Authors: Richard E. Crabbe
Suspension (36 page)
As he thought this through he recalled an ode by Whitman, written for the death of the tyrant, Lincoln. Though he hated the tyrant, he admired the poet. As they sometimes would, parts of poems came to him, seemingly of their own accord, bringing light to his darkness. But the lines that shone brightest in his brain brought no light or comfort:
Then with the knowledge of death as walking one side of me,
And the thought of death close-walking the other side of me,
And I in the middle as with companions, and as holding the hands of
companions,
I fled forth to the hiding receiving night that talks not,
Down to the shores of the water
And the thought of death close-walking the other side of me,
And I in the middle as with companions, and as holding the hands of
companions,
I fled forth to the hiding receiving night that talks not,
Down to the shores of the water
T
om hadn't been surprised when Coogan wouldn't see him. The captain of the Fourth was playing hardball, as he'd expected. Coffin was probably behind the assault on his payoffs. Coogan wouldn't be so bold without Coffin's backing. It would be Coffin he'd have to see if he was to make any progress. He worried about Byrnes's reaction, though, if any more of his boys found their way into the rogues' gallery. On the other hand, maybe that might not be a bad thing. Byrnes could be very persuasive, and having the chief of detectives as a mediator could have its advantages.
om hadn't been surprised when Coogan wouldn't see him. The captain of the Fourth was playing hardball, as he'd expected. Coffin was probably behind the assault on his payoffs. Coogan wouldn't be so bold without Coffin's backing. It would be Coffin he'd have to see if he was to make any progress. He worried about Byrnes's reaction, though, if any more of his boys found their way into the rogues' gallery. On the other hand, maybe that might not be a bad thing. Byrnes could be very persuasive, and having the chief of detectives as a mediator could have its advantages.
As he dressed in the hopeful light of morning, Tom imagined he'd have no more trouble with Coffin and Coogan if Byrnes got involved. In fact, he thought it might be best to go to the chief and report that Coogan had been uncooperative. Even if no more of Tom's boys found themselves in a lineup, he'd be on record as playing by the rules. That would put the onus on Coffin and Coogan. At least that's what he'd imagined, but later that morning, after roll call and briefing, Tom found himself trading stares with another one of his own in the lineup. This time there was a significant difference. This time Byrnes didn't say a word. He didn't even look at Tom. The chief just went through the names and offenses as routinely as if it were a grocery list. Either he didn't know that one of the rogues was Tom's, or Byrnes had been taken out of the game. Tom didn't like to think it was the latter. Tom was one of Byrnes's men. He was due a certain amount of backup. If Byrnes was cutting him loose, things could get much worse than he'd imagined.
A
fter the usual morning paperwork, Tom set out for the Tombs. With luck he might be able to get the two Coogan had brought in yesterday a reprieve. It all depended on which judge they were to go before. Bribing judges was something Tom didn't care to do. It wasn't because of the ethics or morality of the thing. Judges could be as pliant as anyone else if the right lubrication was applied. But it was the danger. Judges being political animals, you could never be certain that one wouldn't turn on you. If one of them got his balls in a wringer, he might find it expedient to give up a detective. For that reason Tom was not a regular contributor to judicial reelection funds, though he had on occasion done what was necessary. He was in luck this morning. After checking with the clerk, who was the real power in the place, he found that one of the more cooperative judges was sitting today. Tom got himself a quick audience with the man, and not more than ten minutes later, his problems were over. He hated spending the money, but the wheels of justice did have to be greased from time to timeâthe cost of doing business. The trouble was the cost kept rising. He'd have to deal with Coffin and Coogan too, but the bridge came first. Not wanting to go back to Gotham Court for a couple days, Tom figured his next best bet was to check on Watkins's known hangouts and his last address before the Cherry Street move. He didn't have any better ideas at the moment, so he headed for the bridge.
fter the usual morning paperwork, Tom set out for the Tombs. With luck he might be able to get the two Coogan had brought in yesterday a reprieve. It all depended on which judge they were to go before. Bribing judges was something Tom didn't care to do. It wasn't because of the ethics or morality of the thing. Judges could be as pliant as anyone else if the right lubrication was applied. But it was the danger. Judges being political animals, you could never be certain that one wouldn't turn on you. If one of them got his balls in a wringer, he might find it expedient to give up a detective. For that reason Tom was not a regular contributor to judicial reelection funds, though he had on occasion done what was necessary. He was in luck this morning. After checking with the clerk, who was the real power in the place, he found that one of the more cooperative judges was sitting today. Tom got himself a quick audience with the man, and not more than ten minutes later, his problems were over. He hated spending the money, but the wheels of justice did have to be greased from time to timeâthe cost of doing business. The trouble was the cost kept rising. He'd have to deal with Coffin and Coogan too, but the bridge came first. Not wanting to go back to Gotham Court for a couple days, Tom figured his next best bet was to check on Watkins's known hangouts and his last address before the Cherry Street move. He didn't have any better ideas at the moment, so he headed for the bridge.
On the way he weighed what was going on with Coffin and Coogan. Coffin's fear of letting him go his own way was the problem. It was Coffin's ego, Tom figured. The man did not take well to challenges to his authority or judgment. Coffin needed to be in control. With Tom broken away from the corps,
his control was weakened, his authority in doubt. Coffin had to be worried about the rest. Tom's leaving could be the snowflake that starts an avalanche. Next thing August might be just another precinct captainâno fancy house, no fancy rig for Sunday gallops up First Avenue. Without the corps, his power and income would be crippled. If the rest of the men saw that Tom could just walk away, what would hold them? He doubted that Coffin commanded any real loyalty. He needed fear to keep the men in line. August liked to be feared. He worked hard at keeping his men off balance, apprehensive. He used his authority as a weapon, a club in the velvet cover of the hale fellow well met. His convivial, clubby sort of charm was a thin veil for a man who fed on fear and respect in generous helpings. The problem was that Braddock feared no man, and Coffin knew it.
his control was weakened, his authority in doubt. Coffin had to be worried about the rest. Tom's leaving could be the snowflake that starts an avalanche. Next thing August might be just another precinct captainâno fancy house, no fancy rig for Sunday gallops up First Avenue. Without the corps, his power and income would be crippled. If the rest of the men saw that Tom could just walk away, what would hold them? He doubted that Coffin commanded any real loyalty. He needed fear to keep the men in line. August liked to be feared. He worked hard at keeping his men off balance, apprehensive. He used his authority as a weapon, a club in the velvet cover of the hale fellow well met. His convivial, clubby sort of charm was a thin veil for a man who fed on fear and respect in generous helpings. The problem was that Braddock feared no man, and Coffin knew it.
M
att saw Braddock coming first. He and Earl were on the New York approach again, finishing the curbing. Earl was mixing cement in a big steel trough. Matt troweled it into the gaps, setting the stones in place with the help of two other men. It was hard work.
att saw Braddock coming first. He and Earl were on the New York approach again, finishing the curbing. Earl was mixing cement in a big steel trough. Matt troweled it into the gaps, setting the stones in place with the help of two other men. It was hard work.
“Say, Earl, here he comes,” Matt said, looking up. The other two men were out of earshot, fetching another stone.
“Yeah, I seen 'im. Relax, he ain't after us.” Earl turned his back to the approaching detective and spit out the wad of tobacco he was chewing. He put a bucket of bricks over the splattered brown stain.
“Morning,
boys
,” Tom said like flint on steel.
boys
,” Tom said like flint on steel.
“Hey,” Earl said. Matt just nodded.
Tom stood for a moment, eyeing them both. “Still looking for your friend Watkins. Seen him this morning?” he finally asked.
Earl stood, straightening his back with a grunt. Mixing cement was rough on the back. “Nope. We was wonderin' where he got himself off to ourselves. Ain't showed fer two days now.”
Matt looked Braddock over. For a man who'd been attacked by four Plug Uglies, he didn't show any signs of wear. Nobody could believe it when Jacobs had announced at last night's meeting that Braddock had come away unhurt. Once when he had first come to the city back around '69, Matt had wandered into the Five Points alone. He was rewarded with a sound beating by three of the most desperate, stinking savages he'd ever seen. Even at Andersonville, there'd been no worse. With empty pockets, he'd staggered out of the neighborhood, poorer and wiser. Matt figured Braddock for one tough bastard to best four thugs.
“Any idea where he might be found, other than home, I mean? He drink in
any particular bars, grog shops, dance halls, that sort of thing?” Tom held little illusion about these two being of much help, but it had to be asked.
any particular bars, grog shops, dance halls, that sort of thing?” Tom held little illusion about these two being of much help, but it had to be asked.
Matt and Earl exchanged a quick glance. “Aside from Paddy's, don't know anyplace he went regular. That right, Earl?”
Earl didn't even look up from his cement, which he had commenced hoeing again. “Yup” was all he said.
“What about Watley's and that girl, Clora Devine?” Braddock figured he'd throw in a little of what he knew, see if it raised a reaction. He didn't get what he'd hoped for.
“Well, you know ⦠Watkins sorta went his own way, if you take my meanin',” Earl said, as deadpan as the best poker player. “Didn' see her but once with 'im. Cain't say more'n that.” The two of them stood there doing their best blank-faced innocent stares.
Braddock looked them over, not saying anything for a second, a half grin on his face. “How long you figure you've known Watkins?” he asked offhandedly.
Earl scratched his chin. Matt ventured, “Since about '61, I reckon.”
Earl wagged a finger in agreement. “Yeah, that's about it. He didn't join up with the first of us.”
“And you've stuck together for all these years. What is it, twenty-two years, right?” Tom looked from one to the other. “You expect me to believe you don't know shit about him? What the fuck you take me for?” he almost shouted. Some of the other men turned to look. “I know you want to protect a friend. I respect that, I do. But I'm gonna get some answers from you boys.” Tom held a thick finger up under Earl's nose. “And if I got to haul you in to do it, I will.” He looked from one to the other with a glare that could split rocks. “Now, we can have a nice friendly goddamn chat up here on the bridge, or I can throw you boys in a cell, maybe round up some rebel-hating blackies to bunk with you a few days. Am I getting through?” Braddock was tired of playing games.
They were damn cool, he thought, looking into their eyes for a reaction. Neither Matt or Earl feared anything Braddock could do to them physically. But they did fear what he could do to their plans. They looked at each other, deciding they had held out just long enough. They didn't want to make it look too easy, after all.
About five minutes later, Braddock was on his way across the bridge to the office once again. Matt and Earl smirked as they watched his back. They had given Braddock enough dead-end leads and sleazy Bowery dance halls to stake out to keep him off their backs.
“That dog's gonna be chasin' his tail for a while,” Earl said, chuckling, though he didn't look amused.
“Reckon so. Can't help but wonder where in hell Watkins got himself off to. By rights he shoulda been at the meeting,” Matt said with a small frown. “Worked out for the best, though, him not showing up this morning.”
“Got that right. Braddock'd have him in a cell by now. That boy'd wring Watkins like a pair of wet socks.” Earl shook his head. “Well ⦠one thing about Watkins. He might be stupid but he was always lucky.”
T
haddeus had set out early to find Watkins too. Knowing his habits in drink and women, Thad didn't bother to go to his rooms. He waited opposite the Fulton Ferry Terminal in Brooklyn. Thaddeus was there with time to spare, so he ducked under the awning of Ethier's Hotel. He sat for a while in the front parlor, drinking coffee and watching the street. As the traffic from the ferry grew with the day he finished his cup and walked to the corner opposite the terminal to wait by the Annex Cigar Factory. He stood with his coat folded over one arm, drinking in the smell of the leaf. It reminded him of the South.
haddeus had set out early to find Watkins too. Knowing his habits in drink and women, Thad didn't bother to go to his rooms. He waited opposite the Fulton Ferry Terminal in Brooklyn. Thaddeus was there with time to spare, so he ducked under the awning of Ethier's Hotel. He sat for a while in the front parlor, drinking coffee and watching the street. As the traffic from the ferry grew with the day he finished his cup and walked to the corner opposite the terminal to wait by the Annex Cigar Factory. He stood with his coat folded over one arm, drinking in the smell of the leaf. It reminded him of the South.
The Captain recognized Watkins's slouching form before he picked out the face.
“Watkins!” he called a bit too urgently. “I'm glad I found you. Where in God's name have you been, man?”
“You tol' me to get lost, Cap'n,” Watkins said defensively, holding up innocent hands.
“I didn't tell you to get so lost nobody could find you,” Thaddeus said angrily. “Now listen, things have changed. You'd better come with me, I'll explain.” The captain turned Watkins around, and they went back into the terminal. They stood in a corner, backs to the wall as he told Watkins the news.
“So, Braddock's on your trail now, that's certain,” the captain said while watching the crowd. “If he catches up with you, he'll have your ass in a cell.”
Watkins look was appropriately concerned. “So what're you sayin, I gotta skeedadle?” Watkins tried to keep the hopeful note out of his voice. This, he figured, might be his way out, but he couldn't appear too anxious to take it, not in front of the captain.
The captain just nodded. He seemed distracted. Watkins guessed it was just Braddock he was worried about.
“I've booked passage on the Old Dominion line for Richmond tomorrow. It leaves at three P.M., pier twenty-six, North River.” Watkins looked at him, blank as a blackboard on a Monday morning. “Ya really mean it, don't ya, Cap'n?” The surprise was clear in his voice. He was glad now he hadn't turned traitor, though he'd come close. The captain was letting him off the hook, giving
him a way out. He began to feel extra guilty for even considering going to Braddock.
him a way out. He began to feel extra guilty for even considering going to Braddock.
“It's for the best, Private,” Thaddeus said, throwing in his rank to remind him of his duty. “You'll be best off out of this city. Don't want to tangle with that cop, do you?”
“Hell, ah'd skin that bastard in two shakes, you let me.” Watkins bared his teeth with a low snarl. He meant it too. He'd nearly turned traitor to save his own skin, not for any love of Braddock. The
Montauk
docked, and they boarded with the rest of the crowd. Neither looked up at the bridge.
Montauk
docked, and they boarded with the rest of the crowd. Neither looked up at the bridge.
T
he
Montauk
had just pulled in to the Brooklyn Ferry Terminal. Tom had noticed it as it left the terminal on the New York side. It had chugged by him as he crossed the span, its tall funnel belching black. It made good time, certainly faster than he could walk. The
Montauk
seemed to be nearly full despite the fact that the “rush hour” was long gone. By the time Tom reached the Brooklyn tower, the ferry had emptied. He stopped for a moment looking down at the crowd as they pushed on. With the terminal and docks right beside the bridge tower, on the downstream side, he was able to clearly see the press of carriages, people, and wagons.
he
Montauk
had just pulled in to the Brooklyn Ferry Terminal. Tom had noticed it as it left the terminal on the New York side. It had chugged by him as he crossed the span, its tall funnel belching black. It made good time, certainly faster than he could walk. The
Montauk
seemed to be nearly full despite the fact that the “rush hour” was long gone. By the time Tom reached the Brooklyn tower, the ferry had emptied. He stopped for a moment looking down at the crowd as they pushed on. With the terminal and docks right beside the bridge tower, on the downstream side, he was able to clearly see the press of carriages, people, and wagons.
But as Tom stopped for that moment in an idle sort of way to see the ferry board its passengers, he saw a tall lean form in the crowd. Thinking back on it later, it amazed him that he should have picked the man out among all those people. In fact, he really couldn't account for it. But like an insect under a microscope, Watkins appeared to Tom with crystal clarity. Braddock turned instantly, running down the span toward the approach, his stitches, which had been repaired the night before, pulling sharply at the sudden movement. But he hadn't gone more than three or four steps before he realized he'd never make it. It was nearly a quarter of a mile before he'd reach street level, then he'd have to double back to the terminal. He'd miss it for sure. But if he raced back to the New York side, he might have a chance. The
Montauk
was still two or three minutes from departure. That much lead time might be enough for him to catch it on the other side. So he turned and pounded back up the span, workers staring and pointing after him.
Montauk
was still two or three minutes from departure. That much lead time might be enough for him to catch it on the other side. So he turned and pounded back up the span, workers staring and pointing after him.
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