Come at the King

by Sherilyn Decter

  “Let me fill in a few blanks. Especially the trail that leads to Mickey Duffy. It’s important that we get that right.”

  Maggie nods, curious to hear what he has to say.

  “I was so very shocked when I saw your diagram and the box for my daughter Edna’s youngest, Lizzie, and all the information that flowed from it, right down to Mickey Duffy.”

  Maggie nods, picturing the family tree in her mind. Right, Muriel’s mother was Elizabeth, who was the daughter of Edna, the Inspector’s daughter. “That would make Muriel, the woman I met who gave me the box, your great-granddaughter.”

  “Correct. Lizzy, Muriel’s mother, who was Edna’s daughter, had run off to New York to join a variety theater company. She was such a little spark plug, Maggie. Passionate and headstrong. They travelled from place to place, and she was smitten by the lead performer who had been performing here in Philadelphia. Young girls. Whether it was the defiance of her parent’s wishes, the adventure of the open road, or a genuine attraction for this man, regardless, she followed him, believing the line he strung that she would be a star on the stage. You can imagine the scandal that caused. Her mother, Edna, was devastated. Her grandmother, my wife Mary, was heartbroken. The men in the family were furious.”

  Maggie nods, thinking of her own mother’s reaction if that had been her. Oh wait, it had been. Sort of. It hadn’t been New York, but I’d still run off with Jack.

  “She never did have that stage career. Instead, she wound up in New York, pregnant and abandoned. The actor and the troop moved on, leaving her behind. The man was a cad, and I would have pursued him, except that she had, in her shame, cut herself off from her family. The last news we had was about the baby. The baby would have been Muriel’s mother. Letters were returned unopened. Her mother and father went to New York to find her and bring her back, but she’d disappeared.”

  “So you never found her?” Maggie asks, shocked that someone, especially a young girl with a newborn, could just disappear.

  “Things were different then. There wasn’t the same record-keeping or communications. You couldn’t send a telegram if you didn’t have an address, and New York was a very big city, even then. It swallowed her up.”

  Frank sits lost in the memory, his eyes downcast to clasped hands. Maggie waits patiently. He takes a breath and continues.

  “I had thought the family had lost track of her. Certainly, Edna never mentioned anything. But I guess Lizzy must have stayed in touch with her younger sister who had married a Mills. That was the name you sent the letter to in Philadelphia. Perhaps a daughter or daughter-in-law? She would be Muriel’s niece. Mary passed away without knowing what had happened to her.”

  “Oh, how sad.” Maggie thinks about what she’d feel if Tommy disappeared.

  “Yes, it was hurtful, watching both Mary and Edna worry. Cruel on Lizzy’s part, as well as her sisters who kept the information from us, but young people can be thoughtless. I’m sure she had no idea how anxious we all were for news.

  “I was able to learn more of Lizzy’s story from listening in on the family for several years after I… ” Frank pauses, at a loss for the right word. “…after I left. From conversations overheard, I gather she eventually married and had two more children. I never learned who she wed but, from your diagram, it must have been a Duffy. For Muriel to have the name, she must have been adopted by the new husband.”

  “So Muriel was the actor’s child?” Maggie asks.

  “Yes, I expect so, given the diagram you filled out together.”

  Maggie rests her elbows on her desk, head in her hands, captivated with the tale. She imagines the poor girl with Baby Muriel, alone in a city as big and unfriendly as New York. It strikes a chord with her. So similar to her own story.

  “And there’s more. Another missing piece. Shall I fill you in on another family drama? It’s also missing from your neat little diagram.”

  Maggie holds up her hand. “Let me tell Ron that I can’t be disturbed. And then I want to hear everything.”

  When Maggie resumes her seat, Frank continues. “My parents were recent immigrants to America. My father came from what is now Germany, and my mother from Ireland. There was much discrimination in America in those days. Especially against the Irish. Both of my parents were Catholic. They met and married here, and had two sons, myself and my older brother, William.”

  “Oh, you had a brother. I had no idea. Did he die?”

  “They all died, Maggie. This was a hundred years ago. They are all gone, now.”

  “Yes, of course. My apologies,” Maggie says, a bit sheepishly.

  “My brother Billy was a wild one. There must have been a bit of that streak in Lizzy, perhaps. He was four years older than I was, and I thought he was a god. He wasn’t interested in school or even real work. He ran with a bad sort. A group called the Schuylkill Rangers. They were like pirates, robbing the barges that travelled the Schuylkill River and some of the bigger creeks and streams that fed it. He was our family’s black sheep and caused my mother no end of heartache.”

  “So, perhaps Mickey comes by his comfort at living outside the law naturally.”

  “Yes. Something I’ve been musing on for the past few days. It’s not just comfort; it’s their ability to thrive in that environment. It’s taken a few generations, but apparently we have another outlaw in the family.”

  “Your parents must have been upset to have Billy be a criminal with the Rangers.”

  “An understatement. Billy would disappear for days at a time, leaving my mother crying at the kitchen table, consumed with worry. When he was home, he and my father would battle. Fists were raised and oaths shouted. Eventually, Billy was thrown from the house.”

  “What did you do?”

  “He was my older brother. I kept seeing him. Meeting him in taverns. Keeping track of him.”

  “Why isn’t he on my, I mean your, family tree?”

  “I’m getting there, my dear. It is a long story.”

  Maggie settles into her chair.

  “In an effort to make my mother and father happy, Billy joined the Lafayette Hose Company, a group of volunteer firefighters. That fire hall worked closely with the Rangers. It was common back then for fire halls to have close associations with the various gangs around Philadelphia.”

  Maggie shakes her head. “I don’t understand. Why would a group of firefighters be aligned with a street gang. You called them pirates.”

  “And they were. Brigands of the worst sort. Firefighting was very different back then. For one thing, there wasn’t the equipment they have now. Philadelphia had only recently installed municipal water works supplying the fire plugs. Before that it was civilian bucket brigades. With the new plugs, the Lafe Boys, the nickname for my brother’s company, would attach the hose from the pumper wagon and then the hose carriage would attach to the wagon. Water was syphoned out of the ground by pumping up and down.”

  “It sounds very exciting. Your parents must have been proud to have a firefighter in the family.”

  “On the contrary. They were appalled. Firefighters in those days didn’t operate the way they do now. Then, they behaved like marauding gangs, using whatever means they needed to be first at a fire. Which is where the Rangers came in. They were part of the muscle the fire fighters used to protect their fire scene. And the Lafe hall wasn’t the only one. The Moyamensing Hose partnered with a gang called the Killers, the Weccacoe Hose with the Bouncers. Almost every hall had some kind of strong-arm alliance.”

  “Why did they need to have thugs protect the fire scene? Theft?” Maggie asked.

  “The insurance companies only paid the fire hall that was first on the pump, so you can imagine there were fierce battles between rival fire halls. Firefighters were stabbed and clubbed, and hoses were slashed to prevent another brigade from officially arriving and pumping first.”

  “You’d think that fighting the fire would be dangerous enough.”

  Frank shakes his head. “That
’s just it. Back then, it wasn’t. Firefighters had such pride and ego. Without the technique and equipment there is now, firefighting was basically throwing water on a blaze, or on the house next door to keep the fire from spreading. Firefighters regarded the rioting and fighting as more of a test of their strength and bravery than fighting the fire ever was. It was a brotherhood. They were always trying to prove themselves, to each other and to other halls. If they couldn’t get enough of it fighting fires, they fought other firefighters instead. The fighting and rioting became their primary source for the collective prestige of the hall. I remember one night, when the ‘Moyas’ ambushed another hall on their way to fight a fire, overturning their equipment and battling the firefighters. They seriously injured several, even though the Moyas had no intention of going to fight the fire themselves.”

  Maggie, disgusted by the thought of the rivalries, shakes her head and frowns.

  “And Billy was no different. The Lafe Boys and the Schuylkill Rangers worked together for no good, I can tell you. They were trouble, and my mother, our mother, was more worried than ever.”

  Maggie sits silent, totally enthralled with the Inspector’s story.

  “Remember I told you that there was intense discrimination against the Irish? Part of the troubles in the old country between the Protestant and the Catholic Irish followed the immigrants to Philadelphia. Not only were they fighting established Philadelphians, they were also fighting each other. Things came to a head in May of 1844. There was a big city-wide uproar with the public schools and whether the Protestant bible or the Catholic bible should be used in the classrooms. Around ten o’clock at night, a small boy crept into the St. Augustine Church--“

  “--on Vine?” Maggie asks, interrupting.

  “The same. The boy set a fire in the vestibule of the church. Across town, St. Michael’s had been torched earlier in the day. St. Augustine quickly caught fire. The Protestants kept the firefighters from fighting the blaze. The Catholics fought back. Eventually, the militia was called in and religious tolerance in Philadelphia, the city renowned for brotherly love, was enforced by musket volley, drawn sabres, and the mouths of cannons. Dozens were killed or injured during those riots.”

  “And your brother Billy was one of them?”

  “That’s the thing. He was at the fire. The Lafe Boys remember him being there. He was hauling the hose close to the flames. There was a lot of shooting, and then the steeple collapsed. In the chaos, my brother disappeared. We never found him.”

  Maggie groans. “Your poor mother, Inspector. What did she do?”

  “My mother was never the same. I roamed all over Philadelphia trying to find him; to give her some comfort. You remember how Alicja Leszek was after Oskar disappeared. My mother was the same; heartbroken and lost in her grief.”

  Maggie nods at the memory of those dark days. Oskar’s disappearance would have been a harsh reminder of the Inspector’s own brother’s death.

  “It was on her deathbed that she held my hand in hers and made me promise to find him. To bring him home if I could, and to say goodbye if I couldn’t. I talked to the Lafe Boys, but no one seemed to know anything. I went and talked to a good friend of my brother’s, a fellow called Haggerty, who was a leader of the Rangers when my brother was part of the gang. He talked about my brother being dead. Shot.”

  “No.” Maggie looks on, horrified.

  Frank meets her gaze, still haunted. He shakes his head. “I don’t know whether to believe him, although I have no reason not to. We never saw my brother again.”

  “What did this Haggerty fellow say happened?”

  “That Billy had been shot, and when the militia started to charge, he picked him up and carried him away from the scene. But he died as they were crossing the river. Haggerty says he put him down on the bridge and kept running. He would have been hung if he’d been caught.”

  “So what happened to Billy’s body?”

  “Gone. It was never found. I became a policeman, and eventually a detective, in part to search for information about Billy. I thought, initially, that maybe his body had been rolled off the bridge into the Schuylkill, but if that had been the case he would have washed up on shore.”

  Maggie shudders, thinking of Tommy’s friend, Oskar Leszek, who had also been shot and did wash up on the banks of a river.

  “Billy was well liked by the Rangers and the Lafe Boys, and there were no shortage of theories about what might have happened. The best I came up with is that his body was picked up by another Ranger and buried in a place called Bandits’ Cemetery. It’s where the Rangers buried their dead, and they would have considered Billy to be a Ranger.”

  “Bandits’ Cemetery? Wait. I’ve heard of that. Archie and Tommy were talking about it a long time ago. Isn’t it a myth?”

  “So they say. No one could or would tell me where it was. It was a secret location that died with the Rangers.”

  Silence.

  “I would give anything to be able to bring my mother peace. To let her know where her son rests. Even if it is in a place called Bandits’ Cemetery.”

  Silence

  “Well, it’s obvious then, isn’t it?” Maggie’s chin is out, and there’s fire in her eye. “We need to find Bandits’ Cemetery.”

  Chapter 25

  T he smell of good, Italian cooking is driving Eddie crazy. The Lanzettas, a rival crime family in Philadelphia, with close connections to the mob in New York and Chicago, had asked to meet with him in an Italian restaurant on the south side of Philly—red and white chequered tablecloths, baskets of bread sticks, wine bottles on the tables and counters, pictures of the old country on the walls. Oh my, those smells: tomatoes, peppers, basil, oregano, cheese.

  After we get this settled, I’m definitely going to have to get me some of this food.

  “I don’t know about this, Regan. We’ve never done any work with Duffy before.” Leo Lanzetta leans back in his chair at the head of the table. Leo is the oldest, and the Lanzetta brother in charge.

  I gotta convince this guy. There’s so much money to be made.

  “Yeah, he always thought he was too good to work with the Italians.” Ignatius Lanzetta has piped in while fishing out a breadstick from the jar on the table and snapping it in half.

  What a dresser. Love that pin-stripe. I’d look sharp in something like that, although I’d never get away with those wide lapels. “Not true, Iggy. He’s tight with Capone in Chicago,” Eddie Regan says, spreading his hands wide.

  Leo considers this. “If Al vouches for him…” He looks over at Iggy, crunching away. He lunges for the breadstick. “Here, give me that. Mamma will have supper ready when we get home.”

  Lucien Lanzetta, a heavy five o’clock shadow on his chin, and dark, hooded eyes, pounds the table. “Not a chance. We can’t trust Duffy. He’s mixed up with that Jew, Max Hassel.” Luce glares at his brothers.

  “There’s a lot of money to be made boys. What do you care who helps ya make it?” Eddie shrugs. These Italians are always so suspicious of outsiders. Maybe greed will crack open the door?

  “Look, Regan. We got a nice little racket here. With the six of us, why would we need another partner? We turned our alky-cooker supply network into a very profitable heroin and cocaine network. Why do we need you? What do you bring to the party?” Leo asks.

  What a stubborn guy. Do it for the money, you meatball.

  Eddie takes a deep breath, ticking off the Duffy advantages on his fingers. “We supply the largest string of speakeasies and gin-joints in Philly and up the east coast to Atlantic City. We got a huge network of gambling. And we got guys anxious to prove themselves. Not just old guys like Mickey, but young guys. Nothing to lose. Is there such a thing as too many customers?”

  Leo snorts and Teo, the youngest Lanzetta, who had been sitting quietly in the corner, lets out a guffaw.

  Eddie grins at him. Maybe I got one of these brothers on my side? “Thought not. Together we got the city tied up, and most of the e
ast coast to AC. That’s a lot more customers and a lot more money.”

  “Nucky’s got AC sewed up,” Iggy says, again reaching for another breadstick. Leo slaps his hand away.

  Eddie nods. Almost there. “For sure. But there’s a lot of road between here and AC. Come on, whaddaya say?”

  Leo looks at his five brothers. Nothing is said, but something passes between them. Eddie glances nervously from one to another. Nodding, Leo leans forward. “How about we do it for three months. At the end of that we will know whether this is going to work. Go back and let Mickey know what we’re thinking.”

  “Yeah, sure. I’ll talk to Mickey. But he told me to negotiate the best deal. He trusts me to get it done. Ain’t that right, Porter?”

  Porter, Eddie’s bodyguard and driver, is a long time Duffy gang member. He’s been around the block a few times and knows when to keep his yap shut. Sitting quietly next to Teo on the sidelines, he simply nods.