Silver Dreams (2 page)

I was ready hours ago
. Elizabeth stifled a yawn and nodded politely. "Yes, thank you."

A shrill whistle and an authoritative wave brought the Sheridan coach to the marquee of the hotel. The doorman assisted Elizabeth inside.

"Did you have a nice evening, miss?" the driver asked from his outside perch.

"Yes, Jasper, nice enough I guess."  She settled back against the soft squabs and took her notebook out of her reticule as the carriage slowly moved away from the entrance. She intended to review her notes detailing who came with whom and other supposedly interesting tidbits of gossip. The party-goers had been only too willing to provide Elizabeth with material for her article. Everyone liked to see his name in the
Courier News
.

Knowing that the women subscribers would want to read about the latest fashions, Elizabeth had paid special attention to describing the ladies' gowns. Thinking about it now, she grumbled with exasperation. "How many times did I write 'tiny seed pearls adorned the bodice...trimmed with delicate Battenberg lace...an original Worth of Paris gown'...blah, blah, blah."  She tossed the notebook onto the seat beside her, leaned her head back and watched the multi-storied Dorchester slide by her window.

They had just entered the next block when a commotion from behind drew Elizabeth's attention to the hotel again. She looked out the rear window of the coach and saw a figure dart from between two buildings and run toward them. His legs churned with ferocious intensity as if the devil were chasing him, and for good reason. Hot on the man's heels was a motley mob of perhaps a half dozen men, all waving their fists. Their angry voices carried down Seventh Avenue, though Elizabeth couldn't make out the words.

Her sympathy naturally went to the underdog who was pitifully outnumbered. What in the world has that poor man done, she wondered, knowing that if his pursuers caught him, the hapless individual was doomed.

The man stopped for a fleeting second and glanced up and down the avenue as if evaluating his choices. Then he continued in the direction he'd been running which brought him closer to the Sheridan coach. When Elizabeth estimated that he had pulled even with her carriage, she peered out the side window, expecting to see him charge past.

A sudden rocking motion thrust her back into the seat. Before she could catch her breath, the carriage door flew open, and the escaping individual plunged headfirst onto the seat beside her. He sprawled across the bench, his head landing face down in her lap. Elizabeth screamed and raised her arms to keep from touching any part of him.

"Wh...what do you think you're d...doing?" The words almost stuck in her throat.

"Getting away, I hope," he muttered into the folds of her gown. He immediately pushed himself up from his prone position, slammed the carriage door shut, and stared out the back window. "Damn, they're gaining on us."

Jasper pulled sharply on the reins. "Whoa, horses," he said, craning his neck to see into the carriage. "Now s...see here," he blustered at the intruder. "You can't..."

"No, you most certainly can't!" Elizabeth cried, pushing the man toward the door with one hand. He was as immovable as a Central Park statue. "Get out, now!"

The man ignored her and shouted a command of his own to Jasper. "Don’t stop. Get this buggy moving!"

Elizabeth was suddenly more angry than scared. "You'll do no such thing, Jasper."  She glared at her uninvited companion. "How do I know you're not a criminal?"

He crooked his thumb at the men behind them. "How do you know
they're
not? Trust me, lady, you'll have no trouble from me unless it's an upset to your delicate stomach from seeing my body parts splattered all over Seventh Avenue!"

Elizabeth winced at the graphic threat and glanced out the window. The angry crowd was dangerously close. She had to make a decision.

"I think the fellow’s right, miss,” Jasper said. "I’d advise moving forward without delay."

"All right then, Jasper, go!"

The coach lurched down Seventh Avenue, Jasper's practiced commands to the horses mingling with the curses and shouts of the throng in the street. When she noticed the retreating figures, Elizabeth finally took a breath to steady her nerves. It didn't prevent a horrifying thought from occurring to her, however, and she blurted out her newest terror. "Do they have guns?"

"They don't," the brazen stranger assured her.

"How do you know?"

"Because if they did, I'd have either been dead in the street by now or the wind would be whistling through holes in your buggy."

"That makes sense, I guess," she said. She'd seen enough to know that the pursuers considered her passenger a mortal enemy, and they would have done away with him if they'd had the means to.

Since Jasper had put a safe distance between the carriage and the chasers, Elizabeth risked a long look at the man who'd invaded her privacy. The dim light from the interior coach lantern was sufficient for her to realize that he hadn't escaped the wrath of the mob entirely. A dark purplish area had formed on his cheek, and a thin stream of blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. "You’re injured,” she said. “Doesn't that hurt?"

He touched his cheek and winced. Then in a slight brogue, he said, "Well, it doesn't feel good."  His tongue tentatively explored the damage to his lip. "Have you got a handkerchief I can borrow?"

She pulled her Irish lace kerchief from her sleeve and handed it to him. He applied a smidgen of spit to the center and swiped at the wound. When the blood was gone from his face he held the soiled cloth out to her.

She wrinkled her nose. "No, please, you keep it.”

He stuck the handkerchief in his pocket, looked out the back window again, and then settled more comfortably into the seat.

The men had stopped chasing them. In fact, Elizabeth could hardly pick them out as individuals since several blocks separated them from the carriage. It did appear, though, that they were flailing their arms in frustration.

Her companion tapped the back of Jasper's bench. "It's okay, buddy," he said. "You can slow down now."

The coach settled into an easy gait. Elizabeth leveled a stern look at the man who, for all she knew, could have gotten them all killed or, for that matter, could be every bit as dangerous as the men pursuing him. "Don't you think you owe me an explanation?" she asked.

"Probably."

He didn't really look like a criminal. He was dressed in a modest suit which fit him well enough, though it had suffered from the apparent brawl. The jacket sleeve was torn at the shoulder and smudges of soot and grime spotted the front. He picked up a black coach hat from the floor and rubbed his forearm across the brim to remove street dust. He settled the hat over a thick crop of dark wavy hair and stuck a dirty hand out to Elizabeth. The knuckles were scraped and bloody. "My name's Max Cassidy," he said.

Elizabeth shook his hand and stared intently into deep blue eyes. "Have you broken the law, Mr. Cassidy?"

He smiled with the side of his mouth that wasn't split. "No. I'm a reporter for the
True Detective Gazette
. I was covering the reopening of the Dorchester Hotel tonight."

"A reporter!"  She'd heard of the
Gazette
. Her father called it a disreputable rag that sensationalized every story to sell issues. It came out twice weekly, and Elizabeth had seen copies in the newsstands. She'd never bought one though she’d been tempted.

"I'm a reporter, too, for the
New York Courier News
," she said. "I didn't see you at the Dorchester tonight."

"That's because you were probably in the ballroom."

"And you weren't?"

"Nope. I was covering the craps game in the cellar. The guy who supplied the seafood to the Dorchester is a friend of Frankie Galbotto's, and Frankie operates the biggest floating craps game in the city. Tonight they played in the hotel and dined on the finest flounder I've ever tasted."  Max sniffed the lapel of his damaged jacket then held it out toward Elizabeth. "You can still smell it."

She jerked her head away. "I'd rather not. So you were there to report on a craps game?"

"Only partly. Mostly I was investigating the story of a poor mick who landed in Bellevue a couple of nights ago blinded in both eyes and with two broken legs. He's the husband of a lady who works in my office. The hard-luck bastard got mixed up with Galbotto and ended up owing him a lot of money."

Elizabeth gasped. "So Galbotto blinded him?"

"No, I have a hunch Galbotto broke his legs. I think it was Joey the Thumb who blinded him."

"Joey the Thumb?"

"Yeah. He gouges out your eyes first so you can't see who inflicts the rest of the damage. That way Galbotto stays squeaky clean. Joey was there tonight, at the Dorchester, keeping tabs on the money, and I was hoping to catch him in a slip up."

The story was becoming more incredible by the moment, and Elizabeth couldn't take her eyes away from the animated face telling it. "You...you mean we were being chased by an eye gouger?"

"Not
we
...me." Max grinned. "I don't think Joey would have messed with those pretty green eyes of yours."

Suddenly aware that Max was looking at her with an easy familiarity, Elizabeth shifted her position so he couldn't see her so clearly. She had to admit this man made her slightly uncomfortable. If he could tell her eyes were green, then he probably could also see that she was acting as green as a cub reporter...which of course she was.

"If you ask me, Mr. Cassidy,” she said. “You're not a very clever investigator.”

"Why's that?"

"You walked right into that band of misfits as if you were trying to get yourself killed."

"Hardly. I jumped into your carriage tonight because I'm trying to stay alive!”

“But didn’t you consider that Joey the Thumb would recognize you at the game?”

     “I’ve never met him face to face. It was a two-bit con man who showed up and spoiled my cover. He knows me from an article I wrote a while back that busted his scam. He looked at me. I looked at him. And all bloody hell broke loose. I took a couple of good licks from those guys before I managed to get up the stairs and out to the street."  Max flashed her another painful grin. "But you know the worst part?"

"What's that?"

"I was ten bucks ahead, and now I'll never see that dough. Luck like that doesn’t come every day."  He leaned forward and tapped Jasper's bench. "Hey, mate, can you pull over?"