16

PHOTO DAVE STOOD outside Barney’s Old Treehouse Saloon, waiting for Chuck Connors to finish his bullshit. The man had made a career of it, spending half his day conducting tours of the Five Points and Chinatown, the rest spent lubricating his prodigious vocal cords. He was finishing up with some slumming uptown types and a couple of foreigners, giving them one last grisly tale of the Old Brewery and its cellar full of graves. The place had been the most notorious hellhole in the city, disease and murder taking its residents in equal measure. When the place had been torn down, dozens of bodies were found buried under its earthen floor …

“A word,” Dave said when Connors had finally gotten rid of his tour and approached the door to Barney’s.

“Huh?” Connors grunted without really looking at Dave.

“Big Tim,” Dave said, “I got a message from ’im.”

Connors looked then, looked closely. “Well, Dave, damned if it ain’t yerself. C’mon in.” He led the way to his back table where Chinatown Nellie waited over a nearly empty bottle of gin. “Hey, sweetie, get us a new bottle like a good molly, eh?”

“Fuck you, Chuckie,” she said, but she got up to do it with a devilish grin nonetheless.

“Great ass on ’er,” Chuck said, watching her walk to the bar. “That woman gonna kill me wit that ass.”

“Worse ways to go,” Dave said, though he didn’t look.

“Yeah,” Chuck said. “So how’s it Tim didn’ come ’imself?”

“Busy,” Dave said. “He says to tell ya he’ll … he’s gonna … what the hell was that word he used? Tim’s got some words you never did hear of. It was like inter … something.” Dave fished about and a moment later came up with it. “Intercede! That’s it. Tim’s gonna intercede on behalf of your client. Those were his exact words.”

“Okay,” Chuck said. “Glad to hear it. “He didn’ say when it’s gonna get fixed?”

“Didn’t say.”

“What’ll I tell my … ah … friend?” Chuck said. “I mean he’s in a hell of a bind.” Chuck didn’t want to say more to Photo Dave. He wasn’t sure how much Big Tim might or might not have told him about Lionel Saturn or the Knickerbocker Steamship Company.

“Don’t know. Tell him Big Tim’s gonna intercede. That should fuckin’ well be enough.”

“’Course it is. ’Course it is.” Chuck said, seeing that Photo Dave had developed a sour frown. “Damned if you ain’t right, an fuck ’im if it ain’t good enough.”

“Right,” Dave said with one raised eyebrow. He got up to go.

“Leavin’ without a drink?” Chuck asked. A breach of etiquette in his book.

“Things to do,” Dave said. “Tim keeps a full schedule doin’ the people’s work. Another time.”

Chuck waved him off. “Me regards ta Big Tim,” he said so the rest of the bar could hear, before turning toward his girl. “Nellie, you sweet little bundle, sit that bottom on me lap like a good molly an’ we’ll see if we can find the bottom o’ this bottle.”