He then sped off towards the edge of the warehouse, running as hard as he could in the limited space. Right when he reached the edge, he leaped off, reaching out for the rope that hung limply from the nearby crane stretching into the night sky. As the arc of his leap started downwards towards the wharves far below, he felt his two hands meet the rope, and he held fast, feeling the momentary burn from its braided fibers.
Swinging wildly for a moment, he slowly managed to get the rope moving back and forth in a way that would enable him to jump to some rigging that fell from a high spar of the closest sailing vessel. Satisfied with his momentum, he came up close to the rigging on a final swing and let go of the rope, grabbing onto the sturdy brace that gently arced down to the ship’s deck. Climbing hand over hand down the solid rope, he arrived at the deck of the great vessel and quickly ran to its gunwale overlooking the little slip through which the motorized launch had been moving.
The smaller boat was now almost out from in between the two large ships and was close to entering open waters. Falconer thus started running swiftly down the ship’s long deck, jumping over ropes and barrels as they came across his path. As he did so, he kept looking to his left off the side of the ship, and he could see that he was getting closer to the smaller boat due to its relatively slow speed. Nearing the end of the deck, he glanced off the side and saw the boat just below, within jumping distance, so he ran up to the cathead that extended off the bow about four feet, hopped onto it, and leaped off its end, crashing onto the launch with a thud.
Rolling into the smaller boat’s gunwale, he sat up and saw Bly and Levine struggling against their bindings and unable to speak due to their gags, and then he looked at the back and saw Ames reaching for his own revolver. Falconer, too, grabbed for his gun and let off a shot just as he felt a round graze his upper arm.
Rolling over to his left, he tried to find cover behind one of the numerous benches that were fixed to the deck, and searched for Ames, who had left the tiller and was somewhere near the stern, likely crawling on his hands and knees. Falconer crept in that direction along a middle aisle that separated the benches and watched for any bit of movement. Then a bullet smashed into a bench right near his head as he heard the loud report of Ames’ gun sing out across the water again.
Peering over a bench, he saw Ames’ head and shoulders briefly bob into view to his left, about fifteen feet away, before disappearing again. Falconer realized that the launch was still moving aimlessly through the waters, essentially rudderless, and that they were in danger of crashing directly into one of the docks or large ships that were moored in the vicinity. But he could not rush to the tiller to take control of the boat without being shot by his adversary, and so he determined to find Ames and neutralize him somehow, either by shooting him or beating him senseless.
Another shot whizzed by his head suddenly, sounding like a bee flying next to his ear in an instant, and so he crouched down lower to avoid being hit. Crawling to his left, he looked down and looked underneath the benches for a moment and saw Ames trying to hide behind a coiled rope near the side of the launch. He then crept another ten feet until he was directly to Ames’ left. Raising his gun, he let off a couple of rounds which struck the gunwale inches from Ames’ body. Then, just as he was about to fire off another round, he felt a terrific crash and fell violently down to the deck. Regaining his balance, he looked up and saw that the craft had sideswiped another large vessel and was now careening straight at a large sloop moored to a dock.
He looked over to where Ames had been and saw that the man was crawling desperately over to his gun, which had been jarred loose at the collision and had skidded down the deck. Falconer immediately stood up, ran between two benches, and dove for Ames. The two men met with a thud and fell together against the gunwale, and Falconer’s gun dropped to the deck, too. Ames tried to get up, but Falconer grabbed him by his collar and punched him in the face, sending him back in a heap. Shaking his head momentarily, Ames turned and yanked a knife out of his jacket pocket, waving it threateningly at Falconer. The two men then both got up and squared off, trying to figure out the other’s next move.
Ames made a couple of feints with his knife and then finally stepped forward and tried to slash Falconer across the neck, but Falconer managed to grab his opponent’s arm and swing him violently against a bench, and the knife flew down the deck towards Levine and Bly, who were both still sitting in the corner of the bow trying to break free from the ropes that were tied around their wrists.
Falconer walked over to the stunned figure of Ames and picked him up by his jacket collar with two hands, and then smashed his fist into the man’s jaw, sending him reeling to the deck with a groan. Turning him over, Falconer punched him two more times in the face until the bloodied man appeared senseless and finished. He then quickly ran over to Bly and Levine, and—with Ames’ knife—cut their gags and ropes and tossed them into the water.
“Thank god!” Bly said excitedly with a great exhalation. “You found us!”
“Yes, it took some doing,” Falconer said, “but we managed it. Are you both all right?”
“Yes, yes, I think so,” Bly said. “Just need to take a few breaths.”
“Yes, indeed, detective sergeant,” Levine said. “Thank you so much for coming to find us.”
“My pleasure, professor,” Falconer said, “but I think we’d better get control of this boat—we’re headed straight for that dock there.” He nodded his head in the direction of a large wooden pier that loomed larger and larger as the launch slowly moved directly towards it.
“Here, allow me,” Levine said, standing up. “I’ll grab the tiller.”
“Thanks,” Falconer said. “Appreciate that.”
He watched as Levine moved quickly down the boat until he reached the stern and grabbed the tiller to direct the boat away from the approaching dock. Falconer then turned back to Bly, who was wiping her brow with her sleeve.
“Well,” he said, grinning, “I guess I’ve saved your life two times now.”
“Yes,” Bly said, smiling, “it appears that way, doesn’t it? I think I’m going to have to start paying you to be my personal bodyguard.”
“Or maybe you could just stop trying to crack all these criminal cases of mine,” he said. “Maybe do some feature writing on some less dangerous topics perhaps?”
“Oh, but then I wouldn’t get to see you anymore, detective sergeant,” she said. “That would be unfortunate.”
“Yes, I suppose so,” he said, moving closer to her. “But then again, we could perhaps see each other under… other circumstances.”
“And what might those be?” she asked.
“Oh…daylight instead of the middle of the night would be a good start,” he said, moving closer still. “And perhaps a stroll in Central Park instead of in the back alleys of the Bowery. That would be a little more pleasant, don’t you think?”
“Well, yes, I suppose it would be, detective sergeant,” she replied slowly.
“Please…call me Robert,” he said.
“Robert,” she said, as if trying the word out for the first time in her life. “Robert…I like that. And please call me Nellie.”
“Nellie,” he said, his face now just inches from hers.
“Robert!” she yelled out suddenly, moving forward and shoving him violently aside. He looked up as he hit the boat’s deck and saw that Ames was standing right above him and was beginning a downward thrust with his knife, but Bly had now taken his place as the intended target. He reached up vainly to stop the approaching blow but realized that he was too far away and could do nothing to protect her.
BLAM!
Ames staggered mid-thrust and the knife fell to the deck. He reached down towards his abdomen and Falconer realized that he had been shot in the back with the bullet exiting his front. Ames then stepped unsteadily towards his right, breathing heavily, and finally fel
l onto his back, unmoving. Falconer looked back and saw Levine standing just fifteen feet away, holding Ames’ revolver that was now smoking from its barrel.
“Oh, dear,” Levine said, looking at Ames. “Oh, dear.”
Falconer quickly turned to Bly, who held a hand to her face as she stared down at the stricken man. “Now why did you go and do a thing like that?” he asked her, grabbing her hands. “You could’ve been killed.”
“Well, maybe it was time I saved your life, Robert,” she said calmly. “Did you ever think of that?”
Ames muttered something where he lay, and Falconer, Bly, and Levine moved over to him quickly and knelt. “What’s that, Ames?” Falconer asked. “What are you trying to say?”
The wounded man turned his face to look at Falconer and, after a few labored breaths, spoke again in a weak, pained voice: “Ante ruinam ortum est.”
His face then fell limply to the side and he appeared to stop breathing.
“What the hell?” Falconer said. “Did you hear that? Sounded like more Latin.”
“Yes, it was,” Levine said.
“Any idea what it meant, professor?” Falconer asked.
“Yes, I believe I do,” Levine answered. “As far as I could make out, he said, ‘Before the rise comes the fall.’ That’s it.”
“I see,” Falconer said, looking down at Ames. “Well, he won’t be around when that happens.”
They all stood up and Falconer looked at Levine, who still appeared shaken. “Here, professor,” he said to him, taking the gun from him. “It’s all right—you had to do it, and you saved our lives. Now, I think we need you back at the tiller before we crash into the dock.”
Levine looked ahead and then back to Falconer. “Oh, yes,” he said. “I’ve got it.” He then ambled back to the tiller and began to guide the launch towards the nearest dock.
Falconer smiled at Bly, and then looked towards the shore and saw Waidler and the other men standing up on the wharf waving at them. “Look, Nellie,” he said, pointing. “We’ve got some friends waiting for us.”
She looked across the water at the men who were getting closer and closer, and then turned back to Falconer and smiled, too.
119
“Well,” Falconer said to his men back in the Detective Bureau just an hour after they had reunited on the docks at the end of Christopher Street, “Miss Bly and the professor are filling out their statements and we’ve got the last of our suspects locked up downstairs. I suppose we should start filling out our own reports.”
“Looks like a good night, boss,” Winter said. “Got all those thugs rounded up, didn’t have any serious injuries, and got our friends back safe and sound.”
“Yes, Winter,” Falconer said, “but unless one of those prisoners talks—which they don’t seem inclined to do—we didn’t get any closer to Bliss or to any of the other unknown leaders. We just don’t have the proof, unfortunately.”
“Not so fast,” a familiar voice said from the doorway.
“Inspector!” Falconer said, looking at Penwill as he walked into the room with Houllier. “And Inspector Houllier—glad to see you both made it out okay.”
“We did,” Penwill said, grinning. “Thanks for shaking things up back there, old chum. And, in fact, we made some headway in the investigation, I’m pleased to say. But first, I think this is yours, Falconer.” He handed Falconer the large revolver that he had stumbled upon down in the smoky caverns beneath the Saint Veronica Church.
“My revolver,” Falconer said. “Thank you, inspector—I thought it was lost forever.”
“It actually did some good down there, Falconer,” Penwill said. “I used it to confront a member of the group who happened to be trying to destroy loads of documents and records in a little side room after the explosions. I decided to confiscate said records and here they are for your perusal, my friend.” He threw the large bag he had taken down in the caverns onto a desk in front of Falconer.
“Documents, you say?” Falconer said, opening the bag and taking out a large stack of papers.
“That’s correct,” Penwill said. “We had a brief look at some of them already, and they provide a lot: minutes, orders, names, addresses, reports…it’s a treasure trove of damning evidence against Bliss, his son, and a bunch of other well-heeled toffs in town who were behind all this.”
“Inspectors, I feel like it’s Christmas Day,” Falconer said, looking up at them with a wide grin.
“And that’s not all,” Penwill said, sitting down. “This little bookkeeper whom I arrested while in the act of trying to destroy the documents didn’t want to say anything about his bosses, apparently worried about retribution. That is, he was quiet until we discussed the distinct possibility of him being sent to a nice little cell in your Sing Sing Prison for the few decades. Then, he started to sing like a lovely canary bird. He’ll make quite a good witness, my friend.”
“Well, inspectors,” Falconer said, smiling, “you’ve earned your pay for the week. Let’s all get settled in and write up those reports so that we can bring this to Byrnes in the very near future.”
Monday, October 10, 1892
120
Superintendent Thomas Byrnes peered down at the array of documents covering his large, oak desk just seconds after Falconer had completed a half-hour recitation of the evidence inculpating the leaders of the The Fall in a broad conspiracy to kidnap and murder various perceived enemies of their criminal plot. Surrounding the superintendent were his own top lieutenants—Chief Inspector Henry Steers, Inspector Clubber Williams, and Detective Sergeant Charles McNaught—as well as Falconer’s men—Waidler, Halloran, Winter, Kramer, Schlager, and the two visiting inspectors, Penwill and Houllier.
Byrnes lit a cigar and looked down again at the papers, taking a deep drag and letting out a large, billowy cloud of smoke. “Well,” he said finally, “this is all very interesting.”
“We think it’s solid, sir,” Falconer said. “Certainly, it’s enough to get a warrant for all of these men—including Bliss.”
“Ah, yes, Bliss,” Byrnes said, nodding. “That will cause quite a stir—the famous millionaire currently running for governor, now caught up in a web of political intrigue and murder.”
“We know that this is sensitive, sir,” Falconer said, “and that it could cause a huge uproar, but the evidence is overwhelming.”
“Yes, I can tell,” Byrnes said.
“I think you know that there will be various people or entities allied with this group that will do all that they can to undermine this case,” Falconer said. “Powerful forces—even on the Police Commission. They will try to destroy this department and even have our jobs, sir.”
Byrnes looked down at the papers some more and took another drag of the cigar. He then looked up at Falconer. “Falconer, why did you become a cop?” he asked.
“I’m sorry, sir?”
“A police officer. Why did you become one?”
“Why…I suppose to help those in need and to keep the world a little safer, sir.”
“Exactly. So did I, many years ago, and I’ll be damned if I let some mysterious supporters of a reckless band of cut-throats keep me from doing my job. You go get your warrants, Falconer, and I’ll handle the rest.”
“Yes, sir,” Falconer said.
“And it just so happens that Bliss is having a large campaign dinner for his wealthiest supporters over at his club on Fifth tonight,” Byrnes said. “Might be a good time to pay him a visit.”
“Yes, understood, sir,” Falconer said, and then he turned and waved for his men to follow him out into the hallway and down to the Detective Bureau offices.
121
Falconer approached the grand entrance to the Millennium Club followed by his men and ten other uniformed police officers. When two large doormen moved to bar their entry, he stopped and held out the signed arrest
warrants for Walter Bliss and his son, George. “We have warrants for the arrest of Walter and George Bliss,” he informed them. “We’re coming in and taking them into custody.”
“Ah…yes, sir,” one of the doormen said slowly, as if searching for words. “But…there’s actually a big dinner going on in there right now, so…”
“Stop your chatter, bub,” Winter said. “Step aside—we don’t make appointments.”
Falconer and the men then pushed the doormen aside and strode inside the fancy palace. Moving quickly down the central hallway, Falconer could hear the loud voice of Walter Bliss addressing the crowd from within the banquet hall. As he approached the main doorway to the large room, a hulking bodyguard joined by two others stepped in front of him and demanded that he halt. Falconer stopped and looked up at the man, who appeared to be over seven feet tall. “We’re from the police department’s Central Detective Bureau,” he said. “We’ve got signed warrants for Walter and George Bliss, so you’ll need to step aside.”
He moved to go around the enormous man, but the giant’s great hand grabbed his shoulder and shoved him backwards. “You don’t just come in here and take Walter Bliss away, cop,” the man said. “It doesn’t work like that.”
Falconer sighed and then looked behind him. “Kramer and Schlager?” he said, beckoning the officers.
The two plainclothes officers walked forward and stood before the imposing man. “You need to move aside,” Kramer said quietly. “It’s for the best.”
“Oh, really, shorty?” the man said, smiling. “Are you and your fellow Tom Thumb here going to make me?”
“Tom Thumb,” Kramer said, chuckling. “That’s a good one. Really, it is—very, very funny.”
The man started laughing, too, and he looked back at his cohorts, who were also starting to chuckle.
Kramer then suddenly grabbed the giant’s forearm, pulled him forward, and twisted the arm up behind his back, causing the stunned man to yelp in pain. Schlager, meanwhile stepped forward and unleashed a sharp punch to the man’s kidneys, sending him reeling to the floor.
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