CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
Abe Patterson thought it better that Archibald Monday spend the night in the stage station, rather than a hotel. “Easier to keep an eye on him.”
The little man was terrified, jumping at every noise in the street outside.
Finally Buttons Muldoon said, “What the hell is making you so nervous, Archibald?”
Monday hesitated, and then said, “Men are trying to kill me.”
“Why would anyone want to kill a harmless little runt like you?” Buttons said.
“Not only me, but my lady wife,” the little man said. “My dearest Prudence is a large lady and not easy to hide.” He leaned forward in his seat, whispering, imparting a confidence. “She’s at a Catholic convent.”
“Huh?” Buttons said.
“The Sisters of Charity are keeping her safe in their convent in New York’s Upper West Side. She’s guarded night and day.” shook his head. “My dear, dear Prudence, so large in size, yet so vulnerable.”
“Why?” Buttons said.
“Because she eats a lot,” Monday said.
“No, not that,” Button said. He had a fat bandage under his shirt. “I meant, why is she guarded day and night?”
“Because she’s my wife,” Monday said.
“You’re not catching my drift,” Buttons said. “Let’s try it from a different direction. Why are men trying to kill you?”
“I’m sworn to secrecy,” the little man said. “You’ll need to ask Marshal Brannigan.”
As it happened, there was no need to ask Marshal Brannigan, because a boy came to the depot door with a message for Mr. Muldoon. He was to come to Dr. McKenna’s surgery right away.
“You’ll be all right by yourself, Red?” Buttons said. “You still ain’t feeling frisky.”
“Says a man with a shot-up shoulder.” Red smiled. “Sure, I’ll be fine. And Ira Cole hasn’t let go of his scattergun since Monday got here. He claims it’s become both wife and child to him.”
* * *
Dr. McKenna met Buttons Muldoon at the door of his surgery and imparted some bad news. “I’m afraid Marshal Brannigan has a fever and he’ll have to remain in bed for at least a few more days. His wound is more severe than I first thought.”
McKenna saw that his tidings didn’t have the effect he’d anticipated on the stage driver and added, “It means he will be unable to accompany Mr. Monday to Fort Concho.”
Now Buttons understood the implication. He and Red could have used Brannigan’s fast gun on the journey. It was an unwelcome loss.
“Sorry to hear that, Doc.”
“And so was Marshal Brannigan,” McKenna said. “He wants to talk with you. How does the shoulder feel?”
“Middlin’,” Buttons said.
“I’ll change the dressing before you leave for Fort Concho. Now go see the marshal.”
The lawman was propped up on pillows and at first look seemed healthy. But then Buttons saw the blush of fever on his cheeks and the beaded sweat gathered on his forehead.
“How you feeling, Marshal?” Buttons said.
“The sawbones says I’m doing poorly, and judging by the way I feel, I guess he’s right,” Brannigan said. “I can’t ride with you to Fort Concho.”
“McKenna told me that,” Buttons said. “I was some disappointed.”
“Whatever you do, take care of Monday,” Brannigan said. “Make sure he gets to the fort safely.”
“Depend on it,” Buttons said. “Red Ryan is the best shotgun guard in the business.”
“I hope he’s enough,” the marshal said.
Buttons sat on the corner of the cot, making it creak. “All right, Marshal Brannigan. What’s going on? I think I got a right to know.”
“Yes, you do. And I’ll tell you.” The lawman took a drink from the glass of water on the table beside him and said, “The three men we killed today were from New York’s Five Points neighborhood, a cesspool of crime and violence, an overcrowded, disease-ridden slum run by five or six major gangs. For years the gangs have waged war on one another, and hundreds have died.”
“Sounds like a place to avoid,” Buttons said.
“Indeed, it is,” Brannigan said. “But recently a new leader, a man named Steven Wainwright, rose up and convinced the gang bosses that they should join together into one huge, crime syndicate, to rob, rape, and murder on an industrial scale and get rich in the process. He wants the Five Points to be wide open to opium trade controlled by the gangs, and he estimated they could create a thousand new addicts a day among the poorest and least fortunate, the immigrants and sweatshop workers—men, women, and children who live ten or twelve to a filthy, rat-infested room. What better way for people to dream away their dreadful existence than opium?”
“So where does Archibald Monday fit in all this?” Buttons said.
“I’m coming to that, Mr. Muldoon,” Brannigan said. “A crusading Catholic priest got wind of Wainwright’s plans and confronted him in the street, demanding that he disband the gangs and work to make Five Points a better place. Wainwright’s answer was to draw his gun and shoot the priest down in the street. There were no witnesses, of course . . . except one.”
“Archibald Monday,” Buttons said.
Brannigan nodded. “The Five Points is a big whiskey market. Archibald Monday was standing in the doorway of a saloon talking with the owner when the priest was murdered. As you’d expect, the saloon-keeper saw nothing, but Monday, being a responsible citizen, went to the police and told them he could identify the killer. It was a bad mistake. Some crooked, high-ranking officer tipped off Wainwright that there was a witness willing to testify. He also told him that Monday was being taken to Texas . . . and you know the result of that.”
“Wainwright is still on the hunt for Monday,” Buttons said.
Brannigan shook his head. “Wainwright is in jail, arrested by the Secret Service on a charge of vagrancy while they build a case against him. Archibald Monday will stay in hiding until the murdering thug goes to court.”
“Wainwright can’t do much harm behind bars,” Buttons said.
“Oh, yes he can, because the drug trade is way bigger than him,” the marshal said. “The criminal organizations plan to flood the Five Points with opium, morphine, and a new German drug made from opium that goes by the name of heroin. It’s a test, and if it’s successful, they’ll move on to other American cities and towns and villages. They need Wainwright in the Five Points, and they’ll do everything in their power to put him back there. That means Monday has to die, and the sooner the better.”
Buttons shook his head. “Marshal, there ain’t none of them big outlaw drug gangs in Texas.”
“Mr. Muldoon, they’re in every state of the union, including Texas,” Brannigan said. “They can buy guns and the men to use them, and they’re spreading like a cancer.” He grasped Buttons by the arm. “There’s talk of another Chiricahua Apache outbreak, so you can expect no help from the army until you reach Fort Concho. Until then, keep Monday safe. Do it for your country. Trust me. A lot is riding on you and Red Ryan. The Secret Service will send agents to Fort Concho, but until they arrive, Monday is your responsibility.”
“When will them agents get there?” Buttons said.
Brannigan managed a wry smile. “We’re talking about the government, so it will be whenever it gets around to it.”