Chapter Twenty-Four: Spy

FIRST DRAFT



Joseph was jerked awake in the ghostly hour of twilight by the sound of footsteps scurrying through the trees. He dragged himself up off the porch floor, feeling the stiffness in his sore body, and caught sight of a large deer darting passed the side of the cottage. The animal’s lithe form quickly disappeared into the darkness of the surrounding woods, leaving only the sound of the ceaseless crickets and frogs in its wake. But Joseph didn’t relax; his senses alert as he scanned the deep blue shadows of the forest.

A twig snapped to his right, followed by a quiet shuffling of leaves as a squirrel shot up a birch tree. Moments passed and he studied the spot, trying to decipher the dark shapes of bushes and branches from what he thought he saw.

Finally he looked away and stood, though the strange tingling on the back of his neck warned him not to dismiss it. A breeze fluttered through the haunting woods, chilling Joseph’s bones even in the muggy night. He stretched his tired muscles and took the few strides back to the cottage entrance; catching a small brief flicker of light in the very spot he’d been searching. He paused and narrowed his eyes, but there was no further movement, he muttered a curse and slipped through the doorway. Quickly he grabbed an old shirt from the small box Crystal had set in the corner, and tugged it over his head. His pants were still damp in places from the bucket of water Crystal had dropped over his head, but for the most part he was dry. With some difficulty he pulled on a pair of cracked leather boots; it was the first time he’d worn them and they were uncomfortably tight, but he’d had worse.

Rolling up his shirt sleeves, he walked casually out of the cabin and headed into the moss-covered trees to relieve himself; his ears alert for any unusual sound. When he’d finished, he waited, watching his surroundings. The smooth smell of tobacco reached him from the fields that were planted a few hundred yards away; the scent reminded him that he hadn’t smoked in weeks and made him long to feel the burn of a cigarette down his throat. He inhaled a deep breath and focused his gaze on the increasing darkness around him. He took another breath and realized that he could actually taste tobacco on his tongue. The air was heavy with the sharp aroma that only came when the leaves were burning.

Joseph felt the hairs on the back of his neck go straight up, he followed the familiar smell of the burning cigarette a little deeper into the woods, carefully avoiding the sticks and twigs that littered the forest floor. After a few yards the scent faded and Joseph backtracked until he caught it again, stronger than before. He crouched down, and– nearly blind in the dim light– he searched the earth with his bare hands, finding the warm stub of a cigarette giving of thin wisps of smoke in the dirt. He ground the clumsily wrapped tobacco between his fingers and stood, slowly turning in a circle. There was a slight crunch of dried leaves to his left and Joseph thought he heard a sharp intake of breath from behind an oak. Swiftly, he lunged around the giant tree and caught hold of the man that hid behind it, solidly throwing him to the earth.

“Ow! Goddam it, Joey!”

Joseph recognized his brother’s muffled voice instantly. A little stiffly he knelt down beside Michael and, grabbing his shoulder, heaved him onto his back. He gripped a fistful of Michael’s dirty grey shirt and pulled him forward so that their faces were inches apart.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded in a low voice.

Panting, Michael tried to jerk free but Joseph wouldn’t budge. He glared at his little brother: mud was smudged across his skin for camouflage and his face was thinner than when Joseph had seen him last, and he was showing a few days worth of beard.

“Get off!”

Michael struggled underneath him but Joseph held fast. “Tell me!”

Joseph shook him furiously and suddenly Michael’s fist came up across his jaw, using Joseph’s surprise Mike threw him off. Joseph grunted as he hit the ground hard with his wounded shoulder. Mike jumped to his feet, but before he could escape Joseph shot his leg out and tripped him, diving on his brother when he tried to get away.

They scuffled for a moment, rolling across the grass until finally Joseph landed on top and planted a sharp blow to Mike’s temple that stunned him.

“All right,” Michael groaned after a dazed moment. “All right, I’ll tell you. Just get off.”

Joseph eyed him suspiciously, but slowly crawled back to his feet. Michael followed suit, holding the bridge of his nose and contracting his jaw as he clenched his eyes shut.

“Well?” Joseph said.

Michael shook his head and looked up at him with unfocused eyes. “Give me a second, will you? You nearly busted my ear.”

“I can fix that,” Joseph threatened, stepping forwards and raising his fists.

Michael held up his hand to ward him off. “Stop acting like a fucking lunatic will you?”

“Tell me why you’re here. What’s Riley up to?”

“Why does this have to be about Riley?” Mike dropped onto a nearby fallen tree trunk and began plucking bits of twigs and leaves from his clothing. “Can’t a man check up on his brother?”

Joseph leaned against an oak and narrowed his eyes at Michael, barely able to make him out in the deepening night. “I know damn well you wouldn’t be out here if Riley didn’t have something to do with it. Does he know I’m alive and want me to come back? What’s he planning?”

Michael sighed. “He doesn’t know you’re alive.”

Joseph’s brow creased; he’d been sure that was the reason. “Then why are you here? Is it Sam? Are you spying on me for him? Goddamn it, Mike, I’ll kill you!”

Joseph pushed himself up and started toward his brother. Michael leaped to his feet. “It’s nothing to do with Sam, Joey. They all think you’re dead. You’re not the one I’m spying on!”

Joseph froze. “Then who are you spying on?”

“Shit,” Mike muttered, dropping his head. “I can’t tell you.”

Joseph rushed forwards and slammed Michael into a tree with every inch of his might. Michael grunted loudly and fumbled for breath, sucking in deeply when he regained use of his lungs. “Who is it!” Joseph demanded.

“Don’t you already know,” Mike asked flatly, his body limp under Joseph grip.

Joseph’s eyes widened and he stared at his little brother, his heart dropping into his stomach. “Crystal?”

Michael nodded sullenly.

“Why?”

“Riley would kill me if I told you.”

“Well, I’ll kill you if you don’t!” Joseph shook his brother roughly and Michael’s head smacked against the bark.

He rubbed his wounded skull and groaned. “Joey, I can’t–”

“You better spill it, Michael, or I swear to God I’ll ripe your fucking head off!” Joseph shouted, shaking him harder. He felt a familiar rage stirring up inside him, and with it came the need to hurt, degrade, and kill. With a cry of frustration he shoved Michael away and watched him fall to the ground. Joseph retreated to the log Michael had vacated and slumped down. His whole body shook with fury and he clutched his head in his hands, trying to control it.

Michael pulled himself into a sitting position and they were silent for a long time, their breathing synchronized with the frogs the croaked nearby. Joseph could feel the mosquitoes feasting on his blood, but didn’t care enough to slap them away.

“Riley’s got these plans, Joey,” Mike said, finally breaking the loud silence. “He wants revenge and he plans on using the girl to get it.”

Joseph lifted his head and looked at his brother, wishing that he could better see his face, but he was a shadow in the dark. “What does Crystal have to do with getting revenge?” he asked dully, anger abated. “Revenge on who?”

“Mandeville.”

“Who?– wait.” Joseph sat up straighter. “You mean the man who hired us for the hit job? He turned on us?”

There was no reply but Joseph thought he saw Michael nod his head.

“How is he connected to Crystal?”

“He’s her fiance.”

Joseph felt the ground fall out from underneath him and horror clutch his gut. His head spun as he remembered the man who’d come to visit Riley at Margaret’s Manor. The man who had paid them to kill his father; the man Crystal was going to marry. How long had Riley known? Why hadn’t he told him?

“I’ve got to warn Crystal,” he muttered.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Michael said. “The more she knows the more danger she’ll be in. And it won’t help anything. Riley’s set his course for her and it isn’t gonna change that easily.”

Joseph nodded stiffly, seeing the wisdom in these words, but wishing there was a way around them. It seemed no matter what he did to try and protect her, Crystal was always in danger.

“What’s he want her for?” Joseph ground out between clenched teeth. His body was dying to spring into action, to just do something, and he was having difficultly convincing himself to stay calm.

He heard Michael getting to his feet and listened as his footsteps came closer. There was no longer any light to see by but Joseph felt his brother sink down next to him on the log. “I don’t know . . . exactly,” Mike said hesitantly. “He told me to bring the girl to him but I’ve been stalling. It won’t be much longer before he puts someone else on the job. Who knows what’ll happen to her then.”

Joseph was surprised, and relieved, by the note of concern in Michael’s voice. It wasn’t like him to go against Riley’s wishes, and the fact that he was purposefully failing his assignment was completely new to Joseph. The knowledge that his brother wasn’t going to hand Crystal to Riley on a silver platter eased his mind a little; at least he had time to come up with a plan. Though how much time depended on Michael, something he had never done before.

“You gotta hold off a little longer, all right?”Joseph said.

Michael cleared his throat. “I don’t know, Joey, I’m walking a thin line as it is, and Riley’s getting jumpy. He thinks Mandeville’s got a rat into the Clan– paid ‘em off or something. Most of everybody only talks to Sam ‘cause Riley’s being cautious and moving a lot.” Michael began fidgeting and after a swift switching sound his face was illuminated by a matches’ flame. He held it to a clumsily rolled cigarette similar to the one Joseph had found and waited until the end ignited, then flicked the fire out. They were once again surrounded by thick black night, broken only by the tiny ember of the smoking tobacco.

“Jeremy says a few boys, thought to be in cahoots with Mandeville, are already dead.” Michael said after a few puffs. He handed the cigarette to Joseph and he gratefully took a drag. “He lost you and Red in one quick shot and he doesn’t have many more he can trust; if I start acting suspicious he’ll have me tossed in the river quicker than you can blink.”

Joseph nodded and flicked the ashes off the end of the cigarette absently. “When did you start smoking?” he asked after a moment, his mind too full of revelations to even consider voicing his actual thoughts. “I thought you hated cigarettes.”

Michael laughed bleakly. “I did until a few weeks ago when I discovered how boring it is to spy on people. I’ve been spending my days rolling these nasty things just to give me something to do.”

Joseph chuckled. “I wish I’d known you were around before, I’ve been needing a smoke.”

“That’s what women do to you,” Michael mused.

Joseph elbowed him hard in the ribs and Michael groaned. “Mind your own damn business,” Joseph said, laughing.

“Then don’t do business on the porch,” Michael shot back, his white teeth flashing in the dull light that Joseph’s cigarette cast.

Mike’s words reminded Joseph of his encounter with Crystal earlier that day and his mood darkened. He’d lost his temper, and then lost control; she always brought that out in him. But she was getting married to a man she didn’t love, and he was a murderer no less! The part that was the most unbelievable was how much it upset him; how much he cared.

“I don’t know how she did it to me,” Joseph said quietly, his mouth turning up at the corners. “I feel like I’m hypnotized.”

He felt Michael shrug beside him. “Maybe you are. . . . Wasn’t it you who always told me that caring only got you hurt? Has that changed?”

Joseph took a slow draw of his cigarette, deep in thought. “No,” he said finally. “I just think it might be worth getting hurt over this time.”

“So what are we gonna do then?” Michael asked, getting back to the matter at hand.

Joseph noted his use of ‘we’ and almost smiled; for once they were in it together, all because of Crystal.

“Hold Riley off for one more week, all right? I’ll figure it out by then.”

Mike heaved a great sigh. “If you say so, but if I end up at the bottom of the Mississippi than you better cry at my funeral.”

Joseph laughed, though he heard the truth in his brother’s words; crossing Riley was a sure way to get killed. “I’ll try and muster up a few tears.” He patted Michael on the back and together they stood.

“I’ll be back in a day or so,” Michael said.

Joseph nodded though he knew Michael couldn’t see. “Hopefully I’ll have thought of something by then.”

“I better start walking if I plan on getting to Riley before day break,” Michael murmured.

They stood in uncomfortable silence for a moment and then Joseph heard Michael’s feet crunching against the ground as he strode in the opposite direction from the cottage. Joseph felt like something wasn’t right in their parting, but couldn’t think of a reason to call him back. They’d never shown affection for each other before, rarely did a civil word cross between them. But in that moment, as he listened to Michael’s footsteps disappearing into the night, Joseph wished he’d been strong enough to put everything behind him– the hurt, jealousy and betrayal– and give his brother a hug.



*******



“Someone here to see you, boss. Says he’s a friend of yours– wouldn’t give a name though.”

Charles glanced up from the glass of whiskey he’d been swirling in his hand, squinting in the dim gold candle light of the St. Louis Hotel’s private room. The bulky young man at the door shifted his weight nervously as he awaited Charles’ reply, his small sharp eyes scanning the room curiously and lingering longer than necessary on the buffet table laden with every type of liquor. He still looked out of place in the fine grey suit that Charles had fitted him out in.

“Send him in, McNally,” Charles murmured, taking a swig of his drink.

McNally raised his bushy eyebrows, obviously confused why Charles wasn’t concerned with getting the man’s identity first, but left the room asking no questions; one of the reasons Charles had employed him.

Tom McNally– along with the other three ‘wharf rats’ Charles had hired– was not the usual type of man he was associated with. But under the circumstance Charles couldn’t be choosy. There had already been a number of threats made on his life and the police were all but worthless; half of them already employed by Riley, and the other half terrified of him. There was little choice but to find another means of protection; for that Charles had looked towards the Irish Channel– the district set on the uptown river front overflowing with slaughterhouses, factories and the majority of the uncivilized Irish immigrants in New Orleans.

It had not been difficult to locate a few good fighting men among the rowdy brawling gangs. McNally, Keith O’Brien, Patrick McGuire, and John Mack– with the promise of whiskey and wage– agreed to become Charles’ bodyguards, and since then had taken on the appearance of his shadow. Though Charles preferred to have McNally at his side and the others watching from a distance as not to draw too much attention to himself.

There was a knock at the door and McNally entered once more, followed by a lanky young man that stood at least a head taller than the Irishman, though Tom’s solid girth was twice as thick as the new arrival’s. The young man walked cautiously forwards, his eyes making a quick scan of the fancy parlor before they came to rest on Charles. Behind him, McNally closed the door and placed himself in front of it, his arms crossed as he kept watch.

“Ah, Mr. Clarkson,” Charles said quietly, straightening himself in the plush velvet chair. “I’ve been eagerly awaiting your return.”

“It’s Jeremy– Mr. Clarkson was my father,” he said shortly. “And I’m sure you have.” He lowered himself uneasily into the chair opposite Charles; his spine so straight it didn’t touch the cushioned back. “Though I don’t understand why we had to meet in this hotel of all places. I don’t exactly blend in with these people.”

Charles nodded, conceding that he was right, dressed in a worn brown jacket and faded black trousers, he didn’t fit in at all with the coat-tailed, cravat wearing gentry that made up the guest list at the St. Louis Hotel. “True enough, but it’s less suspicious for you to come to me than for me to go to you.” Charles leaned forward and poured two glasses of whiskey and held one out to Jeremy. “Why? Do you suspect you were followed?”

Jeremy took the glass carefully and regarded its contents as he shook his head.

“Good,” Charles sat back in his chair and propped his feet up on the ottoman and studied the boy across from him. It had been quite a surprise when a nervous eyed Jeremy Clarkson had accosted him one night weeks before as he was leaving a brothel on Basin Street, and Charles’ immediate thought was that the man was an assassin and he’d pulled the pistol he carried at all times and cocked it at the stranger. Then Jeremy had started talking and Charles was amazed at his good fortune; one of Riley’s own associates was offering him a deal: he would help Charles find and kill Riley and take down the Clan. In exchange, Charles would supply Jeremy with his own freedom and enough money to leave the city, or the country if he chose.

Jeremy looked at him over the rim of his glass, his eyes contemplating as they searched Charles’ face. He took a small sip of his drink and then threw the rest of the whiskey down his throat, his eyes tearing slightly from the burn. Using the back of his hand, he wiped his mouth before setting the cup down.

“Riley knows there’s a leak,” Jeremy stated, watching Charles closely.

Charles cleared his throat and sat up straight once more, his brow furrowing. “A leak you say?”

“Yes. A leak– a rat– he knows someone in the Clan is bringing you information.”

Charles nodded slowly, noting the shaking of the boy’s hands as they rested on the arms of his chair. When Jeremy caught Charles watching him, he quickly clutched down on the velvet, stopping the trembling. Charles returned his gaze to Jeremy’s face. “Are you trying to tell me that you’re out?”

Jeremy’s eyes flashed. “No. I want to see Riley taken down just as much as you do, maybe even more. I just don’t want to be killed in the process. So far three members of the Clan were stabbed to death just because Riley was suspicious of them. I’m not gonna die in an alley.”

“And you still have no idea where he’s hiding?” Charles asked cooly.

“No, I don’t!” Jeremy snapped, leaping from his chair. He began pacing in front of the empty hearth, his long legs crossing the floor in three quick strides and spinning around to do it again. Worry lined his forehead and Charles grew cautious. Fear was the most deadly weapon in a man, it could make you do anything; he knew this from experience.

“He’s moving all the time now,” Jeremy said. “And when he wants to talk he sends someone to blindfold us so that we don’t know where we’re brought to. I don’t know who’s a part of the inner circle anymore, but I know it’s not me. Not that it’s surprising, the only reason I was in before was because of– ” he stopped suddenly, coming to a halt in the far corner of the room.

“Because of whom?” Charles pressed.

“Joey,” Jeremy muttered, looking up at him with a relieved grin on his face.

“Who in God’s name is Joey!” Charles demanded. He was in no mood for games.

Jeremy strode across the parlor and reclaimed his seat. “Riley’s right-hand man.” He grabbed the bottle of whiskey off the table and replenished his glass, splashing the table with the expensive liquid as he did so. “And a good friend of mine.”

Charles calmly pulled the whiskey bottle out of Jeremy’s reach, his eyes narrowing as he watched the boy take a swig of the golden liquor.

Jeremy glanced at Charles and noted the look in his eyes. He leaned forwards and the stench of his breath blew across Charles’ face. “Don’t you see?” he said excitedly. “Joey will know everything Riley is doing, and even if Riley doesn’t trust me anymore, Joey will.” A shadow of guilt fell over the boy’s face for a moment but it quickly disappeared. “It’s perfect!”

Charles nodded, appreciating the idea, but still he was hesitant. “If you’re so close to this . . . Joey person, than why hasn’t he told you anything before?”

Jeremy began to fidget and he took another drink from his glass. “He’s not actually with the Clan right now,” he mumbled. “You see Riley thinks he’s dead but–”

“What the hell am I supposed to do with a dead right-hand man?!” Charles cried, at his wits end with the boy’s lack of thorough planning. “I need you to find Riley for me. Wasn’t that the deal? Yet all you’ve been doing is wasting my time! Get him out of here,” Charles ordered, gesturing at McNally, who still guarded the door. The Irishman moved forwards and Jeremy jumped up.

“Just hold on a fucking minute!” He raised a hand toward Tom as if to stop him and turned to Charles. “Would you let me explain? Joey’s not dead, Riley just thinks he is. He got shot back in the bank robbery– almost died– but he’s better now. Just give me a week and he’ll be back at Riley’s side and you’ll have all the information you need.”

Silence filled the room and Charles regarded Jeremy, seeing the quick rise and fall of his chest and the alarm on his face. Obviously the boy would risk much to see Riley gone. That put a lot of power in Charles’ hand; power was always useful.

“All right,” he said finally, motioning to McNally to back away. “Get your friend back in Riley’s good graces by the end of this week. Otherwise, the deal’s off. Is that clear?”

Jeremy nodded, relief spreading across his face.

“Well then, I believe our meeting is adjourned.” Charles stood and held out his hand to Jeremy, who shook it firmly, as if to prove he wasn’t the little boy Charles thought him to be. “McNally will escort you to the back entrance,” Charles said in dismissal, turning from his guest to the cigar box on the buffet table; he carefully selected one and raised it to his lips, using the box of matches nearby to light it.

Charles listened to Jeremy’s footsteps as he crossed the room, he heard the door open but there was a pause. “One more thing, Mandeville,” Jeremy said. Charles turned slowly to face him, taking a long drag of his cigar to hide his irritation.

“Yes?”

“Take care of your fiancee, she’s not safe anymore.”

Charles mouth fell open slightly and his cigar dropped to the floor. He bent and snatched it up quickly, but when he raised his head Jeremy was already gone.

*******

"Chapter Twenty-Five: Want"