Five Points (12 page)

“He's waiting for you, sir,” Edwards said. “I have to take care of the horse.”

“Thanks for the ride, Officer.”

Clint went inside, prepared to face an angry Captain Thomas Byrnes.

The front desk sergeant decided to walk him back to Byrnes's office himself. Maybe he wanted to see Clint's head get bitten off. But when Clint entered Byrnes's office, the man barely looked at him, and said to the sergeant, “Close the door.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Captain,” Clint said, “I'm really sorry. I got called away and wasn't able to contact you in time to keep you from coming to pick me up this morning.”

“Contacted by who, I wonder?” Byrnes asked. “Delvecchio, or George Appo?”

“Appo?”

“I have eyes and ears all over this city, Mr. Adams,” Byrnes said. “I know who had breakfast with Delvecchio and lunch with Appo. What's going on?”

“I'm doing what Talbot Roper asked me to do, Captain,” Clint said. “Trying to find out who killed Libby Wellington. I figure to talk to anyone I can talk to who might help me.”

“What kind of help do you think you can get from George Appo?”

“I don't know,” Clint said. “Somebody told me he knew things about Ma Mandelbaum.”

“Ma Mandelbaum,” Byrnes said. “I see you learned more of her nicknames.”

“Yes.”

“From who? Mr. Delvecchio or Mr. Appo?”

“Does it matter?”

“No, actually, it doesn't,” Byrnes said. “What does matter is I've made myself available to you for help and you seem to prefer the help of criminals.”

“Delvecchio's not—”

“He might as well be,” the captain said, cutting him off. “I'd like to know why you felt the need to go to George Appo.”

“Okay,” Clint said. “I'll tell you the truth.”

“Please.”

“The girl came to me last night.”

“What girl?”

“Bethany.”

“What did she want?”

“She wanted to plead for the life of her brother, Ben,” Clint said.

“For his life?”

“She had it in her head that I came here from Denver to kill him.”

“I have to admit I had the same thought.”

“That I wanted to kill Ben?”

“No, that you wanted to kill whoever the killer turns out to be,” Byrnes said. “After all, your reputation—”

“I'm sure an experienced lawman like you doesn't believe everything he hears, Captain.”

“No, of course not,” Byrnes said. “Go on. What else did she say?”

“She told me that Ben didn't kill the woman in Denver.”

“Did she say who did?”

“No, she wouldn't say that.”

“Why not?”

“I suspect she didn't want it traced back to Ma.”

“And what conclusion did you draw from all this?”

“Several, as a matter of fact,” Clint said. “First, that Ma is the fence involved. Second, that she sent her man Willie to Denver with those kids, and he probably killed the Wellington woman.”

“And is there a third?”

“Yes,” Clint said. “I decided that the girl needs help.”

“So you went to George Appo?”

“I, uh, heard somewhere that he's her mentor.”

“If you mean he's trying to make her into as big a criminal as he is, you're right.”

“Captain,” Clint said, “I want to keep that girl alive. That's all.”

“And catch a killer.”

“Yes.”

“And you think you can do these things without me?” Byrnes asked.

Clint wondered if all he was dealing with here was a wounded ego. He hoped so. He wanted Byrnes to be a bigger man than that, if only because Tal Roper recommended him so highly.

“No, Captain, I don't,” he said carefully. “I'm trying to use every tool I can find.”

“Well,” Byrnes said, “you seem to have isolated Fredericka Mandelbaum as the fence involved. And I concur that puts Willie O'Donnell in the picture. Bethany could kill, but I don't think she did, and as for Ben—well, he hasn't got the backbone to kill.”

Maybe he had too much sense, or too gentle a nature, Clint thought. He wouldn't hold either one of those things against the young man.

“Did you talk to those other fences?”

“I did,” Byrnes said. “I thought either of them would be good for this, but as I said, you seem to have pinpointed Ma for us.”

“So what's next?”

“I'll have her watched,” Byrnes said. “We'll know when Willie O'Donnell gets back to town, and then we'll have another conversation with both Ma and him.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“That doesn't seem to leave you much to do until that happens,” Byrnes said. “Oh, wait, you're trying to save Bethany's immortal soul. I guess you can continue to work on that.”

Clint stood up and said, “I think I'll do just that, Captain,” and walked out.

When Clint left police headquarters, he felt kind of bad. Talbot Roper had sent him to Byrnes because the two men were friends, and maybe Clint'd disrespected the man. On the other hand, Roper had asked him for a favor, and he'd agreed to try to do the job. If dealing with Delvecchio and Appo got the job done, then that was what he was going to do.

He walked up Mulberry Street and managed to wave down a passing cab. He told the driver to take him to the Belvedere Hotel.

He had little to do now but wait to hear from somebody—Delvecchio, Byrnes, or George Appo, after he'd talked with Bethany. When the cab left him off, instead of going into the hotel he went next door, into the tavern. The lunch he'd had with Appo was still sitting heavily on his stomach, but he felt the need for a cold beer. He easily found a place at the bar and ordered one.

“Angie ain't in yet,” the bartender said.

“What?”

“Angie,” the man said. “She ain't in yet. She'll be in later.”

“Oh, okay,” Clint said. “Thanks.”

The man nodded, went to get the beer.

George Appo used Red to find Bethany and get her to meet him at his place. When she arrived, she was very agitated.

“I was lookin' for you all last night,” she said. “You weren't home, you weren't at the Metropole.”

“I was out working until late,” he said. “I didn't know you were looking for me—but I'm looking for you.”

“What's wrong?”

“I should ask you the same thing. Why were you looking for me?”

She wrung her hands and sat down.

“I want to get out, George.”

“Out?”

“Away from Ma.”

“Well . . .”

“What's that mean?”

“It's a coincidence, that's all.”

“What do you mean?”

“I had a meeting with Clint Adams.”

“Why did you want to see him?”

“I didn't,” Appo said. “He wanted to see me. Something about you asking him not to kill Ben.”

“I can't protect Ben anymore,” she said, shaking her head. “I have to watch out for myself from now on.”

“Well, that's music to my ears,” Appo said, “and, I'll bet, to Clint Adams's ears, too.”

“Why?”

“He claims he wants to help you get away from Ma without getting killed.”

“Oh sure,” she said. “All I have to do is tell him who killed that woman in Denver.”

“So tell him.”

“And get killed, anyway?”

“Adams says he won't let that happen.”

“And how's he gonna do that?”

“Well . . . he is the Gunsmith.”

“This is not the old West, George,” she said. “Willie O'Donnell is not gonna stand in the street with a six-shooter. ”

“I think Adams can handle himself, Bethany,” Appo said.

She looked at him, frowning. “You think I should tell him that Willie killed that woman?”

“He did, didn't he?”

“Yes.”

“Are you positive?”

“Ben saw him.”

“Ben actually saw him kill her?”

“Yes.”

George walked around the room, rubbing his chin.

“Ben told you he saw Willie kill the woman?”

“Yes.”

“Then why isn't Ben dead?”

“What?”

“If he's a witness to Willie killing somebody, Willie would kill him.”

“Don't forget, Ben is Ma's son,” Bethany said. “Willie wouldn't kill him.”

“He would if he could keep Ma from finding out it was him.”

Bethany shook her head.

“I can't worry about Ben anymore,” she said. “Not after . . .”

“Not after what?”

“Never mind,” she said. “All right, I'll talk to him if you say so, George.”

“I'll set it up. Where do you want to do it?”

“I don't care,” she said, hanging her head.

“Look, honey,” Appo said, “you stay here until I come for you. I'll set it up at the Metropole.”

“Okay,” she said.

“Get some rest. I'll be back as soon as I get word to Adams.”

“George . . .”

Appo patted her shoulder. “You're doing the right thing, Bethany.”

“I hope so.”

“She said what?”

Ben had decided the night before not to tell Ma about Bethany until morning. After that he found a saloon and drank until he staggered home and fell asleep on the floor. Now this morning, with a raging headache, he was giving her the news.

“She said she's not comin' back, Ma.”

He flinched, thinking she was going to slap him, but she didn't. It surprised him. The look on her face also surprised him. He'd never seen it before, and couldn't identify it.

“What'd she say, exactly?” Ma asked.

“She said she ain't comin' back.”

“Ever?”

“That's right, Ma.”

“And did she ask you to go with her?”

“Well . . . yeah.”

“Why didn't you?”

“I couldn't leave you, Ma.”

“You couldn't, huh?” she asked.

She turned and walked away from him, folding her arms with her head down.

“Ma?”

She turned and glared at him.

“You get her back.”

“What?”

“You heard me,” Ma said tightly. “Bring her back here.”

“But, Ma, she don't wanna come back. She don't wanna come back, ever.”

“I don't care,” Ma said. “I want her back.”

“But . . . why?” Ben was puzzled. “Ma, I thought you hated Bethany.”

“Oh, don't be a fool all your life, Ben.”

“You mean you don't hate her?”

“I mean I need her.”

“What for? You got me.”

“I need her to take over this business when I'm gone.”

“But Ma . . . I thought I—”

“Oh, you
are
gonna be a fool all your life, aren't you, Ben? Just like your father.”

“My father?”

“He was a fool, always wanting me to play it straight. Well, look what playing it straight got him. Dead at an early age.”

“What's that got to do with Bethany?”

“That girl has somethin' your father didn't have and you don't have, either.”

“What's that?”

“Smarts.”

“But you always said she was stupid.”

“She is, about a lot of things,” Ma said. “But she's got a brain, and I intend to use that brain.”

“By treatin' her bad? By always callin' her stupid? How's that usin' her brain?”

“Look,” Ma said, pointing her finger in his face, “you just go and get that sister of yours back here. Nobody walks out on Ma.”

“Ma, why don't you—”

“Look, Benny boy,” she said. “If you don't bring her back, I'll just send Willie to get her when he gets back.”

“Willie would kill her.”

“No, he won't,” she said. “Not if he wants to stay with me.”

“He just wants your money, Ma.”

Now she did slap him.

“You don't know anything about Willie.”

“I know he's always tryin' to touch Bethany. I know that.”

“That's a lie.”

“I know he killed that woman in Denver,” he went on. “I saw him.”

“I told you I'd talk to him about that when he got back.”

“What's to talk about? He killed her. He's a murderer. Sooner or later he's gonna get in big trouble, and take you down with him.”

“Stop talkin', Ben,” she warned. “Just stop talkin' and go get that no-good sister of yours back here. You hear me, boy?”

He stared at her, but her eyes were so hard and menacing he had to look away. He knew his father had had the same problem. He could never look her in the eye and stand up to her.

“Okay, Ma,” he said finally. “Okay. I'll go and get her.”

“And, Benny?”

“Yeah, Ma?”

She put her hands on her hips and fixed him with that stare again.

“Don't come back here without her.”

After Ben left, Fredericka Mandelbaum paced the floor, rubbing her hands together. She'd been trying to toughen Ben up for years, but knew that it wasn't going to work. The only chance she had to leave something behind was Bethany. She hated the girl because she was a constant reminder of her father, but she had to admit that the girl had smarts. She was a talented pickpocket and, given time, would learn the business and become the best fence in Manhattan—better, even, than Ma.