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October 8th, 1921 The Lower East Side
MATT could think of better ways to spend a Saturday afternoon, and he had suggested all of them to Page. But she’d already set up the appointment for him to go on this inspection tour with her new lawyer friend and made Matt commit to it. Then she’d badgered him into taking her along for this.
‘This’ was the pair of them taking a taxi into an area where poor immigrants were packed into tenements crammed together cheek and jowl. He sympathized with their plight, but coming here himself was bad enough—unpleasant and possibly dangerous—it was no place for Page. He should have kept his trap shut.
Matt had made the mistake of letting her know he thought it too dangerous a place for her. So she wanted to prove something to him now, though he wasn’t sure what. If it was that she had no concept of personal security, he’d already known that. Now they were both looking forward to spending an uncomfortable afternoon among the teeming masses. Then he thought of the relative luxury he and Page would be returning to and chastised himself. They might be able to help these people—that’s what this was all about, checking out Hawthorne’s charity to see what it actually accomplished, what a donation could do. And if that meant a bit of temporary discomfort, it was a small sacrifice.
If only he could have come on his own, not only would he be free from having to worry about Page’s safety, but he wouldn’t be sitting in the back of this cab with her and the strained atmosphere between them. She’d remained silent as they’d sailed down East Broadway to Spring Street, watching the scenery roll by. Turning east, they’d soon entered Little Italy and she’d become truly absorbed in the sights she saw. And even more quiet.
Sighing and glancing out the window, he saw a few kids playing in the streets and some street vendors with their stalls out on the sidewalks, hawking fruits and vegetables and other wares, but it didn’t seem that crowded for a weekend. He looked at the rearview mirror to catch the cabbie’s eye. “Seems a bit quiet for a Saturday.”
The hefty, bearded fellow turned his head back and grinned. “Of course. Everybody’s at work.”
Matt nodded. He should have realized the five-day work week hadn’t arrived yet, but he hadn’t given the matter any thought. Page gave him time off whenever she didn’t need him. “The adults. What about the kids, though? Shouldn’t there be more of them about?”
“Most of them are probably playing in the East River. It’s still warm enough for swimming.”
Part of Page’s mind must’ve been paying attention, because she reacted to that. Turning and staring into the driver’s open face, she said, “You can’t be serious. Swimming in that filth?”
The man shrugged and the taxi swerved and almost plowed into a car in the other lane. “Kids gotta swim somewhere.”
She shook her head. “I don’t see why. And you should watch where you’re going.” The cabbie just shrugged again and faced forward. And she turned to Matt. “They call this Little Italy because the immigrants from Italy live here?”
He nodded. “Not all of them, mind you, but an awful lot of them. And to the south is Chinatown—you can guess who that’s full of, but north of here is the East Village, and I think that’s the Russians, or maybe the Ukrainians? Probably people from other countries have their own neighborhoods around somewhere. Smaller communities since they don’t have the same sort of numbers.”
The cabbie looked back at them again with another big grin. “Like the Poles. Good people. And my people, we’re good too.” Though he didn’t mention who his people were supposed to be, they were clearly Eastern European. “Not like the Italians.”
Staring at him, she forgot to criticize the man’s driving. “Surely you don’t mean to say the Italians are bad people.”
He shrugged. “Not all of them, no. But there’s still plenty of light, so you should be alright.”
Matt shook his head at her. “I told you. This is a dangerous section of the city. Let’s make sure we leave before night, so we don’t have to worry about tripping over a corpse in the dark.”
She didn’t laugh, she glared. “What about this ‘melting pot’ America’s supposed to be? Shouldn’t all these different people live together instead of in separate neighborhoods? And consider everybody else to be Americans too?”
“There’ve been so many immigrants coming in over a short period of time, it’s made it more difficult for them to assimilate. They all stick together, in tight communities where they’re more comfortable, can stick to their own languages and their own ways. But eventually they’ll ‘melt’ in with the rest of us.”
“And become Americans?”
Matt smiled. “Yes, and add something to what our country is at the same time.” He had yet to ask her what America was like in her future, or whether it even existed anymore. She probably wouldn’t answer anyway, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. “We change them a lot, they change us a bit, and we all grow a bit stronger, better in the process. And of course the cuisine improves, which is the most important thing.”
Page shook her head. “I shouldn’t be surprised it’s all about the food to you.” As if she had room to talk.
He nodded. “Certainly. All that great chow the newcomers bring with them really spices things up nicely. Can you imagine what life would be like? If we didn’t have spaghetti or stir-fry or satay? Without nachos, pizza, or curry? Or the other delectable dishes foreigners bring to our shores? That would be pretty boring, wouldn’t it?”
“I’m not arguing about the contributions immigrants have made—though I’m sure they bring a lot more than their cooking—but the French know how to cook, and the Germans eat well too.”
“Well, everything the French know about cookery, they learned from the Italians. And if they improved on things a bit, the Creoles bettered them a lot. But sure, even the English have some seriously good food. I wouldn’t want to eat nothing but British cooking all the time though. And this is a great time to see, and taste, all kinds of ethnic cuisine, as it makes its way into American culture.” At least in New York. As a born and bred Midwesterner, Matt realized foreign fare would take a lot longer to find acceptance in the heartland. But the wait would be more than worth it.
Suddenly the cabbie contributed his two cents. “Don’t forget Hungarian Goulash. Becoming really popular, it is. My cousin wants to start his own restaurant, and it will have the best food!” Clearly the man was Hungarian. Mystery solved.
Matt watched the man turn south on Mott. “I’m sure it will. Goulash is great.” Soon they arrived at the address Hawthorne’s assistant had given him—and which he had passed on to the skeptical hackie. Pulling up in front of the five-story tenement, Matt thought it didn’t look half as ramshackle as he had expected. The building was old and unstable, but it was so tightly crammed between the ones on either side, it probably couldn’t collapse even if it wanted to. And it wasn’t actually falling apart. “At least it’s nicer than the Bowery. And should be safer.”
Their driver nodded vigorously. “No way you’d get me to take a lady there, even in the daytime.”
The glare Page gave the back of the man’s head was withering. “Mr. Hawthorne wouldn’t be meeting us here if it were dangerous.”
Matt was the one who responded to her. “This appointment with him was for me. He didn’t know you’d be coming along too.” And the man probably wouldn’t like it one bit when he found out. “And he knew I was the one who’d followed him down to the warehouse by the docks, so he wouldn’t hesitate to meet me here.” Page said she’d not told the lawyer that, but obviously he’d put two and two together.
She transferred her glare to Matt. “If anywhere is safe enough for you, it should be fine for me.”
But he could take care of himself if it came to it—protecting Page as well was a worry he’d prefer to do without. He bit back the words though, to keep from saying that out loud. Her attitude was still far too frosty to risk straining the atmosphere between them any further. “The people around here have to be familiar with Hawthorne—after all, his charity’s helping them—so he probably feels safe. But these people don’t know either of us.”
She looked out the window again, and he knew she was perceptive enough to see what he saw. The handful of kids, a few teenagers skulking about, the vendor at a fruit stand on the sidewalk, and a pair of housewives sweeping stoops—all studiously avoided looking at the parked taxi and its occupants. At the same time, it felt like they were all watching him and Page and the poor cabbie.
Frowning, Page met the eyes of the driver in the rearview mirror. “You’ll wait here for us?”
The man shook his head in sadness. “Look too suspicious doing that. Don’t want to get any holes shot in my cab.”
“This shouldn’t take us too long. You’d be fine sitting here a little while, wouldn’t you?”
Like Matt, she must’ve noticed there wasn’t another taxi in sight, but there was something else he didn’t think she had realized yet. “There aren’t any cars parked here at all, so I doubt Hawthorne’s got here, and who knows how long we’ll have to end up waiting for him. You can’t ask our friend to just sit around indefinitely.”
“But then how will we get back to Midtown? It could be he’s here and will have his driver return to pick him up later, isn’t it?”
“If that’s the case, he can give us a ride uptown when we finish here. If not, we can always walk until we reach a place the cabs are running.”
The hackie shook his head again and interrupted. “Walking’s not so good an idea, I think. Maybe you should let me take you back to your hotel?”
Matt was amused to hear the doubt in the driver’s voice, that Page would take him up on his offer. Indeed, it only seemed to make her more stubborn. Opening the door, she stepped out of the taxi on the street side and right up to the rolled-down window the driver was watching her through. After digging around in her purse, she handed the man a folded-up bill, and he whistled.
As she straightened up, he stretched his head a little out the window and gave her a wide smile. “If you want, I could swing back though after a bit and see if you need another ride? It’s only sitting here, waiting around in this neighborhood I don’t wanna do.”
Matt wondered how much she’d overtipped the man and was about to say ‘yes, please’ when he saw Page shake her head. Shrugging, the cabbie waited for Matt to climb out onto the sidewalk before pulling away with a sudden screech of his tires. Barely missing a couple kids who dodged just in time. At least Page had been circling around the back end of the cab when it took off.
Stretching his legs while waiting for her to join him, Matt checked his watch. “We’re already a few minutes late ourselves. How late do you think lawyers tend to be?”
Page walked past him and started up the short steps to the stoop. “He was early for lunch with me—he’s probably already inside. Come on.”
Matt gave a last look at the neighborhood, then grimaced at the way the teenagers hanging around idly were smoking in a small cluster now and watching him and Page openly, having given up any pretense of disinterest. Then he followed her, up onto the stoop and through a wide wooden door into the building’s dim and dingy lobby. There was nobody there.
“He’s not here, is he, so what do you want to do now? Stand and wait?” Matt liked moving around too much to be good at that, unless there was somewhere comfortable to sit and relax, which he didn’t see here. And the close, thick atmosphere was getting to him already. “We could do that outside and breathe better while we’re at it.”
Page shook her head. “We might as well begin looking around, talking to these people. Where exactly were you supposed to meet Hawthorne?”
“The secretary only gave me the address for the building, not an apartment number.” There were a number of doors off the lobby, and rickety stairs in the corner ascending to the higher floors, but nothing to indicate a specific destination. “And I’m not sure how much we need to look around. Clearly the people living here could use plenty of help, but I’m not sure a lawyer would be high on their list, unless it’s for suing their landlord.”
She spared a quick glare for him as she glanced around the lobby. “We want to see what the charity is doing for ourselves, and we don’t need anybody’s help to do that. Just start knocking on doors. And we’ll ask them just what kind of help they’re receiving.”
Matt didn’t like that idea one bit, was tempted to argue, but what would be the use? He’d just end up doing what she wanted anyway. So he marched across the lobby to the door opposite the entrance, then rapped his knuckles against the peeling paint loud enough to be heard, he hoped, without unduly antagonizing whoever resided within. If there was anybody at home.
After a long moment, the door swung inward to reveal a thin, dark, and harassed-looking woman in a floral print dress. She spat out a slew of words he felt pretty sure were Italian and waited expectantly for an answer. Matt was at a bit of a loss.
Hoping she understood some English, he spoke slowly and carefully. “We’re here to meet Mr. Hawthorne...” Surely she would recognize the lawyer’s name and realize why they’d come, where they were supposed to go. At least point them in the right direction.
But no, he had an idea what the rapid patter he received in response might’ve meant, since she ended by slamming the door in his face, but she hadn’t made a single gesture he might have interpreted as indicating a potential path he might take. Considering the woman was Italian, that was probably polite by her standards. It did, however, leave him little to do but try another door and likely receive the same treatment.
He turned to Page and shrugged. “I can continue knocking until I find somebody who speaks English.” And how long might that take? “Or perhaps we should step outside to wait?”
She squinted at him. “Maybe you could go find a phone booth somewhere and call Hawthorne’s office and ask where he is or what time he’ll arrive.”
“Most people may work on a Saturday still, but I doubt a lot of lawyers tend to.” On the other hand, it would be an opportunity to go outside and enjoy the relatively fresh air for a while. And also stretch his legs some more as he searched for a phone.
“Isn’t this work, meeting you here to show you what kind of work his charity does?”
Matt nodded. “Of course you’re right. Maybe I should just pop out and give his office a ring to see what if anything they can tell us. It couldn’t hurt.”
Page narrowed her eyes as if she was suspicious at his giving in so easily, but she simply nodded. “I can wait here, in case he shows up in the meantime. But don’t be gone long.”
Grinning, he turned and strode back to the entrance, pushed out onto the stoop and took a deep breath. He was taking another and about to let the door swing shut behind him when he noticed something—the handful of teens who’d been loitering on the far sidewalk had crossed the street. And drifted down toward the building at Matt’s back. They had also spread out some rather than remain clustered together.
He didn’t like that, and he didn’t like how they were looking at him either—brazenly, with speculation and or anticipation. Then they started tossing their cigarettes to the sidewalk, stomping them out with their shoes as they continued to advance slowly in Matt’s direction.
Feeling Page approach behind him, he guessed she wanted to know what was keeping him there in the doorway. He let her look out to see for herself. And he wasn’t at all surprised by her first question. “What did you do to make them so angry?”
He ignored that. “Maybe we should wait inside after all.” The only way out would be through those teenagers, which would mean a fight, something he didn’t want. And while the others in the neighborhood now avoided looking at those teens as well as Matt and Page, he couldn’t guess how they’d react if it turned into a brawl. Then there was Page to protect, above all other considerations.
She had already withdrawn back into the lobby, and he swiftly retreated inside himself, shutting the door and seeing there was no way to lock it. But he needed to delay those delinquents somehow. Turning to Page with a grin, he glanced down at the high-heeled shoes she was wearing. “Give me your heels—you can’t run in them anyway.”
Shaking her head, she slipped out of her shoes and handed them over with a question. “Where do we run?”
It was a good question, and Matt’s mind raced through their options as he slammed first one shoe and then the other against the floor to break off the heels. Thankfully, this shoddily built place sported a gap between the bottom of the door and the floor, and he kicked the heels into it to wedge the door in place. It wouldn’t hold long if somebody tried beating their way in, but they could use any delay. Then he handed the heelless footwear back to Page.
She frowned down at the mutilated shoes while taking them gently with the tips of her fingers. “Do you know how much I paid for these? I would have thought they’d be more difficult to break.” Then she transferred her concerned expression to him. “And now what do we do?”
Scanning the dimly lit lobby, Matt reconfirmed his initial impression. There was no back way out. They could try the stairs and hope they could make their way out onto the fire escape, but they’d probably be seen and it would take too long anyway. But since there was no rear exit he doubted those delinquents would have covered what didn’t exist.
Hoping he was correct they wouldn’t have anyone waiting in the alleyway behind the building, he grabbed Page’s free hand and pulled her across the lobby, back toward the door he had knocked on before. Rapping loudly this time, he barely waited for it to start swinging open before he was pushing his way in, past the woman who’d already begun to expostulate in Italian. He pulled Page inside, turned and took a twenty from his shirt pocket and held it up in front of the face of the startled resident. “I’m a window inspector.” If she didn’t understand that, surely she’d understand the money. “We’re here to make sure you’re getting sufficient ventilation.”
She clearly comprehended the twenty and took it, and the alarm on her face as the pounding began on the building’s front door showed she knew what that meant as well. She swiftly shut her door, then stood and watched as Matt pulled Page through the hall and across the cramped living room, which appeared to be the kitchen and dining room and bedroom too. They could still hear somebody banging on the door to the vestibule outside as they reached the window. Already open of course, to let as much air into the stuffy little apartment as possible.
Leaning out over the sill, Matt looked in either direction down the narrow alley that separated this building from the one behind it. Dirty, with debris strewn on the ground amid puddles of rainwater, it was also cluttered with trash cans, abandoned toys, and empty bottles which had once contained whiskey or wine. But it was mercifully free of people.
He pulled his head back in and started to shove Page through the opening, but she balked. “I can’t walk in these anymore.” She held up what was left of her shoes with a scowl. “And I’m not going barefoot, not out there. You’ll have to go first. I’ll climb down after and you can carry me.”
Sighing, Matt sat down on the sill and started to fold his long legs over and through while Page gave the woman they had intruded on what remained of her high heels and made silent gestures to indicate where to find the missing parts. Grabbing the window frame, Matt lowered his feet to the ground and turned to help Page slide down onto his shoulders, then into his arms. They likely looked ridiculous.
With her arms wrapped around his neck, Matt picked his way north along the alley as swiftly as he could, behind the backs of the dilapidated and soot-encrusted tenements on either side, until they finally reached Spring Street. Setting Page down where she could stand on a clean patch of dry dirt, he then peered carefully around the corner to make certain their pursuers hadn’t yet started searching this far afield. Surely they had realized their prey was now on the run. But he didn’t see any suspicious teens, so he lifted Page into his arms again and strode out onto the sidewalk and headed west. They were anything but inconspicuous, so he walked as fast as he could carrying her and dodging the moving pedestrians. He could see by the expression on her face that she wasn’t enjoying the experience as much as she should.
He forced a smile he didn’t feel. “If we can just make it back to Broadway, we should be safe.” And be able to catch a cab. But she only glared in reply, so he tried some humor. “If I could throw you over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes, I could move a lot faster.”
Jostled in his arms and by the occasional bump into passers-by, her crystal blue gaze turned sharp enough he was surprised it didn’t cut him, and her voice held scorn to match that look. “Stop talking. And how long before you can put me down?” After that injunction, she asked him a question?
“You’re the one who wanted to be carried away, you know. I’m just—” Following orders, he’d been about to say, but then he saw a pair of Italian teens stalking up a side street in their direction and looking mean. They’d probably seen Matt and Page already, but if they hadn’t they soon would.
Then, as he darted across the intersection with as much haste as safety would permit, he saw a far-fetched sight—an available cab in this woebegotten section of the city.
The taxi had rounded the corner a block ahead and was coming right toward them. Matt waved at the cabbie the best he could with Page in his arms, hoping the man would see and stop. And the driver did pull up against the curb next to them. Opening the back door and shoving Page in, Matt recognized the hackie as none other than the Hungarian who’d brought them here in the first place.
Quickly climbing into the cab himself even as it dived back into traffic, Matt asked the most crucial question in his mind. “How much did she tip you, anyway?”
The man grinned wide as he turned left to head north on Mulberry. “Enough to keep me driving in circles around the neighborhood hoping to pick her up again. Maybe after this I can afford to buy a new hack, so it doesn’t matter so much if holes get shot in this one.”
“I don’t think you need to worry. If they’d been carrying guns, I think they would’ve taken a shot at us before now.” And those delinquents didn’t seem to have a car either, so he and Page should be safe. “You’ll take us back to our hotel? The Ngaio?”
“Of course. What else?”
Page stared at him. “You see. It pays to be generous.”
Matt just shook his head. “You and I have different definitions of ‘generous’.” Page spent money like she couldn’t get rid of it fast enough. It usually bordered on bribery, and sometimes it crossed the line.
Page simply sniffed. “We can save that discussion for back at the hotel. After we’ve eaten.”
That was alright with him. For one thing, he’d worked up an appetite. And for another, he needed to think while they rode.
When the driver pulled up in front of the Ngaio, Matt quickly climbed out of the cab and strode into the lobby, not wanting to witness Page pay the man. Inside, the manager was behind the reception desk talking to the night clerk who was coming on duty. Matt gave Michael a casual salute, but didn’t interrupt the man.
Page walked into the lobby a moment later, her expression stony. He nodded in the manager’s direction as they headed for the stairs. “Now there is your melting pot. You can see the Italian blood Michael has by birth, but how he speaks and acts proclaims him an American by choice. More than that, he’s a Manhattanite through and through.”
She sighed but forbore comment until they had reached her room and she invited him in. “The two of us need to talk.”
Sinking into one of the wide and quite comfortably upholstered chairs, Matt grunted. “Indeed we do. And not about America or where to draw a line between generous tips and blatant bribes. We were set up, you realize that?”
Page paced back and forth. “It could’ve been a coincidence.” But there was a question in her tone.
“No, we obviously were not targets of opportunity. They were waiting for us—for me specifically, I suppose, since no one could have known you were coming along. It was an ambush, and there is only one person who could’ve been responsible.”
She knew who he meant. “But what could Hawthorne have against you, to arrange something like that?”
“Well, he knows I’m the one who followed him, and if he’s involved with anarchists, Bolsheviks, or whoever, he wouldn’t want me poking my nose into his business.”
Rather than arguing back, she stopped in place and looked surprised. “There is someone else who could be behind that—whatever it was. Riggleston. He showed up at the Algonquin while we lunched, came to our table as we were discussing your potential visit to check out the charity. He could’ve overheard.”
Matt gaped. “You ran into Riggleston and never said anything about it?”
Then she returned to her normal state, sniffing and giving him a good glare. “Because I knew you’d react like this. I can deal with the man myself.”
Matt shook his head but didn’t argue. On that point. “We hadn’t set a date or time yet, and even I had no idea where we were going until yesterday afternoon. How would Riggleston have found out?”
Page nodded. “He could have had you followed again or tapped our phones or bribed Hawthorne’s secretary or—”
He held up a hand to stop her. “Alright, I grant it’s possible. And he does have it in for me.” On the other hand, Matt didn’t think much of her new lawyer friend. “But it still could’ve been Hawthorne. I suppose we should give Lt. Cross the details and let the police investigate.”
“Will they?”
“Cross will. He’ll be objective and thorough. I think I’ll write him a letter, though. I don’t want to return to that police station if I don’t have to.”
She nodded with obvious reluctance. “You can do that, while I start getting ready to leave.” She noticed his look. “It’s been almost two weeks, and I’ve done enough research. And now this. I think we’d be wise to go ahead to nineteen twenty-four.”
“Now?” And what kind of preparations did she need to do? One of the benefits to keeping perpetual suites at the Ngaio was not having to take luggage with them when they went, as if they were really going anywhere. They could leave everything in their rooms.
Page looked at him as if he were brainless. “In three years, Riggleston may well give up on getting revenge.” Striding over to the writing desk, she sat and took pen and paper. “But we can wait until the morning to leave, after we’ve eaten supper and had a good night’s sleep.”
Matt shook his head. “The last three years did no good in that regard—he remembered both of us quite well.” And went after both of them, but in different ways. “And I thought you wanted me writing that letter to Lt. Cross.”
“I do. I’m writing Mr. Douglass at the bank, to instruct him to transfer a reasonable amount to the charity. That way I won’t have led the lawyer on, in case we end up needing his help in the future.”
Grinning, he knew what she really wanted to do was help those poor immigrants. She had to show him there was a more practical motive at work too, though. “Well, I’d better go get to work on that letter to Cross, while the details are still fresh.”
“And take a shower. You should have plenty of time to do both and meet me in the dining room at eight.”
He nodded, though he’d have preferred having the hearty meal first, but he’d get that soon enough. And after their exciting day, sleep was almost as appealing.