A Soft Barren Aftershock

by F. Paul Wilson

  As he approached the dark rectangle, he stopped and re-created that night.

  He remembered switching the bolt of velvet from his right shoulder to his left, and slipping his fingers through the four loops of his brass knuckles—just in case.

  When he’d entered the shadows, he remembered noticing that the underpass was strangely deserted. No calls from the harlots to dally in the dark for a quick bit of the old in-and-out. He’d picked up his pace and had just reached the midpoint where he could see the glow of the gaslit street on the far side when he sensed movement in the darkness behind him. A shadow had separated from the wall and was approaching. He pivoted to his left, swung a hard right, and landed a solid brass-encased Dead Rabbit punch to his would-be assailant.

  A heart punch! He’d forgotten. And he’d struck a solid blow.

  He remembered an instant of astonishment that the blow had no effect. Not even a grunt of surprise. And then astonishment turned to horror as the knife point drove through his suit and between his ribs and into his chest. He remembered the excruciating pain of it piercing his heart, and even worse agony as it was yanked out. And then a ghastly sense of drowning as he dropped to his knees. He remembered falling over backward and landing hard against the cobblestones. As his vision faded he saw a wash of light and heard the hiss of a steamer pulling up. A quick glimpse of Jesse Timber’s face and then all went black.

  Liath stood now and stared into the darkness. The heart punch . . . who could withstand a blow like that? Not as if his attacker had been wearing armor. He’d heard no clank of metal on metal. His fist had landed on flesh . . . soft flesh . . .

  “Oh, dear God,” he shouted to the night. “Oh, dear God!”

  Rasheeda nearly dropped her flask as Liath clambered up the ladder into the top floor of the tower. She’d been adding the half-moon ingredients to her next batch of anointing oil—a batch that wouldn’t be ready for another five weeks.

  “ ’Twas a woman done me in!”

  She stared at him from behind her mixing table. His eyes were wide as he stood in the doorway, panting.

  “What? How do you know?”

  “I remember!”

  “What did she look like?”

  “I don’t know!”

  “Then how—?”

  He held up a brass-knuckled fist. “When I struck with me heart punch, I remember me fist hitting something soft and just realized I’d struck a bap.”

  “A what?”

  “A bap! A diddy! A knob!”

  “What?”

  “Goddamn it, woman! A breast!”

  “Well, why didn’t you say so?” she said, gently placing the glass flask on the table.

  “I just did—numerous times.”

  Rasheeda recalled the man who had accosted them on their first outing together and remembered how he had dropped after Liath struck him that single blow.

  “She must have been a very heavy woman, then, with quite ample padding.”

  “That’s just it. She wasn’t. I could feel me fist hit her ribs through her bap. But she didn’t even flinch!”

  As he paced the tiny room, which allowed no more than two steps this way and two steps that, an idea niggled the back of Rasheeda’s brain.

  “What else do you remember?”

  “I remember that as I lay on me back, gasping for air, a vehicle pulled up. Great puffs of steam and doors slamming, and I had a brief glimpse of that blackguard Jesse Timbers’s face before I passed on.”

  “This Timbers is the one you killed down on Bleecker Street?”

  “The same.”

  “When was the last time you’d seen him before that?”

  “At the Stone Ox.” Liath’s eyes narrowed. “I told the weasel-faced maggot I was going to visit me sister and take her some fine velvet. The sleeveen gave me a seed of nutmeg from a shipment he’d smuggled in from Canada as a gift to her. I was thinking what a fine fellow he was, never having met Moira and all.”

  “Did he ask where she lived?”

  Liath frowned. “Come to think of it now, he did. I wasn’t after giving him her exact address, but I said she was on the north side of the ramp they’d built for the bridge.”

  “The Brooklyn Bridge?”

  “Well, what other bridge would I be talking about?”

  Rasheeda drummed her fingers on the mixing table as the pieces fell into place.

  “I’ll assume he knew where you lived and knew you had gems in your boot heel.”

  Liath’s expression grew sheepish. “It’s possible I may have been in me cups one night and mentioned something to that effect.”

  “Well then, he would know the path you would take from your place to your sister’s and have his confederates waiting.”

  “But that means he would have sent a woman to accost me—a strong woman who feels . . . no . . . pain . . .”

  She nodded as the light grew in his eyes. “You were attacked by a revenant. Which means that one of my customers is behind your murder.”

  He slammed his fist on her mixing table and would have upset her flask if she hadn’t grabbed it in time. “Who?”

  “I have a list right here.” She leaned to her left and plucked her black ledger from a shelf. “Names and addresses.”

  She allowed Liath to snatch it from her fingers and leaf through it. After a few pages, he glanced up at her.

  “You’re making a nice living from this, aren’t you.”

  “I manage. I don’t plan to be in it forever.”

  He resumed flipping through the pages. “I don’t recognize—wait!” He jabbed a finger at a page. “Madame Louisa! She’s a weakness for fine fabrics. She’s a regular customer for me imports.” His features darkened. “She has a woman revenant?”

  Rasheeda nodded. “Katrina.”

  He snapped the book closed. “Then she’s the one.”

  Rasheeda pulled her ledger from his hands. “I agree. Now where is my sustaining oil?”

  “Not so fast. I’ll be needing to confirm it’s her. Once we accomplish that, you’ll have your oil.”

  “Damn you!” she cried. “The moon will be full soon. If I don’t start anointing on time—”

  “If Madame Louisa is the one, you’ll have your precious oil in plenty of time.”

  She could feel her patience slipping away. “What will satisfy you?”

  “I want to set up watch on her brothel. After Jesse Timbers ran from the Stone Ox, he returned with a man with a scarred face.”

  “The one who stabbed Toby.”

  “The same. If I see him lurking about her premises, that will be proof enough.”

  “Then let’s get to it quickly. You’ll need that dress you were wearing.”

  “Oh, no. I’ll not be donning that again.”

  “Oh, and I suppose you’re just going to walk in the front door of her seraglio and inquire after a man with a scarred face?”

  “No, but—”

  “She knows you’re alive. This scarred man you talk about will have told her. If she’s guilty—and I’ve no doubt she is—she’ll be watching for you. She killed you once, so she’ll have no hesitation about doing it again.”

  “I can die again?”

  “It takes some doing, but a revenant can be killed for good.”

  For some odd reason he looked relieved.

  “All right then. The dress it is. I’ll go down there tomorrow—”

  “No. We will go down there tomorrow. Two, um, ladies will be less conspicuous. Besides, I don’t dare let you out of my sight. I don’t want anything happening to you before you return what’s mine.”

  “All right then, ‘we’ it is. And if all goes well, you’ll have your heathen oil back before nightfall.”

  “At what price?”

  “I’ll already have me price: the name of me murderer.”

  So he said now. But she’d seen the way he’d been eyeing the tallies in her ledger. He’d want a healthy sum of cash before handing over her missing carafe. She
ground her teeth in frustration. He had her over a barrel, and she’d have to pay whatever he demanded.

  But after that . . . she thought of her derringer. A .41-caliber bullet through his scheming revenant Irish brain would be sweet revenge. And then into the crematorium with him.

  Good-bye and good riddance.

  Rasheeda was known at Madame Louisa’s, so she wore a veil as well this time. They strolled East Twenty-Seventh Street among the midday pedestrians, feigning animated conversation. Governor Westinghouse’s electrification program was in full bloom here.

  “As much as I can’t wait for electricity to reach Harlem,” Rasheeda said, pointing to the utility poles, “I think they’re ugly.”

  And they were. Five stories tall with at least a dozen crosspieces, and wires, wires, wires, running over the sidewalk and angling back and forth in the air above the street.

  Liath didn’t reply. This close, she could make out his features through the veil draped from his hat; his gaze was fixed on the brownstone that served as Madame Louisa’s seraglio.

  They slowed as they passed the building. The space to the right of the front steps displayed ferrotypes of the ladies available within.

  “Rather fine-looking brassers,” Liath muttered.

  “She brags that she runs a ‘quality establishment.’ ”

  With no sign of activity, they walked on to the corner and turned around.

  Liath said, “With that arena over on Madison Avenue, her business must be booming. Why would she want to kill me?”

  “I wouldn’t take it personally. Some women have a fatal weakness for diamonds.”

  They crossed Twenty-Seventh Street at Lexington and walked back on the other side. As they came abreast of the seraglio, a steam car pulled to a stop outside. Liath grabbed her arm and they stopped to watch. His grip tightened as a man with a long scar down his right cheek stepped out from behind the wheel and opened the rear door.

  Then the lady herself emerged, resplendent in a dress of two-toned velvet, golden at first glance but indigo in the lowlights as the fabric moved. Liath’s hand became a vise.

  “You’re hurting me,” Rasheeda whispered.

  His grip relaxed, but his voice was tight and cold. “That’s the man who stabbed Toby. And the bitch Louisa is wearing the fabric I was carrying to me sister.”

  He started toward the curb, but Rasheeda pulled him back.

  “Don’t be a fool. She has a cadre of bouncers inside. A headlong rush will end in disaster. You need to plan your next move.”

  He nodded. “You’re right. Must stay calm. Must approach this with a cool head.”

  Must stay alive, Rasheeda thought. At least until I have my oil back.

  Rasheeda was seated in her office when Liath, still in the dress, entered without knocking. He placed a dirt-encrusted carafe on her desk.

  “There. We’re even.”

  She snatched it up, pulled the stopper, and sniffed. She closed her eyes and sighed at the familiar aroma.

  Wait . . . what had he just said?

  “ ‘Even’ ?”

  “You held up your end, I’m holding up mine.”

  “But . . . aren’t you going to demand cash too?”

  “That wasn’t the deal.”

  “I know, but I assumed—”

  “What? That I’d welsh?

  “Well, yes.”

  He smiled. “I’m a character from a penny dreadful, remember? I keep me word.”

  Shock left her almost speechless. “But—”

  “I believe we’ve already had this conversation.” He stepped to the door, then turned back to her. “I’ll be keeping the dress for a while, if you don’t mind.”

  “Consider it yours. But tell me . . .” She pointed to the carafe. “Where did you hide it?”

  He smiled again. “I buried it in your graveyard.”

  He gave her a little salute, then turned and closed the door behind him.

  Still in shock, Rasheeda leaned back and stared at her carafe. What a strange, strange man.

  5.

  Under a Hunter’s Moon

  Liath wished he had paid more attention to the brothel itself while they were surveilling Louisa. He’d spent days in this damn dress and bonnet watching the comings and goings and assessing the physical layout of the building. He had spied Louisa numerous times on a top-floor corner room overlooking the street. Unfortunately, the basement windows were barred and the first-floor windows were set high; unless he brought a ladder, the two doors—one front and one rear—were the only points of entry.

  On the third day, he decided to make his move. He’d noticed during his two days on watch that Louisa’s four bouncers left as a group around noon and returned before two o’clock when the brothel opened its doors to the public. Today was no different. They exited the rear door—the “discreet entrance”—and disappeared down the alley that ran to East Twenty-Sixth.

  Now was his chance. Despite his increased strength and diminished sensitivity to pain, Liath held no illusions about his ability to overcome those four burly thugs. So the best time to confront Louisa and retrieve his diamonds was when she was alone.

  He dearly would have loved a peek indoors before entering, just to see if he might spot her whereabouts, but the high windows prevented that.

  Raising the hem of his dress, he padded up the rear steps, his picks at the ready. But to his delight he found the discreet entrance unlocked. Were he in charge, he would have kept it bolted during the establishment’s off-hours; perhaps it was supposed to be locked, but obviously the bouncers had forgotten to do so.

  He eased the door open and tiptoed through the back hall that led to some sort of sitting room. And there, reclining on a settee, he found the madam herself. Did his good fortune know no bounds?

  He glanced around and saw a table for cards and perhaps meals. A pool table sat nearby, and a dartboard was fixed to the far wall. He wondered at a long rope running through a pulley fastened in the center of the ceiling, then through another near the wall, then down to a boat cleat bolted into the chair rail. Part of some strange deviant sexual contrivance, no doubt.

  Pulling off his bonnet as he entered the room, he strode toward her and said, “Surprised, Louisa?”

  Instead of the expected cry of shock and alarm, Louisa looked up and gave a serene smile.

  “Well, well, well. Mister O’Shea. I was afraid you’d never gather the courage to come inside.”

  Liath skidded to a halt. “What?”

  She seemed to have been expecting him.

  She laughed. “I do so love your expression just now.” Her features hardened. “Do you really take me for such a fool?”

  Why wasn’t she afraid?

  “And what would you be meaning by that?”

  “I’ve been aware for some time now that you’d been brought back to life. I know who did it, though I don’t know why and I don’t know how.” Her eyes narrowed. “But I will learn.”

  “Why did you set upon me?”

  She ran a hand over her velvet dress. “I love this fabric. I wore it just for you.”

  They both knew she hadn’t done him in for the fabric. Well, never mind all this. He’d lost the element of surprise, but he still had the upper hand. He stepped closer.

  “Where are me diamonds?”

  She laughed. “My dear man, they’re far out of reach, where no man shall go.”

  Another step. She seemed to be goading him. Did she have a pistol hidden close by? Was that why she was so calm? Not that it would do her any good. He was already dead.

  “Hand them over or you’ll end up like Jesse Timbers.”

  She smiled. “Ah, yes, Jesse. He became a little talky trying to impress one of my girls. She mentioned it to me, and soon Jesse and I had a plan.”

  He gave her a hard stare. “You know damn well—”

  A sudden commotion behind him. He turned to face four men charging from the rear hallway. The bouncers had returned, each brandishing
a truncheon. They hadn’t gone to lunch—they’d been hiding around the corner, waiting for him to make his move.

  After an instant of shock and chagrin at how he had waltzed into Louisa’s trap, Liath instinctively stepped back into a boxing stance. As the first thug came at him, he ducked the truncheon swing and sent him tumbling back into his mates with a roundhouse right to the jaw. His brass knuckles were in the bodice of his dress, but before he could reach them the bouncers were upon him.

  Truncheon blows from all sides rained upon his head and neck, driving him to his knees. As his vision blurred, he heard Louisa’s voice echo from increasingly far away.

  “You didn’t think that dress fooled me, did you? All the while you’ve been watching me, I’ve been watching you!”

  Her laughter faded into the enveloping darkness.

  Liath opened his eyes. His vision swam for a few seconds, then cleared. He tried to move his arms, but his hands were bound behind him. He kicked his legs, but they met no resistance. After a moment of confusion, he realized he was hanging in midair. And something was constricting his throat.

  “He’s alive!” cried a voice from somewhere below him. “Good God, the bloody bastard’s still alive!”

  He looked down and saw Louisa and her four bully boys staring up at him from the floor of her sitting room. The men looked awestruck, Louisa merely amused. Her blond revenant servant, Katrina, dressed in a short French maid costume, stood to the side and stared into space. Katrina had killed him, but he bore her no malice. She was little more than fleshy clockwork. Liath reserved his wrath for the ones who had plotted his death.

  “I warned you it wouldn’t kill him,” Louisa said. “Now aren’t you glad you tied his hands as I told you?” She looked up at him. “I closed my business tonight in honor of your capture. We’ll devote the evening to trying to find a way to make you stay dead.”