The Revenge of Sherlock Holmes

by Phil Growick

  I ran outside to be greeted with the sour scent of gunpowder and the sight of men and women, wounded and dead. I fought my way, as best I could, against the mass of people trying to push passed me on their flight to the exits, then I saw Elizabeth in the midst of that mass.

  Somehow, she fought her way free, ran into my arms and I shielded her against the bodies slamming into us both. I managed to steer us to an enclave protected by a thin wall. I held her there and we watched the frenzied surge to the outside. Then I felt someone tap me. It was Reilly. I had completely forgotten about him in my worry for Elizabeth.

  “Dr. Watson, please, come with me. I need you.”

  Elizabeth looked at him, then me with puzzlement, faintly remembering him from his visit to our home; but I whispered to her, “It’s all right Elizabeth. This man is a great friend. Come with me, I don’t want to leave you here alone.”

  Reilly took us to the table he had indicated earlier. The table was overturned. The men and two of the women seemed to be unwounded, but then I looked down and saw that Olga lay there. I kneeled immediately and though I examined her as thoroughly as possible, I almost immediately knew she was dead.

  I began to cry and Elizabeth put her arms on my shoulders and lifted me up, her eyes questioning why I was crying. But there was no time to answer.

  Suddenly Siegel and Madden and some of his men were by our side. It was Siegel’s turn to kneel by Olga; whom he took in his arms and began rocking back and forth; weeping like a little boy. I had no idea who he was, of course, but understood immediately the delicate connection there.

  Lansky stood holding Anne, Luciano the same with Lucille. Presently they let them go and walked over to Madden, who asked, “Who?”

  “The Romanos,” Charlie said.

  “The crazy dagos. Everyone knows this club is off-limits,” Madden said. Then he continued, “Charlie, Meyer, the cops’ll be here soon. Best to get out the private way. You better go now.”

  Siegel, still weeping, looked up at the only other person he truly loved, Lansky, and Lansky looked down at the man he loved as a little brother.

  “Benny, we’ll get ‘em for this. We’ll get ‘em,” Lansky said softly. Luciano was nodding in assurance.

  Siegel, still holding Olga then heard Reilly say softly, as well, “Ben, the problem you mentioned before. This is now mine as well as yours. We’re doing this together.”

  Only Siegel knew what he meant and why.

  “Okay, Moo,” he said, “just me and you.”

  Lansky and Luciano looked at each other not understanding but wisely remaining mute.

  “Benny, we have to leave. Some of Owney’s men will help with Katherine if you want. We’ll take care of her proper,” Lansky said.

  Siegel nodded agreement, stood, but took Olga in his arms and carried her out as Madden’s men cleared the way; Lansky, Anne, Luciano, Lucille, Reilly, Elizabeth and I following.

  I was holding Elizabeth again as we followed, she looking at me for any form of explanation, as she, too, wept at the death of the beautiful young woman. I calmed her as much as I was able, but I knew that I since I could tell her nothing of the facts behind my relationship with Reilly, I would have to invent something she might believe.

  When we got outside, Reilly gestured for me and Elizabeth to get into one of the waiting autos, which we did; and which took us to our hotel. Then, halfway back, I realized that I hadn’t told Reilly where Elizabeth and I were staying, but further realized that since we’d be leaving for England later in the day, it didn’t much matter. He knew where we lived in London.

  All I could do was silently pray for his safety.

  Home In London, A Burial In New York

  While aboard Olympic once again, sailing for home, Elizabeth and I spent the next few days trying to forget the heartbreaking events of which we had been part; and which, of course, was not humanly possible. We reached home on the fourth of September.

  The tale I concocted as explanation of my relationship with Reilly was thin, to say the least, and Elizabeth saw through it immediately.

  “Reilly was with you in Afghanistan? He saved your life when a crazed Afghani tribesman was about to cut your head off? John, puh-lease. That man called you Dr. Watson; not John, as he would’ve if you two had served together and he had saved your life.”

  I thought it plausible; though. Elizabeth knew of my service there, so why not have me saved by Reilly? But then again, I could not change the fact of how Reilly had addressed me and, by heavens, Elizabeth was thinking like Holmes.

  From this I learned one great lesson, which is never too late to learn: one can never fool a wife who is thinking like Holmes. Or simply thinking as a wife.

  While Elizabeth and I voyaged homeward, Reilly and Siegel had begun planning how to exact revenge. But there were more delicate matters to be settled immediately.

  First, Siegel paid a Russian Orthodox priest a hefty sum, combined with an ominous warning, not to not ask any questions and perform the proper burial ceremony for Olga.

  She was buried in the Holy Trinity Russian Orthodox Cemetery directly north of New York City, in a small town called Yonkers. Lansky and Luciano were there at the burial alongside Siegel and Reilly.

  The headstone Siegel ordered to be placed there bore this name: Katherine Siegel.

  Later, when Lansky and Luciano asked Siegel what was going on with him and Reilly and why he wanted only Reilly along to tend to the Romanos, Siegel simply said, “Meyer, Charlie, you just gotta trust me on this. This guy, Reilly, played a very special part in Katherine’s life, kinda like an uncle, and this is something we gotta do together. We can do it and we gotta do it.”

  Lansky and Luciano, knowing Siegel so well, simply shrugged.

  “Go do what yagotta do,” Lansky said. “Gay mit mazel, boychik.” Yiddish for “good luck, little boy.”

  “Ditto,” Luciano said. But if you need anything, anything, you know we got your back.”

  By the time Elizabeth and I were safely back in our home, Siegel and Reilly had done what they had to do.

  Reilly and Bugsy’s Revenge

  In Olga’s and Ben’s flat, it was Reilly who devised the specifics of the plan, to which Siegel agreed. The night before it was put into action, as they went over every contingency and believed all unforeseen occurrences had been considered, they rested over some brandy. The only outside help Reilly needed was a driver who knew the streets of Manhattan and Brooklyn. Reles would drive.

  “Ben, you know that once we meet with Meyer and Charlie to confirm that everything went well, I’ll be gone. I’ll be going back to the island. We’ll never see each other again.”

  “Yeah, I know the game. I woulda loved for ya to hang around here and join Meyer and Charlie and me, but I got ya.” Then he added, “Reilly, I wanna thank you, too. You were a true friend to Katherine. And you were doing the right thing. Thank God I never got the chance to break up with her, because to tell ya the truth, I don’t think I woulda been able t’ do it.”

  “Charlie always says domani,” Siegel said. “But with me and you, it’s ‘morgn’.” This is the Yiddish equivalent of domani; tomorrow.

  They clinked glasses.

  Carlo Romano lived on Ryder Street in an Italian section of Brooklyn. It was a row house and the fathers of the families that lived on either side were part of his gang. By living in the middle of these men, Romano felt he had added protection. And he was correct in that assumption. Which is why Reilly planned to execute him when he was not guarded in that manner.

  It was the third of September, about seven a.m. Romano was being driven to his garlic import company office in downtown Brooklyn, on Nevins Street. As his auto pulled up to his office, he saw a delivery truck from the Giovanni Garlic Company parked outside and a delivery man in company coveralls leaning leisurely against
the truck. There was another behind the wheel.

  As Romano got out of his auto he said, “Hey, youse guys are here real early. You got some good garlic for me?”

  “Great stuff,” Reilly said as went closer to Romano, pulled a revolver from his coverall pocket and put a bullet directly into Romano’s head. Then, as Romano’s driver got out, he too, was shot by Reilly.

  Reilly looked down at Romano, put two more rounds into his head and spit on his body. He then went around to check the driver, and though he saw he was dead, put a round into the man’s head for good measure. Then he got back into the truck and Reles drove them away.

  At the same time, in Little Italy in downtown Manhattan, Roberto Romano lay asleep in his flat. Siegel stood over him with a can of petrol. The guard at the door had already been dispatched.

  Romano was awakened by the petrol being poured all over his body. Then Reilly whispered, “This is for Olga,” dropped a match and ran from the room.

  Two hours later, Siegel calmly walked into a private office where Lansky, Luciano and Reilly were waiting and drinking.

  “Fachtik?” Lansky asked. Yiddish for “finished?”

  “In spades,” Siegel replied. Then he looked at Reilly who gave a simple nod.

  Siegel sat between Lansky and Luciano as Lansky poured him a drink.

  “Ya know, Moo, I been talkin’ with Meyer and Charlie and we’d really like ya to hang around here. You’re like one of us.”

  “Yeah,” Luciano said, “we could use a guy like you.” Lansky nodded affirmatively.

  “Gentlemen, I’m afraid that just wouldn’t do. Ben understands and I hope you will, too. Now that everything is done, I have to leave. There’s a boat waiting,” Reilly said. “But I’m sorry that I’m leaving you to face the music.”

  “What music?” Lansky asked. Nobody saw nothin’ and we’re used to takin’ the heat anyways.”

  Lansky and Luciano both wished him well and hugged him goodbye, still expressing regret at his decision.

  Siegel hugged him and whispered in his ear, “Thanks, again, Moo. I’ll never forget you.”

  As Reilly was closing the door behind him, he saw Lansky and Luciano patting Siegel reassuringly on the shoulders, and he heard them talking about what to do next with their growing criminal network.

  Reilly Returns To Tatiana

  Reilly had planned it so that he’d be able to board a boat to the Bahamas in a very few hours after the Romano matter had been settled. He would, hopefully, be gone before the tabloids had even reported the latest gangland outrage.

  That was the easy part. The most difficult part would be telling Tatiana and the Tsar what had happened to Olga. And then Marie and Anastasia, if she could be located.

  From Nassau, he notified Tatiana when he’d be returning and dreaded his reunion.

  As it transpired, he would be back in Eleuthera one day after Elizabeth and I had arrived back in London.

  As the skiff hit the little dock at the compound, Tatiana was there to greet him, holding Alix, with little Sidney, at her side. The Tsar was there, as well, standing next to Funny Oscar, who had come to help Reilly with his luggage.

  From the false smile on his face, Tatiana knew immediately something was terribly wrong, but said nothing until they were back at the house and alone in their room, her father below, playing with the children.

  “Tell me, Sidney. Be honest. Olga?”

  “Tatiana, there is no way for me soften this, Olga is dead.”

  Tatiana didn’t cry, she simply said, “I already knew it, I felt it. Before you even left I knew that this would be one problem you wouldn’t be able to bring to a happy solution. How? Tell me everything.”

  Not wanting to have Tatiana or the Tsar haunted by the truth of Olga’s death, he simply said that she had become ill, pneumonia, and had perished with him at her side. He also assured her of Olga’s strict Orthodox burial, which, he knew, would ease her mind, however marginally.

  He told her that the young man who loved Olga and who she loved, had been devastated by the tragedy and had been with Reilly at her bedside and at the burial.

  Tatiana resolved that it would be she alone to give the news to her father.

  “Sidney, go to the children, they’ve missed you so frightfully since you’ve been gone. Take them outside, I don’t want them to see their grandfather so distraught.”

  With that, Reilly gathered the children and Tatiana went to speak with her father.

  Outside with Sidney and Alix, Reilly saw Funny Oscar and called him over.

  “Funny Oscar, I know I’ve said this to you many times, but thank you for everything you’ve done for my family. I was able to do what I had to do knowing they’d be safe because of you.”

  “They’ve become my family, too,” Funny Oscar said.

  “They most assuredly have, haven’t they? But Funny Oscar, what about your own family? Do you have one? I should have asked you about this long ago.”

  “Don’t worry yourself about it. I have no family anymore, other than yours. Mine have long ago since passed on. Sickness. Accidents. The war. I don’t dwell on it.”

  “Then you’re still SIS?”

  Funny Oscar shrugged coyly, then said, “I was here already. I like it here. It’s warmer than Kent. As you know, mates at SIS will always report in from time to time.”

  “Yes, I’m only too aware of that,” Reilly said.

  It was Yrjö who was to prove that statement so true.

  When Tatiana came to Reilly after speaking with her father, she was doubly spent. Reilly left the children with Funny Oscar as he took Tatiana to that same bench on which they sat when he first arrived at Winding Bay.

  “Tatiana....:

  “She cut him off. I know, I know. But please just stay and rest for a little while. The children need you, I need you, and you need us. Just rest a little and then go and finish this business.

  “I know you’ll let Marie know what’s happened. And Sidney, if there’s any way for you to find Anastasia; I know you’ll find it.”

  He simply nodded, put his arm around her, and they sat quietly, looking out at the cobalt Caribbean.

  Reilly In London, II

  After heeding Tatiana and taking that little while to rest and be with his family, Reilly was back in London on October 31, All Hallows Eve. How fitting. His passport still showed him as Roland Windsor.

  His first task was to contact Marie. He accomplished this by the simple expediency of waiting outside her home the next day and then walking behind her as she made her way for errands of the day.

  He walked up to her right side, but not so close to give her pause, took a few steps past her at a faster pace, then turned to his left so she could see who he was. Of course, she stopped dead.

  “Just continue walking and don’t say anything.” This she did, but only haltingly, trying to catch her breath.

  “No one is following us. But I must speak to you. Come closer so it’ll just look like two mates strolling and talking. We’ll sit on that bench over there, in that park.” He indicated a bench not far away. Once seated, he began to speak.

  “Marie, I’m happy to see you’re well. And I trust William is?”

  “Reilly, yes, yes, we’re both very well.”

  “Marie your father, Tatiana and the children are all well, too.” Marie saw the hesitancy in Reilly and asked, “Reilly, I know there’s something wrong. What is it?”

  “Marie, Olga has passed on.”

  She didn’t cry but could not understand.

  “But how? She was young and healthy; how did it happen?”

  As with Tatiana, there was no need to have Marie learn the true nature of Olga’s death, so he had to dissemble once again.

  “I was there with her, Marie, if that’s any
consolation. She just became ill. Very ill with pneumonia. The doctors tried, but she slipped away.” He then told her about the Russian Orthodox burial, as well.

  “That is good, then. My big sister, the one who was always looking out for me. I still remember when I was such a little girl, how she would chase away my lady servant who was trying to dress my hair, so that she could do it instead.

  “She would take the brush and so slowly and lovingly just brush out my hair and go over and over and say in her own little girl voice, ‘See, Marie. See how beautiful you are and your hair is? And I’ll always be here. I’ll always be here.’ It’s funny what you remember.”

  Reilly said nothing; just listened. But for a long while, Marie remained silent. Then, as if she were weighing the good and the bad of things, she turned to Reilly and asked, “Now tell me, and tell me truly, how are my niece and nephew? For I suspect I’ll never see them.”

  Suddenly, he realized he had never been asked about his children before and he had the new sensation of the beaming father bragging about his offspring; a sensation he thoroughly enjoyed.

  Then he remembered. He stood and pulled a tiny photo of the children from his wallet and put it into Marie’s hands as if he was presenting her a crown jewel. Which, in a way, he was.

  “Alix and Sidney,” Reilly said.

  “Oh, they’re so beautiful,” Marie said. Then she began to cry.

  Reilly tried to jest, “Of course, they look like their mother; thank heavens. They both have her beautiful, slightly Asiatic eyes.

  “Marie, Marie, I wish you could hold them. Sidney is rambunctious and obstinate and playful and smart and...”

  Marie was now laughing as she said, “Reilly, there’s no need to recite every happy adjective in the English language. I understand.”

  “And Alix, she’s just the sweetest little package you can imagine,” Reilly added.