Paradise Park (The William Muldoon Mysteries Book 1) Page 2

  He strode off confidently, a wicked smirk on his lips. He’d easily lost his pursuer, and now he walked down Mott Street, heading toward Chatham. He needed to check at the McAllister home first, and then search around town if he had to. His gaze flicked from face to face as he moved through the crowd. Even in the rain, the streets were filled with people going places, heads tipped low, water dripping off hat brims, umbrellas, or newspapers clutched overhead. He imagined accidentally walking right past Kelly on his way across town. But, he knew he wouldn’t. The war had taught him a vigilance he would never lose. As he passed a newsstand, he caught a glaring headline: Murderous Demon Stalks the Night.

  ✶ ✶ ✶

  The

  McAllisters lived in a rundown building, not unlike the many ramshackle structures in this part of town. This one was brick instead of wood, its federal style a remnant of a much better past, when George Washington had visited these same streets. Muldoon entered the building and made his way up to the fourth floor. He passed a pile of garbage someone had dropped over the rail. It had fallen a distance and splattered where it hit, its unwholesome contents spread across the landing. He leapt over the refuse, disturbing a rat, but it only sat and stared at him, its whiskers flicking. It claimed the mess for its own, and not even a man Muldoon’s size was going to scare it off without a little effort.

  He gave a halfhearted wave toward the rat. It started to move, shifted its shoulders, and then touched the ground with one tiny hand-like paw. But it didn’t run. It held its place defiantly. Muldoon needed the same kind of spirit if he was going to help Kelly McAllister.

  He stopped in front of the apartment door and rapped lightly. If Kelly was lying sick in there he didn’t want to disturb him yet. He hadn’t seen him since the fight, but the kid had been hurt pretty badly.

  The crooked door opened a crack, the bottom hinge hanging uselessly. He’d have to remember to get back here and fix that. With Kelly locked up, Meg McAllister would be alone. Her face appeared through the thin space between door and jamb.

  “It’s me, Ma,” Muldoon said. She insisted he call her that. His parents were long since gone, and she’d become something of a replacement. For that matter, he regarded Kelly as a younger brother, one who needed his protection at the moment.

  Meg’s face lit up, but he could see the worry in her eyes. He pulled the door open to where it always got stuck, just wide enough so he could get in. “Is Kelly here?” He yanked the door shut, and turned to her.

  “No.” She wrung her hands. “I mean, he was… up until about an hour ago.” Her despairing tone couldn’t dampen the dancing lilt in her Irish born voice.

  Muldoon sighed.

  “Ah, William,” she said. “He’s not so good. Had his ribs cracked in that last fight, he did. And not a dollar to show for it! We can’t afford a doctor. Lord knows, he needs one to tape up his ribs. And now he’s gone to fight again.”

  Muldoon glanced across the tiny room. An empty peg told him what he needed to know. Kelly had taken his wrestling tights. A small portrait of Mrs. McAllister hung next to the peg. He’d seen it so many times before, but this time he looked back at her. Agitated, she stroked her gray hair, unconsciously pulling it loose from its bun. She seemed but a shadow of the girl in the portrait, before she’d left Ireland. She stood proudly in the picture, her face tilted at a jaunty angle, full, curly hair over an impish grin. Her gown was of the best fabric and cut, the daughter of a wealthy man. He gazed down at the wreck of her former self. Hard living and poverty had broken her.

  He pulled a dollar out of his pocket and slipped it into her hand. “You don’t have to worry, Ma. I’ll find him, bring him to his senses.”

  “If you aren’t too late,” she said. “The tea leaves don’t look good for him.” She gazed down at the shining coin in her hand. “You know I can’t take this.” She lifted it between finger and thumb… raised it slowly… hesitantly, to return it to Muldoon.

  He took her hand inside his big fist and folded her frail fingers over the coin. “You can, and you will,” he said. “You’ll be needing it for your rent. I’ll bring you what I can tomorrow. And I’ll come and fix that door.”

  “And I suppose you’ll be getting the cash in the usual way?” she asked, a slight, reproachful tone in her voice.

  “Of course,” he said. “Wrestling… or fisticuffs.”

  Meg harrumphed, but slipped the coin into her apron pocket. She studied his face. “You’re looking tired. You’re not sleeping?”

  “Enough.”

  “Your dreams again?”

  He shrugged. She was the only one who knew about them. She knew because she’d taken him in after the war, when he was so ill he’d nearly died. And she’d helped him learn to ignore, or attempt to ignore, the soldiers who walked through the crowded streets. Soldiers invisible to everyone except him… faces of the men he’d fought beside in the war… or against. The men who hadn’t made it.

  She turned partially away. “There’s a shadow over you, William.”

  “Did your tea tell you that?” He couldn’t stop the skepticism that entered his voice.

  “No. I can see it on you. Mind it, will you? Now, you’d best be getting along if you’re going to stop Kelly before he gets into trouble.”

  Muldoon nodded. He couldn’t bring himself to tell her Kelly’s troubles were only just beginning. The door opened with a shudder as he scraped it against the floor. He pushed it to and passed quickly down the stairs. He knew where to find McAllister; he just hoped he’d get there before Graham or one of his boys.

  CHAPTER 4

  Muldoon

  went down the stairs into the basement of 153 Bleecker Street. A fat whore in a gaudy, floral-print pink dress met him at the door. Her alabaster cheeks were bright with rouge, lips painted a harsh shade of red, clashing violently with the florid dress. “Why, boys,” she screamed with obvious delight. “It’s the champ! He’s honoring us with his presence this afternoon.”

  He hadn’t eaten since early that morning, and suddenly Muldoon realized he was hungry. The Black and Tan wasn’t his first choice in eating establishments, but he wasn’t going to be choosy.

  “Hello, Mable,” he said, wrapping one arm about the woman’s thick waist. “Got anything good to eat?”

  “Sure,” she said and steered him across the full room toward an empty table. Even at this early hour, the saloon was lively. Several more prostitutes entertained the men, and dancing girls paraded in their show dresses, slit high in front for the can-can, layers of lace peeking from underneath.

  Men packed the room. Most were black. Freed from slavery, the city had become a magnet, and the African population had exploded. All eyes turned toward him, leery at first, taking in his police blues. As they realized who wore the uniform, they relaxed. Muldoon frequented the taverns and saloons of the Points. It was where he wrestled and earned the extra money that bought him the nice clothes a Bowery man yearned for, money he intended to hand over to Meg McAllister while Kelly was put away.

  As he glanced over the faces, Muldoon’s gaze paused at Frank Stephenson. The saloonkeeper leaned against the bar. A tall, thin man, he stood stiff and erect. Even after knowing him for years, Muldoon couldn’t help but stare at the proprietor, looking for some sign of humanity. His pale face seemed drained of blood, corpselike. Strikingly dark hair leapt from his forehead, swept back. It seemed all color had been reserved for the man’s hair and eyebrows. His dark eyes glowered as he kept watch over the room.

  Muldoon sat quietly at a corner table and watched the scene at the bar while awaiting his meal. Kelly McAllister had arrived and stood at the bar speaking earnestly to Stephenson. Trying for a match, he thought. The boy was more beat up than he’d thought… it was obvious even from across the room. He wouldn’t be fighting today. Muldoon ate slowly when his pork pasty came. It wasn’t the best, but it wasn’t bad, either. While he ate, he debated how he’d approach his friend. He didn’t think Kelly would give in that easil
y. I wouldn’t, he thought. Just thinking of the Tomb’s cold prison interior sent a shiver along his spine… and he was a cop. He sent men there.

  As he finished his meal, a commotion began across the room. Not much, at first, just a slight rise in voices. Anticipation moved across the saloon like a tidal wave.

  “There’s gonna be a match!” someone shouted over the racket.

  Surprised, Muldoon glanced up at the figure of Frank Stephenson. The proprietor no longer stood at the bar, but had returned to his accustomed place, high on a tall chair at the center of the room. He surveyed the tavern like a king over his land. The piercing, soulless eyes turned toward him and caught him in their gaze. The corners of his frowning lips just barely lifted as he looked across at Muldoon. He nodded, almost imperceptibly, a silent challenge meant only for him.

  Muldoon shifted his gaze toward McAllister. The younger man still stood by the bar, stripping off his shirt. He could see the soreness in the boy’s movements. Quickly he lifted his bulk from the chair and strode across the room.

  “What are you doing, Kelly?” he asked.

  “I’m gonna fight.” Kelly lay his shirt on the bar, and turned quickly to face Muldoon. He grimaced with pain. “Don’t try and stop me.” He continued stripping down to his tights.

  Muldoon looked pointedly at the deep purple bruises visible on the young man’s body. “I don’t think you’re in any condition for fighting.”

  “It’s not up to you, William. I’ve got to earn some money for my Ma.”

  He wondered what Kelly had done with his share of the kitty from his last match. Gambling, no doubt.

  “She doesn’t need it,” Muldoon said. “I gave her a dollar this morning.”

  “She does need it.” Kelly scowled. “And it’s my business, not yours. I have to take care of her. I provide for mine, and you provide for yours.”

  “You know I can’t do that.”

  Red flared across Kelly’s face. He knew Muldoon’s family had been killed during the war. “I… I didn’t mean that! You know I didn’t.”

  “I know, Kelly. And you know I can’t let you fight. Not in your condition.”

  “But I’ve got to! It’s a matter of honor now. It’s already been arranged.”

  Muldoon shook his head. “Sorry, Kelly, but you’ve got to come with me.”

  “I don’t think so,” a deep, gravelly voice interrupted them. It came from a large man behind the bar. “The crowd’s expectin’ a match.” His ebony skin glowed from the lantern that hung just to the right. He reached up, pulled a huge bludgeon down from its place on the wall, and tapped it suggestively against one hand. The bartender to his left stepped closer and drew a long knife from its sheath. At the far ends of the long bar, the final two bartenders stepped out, each held a club at the ready. Four against one… and an injured boy.

  Muldoon raised an eyebrow. “Who’s he supposed to wrestle?”

  The first bartender motioned with his head. A giant African stepped from the back room, stripped to his undershirt and a pair of vivid red tights. Muldoon smirked as his gaze slid around to the tall chair at the center of the room. Stephenson had swiveled the seat around to give himself a clear view of the scene at the bar. One eyebrow twitched noticeably. He rarely made any response at all. Eyes locked with Stephenson’s, Muldoon removed his policeman’s hat, and placed it on the bar.

  “No! This is my bout.” Kelly grabbed Muldoon’s arm hard.

  Muldoon broke from Stephenson’s heavy, challenging stare, and turned to his friend. “No, Kelly,” he said. “This was never your fight.”

  “I’m gonna take this one, William,” Kelly said. “You don’t understand! I’ve got to make the rent.” He wrenched Muldoon’s arm, but with the sharp movement, the younger man bent nearly double and grasped his broken ribs.

  Muldoon grabbed hold of Kelly. The boy’s face had gone sheet-white, his skin cold and clammy. He held onto him, and kept him from sliding to the floor. “Sit down, Kelly,” he said, hooked an empty stool with his right foot and pulled it toward him. He eased the young man down, turned toward the bar, and motioned the bartender close. “Make sure he doesn’t go anywhere,” he said. “Or this match will end a bit too quick… ”

  The man glanced warily toward Stephenson. “Mmhmm,” he mumbled through clenched lips.

  Muldoon smirked. He’d give the saloonkeeper his show. He set his short daystick on the bar next to his hat. The long nightstick followed, and then his handcuffs and his braided leather and wire come-along. He imagined wrapping that light strap around Kelly McAllister’s wrists, leading him from the bar, and booking him for murder. He sighed, then laid his heavy belt on the growing pile. Slowly he unfastened his brass buttons; he began at the neck, revealing the curly red hairs of his chest. He shrugged the uniform from his shoulders, but left his undershirt in place. It stretched tight across his barrel chest, and his muscles bulged and flexed as he moved.

  “Sorry,” he said loudly. “I haven’t any tights with me. You’ll have to allow me my pants.”

  Stephenson nodded from his throne.

  Muldoon slipped off his shoes. Suddenly he spun about and slammed his hand down on the bar next to his gear. “Touch nothing!” he said. “If anything goes missing, this place will be closed down. But not before the B’hoys come through.”

  The bartender nodded, his eyes growing large. He seemed to have momentarily forgotten the bludgeon in his hand.

  Calls of “George! George Army!” filled the room as the big African strode forward to meet Muldoon in the center of the cleared floor. Men scrambled from the space, drawing chairs and tables with them. The two squared off, placed their feet for balance, and grasped one another, heads close together. Although they began with a semblance of formality, Muldoon knew this would be no Greco-Roman bout. It would be quick moving, the rough-and-tumble fighting of the poorer classes. He’d learned the classic style in the war, but he knew it held little attraction for this crowd. He gauged his opponent and found them roughly equal in size and weight, though his skill was still unknown.

  High atop his chair, Stephenson nodded. A small wiry man pulled the hat off his tightly curled hair and held it high, where both contestants could see. Again, Stephenson nodded, and the hat was dropped. The little man snatched back his hat and scooted quickly away as the wrestling began, fast and furious. The African put him on the defensive immediately, working hard, and Muldoon regretted his meal.

  “Lookout, William!” Kelly yelled above the roar of the crowd.

  George Army tried for the first throw, turned swiftly and grabbed for Muldoon’s waist. But he countered, slipped over him and tried to draw him to the ground. They struggled hard for a time, but Army got away.

  They came together again, on their feet for several minutes, when suddenly Army dove for Muldoon’s leg, lifting him. He struggled out of the hold and held an arm out, fending him off long enough to catch his breath a bit. They locked together again, and then Muldoon took his turn, going for the leg.

  “Oomph,” grunted Army as he fell hard to the ground. Muldoon followed him quickly, getting a half-nelson. But Army spun about, breaking loose to an appreciative roar from the crowd. Muldoon reached forward and grabbed the man’s foot.

  “Ahhh,” Muldoon grunted as Army’s foot caught him square in the jaw and he yanked free.

  Muldoon stood, wiped his sweating palms on his thighs and took his stance again. Once more Army went for his leg, lifted him despite his resistance, and threw him heavily to the ground. Army latched on with a half-nelson, and Muldoon arched his back, twisting free of the lock. Suddenly, they were both up again.

  This time, Muldoon dropped Army and tried for a hammerlock once the two were on the ground. He switched tactics and tried for a half-nelson again, but Army’s legs lifted suddenly, and he turned on his head. Strong, Muldoon thought. Strong enough to kill Schneider?

  “Heh,” Army half-laughed as he slipped over and behind Muldoon in a split-second.

 
“Yeah, Army!” roared the crowd. The room filled as word spread on the street of the impromptu match between Muldoon and the African.

  They struggled for a bit, and then finally Army got a half-nelson and was able to work his other arm to a crotch hold. Muldoon struggled for a moment, bridged in a last effort to save himself, then dropped his shoulders to the floor and the fall was given to the African.

  “Hey Muldoon! It’s even money… want in on it?” called a voice from the crowd. The betting was furious, as money changed hands among the onlookers. Muldoon noticed the large number of Irish faces that now filled the room. He ignored the soldiers, trying not to wonder which were real.

  Then they came back together, and Muldoon dropped Army almost immediately. He tried for a hammer, then a scissors, but couldn’t quite get either. The pace was slower than it had been for the first throw, each man going on the offensive in turns. Suddenly Muldoon got his opponent in an arm-lock, and Army struggled fiercely to break free. Muldoon tightened his grip and forced the struggling man’s shoulders to the mat.

  There was one fall left. They stood again and squared off. Blood dripped from a deep gouge over Muldoon’s brow. He reached up and cleared it from his eye.

  “Woohoo, Champeen,” called Mabel from the bar. “Can I tumble with you next, Irish-Boy?”

  He grinned at her, blew her a kiss, and then turned to Army as they came together again.

  Muldoon knew he had him as he reached for his opponent. He quickly secured a crotch and a half-nelson, and forced Army’s shoulders to the floor for the final throw.

  The crowd went wild. He hadn’t failed his fans, and even among the Africans, there was a grudging respect. He had beaten their champ, but the disappointed brawl Muldoon expected didn’t happen. Instead, the men crowded around him, and patted him on the shoulder or shook his hand in congratulations. He turned to Kelly McAllister, who had left his seat when the long match had begun, forgetting his injuries in the excitement of the bout. The younger man smiled broadly and grabbed Muldoon by the arm.