City of Promise (61 page)

“I think he came to see you recently.”

“Not me,” Mollie corrected. “I am aware that he called on my husband. But only because I was told.”

Amanda Jones turned her head, taking in the size and decor of the room. “Place like this,” she said. “I guess it’s possible for your husband to see somebody and you’d never even know. Nothing like that can happen at the St. Nicholas. How many rooms have you got here anyway?”

“Twelve,” Mollie said.

“Like it was a whole house.”

“Yes, rather.”

“I want a house. A whole one of my own.” Amanda Jones spoke with sudden urgency. “And a maid. DuVal could buy me those things.
He handles thousands and thousands of dollars for the mayor of Brooklyn. Every week. Do you know about that?”

Mollie shook her head. According to Josh, Jones worked for a small-time hoodlum, which was what Mollie had suspected ten years ago, but they’d not spent any time on details. “I know very little about your husband’s affairs,” she said.

“No reason you should, I suppose. You’re a grand lady now. Don’t involve yourself in your husband’s business like when he was just getting started and you came to talk to us down on Bowling Green. Doesn’t matter. I can tell you for sure, DuVal always pays the rent on time. Otherwise he might have to find some other place to put us. Me and my daughter. She’s ten and I keep telling her we’re going to move to someplace really nice pretty soon, but I don’t think she believes me anymore. It’s all like a fairy tale far as she’s concerned.” She raised her glass and finished her sherry.

Mollie did not bother to defend the niceness of the St. Nicholas. It was a relative matter, as she knew well. “Would you like another, Mrs. Jones?”

“Don’t mind if I do.”

Mollie got up and brought the decanter to where they were sitting, then filled the other woman’s glass. “Do I take it you have only the one child, Mrs. Jones?”

“Absolutely. I made it very clear to DuVal I wouldn’t have another until he bought us a house.” She smiled but it did not seem to Mollie to be an indication of pleasure. “Couple of times he thought he’d gotten me in the family way despite that, but it always turned out he was wrong. We ladies know how to take care of that when it’s necessary, don’t we, Mrs. Turner? And don’t look so disapproving. I know all about who you was before you married your one-legged millionaire.”

“I’m not disapproving, Mrs. Jones. Everyone has to decide such matters for themselves.”

Amanda Jones got up and carried her sherry to the window. “You can see the Central Park from here. I didn’t realize that.”

“Yes, we can.” Even if Fifth Avenue and Madison were to be developed this far uptown, Josh was convinced both streets would be given over to private mansions and the upper floors of Park Avenue wouldn’t lose their serene outlook.

“So what good’s all this to you? The fancy apartment and the gorgeous view. The way I hear it, you never could have children and that ruined your life. People say it’s God’s punishment for your having lived all those years in a house of ill repute.”

Mollie refused to let the direct attack disarm her. “As I recall, Mrs. Jones, back when we met on Bowling Green you insisted the role of a wife and mother was to be the angel of the hearth. Now you tell me you have defied your husband in the matter of a family.”

Amanda Jones turned her back on the view and looked at her hostess. “Back on Bowling Green I was a girl of barely sixteen. I’ve learned a few things since then. Had them shoved down my throat, you might say.”

“Exactly what do you want from me, Mrs. Jones?”

“My chance, Mrs. Turner. Mine and my daughter’s.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Captain Trenton Clifford’s going to buy me a house of my own. He’s promised. Only DuVal found out about me and the captain. He doesn’t dare do anything about it. The mayor doesn’t want that kind of trouble and he would do something terrible to DuVal if he caused it.”

“I don’t see that this has anything to do with Mr. Turner and myself, Mrs. Jones.” Mollie’s heart was pounding, but she knew she mustn’t allow her feelings to show. She’d lose whatever advantage she might have if she did that.

“Course it has. I wouldn’t have come here otherwise. DuVal’s trying to make your husband do his dirty work for him. But if Mr. Turner does what DuVal wants, he’ll be in terrible trouble. Maybe lose everything. Go to jail even. Where will you be then, Mrs. Turner?”

Coming across on the ferry the sunlight on the river had been almost blindingly bright. Now, on the Brooklyn side, Josh was once more in the shadow of the bridge and deafened by the ceaseless rumble of its traffic.

According to Miller, he had a man observing the Water Street house day and night. Josh could see no evidence of him; that after all was Miller’s stock-in-trade. Josh didn’t fool himself he had the same ability to be unseen, but he stood in the deepest shadows and studied Clifford’s house.

It was small and old-fashioned, a one-story cottage with a ramshackle addition tacked onto one end. Most likely an outhouse. Best guess: the place had once belonged to a fisherman, perhaps an oysterman working the beds on the Brooklyn side of the Narrows. Doubtless he’d have sold his day’s catch by going around the grand houses on the hills of the nearby Heights.

Fair enough. What difference did it make to him? What in hell was he doing here? Miller said the house had been empty for forty-eight hours and he and his men knew their job. So what did Josh expect to find? And what might he do about it when he did? If he—

A shadow passed across the window of the front room.

The curtains were drawn so he couldn’t be sure, but he’d wager a fair bit he was looking at Trenton Clifford. The silhouette clearly showed a man with a full head of hair that curled around his coat collar. The shadow paused, as if he were deliberately announcing his presence to anyone watching outside, then moved on. Josh wondered how he could signal Miller’s man to show himself. He couldn’t tackle Clifford alone. It was entirely possible the bastard was armed and—

He felt something pressing into the base of his spine.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Turner. Name’s Tony Lupo, though I stretched that to Anthony Wolfe when we met last. Up at the St. Nicholas, if you recall. You’ve come a long way since then, haven’t you? And I’m delighted to see you here. Saves no end of trouble. Now walk across the road, please. And don’t get any stupid ideas about running. Not with
that peg of yours. The Colt fires six shots one after another, but I wager I’d get you with the first one.”

“I doubt you believe me, son, but I’m disappointed it’s come to this.” Clifford held a drink, but he had not offered one to Josh. Lupo had helped himself from a bottle of bourbon standing on a ledge beneath the window.

“I doubt,” Josh said, “you’re as disappointed as I am.”

“Probably true.” Clifford chuckled softly. “Now, Antonio my friend, how do you think we’d best proceed?”

“Simple,” Lupo said. “I go and speak with Mrs. Turner. I’m sure once she knows we have her husband in our care she’ll be willing to provide us with the deeds to the Park Avenue buildings. Soon as I have them I bring her and Duggan back here and Mr. Turner signs over the deeds to us.” A brief pause, “After that we’ll have what we want, so no reason Mr. and Mrs. Turner shouldn’t return home, is there?”

“None,” Clifford agreed, “but I would make a slight alteration in the plan. We leave Turner here and go together to see Mrs. Turner and the attorney. I wouldn’t want you to think I didn’t trust you, Antonio, but I’m a man who has learned caution over a long and eventful life.”

Lupo hesitated, then nodded his head. “Since it’s never been in my mind to cheat you, I have no objection. But we have to be very certain this resourceful gentleman doesn’t get away once we leave.”

“In that we’re in complete accord, Antonio.” And turning to Josh, “Give me your cane, son. Come, don’t be foolish. There’s nothing you can do, so we may as well accomplish this the easy way.”

Josh gritted his teeth, but knew he had little choice. The revolver was on a table near the door to what he imagined was the kitchen, but both Lupo and Clifford were between it and himself. There was a rifle propped beside the fireplace. Josh assumed it was loaded, no other reason for it to be here, but he dared not lunge for it. Clifford was
closer to the weapon than he was. The bastard would bring him down as soon as he moved.

Josh turned his stick around and offered it horse’s head first.

Clifford took it. “Thank you. Now the peg.”

“I can’t—”

“You can’t walk without it and the cane. Now don’t you think I know that, son? Take off the peg, Joshua. We’re waiting.”

He thought of diving and shouting for Miller’s man. The fellow had to be out there somewhere. At least that would improve the odds. Thing was, he couldn’t see how he’d be heard, whatever kind of commotion he managed to make. The rumble of the bridge traffic was almost as loud in here as it was outside. “I need to sit down to do it,” he said.

“So you do, son. I apologize.” Clifford dragged a small chair over to where Josh stood. “Please, be my guest.”

He’d take off only the peg. Could be the harness would eventually be useful, and neither of his captors were likely to have any idea how the assembly worked. It was easy enough to pull up his right trouser leg, the one stiffened with Mollie’s buckram, and he left it in a position that obscured the straps leading to his waist. The wooden leg was anchored to the frame with metal clamps that locked into position. There were five of them and he unlatched them as slowly as he could.

Lupo’s glass was empty and he walked over to the ledge that held the bottle of bourbon.

Josh now had a clear path to the Colt on the table.

“Come along, son. I’m getting a tad impatient. You might recall I’m not at my best when that happens.”

The peg was free in his hand, but Josh didn’t pull it away from the frame. A number of things were obvious to him. They would tie him up when they left, not simply leave him to hobble about on one leg. When they returned, Mollie would be with them, and there was no doubt in his mind they would use threats against her to force him to sign the deeds. Once that was done they would kill them both. But
until he signed those deeds they wanted him alive. The conclusion was obvious. Now or never.

He shouted at the top of his lungs and hurled himself at Clifford, using the peg as a battering ram. It caught the other man in the stomach and flung him against the fireplace. The rifle clattered to the floor and skidded away. Out of the corner of his eye Josh saw Lupo hurl himself toward it, but he concentrated on forcing the peg deeper into Clifford’s gut. He heard the wood snap just as he lost his balance and fell. Josh let go of the peg and dug his elbows into the floor, using the strength of his arms to thrust him toward the table and the revolver.

He reached up. The gun was inches from his hand. A shot rang out.

Josh waited for pain to tell him where he’d been hit. He felt nothing. Only the handle of the Colt in his palm. He clicked off the safety as he rolled over. He expected to see Lupo with the rifle, but all he saw was a stranger standing by the door to the kitchen. The man’s trousers and the bottoms of a two-piece undersuit were down around his ankles, and he held a smoking revolver in his right hand. “Don’t shoot, Mr. Turner! I’m one o’ Frankie’s boys.”

Josh caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. Clifford was on his knees, the rifle at his shoulder. Josh swung the Colt in his direction and fired.