Ten Days in August (21 page)

Hank dipped his head. He briefly rested it on Nicky's shoulder before he picked it back up. “You're right. I do not know why I feel so reckless. It feels like a wasted opportunity, but perhaps we
should
leave.”

Nicky imagined he could see the calculations happening behind Hank's eyes. Perhaps this was a chance to catch Knight doing something illegal, but it could just as easily incriminate Hank. It was a difficult decision to navigate.

And, indeed, they waited too long to decide.

“He's headed this way,” Hank whispered.

Before Nicky could figure out what was going on, Hank had taken both of their glasses, put them on a table, and then grabbed Nicky's hand to yank him out of the room.

As they ascended the stairs, Nicky asked, “What are we going to do?”

At the top of the stairs, Hank pulled Nicky up and then shoved him out the door. “You're leaving.”

“What?”

Hank looked around and then walked out onto the street. Nicky followed. Hank said, “You have to leave.”

“What? Without you? Why?”

“It's one thing for me to get caught here. I can take care of myself. I will figure out what to say to my superiors. I'll tell them I followed the suspect here. But you can't be seen with me. If Knight decides to retaliate, he may come after you. It's for your own safety that I ask you to leave.”

Nicky understood what Hank said and even saw some wisdom in it, but it felt wrong to leave Hank there to fend for himself. “Are you certain that is the best course of action?”

“Yes. Let me pursue Knight. Let me catch him at his game. That is my profession. It is what I have been trained to do. You must leave and get to safety. All right?”

A flurry of emotion swelled up in Nicky. He was terrified, exhilarated, worried for Hank, worried for himself, and so touched Hank wanted him to stay safe. He wanted to tell Hank this last week had been amazing, and though he now sensed it was coming to a close, he would not soon forget it.

But instead, all he said was, “All right. I'll go. I'll be home later if you care to call on me when it's all over. Be careful, Hank.”

“I will be.”

Nicky reached over and briefly squeezed Hank's hand. Hank smiled faintly before he turned and went back into the saloon.

Nicky decided to walk home, so he turned and walked back toward his apartment. But before he'd gone more than half a block, a hand clamped down over his mouth. His back met with a wall of muscular chest. In his ear, his abductor hissed, “So you're Brandt's little plaything, are you? Do you suppose he'll miss you?”

Then pain blossomed on the side of Nicky's head and everything went black.

 

Knight wasn't in the Pit when Hank returned. Hank walked the perimeter, cut through the center, spoke with a few patrons, and became increasingly convinced Knight had either found his victim for the night while Hank was upstairs or he'd left. But how could he have left? Hank had never taken his eyes off the entrance. He would have seen Knight leave.

To the bartender, Hank asked, “Is there a way out of here besides the front?”

“There's an exit out the back. It's only really used by employees, but—”

Hank ran out the back before the bartender finished speaking.

There was a short hallway with slimy walls that led to a staircase up to street level. The sour sweetness of discarded liquor bottles and stale beer stung Hank's nostrils as he rose to the street. He saw a trash bin had been kicked over and its contents spilled on the flat stone that paved the area behind the saloon.

Hank stumbled through the trash area and emerged onto Mercer Street, a little surprised to be there at first. It took him a moment to get his bearings. That may have proved a moment too long, because there was no sign of Knight or anyone here, aside from a few people clearly intent on making the street their bed for the night, and a couple of children on a fire escape up above.

Although there in the gutter was a bit of red fabric.

Nicky.

It wasn't Nicky's red scarf. The material was wrong, as Hank saw when he picked it up. But it might have been used by Knight as a kind of decoy or a way to lure potential victims. Or it belonged to another man frequenting this part of Greenwich Village and it had been discarded either because of the heat or during a tryst in this crowded not-quite alleyway. Or it was entirely a coincidence. Hank tossed it aside and stood, not sure what to do now.

To the children up on the fire escape, who probably had the best view, Hank shouted, “Hey, did you see a man blow through here a few minutes ago?”

A little girl nodded.

“Did he have dark hair? Was he wearing nice clothes?”

“He had on a hat,” said a boy. “It was a nice hat.”

It wasn't much to go on, but it must have been Knight. How else would he have gotten out of the building. “Thanks. Be safe up there. Try to stay cool. Drink water if you can.”

“Sure, mister,” said the boy, his voice laced with sarcasm.

Hank sighed. This neighborhood was no place for kids, let alone kids that young hanging out on a fire escape to get away from the heat inside. Lord knew what all they saw at night. Hank wanted to tell them to go back inside, but knew better. Instead he gave them a little wave and moved on.

He looped back toward Bleecker, worried he was too late. There wasn't much to see there, either. A few men lingered near the front entrance to the Pit. Hank approached.

“Crazy night, eh?” Hank said, trying to sound casual.

“I'll say!” said one of the men.

Another man with curly hair that grew longer than his ears and what looked like makeup on his face in the waning light elbowed the first man in the ribs. “We were just nattering on about the heat. ‘Hot enough for ya?' You know. And then this man in a dark coat comes sneaking about.”

Hank leaned close. “A sneaky man, you say. Someone I should keep my eye out for?” He added what he hoped would be interpreted as a flirtatious expression at the curly-haired man, who was effeminate in much the way Nicky was, though not nearly as attractive.

The curly-haired man laughed. “If you're going to go leering at men like that, then I imagine so. We watched him abscond with a gentleman just up the block.”

Hank's heart seized. “Abscond?”

“I assumed they were together,” a third man said. He was wearing a bowler with a red ribbon tied around it and sported a handlebar mustache that curled on the ends. “Not the first time I've seen a bit of rough play in this neighborhood.”

“The man he absconded with, what did he look like?”

Hank must have sounded too eager, because all three men gave him an odd look. “Oh, uh, a bit of a fairy. Blond hair, red scarf. Quite lovely, actually.” The first man looked back up the street as if he might still find the man standing there. “I might have tried my luck, you know, had our darkly-dressed friend not taken him away.”

“Which direction did they go?” Hank asked.

Now everyone looked concerned. “Er, why?” asked the curly-haired man.

Hank stepped forward and lowered his voice. “I tell you this not to alarm you but because I want you to be careful with whom you go home tonight. I am a police officer investigating a series of murders committed on the Bowery.”

Everyone gasped and balked and tittered. It almost looked as though they might run off.

But Hank pushed on, hoping his friendliness would buy him time enough to explain himself. “I am a man of, I would guess, inclinations similar to yours, so you will come to no harm at my hand if you help me right now. I happened to spot my suspect in the Pit just a few moments ago and I believe he escaped through the Mercer Street exit of the building. He may have come back up here. You say he absconded with a man who fits the description of my . . .” Here Hank stalled, not sure how to quantify Nicky. He sighed. “My lover. He's about this tall.” Hank held up his hand to approximate Nicky's height. “Blond, thin, and he wore a gray suit and a red scarf.”

“That could be him,” said the man in the bowler. “Oh, dear. It looked like they knew each other or were just playing around. That's been known to happen around here at night, especially one such as this when everything feels so hot and crazy.”

“They went toward the Bowery,” said the first man.

“Thank you kindly, fellas. And like I said, be careful tonight.”

Hank ran down Bleecker toward the Bowery, though he knew he was likely too late. When he got to the corner, he looked both ways and . . . nothing.

He cursed.

If Knight had really taken Nicky, which Hank still wasn't completely certain of, he could still be nearby. But where would they go? A dark alley? Hank jogged down the street and looked between the crevasses between buildings and saw nothing. Panic was making it hard to think, but Hank looked around him as he ran through possibilities. Would Knight have known Nicky was with Hank, or was his abduction a coincidence? Could Knight be trying to get to Hank by taking Nicky? Could they have gone uptown to Knight's house? That was a good distance from where Hank now currently stood. He supposed Knight could have pulled Nicky into a cab. Hank watched one labor up the Bowery, the horse panting as it went. So Hank jogged up the street, hopping to peek into the open cabs for anyone who looked like Knight or Nicky.

Then all of a sudden a wave of dizziness hit him, so powerful he doubled over. Cold sweat broke out all over his skin as he leaned on his knees and tried to collect his breath. It was still unbearably hot, too hot to run after cabs, too hot to be wearing the coat he had on, too hot to do much of anything but stand there panting. As the dizziness waned, Hank stood back upright but knew an opportunity had been missed. Even if the horse driving the cab were just plodding along, a cab headed uptown would already be well ahead of Hank.

And that still assumed Hank's guess was right.

Hoping against hope Nicky had merely gone home, Hank walked to Nicky's apartment. He spent most of the trip there turning over worst-case scenarios in his head.

He questioned why he was so invested. Nicky was a witness and a good lover, but Hank had been preparing himself to move on when the case wrapped.

Except he didn't want to. He wanted to keep Nicky in his life.

He reached Nicky's building in what felt like record time. The door was propped open and a man wearing only trousers and a scuffed pair of shoes leaned against it. As Hank approached, he could smell sour liquor and vomit, and the man's eyes had the tell-tale glassiness of a drunk. Hank pushed past him and ran up the stairs. He pounded on the door to Nicky's apartment. Then he leaned his head on the door, hoping to hear, “Just a moment, darling, I'll be right there.”

But there was nothing.

“If you're in there, Nicky, please come to the door,” Hank yelled. “It's Hank. I just need to know you're all right.”

But he knew it was futile.

Hank's next stop was Club Bulgaria. Not even Charlie seemed to be there tonight. Hank pulled aside one of the working boys and said, “I'm looking for Paulina.”

“It's her night off, mate,” the boy—and he really looked young enough to be barely on the brink of manhood—said. “But try back tomorrow.” He had a bit of a cockney accent, but whether it was real or a put-on was hard to say.

“There's a boy who works here named Charlie.”

“Not here either. Hasn't been to work all week, in fact. If he's your favorite, you're out of luck, as I think he might be out of a job.” Then the boy ran his hands up Hank's chest. “I'm sure I'd do all right by you, though. You're right handsome, you are.”

“Look, if Charlie or . . . Paulina come by, I need to speak to them right away. My name is Hank. Will you tell them to call on me either at home or the Seventeenth Precinct house?”

The boy's eyes went wide. “Are you a copper?”

“Yes,” Hank whispered. “I will not arrest you. I just need to find Paulina.”

“Is she in trouble?”

“No. Not how you mean. I fear she may be in danger. That goes for you, too. Be extremely careful with the gentlemen you entertain tonight. There is a killer among them.”

The boy nodded solemnly.

Hank walked back out onto the Bowery, fretting he'd never catch up with Nicky. He hailed a cab and went west to his house, hoping Nicky had gone there to surprise him. But there was no sign of Nicky there, either.

With some reluctance, Hank faced the fact Knight had taken Nicky. Hank didn't know where to look and he was losing time. The best idea he had was to search Knight's home. He watched a cab lurch up the street with some effort and decided he might get uptown faster if he took the elevated train. That meant walking back east, though, and every bit of time he spent traveling was time Nicky might be suffering at the hands of Knight. If Andrew's assumption that Knight had also assaulted poor Charlie was true, and if Knight was indeed capable of the worst kind of violence, then who knew what kind of danger Nicky might be in.

It took nearly a half hour to get uptown, according to Hank's pocket watch. He started to run toward Fifth Avenue when, again, the heat thwarted him. He had to pause and lean against a building to catch his breath and keep from fainting. He had trouble breathing, too, although that was as much from worry over Nicky as it was from the heat.

When Hank arrived at Knight's house, it was empty and dark. The house was sandwiched between two other narrow houses, so there was no way to see into or get around the house.

He walked up and gazed into the dark window at street level. It was obscured slightly from the street by the staircase that went up to the first-floor stoop. But when Hank got close, his heart rate sped up. He tried to formulate a plan beyond “grab Nicky and run.”