The Fall

by Sean Moynihan

  “So, this is where they entered,” he said to himself. “Very clever.”

  Looking around, he heard the voices again above him on the docks and near the street—tense and strained voices of men trying to make their escape. He focused, though, on his paramount concern: finding Bly. Stepping out of the doorway, he jogged approximately thirty yards in the darkness up the wet embankment that slowly rose to street level and crept up along the side of the old, wooden dock. At the top of the rise, he could see large buildings across the street—warehouses, workshops, and adjoining coal yards devoted to servicing the steady stream of shipping that came in through the crowded docks twelve months a year. Close by, running headlong every which way through the streets, he saw about thirty or so men desperately trying to escape apprehension. And yet, he still could not spy Ames, Levine, or Bly.

  Stepping up onto the dock, he walked quickly back towards the street and arrived at the sidewalk just as most of the men were disappearing down alleyways or darkened side streets. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted three figures walking briskly towards a large warehouse to his right that stood alongside the docks. He squinted in the dim moonlight that was augmented slightly by the glare of gas lamps fixed to the street and could see that it was Ames forcing Levine and Bly to run into the building at gunpoint.

  Realizing that he himself was presently unarmed, Falconer nonetheless took off at a gallop down the sidewalk, running after the armed kidnapper and his two friends who were at that moment disappearing into the large, brick building that loomed over the quiet docks and immense ships standing like great jagged-peaked mountains in the dark night.

  116

  Waidler peered across Christopher Street at the unfinished church and saw nothing. He and the others had heard the great booming sound moments earlier, and he wondered what had happened. Then they had begun to see smoke rising over the church and he feared that Falconer had run into something bad down below and needed help. But then he remembered Falconer’s admonition to stay back and be prepared to apprehend anyone coming out of the underground tunnels, and so he had told the men to stay put and have their rifles ready. But nothing had happened in the past few minutes, and he questioned the wisdom of staying in their positions any longer.

  Suddenly, he heard voices coming from down Washington Street, which intersected with Christopher on their left. The voices were getting louder, and he knew that they were somehow related to the events of the past several minutes, so he yelled out to the other men: “You hear that? We’ve got company!”

  “Sure do, detective!” Winter yelled back. “Get ready, boys!”

  Waidler peered over at the corner of Washington and Christopher and immediately saw approximately twenty men spill out into the street, carrying revolvers. He raised his shotgun and yelled out to them: “Police! Drop your weapons!”

  The suspects ignored his commands, though, and instead, turned and quickly started shooting at him and the others. He flinched when a round slammed into the bags that were shielding him, and then he raised the shotgun and pulled the trigger.

  BOOM!

  He felt the shotgun dig into his shoulder upon firing and heard a chorus of other gunshots going off to his right and across the street. Quickly reloading, he looked and saw the men darting in various directions to avoid being hit and noticed one of them stop and turn to fire in the direction of Winter and Kramer, who was stationed in a stairwell behind and to the right of their position. The man let off several shots from his revolver, and Waidler heard Winter yell, “Damn—those were close!” Raising his shotgun again, he aimed at the man’s torso and pulled the trigger. The man immediately flew off his feet and landed on the street, unmoving.

  “You got the little bastard, detective!” Winter yelled before firing his own shotgun several more times across the street. Waidler then heard some shots coming from some upper windows of the three-story building just to the right of the church property, and he could see a couple of rifle barrels visible in the open windows.

  “They’ve got two men up in those windows there to the right!” he yelled out. “Kramer and Schlager, can you see them?!”

  “I’ve got one, far left window, second floor!” Kramer yelled back.

  “Can you see where the other guy is?!” Waidler shouted.

  The riflemen up in the windows let off some more shots, which landed close to where Winter and Waidler were hiding behind the big pile of bags.

  “I think the other one is in the far-right window, second floor!” Waidler yelled.

  “Yeah, I got him, detective!” Schlager shouted.

  Waidler then waited a few seconds before the men in the windows appeared again, about to shoot. But then he heard Schlager and Kramer’s rifles ring out in unison and the men in the windows fell back and were silent.

  “Nice shot, boys!” Winter shouted over the sound of various gunshots coming from across the street. “Almost as good as me!”

  The suspects had now taken cover in various positions across the street, and were firing steadily at Waidler and the others, and so Waidler instructed Kramer and Schlager to run down the street away from the church, cross over, and approach the suspects along the sidewalk. “Grab Halloran while you’re at it!” he yelled over the erupting gunfire. “Try to surprise them from the side!”

  “Got it!” Kramer shouted, and then Waidler saw him nod at Schlager and the two of them hopped up onto the sidewalk from their stairwells and ran down the street. Waidler then looked over at Winter at the other side of the pile of heavy bags. “Get ready, Winter!” he yelled at him. “When those guys come down the sidewalk over there, we rush them—understood?!”

  “Sure thing!” Winter said in between firing his shotgun.

  As the gunfire continued, Waidler looked over to his right and saw the three figures of Kramer, Schlager, and Halloran creeping down along the buildings across the street, weapons at the ready. Loading his shotgun again, he made sure that his revolver was ready for use and then watched as his three comrades started running quickly at the suspects from the side, firing repeatedly. He turned to Winter and yelled out: “That’s it! Let’s go!”

  He then started running across the street at the gunmen who were focused on dealing with Kramer, Schlager, and Halloran on the sidewalk, and started firing at the unsuspecting men, hitting several of them. He saw that Winter, too, was firing rapidly, first with his shotgun and then with his revolver, and men began to drop one by one in succession near their hiding places.

  As the five policemen converged on the rest of the suspects, Waidler saw weapons being thrown out into the street and heard men yelling out that they wanted to surrender. He ordered his colleagues to hold their fire and instructed the surviving gunmen to come out with their hands held high, and they obeyed.

  Schlager, Kramer, and Halloran quickly surrounded the prisoners, who numbered approximately twelve, and Waidler ordered them to lie flat on the street with their arms outstretched. Approaching them carefully, he spoke out: “You men are under arrest for suspicion of kidnapping and murder. If any of you try to escape, you’ll be shot immediately. You will remain where you are until police wagons appear, at which time you will do as you are told. Again, anyone moves, and my men will shoot you with no warning.”

  He then turned to Halloran. “Go contact headquarters, Jimmy,” he said, “and get some wagons down here as wells as ambulances. Some of these men are still alive.”

  “Yes, sir, detective,” Halloran said, and he quickly ran off towards the local precinct.

  Turning back to Winter, Kramer, and Schlager, Waidler instructed them to keep watch over the suspects so that he could head over to the wharves in search of Falconer.

  “Sure thing, boss,” Winter said, looking at the men lying prone in the street. “These dopes won’t be trying anything—right, gentlemen? I heard all you fellers go by some high falutin’ Latin words that mean
something like, ‘strength through purity.’ Is that so? Well, I got a big Latin word for you now, boys—I looked it up: ‘Perdere.’ You know what that means, gentlemen? It means, ‘jailbird.’ Now how do ya’ like that?”

  Waidler smiled and shook his head as Kramer and Schlager chuckled, and then he turned and quickly ran off towards the wharves just a couple of blocks away.

  117

  Penwill grabbed Goldman by the wrist and led her over to Houllier, who was dusting off his trousers and coughing intermittently. “Here, Miss Goldman,” Penwill said to her loudly amidst the burning walls and crumbling ceiling, “you go with Inspector Houllier here—he’ll take you back up to the street and safety.”

  “Yes, thank you,” she said. “I appreciate that.”

  “You take her up, Prosper,” Penwill said to Houllier. “I’m just going to see if Falconer is back there.”

  “Are you sure?” Houllier asked.

  “Yes, no worries, old boy. I’ll be up right quick.”

  “Very well, Charlie. But be careful, mon ami.”

  “Will do,” Penwill said, and then he moved over towards the doorway leading to the back corridors. Stepping carefully through it, he inched along one of the walls in the smoky cavern until suddenly he felt his foot his something. Bending down, he realized that it was large revolver. Picking it up, he looked closer and saw that it was, in fact, Falconer’s gun. “Well, I’ll be,” he said to himself. “What luck.”

  After checking to see that it was still loaded, he stood up and started walking down through the hazy corridor, keeping the gun pointed in front of him. Hearing nothing, he was about to turn back when he heard a banging noise coming from his right. Stepping in that direction, he saw that a wooden door was ajar, and the banging was continuing from somewhere inside.

  Moving over to the door, he gently pushed it open and peered inside with Falconer’s revolver at the ready. He saw that it was a small room with various desks and filing cabinets spread throughout, but no one was present. Then he heard the banging again and quickly discovered that it was coming from another room set off from the initial one that he was presently standing in.

  Walking quietly over to another door that was ajar to his left, he pushed it open gently and saw a slightly built man with eyeglasses rummaging through several drawers of some tall filing cabinets standing against a far wall. The man was taking out many folders and piles of papers and was dropping them into a large, leather bag at his feet, and he appeared to be doing it with great agitation and urgency.

  Penwill opened the door fully and pointed the gun at the man. “Hello there, chum,” he said to him.” The man turned and stood back a step with a look of fright on his face. “What are you up to, I wonder?” Penwill continued. “Are you trying to hide something perhaps?”

  The man hesitated, and then spoke up haltingly: “I…um…I was just making sure that the fires didn’t touch the items inside these cabinets—that’s all.”

  “I see,” Penwill said, walking into the room. “And what might those items be?”

  “These?” the man said. “Well, actually, I don’t rightly know, sir.”

  “Oh, really?” Penwill said, smiling. “Well, then, why don’t you step away from the bag and cabinets so that I can take them off your hands?”

  “Well, I really don’t think that would be necessary,” the man said. “We should be getting out of here—it could all come down any second.”

  “Yes, indeed, it could,” Penwill said. “Then let me put it this way, my friend: step away from the bag or I’ll shoot you dead with this gun. Do you understand?”

  “Um…yes…yes, sir, I do,” the man replied, stepping to his right slightly.

  “Good then,” Penwill said. “You’re going to get on the floor on your stomach with your arms outstretched, and then I’m going to pack up this handy bag for you, all right?”

  The man nodded.

  “And then we’re going to go up to the street to see my friends on the police force,” Penwill said. “Because you are now under arrest, and you’re my prisoner. So, get down on the floor now. Come on—hop to it, chum.”

  The man quickly did as he was told, and Penwill moved over to the cabinets and started throwing as many folders and documents into the leather bag as he could. After five minutes of rapid stuffing, he ordered the man to stand up, and they both exited the room and headed out to find a stairway up to the street.

  118

  Falconer burst through the open doorway to the warehouse and quickly took cover behind a large crate to his left.

  Damn. Need a gun.

  Looking around, he saw a large wrench lying on a countertop, and he quickly crawled over to it and grabbed it. He then froze in a crouching position and listened for any sounds. Within seconds, he heard footsteps at the far end of the floor. Standing up, he started moving from hiding place to hiding place on the floor, slowly working his way towards the sound. As he got close to the far wall, he heard footsteps ascending a staircase and moved in the direction of the sound. Arriving at the corner of the warehouse, he saw a standard U-shaped staircase that went back and forth up to the top of the building and heard the footsteps several flights up.

  Running up to it, he was just about to start ascending the steps when he suddenly heard more footsteps approaching from behind him. He turned quickly with the wrench held high and saw to his relief that it was Waidler, who jogged up to him breathlessly and crouched down next to him. “Hey, boss,” Waidler said. “I figured you might be over here and saw you entering the building, so I followed. You all right?”

  “Yes, just fine,” Falconer said. “But I could use a gun—you have an extra one?”

  “Sure thing,” Waidler said, reaching to his side and extracting a small revolver. “Here you go.”

  “Thanks,” Falconer said, grabbing the gun. “I think the leader of the group has the professor and Miss Bly up those stairs, so we need to head up.”

  “Sounds good,” Waidler said. “Hey, did something blow up down there?”

  Falconer grinned. “I’ll explain later,” he said. “Let’s go.”

  They both ran over to the stairwell and started moving rapidly up the steps, holding their revolvers in front of them. At each landing, they beheld another large, open floor containing mountains and mountains of supplies, cargo, and crating, and Falconer wondered if his quarry had taken Bly and Levine and hidden out somewhere behind one of the myriad heaps of shipping equipment. After reaching the top floor, they moved separately to find cover to the left and the right, and Falconer crouched behind a pile of crates so that he could survey his surroundings.

  Hearing and seeing nothing, he motioned for Waidler to follow and they both crept down towards the other side of the floor that overlooked the docks. When they arrived, Falconer looked out a window and saw that an outdoor terrace extended away from the wall such that he could look directly down on several tall ships from, essentially, a balcony. Moving over to a doorway to the terrace, he stepped out with Waidler right behind and walked over to the edge of the building. “Well, James, they didn’t come up here obviously,” he said.

  “Still hiding somewhere on one of the floors,” Waidler suggested.

  “Yes, I guess he managed to give us a slip on the way up,” Falconer said, looking down at the docks, ships, and several cranes that he felt he could almost reach out and touch. “Let’s head down again and see—”

  “What is it?” Waidler asked.

  “What the devil?” Falconer said, gazing down in between two massive ships that rested in their berths like enormous, sleeping whales.

  “You see something?” Waidler asked, scanning the docks below.

  “Down there between those two ships,” Falconer said, pointing. “That bastard sure did give us the slip—he’s on that launch right there trying to escape.”

  He looked down and pointed
at a smaller passenger launch—perhaps 35 feet long or so and partially roofed—slowly moving away from the shore in between the two larger, three-masted barques that were tied up to their respective quays. The launch, however, had no sails and yet was still moving steadily towards open water.

  “Yes, I see him holding the professor and Miss Bly at gunpoint, boss,” Waidler said. “But how the hell does it manage to go like that?”

  “It’s a new electric boat they’ve been developing,” Falconer replied, removing his bowler and jacket. “I’ve read about it.”

  “Really,” Waidler said. “Incredible. Hey—what are you doing?”

  Falconer made sure his gun was safely secured in his shoulder holster, looked out at a nearby crane that extended up about fifteen away from them, and then walked back towards the doorway.

  “Boss,” Waidler said, “you can’t jump out there—it’s too far.”

  “We’ve got no time,” Falconer said, touching the outside of the building’s wall to steady himself.

  “Boss, no,” Waidler again pleaded, walking up to Falconer. “It’s too dangerous—let’s run back down.”

  “I need you to go down and get the others and meet me along the docks,” Falconer said, looking at him. “It’ll be all right.”

  “But, boss—”

  “James,” Falconer said, grabbing Waidler’s arm, “you’d make a great detective sergeant right about now—you know that?”