The Fall

by Sean Moynihan

  “Indeed, mon ami,” Houllier said. “Indeed.”

  17

  Falconer checked his watch as he stood with Waidler, Halloran, and Levine beneath the gaslit streetlamps outside of Tough Mike’s Saloon.

  Nine o’clock.

  He looked to his right towards the Bowery and saw a couple of dark-clad men walking towards them on the sidewalk. One was larger—like a heavyweight prizefighter—and the other, short but thickly-set with a very purposeful stride.

  Penwill and Houllier.

  As they approached him outside the bar’s entrance, Penwill spoke. “Evening, gentlemen—I do hope we aren’t late. Quite a time getting over here on the train.”

  “No, you’re fine,” Falconer said. “Good timing, actually. You remember James Waidler and Jimmy Halloran from last year.”

  “Ah, yes,” Penwill said, smiling and extending his hand to the two young men. “Jolly good to see you chaps again. And this is Inspector Prosper-Isidore Houllier from the French Surete.”

  “Pleasure to meet you, gentlemen,” Houllier said, shaking Waidler and Halloran’s hands.

  “Inspector,” Waidler said.

  “Nice to meet you, sir,” Halloran said.

  “So, this is the place?” Penwill asked. “Tough Mike’s?”

  “That’s correct,” Falconer said. “A German joint, popular with the anarchist crowd.”

  “Is our girl inside?” Penwill asked.

  “She is,” Falconer answered. “She’s been in there for some time now. We’ve been hanging off in the distance, though—didn’t interact with her or her friends.”

  “Excellent,” Penwill said. “So, what’s the plan, detective sergeant?”

  “You, me, the professor, and Inspector Houllier will go inside and try to speak to her,” Falconer said, “and James and Jimmy will wait out here and keep a watch over things.”

  “All right,” Penwill said. “Sounds easy enough. Shall we, gentlemen?”

  Falconer turned to Waidler and Halloran. “Just keep an eye on people going in and out,” he instructed. “We shouldn’t be long.”

  “Right, boss,” Waidler said.

  “All right,” Falconer said to Houllier, Levine, and Penwill. “Let’s head in.”

  The four men walked up to the bar’s entrance and walked inside. It was crowded and noisy, with scores of revelers swilling mugs of beer and jabbering busily in their native German tongue. As waves of smoke wafted up towards the ceiling, no one seemed to notice the four men amidst all the celebrating going on in the room until the policemen started pushing their way through the throng. Then, Falconer could sense that eyes were settling on them and voices were being muffled.

  He looked ahead to the back of the barroom and saw Goldman sitting at what he now discerned was her favorite table. She was talking in an animated way to several companions and gesticulating sharply with her hands as if to emphasize the point she was trying to make. Falconer turned to Levine, who appeared slightly unnerved by the chaotic atmosphere in the room. “See her over there?” he said to him. “That’s her speaking to her followers.”

  “Yes, I recognize her from her picture in the papers,” Levine said. “Strange seeing her in person now.”

  “Well, let’s get this over with,” Falconer said to the other men. “Just be prepared for some angry responses from her. She’s like that.”

  The men nodded and they pushed forward until they came before Goldman and about six others sitting at the table. As Falconer took off his bowler, Goldman stopped talking and looked up at him. Then she glanced at the other three men and frowned. “So, you’re back, detective,” she said, sitting back jauntily in her chair. “And with more friends, I see. Are you here to arrest me or to save me?”

  “I’ll get right to the point, Miss Goldman, so as not to intrude on your evening too much,” Falconer answered. “These men here have been investigating an anarchist bombing in Paris. They’ve come to our city because they believe that the French suspect has perhaps come here to try out some more dynamite on our shores. And they’re just wondering if perhaps you’ve heard from this man.”

  “Really, detective?” Goldman said. “Are you insinuating that I am somehow involved with the machinations of a Paris bomber? Are you joking, sir?”

  “No, not joking at all, miss,” Falconer replied. “This bomber happens to be an enthusiastic anarchist by the name of Theodule Meunier and he’s wanted for blowing up a café over there—killed a couple of people in the process. The good inspectors here believe that he did it to avenge the execution of his leader, a guy named Ravachol. Maybe you’ve heard of him?”

  Goldman sat silently for a moment and then spoke again. “I have, in fact, detective,” she replied. “Another martyr condemned by a ruthless and corrupt state.”

  “Well, I don’t know about that,” Falconer said, “but I do know that he committed some murders with bombs of his own, and he had his followers like this Meunier character.”

  “And?” Goldman asked. “What is your point, sir?”

  “My point is, Meunier is a rabid anarchist by all accounts,” Falconer said, “and if he has, in fact, come to New York, chances are he’ll want to get in touch with some notable anarchists who live here. So, my question for you is this: has Meunier been in touch with you?”

  “That’s quite an accusation, detective,” she said. “I’m not sure I want to even dignify your question by giving you an answer.”

  “Well, let me put it this way,” he said. “Lives may depend on your answer, and I’d hate to see the authorities find out after a bombing that Emma Goldman knew of Meunier’s whereabouts and didn’t say anything about it. That wouldn’t be good for you.”

  “Well, if you must have an answer, detective,” she said, “it is no—I have not heard from this Meunier person. I don’t even know why he would be in touch with me. I’m not that schooled in the art of dynamiting buildings, frankly.”

  “I see,” Falconer said. “Well, if he does happen to be in touch, I would hope that you would alert the authorities immediately.”

  “I shall keep that in mind, detective,” she answered tartly. “The authorities are never that far off, as you know, as they are constantly surveilling me.”

  Falconer put his bowler back on his head and doffed it slightly in Goldman’s direction. “Good evening, Miss Goldman.”

  “Good evening, detective,” she answered. “I’ll be seeing you outside my grandmother’s place on Tenth, as it’s obvious your men know I’ve been staying over there lately.”

  Falconer smiled and then motioned for the other men to follow him outside. When they had pushed their way through the barroom crowd and exited into the summertime air, Penwill grabbed a handkerchief and patted his sweaty brow. “Well, you weren’t joking when you said that she could get a bit angry,” he said. “Quite a church-bell, that one.”

  “Yes, I’m getting used to it by now,” Falconer said.

  “So, what now, gentlemen?” Houllier asked.

  “Well,” Falconer said, “I suppose Jimmy, James, and myself stick around and see where Goldman goes, and we’ll keep you posted.”

  “Very well, Falconer,” Penwill said. “Thanks for including us, and we’ll stay in touch. But sorry you have to stick around. She might be in there all night.”

  “Um, actually, I don’t think we’ll have to,” Waidler said, motioning to the tavern’s front door. “Look.”

  Falconer turned around and, like the other men, saw Goldman and a few companions exiting Tough Mike’s Saloon.

  18

  “Ah, Detective Falconer,” Goldman said as she moved closer to the men standing on the sidewalk. “Still lurking around, I see. Well, we’ll be headed to my grandmother’s place now, if you want to follow.”

  Penwill chuckled.

  “Thanks, Miss Goldman,” Falconer said. “We�
�ll follow your lead from a distance.”

  “I’m sure you will,” she replied, and then she motioned for her friends to follow and started walking down the street. Falconer shook his head in amusement and then lit a cigarillo as the other men followed suit and lit cigarettes.

  “This woman is most amusing,” Houllier remarked. “It is rather hard for me to view her as a dangerous assassin or bomb thrower.”

  “Yes, I suppose you’re right there, inspector,” Falconer said. “But as they say, looks can be deceiving.”

  “Most assuredly,” Houllier said.

  The men stood for a moment chatting and waiting for Goldman and her retinue to walk some distance down the street. Falconer listened impassively for a moment until something suddenly caught his eye: a hansom cab rustling past them and headed in the same direction as Goldman. It looked like every other of the thousands of hansom cabs in the city—a dark, two-wheeled, covered carriage with a gas lamp attached to its side and led by a single horse and a driver sporting a top hat sitting high up on top behind the cab—and it normally wouldn’t have garnered his attention but for the way in which it appeared to slow down slightly as it got closer to Goldman ambling down the sidewalk. Falconer took a couple of steps closer and peered intently at the cab in the distance. He then saw a gloved hand holding a small dark object suddenly protruding out of the carriage’s window, and he immediately threw down his cigarillo.

  “What is it, Falconer?” Penwill asked.

  “Gun!” Falconer replied as he took off at a sprint down the sidewalk. As he ran, he kept glancing at the cab in the street as it got closer to Goldman and her friends. It was very close to them now—perhaps twenty feet or so—and he worried that he would be too late. But still he ran as fast as he could on the hard, concrete sidewalk lit by gaslit lamps. And, as he approached the group in the hazy light, he thought it would be prudent to alert them to the impending danger, so he yelled at the top of his lungs as best he could, given his exertions. “Goldman! Look out! The cab! Get down! Get down!”

  Then, just as the cab was about to pull up next to Goldman and the others, he saw that she did hear him, for she stopped and turned back to look in his direction. He saw the confused look on her face just as he dove for her, tumbling down onto the sidewalk with her as he heard a series of gunshots going off.

  BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!

  As they fell to the ground, Falconer wrapped his arms around her body and took the force of the fall on his back, so as not to expose her to injury. They skidded briefly on the sidewalk and then came to stop just as the driver of the cab slashed at the horse with his whip and the horse took off at a full gallop. As Falconer rose to his feet, unholstering his revolver, he heard Goldman exclaim, “What on earth?!” and he saw her friends stand up from their crouching positions and go to her aid. He turned his attention back to the fleeing carriage and fired off a couple of rounds, but the carriage flew off down the street and rounded the corner just as fast as the horse could pull it.

  Falconer placed his gun back in his shoulder holster and turned to see Penwill, Houllier, Levine, Waidler, and Halloran all arriving at the scene themselves, having also sprinted down the sidewalk. “Good god, man!” Penwill exclaimed. “What the devil was that?”

  “Someone just tried to assassinate Miss Goldman,” Falconer responded. “That’s what that was.”

  He turned to Waidler and Halloran, whose guns were also drawn. “James…Jimmy…run down to the corner and see if you can spot that carriage.”

  “Right, boss,” Waidler answered, and both men took off running down the street.

  Falconer then turned his attention to Goldman, who was still sitting on the sidewalk being attended to by her companions. “Are you all right, Miss Goldman?” he asked her as he crouched down next to her.

  “I…I think I am,” she replied vacantly. “Did someone just try to shoot me?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid so,” Falconer answered. “But it looks like they’ve gotten away, unfortunately.”

  “My god,” she said, looking at her friends. “My god…I almost died just now.”

  “Yes, yes, Emma,” one of them, a young bespectacled man, said to her soothingly. “But it’s over now, and the danger is passed.”

  “I…I think I owe you my life, detective,” she said, looking at Falconer.

  “No need for that, Miss Goldman,” he replied. “But we need to get you out of this city, and quickly.”

  “Out of the city?” she asked. “What do you mean?”

  “It’s clear that you are being targeted,” he said. “By whom, I don’t know, but if you stay much longer here in the city, I fear that you will be killed.”

  Penwill, Levine, and Houllier walked over and stood next to the crouching figure of Falconer as Goldman appeared to be lost in thought.

  “But where?” she finally said, looking at the various people crowding around her on the sidewalk. “Where shall I go?”

  “My bureau has a safe house up north,” Falconer replied. “I’ll take you there while my colleagues look into whoever did this. You’ll be safe there for a while.”

  “But I have my lectures,” she protested. “My meetings.”

  “You need to let those things go for a while,” Falconer said, “until we figure this out.”

  “Please, Emma,” the young man said to her pleadingly. “He’s right. This has moved to a new level of dangerousness and you must disappear for a while. I’m begging you.”

  “All right, all right, Claus,” she said. “I will heed your warnings and do as the detective says. But where to right now, detective?”

  “We’ll go to our headquarters on Mulberry Street where I can get some supplies,” Falconer answered. “What do you need from your lodgings? I can send my men to do that.”

  “I…well, I’ll need a change of clothes,” Goldman replied, “my toiletries, and I’ll need some of my books. I can’t go sitting in the woods somewhere without something to read.”

  Falconer looked up and saw Waidler and Halloran running back to the group, signaling that they could not find the cab.

  “We’ll attend to that, Miss Goldman,” Falconer said. “Give your house key to Detective Waidler here, and your list of belongings. He and Officer Halloran will meet us at the headquarters.”

  “Very well, detective,” she said, standing up with the help of her friend and Halloran. “Mister Timmermann here can accompany them over there. My grandmother knows him and will let him gather up my things. And thank you again, detective, for saving my life, it appears. That was quite close.”

  “It was,” Falconer said. “And unfortunately, it won’t be the last time, I’m afraid.”

  “Well, then,” she said, dusting off her skirt, “I suppose we must be getting on. Please lead the way.”

  Goldman then conferred briefly with her friend, the man named Claus Timmermann, and with Waidler, and then she turned and walked off into the night with Falconer, Levine, Penwill, and Houllier as her escort.

  19

  After walking a few blocks, Penwill hailed a cab and the four men and Goldman packed themselves into it and rode over to the stately headquarters building on Mulberry Street. It was late in the evening, and thus, when they arrived, the building was largely quiet and not the busy control center humming with activity that it typically was during the day. A couple of overnight desk clerks sat behind a grand, wooden counter inside the front entrance, and three patrol officers were trundling a dusty inebriate into the building for drying out in a cell downstairs.

  Falconer led Goldman and the others down a hallway to the Detective Bureau and offered Goldman a seat in a conference room with some coffee. “Thank you,” she said. He then went to a locked cabinet in a back room of the bureau and retrieved a Winchester Model 1890 .22 caliber repeating rifle with several boxes of rounds, as well as more rounds for his .45 caliber Colt revolve
r. Grabbing a canvas duffel bag, he placed the rifle inside it with the boxes of rounds and collected some extra clothing items from some of his colleagues on the nightshift.

  After retrieving some extra cash from the bureau lockbox, he gathered the men. “Well, this should be enough to get us through several days up there,” he said. “I’ll keep in touch via the local telegraph office up there, and I know there are places close by to keep us stocked with food.”

  “I say, Falconer,” Penwill said, “where exactly is this safe house, if you don’t mind my asking? We might have to come find you.”

  “It’s in a town called Cohoes, just along the New York Central and Hudson River Railroad line,” Falconer answered. “There’s an old house overlooking the Mohawk River just a half mile west of the big falls that are right there. You can’t miss them—big waterfalls. Take the road along the south side of the Mohawk as you leave town and right past the last set of houses is a dirt path leading through the forest. The house is back there all alone on the river.”

  “Understood,” Penwill said. “Any idea how long you’ll be up there?”

  “Just long enough to convince whoever is trying to kill Miss Goldman that she’s skipped town,” Falconer replied. “Then, I’ll try to get her back under cover.”

  “Right,” Penwill said. “Meanwhile, we’ll work with your men here to try to figure out who’s up to this.”

  “That would be great,” Falconer said. “And James, we don’t have time to request permission from Byrnes or Steers, so you’ll just have to alert them that I had to get Goldman out of town in an emergency. I’ll take the blame later.”

  “Got it, boss,” Waidler said. “We’ll take care of that.”

  “All right, I’m going to go get her,” Falconer said. “We’ll take a hansom cab up to Grand Central—more inconspicuous than a police wagon.”

  He walked down the hallway and entered the room where Goldman was quietly sipping her coffee. “Miss Goldman,” he said, “it’s time. I see that James managed to get you some of your books and personal items. Are you ready?”