Killer Take All

Duff called a number he remembered, and he recognized Andrew’s voice when the call was answered. “Andrew, m’ kinsman.”

“Duff MacCallister? This is you? Are you in New York?” Andrew replied happily.

“Well, that is wonderful! Rosanne and I will be very happy to see you.”

“Andrew, ’tis a favor I shall be asking of you. Would it be possible for me ’n two of my friends to get tickets to the play you ’n Rosanne are doing?”

“Yes, yes of course. I will have them waiting for you at the Will Call box office. And after the play we must have a late dinner. I am so looking forward to seeing you again.”

“As am I, cousin. And ’tis thankin’ you I am for making available the tickets.”

* * *

When Duff, Meagan and Elmer showed up at the box office of the Rex Theater on West 48th Street at Broadway that evening, the ticket clerk looked at the three of them with total disdain. “There are no seats available. You should have checked before you made the trip here.”

“I’m told that there will be three tickets at the box office,” Duff said.

“Is that so? Who told you?”

“’Twas my cousin, Andrew, who told me.”

“Andrew? Andrew who?”

“Andrew MacCallister,” a third voice said. “I have their tickets. Hello, Mr. MacCallister. It’s been a long time since you were stage manager here. It’s good to see you again.”

“Jared Simmons. You still work here. That’s good to see,” Duff said with a wide smile.

“I’m the head usher now,” Simmons said proudly. “Come, I’ll personally escort you to your private box.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Simmons, I didn’t know,” the ticket agent said.

“It’s not me you should be apologizing to,” Simmons said.

“Mr. MacCallister, please forgive me.”

“Och, ’tis nae a thing to forgive, lad. You were just doing your job.”

“Oh,” Meagan said as Jared led them into the theater. “This is even more beautiful than the Cheyenne Opera House.” She started toward the mezzanine.

“No, miss, this way,” Simmons said.

“The balcony? Oh, I thought . . . never mind,” Meagan said. “It was rude of me to comment.”

“I think you will be pleased, miss.”

Simmons led them upstairs but instead of going through a door and into the balcony he led them down the corridor to a series of doors, then stopped at the last door and opened it. “You will be sitting here,” he said with a wide grin.

The door led to a private box, but not just any box. It was the closest box to the stage, affording its occupants the best view and the best acoustics of anyone in the theater.

“Oh, my,” Meagan said, her voice reflecting her awe. “I have never had such a seat.”

“I will return after the play,” Simmons said. “Mr. and Miss MacCallister want me to take you backstage so you can visit.”

“Thank you, Jared,” Duff said.

“No, thank you, sir. Even though I was but an apprentice usher when you worked here, you always treated me well. I’m glad for the opportunity to pay you back.”

As they waited for the curtain to rise, Megan reached across to take Duff’s hand in her own. “Oh, it must have been wonderful for you to have worked here.”

“Aye, ’twas a pleasant experience. But ’tis nae a thing I would want to go back to.”

The lights in the theater dimmed, and the buzz of conversation halted. Then, as the curtain opened and the stage was well lit by footlights, a spotlight found Andrew MacCallister standing center stage.

ANDREW (in the role of Benjamin Quarrels, looking stage right): Here, the battle was fought, and here, so many were lost.

* * *

For three acts, the play continued with drama and scenery changes to depict the trials and tribulations of a family torn by war. Then came the last scene.

ANDREW: Think not of all the trouble and despair we have seen. That is behind us now, and we have prevailed.

ROSANNE (portraying Laura Fontaine): Survive we have, but only because of you, Benjamin.

It was your valor and tenacity that pulled us through all the travails and hardship.

ANDREW: I cannot accept such laurels without acknowledging your own courage and spirit.

ROSANNE: And, what path shall we take now?

ANDREW: What path now? Now we shall take the way home.

The curtain falls.

“Oh, it was such a wonderful play,” Meagan said. “I could feel every scene as if I were actually living through it myself.”

Shortly after the curtain fell, Jared Simmons, as promised, appeared at the door of the VIP box.

“Come with me. I’ll take you backstage.” Simmons chuckled. “Though you, of course, don’t need to be guided, do you, Mr. MacCallister?”

“Nae, but ’tis good to be guided by an old friend,” Duff said.

Andrew and Rosanne, with makeup and costumes removed, were waiting in the greenroom.

“Duff, it is wonderful to see you again!” Andrew said, shaking his hand.

Rosanne gave him a hug.

Duff introduced Meagan and Elmer.

“I have called ahead and reserved us a table at Delmonico’s,” Andrew said. “And we’ve a carriage waiting. What do you say to a late dinner?”

“I say ’tis a fine idea,” Duff said.

* * *

During the dinner Meagan spoke glowingly and knowledgably about the play she had just seen.

“You have a marvelous insight, my dear. How would you like a job as drama critic for the New York Times?” Andrew asked. “I think they could use a columnist who has such a keen eye for talent.”

Rosanne laughed. “Oh, hush, Andrew. The critics have always been fair.”

“You don’t understand, sister. I don’t want fair. I want adoration.”

Everyone at the table laughed, catching the attention of the other diners.

“Duff, I don’t flatter myself to think that you came to New York just to watch Rosanne and me perform. What has brought you to the city?”

“We’ve come to meet with Preston Poindexter,” Duff replied.

“Oh, he is a very good man,” Andrew said.

“Why do you say that?”

“Recently an orphanage was about to close for lack of funds. Forty children between the ages of four and twelve, difficult ages to place in a family, were living there. They were going to be separated and sent to other orphanages. Do you understand what this means? The only family those children had, were each other.”

“But Mr. Poindexter stepped up and gave the orphanage one million dollars,” Rosanne said. “Isn’t that wonderful?”

“Aye, ’tis a fine deed,” Duff said.

“Why have you come to see him? Do you want him to donate to some charity?”

“’Tis nae a charity, but a railroad.”

“Then you’ll be talking to the right person, because he has built many of them.”

“Yeah, well, this one we want him to stop,” Elmer said.

“Why would you be against a railroad?” Andrew asked, confused by Elmer’s response.

Over the next several minutes, with Duff, Elmer, and Meagan all adding to the story, Andrew and Rosanne were told of the difficulties the ranchers and farmers in Chugwater Valley were having with the indiscriminate acquisition of land and the disastrous results.

Andrew shook his head. “That doesn’t sound like Preston Poindexter. He has built several connector railroads and in every case the result has been very positive for all the residents. And as I said earlier, he has always been there for anyone who needs help.”

“That’s what I’ve been tellin’ ever’one,” Elmer said. “This sure don’t sound like Pete.”

“Pete?” Andrew asked.

“Aye, Pete,” Duff said. “As it turns out, Elmer knows Preston Poindexter personally.”

At the urging of Duff and Meagan, Elmer told the story of his service aboard, and the sinking of, the Appalachia.

“He was the best cap’n, ’n as fine a man as I ever knowed,” Elmer concluded.

“Then I’m certain you will get a satisfactory response to your problem,” Andrew suggested.

“Aye, that is our hope,” Duff said.

* * *

“How are you goin’ to do it?” Dixon asked. “You can’t just go into Delmonico’s ’n shoot ’em. And there’s too many people out on the street, so you can’t do it here, either.”

“That ain’t your problem,” Al Todaro replied.

“Maybe how you handle ’em ain’t my problem, but stoppin’ ’em a-fore they get a chance to talk to Poindexter is.”

“It’ll be took care of,” Todaro promised.

* * *

It was just after one o’clock in the morning when Todaro entered the lobby of the Fifth Avenue Hotel. It was illuminated by electric lamps, but only three were on. Despite the dim lighting, he could see that none of the sofas or chairs were occupied. When he stepped up to the front desk, the night clerk had his chair tipped back against the wall, and he was snoring loudly.

Todaro examined the guest book and, locating the room for Duff MacCallister, took the 502 spare key from the board. He started toward the elevator then stopped. Because of what he intended to do, it would be best if nobody saw him. He took the stairs.

On the fifth floor he walked down the dimly lit hall, checking the room numbers. When he reached room 502, he let himself in with the key he had taken and closed the door behind him. With knife in hand, he started toward the bed. In the darkness, he stumbled against a chair and it made a sound as it scooted no more than an inch or two across the floor.

Grabbing the chair quickly to prevent it from falling over, he stood there for a long moment to ascertain whether or not MacCallister had heard him.

There was no response from the bed, and Todaro breathed a sigh of relief. He had not been heard.

* * *

When Duff had checked into the hotel earlier in the day, he had booked three adjacent rooms. Connected by a door, two of the rooms were to be occupied by Duff and Meagan. However, booking three rooms was only for propriety’s sake. In actuality, Duff was spending the night in room 504 with Meagan, and that left 502 empty.

At the moment Duff was sound asleep, but Meagan was not. The Fifth Avenue Hotel had all the modern conveniences, including, for the higher-priced rooms, bathrooms. And it was to take advantage of this facility that caused Meagan to be awake, out of bed, and adjacent to the wall that separated 504 from 502.

She heard a thump and a scrape.

She hurried back to the bed and shaking Duff awake, whispered to him. “Duff! Duff! Someone is in your room!”

He got out of bed. Though he had not been carrying a pistol while in New York, he had brought one with him. Reaching for it he walked over to the door that separated the two rooms, opened it quietly, and flipped on the light switch just beside the door.

A man was standing over the bed with a raised knife.

“No, no, don’t shoot!” the man called in alarm, dropping the knife.