Oh Danny Boy (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #5)

I didn’t wait for his reply as I walked away. It wasn’t until I’d gone a block or two, not noticing in which direction I was going, that the full force of those words hit me. Prove his innocence, when by his own admission he was guilty of setting up a prizefight? But surely that kind of crime would only result in a fine? I started to walk faster and faster. I thought about those rumors that Constable Byrne had mentioned—Daniel being in the pay of a gang, tipping off the gang, a fellow officer getting killed. Either Daniel didn’t realize how deeply he was in trouble, or he was keeping the worst from me.

I stopped walking when I came to a busy intersection and realized I had walked up Center Street all the way to Canal. I knew what I’d find if I turned right and headed toward the East River. I’d come to Walhalla Hall, locally known as the Walla Walla, an innocent-enough-looking building but frequented by the Eastman gang. I paused, catching my breath, as a horse-drawn trolley went past, then a dray loaded high with sacks of flour. There was no way I’d want to face those unsavory characters again. I remembered Monk Eastman’s comical derby hat perched above that round moon face, the ridiculous pigeon that sat on his shoulder. All in all a harmless-looking figure until you noticed the brass knuckles he always wore and the great brutes lurking as his bodyguards. Then I remembered the Hudson Duster I had had arrested, not realizing who he was. Enough brushes with gangs to last a lifetime. I’d be very happy to stay well clear and let Gentleman Jack have all the dealings with the underworld.

The traffic cleared. I picked up my skirts and hurried across. I was still shaken by Daniel’s condition. I couldn’t leave him to rot in that cell. I would do everything I could for him. At the very least I would pass on the message to Jack Brady, and then I might just pay a visit to Arabella Norton to verify my own suspicions that she or her family were the ones who had set the dogs on him.

The thought of facing Arabella was only slightly more desirable than a visit to the Eastmans. Our previous brief encounters had not left me with any warm feelings toward her. I don’t suppose she had many toward me. I can’t say I blamed her. She probably thought that I’d stolen her beau away from her, when that wasn’t at all true. It was Daniel who had conveniently kept from me the fact that he was engaged to another woman. As soon as I learned the truth, I had broken off all contact with him. Well, not entirely all contact. That one time on the Hudson River…I tried to push it from my mind and headed for the Bowery, resolved to buy my chicken, cook supper, and stay detached.

There was already a long line coming out of the door of Grossman’s Kosher Butchers by the time I reached it. The sun shone fiercely on the back of my neck as I waited in line. As I moved into the interior of the shop, the heat was stifling today. The line seemed to be progressing at a snail’s pace. The smell of dead flesh, sawdust, and blood made me come over queasy. I shut my eyes and swallowed down bile. That’s what happens when you drink Sid’s coffee on an empty stomach after a sleepless night, I told myself, and was very glad when my turn came to step up to the counter.

I made my purchase and pushed my way out of the door and into the fresh air. Unfortunately the day was already another scorcher. The air outside was about as warm and stinking as a cesspit. A carthorse had just laid a large pile of manure, and the smell of it competed with the odor of frying chickpeas from a passing pushcart. Trolley bells clanged; children squealed. Although the typhoid epidemic on the Lower East Side had died down, the threat was always there in this heat. Some passersby still held handkerchiefs to their mouths and noses and hurried, heads down.

I made for Washington Square as fast as I could and didn’t stop until I was standing under the sweet shade of trees, feeling the cool spray from the fountain floating toward me. Usually I relished the noise and bustle of the city, but I found myself thinking back with longing to the wild coast of county Mayo, where the summer days were never too hot and always tempered with a fresh breeze from the Atlantic Ocean.

I found a place on a bench in the shade and sat there for a while watching small boys climbing into the fountain until they were chased off by a red-faced policeman. I took out my own handkerchief and mopped my forehead. This whole day had been most disturbing so far, first the dream and the sleepless night and then the news about Daniel. It was no wonder that I longed to be somewhere more peaceful and secure.