Last Stop in Brooklyn

by Lawrence H. Levy

  “My name is Mary Handley. I used to be engaged to George Vanderbilt, and I have met Mr. Carnegie several times. I’m not joking when I say this is a matter of life and death. Now please tell me where Mr. Carnegie is.”

  “Ah yes, Miss Handley. Mr. Carnegie has mentioned you. Of course, I’ll tell you. He left a little while ago for a meeting with Russell Sage at his office.”

  “Thank you.” Mary immediately hung up and called Russell Sage’s office. It rang many times without an answer.

  “No one is there,” said the operator.

  “Please keep trying.”

  The operator dutifully granted Mary’s request. Finally, Mary realized no one was going to answer and hung up. Only one course of action was left: rush down to Russell Sage’s office as fast as she could. To do that, she headed for the elevated train. They had been built all over Manhattan in the last twenty-four years, and it was the fastest mode of transportation.

  A half an hour later, Mary found herself in the Arcade Building on Broadway, running up the stairs to Russell Sage’s office. When she got there, it was very quiet, and no one was in the outer office. With it being a few minutes past six o’clock, it was entirely possible his employees had left for the day. Then she smelled the distinct odor of Turkish tobacco.

  “Basem,” she called out. “Are you here?”

  Basem answered, his voice emanating from Russell Sage’s office. “Leave, Mary. You don’t want to be here.”

  Mary slowly made her way to the office as she spoke. “I do, Basem. You’re a good man. I don’t want you to make a mistake.”

  Mary now stood in the doorway. Basem, Carnegie, Byrnes, and Sage were all standing. Basem was a few steps to her right, a bulky satchel slung over his shoulder. Carnegie and Byrnes were in the middle of the room, and Russell Sage was behind his desk.

  “I just came from seeing Ameer. He’s going to be okay, and he’s afraid for you. He doesn’t want you to do this.” Mary started walking toward him.

  Basem tensed. “Don’t come any closer, Mary. Back away.”

  She stopped.

  “He has a bomb in that satchel,” said Carnegie. “He’s threatening to blow us all to pieces.”

  As Mary slowly stepped backward into the room, she glanced at Sage. He had a look of horror on his face, as if that déjà vu nightmare he had been having since the Norcross incident was coming true.

  “Nothin’s gonna happen,” Byrnes said. “He’s a scared little weasel with no guts.”

  “Though that approach may work with some, Inspector Byrnes,” said Mary, “I should inform you that the man you’re attempting to rattle is a seasoned veteran who served four years in the French Foreign Legion and is probably quite skilled in the use of explosives.”

  “A real man would fight me straight on, not take the spineless way out.”

  “You frame an innocent man to cover your incompetence and I’m spineless?” Basem asked as he put out his cigarette in a nearby ashtray. “No, Inspector, you’re a bully, and bullies need to be punished.”

  “Come on, punish me. I enjoy stickin’ it to ya Arab trash.”

  Byrnes’s ploy wasn’t working. Basem trembled, not with fear but with anger. As he moved to block the doorway, the satchel slipped off his shoulders, but he caught it before it hit the floor.

  Carnegie swiveled toward Byrnes. “Tom, shut the hell up!” He then turned to Basem. “Look, Basem, that is your name?” Basem didn’t reply. He just stared. “Let’s reason this out. You tricked us with this phony meeting to get Tom over here. You have a grievance with him. Russell and I have nothing to do with it. We’ve never even met.”

  “I was in the elevator the other day with you and the inspector.”

  “You were? I didn’t—”

  “Why would you notice? I’m unimportant, merely one of the faceless thousands whose lives you destroyed.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Johnstown, Mr. Carnegie. I lost my wife, my son, my business, everything.”

  Mary remembered that Basem had told her he had lived in Pennsylvania before he returned to Algeria. But he had never mentioned Johnstown.

  On May 31, 1889, after several days of heavy rains, the South Fork Dam above Johnstown, Pennsylvania, burst and the waters of Lake Conemaugh emptied, rushing downhill and devastating the town. Over twenty-two hundred people were killed. The South Fork Fishing and Hunting Club had made adjustments to the dam in order to aid their pursuits, adjustments that weakened it. The club’s members were some of the wealthiest Americans, Andrew Carnegie the most prominent among them. The people of Johnstown sued, but the club also had top-echelon lawyers as members and its financial structure was devised so none of its elite members’ fortunes could be touched. Needless to say, the lawsuit netted nothing.

  Carnegie was surprised and his confidence shaken. “I am so, so sorry for your wife and son, and all of the misfortunes you suffered. But I was just a member of a club. That’s all. Surely you can’t blame me for that?”

  “You knew the dangers of adjusting a dam. You could have stopped them, but your hunting and fishing were more important.”

  “I felt terrible about what happened. I tried to help.”

  “You built a library. Thousands die and a few books make it okay?”

  “What about me, damn it?” Sage said, interrupting. “I don’t know your brother, I don’t fish, and I’ve definitely never been in Johnstown.”

  “You were the only person I knew who could bring them together. Unlucky for you, like the many people who have been hurt in your stock market manipulations.”

  “You can’t do this. I’m innocent!”

  “There are no innocent bourgeois.”

  Mary recognized his words. “Émile Henry. Now I understand.”

  “Who the hell is Émile Henry?” Sage demanded.

  Émile Henry was a French anarchist who had bombed a café in Paris that year. They caught him, and he was sent to the guillotine. Mary wasn’t going to waste precious time explaining it to Sage.

  “When did you become an anarchist, Basem?”

  “I finally reached my—how you say it—saturation point. Yes?”

  “Your English has never been a problem. It’s your logic that’s faulty.”

  He gestured toward the other three. “These pigs abuse their power and do what they want without any consequences while millions suffer. It’s time for them to suffer.”

  “And what will it accomplish besides killing all of us?”

  “Others will see. Capitalist greed must be punished.”

  “All people will see is that the brother of notorious killer Ameer Ben Ali is also a killer. They’ll say it runs in the family, and all Arabs are criminals. Ameer will lose any hope of ever being set free. Is that what you want?”

  “You need to leave, Mary.”

  She started slowly edging toward him. “Why? Am I making too much sense?”

  He moved to the side, clearing the doorway. “Go, Mary!”

  She kept heading for him. “Please don’t do this, Basem.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Basem saw Byrnes reach inside his coat. “Stop it, Inspector, or we all die right now!”

  “A gun, Tom!” shouted Carnegie. “Are you out of your mind?”

  “I’m not waiting around for this scum to kill us all!”

  Sage jumped in. “So you want to die sooner?” Byrnes looked confused. “Think, moron. If you shoot him, he falls and so does the bomb. I’ve been around this block before.”

  “The voice of experience,” Carnegie declared. “What’s your plan, Russell? Shall we short his stock and watch him go bankrupt?”

  “Shut up, Andy! If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be in this situation.”

  “You’re the one who’s been trying to drag me in on one of your schemes.”

  Carnegie, Sage, and Byrnes continued arguing between themselves as if Basem and Mary weren’t there. Mary and Basem’s eyes met as they shared a brief moment
of disgust for the three men. Then Basem’s expression changed to one of sorrow. He was asking forgiveness, and she knew what that meant.

  Mary was a little more than a body’s length away from him. She dove right before he dropped the satchel, slid underneath it, and caught it in the air before it hit the floor. Oddly, her first thought was that if she had been wearing a corset and hoop skirt, they’d all be dead.

  She hadn’t yet heaved a sigh of relief when the first shot rang out. “No!” Then two more in rapid succession.

  Basem slumped to the floor. The satchel safely sitting in her lap, Mary leaned over and felt his pulse. “You killed him!”

  Byrnes returned his pistol to its holster and announced smugly, “I always get my man.”

  “You didn’t have to do that. I already had the bomb!”

  “That crazy Arab coulda done anything.”

  As much as she hated Byrnes and what he stood for, she had to admit he did have a point. It was possible Basem might have tried to pry the bomb out of Mary’s hands or done any number of things that would have meant disaster. Byrnes indicated the satchel.

  “I’ll take that off yer hands.” Mary let him have the satchel. “Russell, mind if I leave it on yer desk for a bit?” Sage’s knee-jerk reaction of horror was what he had wanted. “Just jokin’. I’ll get one of our bomb experts down here to defuse this.”

  “While you’re at it…” Mary motioned toward Basem’s corpse.

  “Right, almost forgot about him. I’ll call a hearse.” Byrnes emitted a chuckle as he walked out carefully carrying the satchel.

  Carnegie and Sage had already recovered from the trauma of their near-death experience when Mary rose to her feet. Carnegie approached.

  “Miss Handley, I can’t thank you enough.”

  Still glum, Mary stared at Basem’s dead body. “I didn’t want anyone to die.”

  “You’re a remarkable woman. George Vanderbilt is a fool to have let you go.”

  “I don’t think that was your opinion at the time.”

  “Well, we all grow and change, don’t we?” He turned to Sage and tipped his head. “Good night, Russell.” Completely recovered, Carnegie straightened and marched out. Mary was about to follow when Sage spoke.

  “Miss Handley, I would be remiss if I let you go before thanking you from the bottom of my heart. Most people think I don’t have one, but I assure you it’s in place and I do.”

  “You’re welcome, Mr. Sage, and if you would please indulge me, I have a favor to ask. Two, really.” It was an odd time for such a request and, considering what had just occurred, probably inappropriate. But Mary didn’t know if she’d have this opportunity again.

  “I do not entertain many favors, but after your heroic efforts, of course.”

  “I am close with Walter Cooper and his family. His wife and I have been friends since we were little girls. Walter is a lawyer, and he recently had a setback in his career. Inexplicably, all his clients fired him in one day. I was hoping you could rectify that.”

  “You’re not implying that I’m responsible?”

  “No, of course not. I would never suggest that.” His very question convinced Mary that he indeed was responsible, but pointing that out would have been counterproductive. “You’re a very influential man, and I was hoping you could speak with these people. Convince them to change their minds.”

  “I have no problem with that. Get me a list of who to contact.”

  He knew who they were, but she played along. “It will be done posthaste. Thank you, Mr. Sage. You’re a very compassionate man.” Mary started to leave.

  “What about the second favor?” he asked. “You said you had two.”

  Halfway to the door, Mary turned. “You’ve been more than generous. I don’t want to put you out.” She had secured Sarah’s happiness and had decided not to risk it.

  “Nonsense. You saved my life. What else can I do for you?”

  He was not going to let her drop it. “Well, not me,” she said, then continued with some trepidation, “William Laidlaw.” Sage’s pleasant expression faded into a scowl. At this point though, she had no choice but to continue. “The man is now doomed to live in constant pain and dire poverty for the rest of his life. If you could see it in your heart to give him what you deem to be a fair amount, just enough to make his sorrowful existence a bit more bearable—”

  “William Laidlaw has ruined my reputation. I can’t walk down the street without people whispering behind my back. Every day I am forced to live with the labels of ‘skinflint,’ ‘coward,’ and ‘heartless.’ I am not a social being and can live with it, but it has caused my wife a great deal of upset. Under no circumstances will I give credence to this man’s claims by paying him. I don’t care how much it costs me in lawyer fees. I will see that he never gets a penny from me.”

  “I apologize for asking. I didn’t know how strongly you felt.”

  “Now you do.”

  “Yes, and I apologize again,” Mary replied, then quickly added, “I will get you that contact list of Walter Cooper’s clients.”

  “Please do.”

  Mary was happy Sage was still going to help Walter and decided to get out of there as fast as she could. As she left, she glanced at the tangled mess on the floor that was Basem’s dead body and wondered if there was anything she could have done differently that would have spared his life. She was sure that thought was going to torture her for a long time.

  31

  Mary didn’t feel like going home. She went to Harper’s apartment to tell him the events of the day and relax. Having been given a last-minute assignment by the Brooklyn Daily Eagle, he was rushing to meet a deadline.

  “I’ll be finished in about an hour.”

  “Okay, I’ll be at Lazlo’s.”

  He could see something was bothering her. “I’m sorry. Every once in a while I have to take an assignment that actually pays the bills. Are you all right?”

  She put on her brightest face and lied. “I’m fine. What’s it about?”

  “The new baby lion at the zoo.”

  “Sounds fascinating.”

  “Like I said, pays the bills. Mary—”

  “I’m absolutely fine. Really. I’ll see you later.”

  The fact that she repeated she was fine convinced him she wasn’t, but he had to let her leave. He had a strict deadline. He would be finished with his article in a few minutes, then he had to run it down to the Brooklyn Daily Eagle offices. It might be sooner, but an hour gave him some leeway.

  When Mary got to Lazlo’s Books, it was almost eight o’clock, which was closing time. Lazlo was alone.

  “Where’s Gerta?”

  “She’s having dinner with her daughter and grandchildren.”

  “She didn’t invite you?”

  “She knows children and I are not a good combination. I don’t consider them human beings until they can recite the Shakespearean sonnets.”

  “There are many people in their fifties who can’t do that.”

  “Which explains why our world is in shambles. Now come sit down. We’ve both been occupied this past week and haven’t had a chance to have a proper chat.”

  About forty-five minutes later, Mary was practically finished telling Lazlo everything when the phone rang. Lazlo rose to answer it.

  “That could be for me, Lazlo. I’m expecting a call from Ameer’s doctor.”

  Lazlo spoke into the telephone. “Hello, Lazlo’s Books…Yes, she’s here.” He pointed the phone toward Mary. “For you.”

  Mary took the phone from him. “How is Ameer, doctor?”

  “Doctor, is it? Well, it’s nice to know I’ve been promoted.”

  “Who is this?”

  “Mary, this is Harper’s friend Ivan Nowak. I was able to examine the fingerprints sooner than I had anticipated.”

  “Oh, Ivan, I’m sorry. If I had your number, I would have called you. I found out the man whose thumbprint I asked you to examine is not the killer. I apologize f
or troubling you.”

  “That’s exactly why I called. You’re right. The thumbprint you asked me to examine was not a match, but the other thumbprint on the paper was spot-on.”

  Mary was puzzled. “The other thumbprint?”

  “There were two distinctly different thumbprints on that paper. Did you not know that?”

  Mary’s mind was racing, poring over the events of the past four days, until she finally realized who the thumbprint belonged to. She was stunned.

  Leo’s Meats had just closed. Jeffrey Handley had locked the door and was doing some last-minute cleaning up as Leo was on the phone. He was speaking in a low, intense whisper.

  “Friday is the soonest time?…Yes, all of them, all my shops. You’ve got my instructions about what to do with the proceeds?…I know I won’t get a premium price…. Yes, I know I’ll be taking a beating. Just do it!”

  Leo hung up and walked into the back, where Jeffrey had just finished putting away the meat cleavers and knives after cleaning them. He had been trying very hard to make a good impression on his new boss and had just grabbed a broom when Leo stopped him.

  “Go home, Jeffrey. You can take care of that tomorrow morning.”

  “It’s okay, Mr. Cosgrove. I don’t mind.”

  “Jeffrey, how many times do I have to tell you to call me Leo? You’re almost old enough to be my father.”

  “Sorry, Mr.—Leo. That’s how I’m used to addressing my boss.”

  Leo smiled. “Go on home. I insist.”

  “It’s okay, I can finish.” Jeffrey started sweeping, and Leo reached over to pull the broom out of his hands. Jeffrey tripped and knocked over a large suitcase that was in the corner. It popped open, and among other things, a man’s blond-haired wig fell out.

  “Oh, Jeffrey, what am I to do now?”

  Jeffrey quickly began repacking the suitcase. “I’ll get that. It’s not a problem.”

  “But it is. You just accelerated my plans.”