NOB HILL
APRIL 18, 1906. 5:00 A.M.
Two tense hours later, I stood before the window of the lady's second-floor powder room, trying to signal discreetly to Hunter that I was still safe. I could see his weariness and fear, even at that distance in the shadows of room 434.
In the streets below, the last of Adam Rolf's guests sauntered to their cars and carriages, all glimmering beneath the streetlights.
A few blocks east, at Central Fire Station, Dennis Sullivan examined the blueprints on his desk. His breathing was fitful, his eyes red and swollen from the fire he had battled past midnight.
He leaned back in the creaky chair, forcing his weary eyes to focus on the calendar. April 18, 1906. He retrieved his pencil and scribbled on the corner of the blueprints: Thirteen years and thirteen days as Fire Chief. A superstitious Maggie would have considered it a bad omen.
Outside the third-floor window, the sun peeked above Mount Diablo, painting a small patch of clouds with pale gold, a radiant splash of light amidst the darkness; an entire city in chiaroscuro. People who believed that sunrise was a perfect ending to the day traded places with those who thought it a better beginning, tuxedos and topcoats passing carpenters' coveralls and butchers' aprons. Hooves clopped and engines rattled up and down cobblestoned Bush Street.
The Chief returned to his blueprints, circling the long-dormant cisterns beneath the city's streets. His head drifted forward slowly, his sandy eyes closing. By the time his forehead touched the desk, he was asleep.
Across Bush Street, Fremont Older pecked at his editorial for a special edition.
THE DAWNING OF A NEW SAN FRANCISCO
The open-minded spirit that has graced San Francisco since the discovery of gold in the American River does not extend to tolerance of thieves, thugs, kidnappers, and child peddlers, no matter how well-heeled or well-connected they may be. The arrests of Adam Rolf, Eugene Schmitz, and all their glue-handed puppets on the Board of Supervisors will send a signal that resounds clear to Washington. The days of wholesale corruption, the days of municipal government by grafters and predators, has been dealt a serious blow this day, April 18, 1906. By the time Caruso takes center stage tonight to follow his astonishing Carmen with an equally anticipated Bohème, San Francisco will be a different place. By nightfall, the Paris of the West will glow as never before.
Older scrawled his signature, tucked the sheaf of paper into his coat pocket, and donned his faded bowler.
Once outside, he inhaled the sweet morning air and headed toward the Palace Hotel, where Cora slept in the suite that served as home.
A mile away, where Washington Street crests between the cramped squalor of Chinatown and the splendor of Van Ness Avenue, Frederick Funston was awakened by muffled gunshots. He had been asleep an hour, having spent the night working on the war games he was to lead that month with all of the Army troops on the West Coast. He slid into his britches, tucking a revolver into his waistband, and hustled outside.
The crisp air invigorated him. Another gunshot told him the culprits were more than a dozen blocks away, in the midst of the Barbary Coast, and finding them would be impossible. He lingered, staring up Jones Street to Nob Hill where a lone painter tried to capture the morning sky.
All around the bay, brigantines and clippers, paddle-wheel ferries and graceful Whitehalls carved their foamy wakes.
At the Palace, Enrico Caruso had just fallen asleep. An hour earlier, after promising for the fourth time to sing at my wedding, he had arrived at the Palace in Rolf's Phaeton. At the hotel's entrance, he saw a threadbare old man huddling against the chill. Caruso removed his overcoat, stuffed a handful of bills and coins into the pockets, and handed it to the old man.
The triumphant tenor now snored contentedly, surrounded by his sketches and the photograph of himself with Theodore Roosevelt.
At the Fairmont, Hunter Fallon stared from the window, past the Golden Gate to the amber light that spread across Mount Tamalpais.
"La luce splendida," he muttered.
"What?" Christian asked.
"The splendid light. I decided to keep up the tradition."
Their attention swiftly turned to Rolf's mansion as Ah Toy shuffled to her covered carriage, where a Tong bodyguard opened the door.
Christian raised his brass telescope in time to catch Patrick jumping off the California Street cable car. The younger Fagen ducked behind the wall of the Crocker mansion to rejoin brother Francis.
Patrick looked toward the Fairmont, shrugged his shoulders, and raised his arms out in defeat.
"Damn it to Hell," Christian spat. "Something happened. The Senator got away."
"It won't matter. When Rolf is facing the hangman, they'll all trip over their tongues implicating each other," Hunter said.
"Bad start. Bad omen, Hunter. This ain't the way to do it."
The steeple bell on Saint Mary's Church in Chinatown chimed five times as a battered carriage bearing Shanghai Kelly and Scarface stopped at the rear of Rolf's mansion.
"This is it," Christian said excitedly.
He and Hunter grabbed their weapons and pulled on long black dusters. "Do me a favor, little brother. If either of these sons of bitches even looks at you wrong, blow a hole in him the size of the Stockton Tunnel."
"If they draw on us, I'll kill them. Otherwise, no. Feeney wants them on trial and so do I."
"Write that in their obituaries if it makes you happy."
They bolted from the room, taking the steps two at a time.
"I was startin' to think that stinkin' Kelly was never gonna show," Max snapped when they arrived in the lobby. "I oughta kill him just for messing with my sleep."
"Carlo," Christian said, "when Annalisa signals, you go in the back door with Francis and Patrick. Hunter, you'll go in the front door with me and Max. Let's keep our eyes peeled. Rolf likes to fight his wars in a courtroom. Those other guys ain't that fussy."
I was sprawled in an armchair in Rolf's front parlor, exhausted and on edge. Ting Leo dozed fitfully across from me, on the divan, her small frame curled into a ball. She and I were alone.
"Annalisa!" Rolf's voice suddenly commanded.
I sat up quickly as he stepped into view. "Adam! You frightened me."
The lines in his face were deeper than I had seen them. The light from the chandeliers, gay and invigorating earlier, created ghoulish shadows in his icy stare. "Annalisa. There's someone here to see you."
I tensed. "It's awfully late. I had better take Ting Leo back to Chinatown."
Rolf extended his hand and motioned toward his office.
Tommy appeared and lifted Ting Leo from the couch.
I glanced behind me and shuddered to see Scarface in the front entrance. I forced myself to rise, looking about for an escape route, my legs a pair of rubbery bands. Rolf extended his hand for me to follow him.
Shanghai Kelly waited inside Rolf's office, his face a mass of bruises. Tommy set Ting Leo down. She cringed at the sight of Kelly.
"Annalisa, you remember Mr. Kelly?"
"Of course. He sat in your opera box and built an alibi while his men killed Lieutenant Fallon. One of his men tried to kill me. Kelly's had your precious papers all this time," I said, trying to stall for time.
"So, Kelly," Rolf said. "You did have the papers, just as I suspected. This is what, twice you've pulled this on me?"
"Ain't like it'll break you, now," Kelly scoffed. "All the dirty work I done for you."
I inched slowly toward the window as they argued.
Tommy took a step to head me off. He raised a finger to his lips to silence me, his hand on the revolver beneath his coat. He appeared ready to kill me before I could blurt out that he too had betrayed Adam Rolf.
Rolf turned his attention back to me. "When I found my ledger upside down in the safe, I knew Pierre had let someone in but the little poof killed himself before I could squeeze it out of him. If I hadn't been playing with the silver chain you gave me, I might never have suspected. Is there something in the papers that gives you away?"
Ting Leo moved across the room and leaned her head against my arm. "I was plannin' on bringing her head over on a platter," Kelly said, handing Rolf the papers. "A little gesture like I promised."
"You might still get the chance," Rolf replied. He thumbed through the papers, growing angrier by the second.
My gaze drifted to the window facing Mason Street.
"How thorough you were, Annalisa. You must have spent every second trying to put a dagger in my back."
"It was a pleasure, Adam. Really it was. A predator who rapes children and profits from their misery, a pathetic little man who wouldn't have a friend in the world if he didn't buy them. Did you really think you could murder Byron Fallon and get away with it?"
"Let's see. I own the Police Chief, the Mayor, half the judges in town. I would say the odds are favorable."
He walked toward us, eliciting a whimper from Ting Leo.
"You know, Annalisa," Rolf said, leaning close. "I rather fancied you. But your little friend will provide me more pleasure than you ever could."
He stepped back. "Kelly, help yourself to Miss Passarelli. When you finish, sell her to the filthiest crib on Pacific Avenue. Now, if you all will excuse me."
Tommy grabbed my wrist as Rolf seized Ting Leo. The moment they pried her from my grip, I wheeled and kneed Tommy in the groin with all the strength my tired frame could muster.
He groaned and buckled as I sprinted to the window and ripped the shade from its mount.
"Hunter! Hunter!!"
Tommy recovered and tackled me from the rear.
Ting Leo grabbed a pearl-handled letter opener and plunged it into Rolf's thigh. Rolf screamed and staggered to his knees.
Across the street, The Brotherhood pulled their weapons and charged across California Street. Hunter and Christian shoved through the brass front gate as beefy Max trailed behind.
The corner clock hit five-thirteen.
The horses outside the Fairmont reared as the ground began to tremble. The shaking grew in intensity until the six men in long black dusters began to stumble.
Rolf pulled the letter opener from his leg as the floor bucked, glass tinkled and books began to fall.
Tommy looked at the chandelier dancing wildly above his head, affording me the chance to escape his grip again.
I rolled away and covered Ting Leo with my body.
Then it hit.