Suspension (37 page)
Authors: Richard E. Crabbe
In his haste to beat the
Montauk,
Tom had started much too fast. Though he was in good shape, he was no runner. Within two hundred yards he knew he'd have to slow his pace. He was sucking great gulps of air and his lungs felt like the bellows at the blacksmith's shop in Kingston. The thought of Kingston settled him as he thought of the running he'd done as a boy, the ease
of it, the long loping strides, the spring of his legs and the bottomless depth of his lungs. He was a boy no longer but he remembered what it was like. He ran on remembrance.
Montauk,
Tom had started much too fast. Though he was in good shape, he was no runner. Within two hundred yards he knew he'd have to slow his pace. He was sucking great gulps of air and his lungs felt like the bellows at the blacksmith's shop in Kingston. The thought of Kingston settled him as he thought of the running he'd done as a boy, the ease
of it, the long loping strides, the spring of his legs and the bottomless depth of his lungs. He was a boy no longer but he remembered what it was like. He ran on remembrance.
T
he captain steered Watkins toward a bench in the back of the boat. The crowd always shoved forward when the ferry docked. Thaddeus counted on that.
he captain steered Watkins toward a bench in the back of the boat. The crowd always shoved forward when the ferry docked. Thaddeus counted on that.
“Look on the bright side,” he said, giving Watkins's arm a familiar squeeze. “You'll be going home, while the rest of us have to live here.” He cast a hand about, waving at the city of the enemy. The ferry cast off and the side wheeler turned the river to foam as its captain gave it full throttle.
Watkins looked glum. “Yeah, but you're gonna get the glory when”âhe glanced around at the passengers nearest themâ“when the job's done.”
Thaddeus took a deep breath. “Private, I swear to you, you'll be remembered for your sacrifice.” He had meant to say something like “work” or “contribution” but “sacrifice” came out all on its own.
Watkins seemed pleased at that, though. After some minutes of silence, as he picked absently at his fingernails, he murmured, “Would be nice to see Richmond again. Last time I was there, it didn' look so good. Bet it's changed plenty since then.”
Thaddeus nodded distractedly. “It has indeed. You'll hardly recognize it.”
“Wonder if there's still them whorehouses down by the river? Ain't been whorin' with proper southern women in a dog's age,” Watkins said wistfully. He was starting to look forward to this. A slow grin started to split his pocked face. “Reckon I might enjoy this trip some at that.”
“That's the spirit,” Thaddeus said, patting Watkins on the leg. He draped the arm with the coat over it on the back of their bench.
T
om had passed midspan and was halfway to the New York tower when he heard the
Montauk's
whistle. A glance over his shoulder showed him the smoking iron monster churning the river in its wake as it left the dock. Tom still had a ways to go to reach street level all the way back by Park Row. He'd have to head south and double back to the ferry terminal, which on the New York side was four blocks south of the bridge. He started to doubt whether he'd make it until he thought of the stairs. A temporary spiral staircase had been erected on the north face of the New York tower. If he could reach that, he'd cut the distance in half. The problem was that he was on the south roadway. Tom swerved to his right and ducked through the trusses that enclosed
the train tracks. In three steps he was across the tracks, sliding through the diagonal trusses on the other side. Suddenly he looked down and froze. A gaping, dizzying emptiness yawned under him. He grabbed for one of the cables as if it were a lifeline as one foot slipped from a beam and dangled over the river.
om had passed midspan and was halfway to the New York tower when he heard the
Montauk's
whistle. A glance over his shoulder showed him the smoking iron monster churning the river in its wake as it left the dock. Tom still had a ways to go to reach street level all the way back by Park Row. He'd have to head south and double back to the ferry terminal, which on the New York side was four blocks south of the bridge. He started to doubt whether he'd make it until he thought of the stairs. A temporary spiral staircase had been erected on the north face of the New York tower. If he could reach that, he'd cut the distance in half. The problem was that he was on the south roadway. Tom swerved to his right and ducked through the trusses that enclosed
the train tracks. In three steps he was across the tracks, sliding through the diagonal trusses on the other side. Suddenly he looked down and froze. A gaping, dizzying emptiness yawned under him. He grabbed for one of the cables as if it were a lifeline as one foot slipped from a beam and dangled over the river.
“Shit!” He was unable to pull his eyes from the gap below him.
Unlike the promenade, which ran above his head, there was no flooring here, just steel beams and endless drops between. Tom hesitated, glued to the spot. He thought of clambering up the truswork and over the promenade. It might be safer, but it would cost time he didn't have. Taking a shuddering breath, he set his foot firmly on the beam before him. He never had liked heights. The beam was about ten inches wide but seemed slender as a tightrope to him. The only thing he could think of was to do it fast and do it before he lost his nerve. Looking down made his head spin, so he focused on the other end of the beam and prayed this was not a huge mistake. His feet carried him across, shuffling and scraping little bits of debris off to fall to the river. With a trembling hand he grasped a suspending cable on the other side. It was only twelve feet, to the other side but it felt like twelve hundred. He slipped through the trusses on wobbly legs and headed for the spiral stairs. Tom hit them at a run, his hard shoes hammering on the echoing iron. He went as fast as he could, but after a few flights he had to slow. His head still hadn't recovered fully from the concussion, and the constant spiral had started his head spinning. He gripped the thin handrail hard to keep from falling over. Twice his feet slipped, sending his heart up into his throat. He slowed some more. The thought of a fall terrified him, but as he neared the bottom he sped up again, surer of himself and anxious to make up time. Tom bounded down the last steps, trying to hit the ground running, but his spinning head betrayed him. It sent him crashing into the granite of the tower. He went to his knees, momentarily stunned, but staggered up again, holding on to the rough stone. Shaking the dizziness out of his head he started off at a shuffling pace, fighting the urge to spiral to his left. Soon he was able to break into an exhausted run. His shirt on the left side was speckled red again. Looking off to his left at the
Montauk
as it approached the dock downriver, he knew it was going to be close. It was about three hundred yards out but slowing. He'd have to be fast.
Montauk
as it approached the dock downriver, he knew it was going to be close. It was about three hundred yards out but slowing. He'd have to be fast.
T
he
Montauk
had cut its engines. The passengers started to press forward, leaving the two men almost alone in the back of the boat. Thaddeus knew the routine. The ferry would drift in at an alarming rate until the signal to reverse engines. A large bronze bell would sound and the engines would then be
thrown into reverse. The bellowing of the steam engines and the thrashing of the side wheels as they churned the river was a thing to behold ⦠and very loud. Thad put his arm, draped in his old overcoat, around the back of Watkins's shoulders. He bent close, lowering his voice.
he
Montauk
had cut its engines. The passengers started to press forward, leaving the two men almost alone in the back of the boat. Thaddeus knew the routine. The ferry would drift in at an alarming rate until the signal to reverse engines. A large bronze bell would sound and the engines would then be
thrown into reverse. The bellowing of the steam engines and the thrashing of the side wheels as they churned the river was a thing to behold ⦠and very loud. Thad put his arm, draped in his old overcoat, around the back of Watkins's shoulders. He bent close, lowering his voice.
“I'm going to miss you, Watkins.” For an instant he faltered, doubting his will, his right to do this thing. The big bronze bell suddenly clanged three times. Thad jumped as if a spark had been put to him. He settled, saying “Good-bye, Watkins,” almost tenderly, leaning close. The steam engines churned to life, their noise and fury sending a powerful shudder through the boat. They throbbed and bellowed; steam hissed. The gray waters churned a frothy green as the side wheels spun in reverse.
T
om pounded down South Street, dodging horses, wagons, stevedores, and pedestrians. He was tired and the difficulty of running in traffic exhausted him. Two blocks to go and he heard the whistle of the ferry as it docked. Desperate, Tom poured on a final sprint, running hard for the terminal's arched portal. A moment after he got there, winded, flushed, and sweating, the gate opened. Tom tried to catch his breath while he craned to see every passing face. Watkins was here, he knew, but it would be easy to lose him. Faces, forms, horses, wagons, and carriages blended, merged, and flowed. Tom loosened the Colt in his shoulder holster. Watkins was near. He could feel it.
om pounded down South Street, dodging horses, wagons, stevedores, and pedestrians. He was tired and the difficulty of running in traffic exhausted him. Two blocks to go and he heard the whistle of the ferry as it docked. Desperate, Tom poured on a final sprint, running hard for the terminal's arched portal. A moment after he got there, winded, flushed, and sweating, the gate opened. Tom tried to catch his breath while he craned to see every passing face. Watkins was here, he knew, but it would be easy to lose him. Faces, forms, horses, wagons, and carriages blended, merged, and flowed. Tom loosened the Colt in his shoulder holster. Watkins was near. He could feel it.
In a minute or less, the crowd started to thin. Tom slowly worked his way through the stragglers as they left the boat. As he neared the
Montauk,
just a handful were left. Watkins wasn't one of them.
Montauk,
just a handful were left. Watkins wasn't one of them.
“Son of a bitch!” Tom spat. He dashed onto the boat, running down one side, checking every bench, every corner, all the time scanning ahead and behind. He went out the back doors, crossed over the wide vehicle deck, and burst through the doors to the passenger area on the other side. He stopped short, panting. Watkins sat on the last bench, his legs stretched out comfortably before him, his hat down low over his face. Tom grinned like a hungry wolf. He held the Colt low but ready as he padded over to the sleeping man. Watkins's head was slumped on his chest. One hand lay on his middle, the other hung loose at his side. Something about that hand bothered him. Watkins must be a heavy sleeper. Tom pointed the Colt at Watkins's middle as he kicked a foot. It flopped loosely to one side. He booted the foot again. Watkins didn't stir.
“C'mon, Watkins. No good playing possum. You and me gonna have a little talk,” Tom said loudly. “Get up, man! I'm warning you. You do
not
want to make me mad!” Watkins still didn't budge. Watching the hands for sudden
movement, Tom crouched low. He peered under the brim of Watkins's hat. The man's features were as still and smooth as the surface of a pond before a summer rain. It was then Tom saw them, two small strands of red, one from the nose and one from the corner of the mouth creasing the chin with crimson. They ran down into the collar of Watkins's shirt and spread out, merging into a widening red stain.
not
want to make me mad!” Watkins still didn't budge. Watching the hands for sudden
movement, Tom crouched low. He peered under the brim of Watkins's hat. The man's features were as still and smooth as the surface of a pond before a summer rain. It was then Tom saw them, two small strands of red, one from the nose and one from the corner of the mouth creasing the chin with crimson. They ran down into the collar of Watkins's shirt and spread out, merging into a widening red stain.
Safe for only 25 men at one time.
Do not walk close together, nor run, jump, or trot.
Break step!
Do not walk close together, nor run, jump, or trot.
Break step!
âWASHINGTON ROEBLING, Footbridge Warning Sign
S
tealing coal was a pretty good idea. Mike and Mouse and Smokes had managed to each get a bucket, and they marched off together like a junior fire brigade toward the coal yard in the back of the Talbott Manufacturing Company. At first they went to the front gate on Rivington to see if they could sneak in that way. They gave up the notion, though. Too many people went in and out of the place. And they stood a good chance of being seen by one of the other gangs. They might get away with it once, but they counted on having to make at least three trips to earn enough for the circus. Nosing around the borders of the coal yard, they found their way down a narrow alley behind the wooden fence that ran along one side. After a bit of searching, they found their spot, behind a pile of coal at least seven or eight feet high. With just a little effort, they pried up a loose board so one of them could slip through. They could get all they wanted without being seen. Smokes went through first. When he gave the signal, Mouse went through too. Mike handed in the buckets and stood guard. In no more than a minute, a blackened little hand poked through the fence with a brimming black bucket in its grip. Two minutes later, all three were lugging their buckets down the alley. A quick check at the street for any cops or coal yard workers and they were gone.
tealing coal was a pretty good idea. Mike and Mouse and Smokes had managed to each get a bucket, and they marched off together like a junior fire brigade toward the coal yard in the back of the Talbott Manufacturing Company. At first they went to the front gate on Rivington to see if they could sneak in that way. They gave up the notion, though. Too many people went in and out of the place. And they stood a good chance of being seen by one of the other gangs. They might get away with it once, but they counted on having to make at least three trips to earn enough for the circus. Nosing around the borders of the coal yard, they found their way down a narrow alley behind the wooden fence that ran along one side. After a bit of searching, they found their spot, behind a pile of coal at least seven or eight feet high. With just a little effort, they pried up a loose board so one of them could slip through. They could get all they wanted without being seen. Smokes went through first. When he gave the signal, Mouse went through too. Mike handed in the buckets and stood guard. In no more than a minute, a blackened little hand poked through the fence with a brimming black bucket in its grip. Two minutes later, all three were lugging their buckets down the alley. A quick check at the street for any cops or coal yard workers and they were gone.
At first they tried selling on the street. They sat on a stoop, the three of them taking turns yelling, “Coal for sale!” That didn't work as well as they had hoped. Most people didn't carry buckets around with them, and they
couldn't sell theirs. This was something they hadn't counted on. After only two sales of a few lumps, Smokes was getting restless. “We gotta do somethin' different. Gonna take a year like this.”
couldn't sell theirs. This was something they hadn't counted on. After only two sales of a few lumps, Smokes was getting restless. “We gotta do somethin' different. Gonna take a year like this.”
They kicked around their problem for a while. Mike suggested they sell it door to door. The lack of something to carry the coal was what was holding them back, he reasoned, so why not bring the coal to the customer, just like the iceman brought his ice?
“I don't know. Sounds like a lot of work, draggin' buckets upstairs, and all,” said Smokes.
“Well, I'll try anything,” Mouse said. “Two more minutes of this shit an' I'm done with the whole thing.”
The idea worked like a charm. It didn't take more than fifteen minutes in just one building and their buckets were empty.
“Wow, that was great!” Smokes exclaimed. “We even got a little more than we figured.”
Mouse was suddenly enthusiastic too. “Ya wanna go back fer some more, fellas?”
Smokes was more in favor of savoring their riches first. “I say we go to Browers an' get some candy. Who's wit' me?”
Mike liked the sound of that. “We could get some of them long hard, twisty candies. I love those.” So they walked to Browers, arguing which was better, licorice, hard candy, toffees, or chocolate. It ended up two to one for hard candy. Later, sitting on the curb in front of the store, they licked the last of their treats from coal-blackened fingers.
“Yeuch! That last little bit tasted like coal,” Mike said, his mouth twisted up in disgust.
“Yeah, mine too, but most of it was ⦠real good,” Mouse said in between licking his fingers. “So, what do we do now? Go back for more?”
The second trip went much as the first. By the end of the second load, they were black to the elbows. Sweaty black streaks and smudges painted their faces, anthracite Indians in black war paint. But they had money in their pockets and a new found ambition, so they went back again.
Perhaps success made them careless. Maybe they were unlucky. Whichever it was, the third coal run didn't go quite as smoothly. They had loaded their buckets as they had before. Nobody saw them slipping in or out of the fence. A day at the circus, with all the excitement of dancing bears, giant packy-derms, clowns, and lion tamers was just in sight. But as they rounded the corner of the alley onto Rivington Street, a big blue arm reached out and grabbed Mike. Mike jumped, dropping his bucket, the coal spilling at his feet. Mouse
and Smokes, just behind him, were brought up short. Mouse stopped so quick, Smokes bounced off him.
and Smokes, just behind him, were brought up short. Mouse stopped so quick, Smokes bounced off him.
“So, it's stealing coal you are, eh?” It sounded like Harlan the cop.
Mouse and Smokes started to back up as the big blue arm grabbed Mike by the scruff of the neck and yanked him from view. Mike's bucket lay on its side, the coal fanning out, black as their luck. Smokes's bucket knocked against the fence, sounding loud as a cannon in the narrow alley.
“Who's down there? Come outta there, whoever you be. Don't make me come in after ye.”
They turned and ran as fast as their buckets would allow. Coal sprayed this way and that like big black hail.
“Run if you like, boys. Your friend 'ere is gonna tell me all I need to know,” the cop called confidently.
They kept running, tossing the buckets aside for greater speed. Mouse thought he heard Mike cry out. It had a hurt sound to itâat least from down the alley and around a corner.
The raised voice of the cop followed them:
“I'll be comin' for you, boys. Ya can't hide from Harlan.”
T
he boys from the coroner's office were just about to put Watkins on a stretcher. It had been nearly two hours since Braddock found him, and the captain of the
Montauk
was in a sour mood for having been held up for so long. The dumpy little man with a rumpled captain's hat and faded gold braid on his sleeve paced the deck mumbling about schedules and dithering cops. Tom and Sam paid him little mind. A couple hours of fruitless investigation had left them in no better mood. The body had been picked clean. If Tom hadn't already known who Watkins was, he'd have had a tough time finding out.
he boys from the coroner's office were just about to put Watkins on a stretcher. It had been nearly two hours since Braddock found him, and the captain of the
Montauk
was in a sour mood for having been held up for so long. The dumpy little man with a rumpled captain's hat and faded gold braid on his sleeve paced the deck mumbling about schedules and dithering cops. Tom and Sam paid him little mind. A couple hours of fruitless investigation had left them in no better mood. The body had been picked clean. If Tom hadn't already known who Watkins was, he'd have had a tough time finding out.
“Someone's going to great lengths to cover his tracks,” Tom said with a wry scowl. “Every time I turn around there's another dead end.”
He looked toward the other end of the boat and saw Coffin heading their way.
“Well, well, Detective Braddock. I should have guessed. Seems that your friend here, Sam, is the police equivalent of a week of rain.”
Sam gave Coffin a perplexed frown. “Oh ⦠and how's that, Captain?” Sam asked, the slight sarcasm seeming to slide right by Coffin. “I'm not following you.”
Coffin didn't look at Sam when he answered. His eyes bored into Braddock
instead. “Because bodies seem to sprout like mushrooms wherever he goes,” Coffin said as if it were a joke.
instead. “Because bodies seem to sprout like mushrooms wherever he goes,” Coffin said as if it were a joke.
They knew there was no fun in it, though.
“Hmph.” Sam snorted.
“There's some that say an officer much like our Detective Braddock was seen yesterday when those Plug Uglies were killed,” Coffin said offhandedly, but both Sam and Tom knew there was nothing offhanded about it.
Tom noticed August's quick glance at the bloody spots on his shirt that his jacket didn't hide. Tom couldn't help the sudden drop of his jaw. Still, he said nothing.
Sam wasn't so circumspect. “Killed, you say? And where'd this happen?” Coffin looked at Sam disapprovingly. “I see you haven't read this morning's papers, gentlemen. You know I can't stress enough the importance of our police being well informed on the goings-on in this city. You should be reading the papers, Sergeant. It's a duty not to be taken lightly.”
Sam rolled his eyes. He hated it when Coffin got preachy. “Right, sir. I'll do that.” He smirked. “Just happened to miss it this morning. So, where did they find these bodies then?”
“Gotham Court. An appropriate place for finding bodies, I'm sure.” Coffin sniffed.
Tom couldn't contain himself any longer. “How'd they die, Augie?”
Coffin treated Tom to one of his patented stares. He hated being called Augie, especially in front of his men. He cleared his throat. “Throats were cut.”
“Jesus H. Christ!” Sam exclaimed. He whistled and rolled his eyes at Tom when Coffin wasn't looking. “Now, who the hell could do a thing like that? You don't just sneak up on four men and cut their throats.”
“Quite. Perhaps whoever did it asked their permission.” Coffin gave a wry chuckle. “Or perhaps they cut their own throats. The odd thing is that police were reportedly seen leaving the scene before the bodies were found. Quite a crowd you know. Nearly a riot, from what I heard. Some described a cop quite like you, Tommy.” Coffin emphasized the name. “I'm sure they're wrong.” His dismissive tone wasn't meant to fool either of them. “That's not your style, is it, old man? More of a bone breaker, right?”
Tom didn't answer. Instead he said, “It didn't come up at morning parade. When'd you find out?”
“Papers got it first, apparently. Went out on the telegraph to the precincts late this morning. That's Coogan's problem, always a bit slow on follow-through. Not quite so much attention to detail as he should have.”
The implication wasn't lost on Tom.
The coroner's team picked up Watkins's body and it was carried out without a word.
“Grisly business,” Coffin said.
Tom and Sam just looked at Coffin, saying nothing.
“Like to have a word if I can, Captain,” Tom said as they started off the boat.
“Certainly, Tom, let's walk,” Coffin replied affably enough.
“I'll come by tomorrow to pay you what I owe.” Tom took a deep breath of fresh salt air. “Get my obligations settled, make a clean break.” He exhaled. Coffin didn't say a word. “Said I'd pay you. No point stringing it out.” He looked to Coffin for any reaction.
“That's fine” was all Coffin said.
“That's not what I wanted to talk to you about, though,” Tom continued.
“Oh?” Coffin asked innocently. He knew damn well why Tom wanted to have this little conversation. Tom was feeling the pinch, just as he'd planned. The question was whether the pinch hurt enough just yet. Coffin figured Braddock's pain threshold was a bit higher. It was too soon for him to give in, to his way of thinking. Tom was too proud, too stiff-necked to knuckle under so soon.
“No, it's not. It's Coogan,” Tom said, pausing to gauge any reaction. There was none, so he went on. “You know he's pulled some of my guys and I'd like it to stop ⦠well, at least I'd like notice like before. I think I'm due the courtesy.”
“Are you?” Coffin stopped in his tracks to stare at Tomâa long, skeptical look full of feigned surprise. “Tom, we are charged with upholding the laws and preserving the peace of this great city. It's a heavy responsibility which we, you and I and every officer of the law, are sworn to carry out.”
Tom had to bite his lip. Being lectured to by the likes of Coffin was almost more than he could bear.
“You know as well as I, Tommy, that arrests must be made. Those who break the laws are subject to arrest at any time. You also know that in the current climate, it is politically imperative, shall we say, to show that we in the department are tough on crime.” Coffin slapped a theatrical fist into his palm. “Now, if some of your little fish happen to get caught up in that, well that's a shame, but they are, after all, criminals, Tom. Times like these we all feel the pinch.” Coffin's facility with lies never ceased to amaze Tom. When he thought that Augie could be nothing but straight with the facts, the man would blandly tell him that the moon was made of blue cheese.
“August,” Tom said, “why do you have to feed me this horseshit? I know how things run. I know we're going to have to take a pinch now and again. This is looking like a lot more than that.”
Coffin glared at Braddock, his fists clenched at his sides. “This
horseshit,
as you put it, is the reality of
your
situation, Detective. In your circumstances, it's something you're going to have to live with.”
horseshit,
as you put it, is the reality of
your
situation, Detective. In your circumstances, it's something you're going to have to live with.”
Tom thought about the implications of what Coffin was saying. Things were
not
going to get any better. In fact, they'd get worse. The bastard was going to try to put him out of business, and he could do it too. That was the stick. Tom waited for the carrot.
not
going to get any better. In fact, they'd get worse. The bastard was going to try to put him out of business, and he could do it too. That was the stick. Tom waited for the carrot.
“Of course, if you were on the inside, things like this could be avoided. You would be due a certain additional consideration, similar to what you enjoyed in the past. It might even be that additional rewards could be forthcoming.”
“So, that's the carrot, eh, Augie?” Tom said.
Coffin sighed. “You have such a need for unambiguous speech, Tommy. But in fact that is the carrot, as you so aptly put it. We can do a great deal together,” he said, thinking longingly of his plans. “As long as you continue to be stubborn, you'll have to do without the ⦠advantages of our association.”
Tom walked on in silence. He was tempted to go back. Somehow he hadn't believed that Coffin would squeeze him this way. He kicked himself for not realizing the lengths that Coffin would go to, to hold his little empire together. Coffin could hurt him. Even if he knew only half of the places Tom took protection money from, the other half would learn soon enough. The thought of all the money he stood to lose was staggering. He took in more than twice his salary in protection money every month. Coffin could virtually eliminate that if he closed down those bars, brothels, fences, and rackets long enough. Even though some of that money funneled up to Coffin through Tom's kickbacks at the precinct level, Coffin could afford it. What effect it might have on Tom's future with Mary he could only guess. Being a poor cop had not been his plan. He wondered if marrying one was Mary's. Tom wished he either had less scruples or more greed. It would hurt a lot less either way.
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