Pat O'Malley Historical Steampunk Mystery Trilogy

by Jim Musgrave

  “Yes, John, tell Terrance to get the carriage and horses. Mister O’Malley will give you the address and a note to deliver to Mister Kennedy.” Bessie waved her hand at John, and the tall Black man turned and left quickly to inform the chauffer.

  I walked over to one of the tables in the parlor where there was a fountain pen and ink well with paper. I sat down at the chair and wrote upon the paper the address of Kennedy’s offices on 46th Street and 3rd Avenue, as well as my instructions to Kennedy about why I needed him. I explained that the boy, Seth had been kidnapped and that I had no experience with this kind of case. I signed the paper, folded it, slipped it inside an envelope and sealed it with some hot wax.

  As the chauffer Terrance approached me from down the hall, there was a crash and the splintering of window glass on the right side of the parlor near the street. It was a rock with a piece of paper tied to the outside of its curved surface.

  I walked over and picked it up. After I unfolded the paper, I noticed that it was not script on the surface but letters which were painstakingly cut from penny dailies and pasted with glue. The entire mansion staff and Bessie came over to stand behind me as I read the demands. My heart began to race with each line:

  WE MAKE THREE THOUSAND DOLLARS A WEEK.

  WE NEVER NEEDED YOUR MONEY.

  WE NEED THE CHILDREN FROM THE ORPHANAGES YOU RUN.

  GET YOUR JEWISH WHORE TO BRING US TEN CHILDREN EACH MONTH.

  THIS BOY OF HERS RESPONDS TO DRUGS LIKE YOUR LEWIS CARROLL.

  SETH WILL BE OURS UNLESS YOU DELIVER THE CHILDREN EACH MONTH.

  WE WILL DECIDE WHEN IT ENDS--NOT YOU!

  The air in the room seemed to escape, it was difficult to breathe, and I believed we had collectively fallen down a rabbit hole. The demands by these monsters were atrocious and beyond evil, and yet I knew we had to work with them or become trapped forever inside a world of usury and the fornication of the public’s children.

  Chapter 8: The Last Taboo

  My entire case was unraveling before my very eyes. I was completely wrong about the motivation of Jane the Grabber and the politicians who were supporting her. They were not only attempting to take over all the free-roaming Hookers and the madams supporting them, such as Becky Charming, they were also attempting to make the most profit ever from what most civilized societies saw as the “last sexual taboo.” Sex with children turned society into one in which sex with its most precious members was permitted.

  I cared not whether the purchasers of these prostituted children were rich and powerful men who could afford to partake in these most forbidden fruits. I expected the worst. These tykes would be wrapped in the most innocent of costumes. The stories Becky told me about sexual appetites made me apply the same imagination to these child molesters. Even if it were the most innocuous of sex, masturbation or warped fantasies of sugar plum fairies, there was no acceptable rationale for this kind of profiteering. Perhaps Hell had these activities going on, but this was not perdition.

  It was a form of hell on earth for us, however, and when Becky returned, and Superintendent Kennedy became involved, the mansion on Fifth Avenue took on the atmosphere of a war room. For it was a kind of war going on, just as Becky had predicted, and we were combating the most sinister and corrupt forces in the city, and if we lost this war, we would lose not only the most beautiful child I had ever known, but we would also be losing thousands of children from orphanages. No matter what their history or monetary plight, children did not deserve this kind of life, and we were going to do everything in our power to stop it.

  Kennedy assembled us all in the parlor. He had already sent out his men to bring in Irene Sanders and her beau, Daniel Maguire for questioning. I told the Superintendent about the fact that we had rescued Irene from the clutches of Jane the Grabber at the Palace Theater and that she might be with child. In addition, I informed Kennedy that Maguire was one of Walter McKenzie’s men.

  “He has an identical twin. You can tell them apart by a birthmark that Bill has on his heel. Daniel has none. Otherwise, they are spitting images of each other. We used this to our advantage when we plotted the investigation at the Palace Theater.” I was sitting beside Kennedy at a large table that had been brought in for our planning purposes. There was a typewriter, a pitcher of water, glasses, and all kinds of maps of the city on its surface. There were also seven other chairs around the table. Becky was seated in one to my right, Bessie was in another next to her, and my old friend McKenzie was weighing down another one on my right side.

  “If he’s in with them scalawags, so help me, I’ll tar ‘n feather ‘em meself!” McKenzie said, grabbing a leg from a platter of fried chicken that the mansion’s kitchen staff had provided.

  “I know this may sound extremely crass and uncaring, but this situation may be to our advantage.” The Superintendent was speaking at the head of the table, and two of his men were standing behind him.

  Kennedy and his men wore no uniforms. After the war, many men in the police force believed that wearing a uniform enforced the idea that they were a “standing army,” which violated the constitution. Therefore, they refused to wear the uniforms. In contrast, the Tammany Hall men relished the peacock-like blue uniforms they wore for their bosses, and you could tell a Tammany cop coming at you a mile away.

  “How can that be so?” I asked, putting my fingers on a chicken wing but then deciding against taking it. Becky was always admonishing me about getting my clothes stained.

  “Just remember what the conditions were before the tables were turned,” Kennedy said. His dark eyebrows furrowed in concentration, “You had a plan to entice Doctor Foote into a place wherein you could take compromising photographs of him and a child. Now that these miscreants have decided to extract flesh instead of money from you, the upper-hand has now returned to where it began.”

  “Perhaps we can use Doctor Foote as the bait this time. As I have now been informed,” Becky turned toward me and gave me an evil eye before she turned back to face the Superintendent, “this famous physician has done business with Hester Haskins in the past, and he would not be suspected. Let me speak to him, and we can plan a rendezvous once again. This time, the photography would be acceptable evidence to put the entire organization out of business.” Becky was waving a fan before her pretty face. Even though it was a spring day, the temperature had increased to over 85 degrees.

  “I am afraid the only way to put these business people out of commerce is to demonstrate how immoral their occupation is. The sad fact of the matter is that unless we can circumvent the court in this effort, we will not succeed. This is not a usual criminal case.” Kennedy poured water from the pitcher into a glass, set down the pitcher, and brought the half-filled glass up to his clean-shaven face. He held it there for a moment, as if emphasizing a point. “We need the second estate behind us,” he added.

  Bessie Mergenthaler came to life. She moved forward in her chair and put her elbows up on the table. “This is what I was going to do before my son was kidnapped. Now I am afraid if I get the journalists involved my son will be harmed. How do we know what these people will do? They might kill him, no?” she said, her brown eyes wide with fear.

  “Hold on now. Let’s not let all our horses out of the barn before we get our carriage rigged. First things must be first. Number one, despite what has occurred we do not know definitely who is responsible for the kidnapping of Seth. Number two, this effort will be like fishing. We put our bait on the hook, we cast it out on the water, and we wait for the fish to bite. We can’t determine who our catch is until we get a bite. Once we know for certain who is behind this sex ring, then we can attempt to reel them in and put them in our boat. Is this clear?” We all nodded our heads in agreement.

  “I am assuming you first want to cast a wide net rather than use a hook,” I said, trying to get back into the discussion.

  “Correct. We need to chum the water, so to speak. I like Miss Charming’s idea of getting Doctor Foote involved. We also n
eed more of you out there to see what is going on. We need to gather as much information as we can in order to be able to land this fish and then put it up above the public mantelpiece to be viewed for what it really is: a child-eating shark.” Kennedy chuckled at his own metaphor.

  “O’Malley is quite good at disguises, aren’t you Patrick?” said Becky, grinning over at me. “In fact, he has his British professor persona down perfectly, as he used it in his last case,” she added.

  “Yes, that would be very good. You must not be known as O’Malley. Can you disguise this professor of yours so that you won’t be recognized?” Kennedy turned toward me and raised his eyebrows.

  “The first assignments will be as follows. Miss Charming will advise Doctor Foote about our plan. Tell him he will be immune from any prosecution by doing this.” Kennedy wrote something down on the paper.

  “Wait. What if I were right about him? If he is already working with Haskins, then he will turn around and inform them of what we are doing. Don’t you believe it’s too dangerous to trust this doctor?” I was making my best case against Foote. I honestly didn’t believe he was ethical, but I was not so certain he was a criminal in league with the likes of the Palace Theater.

  “There is no record of Doctor Foote’s association with us. As far as he will know, this will be something for me alone. I will not mention Superintendent Kennedy nor anybody else,” said Becky. She stared hard at me. I looked up in the air.

  “That is a good point. Each of you will be working alone, and if you are asked, you must never tell anyone about our group and what we are investigating.” Kennedy took another drink from his water glass, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and set the glass back down on the table.

  One of Kennedy’s men was at the parlor door. He was out of breath, and I surmised he ran the last block to make his boss believe he was doing his job with enthusiasm, but I am a perpetual cynic.

  “What is it, O’Hare?” Kennedy asked. The second policeman came in also, but he was not breathing hard.

  “We can’t find the girl Sanders, and the kid Maguire is not around either. We was at Maguire’s place, and his twin brother says he took her back to Boston to get the aunt’s permission so’s they can get hitched.” The big man was staring hard at the plate of chicken on the table.

  “Have you eaten?” asked Becky.

  “No, Ma’am, we ain’t had nothin’ since breakfast,” the copper said.

  “Both of you, sit down and eat,” said Bessie, and the two men did not need to be asked twice. They each sat down at the table, took three pieces of chicken each and began devouring them with gusto.

  “We need to start our sleuthing as soon as we can. The longer we wait, the more danger Seth will be subjected to. I also don’t like the fact that Irene and Dan have left town. Is that usual for him, Walter?” I asked, turning to face my friend from the Plug Uglies.

  “No, he’s a good lad, O’Malley. I think he’s in love, man. That’s what ails ‘em,” said McKenzie.

  “Perhaps,” I said, “but I am afraid of what he loves and not whom. Somebody informed this group about where I was going to take Seth. Right now, I have Dan and his girlfriend in my crosshairs.”

  “Good for you, O’Malley. That was what I was thinking as well,” said Kennedy. We also need to get the names of these house servants,” he added.

  The tall copper standing behind Kennedy, at his right shoulder, bent over and handed him a piece of paper. “I got the names from the butler, Mister Johnson,” he said, and Kennedy took the paper form him and glanced over it.

  “Good. Now we all need to get some rest. Tomorrow morning, we will convene right here and get our assignments detailed. I am hoping to get two of my men into City Hall to see if they can hear any rumors concerning easy money being made in the Tenderloin or Satan’s Circus. When these things begin paying off, there is usually one canary who can’t stop singing his good fortune.”

  * * *

  I stayed in a bedroom alone. I was on the wrong side with Becky, and I was not in the mood to press my fortune by visiting her at bed time. I kept thinking about little Seth and how it was my fault he was being held. What if they were drugging the poor child? This entire organization seemed to use drugs as a way to control their prostitutes. This was not just a problem in New York. It was an international problem. England fought two wars over opium sales to China, and the recent Tientsin Treaties were the result of war between China and the United States, France and Great Britain in 1860.

  As a result of the “Opium Wars,” and our imperialism, ten treaty ports were opened to trade with western powers, foreign diplomats were allowed at Peking, and the opium trade was to be regulated by Chinese authorities. These Chinese also exported their opium to the United States and Europe, at low prices, and we have legalized its use in all kinds of products and home remedies.

  How was it that a drug which could cause two wars between nations be allowed to be sold and consumed without restrictions? I knew the answer, and it was directly related to what we were now facing in New York City. As long as the merchants were making a profit from the sale of the drug, it was acceptable. As long as prostitution was making a profit in New York City, it was acceptable. These children were from poor families, and they were unwanted. If women had no civil rights, then what about children born from single women, prostitutes and drug addicts? They were used to make a profit.

  I could see Kennedy’s logic now. We were never going to win in court. As long as poor children were being used as prostitutes, the courts would look the other way. If we were “fortunate” enough to find a child who had been tortured or murdered by one of these pederasts, then perhaps we might stand a chance in court, as it would get coverage in the press because of the ghastly nature of the crime itself. We needed to get enough ghastly details to create a swarm of news that could bring down whoever was behind this child prostitution ring.

  Pressure from the public could cause a reaction in the public, which in turn could cause reform in the legislature. There were still some public officials who wanted to stop this activity, even if some of them were like Mister Anthony Comstock. Comstock! Perhaps he could also be a key to getting this news about children being used out into the public. It could be risky, however, as he was quite reactionary.

  At any rate, I was going to keep all the bullets I had for my gun, and Comstock may be a shotgun shell rather than a rifle shell, but he could still hit something. What we will need in this instance are people who can arouse the public to action. Anthony Comstock was certainly one of these kinds of people.

  All of the crime team investigators were inside the parlor at the table eating breakfast. Missus Mergenthaler wanted everyone to eat in the dining room, but Kennedy would have none of it. He insisted that we were all doing police work, and so we needed to all behave like officers in the field. As I walked into the parlor, everybody looked up from their plates to greet me.

  Kennedy was at the head of the table, Bessie was sitting at his left, and Becky was at his right side. Three of his men were also seated and so was McKenzie. Walter had not brought any of his men over from New Jersey, and only Daniel Maguire was a notable suspect but only because he left with little Irene.

  As I sat down I started to worry about why John Kennedy was so insistent about being the head of this investigation. Before I came to him he knew nothing about Jane the Grabber and the attempt to take-over the brothels in New York. Granted, I needed his obvious experience at organizing a plan for this type of kidnapping, but I was still concerned about Kennedy’s motives. Perhaps he wanted to gain recognition from the public as well. Enforcing liquor licenses could hardly be called satisfying police work. I decided to ask him directly as I ladled scrambled eggs and bacon onto my plate.

  “John, I really appreciate your help with this case. Do you have a motive for wanting these people put out of business?” I asked, while shaking some salt upon my victuals.

  Kennedy stared at me from behind his
mug of coffee and smiled. “O’Malley, I was interested in your case from the first moment you explained it to me in my office. I have a confession to make. My wife and I had three daughters together. One of them, Ruth, never got on very well with her mother, and they had a falling out because Ruthie wanted to leave school. She was not a girl who took to the books. She enjoyed being out in the streets, like her father.”

  “There’s a lot to learn in the streets,” said Becky, smiling knowingly.

  Kennedy continued, “The result was a big fight, and Ruth Ann left us. She never communicated with us, and we later discovered she was working at the Sisters’ Row in Satan’s Circus. She got to drinking heavily, and she then turned to opium, and her body was found dead in one of the exclusive suites. They never even knew she was an addict until they found her dead.”

  “Oy Gottenu!” Bessie exclaimed.

  “That is why I wanted to help you, O’Malley. There is an underlying evil that pervades this occupation, and I wanted to expose it. Women like my daughter do not deserve to die in vain!” Kennedy’s Irish fist pounded on the table, and it shook the china and silver.

  “However, one must be certain to parse the true source of the evil,” said Becky.

  I knew she would respond to this line of discussion. My Becky is quite proud of her profession, even though she has her own skeletons lurking in her closet.

  “You mean that the people who partake of these Hookers’ services are just as guilty as the prostitutes who offer them?” Kennedy asked.

  “No, not quite, even though it has always taken two to do the dance of love. The evil exists in the treatment of the women who do the work. If one can stop making a morality play out of the business of renting one’s body for sexual favors, one can see plainly that if one can conduct the business in a properly safe and medically efficient manner, then the result is far from an evil undertaking. It is a business based on mutual trust, understanding and the most intimate sharing of human touch that is available to Homo-sapiens.” Becky accented her remarks by undulating her hands and body as if she were dancing in a Harem tent and not sitting inside a parlor on Fifth Avenue at nine in the morning.