Oh Danny Boy (10 page)

When a hand touched my shoulder, I leaped a mile.

“Molly, it is you!” Jacob Singer towered over me, his shadow creating welcome shade. He was wearing his customary worker’s cap and Russian-style twill shirt. “Are you all right?” he asked.

“I came over a little faint,” I said.

“I’m not surprised, with this heat and the crowd.” He lifted me gently to my feet. “Come on. I’ll take you to the tearoom around the corner.”

I allowed myself to be led, feeling the support of his strong arm around me. He took me into the cool darkness of the tearoom and ordered us glasses of hot tea.

“When you’re suffering from heat there is nothing better than hot tea,” he said. “It cools the body like no cold drink can.”

It came, in tall glasses held within silver frames and with a slice of lemon floating in it. I sipped and felt the nausea subsiding.

“It is good to see you.” Jacob was smiling at me. “Have you been keeping well?”

“More or less,” I said. “I don’t seem to be tolerating the heat this summer.”

“Who is?” he replied. “More cases of typhoid last week, you know.”

“Little Bridie O’Connor caught it,” I said.

“Bridie? I’m so sorry.”

“Miraculously she recovered, and she’s now out at a camp in the countryside getting her strength back.”

“That’s good news.” He smiled at me again. “You’ve been constantly on my mind, Molly. You haven’t answered my letters.”

“No,” I said. “I’m sorry. I was out of town for a while and then when I came back, I needed time to think.”

“I understand,” he said. “And have you had that time?”

I sat there staring at his kind, earnest face, with his round, wire spectacles making him look like an appealing bird, and felt tears welling up in my eyes. Holy Mother, but I certainly couldn’t cry in front of him!

“I have and I’m afraid my answer has to be no.”

I watched his face fall. “It wouldn’t work, Jacob. I couldn’t marry you,” I said. “I admire you tremendously. I think you’re a very fine person, and you’ve no idea that this is the hardest thing I’ve ever said.”

“Is it still that policeman?”

“In a way.” I stared at the steam rising from my glass of tea and couldn’t bring myself to meet his eyes.

Two elderly Jewish men with long beards and black homburg hats came in and sat at a table in the corner. I didn’t understand the Yiddish, but the looks we were getting were quite plain to read. No young Jewish man should be alone in public with an unmarried girl, especially with a shiksa.

“Now do you see why?” I whispered to Jacob, indicating the men in the corner. “We’d have that for the rest of our lives.” It was a good excuse, but I knew very well that, had things been different, I’d say to hell with what other people thought. Jacob nodded with appreciation though. “It is a lot to expect a woman to handle,” he said. “Tolerance will never be something my fellow Jews shine at. So I’ll accept your
decision with regret. But you know where I live, Molly. If I can ever be of help, just let me know.” He got to his feet and put a couple of coins down on the table. “I’m late for a meeting. I wish you well. I suggest you stay here until you are completely recovered before venturing out into the sun again.”

I watched him walk away. Come back! I longed to shout. You could make this work, a voice whispered in my head. A rapid wedding and he’d never know the truth. But I’d know, and Jacob deserved better. I drained my tea glass, got up, and left the old men staring after me.

The noon mail delivery brought no note from Daniel. I began to worry that perhaps they wouldn’t even let him write messages any longer, or that perhaps his enemies had intercepted any message that could help his cause. I felt as if I were climbing an impossible mountain, staggering forward one step, only to slip back several yards again.

“I can’t do this, Daniel!” I shouted into the emptiness of the house. “I don’t know how. It’s too much to ask of me.”

I felt stupid tears of self-pity stinging in my eyes again and wiped them away. I couldn’t give up now. It wouldn’t only mean Daniel’s doom, but my own.

I tried fixing myself some bread, cheese, and radishes, which were normally my favorite foods, but I couldn’t seem to swallow and had to push the plate away from me. I knew I’d have to pay a call on Monk Eastman, and I wasn’t looking forward to the prospect. But it was the Eastman gang that now provided my only concrete clue. Somebody had either managed to slip that money into the envelope destined for Daniel or had bribed or intimidated the gang member to exchange envelopes. Either that or Monk was also in the conspiracy, which made my going to see him doubly worrying. Added to that, I had sent Gentleman Jack in search of the Eastmans and he hadn’t returned.

What I needed was someone to accompany me, someone who could run for help or let the police know if something bad was about to happen. I couldn’t think who that person
might be. Sid and Gus would not even allow me to go into Eastman territory. Jacob would accompany me if I asked him, but I wasn’t going to put his life in danger or mark him as an enemy of the Eastmans when his work was so firmly within their territory.

Then suddenly I had a flash of inspiration. I did know a member of the Eastman gang—or at least, a junior member. Seamus’s unpleasant cousin Nuala, with whom I had stayed briefly on my arrival in New York, had three sons. Last time I met them the two oldest had become Junior Eastmans, running messages for the gang and helping with little assignments like knocking over the stalls of those vendors who weren’t paying their protection money. Malachy, the oldest boy, had never been the most likeable child and had probably become rotten through and through by now, but I had let him live with me when his family was thrown out of their house. And maybe he felt some kind of gratitude for the way I had taken care of his cousins. On the other hand, maybe he couldn’t care a brass fig and would be only too delighted to hand me over to his gang bosses. It was a risk I had to take.

I took care not to make myself too attractive or desirable, thus removing all suggestion of future white slavery. This wasn’t hard to do, as it happened. I certainly didn’t look like my normal red-cheeked and freckled self. In fact I looked quite pasty faced and hollow eyed. I stuffed my hair under my straw hat and buttoned my costume jacket up to my neck. Then I let myself out of my front door, ready to meet my fate.

Instead I met a strange figure in flowing saffron robes wafting down Patchin Place. It took me a moment to recognize him.

“Holy Mother of God, Ryan. What are you doing?” I blurted out as Ryan O’Hare swept magnificently toward me.

He spread out his arms in blessing. “Our dear friends have convinced me to try out the Buddhist lifestyle,” he said. “I saw a picture of a Buddhist monk in a journal, and I thought those robes looked divine. I just had to try them.”

“Buddhist monks have to shave their heads,” I said, starting to laugh.

“Yes, well there are lengths to which one will not go.” He ran his hands through his luxuriant dark curls.

“And I believe monks have to be celibate,” I went on.

“You are taking all the fun out of this,” he said, wagging a scolding finger at me. “I am merely trying out the lifestyle, not making a lifelong commitment, you know. Eating fruits and nuts and chanting. That’s about it, really. Oh, and not stepping on ants. That’s about all I can handle. And I must say it is divinely funny to watch people’s reactions to my lovely robes. They couldn’t take their eyes off me on the trolley.”

“I’m sure they couldn’t,” I said. “They certainly make you look even more gorgeous than usual.”

“You are too kind.” He blew me a kiss. “But you, on the other hand, dear Molly. Not looking your best, I fear. You have such lovely hair. Why hide it in that manner?”

“Because I’m about to do undercover work, and I have to look prim and severe,” I said.

“Ah. The big case.” He nodded. “Is this all part of the Save Daniel attempt?”

“It is,” I said. “And Ryan—can I ask you to do something for me? Something very secret?”

“You know I adore secrets. What is it?”

“If I don’t come home tonight, would you tell Sid and Gus that I went to meet Monk Eastman today? It would probably be too late to do anything, but at least I’d like someone to know.”

“My dear child, how utterly foolish of you. I must forbid it.”

I shook my head. “I’m not too excited by the prospect myself, Ryan, but I have no choice. There are things I can only find out by talking to the Eastmans. I couldn’t tell Sid and Gus because I know they’d do everything they could to stop me.”

“And I should, too,” Ryan said, stepping in front of me.

“I’ll be careful,” I said, reaching out to touch his arm.
“I’m going to have Nuala’s son Malachy escort me. He’s a Junior Eastman, so I should be all right.”

Ryan shook his head. “That police captain certainly doesn’t deserve everything you are doing for him. I hope he’s duly appreciative.”

“I hope so too.” I looked away. “And what about your own court case?” I asked, steering the conversation away from too dangerous waters.

“Which case was that?”

“The person who stole the script of your play.”

“Oh, that.” He waved it aside. “The Buddhist lifestyle tells us to forgive our enemies.”

“I’m impressed, Ryan.”

“And between you and me, I’ve heard that the play is so dreadful, it won’t even run a week. It probably won’t even make it through the tryouts in Philadelphia.” He gave a wicked smile. “And I’ve also met a fascinating new friend.”

“Also a Buddhist?”

“No. He’s a doctor. A European doctor. Very erudite.”

“Doesn’t sound at all your type.”

“You underestimate me, Molly. I can be intellectual if I wish. I have been learning all about the workings of the human brain. Do you know how many circuits there are operating within the brain?”

“No, how many?”

He frowned, then gave that delightful smile. “I’ve forgotten. A lot. Anyway, the whole thing is too, too fascinating.”

“I’m sure it is,” I said, “but I must get going. So please, not a word to Sid and Gus unless I don’t show up tonight, promise?”

Ryan shook his head. “You need to be taken under the wing of some strong and respectable male and settle down to have babies and darn socks.”

“I’ll let you know if one presents himself,” I said, and hurried away before the conversation became too hard to handle.

I caught the trolley down Broadway to Fulton, then followed that street until the pungent odor of fish announced
that I was approaching the fish market and the East River. Last time I had visited Nuala’s family, they had lived on the waterfront, in a run-down tenement between sail-making shops and ships’ chandlers. There was no guarantee that they were still there, of course. Nuala’s husband, Finbar, was better at drinking the profits than earning money at the saloon where he worked, and last time I had heard Nuala had lost her job gutting fish at the market. With income this precarious and three rambunctious boys, they had had to do a bunk in a hurry from several landlords before now.

However, this time it seemed I was in luck.

“Well, would you look what the cat’s dropped on the doorstep.” Nuala eyed me, hands on her broad hips. “And what could Miss High and Mighty possibly be wantin’ with poor folks like us?”

“Sorry to disturb your afternoon sleep, Nuala,” I said, as she looked bleary eyed and disheveled, “but I had to come—”

Suddenly her expression changed. “Sweet Mary and Jesus, it’s not bad news, is it? You haven’t come to tell me that the little one’s gone to meet to her maker?”

“The last time I heard, Bridie was well on the mend, and they’re all enjoying the fresh air and country living.”

“Of course they are,” she said, the bitter sneer returning to her face. “Out there living the life of Riley, and did they think to invite their poor, starving relatives to join them? And after the way I took them in when they came here with nothing, too. That’s gratitude for you, isn’t it?”

“They’re not in a position to invite anybody, Nuala,” I said. “Bridie’s at the camp recovering, and Seamus and son are doing odd jobs for a farmer and sleeping in his barn.”

“Then what have you come for?” she demanded. “Showing up on my doorstep, scaring the bejaysus out of me.”

“I wondered if I could have a word with your oldest son.”

“Malachy? What’s he done now?”

“Nothing, as far as I know. I need his help since he knows the area around here so well. I’m willing to pay for it.”

That made her eyes open quickly enough. “I couldn’t tell
you where he is,” she said. “No good, like his father. He’s off here and there. Comes home when he feels like it, stays out when he doesn’t, and what’s more—just between you and me—he’s got himself mixed up with some gang.”

“Dear me. How terrible for you,” I said.

Apparently my sympathy was harder to take than my hostility. She eyed me as if I could be a dangerous animal that might bite. “So what’s happened to your fancy man?”

“As I told you more than once, I don’t have a fancy man. I run my own detective agency, and I need Malachy’s help in a case I’m working on.”

“Get away with you,” she said, giving a scornful chuckle. “Whoever heard of a lady detective?”

“So you’ve no idea where I might find him at this time of day?” I asked.

She shrugged. “Like I just said, he comes and goes as he pleases. There’s no reasoning with him. He’s as tall as I am now, and he tells me I’d better not lay a finger to him if I know what’s good for me. He’s got friends who will teach me a lesson. They pay him good money, too. Sometimes he gives me some of it, or he’d be out of here on his ear.”

“What about your other boys? Are they around?”

“They’ll be with their brother, if they’re not swimming in the East River,” she said. “Malachy’s set on leading them into bad ways. There’s not a one of them thinks that school is a good idea. If only they’d had a proper father and not a good-for-nothing bag of bones like himself in there.” She jerked her head toward the interior of the apartment. “Sleeps his days away and spends his nights on the drink. What kind of man is that, I ask you?”

“Not the greatest,” I said.

“But then most of them aren’t much better, are they?” She gave me a woman-to-woman knowing wink. “They only want one thing and they’re not good for much else, as I expect you’ve also found out.”

“Men are no different from women,” I said. “There are some good ones and some rotten ones.”

“About time you settled down yourself,” she said. “You’re
not getting any younger, and I can’t say this life is doing much for your looks. Positively peeky you’re lookin’.”

“I’m on an undercover assignment, Nuala. I have to make myself look as drab as possible.”

“Ah,” she said. Then she paused and added thoughtfully, “About how much money would there be in this job you’ve got for Malachy?”

“Depends how helpful he can be to me,” I said.

I could see her considering how worth her while it might be to do some active searching for her son. Evidently not worthwhile enough. “You can try O’Leary’s Tavern,” she said. “I’ve caught him hanging around there before now. Or ask his brothers. You’ll probably find them swimming in the river.”

“Thank you,” I said. “And if he does come home and I haven’t managed to contact him, he knows where I live.”

“I’ll tell him,” she said, and closed the door in my face, friendly as ever.

I saw no sign of the boys on the docks, so I made for O’Leary’s Tavern. I had been there before once, when I first stumbled blindly into contact with the Eastman gang. It was on the corner of Division and Market, not far from Monk’s headquarters on Orchard Street. I was glad to get the smell of fish out of my nostrils and stopped at a candy store to buy some peppermints to ease my queasiness. Then I continued up James Street and onto Madison, keeping to the shade of the tall buildings until I reached the tavern.

It was now midafternoon. The lunchtime rush was over. The men who had been served a plate of Irish stew for the price of a beer had now gone back to work. As I peered into the deep gloom from the bright sunlight outside, I noticed only one or two motionless figures slumped at the bar. No sign of a lively young’un. At least the scene appeared to be drowsy and not threatening. I plucked up my courage and stepped into the deep shadow of the bar.

One of the figures was instantly awake. “No women,” he growled. “She shouldn’t be in here.”

“Unless she’s one of Monk’s girls come to offer you her
favors for free,” the other man at the counter quipped with a silly, half-drunk laugh.

“Even I can focus well enough to know that she ain’t one of Monk’s ladies,” the first man said. “Go on, girlie. Get yourself out of here. Yer old man’s not here; and if he had his wage packet, he’s already drunk it.”

“I only want to ask a question,” I said. “I’m looking for a boy. Young Malachy O’Connor. His family says he hangs around here a lot. Do you have an idea where I might find him?”

“He’s out on a job.” The bartender’s head rose from behind the counter. He stared at me long and hard. “I’ve seen you before somewhere,” he said.

“I imagine that most Irish faces look alike,” I said, giving him my sweet, girlish smile and not admitting that I had been asking questions in this very saloon a few months ago. “So you don’t know when Malachy O’Connor might show his face again?”

“When he’s done with the job, I’d say,” the bartender said, and the two men at the bar grinned.

“Could you give him a message from me when you see him?” I asked.

“What kind of message?”

“Tell him Molly could use his help. He knows where I live. Tell him I’ll make it worth his while if he helps me.”