The Big Mitt (A Detective Harm Queen Novel Book 1) (15 page)

“If you truly are the mastermind behind a great gang,” Queen asked him, “Then what does it matter if I know its name? If you’re as cunning as you suggest, then you have nothing to worry about.”

“Well, all right then,” McCartan answered, his eyes betraying an idea dawning in his brain. “I guess there ain’t no harm. We’re called the ‘Don’t Tell Gang,’ and don’t you damn well forget it. I figure we’ll be a thorn in your side ‘fore you know what hit you.”

“And how many are in your gang?”

“Four of us now.” He lifted a dirty hand and counted each out on his fingers. “Me, Dirk, Spindle and Ollie. Oh, and Ollie’s brother, when he’s old enough anyway. That’ll make five.”

Queen’s brow furrowed. “You’ve got a brother, Ollie? Where does he live?”

“Not in the boat with the rest of us. At home with my ma.”

“Awww, hell,” McCartan said, flicking his finger against Ollie’s ear. “Don’t tell him where our hideout is. I’ll bet the perfesser didn’t tell old Sure Lock Homer where he lived, did he?”

A locomotive whistle blew, and Queen looked up at the sky. It was starting to get lighter now, and he needed to hurry. “Listen, Ollie. I need your help. It’s about your friend Maisy. That’s my rig across the street, and I need you to come with me. We have to get down to the flats right away.”

“Maisy?” Ollie’s face dropped. “I’ll go. Do you mind, McCartan? There’s still a pile of papers settin here.”

“Is this about that dead girl?” replied McCartan, his eyes growing large. He sniffed and wiped his sleeve against his pug nose. “My poor ol’ ma was in the same line of work, and died from getting strangled in her sleep. If you’re as good a bull as you say, go find who did this and bring ‘im here. I’ll stab him one straight and then a give it a little twist for dear ol’ Mother.”

“You brought your gun?” Queen asked Norbeck, as he returned to the driver’s seat. Ollie scrambled over him and wedged himself between the two detectives.

“Of course.” Norbeck looked at Ollie and laughed. “I recognize him. Are we gonna stop somewhere for ice cream sodees?”

“How many bullets do you have?”

Norbeck’s eyebrows lifted. “You’ve got us doin’ somethin’ dangerous, huh?”

“We’re going to get those girls of Dander’s. Emil handed the address over to me yesterday.”

“I thought the colonel told us not to get our noses into this.”

“He did.”

“Oh.” Norbeck scratched his head. “Okay.”

“The thing is, that creepy little rat Pock is going to be nearby, I think. I’m going to talk to this Ace fellow, but I need you to guard against Pock.”

“What’s the kid for?”

“Do you want to deal with these women if they’re hysterical?”

“Well, it’d be like going home to my wife.”

“If they’re acting all bughouse, you can handle it, right?” Queen asked, turning back to Ollie.

“They trust me, if that’s what you mean.”

“Do me a favor and don’t tell me any more,” Norbeck said. “I’m glad you asked me to come, and all, but I don’t want no trouble with Ames. I don’t have a long leash like you do.”

“Good, because I don’t feel like talking.”

As they bumped along, Queen mulled over the prior afternoon’s events. He and Cahill had gone back to City Hall, both to make their presence known to the Ames brothers, and to witness the inauguration festivities, which were as colorful as expected. Crowds surged through the corridors, taking every available foot of floor to witness the goings on. Some stood three deep on desks and even on the railings for a glimpse of Mayor Gray’s abdication and Doc Ames’ triumphant assumption of the executive chair. Ames gave Queen his usual broad smile and firm handshake when they met, but had only a moment for him. The new mayor was far too preoccupied basking in the adoration of the masses to give any one person more than a few seconds of his illustrious presence. Queen noticed Ames’s bodyguard Fred Connor moving fluidly alongside him, keeping a respectful distance but ready for any uncomfortable situation. Fred Ames was there too, of course, having his own conversations with businessmen and aldermen, always focused and never quite happy. Cigar smoke choked the air. The voices and laughter were merry and wild. Despite the chaos, however, everyone was quite courteous and mostly sober. Colonel Ames’s edict that all available officers on the force show up as security turned out to have been a tad over-cautious. Most of the cops just milled around in their smart blue uniforms, performing monotonous functions like ordering the occasional clown down from atop a banister.

Queen lost Cahill at his first chance and visited the telegraph and telephone desk, where he found Operator Jones leaning back in his chair and stuffing himself with a celebratory chicken sandwich. On a typical evening Jones would both operate the telegraph and man the telephone, taking reports and emergency calls from patrolmen at police boxes scattered through the city streets. Tonight most of the patrolmen were here, and business was slow. He dragged the man up into the proper sitting position and gave him a telegram to send. Queen knew Dander had probably fed him a false name, but Ollie had identified the town as Minot and Queen thought it was worth another shot. After brushing bread crumbs from his fingers, Jones tapped out the dispatch with expert speed. Queen got lucky with a message two hours later. Sheriff Eagleton knew a Maisy Anderson. She was the granddaughter to the former sheriff. Yes, he would pass word on to him that she was dead and to contact the Minneapolis police department for arrangements. Queen had considered sending another dispatch to ask Eagleton for more information about Maisy, but he didn’t want to keep the operator banging away on his telegraph all night. Better to wait for the return message he knew would come, inevitably, from this Dix Anderson.

He continued taking advantage of the party around him by slipping into the basement room where case files were kept, to try to learn more about Maisy’s disappearance. The paperwork he’d found was scant on details. She’d traveled to the city as a University of Minnesota freshman but no one could remember seeing the girl on the train or at the station. Evidently Sheriff Anderson had immediately come to Minneapolis and curried some favor, which had led to an investigation. But there hadn’t been much they could do without witnesses. Dozens of girls went missing every year in Minneapolis, and in his report the detective in charge speculated that she had just decided not to get off, but kept going, probably to Chicago or New York. Queen scoffed when he read it. Every good policeman knew what happened to many of these missing women; they were abducted and forced into prostitution. Dander had said he’d seduced Maisy, but he’d obviously been looking for innocent young women fresh off the train to snatch and enslave. Whether she’d fallen for his good looks and sweet tongue, or had been lured away with some other promise or lie, it had been one hell of a horrible moment in her life. Anger boiled inside him as he replayed the imagined exchange in his head. How Dander had probably offered to show her around the city or carry her bags, or give her a ride to the campus. Probably the first time she’d ever encountered a lecherous snake like Dander, oozing with oily charm, a sharp suit and that deceptively handsome face.

“Christ, Harm, watch where you’re going!” Norbeck cried.

He pulled the reins back hard and the hack jolted to a stop, just in front of a woman and her baby carriage crossing the street. He tipped his hat apologetically, but she glared and furiously pushed the carriage past him.

“What is she doing out for a promenade at seven thirty in the morning in the month of January?” he grumbled.

“You want me to drive?”

“We’re almost there.”

“Which is where?” Norbeck asked.

“The Mississippi flats. Here’s the address.” He handed Norbeck the note. “I haven’t been down there for a while. You know where it is?”

“109 Mill Street, huh? Well, once we get down to the bottom, there are only three main roads through. I’m pretty sure it’s near the bridge.”

“Which one?”

“Washington,” Norbeck said, as he made a final dab and screwed the cap back onto his ointment.

With a flick of the reins, they picked up speed and made their way toward the Washington Avenue Bridge, which spanned the Mississippi River. When they got to the foot, Queen slowed down to make way for a clanging streetcar heading east toward the University of Minnesota. The revered school on the opposite bank comprised a handful of majestic buildings that hugged the top of the bluff.

“That’s the way down, see?” Norbeck said, pointing to a dirt road that veered to the left, just before the bridge.

“Yeah, I know where it is,” Queen replied. Looking down, he could make out much of the road through the skeletal snow-smattered trees. “Christ, it is steep.” He climbed down to get a better view, buttoning his jacket. “It’s in poor condition,” he remarked, looking up at Norbeck with a shake of his head. Ollie leapt down like a cat.

Norbeck stood up from his seat and peered down to get his own view, grasping the frame for support. “I don’t think we can make it down in this rig, Harm.” He hopped out and tugged on the hackney’s wheel as if to test its durability.

“We’re going to have to leave it here,” Queen agreed. He turned to Ollie, who had already taken a few steps down the path. “Hey, kid. I need you to stay here and watch it.”

“You’re joshing me, aren’t you? Who would boost this prime piece of garbage?” he asked. Norbeck laughed at this one.

“These girls will need a ride out of here. I don’t want to take a chance of it getting stolen.”

“What about a trolley? They run right past here.”

“We don’t want any attention. If Dander’s man is creeping around here, he might try and follow us. A streetcar is predictable.”

Ollie crossed his arms. “This isn’t why I came. I want to help find whoever killed Maisy. Also, if you don’t remember, I’ve met Ace before. I told you about him, for crying out loud. Why doesn’t
he
stay instead?” Ollie jabbed his elbow at Norbeck, who looked up from picking at one of his scabs, surprised to be included in the conversation.

“I don’t want a surprise from Pock, and Detective Norbeck’s armed.”

“Well, who are two men against an ambush, anyway?”

Queen sighed. “Come on, kid. I’ll owe you one. We’ll be back in a heartbeat. I’ll buy you lunch and dinner and an ice cream sundae.”

The light in Ollie’s eyes brightened. “I’ll tell you what. You have a deal, but only if you agree to this. I want dinner at Coffee John’s. The whole works. Oysters, clams, steak, and a fat baked potato in a bowl of butter. And a nice bottle of fancy red wine.”

“You are how old?” Queen asked suspiciously. “Certainly not old enough to drink. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m a Minneapolis police detective. A lieutenant. You think I’m going to buy you booze?”

“I’m fifteen, but I won’t tell nobody.”

“Do you know how many cops eat there?”

Ollie licked his lips, and thought for a moment. “No wine. But I want enough food for my whole gang, all four of us.” He spit in his palm and stuck out his hand. “And my brother. And my ma.”

“How much cush do you think I have? Do you think I’ve got silver dollars falling from my ears?”

“Fine, I’ll be seeing you around then,” Ollie blurted out, and he turned and started for the streetcar stop.

“Wait just a moment,” Queen said, his hands on his hips. Ollie halted and squinted at him coolly. “Here’s the deal,” Queen continued, “and as a man who’s spent more than his fair share of time at gaming tables, I know that I’ve been thoroughly fleeced. You and your friends’ll get dinner, but it’ll be packed up and given to you outside the restaurant. You can have a picnic under a lovely January moon, or just take it back to your boat hideout and scarf it down there. Take it or not, but I’m not shaking that hand.”

“All right. Deal!” Ollie replied brightly. He could barely contain a smile as he climbed back onto the buggy’s front seat and put his feet up on the harness.

“Jesus, Harm, Coffee John charges too much for them oysters of his as it is. Multiply that times six!” said Norbeck.

“Forget it, Chris. Let’s go.”

They began their descent of the hill, which was even steeper than it looked and plenty icy. There were a series of twists and turns, and Queen had to brace himself twice with his hands as he fell backwards on the slick ground. Norbeck wasn’t having any better luck, and his face knotted as he concentrated on each footstep.

“So if we find these girls, how are we going to get them back up this hill?” he asked Queen.

“I’m wondering that myself. Christ, will you look at that?” Norbeck looked in the direction of Queen’s gaze to see a file of men trudging up the road opposite them. Each carried a lunch pail in one hand, and many held a shovel or toolbox in the other. All wore coarse clothing and work caps. “It must be their boots,” Norbeck muttered.

As they closed the gap between them, the first man in line, sporting a thick black beard, stared at them suspiciously. He waited until he could speak directly across the slippery roadway. “What are you two fellers doing, going down to the flats?” he asked. As he stopped, the men behind him ground to a halt as well, all looking at them warily.

“We’ve heard the ice fishing is good this time of year. Just want to see for ourselves.”