The wallet was soaked in blood. Kieran pocketed it without hesitation. Sure, what was a small bit more blood… his suit was ruined already. The cops were too preoccupied trying to control an increasing aggregated crowd of onlookers to notice him lift the item from the dead man. He caught Wes’ eye with a nod. Wes finished topping up O’Malley’s hip flask with some of the good stuff. It was always useful to have a ‘friendly’ local police officer…
Back in Ma Brady’s boarding house in upper Harlem they got cleaned up and reconvened in Kieran’s room. He laid out an old paper and placed the wallet on it. The operation was delicate. There seemed to be business cards, but they were sodden and stained crimson. In the soft lamp light he teased them apart. Across the five he’d separated there was just enough to piece together a name and profession: Manusco and accountant. Wes crept down to the parlour to find a telephone directory. Sure enough there was a Peter Manusco listed, with both home and office addresses. Looks like a bit of late night B&E is on the menu…
Wes cursed. Picking locks was a fiddly business, but the pressure of Marty wanting to smash down another door wasn’t helping. His hand slipped seeking a hard to reach pin in the chamber. The pick pinged off rhetorical ground… this was all the signal Marty needed. He barrelled into the door. He bounced. A look of dismay and surprise overtook his face. It wasn’t often he encountered something more solid than he was!
Wes was retrieving the pick when Marty’s door clicked open. A well dressed black man appeared in the crack, one hand visible… the other held out of sight. “May I help you gentlemen?”, he enquired, a slight scowl on his visage. Thinking on his feet Wes offered, “Oh! We were here last night and in the confusion I lost my father pocket watch..”
“So, you decided breaking in was the best way to retrieve it?”
“No, no, nothing like that… we tried the front door, but there was no answer.”
“Right… tell you what… we should be open again in a few days. Come back then and we’ll be sure to have a thorough look in the lost and found!”
Even Marty picked up on the dismissive tone, “How’s about I show you my two big hands and clock ya?!”.
Wes put a hand on Marty’s arm to calm the pugilist.
The man in the door grinned, a revolver’s hammer clicked into position in his unseen hand, “How about you boys come back when we’re open again?”.
They started to walk away and the door closed b fore they’d cleared the alley.
Escaping the motorcycle cops had been lucky. Well maybe a little more than luck, the narrow alley and trash can thrown into his path had certainly helped! Now they were back in the Hudson Super-Six and moving towards where the funeral procession had ground to an unceremonious halt. Wes drove and Marty navigated. He may not be good with numbers or words, but he found navigating cities came naturally.
Kieran spotted a grey Packard a few cars ahead. Wes cocked his head to try to get a sight line to the registration… yes, it was the one they’d seen the rat-faced assassin flee in. Another stroke of luck. They tailed it and it took the turn they would have to intercept the procession, one intervening car remained. It stopped suddenly, barely avoiding a crash with the Packard. Wes reacted quickly, swerving to avoid the other car and steering to block the Packard in.
Kieran had a gun on the driver before the hapless man had a chance to react. Wes and Marty went after the two men who’d sprung from the Packard. They’d grabbed Leroy Turner from the tumult of the stalled funeral. He appeared vacant. The two men, one of which was the rat-faced man, hadn’t anticipated encountering armed Irish gangsters and were caught with full hands and no means to offer resistance.
They decided Vittorio di Liberto might want to talk to these ‘gentlemen’…
Until next timne,
Owen