Five Points

by J. R. Roberts

The carriage stopped on the corner of Clinton and Rivington streets, in front of the dry goods store that Fredericka Mandelbaum’s husband, Wolf, used to own and run. Since his death his wife ran it as a front—or so Byrnes said—for a fencing operation.

  “If you know that, why not close her down?” Clint asked during the ride.

  “We can never catch her red-handed.”

  “Maybe stopping in unexpectedly like this might do it.”

  “I doubt it,” Byrnes said. “But one can hope.”

  They got out and approached the store, which had a Closed sign on the door.

  “Closed this early?”

  “Ma makes her own hours,” Byrnes said. “That sign gets turned around more times in one day than . . . well, a lot.”

  Byrnes knocked, then knocked harder.

  “Does she live here, too?” Clint asked.

  “Upstairs.”

  This time Byrnes pounded on the door. Eventually, the door was opened by a young man.

  “Hello, Ben.”

  “Captain Byrnes,” the boy said. Clint figured him for about twenty, slender and handsome.

  “Clint, this is Ben. He’s Ma’s son. Ben, this is Clint Adams.”

  “What’s that to me?”

  Byrnes smiled and looked at Clint.

  “Ben’s a tough guy,” he said. “Or wants to be. Where’s Ma, Ben?”

  “She don’t wanna see you,” the boy said.

  “Since when does she have a choice?” Byrnes pushed the door open, forcing the boy back. He and Clint stepped into the store. “Tell Ma we’re here.”

  Ben stood his ground for a full five seconds, then turned and went through a curtained doorway in the back.

  “Looks like a regular dry goods store,” Clint said.

  “It is, when it’s open,” Byrnes said. “Ma needs to keep it running. She needs the front, the set of books. She’s got to show a loss.”

  The curtain opened and a woman stepped through. She was a hard-looking woman in her fifties. She wore her hair in a bun, but the style was too old for her. With a little help, Clint thought, she’d be attractive.

  “What the hell do you want, Byrnes?” she demanded.

  Her voice was rough, gravelly. There was nothing she could do about that. In a more attractive package the voice would be even more startling.

  “Hello, Ma. Nice to see you.”

  “Like hell,” she said. “I always hate seein’ you.”

  Ben came out of the back, stood behind his mother.

  “Who’s your handsome friend?”

  “This is Clint Adams.”

  Ma Mandelbaum looked at Clint.

  “Say, I know that name,” she said. “You’re a big deal out West, ain’tcha? Yeah, I know you. The Gunsmith. ” She turned and looked at Ben. “This here’s the Gunsmith, Ben. You better treat him with some respect or he’ll take out his six-gun and shoot us.” She turned back to Clint. “You gonna shoot us, Mr. Gunsmith?”

  “Not in front of the captain,” Clint said. “Maybe I’ll come back later and do it.”

  Ma stared at him for a few moments, then burst out laughing.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  “What brings you around here, Captain?” Ma asked. “You wanna search my place again?”

  “I heard Ben was out of town, Ma,” Byrnes said. “When did he get back?”

  “Yesterday. What of it?”

  “Didn’t happen to be in Denver, did he?”

  “Why don’t you ask Ben?”

  “Because Ben’s a tough guy,” Byrnes said. “He wouldn’t answer me. Would you, Ben?”

  “What do you think?”

  “See?” Byrnes looked at Clint. “Tough guy.”

  “I see.”

  “There’s your tough guy,” Ma said, pointing at Clint. “He’s the gunfighter, the killer.”

  “He hasn’t killed anybody in New York,” Byrnes said. “Yet.”

  “Why don’t you and your hired gun get outta my place?” Ma said.

  “We’re looking for some goods, Ma,” Byrnes said. “Coming in from the West. You know anything about it?”

  “Why would I?”

  “You’re one of the only fences in town who could handle that much merchandise, Ma. What do you say? Want to confess?”

  “To what? I run a dry goods store, that’s all.”

  “Where’s Bethany? Maybe we should talk to her.”

  “You leave her alone,” Ben snapped.

  “Who’s Bethany?” Clint asked.

  “Just a stupid girl,” Ma said.

  “Bethany is Ben’s sister,” Byrnes said.

  “Half sister,” Ma said.

  “Only Ben’s in love with her,” Byrnes went on. “What do you think of that? In love with his own sister.”

  “Why don’t you shut up!”

  “Go in the back, Ben,” Ma said. “Go ahead. Shoo.”

  Reluctantly, Ben did what his mother said.

  “You going to keep that boy a mama’s boy his whole life, Ma?”

  “Why don’t you go bother somebody else, Captain? ” she demanded.

  “I intend to. I’m going to go bother your competitors. I just thought I’d start bothering you first.”

  “Well, you did a good job. Ya ruined the rest of my day.”

  “Well, Ma,” Byrnes said with a smile, “that just makes mine.”

  Outside, Clint said, “She’s a rough customer.”

  “The roughest,” Byrnes said.

  “What about the boy?”

  “He tries to be rough for her, but he’s not. He just hasn’t got it in him.”

  “And that thing about his sister? Bethany?”

  “That was true,” Byrnes said. “Ma doesn’t like the girl very much, but Ben does love her—but not as a sister.”

  “And Bethany?”

  “Oh, to her he’s just her brother. She loves him, but as a brother. Come on. I’ll take you back to your hotel.”

  “About those other competitors?”

  “Yeah, I’m going to talk to them tomorrow.”

  “Can I tag along then, too?”

  “Sure, why not?” Byrnes said. “Come on, I’ll fill you in on them in the carriage.”

  When Ben came out of the back room, Ma slapped him across the face.

  “What was that for?” he demanded.

  “That was for lettin’ them in,” she said. “Where’s that girl?”

  “She’s home.”

  “Well, get ’er. I don’t want Byrnes or that Adams talkin’ to her.”

  “What’s Adams doin’ here?” Ben asked. “He’s a gunman from the West.”

  “Well, somehow he tracked you two here,” Ma Mandelbaum said. “You musta messed up somewhere. ”

  “Not us,” he said. “He didn’t track us.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Ma said. “You get that wretched girl and bring her back here.”

  “She ain’t wretched.”

  “You wanna get slapped again? Don’t back talk me, just go and get ’er!”

  Ben stared at her, tried to hold his ground, but in the end he said, “Yes, Ma.”

  TWENTY-SIX

  Byrnes let Clint out in front of his hotel. It was just starting to get dark.

  “Long day,” Clint said.

  “I’ll pick you up in the morning, around eight. We’ll go and see Rothstein and Murphy.”

  “I’ll be ready.”

  The carriage pulled away. As Clint turned to enter the hotel, a girl suddenly blocked his way. She was young, pretty, scared, and trying not to show it.

  “Bethany.”

  Her eyes widened.

  “How did you—”

  “I just came from seeing your mother.”

  “That’s a joke,” she said. “She doesn’t act like a mother.”

  “I also saw Ben, your brother.”

  “My half brother.”

  “He’s in love with you, isn’t he?”

  “Mr. Adams,” she said, “I’m here to t
alk to you about my brother.”

  “All right,” Clint said. “Would you like to come to my room?”

  “Certainly not!”

  “Okay,” he said. “You’re a nice girl—”

  “There ain’t nothin’ nice about me,” she said, “but I ain’t goin’ to your room.”

  “How about the tavern?”

  “Tavern?”

  “For coffee. You drink coffee, don’t you?”

  "Y-yes . . .”

  “Okay, then,” Clint said. “Let’s go into the tavern and talk.”

  “All right.”

  Clint opened the door for her and let her go in ahead of him. The captain’s table was empty, so he directed her to it. Angie came over immediately, her smile a little forced.

  “Hello, Clint,” she said. “Who’s your friend?”

  “Angie, this is Bethany,” Clint said. “She wants to talk to me about her brother. Could we have two coffees? ”

  “Sure,” she said. “Comin’ up. Unless your friend wants somethin’ stronger?”

  “I don’t drink.”

  “Sure you don’t.”

  Angie went to get the coffee.

  “Do you find her . . . pretty?” Bethany asked.

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Hmph. You would.”

  “Bethany, you and Ben were in Denver, weren’t you?” Clint asked.

  “How did you find us here?” she asked.

  “I wasn’t looking for you, exactly,” Clint said. “I’m looking for whoever killed Mrs. Wellington.”

  “Ben didn’t do it,” she said. “It was . . .”

  “Come on, Bethany,” Clint said. “If you’re going to tell me who didn’t do it, you have to tell me who did.”

  “I can’t tell you why we were in Denver,” she said. “I can’t.”

  “I know why you were in Denver,” Clint said. “You were there to get some goods for Ma to fence, right? Why’d she send you all the way to Denver for that?”

  Angie came with their coffee.

  “Sure you wouldn’t rather have some milk and cookies, honey?” she asked.

  “No, thank you. Coffee’s fine.”

  Angie said to Clint, “Just wave if you need anything else.”

  “Look,” Bethany said, “I—I only came to tell you that Ben didn’t kill that woman. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t.”

  “He’s too gentle, right?”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “I’ll bet that makes Ma real mad.”

  “Furious. She loves him, I know that, but she’s so mean to him, tryin’ to toughen him up.”

  “And why doesn’t she like you?”

  “She didn’t like my father, and she doesn’t like me. But that doesn’t matter.”

  “Do you love Ben, Bethany?”

  “Yes, I do. He’s my brother.”

  “Just as a brother?”

  “Yes.”

  “How do you feel about the way he feels about you?”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I—I can’t return those feelings.”

  “He’d do anything for you, wouldn’t he?”

  “Yes.”

  “Kill somebody?”

  “No!”

  “All right.” Clint picked up his coffee cup, took a sip. Bethany ignored hers.

  “What else?” Clint asked.

  “That’s it,” she said. “He didn’t do it.”

  “And I’m just supposed to believe you?”

  “I hope so.”

  He sat back.

  “You do believe me, don’t you?”

  “What do you do for a living, Bethany?”

  “I—I pick pockets.”

  “And I’m supposed to believe what you say?”

  “This only has to do with Ben, Mr. Adams,” she said. “Please don’t kill him.”

  “What makes you think I want to kill him?”

  “Well, that’s what you do, isn’t it? Kill people? Isn’t that who you are?”

  “No, Bethany,” Clint said, “that’s not who I am. Is picking pockets who you are?”

  “Unfortunately,” she said, “yes. When you grow up in Five Points, there isn’t much else.”

  “I met a kid from Five Points earlier today,” he said. “Ten years old, black hair, but calls himself—”

  “Red,” she said. “I know him.”

  “That figures.”

  Suddenly, she stood up.

  “I have to go.”

  “You know, Bethany,” he said, “I’d find believing you a lot easier if you told me who did kill the woman.”

  “I can’t.”

  “I’m going to have to find out for myself then.”

  She shrugged and walked out. He let her go.

  After a few minutes Angie came over and looked down at him.

  “Your girlfriend left?”

  “She’s not my girlfriend,” he said. “She’s just a scared kid trying to help her brother.”

  “Sure. Hey, she didn’t drink her coffee.”

  “I drank mine,” Clint said, “but I could use a beer and some more of that beef stew.”

  “And then what?”

  “And then, who knows?”

  She smiled at him and said, “Okay.”

  She brought him a beer first and then went to get his supper.

  Two kids had been sent to Denver by their mother to pick up some merchandise, and a woman got killed because of it. But Clint didn’t believe there was any way Ben or Bethany could have killed Libby Wellington. That meant that Ma had sent somebody else with them. But who?

  “Supper included in whatever job you got for me?”

  Clint looked up and saw Delvecchio standing over him.

  “You like beef stew?” Clint asked.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Delvecchio had a seat and Angie brought over two bowls of beef stew.

  “Thank you, darlin’,” Delvecchio said.

  She gave him an extra long look at her breasts and then flounced off.

  “How’d you find me?” Clint asked.

  “Clerk over at the hotel told me to check over here,” Delvecchio said. “He says they have somethin’ over here you like. Is it her?”

  “And the beef stew.”

  “It’s good to see you, Clint.”

  “You, too, Delvecchio.”

  “What brings you to Manhattan? And what can I do for you?”

  “I’ll answer that while we eat,” Clint said, “but I’ve got to tell you something. I’m also working with Captain Thomas Byrnes.”

  “Byrnes,” Delvecchio said. “He hates me.”

  “I gathered that.”

  “You told him you sent me a message?”

  “Yep.”>

  “That was probably a bad move,” the Brooklyn detective said, “but how could you have known that?”

  “I couldn’t,” Clint said, “so if you’re going to help me on this, you’re going to have to stay away from him.”

  “I can do that,” Delvecchio said. “I am getting paid, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Then I can do that.”

  “Okay, then here’s the story . . .”

  “I know Ma Mandelbaum,” Delvecchio said when Clint finished. “She is big enough to handle a haul like this. And the fact that Bethany came to you pretty much makes it a cinch that she’s the fence.”

  “Means I probably won’t have to go and see the other two with Byrnes tomorrow.”

  “Murphy and Rothstein? I know them, too. They could handle it, but they wouldn’t have sent a couple of kids, along with whoever actually killed the woman.”

  “If you know the woman’s operation,” Clint asked, “do you have any ideas about that?”

  “Sure,” Delvecchio said. “Her current bed warmer is a guy named Willie O’Donnell. He’d kill a rich widow just as soon as look at her.”

  “Do you know if he’s in town?”

  “I’ll check around tomorrow,” Delvecchio said. “If he’s n
ot, then he’s probably your guy. How you gonna get Byrnes to believe all this?”

  “Why wouldn’t he?”

  “He takes his reputation very seriously,” the other man said. “He probably won’t be crazy about the fact that you cracked this case yourself.”

  “You mean I have to be careful of his ego?”

  “I would.”

  “Roper didn’t tell me he had one.”

  “Maybe Roper doesn’t know,” Delvecchio said. “After all, how often do they really see each other?”

  “You’ve got a good point.”

  Delvecchio finished cleaning his bowl with a piece of bread, and then drained his beer mug.

  “That was a helluva meal,” he said. “I’ve gotta remember this place.”

  “You better remember something else, too.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Byrnes is a regular here.”

  “He is?”

  Clint nodded. “In fact, this is his table.”

  Delvecchio peered across at Clint and asked, “You tryin’ to get me killed? If he walked in here and saw me—”

  “He dropped me off just before you got here,” Clint said. “He’s not coming back.”

  “Just to be on the safe side—I’m outta here.” Delvecchio stood up.

  Angie came running over, her breasts bobbing. “Leavin’ so soon?”

  “It pains me, darlin’, but I gotta go. Clint, I’ll be in touch.”

  Delvecchio put on the bowler hat he’d carried in with him, doffed it to her, and then left. Clint was going to have to ask him about the hat. He’d never known anyone who could make a bowler work other than Bat Masterson.

  That reminded him. Maybe there was a telegram from Bat at the hotel desk for him.

  “You got plans for the rest of the night?” Angie asked.

  “I thought I’d just wait in my room for you to finish up here.”

  “Sure your little girlfriend won’t be visitin’ you?” she asked.

  “Maybe I should go looking for her—”

  “No, no,” Angie said, “that’s okay. I get off here in a few hours. Will you be awake?”

  He smiled and said, “I’ll be awake, and ready.”

  He entered the hotel lobby and went to the desk.

  “Is there a telegram for me?” he asked.

  “Sure is,” Ted or Owen said. “Came in this afternoon. ” He handed it over.

  “Thanks.”

  “Did, uh, your friend find you?”

  “Yes, he did,” Clint said. “Oh, and Angie from next door will be coming in later.”