She studied him with eyes as cold as a glacier. “But not right now.”
“Not right n-now,” he agreed. “I’m on d-duty, you see.”
She cast Law a look from beneath lowered lids. “You want to give old Hy here a good example to follow.”
Jasper smiled. “Exactly.”
She laughed as she turned to a woman lounging beside the piano player. “Go pour some coffee into Doc, Sally, and tell him he’s got a guest. He ain’t in the best condition, my lord,” she said once the girl left. “You’ll have to make do with me until he’s able to talk.”
“It j-just so happens I was h-hoping to ask you about Mr. Alard Janssen. Are you f-familiar with him?”
“Oh, lover, what whore in this city ain’t? That man would fuck a knothole in a fence. Well, he would have,” she insisted at Law’s agonized groan. “God have mercy on his soul.” She crossed herself.
“When was the last t-t-t-time you s-s-saw him?” Jasper ground his teeth, hating his wretched tongue in that moment.
Miss Lorena Paxton gave him a knowing smile, as if she were accustomed to making men stammer.
“Funny you should ask—he was here Friday. But he wasn’t here to fuck.”
“Lorie!”
Jasper looked at his associate, whose face had continued red since they’d walked in the door. Who would have known his rough-and-tumble-looking detective was so prudish? Jasper had half a mind to send him on some errand—perhaps to a nunnery—where he’d not have his sensibilities outraged every ten seconds by harmless innuendo and vulgar language. He caught the man’s eyes and frowned. Law, impossibly, turned one shade darker. But he clamped his jaws shut and gave an abrupt nod.
The madam watched this exchange and then laughed, once again pressing her chest against Jasper’s arm, her hand sliding all the way up his thigh. “My, my, my,” she said with a husky chuckle, “you’re just fine all over, aren’t you?”
Jasper shifted his body slightly before he embarrassed himself.
The madam grinned and removed her hand. “Hy wasn’t always such a prude, my lord.” She winked at him. “You come in by yourself if you want to have a chat about the kinda things we used to get up to.”
“You know each other w-well?”
“You could say I know Hy intimately.”
Law gritted his teeth. “We grew up together, sir.”
“Ah.”
“My lord don’t care about that, Hy. He wants to know about Janssen—isn’t that right, sugar?”
“What was Janssen h-here to do, if not to eng-engage in intercourse?”
“What do men always do if they ain’t drinkin’, fightin’, or fuckin’?”
“Why do I f-feel the answer to your question is not r-reading scripture?”
She threw her head back and laughed, her action attracting the eyes of every male in that part of the bar. Once she’d collected herself, she said, “He was talkin’, darlin’.”
“To whom?”
She turned. “Jimmy—did you talk to Janssen the other night?”
The lanky bartender ambled over, rag in hand. “He was in here for a bit.”
“Lord Jasper wants to know if he had anything interestin’ to say.”
“Interesting? No. He said he was looking for somebody.”
“Who?”
Jimmy shrugged. “He didn’t say, and he drank up and left, so I’m guessin’ whoever it was wasn’t here.”
“D-Did he say anything else?”
Jimmy’s narrow brown eyes slid to the madam, who shrugged. “Oh, go on—tell him whatever you heard.”
“He wanted to know why Lorie only hired, er, well, old crones. His words, not mine, Lorie,” he added hastily.
“What d-did he mean?” Jasper asked the madam.
“His sort wanted virgins—or at least what they were told were virgins—but he’d take a real woman if he had to.” She grimaced with disgust. “I take it he was headed over to Solange’s?”
Jimmy nodded. “That’s what he said. He said he’d much rather pay an American whore than a French one, but—” Again he shrugged.
“Was his predilection w-widely known?”
“I’m guessin’ madams and pimps knew what he wanted.” She snorted. “And probably any of his cronies who shared the same tastes.”
So, a reformer with a penchant for virgins. Jasper wondered if Mrs. Janssen knew about her dead husband’s particular vice.
“D-Did Janssen come to your saloon often?”
“He’d been here more often these past few months.” She frowned. “And he came in with some other man just last week. You remember him, Jimmy?”
“Yeah, he didn’t stay long, and I didn’t get his name, Lorie.”
“I didn’t know who the other man was—well, I didn’t, Hy,” she insisted in response to Law’s snort of disbelief. “I haven’t fucked every man in this city, Hieronymus Law, no matter what you might think—you big prig.” She turned to Jasper. “I can check the book to see if either of them took one of my girls.”
“Thank y-you; I’d appreciate that.”
“Is that so, sugar? Well, I look forward to you showin’ your appreciation. Now, anythin’ else?”
“Did D-Dunbarton and Sealy ever come in here?”
Her eyes widened, and not with pleasure this time. “Oh no. We ain’t back to that again.” She turned on Law, her expression vicious. “You bastards already killed one of my girls—a girl who was obviously innocent, since it turns out the lunatic is back to killin’. Haven’t you done enough, Hy? Don’t tell me you’re back here trawling for another whore to hang.”
“Calm down, Lor—”
She was fast, remarkably so. If she’d been holding a blade, Law would have been squirming in agony on the floor. Or dead. As it was, he wore a hand-shaped print on his cheek.
“You sanctimonious son of a bitch! Don’t you dare come into my business and tell me how to think or speak or what to do—not after what you did to Caitlyn.”
You could have heard the proverbial pin drop, and the air shimmered with incipient violence. Jasper had never participated in a pub brawl before; he wondered if that was where they were headed. He didn’t fancy Law’s chances against the fiery madam.
“We’re n-not here to arrest anyone,” Jasper assured her. “We’re here to ask a f-f-few questions.”
She pulled her eyes off Law as grudgingly as a drunk relinquishing a bottle.
“Yeah, Sealy and Dunbarton came in here. Like I told Hy back then, neither of them did their fuckin’ here. They came to play cards—they liked my tables ’cause I run an honest shop.”
“They c-came in together—they were f-friends?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know if they were friends, but they were friendly.”
Jasper thought she made an interesting distinction. “Do you remember if either of those t-two men ever met J-Janssen in here?”
“No, I can’t remember—why should I even try?”
“What about if I p-promised to sit for t-t-two hours at your bar?” he offered.
Her lips twitched as she fought a smile. “Look at you, my lord. A bit of a whore yourself, eh?”
Beside him, Law’s body jolted at the accusation, but his mouth—thankfully—remained shut.
Jasper grinned. “I’ve been c-called worse.”
She gave another of her low, sultry laughs, and some of the tension eased out of the room. “I can’t remember ten minutes ago, sugar, but every businesswoman worth her salt keeps a book, and I may have made note of it. How’s that?”
“That would be l-lovely.”
Law gazed at the madam’s back as she ascended the stairs, the mark on his face a stark stain on his cheek.
Jasper was considering what—if anything—to say when a loud voice came from their right.
“You must be the stupidest fucking squarehead alive, Law.”
The big detective jolted and turned toward the doorway, where Jasper saw the outline of three men: two men
in uniform and one in plain clothes.
The barroom, which hadn’t yet recovered from Lorena’s outburst, again simmered with tension. For his part, Jasper needed to run the new man’s phrase through his head several times before he could translate it, as the newcomer spoke with the broadest Irish accent he’d ever heard.
All three men came to a halt a few feet away; they were looking at Jasper rather than Law.
“You must be the limey,” the man dressed in plain clothes said, his nasty grin exposing several blackened teeth.
Jasper inclined his head. “I’m afraid you have me at a d-d-disadvantage, as I d-don’t know your n-name.”
All three men’s jaws sagged in a way that made Jasper smile. It was a common reaction: shock, disbelief, humor, and then derision. He watched the familiar parade of emotions move across their faces and waited.
It was the leader who recovered first. “Well, I’ll be d-d-d-damned!”
His associates laughed uproariously, and even a few of the bar patrons chuckled.
Jasper sighed. It was, he supposed, time to make an impression.
CHAPTER 13
Hy was a fool; he should have known stepping foot into Molly’s was like hiring a damned town crier, but he could hardly help with an investigation if he were ducking and dodging McElhenny’s goons every step of the way.
Hy faced the man who’d been his first partner at the Sixth back when he’d walked a beat—a man who still hated Hy’s guts because he’d reported Ryan’s brutality with a robbery suspect, a level of violence that left the suspect a drooling vegetable. Ryan’s reprimand—a two-month delay in getting his detective badge—had been too minor, in Hy’s opinion, but Ryan had never forgiven him for it.
“What do you want, Ryan?”
Officer Terrence “Terror” Ryan pulled his eyes off the Englishman with obvious regret, his smile slipping when he looked at Hy. “Cap’n wants to see your ugly mug—couldn’t imagine why.”
Coming from a man as ugly as Ryan, it wasn’t much of an insult. “I was going to see him today.”
Ryan crossed his arms in a mocking stance. “Oh, were you now.” When Ryan said the words, it sounded more like ahh, waer yeh neow. Although Ryan had gotten off the boat from Ireland when he was a lad, his accent was stronger than that of any man in Dublin. In Hy’s opinion, he was the sort of Irishman who gave the Irish a bad name: vulgar, rash, and brutal.
“If that’s the case, you can come with us now,” Ryan said, when Hy didn’t rise to his taunt.
Before Hy could answer, Lightner spoke. “Detective L-Law is working for m-me.”
Ryan gave the Englishman a look of exaggerated interest. “I’m glad you mentioned that, me l-l-l-lord. The cap’n says you can forget about Janssen’s case—we’ll take care of that.” He grinned. “We’ve just been by Feehan’s to collect the body and send it to Doc Kirby.” Ryan fanned the air in front of his nose. “Mighty ripe, he is.” His men laughed. “So you”—he pointed a finger at Lightner—“can fuck off and find somethin’ else to investigate. And you—” He turned to Hy.
Hy had excellent reflexes honed by years of boxing when he was younger. But eight weeks of abuse in the Tombs had taken their toll, and he never even saw Ryan’s baton coming.
Lightner, on the other hand, had not only anticipated the detective’s attack—he blocked it and disarmed the man.
The pretty walking stick he’d been holding all morning became a blur of amber and ebony. The Englishman himself hardly seemed to move as his cane cracked Ryan’s wrist and sent the black baton flying. Nobody was more surprised than Ryan, who gave a startled yelp and clutched his arm.
By the time Hy thought to stop the copper nearest him—a huge block of a man named Seamus Houlihan—Lightner had already smacked the other uniformed copper, Brandon O’Connor, in the throat with the flat of his hand. The movement appeared light and quick—more like a love tap—but it was enough to drive the bulky plug of a copper gasping to his knees.
When Law looked up from the writhing patrolman, it was to see the tip of the walking stick resting lightly in the vulnerable hollow of Ryan’s throat. Ryan was still as a statue, aware of how little effort the Englishman would need to expend to cause him a great deal of pain.
“Detective L-Law is working for the Eighth P-Precinct now,” the Englishman said, using the same polite tone he always employed. He flashed his teeth, but Hy wouldn’t have called it a smile. “As for the J-Janssen murder case? Please refer Captain McElhenny to Mayor Wood or Superintendent T-Tallmadge.”
When Lightner lowered the stick, Ryan seemed to recall where he was—in the middle of a saloon full of loose-lipped Irishmen in the Points; his humiliation would be known in far County Cork before the day was over. Hy didn’t bother to hide his grin.
“Come on, lads.” Ryan smacked the back of O’Connor’s head, as the big man was still on his knees. Ryan’s gaze was riveted to Lightner, and his hatred was a pulsing, tangible thing. The Englishman had earned himself an enemy today. And all because of Hy.
“You might think the mayor or some bloody committee runs the Points, but you’d be wrong—dead wrong.” Ryan’s hand unconsciously massaged his wrist, and he wrenched his eyes off Lightner just long enough to shoot Hy a murderous glare. “We’re not done yet, Law.” He made his exit to the sound of loud whispers and choked laughter. Ryan wasn’t quite out the door when loud clapping came from overhead.
Hy turned to find Lorie standing up on the landing, wearing a smile that stretched from ear to ear.
“Oh, Lord Jasper!” She clutched her bosom with one hand, staring at Lightner, who was once again lounging gracefully on his barstool, his patrician features as unreadable as ever. “I think I just fell in love.”
* * *
Once the excitement over the kerfuffle was over, Lorena Paxton led them upstairs.
“I checked my book back to the beginnin’ of the year while you were playin’ with Ryan,” she said over her shoulder as she led them down the hall to the door at the end. “Janssen sat at my tables, but he must have had some other arrangement, because he didn’t take a girl here until May.” She stopped and turned to Jasper. “Before you ask, there wasn’t nobody special; he tried ’em all. As for whether he knew Sealy or Dunbarton, they all three played cards here, and they all had the same taste for girls. That’s all I know.” She opened the door and motioned them inside.
The three of them looked down on an alarmingly yellow man, who lay on a narrow bed.
“What’s wrong with him?” Law asked.
Lorena Paxton shrugged. “He’s been getting’ this way more and more often. I pay him to check the girls, and then he just seems to lose his senses. Nellie—the girl he had last night—said he went through an entire bottle of whiskey. He’s down for the count.” Her mouth pursed. “He sold all his equipment for cuttin’ people up to pay some gambling debt.” While she spoke, the doctor never twitched. “I’ll keep him here till he’s dried out and probably after, too.”
“Oh?” Jasper said.
“His house went the way of his equipment.”
“Ah.”
“He’s the only doctor I know who’ll come into a place like mine. Nobody else cares about a bunch of whores.” She fixed them both with a hard look. “If I don’t take care of my girls, nobody else will.”
* * *
They opted to walk over to Centre Street to hail a hackney, since an omnibus had lost a wheel and traffic was locked in both directions up and down Baxter.
Hy studied the other man from the corner of his eye; Lightner looked just as pleasant as ever, and yet he’d stopped two men—not small or weak men, either—cold in less than thirty seconds. Hy didn’t think he’d ever met anyone who was so hard to read; except for a moment of annoyance at the Tombs, he hadn’t seen the Englishman show any emotion at all. It was like there wasn’t a real person behind the courteous manner and inside the well-dressed body.
Hy had felt an unexpected surge of anger—and a bit of embarra
ssment—when Ryan mocked the Englishman’s stutter. As if it weren’t bad enough with all the nasty shit people said about the Irish—how they were all drunks and criminals—men like Ryan made it worse for the rest of them by acting like a thug. Yet Lightner’s expression hadn’t flickered. Was he so accustomed to mockery that it just slid off him? If so, Hy envied him that ability—an ability he didn’t possess. He also envied him the ability to put two men down so quickly.
“Can I ask you something, sir?”
“You m-may ask me anything, Detective.”
“That thing you did back there—with your hand?”
“It is savate, although I’ve p-put my own stamp on it. Savate is a French street fighting t-technique that d-developed in the port city of Marseilles. I’ve incorporated elements of la c-c-canne as well.” He lifted his walking stick. “The skill is a p-product of my m-misspent youth.” He wore a faint smile.
“You barely seemed to tap O’Connor, er, the big fellow, with your hand, and he went down.”
“The p-point of contact is the heel of the h-hand, although it might appear to be a s-slap or push.” He glanced up at Hy. “It’s a h-handy form of c-combat when a man doesn’t l-look as formidable as you.”
Hy gave an embarrassed laugh. “I wasn’t very formidable back there, sir. Thanks for stoppin’ Ryan. If you hadn’t, I’d probably be facedown on Lorie’s barroom floor right now.”
Lightner accepted his gratitude with a nod. “T-Tell me, what did Detective Ryan mean?”
“You mean about who runs the Points?”
Lightner nodded.
“Just that Wood isn’t a Tammany man—people figure because he’s a democrat, he’s in with the rest of ’em, but he ain’t. At least he ain’t right now, not after he ran for a second term without first gettin’ Tammany’s approval.”
“Tammany Hall is the d-democrat organization?”
“Aye.” Hy cut Lightner a look. “You do need to understand their power here, sir. It’s—well, let’s just say Tammany is less a political organization and more a gang. You don’t want to get sideways with them.”
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