the Spy (2010) by Cussler Clive (early readers .txt) 📕

When the train arrived in Jersey City, he followed Bell and his fiancEe out of the Exchange Place Terminal and watched them drive off in the red Locomobile that a garage attendant had waiting for them with the motor running. He went back inside the terminal, hurried to the ferry house, rode the Pennsylvania Railroad's St. Louis across the river to Cortlandt Street, walked a few steps to Greenwich, and boarded the Ninth Avenue El. He got off in Hell's Kitchen and went to Commodore Tommy's Saloon, where Tommy tended to hang out instead of his fancy new joints uptown.

Brian O'Shay! The gang boss greeted him effusively. Highball?

What leads have you got on the Van Dorns?

That louse Harry Warren and his boys are nosing around like I told you they would.

It's time you broke some heads.

Wait a minute. Things are going great. Who needs a war with the Van Dorns?

Great? O'Shay asked sarcastically. How great? Like waiting around for the railroads to run you off Eleventh Avenue?

I seen that coming, Tommy retorted, hooking his thumbs in his vest and looking proud as a shopkeeper. That's why I hooked up with the Hip Sing.

Brian O'Shay hid a smile. Who did Tommy Thompson think had sent him the Hip Sing?

I don't recall the Hip Sing being famous for loving detectives. How long will your Chinamen put up with Van Dorns acting like they own your territory?

Why you got to do this, Brian?

I'm sending a message.

Send a telegram, Tommy shot back. He laughed. Say, that's funny, Send a telegram.' I like that.

O'Shay took his eye gouge from his vest pocket. Tommy's laughter died in his mouth.

The purpose of a message, Tommy, is to make the other man think about what you can do to him. O'Shay held the gouge to the light, watched it glint on the sharp edges, and slipped it over his thumb. He glanced at Tommy. The gang boss looked away.

Thinking what you can do, it makes him wonder. Wondering slows him down. The power of wondering, Tommy-make him wonder and you'll come out on top.

All right, all right. We'll bust some heads, but I'm not killing any detectives. I don't want no war.

Who else do they have poking around other than Harry Warren's boys?

The Hip Sing spotted a new Van Dorn poking around Chinatown.

New? What do you mean, new. Young?

No, no, he's no kid. Out-of-town hard case.

New to New York? Why would they bring an out-of-town guy into the city? Doesn't make sense.

He's a pal of that son of a bitch Bell.

How do you know that?

One of the boys saw them working together at the Brooklyn Navy Yard. He's not from New York. It looks like Bell brought him in special.

He's the one. Tommy, I want him watched real close.

What for?

I'm going to send Bell a message. Give him something to wonder about.

I'll not have my Gophers kill any Van Dorns, Tommy repeated stubbornly.

You let Weeks take a shot at Bell, O'Shay pointed out.

The Iceman was different. The Van Dorns would have seen it was personal between Weeks and Bell.

Brian Eyes O'Shay regarded Tommy Thompson with scorn. Don't worry-I'll leave a note on the body saying, Don't blame Tommy Thompson.'

Aw, come on, Brian.

I'm asking you to watch him.

Tommy Thompson took another swig from his glass. He glanced at O'Shay's thumb gouge and quickly looked away. I don't suppose, he said petulantly, I get any say in this.

Follow him. But don't tip your hand.

All right. If that's what you want, that's what you get. I'll use the best shadows I got. Kids and cops. No one notices kids and cops. They're always there, like empty beer barrels on the sidewalk.

And tell your cops and kids to keep an eye on Bell, too.

JOHN SCULLY CRUISED UP the Bowery and into the narrow, twisting streets of Chinatown. Staring at the men's long pigtails and gawking up at the overhead tangle of fire escapes and clotheslines and signs for Chinese restaurants and teahouses, he was disguised as a blue jay-an out-of-town hayseed who was wandering the big city for a good time. He had just appeared to find it in the arms of a skinny streetwalker who had also ventured over from the Bowery when a pair of corner loafers visiting from that same neighborhood flashed a rusty knife and a blackjack and demanded his money.

Scully turned out his pockets. A roll of cash fell to the pavement. They snatched it and ran, never knowing how lucky they were that the ice-blooded detective had not felt sufficiently threatened to spoil his disguise by opening fire with the Browning Vest Pocket tucked in the small of his back.

The woman who had observed the robbery said, Don't expect nothin' from me with your empty pockets.

Scully tugged open some stitches of his coat lining and pulled out an envelope. Peering into it, he said, Looky here. Enough left to make both our nights.

She brightened at the sight of the dough.

What do say we get something to drink first? said Scully, offering a kindness to which she was unaccustomed.

After they were settled in a booth in the back of Mike Callahan's, a dive around the corner on Chatham Square, with a round of whiskey in her and another on the way, he asked casually, Say, do you suppose those fellers was Gophers?

What? What the hell are go-phers?

The men who robbed me. Gophers? Like gangsters.

Go-phers? Oh, Goofers! She laughed. Mother of Mary, where did you come from?

Well, were they?

Could be, she said. They've been drifting down from Hell's Kitchen for a couple of months now.

Scully had heard rumors of this strange news from others. What do you mean, a couple of months? Is that unusual?

Used to be the Five Pointers would bust their heads. Or they'd be chopped by the Hip Sing. Now they're walking around like they own the place.

What is