The Reunion

A few nights later, me, Blitz and my friend Vig Vikenti gathered in my large upstairs room.

Vig was a former bouncer who owned the Pocket Pair saloon down on 19th and Broadway. Before Vig's piano was destroyed along with most of the rest of his saloon by Roy's men, Blitz used to be Vig's piano-man.

It had been a while since I'd seen Vig for more than a few minutes, and I missed talking with him.

Looking back, I'd have to say that Vig was my Sawbuck: as devoted to me as Ten was to Tony. Vig refused to work for the Family, though, and I can't say that I blamed him.

The windows were covered with bedspreads. A lantern sat on the floor, turned low. I sat hooded and cloaked at the edge of its light. Blitz and Vig stood in shadow.

Clover had been invited to join us. He sat facing me, his hands tied behind him, a black cloth sack over his head.

Clover was gangly and nineteen. Since our last meeting, his light reddish beard had grown in. He dressed better now, and he had a new eye-patch. When Blitz pulled the black cloth sack off of his head, Clover blinked his good eye at me. "What do you want now?"

I peered at him through the thin material of the cloak. "A meeting with Morton. Tell him I received his message and wish to take tea with him. I'll make sure to have his favorite."

"Why do you think I know where he is?"

"Because you saved him once already. Perhaps you've helped him again."

I sat in silence.

"All right, yeah, miss, I seen him. I got him hid for now. Where and when?"

I glanced at Vig, who nodded.

I didn't want to risk Roy Spadros destroying Vig's saloon again. But Blitz insisted it was the one place we could keep this quiet. The many exits could be useful if the rogue Spadros men - or whoever else was after Morton - should try to ambush us. "The place he was shot at in the street. The same time. Tomorrow."

"Okay," Clover said.

"The other boy in your trey," I said. "Besides Stephen. Is he well?"

"Don't know, miss. He's run off."

Run off? I hoped the boy was still alive. "If you see him, tell him to be careful."

"Can you not tie me next time? The ropes hurt my hands."

"Very well," I said. "Thank you for your help."

Blitz came up behind Clover and put the sack over Clover's head. Vig carried Clover down the stairs, off to his waiting horse-truck.

* * *

The next day after tea, Mary let me out of the side door. I wore my widow's outfit I only used on cases, without a corset, and padded to make myself look wider, fatter. I grasped my cane, and wore old stockings sporting a worn hole or two. My hair was floured, I was veiled, and I used a trick from Dame Anastasia's stage makeup book to look like a very old woman.

I went down the narrow alley, away from my front door. When I got to the street, I slowed my pace, bent over a little, gave myself a limp. I was old, tired.

It took me a half hour of wandering this way and that before I felt sure I wasn't being followed. During this time, I stopped in a few markets, letting my hand tremble as I handed a penny over. None of the places remarked on my appearance, or treated me as anything but an old woman.

People did treat you differently when you were thought to be an old widow. Instead of the great deal of attention I garnered in my usual garb, men barely gave me a glance. Instead of curtsies and jealous awestruck glances, women treated me with great gentleness and care. As if I were fragile, possibly ill, or perhaps a bit crazed.

By the time I reached a taxi-stand, I felt certain that I wasn't being followed, and that my outfit withstood scrutiny in daylight. If Morton truly were in trouble, I wanted nothing I did to lead his enemies to him.

The taxi-driver got down from his perch to help me inside, and I leaned heavily upon him as an old woman might. "The florist on 18th by Broadway, if you please, sir," I croaked.

"Right away," the driver said. "Will you need me to wait?"

"Oh no no," I said. "My daughter lives right near by, today's her birthday! It'll be so good to see my grandchildren again. You know, I have six now, and -"

"Very good," the driver said, closing the door in my face.

The driver came round to help me out. I waved good-bye to him as he drove off. "Lovely man," I said to no one in particular. The others around me smiled to themselves, glancing away. I bought a small bouquet for a penny, putting it into my sack with the rest. Then I limped up a side alley and around the corner to the back of Vig's saloon.

I rounded the corner onto Broadway and stopped, hand on the wall. I suppose it might have looked as if I were tired, but in truth I watched the way the lamp shone on Marja's dying body. The blood was gone, but I saw it there even still.

I limped to Vig's side door and triple-knocked, then rattled it, stopped, and rattled it again. Then I gave two thuds with my fist.

Natalia peered out. She was a bit shorter than me, with dark hair and eyes. "Who am I?"

"Natalia of the Romani."

"Would you care for tea?"

"Only if you have mint."

"Good." She looked me up and down, "you look good." She opened the door; I came up the few steps and inside. She shut the door behind me and locked it. "I didn't recognize you!"

I smiled, taking her hands. "How are you?"

"Well enough," she said. "He's already here."

I stopped limping and followed her down the hall to the room we'd all hidden in during the raid after Marja's death. As before, Morton sat there.

Morton's eyes widened, then he rose to greet me. He looked his usual self: in his middle thirties, light brown hair, nattily dressed, all in brown. He wasn't much taller than me, and I wouldn't have called the man handsome even before the scars from the injuries he'd gotten along the way. "You look terrible, Mrs. Spadros. In a good way. I only recognized you by your eyes."

We sat. "Tell me everything," I said. "What's happened?"

His teeth were his best attribute: he had a beautiful smile. "Everything would take all day."

Morton fled Spadros Manor right before our appearance at the inquest, leaving only a note. But he'd gone in search of his informants. They were all dead but one: a former police detective - now Spadros enforcer - named Albert Sheinwold.

"But now he's disappeared," Morton said. "Which is bad, Mrs. Spadros. He claims Zia killed them all. And I've checked his story - Zia's killed a dozen men that I know of already. Before he got dismissed from the force - which he swears was a frame-up - Zia tried to kill him too. I fear she's succeeded."

This seemed like sloppy work. "How did she know about your informants?"

He glanced away. " We worked together. We shared the list. Most of them I got from her." When our eyes met, his gaze held real distress. "I had no idea she would murder them."

"Sheinwold. The Spadros Family can't find him either?"

Morton shook his head. "Nor his friends, nor his family. Worst yet, no one knows whether this is a hit on the Spadros Family until they find him. Or at least his body. They don't know how to react."

"And people still try to kill you."

He chuckled. "Indeed. You see," he tapped his temple, "I know their faces. Frank Pagliacci, that so-called detective with him, the woman Birdie - or whatever her name is."

I nodded. The one they'd been calling Black Maria.

"Everyone else who does is dead, assuming the worst. But I have enough friends in this town that so far I've been able to keep ahead of them."

"Can you tell me anything about these people? Anything at all."

Morton pondered this. "Frank Pagliacci was young, not much older than you. Tall, brown hair, reasonably good looking. But the best liar I've ever seen." He shook his head. "I don't understand it: the women - and many of the men - fawned over him. Every time I saw him, he had a different woman on his arm. The detective - for the life of me, I can't recall his name - he was dark, like your young friend Master Diamond. Come to think of it, he reminds me of him. Older, though - I'd say forty. And I told you about the woman in my letter."

I nodded.

"Sheinwold is tall, a year or so older than me. Tanned, with graying hair and pale blue eyes."

None of this was particularly helpful. And in my eagerness to disguise myself, I'd forgotten to bring Maria Athena Spade's portrait. "Were you by any chance at the Grand Ball last year?" I hoped that Morton had seen Frank Pagliacci there.

Tony had asked Sawbuck to go over the guest list from the Ball almost a year ago. Did he? What had he learned?

Morton laughed. "Me, invited to that? Hardly. I may be from a good family, Mrs. Spadros, but as far as the Four Families are concerned, I'm little more than a lackey." The thought seemed to dishearten him.

"A pity. It was a good party." I leaned forward. "You called for me. How can I help?"

"I have to find Sheinwold. He's the only other witness to what she's doing! The Feds still think I killed her - I need him to clear my name. You've said you're good at finding people. Can you help?"

I leaned back, crossed my arms. "That depends. You never paid me for helping you the last time."

Morton got a disbelieving look on his face. "You can't be serious."

When he helped me, I wanted to find David Bryce as much - if not more - than Morton did. But pay was pay - if he did get anything from his employer and I didn't get it from him now, I likely never would. "You promised me a forty percent share of what your employer paid for finding the boy. That was our agreement. If you want me to even think about helping you again, you pay me that first."

His shoulders slumped. "Oh, very well." He reached into his pocket, counting out four dollars into my hand. "There. Now what will it take for you to help me?"

I gave him the same rate as I did Mrs. Spade, and he handed over another seven. "That's about all I've got left," he said. "But if you can find him, it'll be worth it."

"Just so you know, I always find them. But sometimes I find them dead."

He grimaced. "If Albert Sheinwold is dead, I'm in a lot of trouble. The Feds don't know me. They don't believe I didn't kill her. They don't believe she's gone rogue. Even if I can produce Sheinwold, and he's willing to talk to them, I'm not sure they'll believe me. Without him, I may not have a chance."

"I'm looking for Birdie too," I said. "Mrs. Clubb claims you saw her shoot Marja."

Morton's eyes went wide. "You knew the woman she shot?"

Melancholy swept over me. I'd gone to meet Marja to learn who meant to kill my Ma. "She helped raise me."

Morton's head drooped. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Spadros. I had no idea."

Marja died in my arms that night, but as far as I knew, Ma was still alive. I hoped she was well.

"Don't trust the Clubbs," Morton said. "They may put on a good show, but there are some who are not, let's say, out for the good of the city."

"What do you mean?"

"Your young friend Miss Gardena and Master Lance. Not all in the Clubb Family are in agreement with this alliance, especially when it could mean putting a bastard boy over their own children."

I gasped. "How do you know about this?"

"I listen, Mrs. Spadros. I watch what people say, and how they say it. How they react. It's one of the ways you survive in a place like this."

I felt stunned by the implications. If Morton knew about Roland, others did as well. From that it wasn't far to learning who his father was. Worse yet, if there were dissension in the Clubb Family, what was Gardena walking into? She had to be warned. "Do you think they might harm the boy?"

"I have no idea, Mrs. Spadros." He glanced away. "I have no children, but I've seen how strongly people react to theirs being slighted. And these husbands of the Clubb daughters - some are near sixty without chance of ever moving up in the Family. They feel more than ready to take command. They mutter, asking when Alexander Clubb will die. They knew it was coming, but now that it's here, they don't like young Master Lance being named Clubb Heir one bit."

This was bad.

I promised not to hinder Gardena and Lance's courtship, but the trial was over. I would not let Gardena and her son - Tony's son - walk into a trap.