He walked down the filthy alley behind a row of tenement buildings. He’d been here twice before and found no one in residence, although the place was clearly occupied on a regular basis. He’d received a tip from a drunken prisoner that he would find the answer to an old mystery here. The drunk had been interested in being released from jail in exchange for this information. Frank had been happy to oblige him, figuring Ol’ Finnegan would get picked up again within the week anyway. The favor he had granted was little enough, even if the information proved worthless. And if it wasn’t worthless…
Frank stopped and looked around for any signs of life. Even in daylight the alley was dark, shadowed by the five- and six-story buildings looming over it. The sun’s rays would reach it for only a brief period during high noon before moving on to warm other, more deserving parts of the city.
Above him stretched a cat’s cradle of clotheslines, strung between the two buildings that backed to either side of the alley. Most of the laundry had been removed in honor of the Sabbath, but here and there a lonely pair of drawers or a tattered sheet hung limply. The porches that stretched along the backs of each building on every floor were cluttered with bundles of belongings and stray pieces of furniture that wouldn’t fit into the cramped flats or had been removed for the night to make room for sleeping. More clothes hung over a railing here and there, forgotten.
The alley itself was littered with the debris of many people living tightly packed together. Garbage was piled next to a crudely constructed children’s “fort.” A reeking outhouse stood beside wooden washtubs. The cobbled ground was stained with decades of discarded waste, human and otherwise. A mangy dog lay in the shelter of an overturned crate, but Frank’s arrival hadn’t disturbed him. Either he didn’t care or he was dead.
Nestled in the midst of the alley was a compact dwelling of sorts, made of an odd assortment of materials obviously scavenged from many different locations over an extended period of time. Some tin here, some brick there, and many sizes, shapes, and colors of wood everywhere. The window holes were shuttered from within with what appeared to be crudely constructed wooden planks. The door had been scavenged from an old building and seemed as solid as it was scarred. A bent and battered stovepipe extended above the ramshackle roof, but no smoke drifted from it. If anyone was inside at this early hour, he wasn’t stirring yet.
After taking one last look around for lurking danger, Frank strode up to the worn door and pounded on it. “Open up, Danny!” he shouted.
He knew this would draw as many of the neighbors as could raise their aching heads out onto the surrounding balconies to see what was going on. Entertainment was at a premium in this section of town, and free entertainment was always a draw.
Without waiting for a response, he tried the door, putting his shoulder to it when it didn’t open immediately. To his surprise, it wasn’t a lock that prevented the door from opening but a sack of rags lying on the floor in front of it. One good push sent it rolling away, allowing the door to swing wide.
Even though the alley was deeply shadowed, he still needed a moment for his eyes to become accustomed to the darker darkness within. For an instant, he had the impression of having disturbed a rat’s nest. The floor seemed to come alive. Piles of rags – including the one that had blocked the door – and dirty blankets trembled and rose up, becoming children of varying sizes, shapes, and genders. They were groaning and cursing, and a dozen pairs of eyes glared at him murderously in the morning haze.
“Danny’s the one I want,” Frank bellowed, using the voice that turned hardened criminals to jelly.
A girl screamed, drawing Frank’s attention to the far corner. A young fellow, a few years older and much larger than those sleeping on floor, had pushed himself up to a half-sitting position from where he’d lain on a thin, straw mattress. The girl who had screamed was one of two sharing the makeshift bed with him. Neither of the girls wore much in the way of clothes, and Danny didn’t seem to be wearing any at all. From what Frank could see of the girls, which was quite a bit, he knew they couldn’t be more than twelve, if that.
“Danny, it’s the cops!” one of the other children yelled.
“I don’t want any of you guttersnipes,” Frank shouted. “Get out of here before I run you in!”
He didn’t have to warn them twice. As quickly as little hands could snatch up belongings, they were out the door and gone, off to find a doorway or a drain pipe or a stairwell in which to hide. The two girls sharing Danny’s bed were a little slower because they had to throw on enough clothing to make their dash for freedom somewhat decent, but in another blink of the eye, they were gone, too.
“Good business you’ve got here,” Frank remarked as the young man rose, cursing, from his stinking mattress and looked around blearily for his clothes. “How many kids you got working for you?”
Not bothering with drawers – perhaps he didn’t own any – Danny stepped into a pair of trousers that were clean enough to indicate they’d been recently stolen off someone’s clothesline. Buttoning his fly, he glared balefully at Frank. “I pay my protection money to the captain regular, so don’t try to shake me down for more. I got friends.”
“I’m sure you do.” They both knew even honest businessmen paid a fee to the police for the privilege of being allowed to operate unmolested. Danny would have to pay a hefty percentage of his income. “I’m not here to give you any trouble.”
“Then get the hell out.” He stepped forward belligerently, and Frank had to resist an urge to laugh at his feeble attempt at intimidation. The boy was probably no more than sixteen. His hairless chin and bony chest were those of a child. His eyes, however, were older than hell itself. Cleaned up, he’d be a handsome lad. His hair, beneath the dirt and grease, was fair and curly. His eyes were blue as a cloudless sky. His nose gave evidence of having been broken, but it lent character to an otherwise merely pretty face. He twisted his full lips into a snarl, revealing that he’d lost a few teeth along the way. The look he was giving Frank probably terrified the urchins who stole for him in exchange for the protection of living in his shack. Frank merely returned it tenfold.
To his credit, the boy hardly flinched. “I ain’t afraid of you. I’ve taken beatings before.”
“I really don’t want to get blood on my suit,” Frank said reasonably. “So if you’ll tell me what I want to know, you can go back to sleep none the worse for wear.”
The boy rubbed his head, which was probably aching. Frank reached into his pocket and pulled out a flask.
“Here, this should help.”
He looked at the flask suspiciously for a moment before snatching it unceremoniously from Frank’s outstretched hand. Still watching Frank, he pulled the cork and took a swig. He gasped as the liquor burned its way down his throat. “Mother of God, b’hoyo,” he said hoarsely. “You shoulda warned me it was the good stuff! Are you trying to poison me?”
This time when he showed his missing teeth, he was grinning with delight.
Frank grinned back, although it wasn’t from delight. “Now, tell me what you know about Dr. Tom Brandt.”
“Who?”
Frank knew he wasn’t being coy. It had, after all, been three years since Dr. Brandt had died. “Tom Brandt,” Frank repeated. “He was a doctor. Used to treat people in the neighborhood. Didn’t mind if you couldn’t pay.”