Hell's Gate (28 page)

It seemed like a day before Mike was able to get to his feet. He stood with his hands on his knees, wondering where his clothes had gone. Shoes, pants, jacket, vest, shirt, everything but his shorts was missing. He'd seen murder victims stripped like that, anything of value taken before the body had even gone cold. He couldn't understand how it had happened to him though, thinking that perhaps he'd just managed to wander out like this. It made no sense, but he couldn't deny that he was on a city street in this condition. Wiping blood from his eyes, he saw the bodies, lumps of flesh appearing oddly flattened, most of their clothes missing too. He had a vague recollection, a flash card image of shooting at them, of it happening so fast that it was more feeling than vision, bursts of sound and light that repeated somewhere in his ringing skull. He shook his head. He almost fell over, staggered sideways and caught himself, realizing someone was on the street coming toward him. The figure loomed in the darkness, his head appearing unnaturally huge until he stepped into the glow of a streetlight and Mike saw that it was a helmet the man was wearing. It was a cop. He realized at that instant that he was a cop too and that despite this man's huge head he might be able to help. Mike began to stagger forward, hands outstretched, a liquid croaking coming from his mouth that he meant to sound like “Help,” but was really nothing like it. He tried to say, “Detective Braddock,” but should have known better. His balloon tongue couldn't get around it. He sounded like a lunatic even to himself. The cop with the huge head must have thought so too, expressing his opinion with a sharp rap of his nightstick on Mike's temple. The street came up to meet him again. A part of him was grateful for the rest.

35

THE TRIANGLE SHIRTWAIST Factory Building didn't appear quite as grim this morning, the press of workers just a bit more tolerable, the stack of material by Ginny's machine slightly less intimidating. She'd walked all the way from her apartment, which she began to realize toward the end had been a mistake. But it seemed such an auspicious day, a flower bud of a day, ready to burst open with possibilities that she really had no choice. Mike was sure to come, and even if he didn't, she was determined to leave another note and another again until he did. She
would
see him. She couldn't be more sure of it.

She supposed that she had Carl to thank for the way she felt. Their walk home the night before had had an effect, though surely not the one he'd intended. It wasn't that she hadn't found him interesting. She supposed he was, on some less polished level than Mike. He was funny and attentive and comfortably fixed, if his expensive clothes were any indication. But it was just being with him, walking with an attractive man and enjoying his company that had stirred her yearning for Mike. She had to make that yearning stop. It was not a thing that could be lived with. It was a flame that had to either be fed or extinguished, not left to smolder. She
would
see Mike and tell him the things she needed to and then it would be his choice.

She'd survived so much already, risen above obstacle, hurt, and hardship. Surely if it came to that, she could endure Mike's loss, too. It wasn't something that she liked to think about. Even thinking it caused an ache to grow in her middle and a weakness to run through her limbs. But she would live. This was a new notion for her, the idea that she could go on, take the blows, and move forward.

She hadn't realized that her fear of fending for herself had kept her at Miss Gertie's. It seemed the simplest of things now and obvious. But it had not been obvious then. The change amazed her. Her confidence amazed her. The winds that had tossed her about, buffeted the breath from her body, and the strength from her bones had deposited her on another shore.

The day, all twelve hours of it, passed in a blur. The elevator opened countless times, but she wasn't disappointed when Mike didn't emerge. She was determined not to be and after a while didn't even look up when the gates clanged open. If he didn't come that day, it was of no real consequence. She'd planned on going to headquarters tonight and had already written another note, a message she felt sure he'd respond to. It had been written last night by candlelight and was now tucked in her purse, a sprig of lavender pressed in its folds. Day passed into evening and for the first time, Ginny left the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory Building feeling that the day had just begun.

Carl was waiting for her. He'd asked the night before if she'd mind seeing him again. She'd liked that he asked and said she wouldn't mind the company. Tonight he was as dapper as before, but with a bit more flash and color than appropriate for a true gentleman. Ginny had known a number of those. The best of them were always understated in their dress and accessories, more elegant and confident of their position in life. Carl seemed a paste diamond by comparison.

He had brought her a gardenia for her hair and helped her clip it so it stayed just above her left ear. He said it made her look Hawaiian, especially when she smiled. Ginny tried not to smile too much. She liked Carl and didn't want to hurt him if her designs on Mike came to pass. At the same time, she was beginning to realize that if Mike was not to be in her future, then Carl was not an altogether unattractive alternative.

*   *   *

As they walked south, Ginny began to comprehend the delicacy of the situation and quickly tried to think of some plausible excuse for going to police headquarters. They turned onto Broadway when they got to Houston and angled over to Crosby then Mulberry, with Ginny increasingly distracted.

“You awright, Ginny? Somethin' on yer mind?” Carl finally asked. “You ain't laughin' at my jokes like last night. An' where we goin' if ya don mind me askin'? Not that I mind da walk wit' a pretty girl like you.”

Ginny smiled an apology. “No, no, Carl. It's just that I'm a little distracted. There's something I have to see to.” Her mind whirred about like a carousel, stopping at what she thought was a suitable story. “You see I got a letter from my mother yesterday. My brother's gone. He came to the city a week ago, they live on Long Island you see, and she hasn't heard from him since, so I'm going to have to stop at police headquarters down here and tell them he's missing.”

Carl stiffened. “Whoa! Dat's no good. Disappeared you say?”

“Well, that's what my mother says, but I don't know whether to believe it or not. Knowing my brother, he's off on a bender somewhere,” Ginny said, realizing that she hadn't been acting quite as upset for her dear lost brother as she might have. Carl stopped walking though and she wasn't sure if he was more upset about the prospects for her brother or of having to go to the police. They were within sight of the building and Carl was looking at it as if it were an oncoming train. He must have realized it because he gave a thin smile and said, “I don' like da cops so much. Had my disagreements over da years.”

Ginny nodded as if she understood. “You don't have to go, silly. Besides, they don't bite.”

Carl gave her a frown in return. “Youse don' know da cops I know.”

*   *   *

Ginny went in, feeling a little guilty for lying to Carl. But if she'd told him the truth about Mike, she'd probably never see him again. She realized then that she really had been thinking of Carl as a replacement for Mike, a fish she might throw back if a bigger one came along. She climbed the steps of headquarters feeling confused. She didn't like to think of herself as a liar. But then, despite her efforts to get Mike back, the truth was she couldn't be sure it would ever happen. She sighed as she fished for the note.

There was a different desk sergeant that night, a man not so inclined toward uncomfortable questions. She handed him the note and asked that it be left for Detective Braddock. An unusual look crossed the man's face, a look that Ginny couldn't exactly identify, something between sorrow and pride she might have said.

“Sure, ma'am, lots of messages for Braddock this evening.” He said it as if she would know why. She left, feeling puzzled and uneasy. She didn't see Carl at first when she came out and thought with a sinking feeling that he'd gone, that he'd seen through her story. But Carl was just up the block, his face buried in a newspaper, his lips moving slightly as he read. “That was fast,” he said with a quizzical frown. “What happened?”

“Oh, they, ah, said I should come back tomorrow. The detective who handles missing persons has gone home for the night.”

Carl nodded as if that made sense. Ginny was about to embellish the lie when she noticed the headline on the newspaper.
HERO COP LIES NEAR DEATH
, the headline read, then in smaller type beneath
GUNS DOWN TWO GANGSTERS IN DEADLY SHOOT-OUT
. But what caught Ginny's eye was a photograph of Mike just below, a picture of him as a patrolman, a helmet on his head that he seemed uncomfortable in. Ginny grabbed the paper from Carl's hands.

“Hey, what's up?”

Ginny didn't answer. She had to know what hospital he was in and scanned the article twice before she found it. “Carl, I have to go. I'm sorry, so sorry. I … I just have to go.”

“Ginny?” Carl started after her as she practically ran down the street. “Ginny!”

36

MIKE WAS SURE it was a dream. He felt a hand in his, and he'd opened his eyes just a crack. They didn't seem to open much more than that. His face felt as if it had been inflated to twice its size, even his eyelids felt bloated. But when he focused he saw Ginny, bending low. He blinked to clear the milky paste from his vision. She was still there, whispering his name and telling him her name. She looked impossibly beautiful, so far beyond even his fondest recollection of her that he had to doubt his sight. She had changed somehow, in ways he could not put into words. She was plainer without the makeup and finery, but her beauty seemed to shine like an Edison bulb.

She was saying something. It was hard to understand. The ringing in his head made her urgent whisperings blend—syllables ran in unnatural ways, and sentences had no start or end. But he could see the feeling in her eyes and the care carved across her brow. He knew that what she was telling him was true. He didn't need words to know that.

Mike wished he could talk. He tried, but when he moved his tongue and jaw, he was paralyzed with pain. The lower half of his face was swaddled in bandages and his tongue was a dead thing in his mouth. Everything hurt with a throbbing ache that went deep into the bone. He wanted to tell Ginny how sorry he was and how guilty he felt for not finding her. He'd tried, though his efforts seemed puny and halfhearted now. It had been his job to find her and he hadn't done it. He understood as he watched her face that everything else should have come second to that. All that had happened in the last weeks, everything that had seemed so all-consuming, he knew to be almost trivial by comparison. He made a silent promise to himself and to Ginny that if he survived she would never come second again. He gripped her hand, and looked in her eyes, tears running into his bandages, hoping she knew.

With a sudden surge of energy, he realized what he had to do while he still held consciousness. He signed for a pen and paper, and Ginny, understanding almost immediately, produced both after a brief absence. It took nearly every ounce of his energy and focus and will, but Mike brought the paper close and with a dead hand wrote, “Read your diary. I love you, too!”

Ginny took it from his trembling hand, now so weak it fell to the sheet, laudanum and shock leaving him limp after so small an effort. She read it and even as he slipped into unconsciousness he heard a sound escape her lips, the wordless sound of love.

*   *   *

“You'll have to leave now, miss,” a voice said from the door. Ginny squeezed Mike's hand and kissed his forehead. “I'll see you tomorrow,” she said, holding back her tears until she turned away.

Ginny went out into the hallway, not certain what she should feel. Half of her was elated that Mike was even alive. Half was so deeply uneasy about his condition that her fears nearly overcame her hope. The sight of Mike's head, shrouded in bandages, his eyes swollen nearly shut, his shaking hands, had nearly unnerved her. Still, she held tight to his note, a life raft in the storm.

An arm went round Ginny's shoulder and she started. “You'll come home with us.” Mary said in a gentle yet unyielding voice, a tone that left no room for debate. She noticed the paper Ginny held. Mary didn't ask what it held. Ginny felt she knew.

Mary and Ginny walked down the echoing tiled hallway, the hospital lights like halos at intervals in each direction. Tom waited at the end, giving them the space Mary had asked for. “I'll have someone fetch your clothes,” she said. “You can get settled in the spare room. It's really quite nice.” She somehow felt it necessary to reassure Ginny on that point, though she needn't have bothered.

Mary took Ginny's silence for trepidation, but it wasn't that at all. It was closer to bewilderment, the feeling that her world had shifted and would not shift back, that everything she'd known had gone under the waves and she'd been deposited on some distant shore. She'd been washed up sputtering, exhausted, and gritty with the sand of her past.

“Thank you, Miss Mary,” was all she could muster.

Neither Mary nor Ginny noticed the figure across the street from the hospital entrance when they climbed into Mary's carriage, but Tom let his eye linger on the dark silhouette, while his hand rested on the butt of his revolver. He thought about Mike for an instant, but there was a police guard on his door, so he forced himself to relax.

Carl lounged against the back of a coal wagon, watching them leave. He blew a last smoke ring and ground his cigarette against the back of the wagon with something between a sigh and a growl. Even he could not have said which.