by Jo Schaffer
A loud scraping echoed from the shadowed alleyway beside the clinic. Hazel tugged on Henri’s leash. “Fuss.” He quickly followed her to the side of the building.
Light from the low sun did not reach the cluttered alleyway. In the shadows, Hazel saw a man with his hands against the large trash container. It had been pushed against the clinic under the window of one of the storage rooms stacked with a disarray of tables, chairs, and boxes.
It was just a trash man. Maybe there to salvage something. Hazel was about to turn back to the street when the man adjusted his bowler hat with a familiar gesture.
Arthur. Why was he still loose?
Hazel flattened herself against the brick wall of the alley and slid down to crouch behind some empty wooden crates stacked there. “Ruhig,” she whispered to her dog. He went still and quiet.
The renegade newsie climbed on top of the metal box and forced the window open a crack with a crowbar he produced from his baggy trousers. Then he sat and lit a cigarette. He puffed on it a few times before reaching into the inside pocket of his oversized coat. He pulled out a bottle that sloshed with liquid and removed the cork.
He took a handkerchief and stuffed it into the bottle of liquid, leaving a tail of it hanging out of the top. Pinching his cigarette between two fingers, he contemplated the tip, while smoke trailed out of his nose.
Henri sniffed the air, and his ears perked. Before Hazel could stop the young dog, he jumped and let out a bark.
Arthur sprung to his feet, turning in Hazel’s direction.
Bananas. She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping he wouldn’t see her where she crouched.
“Peek-a-boo,” Arthur said, slow and deliberate. “I see you, Princess.”
Knees shaking, Hazel slowly stood to face him. She gripped Henri’s leash. He was her only defense.
“C’mere.”
Hazel shook her head. Not a chance, buster.
“Not here to stop me then? Wanna watch?”
“What are you doing?” Hazel demanded.
“First, I wanna show you something.” With the cigarette between his fingers, he cupped his hand around his mouth. “Help me!” he squealed in a high pitched voice.
Hazel glanced around in confusion. Behind her was the outlet to the mostly empty street. The alley echoed as he screamed again. “Help!”
Nothing happened. Nobody came running. He looked down at her with a piercing glare. “This is Dogtown, bright eyes. Not the good ship lollipop.”
She got the message. “Sandy would never forgive you if something happened to me. I’m the next best thing to a sister that she’s got left.”
“And she may never forgive me if I don’t finish what we started …” He gestured at the open window with the hand that held the bottle. “See my problem?” He stuck the cigarette between his lips and breathed in.
“She wants you to sneak into the clinic and have a party?” Hazel smirked, getting some of her sass back. He was no Al Capone, just a crazy kid with a grudge, but he had a couple of weak spots. She sensed it. Sandy and Stanley.
He squinted at her like she was an idiot. “This ain’t to drink. It’s gasoline, dollface.”
“I see … and you light it up and …”
“Now she’s got it. I know this kind of stuff only exists in the movies for you.”
Hazel bristled. “Don’t do it …” She tried to think of what would convince him to stop.
“Why? Because your hero doc is still inside? I’m counting on it.” He sneered.
“There are others in there besides. People from your own neighborhood. Henri and I will run out to the street and get help.”
He set the bottle on the windowsill and pushed the window open wider. “I’ll be done and long gone by then.”
Desperate, Hazel pointed at Arthur. “Fass!”
Henri burst from her side and galloped toward Arthur. He leaped up on the side of the trash bin, scratching and barking. Arthur slipped and scrambled backward, away from the snarling dog. Hazel’s heart thumped. Henri was truly intimidating. Mick had been working hard to turn him into a killer, and it was working.
Arthur’s sudden fear turned to anger. He picked up the crowbar and clutched it in both hands. Cigarette dangling from his mouth, he grated, “Get this pooch away from me, or you’ll be scooping up his brains with those manicured hands of yours.”
Hazel didn’t doubt him. There was a look on his face that terrified her. She approached the trash bin. “Anhalten,” she commanded.
Henri backed away, a deep growl in his throat. Then he turned and trotted back to Hazel, his tongue hanging out and tail wagging. “Braver Hund,” she said, patting the dog’s head, her eyes not leaving the boy in the bowler hat. Her mind skipped to a new tactic. “Listen … Stanley wants me to find evidence in there about the murdered maid. I haven’t found it yet. Burn it down, and we lose the chance.”
Arthur lowered the crowbar. “I have all the evidence I need about this place.”
“This isn’t just about eliminating the people you see as problems. It’s about the truth getting out to the public to stop the whole thing. For that we need proof.”
Arthur removed his hat, anger still simmering on his face. “They’ve been taking my boys,” he said.
“I know … I saw the files. Names and serial numbers. There might be more about where they are now and what’s happened, but I can’t read German.”
Arthur’s eyes lit with interest. “You on the level, swell?”
She could see she had him. The anger was draining from his body. “Yes. I saw one with the name Robert Guido on it. Thought maybe he was a relation to Teeth?”
Arthur blinked. “That ain’t nobody but Bobby ‘Teeth’ Guido himself.”
“They have him, then. The question is where?”
“Why don’t I just go in there, smash in the doc’s skull, take his papers, and find out?”
“His nurse is in there too and some patients. Just give me a couple of days. I’ll get what you need and what Stanley needs.”
It looked as if he might argue, when a police siren split the air. Arthur grabbed the bottle and his crowbar and jumped down from the top of the large, metal bin.
“You better make good on that.” He pointed the crowbar at her and then turned away and ran down the darkening alleyway, away from the street.
Hazel wandered out to the street in a daze. The sunlight had drained from the sky, and the neighborhood was in the shadow of the buildings now. Shaking and on the brink of tears, she watched as a police car passed the clinic and stopped at the tavern up the street. There was a small crowd of men on the sidewalk, walloping each other and shouting. The siren turned off and two officers exited the patrol car; one had his gun drawn.
She sadly shook her head and turned her back on the violence. If the Veiled Prophet didn’t kill everyone off, they might just do the job themselves.
“We still haven’t found Arthur anywhere,” Anino said, sipping on a cup of coffee that Stanley had just made.
All of the Knights had come to Stanley’s house at various times in the past day or so to report on what we as going on. Pigeons were missing in droves now, and no one could find Teeth either. Stanley sipped his coffee and swallowed hard.
“Yeah. He shook the tail that Seamus and Mr. Malloy put on him. So, there’s that. Should have known. Artie knows this city better than anyone, he’s got the whole place wired.”
“And either the pigeons that are left don’t actually know, or Arthur has scared them into not singing like canaries,” Anino said, rubbing his head. “What was it like at the ball, by the way?”
Stanley stared at the inky blackness of coffee for a moment, as if trying to conjure images of the swell’s party of the year. “Well, it ain’t America, that’s for sure, at least, not the part of America I believe in.”
Anino furrowed his brow. “How so?”
“No one seemed interested in the fact that ‘all men are created equ
al.’ They have stacked the deck, and they intend to keep it that way,” Stanley said. “And now, Artie has given them a blank check. They had to hide a bit before, speak in code, start clinics that’re claiming to help poor people. But in reality, it’s all smoke and mirrors.”
“I’ve been thinking. Why does the Veiled Prophet hide his face then? What would be the point if they have all this power and all that?”
Stanley snorted. “This ain’t like The Shadow, pal. No mustache twirling villain of the week to defeat. They want to be faceless, because if you can name your fear, you can beat it. So, their power is in taking a symbol rather than a face. Evil never wants to see the light of day. It likes the dark. Only light shows its true face.”
Anino grinned. “Well, it’s a good thing all of this hasn’t changed Lord Stanley The Philosopher’s way of doing things.”
Sighing, Stanley tilted back in his chair. Frisky had gotten them all to start calling him that. “Anyway, point is, I don’t see us finding the bad guy, tying him up and waiting for the authorities to cart him off to jail.”
They both sipped their coffee in silence for a moment, and then Anino said, “I’d better get to the morning papers. What’s Seamus doing these days?”
Stanley shrugged. “No clue. He’s off investigating something, but he’s not saying what. I only get a grunt or a ‘doin’ fine, boyo’ when he comes home. I think he’s rattled that Artie is still out there.”
Stanley put his coffee cup into the sink. “I have to see Father Timothy and give him an update. So I’ll walk with you to the corner.”
They walked down the street toward Anino’s corner. Stanley breathed in the cold air, relishing the smell of oncoming winter. He wondered when it would snow and remembered last winter when the Knights led an epic, two day, snow battle in the neighborhood. Everyone had gotten into the act; adults, kids, and even the cops came to play. For a while, there was no depression, no hungry bellies, and no lost jobs. Just everyone throwing around a bunch of snow, laughing, and counting their bruises from snow that had been packed a bit too hard.
Stanley sighed and shoved his hands deeper into his coat pockets. Everything was changing. In the past few days, a lot of questions about his life had been answered. The mystery of his parents was now solved. He and Hazel were all aces now. If all this had happened a few months ago, he would have finally felt like his life made some sort of sense. But maybe that was the way of things; when one part of your life gets figured out, other parts go nutty.
“Stanley, look at this,” Anino said, bending down to his papers.
A black branch stuck out from the stack of papers, and the tip was coated with blood.
“They know how The Knight’s Voice is getting into the world,” Anino said, taking off his hat and running his hand through his black hair.
“Yeah, it was only a matter of time,” Stanley said.
“But did everyone get one of these? How could they know who was doing what?” Anino glanced around, nervous.
Stanley walked across the street to the nearest newsie, who was busy selling papers.
“Hey, Frankie, see anything unusual in your papers this morning?”
“What, like your mother?” Frankie said, smoking his pipe hard.
“Nah, like a painted stick or something,” Stanley said, grinning.
Frankie shook his head. “You’re crackers. Only thing I got was pay, such as it was. Now maybe I can get a can of soup or somethin’.”
Stanley walked down a few blocks and checked with a few other newsies. No one else had gotten black branches. So they were targeting Anino and maybe the other Knights. Somehow, they figured it all out. He walked back to Anino in a hurry.
“No one else got a branch.”
Anino nodded. “Kinda figured. They’ve got us pegged, Stanley. I gotta say, that scares the piss out of me. I don’t want my family hurt or nothin’.”
Stanley sat on the curb with his head in his hands. “Yeah, me either. I don’t want anyone to have any trouble. But we got it anyways.”
“I guess, Stanny, but I didn’t sign up for all this when I joined the Knights.”
Standing up, Stanley said, “You think I did, you mug? I just wanted to nick some food for some hungry people.”
“Yeah, but you got dizzy with some rich dame and had to walk her home. Now, here we are.”
Stanley hissed, “Don’t blame Haze for all this. This is way bigger than any of us. They’ve been doing this a long time. Planning and putting things into place. Kids disappearing. All of that was gonna happen anyway. But at least now we know why.”
Crossing his arms, Anino stood his ground. “Maybe. But seems like you and Artie added gasoline to the engine, stepped on the gas, and took us along for the ride.”
He wanted to argue, but a part of him thought that maybe Anino was right. Maybe Stanley wasn’t any better than Arthur. Maybe he should have just left it all alone and not gotten involved, because now people he cared about were in trouble.
“Look, pal, I didn’t ask for any of this. A few months ago, I was a kid with a gang who helped people. Now, everything is screwy, and I’m in love with a dame I probably won’t ever be able to marry.”
Anino stared at him for a moment. “You just said ‘in love,’ palsy.”
Stanley’s hand went to his chest, and the tension went out of him. “Yeah. Yeah, I did.”
“First time I’ve ever heard you say that about any dame.”
He was right. With all the girls he’d been with, Stanley could say he never loved any of them. Sure, he liked most of them. But love? No way. But he did love Hazel, and that was facts. No point even trying to deny it.
“Well, it’s because I mean it. I love that dame, and I’m dizzy for her. But what good will that do me? I’ve got no money or connections.”
Anino grinned. “One step at a time, there, ace. You gotta survive all of this first.”
Taking off his hat, Stanley rubbed his head and said, “You said it, wheat, and how.”
They stood there for a moment, watching the cars go buy, belching out exhaust, and honking, as if that would make the morning traffic go by any faster.
“So, what are you going to do?” Anino said.
“Make good so I can buy a life worthy of her.” Stanley curled his fist, determined.
Anino laughed. “Not about the dame, about the stick and the Veiled Prophet.”
Stanley blushed and then shrugged his shoulders. “Oh … I have no idea. Guess I should go see Father Timothy and sound things out. Maybe he’s got some answers.”
“Yeah, maybe. Listen, Stanny, I’m sorry I lost it before. You know you can count on me. I got your back.”
Grabbing him in a bear hug, Stanley pounded on Anino’s back. “Thank you, my brother, thank you.”
“Easy there, Papa Bear, you almost crushed me.”
Stanley let him go and grinned. “All right, you gangster, I’m off.”
He walked fast to St. James and found Father Timothy in the sacristy, taking off his robes from the morning mass.
“Ah, Stanley, missed you this morning.”
“Sorry, Father, Anino and I got to talking. He had a black branch in his stack of papers this morning.”
Father Timothy pressed his lips together. “That’s a tidy, little threat. Any news on Arthur or Teeth?”
“No, but there are others missing too. Way more than before.”
The priest didn’t say anything for a moment. He took off his stole, kissed it, and put it on a wooden hook. Then he took the alb off his head, and as he did, his hair stood on end from the static electricity. Stanley laughed, in spite of himself.
The priest grinned. “That’s one thing they didn’t teach me in seminary; how to deal with the hair-raising experience of wearing the sacred robes.” He smoothed down his hair. “Follow me to the rectory. I have someone I think you should meet.”
Intrigued, Stanley followed the priest in
to the short cloister that led to the priest’s living quarters. He always felt this made St. James seem like a mini monastery, and when he was younger, before he discovered girls, he dreamed of being a priest. The whole life appealed to a side of him that needed order and simplicity. Another part of him realized he would never be satisfied with that sort of structure. Still, he breathed in the peace of the sacred space all around him.
Father Timothy led him into the rectory and then the kitchen. There, sitting at a table, was a black-robed monk, drinking tea and reading the Post-Dispatch. The whole scene jarred him a bit, as he imagined monks living a life of austerity and prayer. He looked up and smiled.
“Ah, this must be the lad himself. Stanley, I’m Brother Martin.”
Brother Martin. The guy who had been in the ranks of the Veiled Prophet and got himself out. He looked younger than Stanley expected, but laugh lines had already started to appear around his eyes and mouth.
“It’s great to meet you. Heard so much about you.”
The monk grinned. “Hope that’s a good thing.” He motioned to the table. “Please, join me.”
“So what brings you to St. Louis at last?” Stanley said, taking a seat at the table.
The priest looked at Stanley. “I contacted Brother Martin after I received your message about what you overheard in the asylum the other day.” He filled the tea kettle back up and put it on the stove.
The monk eyed Stanley. “It seems The Winnowing has truly begun, so here I am.” His face was grim, but then a small smile crossed his lips. “And I must say, I was curious to meet the guy who stole the boss’s girl’s heart.”
“The boss? Who’s that?” Stanley asked, furrowing his brow. “I mean, if I kissed her and all that, I’m not like that anymore. I hope I didn’t hurt her or cause trouble.”
The monk and the priest exchanged amused looks. Stanley frowned. “Am I missing something?”
The monk said, “The boss is Nicholas Malloy. He used to be my boss and mentor in business before I took my vows.”
The pieces started to fall into place in Stanley’s head.
As if reading his mind, Father Timothy said, “Yes. Brother Martin is how Mr. Malloy and I met. But perhaps I should let him tell the story.”