wrapped my arm around his for warmth and the comfort of a friend on a tough day.
We took the train down to 51st and then walked east toward St. Patrick’s. We strolled companionably along, not bantering like usual. It wasn’t that sort of a day. But it was peaceful, and the city was waking up with little signs of life like the scent of fresh bread wafting out of bakeries, newsstand owners piling up papers, children being led to school, cold people holding steaming cups of coffee and sipping them, trying to garner some heat and life from their contents.
“What’s Finn’s role today at the funeral?” asked Roarke.
“Well, you know the pallbearers are the team that’s trained for it, no one that the fallen officer, P-peter, was close to.” My tongue stumbled over Peter’s name. God, it was hard realizing that this wasn’t just a solemn event, it was my friend’s funeral.
Roarke’s arm wrapped around mine as he said quietly, “I know.”
I cleared my throat and went on. “He volunteered for the flag duty. God, it’s going to be gut-wrenching.” Finn would be the one to take the folded department flag out of the casket with Pete’s badge, and present it to Pete’s parents. The gathering of all the police and fire departments, the mayor’s speech, the presentation of the flag, and, with most of the police force being Irish, the bagpipes were all part of the official NYPD inspector’s funeral. I’d been a guest at a few of them, and every time, even when the family was leery of a large and public funeral, they’d always felt so blessed to be part of the city in such a way. It was a moment that no one would ever forget. The respect, love, grief, and unity of a city at times like that was stunning.
We arrived at our set place near the cathedral and met up with Fiorello and his family. I looked around at the masses of gathering people, wondering how Morgan and her crew would be able to work in the midst of the thousands. I spotted a matronly woman with a pink purse as she got out a hanky to noisily blow her considerable nose.
The funeral went off without a hitch. I managed to keep it together until I heard Finn’s voice as he handed the folded flag to Peter’s parents, saying a few consoling words, then Peter’s name and badge number 6335 clearly through the silent, cold air. Then the bagpipes played their mournful tones and the tears unabashedly slipped down my face.
CHAPTER 45
Morgan
caught a glimpse of Lane in the cathedral, near the front. She and Eric had separated after the procession and she slipped into the service through a side door.
The church service was heavy and mournful, and yet there was something . . . warm about it. Morgan couldn’t make up her mind about how she felt. She’d been dreading the funeral; she’d never been to one other than a couple of their own who had died. But then it had been a service of their crew’s own makings, since most of the time the street urchins were buried in pauper’s graves, unmarked except for the signs that they lovingly created with their own hands. But even then, it had been Eric and a few other leaders who had handled that. Morgan would stay at the sidelines, unable to fully join in. Unable to handle that kind of depth of emotion. It made her feel awkward and unsure of herself.
In the service, Morgan admired the interior of the cathedral. The arches reaching skyward, the blues and colorful stained glass windows mixed in with the gray marble columns and walls. It was peaceful inside, again surprising to her. She wiggled her way toward the front, along the sides of the pews, seeing Lane up farther and wanting to keep an eye on her. Good, she has Roarke right next to her. Not that he’d be able to keep her out of danger, but it was better than nothing.
As the service neared the end, up at the front of the sanctuary, Finn stood by the casket and took the folded flag, handing it to Peter’s parents. As the bagpipes struck up their song, Morgan glanced at Lane, watching tears flow freely down her face. Lane didn’t look self-conscious or embarrassed in the least. She thought that Eric would be the same, not caring what anyone thought about his appearance or his emotions. They just were what they were. She deeply admired that, but always found that kind of confidence out of her reach.
After it all ended, Morgan was surprisingly fatigued and drained. The closest friends and family were gathering at a nearby hall for a luncheon. She met up with her crew and Mary at the set corner. No one had seen anything nefarious and the relays were thankfully not needed. Morgan felt her shoulders unclench a bit. Not only did she not want to see any harm come to her friends, but she wanted the time of mourning to be unsullied. It was a precious time that needed to not be tainted in any way. Now that it was over, a weight lifted.
The Pearl Dagger Page 21
