Don't Doubt Me
Nathan Kaplan died and left his name behind as the German spy who had tried to blow up ships in New York Harbor.
The Bureau of Investigation and the NYPD concentrated their investigation on tracking down his accomplices, the missing labor slugger Weiss, and the woman who had been with Kaplan before she vanished.
Manhattan’s East 26th Street.
People called the short stretch between First Avenue and the East River Misery Lane.
Because it sat close to Bellevue Hospital, the sick, the alcoholics, and the mentally ill drifted there. A charity pier offered free bread and soup to the poor.
If tenement houses stood as the symbol of poverty, Misery Lane was the symbol of despair and abandonment.
On the street stood a public lodging house the city of New York had built in 1909. It mainly took in the homeless and the discarded, and the woman the police were hunting—Almar—lived there.
For several days Cale and Brian’s teams had taken turns watching her. “Watching” was a polite word; they were living in the same house.
When I arrived, Almar took me for just another one of the crew. She was feeding soup to her seven-year-old son and paid me no attention at all.
My gaze drifted naturally to the boy’s left hand. Just as I’d heard, the pinky and ring finger were bluntly severed.
When the child’s meal finished, I spoke.
“Why did you look for me?”
Almar whipped her head around and stared. She scanned me quickly from head to toe, then her face registered surprise.
“You’re not what I pictured.”
I wondered what she had imagined of the man who once hid under a bed. Anyway.
“Sean, Mommy’s stepping out for a bit. Play with the uncle, okay?”
“Yeah… but he’s scary…”
Brian snorted at the tearful boy.
“What’s scary, kid? You were cackling earlier saying it was fun.”
“See, Mom, that uncle’s scary.”
“Hey, I’ve got a buddy who’s a bear. Want me to call him so he can gobble you right up—”
“Cut it out. Be nice, smile, and watch the kid properly.”
Leaving the pouting Brian behind, Almar and I climbed to the roof. Midwinter wind coiled cold around us.
“You’re not a government agent, are you?”
“Do I look like one?”
“No. I don’t know how you framed that bastard as a spy, but he must’ve died with his eyes wide open. It felt damn good.”
Looking at Almar’s smile, I was reminded all over again how terrifying a woman nursing a grudge could be.
“Is that why you sought me out? Just to say that?”
“No. I have a favor to ask.”
“I’m no errand boy or fixer.”
“I know. Call it a favor if you want, but it won’t cost you anything either.”
Fair enough. I nodded. Almar glanced around, stepped closer, and whispered.
“Did you find Dropper’s money?”
Cory had torn the place apart and come up empty. There had been no safe in the motel, of course, and the wallet held only thirty dollars and some change.
Reading my face, Almar gave a faint smile as if she had expected exactly that.
“You wouldn’t have found it. Dropper kept a secret hide for it. So… if I tell you where, can you cut me in for even a little?”
When I stayed silent she grew anxious.
“Twenty… no, even ten percent is fine.”
“It could turn out to be ten dollars. I might be lying.”
“That’s all right. Whatever you say, an idiot like me will believe it. And what’s ten dollars? Better than giving my body to that Dropper bastard. Ah—can’t do that anymore anyway. Ten dollars is still a lot of money to me.”
The air bit hard. Almar, dressed too thinly, waited with chapped lips trembling.
She spoke as if self-deprecation and ten dollars were enough, but I didn’t take the words at face value. I turned them over.
“How dangerous is this place that you’re satisfied with ten dollars?”
When I pressed her with a hard look she bit her lip.
“…The money’s at the hideout.”
They kept a safe where the underlings came and went? It wasn’t even a place he lived.
And the hideout wasn’t attached to any business like a dance hall or gambling den. According to Cory, Kaplan’s place was simply somewhere a dozen men gathered for cards and drink.
A safe there?
“There’s a secret space the men don’t know about.”
“How do you know that? Dropper only got out of prison recently. When did he build something like that?”
“That hideout is the same one Johnny and Kaplan used seven years ago. It belongs to the parents of his man Billy the Kid Lustig.”
Men were always there. Even knowing the address, Almar could never have walked in alone.
“And honestly, I don’t know the exact spot either. Even if the safe exists, I can’t swear the money’s still in it.”
Everything rested on seven-year-old memories. She had no idea what might have changed. That was why she asked for only ten percent.
“So there might not be a single cent?”
“I don’t think so. The way he called his men the minute he got out, he must be sitting on a pile.”
Besides, right up until the prison doors closed, Kid Dropper had been stacking cash through every robbery he could manage.
“Then we do five percent.”
“Yeah. Fine. You’re taking the risk too. I’m grateful you even believe me.”
Almar held out a crumpled scrap of paper. It showed the address, a rough floor plan, and three spots marked as possible locations for the safe.
“How long are you going to keep watching me?”
“Until the whole situation is finished.”
“I don’t mind. Actually I like that other men leave me alone.”
Almar went back inside. I turned toward Bellevue Hospital, where my uncle was.
On the narrow street, homeless men lay wrapped tight in blankets like cocoons. As I tried to pick my way between them, someone seized my ankle.
“Two days without food… just ten cents…”
A free soup kitchen sat right nearby. Why starve for two days?
I slid my knife free. The man jerked his hand away and burrowed into the blanket.
There was a reason for the blade. Empty liquor bottles littered the ground around him. Whether he had bought them or scraped the last drops from discards, I would have bet a dollar that ten cents would go straight into more booze.
While I walked with the knife in hand, no one else begged or grabbed at my feet.
Bellevue Hospital.
Before discharge I stopped by Uncle Larry’s room.
When I opened the door he was sitting on the bed. He looked at me steadily. The old contempt was gone; his eyes reddened and he smiled.
“You’re here, Kieran.”
A man and a woman stood beside the bed. Both started and looked me up and down.
“You’re Kieran?”
“My goodness, you’re so tall!”
I’d been eating well; I had grown. Measured properly I was probably past six feet.
Anyway—who were these two?
Reading my face, Uncle Larry introduced them with a wry smile.
“First time for all of you. My eldest, Stanley, and my second, Amy.”
Twenty-three-year-old Stanley O’Connell.
Twenty-one-year-old Amy O’Connell.
Three younger siblings were not present.
“Kieran, the people who saved Father back then were all your friends, right?”
“What do you do?”
They were curious about their new cousin.
“I manage a lingerie shop on Allen Street.”
“A lingerie shop? Not even a factory, yet you have that many people?”
Strange, wasn’t it?
Amy blinked, puzzled. Because the adults had cut ties, none of them knew what the others did. They did not even know Mother ran a clothing factory.
So Stanley held out an envelope.
“Aunt Nora paid Father’s hospital bills, but she doesn’t need to. Take this back to her.”
I hesitated a second, then accepted it.
Amy still looked doubtful and spoke to me as if I were a child.
“You make sure that goes to your mother, understand? I’ll check later.”
“I’ll deliver it.”
Leaving my cousins, I finally asked about Uncle Larry’s condition.
“I’m planning to leave tomorrow. Thanks to you I got proper treatment and some peace.”
“What about work?”
“I won’t be able to work for a while anyway.”
Weiss, the man who had stirred the strike, had vanished, yet the protests continued. Branded a traitor, Uncle would be lucky to escape another beating if he went back—welcome was out of the question.
“Uncle, do you hate the strike itself?”
“What are you talking about? When your brother was hurt I was the most passionate man on the picket line.”
Back then the cause had been clear. He had led with signs high.
“This time was different. It was plain Kaplan had stuck his nose in to shake both union and management for cash. Who would’ve guessed the bastard was a German spy?”
Uncle Larry clucked his tongue at the absurdity.
“Anyway, I’m looking for other work. I’ve been on the docks too long.”
“Doesn’t it feel wasteful to walk away? I heard a man named Tanner Smith is stepping in.”
“Tanner?”
Uncle’s eyes widened.
Until now Jewish and Italian labor sluggers had held the field. An Irishman like Tanner was welcome news.
“If it’s Tanner… not bad.”
Whatever his private motives, Tanner had always stood with the workers and never started a strike without cause. He was skilled at striking and vanishing. The flip side was that he lacked the pure cruelty needed to bleed both sides dry. That had always been his weakness.
“How do you know all this?”
“I heard it by chance. You’ll have to verify it yourself.”
Tanner meant to fill Kaplan’s vacancy; when that would begin or end even I did not know.
Stanley and Amy followed none of the conversation. They seemed to live lives far from gangs or union wars. Why that felt like a pity I could not say. I should have been glad the family lived normally.
I smacked my lips and said goodbye.
“I’ll be going. I probably won’t see the discharge. Take care of yourself, and later—”
“Kieran. Christmas is only a few days away.”
Uncle watched me carefully, then spoke in a careful voice.
“I haven’t told your mother yet. What do you think about everyone gathering this time?”
It was exactly what I wanted.
“I’m for it. The kids will be happy too.”
“Then I only need to convince that stubborn mother of yours. The hardest job in the world, of course.”
Stubborn? My mother?
“Don’t worry about Mother. I’m more worried about the other uncles.”
“We already settled that among ourselves. Just make sure you tell her that your grandparents want to see you children.”
When I left the room Stanley and Amy followed.
“Talk Aunt Nora into it and make sure you come, all right?”
“Buy the little ones something good with this. See you next week, Kieran.”
Stanley pressed a dollar into my hand. I suddenly burned to know what work paid him so easily. I would ask Mother later and headed downstairs.
Before leaving the hospital I turned toward the prison ward.
In truth I had come to Bellevue more to see Hoover than Uncle Larry. Alma’s place had simply been on the way.
At the entrance a policeman barred me.
“No civilians.”
“I have an appointment with Agent Edgar Hoover.”
One officer went inside and returned with Hoover.
“Well, look who it is—our hidden hero, Kieran.”
“What’s with the greeting.”
“Just glad to see you.”
The policemen watched us with open curiosity. Hoover ignored them and led me deeper into the ward.
“Thanks to you things have been wild. The way the brass looks at me has completely changed.”
His manner toward me had changed as well. The old arrogance of looking down from above was gone.
“Duquesne still won’t talk. Doctors say it’s the paralysis, but the second he’s hungry he starts babbling. Barely understandable, though.”
Hoover launched into unnecessary detail about the case.
“Kaplan and Duquesne both received letters from the German vice-consul in Niagara, but the two don’t match. Duquesne’s is handwritten; Kaplan’s is typed.”
“I see.”
“And all Kaplan had were newspaper clippings about Duquesne.”
“So there’s no hard proof linking the two.”
“Exactly.”
Hoover fixed me with an intense stare, clearly hoping I knew something or would offer help.
“May I speak with Duquesne?”
“Alone?”
“Would he talk with an investigator present?”
“What do you plan to say?”
“Pull information about other spies out of him, wouldn’t that help?”
I’ll do the work for you, Hoover. Of course I might come away empty-handed.
“The seniors are out. You’ve got exactly one minute.”
“You said he’s paralyzed. One minute will vanish while he mumbles.”
“Fine—five minutes. Not a second more.”
Hoover took a breath and led me to Duquesne’s room. I wondered how the nurses here felt about their work.
We passed the iron bars across the corridor. A guard unlocked the secure cell. Hoover and the guard waited outside; I faced Duquesne alone.
The paralyzed man lay twisted on the bed. I pulled my scarf higher, stepped close, and whispered into his ear.
“Stop acting, you bastard.”
He only twitched; the paralysis held. Good. Any stronger reaction would have disappointed me.
“Duquesne, don’t suspect me. As a member of the German Empire I have come to save you.”
“········· son of a bitch.”
The curse dragged out of that twisted mouth only made me angrier.
I pressed my lips almost against his ear.
Information I had taken from a documentary in my previous life—Duquesne’s secret that no one in present-day America could possibly know—I whispered it to him.
The ILA workers’ strike demonstration…