by R. J. Koreto
“When it comes to money and jewelry, I know how to be careful,” she said. “Back in a moment.”
It didn’t take her long at all. She came out of the bedroom with a small case, then gave me a flirtatious look. “My coat is in the closet, Mr. St. Clair.” I got it out for her, and it was a beauty—even better than Alice’s mink. I had done some trapping once upon a time and sold pelts to a furrier, who gave me a little lesson. This was sable, which only live in Russia. I knew that coat alone could keep her going for a year. I held it for her, and she snuggled into it and against me. Alice gave me more of a glare than I deserved.
When she was set, I gave out the directions. “Here’s what we do. We all head straight to the lobby, and I speak to Wilhelm, the assistant manager, and make him a deal. Are we set? Let’s go.”
We were pretty noticeable: two well-dressed young women and a cowboy. I told the women to stand by the entrance but not to go outside. I didn’t have to go through any routine this time; the clerk found Wilhelm even as I was approaching, and he met me with a sickly smile.
“I am leaving with Miss de Maine. And you’re in a bit of a pickle, my friend. I knew I couldn’t sneak past you or your men here, but I can tell you that it’s in your best interest to give us a head start. You’ll have done your job. And we’ll get away. And I won’t have to come back. Do we understand each other?”
Wilhelm just nodded. We were going to cut it close, but I thought it would work. I figured Wilhelm might’ve already called Brantley’s men. Or maybe he just hoped Alice and I would leave alone, and he wouldn’t have to bear bad news. It was a risk.
I hustled the women outside to the motorcar. Elsie was about to get in next to me, but Alice danced in ahead of her. “You’ll be more comfortable on the outside; the middle is rather awkward,” she said with the hint of a smirk. I was already putting the car into gear as the door slammed, and we were off.
It sounds funny, but out West, you have a much better idea of how long it’s going to take you to get from one place to another. In New York, all it took was a broken-down delivery van, followed by a closure thanks to road repair, to delay our arrival to the train station. We got out, and I looked around, making sure no one was after us. My coat was open so I could easily reach my Colt. Elsie grabbed her case, and Alice pushed open the door. At least Shaw was going to find it a lot harder to slap me around than Elsie.
Grand Central is always crowded, but it wasn’t too bad at midday. I saw the women to the ticket lines while keeping an eye out.
I saw him first—Mac Bolton, the Van Schuyler foreman I had knocked out in the room—and took some satisfaction that he still looked like hell. I gently nudged Elsie and leaned over her shoulder. Alice was paying attention, too.
“Don’t move quickly, but just to your left is a man who works for the Van Schuylers. Turn your eyes that way and let me know if you recognize him.”
She was good, and I watched her glance quickly.
“Oh, dear God. It’s Mac Bolton. He’s often with Shaw—a sort of bodyguard. Anything nasty to be done, they give it to Bolton.”
“Are you telling me that he could be the Archangel?” I asked. Maybe she hadn’t wanted to admit it earlier.
“Bolton? Couldn’t be. I told you that Shaw was worried, even frightened, about the Archangel, but Bolton is as loyal as a dog. He wouldn’t sneeze without asking Shaw first.”
We made it to the window, and I heard Elsie buy a one-way ticket to St. Louis. We were already on our way to the track when Bolton saw us and, wearing a grim smile, headed over.
Elsie saw him and looked terrified, but Alice just grabbed her and held on. Travelers moved past us, and I could hear the rumble of trains coming and going.
“Look who it is—the man who used to work for the Great Erie,” he said with a nasty smile.
“If you’d like, we can go another couple of rounds,” I said. “But not here, and not now. This lady has a train to catch.”
“I don’t think so,” he said. He turned to her. “Miss de Maine, why don’t you come back with me?” She shrank back, but Alice stood firm. “More men are coming before your train departs, I’m sure.”
Of course, Bolton didn’t know I was Secret Service. I didn’t like to flash my badge around too much, especially to a man like Bolton, or word would get back to HQ, but there was no helping it. It did give him a moment’s pause, but no more.
“In about ten minutes, there are going to be half a dozen men here. And I don’t think you’re going to find that badge a lot of help.”
I wasn’t worried about more Van Schuyler men. But I had two women with me, and Elsie looked like she was going to pass out. I couldn’t blame her, considering her history.
And then Alice left.
She was supposed to be my first priority, but she had walked off at a nice clip, and following her with the terrified Elsie and her bag in tow would be a bit of a challenge. There was no way I’d be able to keep an eye on Bolton if I went after her; I had no choice but to stay put. My only consolation was that Bolton and his men were more concerned with me and Elsie than with Alice, so it was unlikely she’d be bothered.
“One girl down, one to go,” said Bolton.
“You can’t bribe or threaten the people I work with,” I said, stalling for time, keeping one eye on Alice until she was swallowed by the crowds. I wasn’t too upset, though. Alice could be reckless but she wasn’t stupid.
“You really don’t know who you’re dealing with,” said Bolton. “Mr. Brantley is not going to be happy with you dragging away his woman. We’re going to find out who sent you and why.”
And so we stood there, glaring at each other, with Bolton waiting for reinforcements and me wondering what the hell Alice was up to. But she didn’t let me down, and I should’ve known she wouldn’t. She apparently knew there was a police substation in Grand Central, and suddenly she was at my elbow again—with a lieutenant and half a dozen cops.
“What seems to be the problem?” asked the lieutenant, and I saw Alice grinning triumphantly.
Bolton looked a little stunned. But only for a moment. “Lieutenant, if you call downtown, you will find I have many friends—important friends.”
“I’m glad to hear that. Because you don’t have any friends here. Would you come with us, please?”
Yes, the Van Schuylers might’ve had some police in their pocket, but Theodore Roosevelt’s daughter trumped all that. Bolton looked like he was considering his options, but he clearly didn’t have any. He gave me a final look of hatred and let two cops lead him away.
“Sorry you were bothered, Miss Roosevelt,” said the lieutenant.
“Mr. St. Clair will want to talk further with him,” said Alice.
“Of course,” said the lieutenant, who gave me a nod and left with the rest of his men. Although I knew that Bolton’s men were on their way, I had no doubt that once they couldn’t find their leader, they’d quickly crawl back under the rock they came from.
“Miss de Maine, I think you have a train to catch.” We walked her to the track. She had a spring in her step now, and I hung back a little with Alice.
“Damn it, Miss Alice, you know you’re not supposed to leave me when we’re outside,” I said.
“Nothing was going to happen to me in a busy place like this—do you think I’d be kidnapped in a crowded station? Anyway, Bolton and his men were after you and Elsie here, not me. But I should’ve known better than to expect a thank-you from a cowboy.”
“Oh, all right. Thanks for fetching the police.”
“You’re very welcome.”
We found the track for the St. Louis train, and before boarding, Elsie extended her hand to Alice.
“Miss Roosevelt, I don’t expect that I’ll ever be in a position to do you a favor, but if I am, you can count on me. And as for you, Mr. St. Clair—” She gave me a hug and a kiss under my ear. Her perfume tickled my nose. “I am so sorry you can’t afford to keep me.”
“That may be the nicest compliment
I’ve ever had,” I said, and I happily watched her slink her way into the train.
Alice was watching me with folded arms. “If you’re done saying good-bye, we have a suspect we need to talk with.”
“I’m at your service.”
Alice stopped, reached into my jacket, and once again pulled out my handkerchief. “She left lipstick on your cheek. Imagine wearing lipstick in public like this. My God.”
I quickly cleaned myself off, and we got down to business as we walked to the police substation.
“The Van Schuylers seem to know everything we do,” said Alice. “From the first day, when they set a man on us. I’m tired of giving them information. I’m only going to hint about what we know. Bolton won’t tell us anything anyway. I just want to scare him.”
If anyone could do it, Alice could.
The lieutenant waved us in.
“We can charge him with harassment if you want, Miss Roosevelt,” said the lieutenant.
“Mr. St. Clair will be questioning him on behalf of the Secret Service. And I will be listening.”
Bolton was simmering in a back room under the watchful eye of a cop who was juggling his nightstick while clearly thinking about putting it to better use. I told him he could go, and he shut the door behind him.
“I’ll be out within the hour,” said Bolton. “Even the president’s daughter and the Secret Service can’t trump up something to keep me here.”
“I’m sure,” said Alice. “But for now, we have you for that hour. I thought we’d while away the time chatting.”
“Why should I talk with the president’s daughter? Why are you even interested?” He seemed genuinely curious.
“I have no interest in you, Mr. Bolton. Don’t flatter yourself. You just happened to have information about a subject I am interested in. A man named the Archangel. Oh, so you do know about him.”
There was no denying it. Bolton looked angry and worried at the same time.
“Your masters aren’t going to be pleased with you. You just confirmed the Archangel’s connection to the Van Schuylers. And you let Brantley’s mistress get away.”
“They need me. They’ll get over it,” said Bolton. “And I have no idea who this Archangel is. I’m just a sort of assistant.”
“Don’t be so modest. I bet you’re a lot more important than you’re letting on. I bet you know what happened in Buffalo. Elsie was happy to give us the details. You’d be surprised what she knew.”
Now that got to Bolton. He stood, but I happily pushed him back into his chair.
“Ooh. That made you mad. Here you are in a police station, and the man who holds the other end of your leash is giving away everything to his mistress.”
It was a neat trick. We had no idea what happened in Buffalo, only that it must’ve been something bad. If Alice or I had said one more word, he’d realize we knew just about nothing. But she wanted to scare him. And the look in his eyes showed we had. He’d go back to his masters now and tell them we were on to them.
His eyes were smoldering.
“I think we’re done here,” said Alice. “With any luck, we’ll never meet again.” And with that, Alice swept out of the room. We said a farewell to the lieutenant and found ourselves back in the terminal.
“Nicely done,” I said. “You did get something out of him. And I bet it made you feel better.”
She grinned at me. “Yes, it did make me feel better. Although you’re right, I did want to see what he knew. But more, I wanted to send him back to Brantley and Van Schuyler with tales to tell. This is how it’s done in government, you know. You introduce a problem and watch your enemies fall apart blaming each other.”
“Well done,” I said. She looked proud of herself.
“Now we have to find out what happened that night in Buffalo. This is exactly what we were looking for—a link from the Van Schuylers to the time and place of the McKinley assassination, what got us started in the first place. Elsie confirmed what I suspected—something happened in Buffalo, something bad for the Van Schuylers, the very day McKinley was killed. What was it? We’re beyond coincidences. With the Van Schuylers, it was something financial, most likely.” She frowned. “This next step is going to be difficult, though. We don’t know anyone connected with the Buffalo police. We’ll really have to get on a train to Buffalo and see what we can find.”
“We’re not traveling to Buffalo, Miss Alice, but”—and I forestalled her protests—“I may be able to help. It’s been a busy day. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”
“Oh, very well. I can wait, I suppose. And I don’t see what else we can do meanwhile.” She paused. “We could go to—what was that restaurant you said you and Mariah ate at sometimes—the ratatouille?”
“What is a ratatouille?” I asked.
“It’s a French dish—that was the name of the restaurant, you said, right? A German restaurant.”
I saw what she was getting at, and I laughed. “You mean the Rathskeller. We’ll go there sometime, but not tonight. Dulcie is expecting you for dinner—”
“Oh, please. I’ve been good with my allowance this week and lucky with the ponies. My treat.”
She looked so hopeful, and sauerbraten, beer, and potato dumplings sounded pretty good, so I said yes, and we went back to the Caledonia to rest before going out.
I took a little nap in my room, and then went upstairs around 6:00. I was waiting in the foyer when Dulcie emerged from the kitchen, glared at me, and said, “I’d have thought I could give everyone here as good a meal as some Krauts.” Not waiting for a reply, she turned and went back to her little kingdom.
Alice swept in. “I assume the waiters speak English?” she asked. “Or do you know any German, Mr. St. Clair?”
“Just enough to get my face slapped in Milwaukee,” I said, and Alice didn’t seem to know if that was a joke.
The Rathskeller is in Yorkville, near where Mariah lives, and I would’ve had her join us if she hadn’t been working. It’s a few steps below the street, like that anarchist club we visited, but that’s all they have in common. Good people—the local German immigrants and other East Europeans—go there, including families. It’s clean, the waiters and chefs know their business, and you can’t get better beer.
It was crowded, but they squeezed us into a table. I took the seat with my back to the wall so I could keep an eye on the place. To my left was the kitchen, and to my right was a family speaking German.
Alice delighted in the place and looked around, practically staring. She loved new experiences, and our Chinatown and Little Italy trips had only whetted her appetite for novelty. When the beer came, it was a little heavier than she was used to, and I watched her sample it gravely before taking a serious swallow that left her with a foamy mustache.
“What’s so funny?” she asked me.
“Just glad to see you so happy, Miss Alice,” I said. And she turned pink at that. When our food came, she eagerly dug in. I don’t think she had ever had meat like that, and the sauerkraut was pungent enough to make her drink the beer with gusto.
“This is wonderful. Thank you,” she said.
“What for? You’re paying,” I said.
“I mean, thank you for—for bringing me here. For not making me stay home,” she said, a little self-conscious. We didn’t talk about our recent adventures. Instead, she asked about Wyoming, and I told her a few tall stories about the West while the place got busier and racing waiters slipped past us. We were done, and I was thinking about some apple strudel, when Alice frowned and looked into her lap. She picked up a piece of heavily folded paper.
“I think someone passing by dropped this into my lap,” she said. She unfolded it, frowned again, and then handed it to me. Someone had written in a heavy hand, “If you value your safety, just stop.” I looked around quickly: there were mostly happy diners and patrons, but I saw the back of a skinny man threading his way out the door just short of a run.
I leaned over the table. “Miss Alice. I
’m going to need you to be brave. I’m getting up. You’re going to move into my seat so you can see around. Don’t move except for that, and don’t panic. Do wait for me.”
She nodded. I could count on her.
I got up and headed around the corner past the kitchen. I had been in that restaurant before, and Mariah knew the chef, so I knew there was a storeroom at the end of a short hall. I made sure it was empty, counted to twenty, and went back.
Alice had changed seats, and there was now another man in what had been her seat, talking to her. Alice was listening, and she wasn’t happy, but she wasn’t frightened either. She was a silly girl sometimes, but she wasn’t Theodore Roosevelt’s daughter for nothing. I stepped behind him, but Alice kept her eyes on the man.
Over the din, I could just hear him. “. . . so it’s just a friendly suggestion, miss. You’re involving yourself with people and situations you really shouldn’t be, and it would be much better for your health . . .”
That was enough. The next thing the man knew, I was bending over him and talking right into his ear.
“I think it would be better for your health if you listened to me. You’re feeling my Colt right in your back. Put both your hands on the table. I like this restaurant, and I wouldn’t want it closed for a week while the police investigated your death.”
He was smart enough not to argue. I looked at Alice.
“Miss Alice? Come here and search this man’s coat pockets.”
She grinned inappropriately and reached into his pockets. Nothing on the left, but she pulled a pistol out of his right. A derringer, small and lethal at close range.
“Can I keep it?” she asked.
“Just stick it in my pocket for now.” She sighed but did it. People walked around us, but it was crowded and not too bright, so no one looked closely at what we were doing.
“Now you, sir. Get up slowly and head toward the kitchen. Miss Alice, follow me.” We walked single file to the storage room. I told him to sit down with his hands on his head, and I closed and latched the door.
“Nice trick,” I said. “Have someone scare Miss Alice with a note, then you step in while I chase the messenger like an idiot. But he was the monkey. You’re the organ grinder.” He just grimaced. He was an average-looking guy, about my age, in an average suit. No one you’d normally notice. “I don’t suppose you’d like to tell me who sent you?” He shrugged.