Oh Danny Boy (11 page)

One of the men roused himself from the bar and moved in my direction. “I’d even help you myself if you make it worth
my
while, darlin’.” That stupid grin was still on his face, and he was blowing beery breath at me.

“Thanks all the same, but I’ll wait for young Malachy,” I said, backing hastily out of reach. “You
will
tell him?”

“I might,” the bartender said. “Of course I might very well forget unless you give me a little something to remind me.”

It seemed the whole world was in on bribery and corruption except for Daniel.

“And what is it she’s wanting Malachy for in the first place, I’d like to know?” The less drunk of the two men at the bar had turned around on his stool to examine me. “She
looks like one of those settlement ladies to me. Likely as not she’s going to have him carted off to a reform school.”

“Nothing like that,” I said. “I need his help to meet—certain people who operate around here. People I might not want to meet without…”

I stopped talking as the sunlight was blotted from the doorway. Two large bruisers were coming into the saloon.

“What’s a dame doin’ in here?” one of them asked.

“She’s looking for young Malachy.”

“What does she want with one of my boys?” another, higher, squeakier voice asked. The two thugs stepped aside and a third figure was silhouetted against the sunlight. I couldn’t see his face—but I recognized the shape of the shadow—round head, little derby perched on top of it a couple of sizes too small for him. As he came into the saloon I recognized the rolled-up shirtsleeves on pudgy arms, the bright red suspenders, and the open-necked shirt. A comical figure at first glance until you noticed that the bright metal on his fingers were not rings. I had wanted Malachy to escort me to Monk Eastman. Now I was meeting with Monk himself, here and now, whether I wanted to or not.

Okay, lady. What does youse want with my boy?” Monk sauntered up to me. I noticed there was no live pigeon on his shoulder today, but instead he carried a kitten cradled in the crook of his pudgy arm. The kitten was blissfully asleep. It presented a charming picture, and I had to remind myself that this was a man who routinely ended lives with a snap of his fingers.

At least I was in a public saloon with the street a few feet away. I took a deep breath to make myself at least sound confident. “I wanted to have the chance to speak with you, Mr. Eastman. I thought that Malachy would know where to find you.”

“Hey, I’m flattered,” he said, his beady little eyes not leaving my face for a second. “It ain’t often a young lady comes chasing after me, is it, boys?”

All the men in the bar chuckled dutifully.

“So what does a nice young lady like youse want with Monk?” he asked.

I wondered if he remembered meeting me before. On that occasion his tone hadn’t been anything like as friendly; in fact I had been lucky to escape with my life, my honor, or both. No sooner had this thought passed through my head than I saw him frown momentarily.

“I know youse,” he said. “Sullivan’s bit o’ skirt. Right?”

“I’m Captain Sullivan’s friend, yes,” I said. “It’s because of him that I’ve come to you. He’s in bad trouble, Monk.”

“Yeah, I heard about dat. Geeze, dat’s too bad.” He was grinning. “Don’t you just hate it when bad things happen to coppers?”

More chuckling from the ranks.

“I thought you and he were supposed to be working on something together,” I said. “You were supposed to be setting up a prizefight for his friend Gentleman Jack Brady.”

“Maybe I was.”

“And you sent a man to meet Captain Sullivan with a list of names. Well, somebody put money in that envelope of names to make it seem he was accepting a bribe. Somebody arranged it so that the commissioner of police just happened to witness this transaction.” I paused before I dared to say the next words. Even so I had trouble keeping my voice even. “So I need to know, Monk—was that on your orders? Did you arrange for Daniel to be caught? I need to know because if you didn’t, then someone else is out to get him.”

“Me?” He put a pudgy hand to his breast. “Why it’s generally known that I love Daniel Sullivan like a brother.”

“Cut the blarney,” I said, smiling in spite of myself. “I know you and Daniel hate each other’s guts, but you were working together. I thought it would be in everyone’s interest to set up this fight and make money out of it. I sent Jack Brady to find you and now he’s disappeared.”

“Gee, dat’s too bad,” Monk said, his face still in a relaxed grin. “But you don’t have to worry yourself about him, girlie. He’s been taken care of.”

“Then where is he?”

“Didn’t no one ever tell you dat curiosity killed the cat?”

“Look, Mr. Eastman—Monk. Daniel Sullivan is in big trouble. It’s not just accepting a bribe. They think he’s working for you. They’re saying he tipped off your people to a police raid where one of the officers was killed. If I don’t help him, he’s not going to get out of prison alive. So I’m asking you—I’m begging you to be straight with me. All I need to know from you is one thing—did you order the money put in that envelope? Did you tip off the commissioner as to where he’d catch Daniel? If you tell me yes, I’ll
just get out of here and leave you alone because there’s nothing I can do. But at least I’ll know.”

Monk stepped closer to me until his paunch was a few inches from my own stomach. “Listen, girlie,” he said. “Sullivan and I—we shook hands over dis prizefight deal. Monk don’t never double-cross no one once he’s shook hands.”

“So one of your men wouldn’t have put the money in that envelope?”

“Let’s put it this way.” He looked around the room for confirmation of what he was about to say. “If any of my guys went against my wishes, he’d be feeding fishes in the East River by now.” He flexed the hand with the brass knuckles on it.

“So which of your men actually delivered the envelope?”

“Bugsy did. I gave the list to him and told him where he’d meet Sullivan. And Bugsy would never double-cross me. I’d swear on dat with my life.”

“But somehow money got in the envelope.”

Monk shrugged. “It don’t make no sense.”

“I’m thinking it might be the commissioner himself who was out to get Daniel,” I said. “And maybe after your gang, too.”

This made Monk chuckle. “In dat case he’s wasting his time, ain’t he? Don’t you know that commissioners are appointed for two years, max? We’ll be around long after he’s gone.”

“He wants to reform the police force and stamp out vice and corruption in the city,” I said.

This made all the men in the bar laugh loudly. “Good luck to him, I say,” one of the men at the bar commented.

Monk stopped smiling. “If he wanted to reform the police, it wouldn’t be Sullivan he went after. Everyone knows Sullivan ain’t crooked like some of dem.”

“Do you think I could talk to your man Bugsy and find out if anyone had a chance to tamper with that envelope?”

Monk shook his big head. “My boy Bugsy is temporarily out of town, on a visit to his sainted mother, I believe.”

I understood this, of course. He’d be wanted for Daniel’s trial so had conveniently vanished.

“If you had a chance to ask him yourself, I’d be most grateful,” I said. “When he’s done visiting his sainted mother, of course.”

Monk looked at me and burst out laughing. “I like you.” he said. He made a mock gesture with the brass knuckles in the direction of my face. “You ain’t like most dames, all tremblin’ and twittering when I talks to dem. You got spunk, girlie. Listen, I’ll get my boys to keep their ears to the ground. If I hear who might have set up Sullivan, I’ll let you know.”

“Young Malachy knows where to find me,” I said. “I really appreciate this, Monk.”

He lifted the sleeping kitten close to his face and rubbed it on his cheek. “Hey, everyone around here will tell you dat Monk Eastman is known for his philanthropy and his kindness to widows and orphans.”

His men grinned, but looked away when they did so.

“Thank you again,” I said, noticing that I had a straight shot at the door and the sunlight beyond. I didn’t wait around, but I took my chance and walked steadily toward the open door. I half expected to feel big hands grabbing my shoulders, but I made it down the steps and out into the sunlight. Then I kept on walking until I had put a block or two between me and the Eastmans. As I walked I was taken over with euphoria. How about that? I had met Monk Eastman and talked with him, person to person, and I had survived.

I made my way home, and this time I was relieved to find a letter from Daniel waiting for me, written on what must be his attorney’s stationery as it was headed “J. P. Atkinson, 412 Wall Street, sixth floor, New York.” The writing, however, was definitely Daniel’s. So were the sentiments.

I sat at the kitchen table with the letter in front of me for a good long while. Why did someone want Daniel Sullivan in jail? Had he offended someone in a mortally big way for them to want such terrible revenge? If it was only a case of a rivalry within the police department, then his demotion or dismissal would have been enough. No, this was something tinged with venomous hate; someone wanting Daniel’s complete destruction.

I should write back to him with questions about his relationship with the commissioner, who was my best bet so far. As I opened the kitchen drawer for notepaper and pen, I was conscious of how much time was being wasted waiting for the delivery of letters. I needed to see Daniel for myself, ask him all the questions I needed to ask, and eliminate suspicions from my own mind. Well, at least I had one thing I hadn’t possessed before—his lawyer’s name and address. I’d go and bully him into getting me into The Tombs. Maybe I’d even discover whether he was someone’s puppet and was dancing to their tune.

I sank my head onto my hands and sat there at the kitchen table with the sun shining in on me. It was good to feel safe for a while. “Just a few moments and then I’ll get on with what I have to do next,” I murmured to myself. My eyes closed and I fell sound asleep.

The next thing I knew, the kitchen was bathed in rosy twilight, and the clock was chiming eight. My face felt stiff and misshapen from falling asleep against the hard wood of the table. Whatever plans I might have had for the rest of the day, it was now too late. I was also ravenously hungry.

I got up and found some slices of tongue and cold potatoes in the larder. By the third mouthful my stomach rebelled. I had to settle for bread and cheese instead. It seemed that was to be my staple diet at the moment. I managed to get that down. It wouldn’t be dark for at least another half hour. Maybe I should pay a visit to Sergeant O’Hallaran when he was likely to be home. I washed my face, brushed my hair, and set out to walk to East Twelfth Street.

Now that the fierce sun had gone down, life was spilling out onto the streets. Men and women sat on their stoops, old ladies fanning themselves, young women with babies on their laps. Children played hopscotch on sidewalks. From open windows came the sounds of the city—babies crying, pianos being played, arguments, laughter. Usually I relished these great affirmations of life around me. Tonight they only reminded me sharply that I was alone. I had no family with
whom to fight or laugh. I would come back to an empty house. I really missed the O’Connor children. Then, of course, I remembered what I had been keeping locked away at the back of my mind: I would soon have a family of my own. A picture swam into my mind of a chubby baby with dark curls and Daniel’s alarmingly blue eyes, its little head safe against my shoulder as I sang it to sleep with a lullaby. I had not allowed myself to imagine it before, as if not making it real would somehow make it go away. Now I felt a little jolt of excitement in the pit of my gut, and what I supposed was a rush of maternal feeling. I stood there, imagining the feel of its soft warmth against my cheek, and I had to admit that part of me wanted this baby very much.

A ball came bouncing in my direction. I sent it back with a mighty kick.

“Thanks, missus,” voices called, and the boys went on with their game. I went on my way, content to have been part of that game for just a moment.

I was still in pensive mood when I knocked on Sergeant O’Hallaran’s door. What a lot had happened since I had stood there last. I remembered arriving there over a year ago, as a fresh young immigrant, as Daniel Sullivan’s sweetheart. Or at least that was what I had thought at the time. It had taken awhile to find out that his sweetheart was someone quite different from me.

He’s brought me nothing but heartache since the moment I met him, I thought.

The door opened and Sergeant O’Hallaran himself was standing there, minus his uniform jacket but in his braces.

“Why, Miss Murphy,” he said, a big smile spreading across his face. “What a nice surprise. Come on in, do. What brings you to this neck of the woods? Come back to your old haunts, have you?”

“It’s good to see you again, Sergeant,” I said, following him into the hallway, which smelled of well-polished wood. I remembered that Mrs. O’Hallaran had been a meticulous housekeeper, if a little too nosy for my taste. “Are you keeping well? And Mrs. O’Hallaran?”

“Can’t complain.” He smiled at me. “Mrs. O’Hallaran has just popped out to visit a sick neighbor. Was it herself you were wanting to visit?”

“No, it was you I came to see. I need your help, Sergeant. I’ve come about Daniel.”

He turned back to me. “Ah, yes. A bad business. I never thought Daniel would take money from the gangs. He was as straight as his father used to be.”

“It was a setup, Sergeant O’Hallaran. The envelope he received was supposed to contain a list of names. Somebody put money in it. Somebody made darned sure that the commissioner was there to witness the transaction.”

“You don’t say? You’d better come on through.”

He ushered me into the unused splendor of the front parlor. I thought that Mrs. O’Hallaran would probably have wanted me in the back parlor or even the kitchen, but I perched on the edge of one of the velvet upholstered chairs.

“So it’s up to me to find out who is out for Daniel’s blood. I wondered if you had any thoughts on the subject yourself. Daniel says you’re one of the few men he trusts completely. Most of his fellow officers seem to have turned against him.”

“Well, you can understand why, can’t you?” O’Hallaran said, pulling up a chair beside me. “After old Whitey’s death in that brawl—men at HQ are saying that it was Daniel who tipped off the gang to the police raid. Our men don’t take kindly to being betrayed by one of their own.”