Ten Days in August (11 page)

“Let me help you,” Hank said to Nicky.

Nicky nodded.

 

Of all the foolish things to daydream about, the blond man Andrew had seen the night before might have been up there with the most foolish, but somehow this did not prevent an elaborate fantasy in which the man strolled into Police Headquarters to tell Andrew he was forsaking his old life and was in need of rescue. Although Andrew was perhaps on the willowy side and did not cut the dashing figure of a hero—there was a reason he was a secretary and not a police officer—he enjoyed letting this scenario play out, in which he knew just what to do and made life better for everyone. The image presented itself like so many performances of a play in Andrew's mind.

Still, there was a pile of new reports on his desk he needed to sort through and it was Saturday, which meant there was a Police Board meeting. Roosevelt presided over the four-man board, but a consensus was generally needed to move policy forward, and Commissioner Parker, who had no patience for Roosevelt, generally set himself up to be an adversary. Ironically, Roosevelt and Parker had similar ideas for how the city should be run, but lately Parker opposed Roosevelt almost as if for sport. So now Andrew would have to sit in on the meeting while Roosevelt and Parker disagreed on everything and nothing was accomplished.

Most of the reports filed overnight were from officers in nearby precincts who had witnessed people falling from roofs and fire escapes. Most of the victims had gone outside for some relief from the heat and fallen asleep before rolling off a roof or out of a window or falling from a fire escape that had lost its footing. Most of these victims had sustained broken bones and wound up at a hospital, but a few had met their end this way.

“Did you see the paper today?” asked Devery Smith, another police secretary.

“No.”

Devery dropped the paper on Andrew's desk. It was a copy of the
World
. “They Fought, They Drank, and a Few Landed in Jail,” stated the headline. “Haps and Humors of a Blazing August Day,” was printed below it.

“Perhaps these hot days have all been fun and jokes for Mr. Pulitzer,” Andrew said, “but he hasn't had to sift through the police reports.”

Devery frowned. “Yes, I suspected that would be your reaction. Did you know, Finnegan took a girl to the hospital last night with two broken legs. She had been sleeping on a roof with her father and must have rolled over. A fire escape two floors down broke her fall. Looks like she'll be all right, but the girl is four years old, Andrew.”

“It is tragic,” Andrew agreed, “though I also have three reports here of violence that broke out on the Lower East Side. For instance”—Andrew held up a report—“a man stabbed another man over a stolen bucket of dirty water. Another savagely beat the owner of a pushcart for selling rotten apples. But, certainly, Mr. Pulitzer, the day was full of haps and humors.”

Devery shook his head. “I do not disagree, but sometimes, Andrew, you have no haps or humors yourself. I believe the
World
is merely trying to make light of a difficult situation.”

Andrew sighed. “I know. Hard to see the bright side when you have the full picture.”

“Ritchley!”

Andrew stood. “If you'll excuse me, Devery, I have a meeting now.”

As president of the Police Board, Roosevelt presided over the other commissioners and various others in attendance, including Andrew, five other assistants, and two reporters. Even with the lights out and the windows open, the heat in the room was almost unbearable, which was perhaps why Roosevelt and Parker were even more ornery than usual.

Roosevelt persisted, however, and led the men through his agenda. This policeman was to be commended, this other was to have his suspension lifted. Roosevelt brought up the hotel laws. He had commissioned a report from a Captain Vreedenburg, which he wanted to present to the Board. “Under the old laws,” Roosevelt read to a room full of board commissioners, “there were only two hotels in the Fourth Precinct. Now there are
fifty
-two, while others are being opened daily.” He went on to say fake hotels were being created for the sole purpose of drinking on Sunday. This, clearly, could not continue.

This went on for some time, and then Roosevelt read a letter from the American Bankers' Association praising the police department. According to the clock in the corner, two hours had gone by and everyone's clothes were soaked through with sweat, despite the fact nearly every man had taken off his hat and stripped to his shirtsleeves. Parker kept looking at his pocket watch. Commissioner Grant wiped his red face with a handkerchief. Commissioner Andrews looked like he might expire right there. The exertion even seemed to be wearing on the indefatigable Roosevelt, who was perspiring profusely as he spoke.

“It might be wise to adjourn for the day,” Parker said wearily.

“Might we not take up the promotion of inspectors?” asked Roosevelt. This had been a particular thorn in his side, given that Parker had blocked every one of Roosevelt's recommendations, including that of Hank Brandt, who had taken on the post of Acting Inspector to fill a vacancy while still keeping a pretty full caseload. To Parker, Roosevelt said, “Has anybody seen the eligible list?”

“I don't know,” said Parker. “I haven't seen it.”

The groan wasn't audible, but Andrew imagined everyone girded themselves for a prolonged argument. Andrew himself fantasized about jumping into the East River if this meeting ever ended.

“I don't know that it would be a wise thing to do,” said Grant, warily looking about the room. “Although, if it comes up, I stand ready to vote.”

“The reason I want the matter to lie over,” said Parker, “is that when I do vote I want to make a statement. That statement I have not prepared, and of course have not got with me.”

Someone did audibly groan then. Andrew worried the meeting would never adjourn and he'd die in this very room, baked to death in the summer heat.

Roosevelt tilted his head as if he were contemplating this. “Do you intend to enter your statement on the minutes? For if you do and you have no objections, I may very likely wish to make a statement also, that, I suppose, will be all right?”

“Oh, yes, certainly,” said Parker.

The words were conciliatory, but every man in the room knew there would be a dramatic fight at the next board meeting. It didn't much matter to Andrew as long as he got to leave soon. He tugged on the collar of his shirt, hoping it wouldn't choke him where he sat.

“Now, to the matter of Mr. Bryan's visit,” Roosevelt said, at last on the final item on his agenda. “The presidential candidate is set to arrive in three days, this heated term shows no sign of abatement, and we have to see to security at Madison Square Garden during his speech.”

“If you make it out alive,” Andrew told the reporter sitting beside him
sotto voce
, “tell my mother I love her and I died nobly at the side of the great hot bag of air Theodore Roosevelt.”

The reporter chuckled, but then made Andrew swear to do the same.

After the meeting, Andrew dutifully followed Roosevelt out of the conference room. Roosevelt paused halfway to his office to wipe his face with a handkerchief. “I grow weary of this nonsense,” he said softly.

“Yes, sir,” said Andrew.

“As fond as I am of arguing with Commissioner Parker, it would be nice if we could actually accomplish something in our meetings.”

It was such an understatement, Andrew nearly laughed. If Mr. Roosevelt was half as frustrated by the deadlock on the Police Board as Andrew was, he was probably ready to burst inside.

“Yes, sir,” Andrew said.

“Well. I expect your report later today. Enjoy your afternoon, Mr. Ritchley. Try not to expire in the heat.”

“I will do my best, sir,” Andrew said as he watched Roosevelt walk away.

 

Two hours after Edith passed, Nicky sat on the steps of St. Teresa's. He felt drained.

Hank had served the Sharp family quite valiantly. He'd found a priest seeing to patrons on Grand Street and had brought him back to deliver last rites to Edith. He'd gone to fetch Brigid's husband, who had closed his shop for the rest of the day. He'd called in a favor to the coroner's office to expedite removing the body from the house. He'd spoken quietly with Brigid for a very long time, trying to offer her comfort.

Now he walked back up the steps toward Nicky and sat beside him.

“Brigid is speaking with Father Boyce now,” said Hank.

“I wanted to get them out of there. I've been trying to save money for them, but Brigid won't take it, and even if she would, I don't have enough to find a house for her whole family.”

“You did a lot by going to see her.”

“But not enough. Never enough.” Nicky shook his head. He'd gotten out of the tenements by earning money on his back, and he'd been thankful for his little apartment, but he'd been selfish because he couldn't rescue Brigid, and now Edith was dead. “She was so little, Hank. No one should die so young.”

“This is a tragedy, but it was not one you could have prevented.”

Nicky didn't agree. He couldn't.

“I want to offer my most heartfelt apologies,” Hank said. “For everything that happened today. I should not have followed you and I immediately regretted it. You have a right to your own affairs. And I feel terribly sorry about your niece and everything you and your family are going through.”

Nicky took a deep breath, trying to get his shaky heart to steady. “You have the whole of it now,” Nicky said softly. “You're right, you had no business nosing into my affairs, and I did not want to tell you my family was trapped in this way, especially not after I saw your nice house.”

“I don't trust easily.”

“Nor do I, which is why I was not forthcoming.” Nicky tried to keep the edge of anger at bay. He'd been so astonished when Hank had appeared on the landing inside his sister's building that he'd hardly had time to think on what it meant.

Then there'd been a flurry of activity as they took care of little Edith. Brigid had been beside herself, wailing, desperate to try anything to revive Edith, unwilling to leave her side. The Sharp patriarch had woken up from his stupor still drunk and somewhat angry and was noisy and useless as always. Brigid's husband Antonio had broken down as well, and Nicky felt he'd have to hold himself together if anything were to be accomplished.

Nicky stared out onto Henry Street, unable to see now as tears blurred his vision. He blinked them away, hoping Hank wouldn't see them. Maybe with time he'd be able to convince himself this wasn't somehow his fault, but now he kept repeating to himself that he could have done more. He could have insisted Brigid take his money. He could have lived more modestly and helped Brigid and her family move. He wouldn't have moved in with her to help take care of the kids—not when his father was there to try to beat some masculinity into him—but he could have helped her out more. He could have pleaded with their other siblings to help out more. He could have supplemented his income with more men.

He glanced at Hank and knew he couldn't sell himself any longer. Not when he'd had a taste of what it was like to be with a man without the pressure of money changing hands.

“I am angry,” Nicky said. “I am angry with you for following me and not trusting me, although I recognize I'd do the same in your shoes. Perhaps you are a good man, but it's not in my nature to trust anyone, the police especially.”

“We've known each other, what, four days? I wouldn't expect you to trust me.”

Nicky held up his hand. “I am angry you followed me and barged into the building. It's hard to argue you betrayed my trust when neither of us really trusted each other, though. And, well, I needed someone who could keep his head together today.”

Hank nodded slowly.

“I accept your apology,” Nicky said. “And I thank you for everything you've done for my family today.”

“It was nothing.”

“Were you supposed to have gone to your precinct today?”

“This afternoon, yes. I found an officer to send word I'd been caught up in something.”

Nicky looked down. There was a crack across the step that cut between Nicky's feet like a streak of lightning. “I want to trust you,” he said, “but there's some insanity in that, isn't there?”

“Perhaps not.” Hank mimicked Nicky's pose, his knees bent and slightly apart. He pulled off his hat and wiped his handkerchief from his hairline down his nose, over his mustache to his chin. “It must be obvious my interest in you goes beyond this case, beyond even a bit of pleasure we might find in each other. It was my pleasure to help you this afternoon. I was happy to be of service, really.”

Nicky did want to trust Hank, but wasn't sure he could. “How do I know you won't arrest me when all this is over?”

“You have only my word I wouldn't. As far as I'm concerned, you have done nothing wrong.”

“Except wear a gown.”

“It's not for me to say. Another cop may arrest you for indecency, but I would not. My intention from the beginning was to make it clear I'm not better than you.” Hank shook his head and gazed out at Henry Street. “I don't believe it is in the purview of the police department to regulate morality, but some of my superiors disagree. Certainly if Commissioner Roosevelt discovered some of my past indiscretions, he'd dismiss me immediately. But as long as I have some power over how I do my job, I will stick to solving murders and other crimes. Three men have been killed. What they were doing prior to their deaths is immaterial.”