Oh Danny Boy (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #5)

We went inside and found ourselves in a modest-sized ballroom. It had a fancy chandelier in the center, lit by hundreds of electric lightbulbs, a row of red plush chairs around the perimeter, as well as little tables on which candles flickered. In one corner, on a dais, a band was playing lively rag-time tunes. One couple was already dancing a two-step. A few women sat listening, or fanning themselves as it was stuffy inside, but apart from that, the room was empty. However, we were instantly aware of the noise that almost drowned out the sound of the orchestra. It was a roar, and it came from a small doorway in the corner. Bert almost dragged us toward it. We went down a dark and dingy hallway and emerged into a much larger room that was already so full, it was hard to even get through the door. The place echoed to shouts and catcalls. It was fierce male shouting, alarming in its intensity, like the heat of a battle; and I stood in that doorway, unwilling to force my way farther into the room. At first all I could see was backs and heads. Some men hadn’t even taken their hats off and it was impossible to see over them. But little by little we wormed our way forward.

Then suddenly there was a parting in the crowd enough for me to see the object of all the shouts and catcalls. In the middle of the ballroom a raised platform had been erected, surrounded by ropes. There were several rows of chairs around it, all occupied, I noted. Behind the chairs the crowd was packed in like sardines. Over the boxing ring several electric lights were suspended and the heat from them made the room like a Turkish bath.

At that moment the crowd gave another mighty roar, and I got my first good look at the fight. Two big men were dancing and weaving around the ring, both naked to the waist, their bare torsos already smeared with blood. Suddenly the crowd gave a cheer as a powerful punch was thrown. I heard the sickening thud as it connected. One man’s head jerked backward and he staggered against the ropes, while a stream of blood and spittle flew out from his face over the spectators in the front row. It took me awhile to recognize that man as Gentleman Jack. One eye was half-closed and his nose was already a bloody mess. I turned away.

“Follow me,” Bert said. “We’ll see if we can get a better view.”

I looked at Mrs. Goodwin. “Don’t worry about us, Bert,” she said. “I don’t think I’ll risk getting poked in the ribs so soon after my injury. I’m quite content to watch from the back here. But you go ahead. We’ll meet you when the fight’s over.”

“That could be awhile,” he said. “Apparently they’re only on the fourth round. It should go for at least twenty-five.”

“You go ahead and enjoy yourself.” Mrs. Goodwin almost pushed him into the thick of the crowd.

“Well, that’s got rid of him,” she said. “Now we can make our retreat. I take it you don’t really want to watch any more of this disgraceful spectacle than I do?”

“I think it’s truly horrible,” I said as another punch landed with a deep thud and the crowd groaned.

“We’ll let Bert get himself settled, then we’ll push off,” Mrs. Goodwin whispered.

I was trying not to look at the boxing ring. My eyes scanned the crowd. Then I froze. I was looking straight at Detective Quigley, and next to him was Captain Paxton.

“Let’s get out of here fast,” I whispered. “Quigley’s over there.”

We fled down the hallway. “I hope he didn’t see me,” she said. “They think I’m still in bed, recuperating.”

“So the righteous Mr. Quigley watches fights,” I murmured.

“So it seems.”

We came out into the dance hall, where a few more couples were now dancing.

“We have an hour at least, if the fight goes the distance,” she said. “Let’s get to work. What do you want to do first?”

“Find someone who can tell us about the murdered prostitute,” I answered.

“That shouldn’t be hard at this time of night,” she said, as we came out into the bright lights of the Bowery. As soon as I looked around, I realized she was right. Just out of those bright lights, in the little alleyways that ran off to either side, there were girls waiting, leaning against walls, striking provocative poses, some even smoking cigarettes.

Mrs. Goodwin went up to a cluster of them. They eyed her warily.

“One of the girls here was found murdered under the pier a few weeks ago,” she said. “You heard about it, of course.”

“Course we did,” one of the girls said insolently.

“Did any of you know her personally?”

“That would be Jewel. She was one of Harry the Horse’s girls,” a tall redhead spoke. “He’d probably know more.”

“Have any more girls been attacked or had narrow escapes since then, have you heard?” Mrs. Goodwin asked.

They looked at each other for confirmation. “Not that we’ve heard,” one said. “Mind you, we’re more choosy who we go with now, and we keep an eye out for each other.”

“So you didn’t know this Jewel personally?” I asked.

“We knew what she looked like,” one said, “but not to talk to. Harry doesn’t like his girls mixing too much.”

“So where would we be likely to find Harry the Horse at this time of night?”

“Couldn’t say,” one said. “Down by the pier, maybe? He likes to sit in Maxwell’s saloon there and keep an eye on things. Some of his girls take their customers down under the boardwalk. The cheapskates who don’t want to pay for a room.”

“Now go on, hop it,” the first girl said. “You’re keeping the customers away. What are you, anyway, her aunt?”

“Just someone who wants justice for her,” Mrs. Goodwin said quietly, and we moved off.