Ride to Valor

by David Robbins

“Then pay attention. You’re to distract them and I’ll do the lifting.”

  James liked Coil. He liked him a whole lot. Everything his parents ever taught him went against what they were about to do, but he would do it anyway, if only so he could go on being Coil’s friend. “What do you want of me?”

  “Up ahead of them is an apple barrel by a stall. Do you see it?”

  “Yes.”

  “When I tell you, you’re to run past them, laughing and acting like you’re having a good time. Pretend not to see the barrel and run right into it and push it over. Then run like hell and make your way back to the others and I’ll join you.”

  “That’s all?” James said. He thought he would have to do something a lot worse.

  “It’s enough. Get ready.”

  The aisle was crowded with people. James focused on the barrel. He could do this. He would do this. He wouldn’t let Coil down.

  “If the man who sells the apples comes after you, give him the slip or he’ll thrash you.”

  “I understand,” James said, fear clutching at his chest. He didn’t know if he could outrun a grown man.

  “Get ready.”

  The well-to-do couple were almost to the stall.

  “Now,” Coil said.

  James burst into motion. He weaved around a portly fellow and ran past the couple, laughing as gaily as he could, even though to him his laugh sounded false. He pretended not to see the barrel and slammed into it running full-out. He’d thought it would go right over, but it was a lot heaver than he expected and he bounced as if he had struck a wall, pain shooting up his arms and chest. The barrel tilted and for a harrowing instant he feared it would right itself, but over it went with a loud thump and apples rolled every which way.

  “Hey, you!”

  The angry shout reminded James he wasn’t supposed to stop. He went to run just as a heavy hand fell on his shoulder. A sharp twist and he was free and flying. He dodged around two girls and flew. The fruit vendor was swearing.

  James laughed, this time for real. He ran until he judged he was safe and then crossed to a different aisle and back to where the rest were waiting. He was surprised to find Coil already there.

  Coil smiled and clapped him on the back and said, “You did right fine.”

  The others were smiling too, Mick and Devlin and the rest. They were all holding money.

  “We’ve split it the usual way,” Coil said. “It’s always an even share, except the pair who do it get more.” He held out his hand. “This is yours.”

  James stared at the coins, gleaming bright in the sun.

  “Go on. Take them. You earned them.”

  James held out both hands. “How much is it?”

  “Five dollars. That bastard had pretty near fifty in his poke.”

  James rubbed the coins and held a gold piece up so it sparkled. He couldn’t believe it. Five dollars was more than he’d ever had in his whole life. It was more than his parents usually had; he remembered how his father was always saying that they were lucky to have a dollar to spare. “God Almighty,” he breathed.

  Coil nudged him and grinned and winked. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes,” James admitted. It confused him. They had done a bad deed, yet he felt very good.

  “You’ll never want for money as a Blue Shirt. We look after our own. Don’t we, boys?”

  “That we do,” Devlin said.

  “One for all,” Mick declared.

  Coil clapped James and laughed. “What do you think of being a Blue Shirt now?”

  “I want it more than anything,” James said.

  6

  It didn’t happen overnight.

  James had to prove himself.

  Coil taught him how to pick pockets and lift purses. He practiced day after day until he became adept at slipping his hand into a jacket or pants without his mark feeling a thing. The secret was to do it fast and use the tips of his fingers instead of his whole hand. He learned how to swipe a purse from a woman. Two quick cuts and the deed was done.

  Stealing from general stores and mercantiles was ridiculously easy. They waited until the owner or the clerk was looking the other way and scooped the item into an inside pocket or under their shirt or jacket.

  James took to it all like a duck to water, with one exception. Some of the Blue Shirts were not above a little burglary now and again.

  Devlin was fondest of it. His trick was to swap his blue shirt for an ordinary shirt and trail a well-dressed couple to their home. Once their lights went out, he’d wait until he was confident they were asleep, break in, and make off with whatever struck his fancy.

  James went with him once and only once. They strolled about the market until Devlin spied a likely couple in expensive clothes. The pair hardly ever looked behind them, which made shadowing them to their house ridiculously easy.

  James and Devlin sat on a bench on a nearby street corner until an hour before sundown.

  “The secret to being good at this,” Devlin instructed him as a teacher might a school pupil, “is to never leave anything to chance. Come on. We’ll stake a stroll and look for the best way in.”

  They made several circuits of the yard. A hedge screened three sides and through a gap they spotted a large dog on a chain.

  “We’ll never get inside,” James said. “That mongrel will bark and give us away.”

  “Not if we treat it nice,” Devlin said with a grin, and led James to a butcher shop where Devlin bought half a pound of raw meat.

  By the time they got back, night had fallen.

  The lamps in the house went out about ten thirty.

  Devlin waited another hour, then nudged James and said, “It’s been long enough. Are you up for some excitement, my fine lad?”

  “So long as it doesn’t get us shot,” James said.

  Devlin chuckled but James didn’t find it so amusing.

  “First the beastie.”

  They crept along the hedge, James filled with dread that the animal would spot them and bark loud enough to wake the dead. When Devlin stopped, he stopped.

  Awash in pale starlight, the dog was dozing with its chin on its forepaws.

  Devlin put a finger to his lips. Drawing his knife, he cut a strip of meat and threw it at the dog. It plopped onto the ground half a foot from the animal’s face. Instantly, the dog was on its feet and rumbling in its chest. It caught the scent of the meat, sniffed at it a few times, and wolfed the meat down in a single swallow.

  Devlin cut off a bigger piece and tossed it, as well. The dog didn’t even growl. It pounced and chewed. Boldly rising, Devlin went to within a few yards and tossed the rest of the meat. He didn’t wait to see what the dog would do but turned and beckoned James. Together they ran to the deep shadow along the bottom floor. Devlin went to each of the windows. All on the near side were latched. They went around the corner to the back. Devlin pushed on the first, but it wouldn’t budge. He had the same luck with the second. Then they came to the next and Devlin grinned when it slid up.

  James wasn’t nearly as happy. Picking pockets was crime enough. This was worse. Judges were a lot harder on burglars.

  If they were caught—He wouldn’t let himself think about the consequences.

  Devlin hiked a leg and slid over and in. Swallowing, James followed him. They were in a dark room that smelled of tobacco. Darkling shapes suggested furniture. He reached out to Devlin, but Devlin wasn’t there. Panic welled, and James fought it down. It was an empty room, was all. Nothing to be afraid of.

  A whisper from Devlin drew him to a corner and a large desk. A match flared, and Devlin lit a lamp. He began to rummage through the drawers, searching quickly but quietly.

  Picking up a letter opener, Devlin held it out to him.

  Unsure what he was supposed to do with it, James whispered, “Do you want me to open a letter with it?”

  “Simpleton,” Devlin whispered, and laughed. “It’s made of silver.” He bent to other drawers.

/>   James glanced at the doorway to a dark hall beyond. Devlin wasn’t making much noise, but any noise was too much as far as he was concerned. Burglary didn’t strike him as particularly smart, and he would be damned if he would ever do it again.

  Devlin moved to a cabinet with a glass front. On display inside were swords in exquisite scabbards. He turned the latch, but the cabinet wouldn’t open. “I bet we could get a lot for one of these.”

  “Hurry,” James urged. It was probably his imagination, but he thought he’d heard a sound.

  “They’re on the second floor and sound asleep. Quit your fretting.”

  There it was again, the faint sound James thought he’d heard. He cocked his head and strained his ears and was about convinced it was nothing when a shape filled the doorway.

  “Don’t move a muscle, you scoundrels!”

  James’s heart leaped into his throat.

  Bundled in a thick robe, the man of the house was pointing a pistol at them. He was bald and ruddy with anger and so broad of girth that the robe seemed more like a tent. “I mean it. Move and I will shoot.” The click of the hammer was proof he meant it.

  “How do you do, sir?” Devlin said cheerfully. “Lovely weather we’ve been having, eh?”

  “What?” the man said in bewilderment.

  “We called on you earlier, but you weren’t to home, so we came back to see if you would be interested,” Devlin told him.

  “What are you babbling about?” the man demanded.

  “We’re here to collect for the Orphans Fund. How much would you care to give?”

  “Orphans Fund?” the man repeated, his confusion almost comical. The pistol dipped a few inches.

  Devlin whirled and bellowed, “Out the window!” In a long bound he was at the nearest and without slowing he threw his arms over his head and neck and hurtled himself at the glass. With a loud crash the pane shattered and Devlin disappeared over the sill.

  Both James and the man of the house were speechless with amazement. James recovered first, and pumped his legs. He wasn’t quite to the window when the pistol cracked. Something buzzed his ear and then he dived and cleared the jagged slivers and came down hard on his shoulder. Broken glass crunched under him. Pain shot up his arm and he felt a wet sensation. Before he could rise a hand gripped him and shoved him toward the street.

  “Run, damn you! Run!”

  James didn’t need prompting. He was more afraid than he had ever been.

  The man was at the window. He hollered, and the pistol cracked once more.

  James and Devlin pounded around the hedge. The dog commenced to bark and now the man was swearing up a storm.

  James had an impulse to giggle and only contained himself with an effort.

  “Damn the luck,” Devlin said. “I really wanted one of those swords.”

  They reached the street. The few people out and about turned and stared.

  James was afraid that someone would try to stop them, but no one did. They fled past an old woman and a young couple.

  At the next intersection they turned left and went halfway down the block.

  Finally Devlin stopped. “This should be far enough.”

  “The police,” James said between pants. “They’ll be after us.”

  “Don’t you know anything?” Devlin said. “It will take an hour for them to show and all they’ll do is make a report. By then we’ll be back in Five Points.”

  “It can’t be this easy.”

  “You were thinking the sky would open and lightning would strike you dead?”

  James looked at the stars and let out a long breath in heartfelt relief. A stab of pain and a wet drop dribbling down his arm warned it was premature. “I’m bleeding.”

  “Let’s have a look,” Devlin said, and steered him to a streetlamp. “Why, it’s no more than a scratch.” He chuckled and clapped James on the back. “What do you say? Want to do it again tomorrow?”

  “I’ll stick with the mercantiles and picking pockets,” James said.

  “Where’s the fun in that?”

  James wasn’t doing it for the fun. He stole and stole, and it got so that one evening Coil cautioned him not to be so reckless.

  “I’m building a nest egg,” James explained.

  “What for?” Coil asked. “There’s always more money to be had. None of us ever saves a cent.”

  James glanced about to be sure none of the others could hear. “It’s for my mother.”

  The strangest expression came over Coil.

  “She works so hard yet she can hardly make ends meet,” James said. “I want to help her.”

  “Damn, Doyle,” Coil said.

  “What?”

  “You might be the best of all of us, deep down where it counts.”

  Often James was out until past midnight. One night he snuck back into his bedroom through his window, as usual. He moved quietly to the bed and was pulling back the quilt when his room flared with light.

  “Where have you been?” his mother demanded. Her hair was disheveled and she had dark spots under her eyes.

  “I went for a walk.”

  “At this time of night? Tell me the truth.”

  James had known this moment would come. He’d been sneaking out for weeks now with her none the wiser, but it couldn’t last forever. “Go to bed.”

  “How dare you speak to me like that! I’m the parent here. You will answer my question.”

  “No, Mother,” James said. “I won’t.”

  She gasped, and tears filled her eyes. “I can’t believe what I’m hearing.”

  “I’m tired. I’d like to go to sleep.”

  “You’re too young to be out this late.”

  James sat and began untying his shoes. “You’re the one who told me I needed to find work.”

  She took a step and her face brightened. “You have a job? Really? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I wanted to surprise you.”

  “Oh, my sweet, sweet boy.” She came and placed her palm on his cheek. “This is great news. You can help with the rent. You can help with the groceries.” She bent and kissed him on the forehead. “I can’t tell you how happy this makes me.”

  The smell of liquor on her breath was strong. James glanced away. “I have something for you,” he said. He slid off the bed and onto his hands and knees on the floor.

  “What are you doing?”

  James reached up under the bed and brought out a leather poke. He jingled it and gave it to her.

  “What’s this?”

  “Fifty-two dollars.”

  “How much?” She loosened the drawstring and upended it over his bed. Out spilled a waterfall of gold and silver and copper. “Dear God.”

  “It’s yours.” James had intended to save a full hundred and then give it to her.

  She picked up some of the coins and held them as if they were fragile. “Where did you get these?”

  “I told you. I have a job.” James sat on the bed and finished removing his shoes.

  His mother sifted the coins still on the quilt. “What do you do that you earn so much?”

  “I work for a man,” James said vaguely.

  “Who?” she pressed him. “Doing what?”

  James said the first thing that popped into his head. “At a barbershop. I sweep the floor and whatnot.”

  “You’re lying to me again. No one would pay this much for you to sweep a floor. How did you really get it?”

  “Go to bed,” James said. He lay on his side with his back to her.

  “I demand an answer, young man.”

  “Don’t we need it?”

  “We are always short of money. You know that.”

  “Don’t you want it?”

  “Yes, I do, but I want honest money. Look me in the eye and tell me you earned this honestly.”

  James rolled over. He looked her in the eye. “I earned it honestly.”

  Disbelief and need fought a brief battle and need won. Smiling, she
kissed him on the cheek. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have doubted you. Your father and I raised you to be good and decent.”

  “Yes,” James said, “you did.”

  She put the coins in the poke and jingled them and laughed. “It’s a miracle. I was so very afraid we couldn’t make the next rent and now you go and do this. You’re the most wonderful son in the world.” She spun in a circle. “You’ve made me so happy, son. You have no idea.”

  “Yes,” James said. “I do.”

  7

  Three and a half years went by.

  It was a bright Saturday afternoon. The square was jammed. Down an aisle strode a dozen Blue Shirts, wolves among sheep.

  At their head was Coil, tall and menacing. Flanking him were Devlin and Mick on one side, James Doyle on the other.

  James had grown. He’d gained more than a foot in height and packed on muscle. His thumbs were hooked in his suspenders and his swagger matched the others’. He gave pretty girls saucy stares and glared at any man who dared look at the Blue Shirts defiantly. There was nothing boyish about him. He wore a knife in a sheath under his shirt at the small of his back and had a derringer in his right boot and a dagger in his left.

  “So, what will it be today, lads?” Mick said. “I wouldn’t mind a visit to Patrick’s.”

  “The best tavern anywhere,” Flanagan remarked.

  “You’d live there if you could and get falling-down drunk every night,” Devlin said, grinning.

  At a booth that sold small squares of cake, Coil stopped and bought one. Others followed his example. They moved to the middle of the square and Coil sat on a bench and the rest clustered around. He took his first bite and chewed. “The Italians are moving in on us.”

  All eyes were fixed on him.

  “What have you heard?” Doyle asked.

  “It’s the Florentines,” Coil said. “They’re trying to take over the south end.”

  “Them again,” Mick said, and swore.

  “Damned foreigners,” Sweeney said.

  “We can’t allow it,” Coil told them. “Any weakness, and the Boweries and the Rabbits and the Slaughterhouses will think they can move in on us, too.”

  “You have a plan?”

  “Doyle does. I’ve had him spying around.”