“Not at all, miss.” Several hats were raised. I left like departing royalty. I stood on the street corner, enjoying the sun that had appeared from between the clouds. Several men followed me out of the saloon and one of them took off at a run. I wondered if I had made him late back to work.
My, but that stew smelled good. My growling stomach reminded me that I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Yet another disadvantage of being a woman was that I couldn’t get myself a nourishing lunch for the price of a beer, but would have to seek out a café. Not wanting to stop when I was now hot on a trail, I bought myself a bag of hot roasted chickpeas from a pushcart. I had never tried them before, or even heard of them, but they were salty and crunchy and satisfied the hunger pangs very nicely.
I was in a quandary about what to do next. I knew that it would, indeed, be foolish to go asking questions at a gangland haunt. I needed to tread very carefully. But what harm could there be in walking along Orchard Street in broad daylight, just to get a look at the place? Mostel’s factory was only a block or so around the corner, on Canal Street and I had never felt myself in danger when I walked from the Broadway trolley car. I picked up my skirts, stepped off the curb, and struck out along Canal Street, looking a good deal more confident than I felt.
The Walhalla Hall was a solid-looking brick building with an imposing front door and marble ornamentation. It was, unfortunately, completely deserted, closed and shuttered at this time of day. I even crossed the street and examined it. From the outside it looked respectable enough, apart from the bars over the downstairs windows. There were posters on a billboard in front, advertising coming dances and social events. A perfectly respectable community hall, by all appearances.
I wasn’t sure what to do next. Clearly there would be no activity at the building during daylight but coming here at night would be a big risk to take. I surely didn’t fancy myself coming face-to-face with Monk Eastman or one of his cronies in the dark! I walked up and down the block once more and was wondering whether I might show Michael’s picture to any of the neighbors on the street when I heard the clatter of boots on cobbles. Three small figures came hurtling down Orchard Street and dodged into an alley on the far side of the Walhalla Hall. I thought I heard a police whistle blowing in the distance. With grim determination I set off after the boys down the alleyway. And in case you think I needed my head examined, let me just say that there was more at stake here than just getting information. I had recognized one of the boys. In fact I had put that black cap on his head myself this morning.
Ten
The alley was dark, narrow, full of garbage, and stank. I picked up my skirts to negotiate rotting food and turned the corner with heart pounding. I heard a scurry of boots and a voice whispered, “Someone’s coming.”
“Someone’s coming all right,” I said, loudly. “Come out here this instant, Seamus O’Connor, or you won’t be able to sit down for a month.”
“It’s her,” I heard a small voice whisper and by and by three small faces appeared from out of a coal bunker. They belonged to Shamey and two of his cousins, Malachy and James. I grabbed Shamey by the neck before he could escape again. “Holy Mother of God, I thought you and I had a bargain,” I said. “I thought we agreed no more hanging around with the cousins, no more gangs. You promised you’d go and enroll yourself in school.”
“She’s not your mother,” Malachy said. “She can’t tell you what to do.”
“No, I’m not your mother,” I replied, “but we both know what your dear mother would think of the way you are behaving right now, don’t we? She’d want you to be doing the best for yourself. Do you want to make her worry if she hears that you’re getting yourself into trouble? Do you want to break her heart if she finds out you’ve got yourself killed or thrown into jail?”
Shamey’s lip quivered. “No,” he said, looking down at his boots.
“Well then, remember in the future that a promise is a promise,” I said. “You’re coming home with me right now. And these boys better run home to their own parents if they’ve any sense.”
I took him by the hand and led him away.
“I’m sorry, Molly,” he whispered when we were clear of the cousins. “I came down here to deliver your letter like you said and I met them. They told me I was a sissy and they said that the men would give us a whole dollar for going to smash up a fruit stall on the Bowery. A whole dollar, Molly.”
“A whole dollar—is that a good trade for a life in jail? It’s a crime you know, breaking up someone’s property. Is it a gang member that’s telling you to do these terrible things?”