Grace's Pictures (32 page)

Owen left the meeting conflicted. Yes, he had to go after Goo Goo right away. Yes, he had to help his father right away.

He pulled out his pocket watch as he rounded Water Street. Only half past nine. This was going to be a long night, and there was not much he could do alone except keep an eye out for the gang boss and watch where he went. That is, if folks didn’t register minor complaints for him to follow up or he didn’t spend all his time rounding up prostitutes, which was becoming a larger problem of late as the missions had said.

He encountered Feeny just east of the Battery. “A protest going on right in front of those mission houses.”

“What?” Owen started to move, but Feeny stopped him.

“Got some fellows containing the crowd. Don’t worry about it. What are ye doing down here anyway?”

Rats! He wasn’t supposed to let Feeny see him. “I . . . Nicholson gave me an assignment over on Worth and since I was done there, and things are quiet on my rounds, I just thought I’d check in with you fellas over here.”

“We’re fine. I’m betting things won’t be quiet over yer way all night. Better head back before Big Bill finds out ye were off your post.”

“I’m not off my—”

“Beat it, McNulty.”

Yeah. Who but Walter Feeny would tell the police chief about a lowly beat officer wandering a couple of blocks from his rounds? “I’m going.”

Owen turned and headed back, but out of sight he turned left to trudge up the crooked path of Stone Street. Better check out this protest. He wasn’t needed in his patrol area because a sergeant and two roundsmen were near there, but Feeny didn’t need to know that.

Owen spotted a man and a woman standing in front of a building.

“You came out here for a reason, Rosie. You and that camera!”

The man stepped backward into a crescent of light under the streetlamp. Smokey. This was not how Owen had hoped to encounter him.

“Let me go!” the woman wailed. “I didn’t come here to see you. How was I to know you’d be here?”

“I w-w-won’t be panned.”

“Smokey, that’s your name, isn’t it? Let go of me. I got lost, is all.”

“I’m to teach you a lesson, Rosie, and I aim to do it!”

She kicked him but that only fazed him for a brief moment.

This was just the kind of distraction Owen had hoped to avoid. There were no other Dusters around that he could see, and he would have to arrest these two and bring them in for disturbing the peace and the usual public drunkenness. “Halt. Don’t move,” Owen called out.

Smokey flung the girl away from him and she landed in a seated position on the icy sidewalk. The thug tried to run off, but he was truly pickled, so Owen had no trouble handcuffing him. “She’s a liar. No matter what she says to you, she’s lying.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Owen snapped the handcuffs and yanked Smokey to his feet.

Owen glanced at the girl. “Hold on, Miss Rosie.”

“That’s not my name.”

Now that he was closer, Owen recognized that voice even though her face was shadowed and partially covered by her dense, disheveled hair. “What are you doing out here?”

“I got lost.”

“Lost? This time of night?”

“That’s right. I . . . uh . . . We . . . left Hawkins House. There is a protest . . .”

“You better come with me.”

“All right. I should have known better. I don’t know why I keep—”

“You’re all right now. Just come along.”

She trailed behind Owen as he lugged Smokey along. “Isn’t Hawkins House the other way?”

“We’re going to the precinct. There’s a patrol wagon a few blocks north.”

“Uh, no. I’ll find my way.” She stepped out from the curb, but he pulled her back with one arm while still struggling with the criminal with his other hand.

“Let go.”

“Look, Miss McCaffery. You should not be out here.”

“As I well know. I’m going home.”

“I can’t let you go on alone. Why don’t you come with me, and I’ll call over to Hawkins House and they’ll come get you.”

“No.”

He had to squeeze tighter on her wrist. “I don’t mean to frighten you. I’m trying to help.”

Suddenly she gasped for air. Owen thought she might faint.

“Need some help, McNulty?”

Walter Feeny.

Grace took a step closer to Owen. “I’ll come.”

Owen shouted as they plodded down the dark street. “No, Feeny. I’ll handle it.”

“I don’t think so.” Feeny pulled out his gun.

“What are you doing, Feeny?”

“This is my beat, Owen. Let the man go.”

“Public drunkenness. Surely you can see that.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

Owen stared at the man’s face. He was serious, although probably showboating for Grace’s benefit. Owen didn’t want Grace to be in the middle of it. “I’d let you if I hadn’t already used my cuffs on him.”

Smokey’s eyes rolled heavenward. He was clearly unaware of what was happening. Feeny seemed to notice it too. He put his pistol back. “You don’t know what yer messing with,
McNulty. But . . . because of this delicate lass here, I’ll let ye carry on.”

“Noble of you, Feeny.”

“I’ll just escort Miss McCaffery home.”

Owen felt her shudder against him. “I already made arrangements, Feeny.”

“That so? Unmake them.” He took Grace’s arm.

“Let go of me! Officer McNulty is taking care of me.”

Owen saw the man’s red face turn a shade darker.

Feeny leaned close to Grace. “I warned ye, now didn’t I? Don’t ye forget I was the one.”

Owen tugged Grace forward. “Leave her be, Feeny.”

Walter raised both hands in surrender. “Fine, fine. But let me give ye a tip. If this fella wasn’t so snickered, he’d have done ye some harm, Miss McCaffery.”

Owen pulled Grace tighter while Smokey slumped against his shoulder. “She understands she should not be out here alone at night.”

“Yeah? Well, so. Let me tell ye something ye both don’t know.”

“Get lost, Feeny.”

They left the man stammering on the curb.

Back at the station, Smokey sat in a jail cell. They would charge him with disorderly conduct and he’d be back on the streets in less than forty-eight hours, likely with no memory of the faces of those who had arrested and questioned him. Now fallen down drunk, possibly also dazed by cocaine, rampant among the Hudson Dusters, Smokey Davis would scarcely even realize he was alive by morning. When he was able to stand on his own feet, the captain would send him off. He was small potatoes but
still a lure to follow. With any luck Smokey wouldn’t remember Owen. Feeny? He was all talk and nothing else.

Tammany Hall boss Crocker and even Big Tim Sullivan—the politician most folks liked because they didn’t know how he did business—might have their greedy tentacles over most of Manhattan and her ubiquitous illegal businesses, but not the night court in the First Ward. The judge would send Goo Goo up the river, if Owen could catch him.

But he had precious little time to do it.

“None of my girls should be in such a place!” The short, stout woman with the British lilt to her voice stomped into the main office, her chunky heeled boots pounding loudly against the tile floor. Owen had never seen Mrs. Hawkins so out of sorts, but he couldn’t blame her.

Grace stood, but Owen motioned to her to sit. She ignored him and called out to the woman. “Mrs. Hawkins, I assure you ’tis all a mistake.”

The middle-aged woman tried to wiggle past a patrolman who stopped her. “Let Miss McCaffery go. I’ll take her home straight away.”

The captain, alerted by the commotion, flung open the door to his office and marched up to Owen’s desk. “Let her go, McNulty.”

Grace was angry with him, although she’d come willingly. It wasn’t his fault she’d wandered off during the protest. Whatever life she’d escaped in Ireland had obviously filled her with mistrust. “I’m happy you were not hurt, Miss McCaffery.”

“Thank you, Officer,” Mrs. Hawkins said as she hugged Grace to her and moved toward the door.

Nicholson motioned to him. “Let’s talk about that meeting on Worth Street.”

30

GRACE SCRAMBLED UP THE FRONT STEPS,
Mrs. Hawkins at her heels.

Annie met her at the door. “What happened?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Grace covered her face with her hand and ran upstairs to her room. Behind her she heard Annie and Mrs. Hawkins mumbling together. Whether or not they thought she was a complete nitwit to have gotten lost and ended up at the police headquarters way over on Mulberry, she’d learned something. She knew who
not
to trust: Feeny.

Sleep would not come easily after all the evening’s commotion, so she might as well warm some milk and try to calm herself. Slipping out from under the quilt on her bed, she crept from the room and made her way downstairs.

Carrying a small oil lamp, she stopped at the front door. A piece of paper lay just beyond the mail slot. She hadn’t seen it earlier. Mail was not delivered at night. She picked it up. Her name was scribbled on the outside, but no return address and no stamp. She peeked into the parlor. Empty. She set the lamp down on a side table, slid onto the sofa, and opened the letter.

Dear Rosie,

I’m watching you. I should have smashed that camera. Whatever goods you got better not show up in public. Cross me and you’re dead, little lassie.

Davis

He knew where she lived. She crumpled the note and held it against her chest. She didn’t have any goods, as Smokey put it. Why had she pretended she did when she approached him that day at the trolley? Because she was no smarter than a toad, that’s why.
“Another blunder, lass!”

Looking to Mr. Hawkins’s portrait, she silently pleaded,
Who will protect me?

Sunday passed all too quickly, and before she knew it, she had to leave the secure confines of Hawkins House to go to work. She had not mentioned the note to anyone, hoping a solution would occur to her so she wouldn’t need to worry anyone. Grace studied every face on the streetcar that turned in her direction. Every muscle in her body tightened whenever a new man boarded. When she exited to make her walk to the Parkers’ house, she paused at a newsstand to let those behind her go ahead. As unlikely as it might be, she found herself wishing the Parkers lived on Owen’s beat. But he would be nowhere near here if she needed him.

A gust of wind blew debris along the street. The smell of musty, decaying leaves made her nose twitch. The stormy day whistled in her ears.
You can’t survive.

“Stop it,” she said aloud, alarming a few people near her. She smiled at them and then continued walking, holding her hands
over her ears to block out her father’s voice. She’d been tossed into a stormy sea without her permission and now she had to swim. And she would. She had to.

Grace kept walking and looking. She did not see Smokey Davis, thankfully.

When she was in sight of the house, she rushed toward it and ran up the steps. Only when the large door closed behind her did she allow herself to inhale deeply. For once she would have no trouble keeping the children in the house. As she hung up her coat and hat, she wondered if she would see Officer Feeny when she walked the girls to school. He’d wanted Owen to let that scum Smokey go, and hadn’t he offered to protect her from him? They were in cahoots of some sort, apparently. She bit her lip.

“Good morning, Miss Gracie.” Linden stood in his union suit gripping a glass of milk.

“Has Auntie gone, Linden?”

He frowned. “Father took her to the train. They woke me up to say good-bye.”

“And your mother?”

“Still in bed.”

“Come along. We’ll make some breakfast.”

“I want sugar in my porridge.”

Grace scooted him along toward the kitchen. “You know how your mother feels about giving you sugar, Linden.”