Suspension (41 page)
Authors: Richard E. Crabbe
By the time Tom got back to his desk and filed his reports for the prior day, it was seven-thirty. He talked to Pat Dolan and Charlie Heidelberg just long enough to arrange to meet at eleven to talk over the case and decide where they would start. Then he went out the back way on Mott, heading for the El. In ten minutes he was chugging uptown behind a particularly smoky engine. He thought about Mike as the El swayed and rattled. The boy must have been arrested yesterday. The telegram had been put on his desk late, so he'd been in custody now for probably about eighteen hours. His grandparents must be worried sick. They'd be getting frantic in another couple of hours, if they weren't already.
It wasn't more than fifteen minutes before Tom was standing at the front desk at the Thirteenth.
“Morning. You Sergeant Thompson?”
“Nope,” the desk sergeant said without looking up.
Tom waited. That seemed to be all the man had to say. “All right, then. I got this telegraph from him. You got a kid by the name of Bucklin in custody. I'd like to see him.”
“And who might you be?”
Tom didn't answer. He waited until the sergeant finally lifted an inquiring eye from his desk, then pulled open his jacket. He kept his shield pinned to his vest, so it couldn't be easily seen. Most detectives did.
“Sergeant Detective Thomas Braddock, Central Detective Bureau,” Tom said distinctly. “And you are?”
“Sergeant Roodman. What's your business with the prisoner?” the sergeant
asked, his demeanor only slightly improved by the sight of Tom's badge. Braddock asked for the arresting officer and Roodman replied, “He's off duty, in reserve. I'll check if he's in the building.” That was the first civil thing Roodman had said so far. There might be hope for him yet, Tom thought.
asked, his demeanor only slightly improved by the sight of Tom's badge. Braddock asked for the arresting officer and Roodman replied, “He's off duty, in reserve. I'll check if he's in the building.” That was the first civil thing Roodman had said so far. There might be hope for him yet, Tom thought.
“Thanks. Where are you holding Bucklin?”
The sergeant handed Tom a key ring and said, “Basement holding cells. Third one on the left.”
Mike was asleep when Tom found him. It was cool and damp in the basement. A threadbare blanket in a dirty shade of gray was pulled up to his chin. His feet stuck out the other end. Tom opened the cell door. The rusted iron hinges screeched and groaned as the door swung open. Mike jumped awake, sitting upright on the small cot.
Tom looked at him closely. “Hey, Mike, how're you doing?”
“Okay, I guess. You scared me. I thought it was Harlan the cop, come to ask me questions again. I don't like him much,” Mike said in a small voice.
Tom gave him a careful look, squinting slightly in the gloom. “Got a nasty bump on the head there. Anybody take a look at that?” Tom sat on the cot. Looking at the boy close, he didn't like what he saw.
“I washed up a little,” Mike said, nodding at the pitcher and basin.
“Come on. We're going to get you cleaned up a bit. Can't have your grandma and gramps see you like this, right?” Tom noticed how Mike winced when he got up. He didn't say anything. When they got to the front desk, Tom asked where the bathroom was as he tossed the keys to Roodman. Braddock was washing the swollen cut on Mike's head when Harlan Connolly came in.
“This how they treat little thieves down at the Detective Bureau?” Connolly asked loudly. Tom turned at the sound of Connolly's voice. He smiled broadly for the patrolman.
“Patrolman Connolly, I presume.” Tom extended his hand. “I'm Detective Braddock. Thanks for the telegraph. I owe you for that.”
Harlan took Tom's hand. Tom couldn't help but notice how Mike sort of sidled around behind him when the cop came in.
“Yeah, sure. This kid said he knew you ⦠so.” Harlan tried to pull his hand away but Tom held on, pumping it as if he'd met an old friend.
“I want to thank you, Harlan, for the good treatment you've given the young Master Bucklin here.”
Connolly was getting just a little red in the face. His knuckles were white in Tom's grip. “Yeah ⦠well, the kid did take a nasty spill but he bounced back. You know how the little street Arabs are: tough little buggers.”
Tom's grip tightened. “I'd take it as a personal favor if you were to release this boy to me, Harlan. I'd
really
appreciate it.”
really
appreciate it.”
Connolly actually seemed to be pulling now to free his hand from the vise it was in.
Tom just smiled his warmest, most sincere smile. Mike watched, fascinated.
“Sure, sure, Braddock. You can have 'im. Just held him as a courtesy to you ⦠you know ⦠anyway ⦠that is, once we heard you had an interest.”
“Ah, that's real nice of you, Harlan. Can't thank you enough.”
Connolly was a lovely shade of crimson now, his fingertips squirming like maggots in Tom's fist.
“Could you do me a favor, Harlan?” Tom asked as if he'd just thought of it. “Would you mind sort of keeping a special watch out for my little friend here? Keep an eye out for him, so to speak? The streets are rough on kids, and it would be grand to know he's got someone keeping a lookout.”
Connolly was almost hopping now, shifting from one foot to the other. Little beads of sweat were popping out on his forehead.
“Was gonna suggest it meself, Detective. Be ⦠happy to keep an eye on the tyke. No problem.”
“Ah, that's just grand, then. You have no idea what a comfort this'll be to his grandma and me too for that matter. Thanks a lot.” Tom gave the hand a final crushing squeeze, grinding bone beneath his fingers.
A small strangled yelp escaped from the cop. He tried to cover it with a cough. He gave a vengeful look at Mike, once Tom released his hand. No sooner had he done that than Tom laid a heavy hand on Connolly's shoulder.
“Now, I don't want you to think that Bucklin here is getting off scot-free.” Tom clamped his hand on the muscle at the side of Connolly's neck. He squeezed hard. “No, he's going to pay, I can assure you. So don't worry about him getting what he deserves. I'll see to that.”
Connolly twisted in Tom's grip but couldn't shake off the hand without losing the remains of his dignity in front of the kid.
“That's good, Braddock. Don't want the kids goin' bad on us from bein' too lenient,” Connolly said through gritted teeth.
“No, sir, no, we don't, Harlan. So remember,” Tom said. “I'd appreciate it if you kept a special watch. Make sure nothing happens to him. Sort of like a guardian angel. Can you do that for me?”
Mikey couldn't see the tips of Tom's fingers they were buried so far in Connolly's neck.
“Sure, Tom, sure. You can count on me,” Harlan choked out.
Braddock released the cop, all the while thanking him and patting him on the back.
T
om and Mike were walking down Delancey a few minutes later. Mike's hands were in his pockets, fingering the little pile of dimes and nickels that rested there along with the little key to his secret box. The coins seemed even more valuable now, and his fingers caressed them one by one. He and Tom walked in silence for quite a way. Mike limped a little. The bruises on the backs of his legs had lost their sting, but a heavy ache had taken up residence where the sting had been. Tom saw out of the corner of his eye that the boy was having trouble keeping up. He wasn't quite sure what to say to him. He just walked beside him, figuring it would come on its own.
om and Mike were walking down Delancey a few minutes later. Mike's hands were in his pockets, fingering the little pile of dimes and nickels that rested there along with the little key to his secret box. The coins seemed even more valuable now, and his fingers caressed them one by one. He and Tom walked in silence for quite a way. Mike limped a little. The bruises on the backs of his legs had lost their sting, but a heavy ache had taken up residence where the sting had been. Tom saw out of the corner of his eye that the boy was having trouble keeping up. He wasn't quite sure what to say to him. He just walked beside him, figuring it would come on its own.
Mike's head was so full of stuff he thought it'd bust. He was mostly relieved at being free and out of that cold, buggy cell. He worried though at what Braddock might do to him and what his grandma surely would. He was going to be punished that was certain. But he was overjoyed at having his money back, and it was so fantastic to see Harlan the cop, the ogre of the neighborhood, get run over by Braddock that he could hardly contain his glee. All of that tumbled and swam in his head like a stream tripping over boulders in its path. He couldn't think what to say first to a man like Braddock. The stream of his thoughts kept bouncing off boulders. So he walked beside Tom, all running and tripping inside, but still as a millpond on the surface.
It was Tom who finally broke the silence. He saw Mike wince as he stepped around someone in his way. “That cop; he hit you with his stick, didn't he?”
“Yeah,” Mike said with his head down.
“He whacked the backs of your legs, right? You fall down the stairs or something too?”
“I suppose,” Mike said, not knowing how much to tell the detective.
“That cop do things like that to other kids?” Braddock asked, looking down at Mike as they walked.
“Maybe. Maybe some had it comin'. I don't know.”
Tom nodded at the wisdom of that. “Well, I don't think he'll bother you anymore, but keep clear of him anyway, just to be sure.”
Mike turned a beaming face up to Tom. “I think you busted his hand, Mr. Braddock.” There was glee and triumph and wonder in his voice, all mixed in a boy-soup of admiration.
“You think so?” Tom asked with a smile. “I hope to hell I did.” He grinned at the boy, and Mike smiled back.
“What were you doing to get on the wrong side of that bastard?” Tom asked as they walked.
“Stealin' coal.”
“Coal, huh?” Tom said appraisingly. “No vegetables this time?”
Mike shook his head, but his chest puffed up as he said, “We got good money for it.”
Tom seemed impressed. “You buy anything with your money?”
“Just some candy at Brower's. We didn't want to spend it all. We were planning on the circus. Ever hear of Jumbo?” Mike looked up at Tom brightly.
“He's that big elephant, right ⦠with Barnum's?”
“That's him. He's a packy-derm,” Mike said knowingly. “And we want to go see him.” His enthusiasm was just about bubbling.
“Who's we, the fellas I saw you with the other day?”
“Yeah, but I can't tell their names, sir.” Mike hung his head again.
Tom held up a hand. “That's okay, I understand,” he said, and he did. “You going to school, Mike?”
“Sure, I go to Grammar School 75, on Norfolk.”
“Yeah? Who's your teacher? I know some teachers in that school,” asked Tom, testing the boy.
“Well, they sorta change a lot, you know ⦠but I guess it's ⦠Mrs. Doyle.” He stole a glance at Tom to see if he was buying the story. “Yeah, it's Mrs. Doyle,” Mike said as surely as he could.
They were nearing Mike's block. The narrow streets were teeming with the morning's activity. The smell of a thousand breakfasts floated down the cobbles.
“They give you anything to eat, Mike?” Tom asked, stopping to appraise him. His hand was in his pocket, fingering the small key. Mike just shook his head. “You've got to be hungry, then.”
“I guess,” Mike said. Though his belly felt like it had a hole he could put his fist through, he was sort of used to the feel of being hungry.
“Me too. Let's go eat.” Tom put his hand around Mike's shoulders and steered him around a corner.
“Oh, yeah! Can I have pancakes with butter and syrup?”
“Sure, anything you want. And don't worry about your grandparents. I sent them a message before. They know you're with me.”
“Could we maybe bring them some food too, do you think?” Mike asked hopefully, not knowing how far he could go. “My grandma, sometimes she doesn't eat too much. She gives hers to me, 'cause she says I'm growing.”
L
ater, as Tom sat watching Mike swab up maple syrup with his pancakes, he asked, “How's your gramps, Mike?”
ater, as Tom sat watching Mike swab up maple syrup with his pancakes, he asked, “How's your gramps, Mike?”
Mike swallowed quickly before he answered. “He coughs a lot now, Mr. Braddock. Grandma says he'll go to God soon. He'll be with my da, and ma, and sis though, so he won't be lonely.” Mike played with the food on his plate, swirling the syrup in patterns around the pancakes. “It makes me sad, Mr. Braddock. I wish I could see them too and I don't want Gramps to go.”
Tom wasn't quite sure what to say, or how to make it better. He took the key out of his pocket, turning it over and over in his fingers.
“Your grandma getting on all right?” he asked.
“I guess. She's up late a lot. Sewing all the time now. She makes real pretty lace and stuff too.”
“I bet she does.” There was a long silence and they both sat staring out the window.
“So, you wanted to go see Jumbo, huh?” Tom asked finally.
“Oh, yeah, more'n anything. He's so big he shits houses.” Mike broke up, laughing so hard that Tom got carried along with him. The kid did have an infectious laugh. “That's what Smokes said. He's my friend.”
“Uh-huh. Shits houses, huh?” Tom asked with a broad grin. “That's worth seeing, I guess. Never did see an elephant shit a house. Seen some houses that look like shit though.” This time they both roared. Mike laughed so hard that the milk he was drinking came out his nose.
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