by Matt Braun
By now, the drill following the show had become routine. Katherine and Augustus, surrounded by Cody, Hickok and Phelan, were escorted out the stage door. Tonight, Giuseppina and Omohundro were accompanied by Buntline, and they trailed close behind. Two carriages, hired for the run of the show, awaited them on the street. They stepped aboard for the short ride back to the hotel.
Katherine snuggled close to Hickok as the carriage pulled away. Cody and Phelan, with Augustus between them, settled back on the opposite seat. Though the children now considered themselves troupers, their energy invariably began to flag each night when the show ended. Hickok, one arm around Katherine, checked his pocket watch with the other hand. In the light from the street, he saw that it was a few minutes after ten. He thought they had little time to spare.
A short while later they all trooped into the suite. The children went to their bedroom, to change into their night clothes. Hickok and Cody, with Phelan in the middle, took a seat on the sofa. The others, their faces solemn, found chairs by the fireplace. Phelan extracted a hand-drawn map from his inside jacket pocket, and spread it on the table before the sofa. Earlier, during the stage show, he had rendered the sketch from memory. The map was of Central Park.
“Go ahead, Charlie,” Hickok said, then glanced across at Cody. “Bill, you need to pay close attention to the layout. I got a look this mornin’ when Charlie and me scouted the park.”
Cody nodded. “I’m all ears. Let ’er rip.”
“Here’s Fifth Avenue,” Phelan said, pointing with his finger. “The building closest to the street is the old Arsenal, and directly behind it is the zoo. This dotted line west of the zoo is a footpath.”
“Over here?” Cody tapped the map. “What’re these scratchy marks?”
“Trees,” Phelan noted. “They wind around south of the zoo and thin out along the pathway. You can see they get heavier between the pathway and this road back of the zoo. That’s East Drive.”
The map covered a relatively small area in the southeast corner of the park. A large pond was indicated north and west of where Fifty Ninth Street, a broad thoroughfare, crossed Fifth Avenue. East Drive followed a serpentine line between the pond and the western perimeter of the zoo. The Arsenal, which fronted the zoo, was at the intersection of Fifth Avenue and Sixty Fourth Street.
“Looks clear enough,” Cody said. “How do we pull it off?”
Hickok leaned over the table. “We’ll drop Charlie off here.” He jabbed at a spot on the map. “Once he works his way through them trees, he’ll take a position to cover me on the path. You and me will drive on to the Arsenal, and you’ll stay there. I’ll head for the zoo to meet Richter.”
Cody frowned. “You mean to leave me in the carriage?”
“Richter’s got to believe you’re waitin’ in the carriage with the kids. I don’t see no other way.”
“You know good and well he’s gonna jump you with a bunch of thugs. I’d feel a sight better if I was with you.”
“Bill, we’ve got to bamboozle him into thinkin’ the kids are there. Nothin’ for it but that you stick with the carriage.”
“I don’t like it,” Cody said. “You and Charlie are liable to have a fight on your hands.”
Hickok ignored the objection. “You just let me worry about Richter.”
The bedroom door opened. Katherine hurried across the room, having changed into a flowery nightgown. Augustus, who wore a billowy nightshirt, looked asleep on his feet. They made the rounds, hugging everyone good night, saving Hickok and Cody for last. The youngsters went from one to the other, kissing the plainsmen on the cheek, lingering a moment in their arms. Then they scampered off to the bedroom.
“So touching,” Giuseppina sighed, her eyes moist. “How those leetle darlings love you both.”
Cody wagged his head sadly. “Guess they figure we’re all the family they’ve got.”
“Jack. Ned.” Hickok stood, again checking his pocket watch. “We’re dependin’ on you to look after the kids. Don’t open that door for nobody.”
Omohundro and Buntline were both armed. They exchanged a glance, then Omohundro nodded. “You take care of Richter,” he said stoutly. “We’ll hold down the fort here.”
“Indeed!” Buntline added with an air of bravado. “You needn’t worry yourselves. The children are in good hands.”
“Do take care,” Giuseppina said softly. “Come back safely.”
Cody pulled a grin. “Nothin’ more certain in the world, Dove Eye.”
Hickok led the way out of the suite. Cody and Phelan followed him to a staircase at the end of the hall, a narrow passageway normally used by maids and servicemen. On the ground floor, they went through the kitchen and exited into a darkened alley. None of them doubted that Richter had someone watching the front of the hotel.
Outside, they walked through the alley and turned west on Twenty Fifth Street. One of the carriages retained for their nightly trips to the theater was waiting for them at the corner of Sixth Avenue. The driver was trustworthy, sworn to secrecy, and paid handsomely for tonight’s venture. They clambered aboard with a last look along the street.
The carriage trundled north toward Central Park.
* * *
Some twenty minutes later the carriage stopped at the corner of Sixth Avenue and Fifty Ninth Street. They were not quite two miles north of the theater district, and directly across the street lay Central Park. The wide thoroughfare was virtually deserted so late at night.
Hickok stepped from the carriage. He stood for a moment inspecting the T-shaped intersection in all directions. Finally, satisfied they had not been followed, he motioned smartly to Phelan. The detective hopped down to the pavement and without a word hurried across the street. He disappeared into the park.
Central Park was the masterwork of Calvert Vaux, a London-born architect transplanted to New York. Five years ago, in concert with Superintendent of Parks Frederick Olmsted, he broke ground on the project. A vast expanse of raw countryside was remolded in his vision, with landscaped hills, open meadows, and rolling copses of trees. Thousands of laborers and stonemasons literally sculpted the earth.
Vaux’s dream was a pastoral sanctuary away from the congestion and demonic rhythm of the city. The end result was 843 acres of meandering paths, tranquil lakes, and sprawling meadows that stretched north from Fifty Ninth Street to Harlem Lane. The park was over two miles long and a half mile wide, crisscrossed by carriage lanes, sunken transverse roads, and forty stone bridges. There was nothing to rival it in all the world.
Charlie Phelan paused inside the treeline. He watched the carriage round the corner onto Fifty Ninth Street and some moments later turn north on Fifth Avenue. Directly ahead of him lay the Pond, a horseshoe-shaped basin that froze over in the winter and became a natural skating rink. The Pond was illuminated by calcium lights, and a solitary pair of skaters, a man and a woman, glided gracefully about the icy surface. He idly thought they were lovers, immune to time or the frosty chill.
The moon hung high and cold, diamond-hard in the dead-of-night sky. Phelan ghosted through the trees, skirting the Pond, and several minutes later paused before the Inscope Arch. The ornate bridge was constructed of pink and gray granite, with a spacious underpass to accommodate a bridal path. The archway supporting the bridge was fourteen feet wide and twelve feet tall, and the bridge itself was a hundred feet long. Beyond lay the westerly bend of East Drive.
Somewhere in the distance the mournful hoot of an owl floated eerily through the night. Phelan hesitated, surveying the terrain in all directions, and darted across East Drive. On the other side he vanished into the shelterbelt of the trees and cautiously made his way north in the dappled moonlight. He was alert to sound and movement, for he was certain that Richter and his men were even now infiltrating the park. His every instinct told him they were not far ahead.
The trees thinned out over the slope of a stunted, rock-studded hill. Phelan warily watched his footing, moving step by step, and halted i
n the shadow of a tall oak. His position overlooked the footpath west of the zoo, and beyond, not thirty yards away, was another stand of trees. He slowly scanned the treeline, and some inner voice told him that there were men, guarded and silent, waiting in the darkened timber. He pulled a Colt New Model Police revolver from his waistband and hooked his thumb over the hammer. His eyes continued to search the trees.
On Fifth Avenue, the carriage rolled to a halt on the east side of the street. The aristocracy of New York, ever determined to outdistance the lower classes, were moving farther and farther uptown. Several mansions were under construction across from Central Park, towering monuments to the robber barons and merchant princes of the city. Opposite the construction sites was the Arsenal, built prior to the Civil War as a storage facility for munitions. The building now housed the Museum of Natural History.
Lampposts along Fifth Avenue cast aureoles of light on the cobblestone sidewalks. Hickok opened the carriage door and subjected the Arsenal to long, careful scrutiny. All looked quiet, and his gaze shifted a block upstreet, where a lone carriage was parked by the curb bordering Central Park. Beneath the glow of a nearby lamppost, he made out the form of the driver, sitting motionless, wrapped in a heavy great-coat. He gestured to Cody.
“I’m layin’ odds,” he muttered sourly. “Dollar to a donut says that coach belongs to Richter. He’s already here.”
Cody looked out the door. “You think him and his gang are waitin’ in there now?”
“Nope,” Hickok said shortly. “I figure they’re somewheres over by the zoo. Waitin’ for me to show.”
“Goddarnit, it’s just like I told you before. You’re gonna walk straight into a hornet’s nest.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time.”
“Damn well might be the last,” Cody fumed. “I still say I ought to come with you.”
“No dice,” Hickok said. “You stick here and shoot anybody that comes within shoutin’ distance. Only way Richter’s gonna believe you’ve got the kids.”
“You’re hell on givin’ orders. Who made you the general?”
“Somebody’s got to brace Richter and I reckon that’s me. I shoot straghter’n you, anyhow.”
“Jim, I have to tell you, that’s a mighty lame excuse.”
“Well, it’s the only one I’ve got. Guess it’ll have to do.”
“You always was a hardhead.”
“Just sit tight and I’ll see you directly.”
Hickok stepped out of the door. One eye on the carriage upstreet, he crossed Fifth Avenue at a measured stride. The Arsenal loomed before him like an ancient monolith.
He walked into Central Park.
* * *
The zoo was dark. A flagstone walkway wound past cages that housed grizzly bears, sea lions, monkeys, and other exotic species. The cages were heavily barred, with enclosed dens at the rear for protection against the cold. The quiet was deafening.
Hickok felt his nerves shut down. A strange calm, something akin to fatalism, came over him whenever he went in harm’s way. Yet he was acutely aware of his surroundings, vision inexplicably sharper and sounds magnified. His senses notched upward to a finer pitch.
A wakeful monkey chattered as he moved past a darkened cage. The pungent odor of dung and the ripe blend of animal smells hung over the zoo. In another cage, a boar grizzly, disturbed by the monkey, woofed a guttural warning. The bear’s yellowed eyes glowed like embers behind the steel bars.
Hickok was not alarmed by the sounds. The element of surprise had never entered into his plans for tonight’s encounter. He wanted Richter to believe that it was on the square, a straight business deal, the children in exchange for money. Even more, it was important that Richter believed he had the edge. There was weakness in overconfidence.
The pathway beyond the zoo was lighted by a silvery moon now at its zenith. Hickok resisted the impulse to look at the trees on his left, trusting that Phelan was already in position. His gaze fixed instead on a dense stand of trees to his right, obliquely north of the path. He felt certain that was the direction by which Richter had entered the park. He stopped in a patch of moonlight.
Otto Richter seemed to materialize from the treeline. One moment there was nothing, and the next moment he was moving forward at a deliberate pace. He carried a small leather satchel, and his eyes darted back toward the zoo, wary someone else might step from the shadows. He halted on the pathway.
“Hickok,” he said in a guarded voice. “After Philadelphia, I have good reason not to trust you. Are you alone?”
“Are you?” Hickok countered. “Let’s get down to it, Richter. You got the money?”
“Twenty thousand.” Richter hefted the satchel in his left hand. “Do you have the children?”
“Charlie Phelan has them.”
“Where?”
“Here in the park,” Hickok said. “You show me the money and let’s make sure the count’s right. Then I’ll take you to them.”
“Yeah, you’ll take me,” Richter said roughly. “Not just the way you planned, though. All right, boys!”
Three men stepped out of the treeline. The glint of moonlight on metal reflected off the pistols in their hands. Hickok considered them with a level stare, then glanced back at Richter. “You sure you want it this way?”
Richter’s features went cold as a stone adder. “You’d better have those kids, Hickok. Otherwise you’re a dead—”
A split second was all Hickok needed. His hands moved even as Richter was still talking. The three men, caught off guard, were a beat behind. He produced the Colts, and shot one of the men in the chest. Phelan appeared from behind the tall oak and drilled another one through the stomach. The third man got off a hurried snap-shot that went wide.
Richter slammed Hickok upside the head with the satchel. Hickok stumbled, knocked off balance, and Richter sprinted toward the zoo. The third hooligan fired again, the slug plucking at the sleeve of Hickok’s coat. His attention focused on the gunman, Hickok was vaguely aware of chattering monkeys as Richter disappeared along the zoo walkway. His arm came level and the Colt bucked in the same instant Charlie Phelan fired. The thug went down as though he legs had been chopped off.
Richter dashed out of the zoo. He saw Cody hurrying across Fifth Avenue and abruptly forgot about the carriage waiting upstreet. His hand dipped inside his coat, frantically drawing a revolver, and he snapped off a shot. The slug whistled harmlessly through the night, and Cody stopped, clawing at a Colt holstered on his hip. As the pistol came to bear, Richter’s nerve deserted him and he dropped the satchel. He turned back into the park.
A mounted policeman, drawn by the gunshots, clattered up from Fifty Ninth Street. He skidded to a halt, aware of one man in the middle of Fifth Avenue and another bolting headlong through the park. He glowered down at Cody.
“What the hell’s going on here?”
“Officer, I don’t have time to explain.”
Cody jerked him off the horse. The policeman hit the pavement with a thud and Cody vaulted into the saddle. He sawed at the reins, booting the horse in the ribs, and took off at a lope. Off in the distance, the landscape bathed in moonlight, he saw Richter running south through the trees. He urged the horse into a gallop.
Richter barreled across East Drive. He ducked into the underpass beneath Inscope Arch and darted out the other side on the bridal path. He heard the drum of hoofbeats and glanced over his shoulder at the rider bearing down on him. His legs pumped as he put on a burst of speed and bore off in the direction of the Pond. Cody leaped from the saddle, collaring him around the neck, and drove him to the ground. His lungs exploded with a whoosh of air.
“Gotcha now!” Cody shouted jubilantly. “You dirty rotten bastard!”
Otto Richter collapsed in the moonlit earth of Central Park.
CHAPTER 23
HICKOK EMERGED from the trees by East Drive. Phelan was a step behind and trailed him across the roadway. They were following Cody.
On the far si
de of Inscope Arch, they found him at the edge of the bridal path. He was standing over Richter, whose hands were bound behind his back with his necktie. A horse was cropping brittle winter grass at the verge of the treeline.
“Where you been?” Cody said jovially. “You missed our little wrestlin’ match.”
“We started into the zoo,” Hickok said. “Heard a shot and saw you jerk that cop off his horse. Figured you was after Richter.”
“I rode him down pretty as you please. How’d he slip past you and Charlie?”
“We was busy with them pistoleros he brought along. They’re back there pushin’ up daisies.”
“Thought as much when I heard the shootin’. Then our boy here come bustin’ out of the zoo. Say hello for yourself, Richter.”
“Go to hell,” Richter said. “The whole lot of you.”
Hickok stared down at him. “We’re fixin’ to find out how tough you are, sport. I want some questions answered.”
“You won’t get anything out of me.”
“Don’t bet on it.”
“We can’t take him to the hotel,” Cody broke in. “The kids are there and that wouldn’t rightly do. Not if you’re thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’.”
“Charlie, you got any ideas?” Hickok said, glancing at Phelan. “We need somewheres that’s private. Somewheres we won’t be disturbed.”
“Sheep Meadow.” Phelan pointed off to the northwest. “One of the biggest meadows in the park. Should be deserted this time of night.”
“Things are liable to get a little loud.”
“No one will hear us out there.”
“Good enough,” Hickok said. “Bill, you’d better get rid of that cop’s horse. We don’t want nobody doggin’ our trail.”
Cody led the horse to the end of the bridge. He swatted it on the rump and the horse clattered off toward Fifth Avenue. Hickok hoisted Richter to his feet and followed Phelan deeper into the park. Cody fell in behind.