The Dagger Men: A Novel of the Clay Shamus Page 22

  “Should we?” Harvey asked. “There’s so much to do, and—”

  “Child, I learned long ago that you never pass up an opportunity to sleep.” Zipporah pointed down the hall. “Come on. Let’s get some rest. I’ll help change your bandages.” She put her hand on Harvey’s shoulder and steered him toward the bedrooms, then glanced at Clay. “Would you mind standing guard, Clay?”

  Clay didn’t need to sleep, so the job was perfect for him. He sat down in front of the door. “I’ll stand guard,” he agreed. Silver gave him a thumbs-up and then led Sophie back to her room as well. Clay settled into the darkness. He watched the candle flames gutter and jump, and then turned his eyes to the door. He had done this before, many times, in the wilderness of Russia when he stood guard for the soldiers of the Polar Bear Expedition. Now, he was fighting another war. He sighed as he waited for night to end.

  Morning came quickly, then Clay’s friends joined him in the kitchen next to the parlor, where they had breakfast. The icebox remained cold, and they dined on milk and cereal, with sliced apples and even a few Oreo Sandwich Cookies for desert, which Harvey and Sophie enjoyed. Clay stayed near the window and watched as they ate.

  The window overlooked a northern portion of Damocles Street, but the view stretched out over most of the city. Clay’s eyes scanned the skyscrapers, now still and dark, and the empty road. Smoke trickled into the sky from several locations throughout Sickle City, forming curling black serpents against the gray sky. A thicker plume came from the direction of Arcadia Park. Had the Dagger Men torched the ornamental forests in the park? Clay thought about the Men of the Fields, the plant-people he and Zipporah had battled before this mess with the Dagger Men. That seemed so long ago now. He absurdly hoped that the plant-men would be all right.

  Then footsteps came down the street. Clay stared downwards. A procession of Roman skeletons marched down Damocles Street, led by a towering golem composed from a chunk of skyscraper. The strange creation had the general outline of a man, and an automobile would only come to its knees. Glittering glass covered most of the golem’s body, with steel supports and girders holding everything in place. Chunks of rebar formed thin, spidery fingers and projected from the golem’s thick, cement hands. Roman legionaries marched behind it in silent formation. Behind them came a line of prisoners, tugged along on ropes fixed to iron collars. Clay squinted at the prisoners. Sure enough, it was the Sinclair-Koots Detective Agency. Orton Sinclair and Edwin Eames walked with them, trudging along and occasionally tugged by the ropes in their collars.

  He moved back, noticing Zipporah’s gaze. “What’s the rumpus, Clay?”

  “Sinclair’s captured. Same with the other detectives, and Eames.” Clay went to the round table, where Harvey, Sophie, and Silver enjoyed their meal. Lucky sat on the table, enjoying milk and crushed bamboo in a porcelain bowl. “The Dagger Men must be moving through the city, removing any threats to their control.”

  …a towering golem composed from chunks of skyscraper.

  Harvey set down his spoon. He had dribbled milk on his shirt and chin. “Oh no. We need to get out of here—right now.” He hopped down from the stool. “We’re endangering Miss Silver and Sophie. The Dagger Men will see them as their enemies, and they’ll come for them and—”

  “Easy there, little fellow.” Silver handed him a napkin. “For starters, Sophie and I are in danger even without you showing up. We tangled with the Dagger Men on Bone Island, remember? We ain’t exactly on their Christmas card lists.” She patted the counter. “Besides, I know what the Dagger Men want. They’ll have me dressing in the proper Frum style—wearing a long dress and working in a kitchen until my dying day. I want to help fight them, however I can. And don’t worry. Sophie and I are used to danger.”

  “I want to help too,” Sophie agreed. “We’ll fight the Dagger Men, however we can.” She glanced at her mother. “But how exactly do we do that?”

  Clay considered the question. “We need to assess our strength, before we can move against the Dagger Men.”

  “And that means getting back to Haven Street.” Zipporah swiveled in her stool and faced the window. “No easy feat. Even with Harvey’s spell shrouding us, there still must be countless guards around Haven Street. The Dagger Men know about Rabbi Holtz. They might have made a move to capture him and they could be waiting for us, already.” She patted Harvey's shoulder. “Don’t worry. Your father is a tricky fellow. He wouldn’t let a bunch of dusty Roman skeletons trap him.”

  “I know he wouldn’t, Miss Sarfati,” Harvey agreed. “He has my uncle to look after as well. He would never let Herbert come to harm.” He sounded like he was trying to convince himself. “So, if we can’t go to Haven Street, what do we do?”

  “I may have a solution,” Silver explained. “Remember, we’re not the only mugs who are gonna be picking fights with our new benevolent biblical masters.” She gave Lucky a pat, and the panda cub rolled onto his back and wiggled his feet in the air. “The Dagger Men have little love for anyone who doesn’t embrace their particular brand of Biblical Judaism. And quite a few people in Sickle City have no place at all in their perfect Second Jerusalem.”

  Zipporah folded her arms. “What do you mean, exactly?”

  “The Negroes of Hogshead Street,” Silver said. “And the Chinese. The Dagger Men have no love for those poor fellows, who have already suffered in the riot. Besides, there’s amateur sorcerers and crime bosses in those neighborhoods who pose a threat to the Dagger Men’s magical monopoly. I happen to know a fellow in Hogshead Street who will certainly become a target for the Dagger Men. If we can get to him first...”

  “He might help us!” Harvey nodded his agreement as he faced Clay and Zipporah. “And there’s Miss Hark—Herbert’s friend. She resides in Chinatown, and is friendly with some of the Tongs. She might be able to help us as well.”

  “And the Tongs work with Sid Sapphire,” Zipporah said. “They’re the Shark’s allies in the smuggling business.”

  “So what do you think?” Silver asked.

  Clay rested his thick hands on the counter. “Hogshead Street.” He remembered the dismissive way that Rabbi Holtz and Sapphire referred to the residents of Hogshead Street. “Can we really trust the Schwartzes?”

  “Mr. Clay.” Harvey’s voice went stern. “T-that kind of bigotry has no place here. My father sometimes uses that word, and I hate when he does. It’s insulting and mean. It’s a slur, just like the names that my classmates call me.” He tried to draw himself to his full height, but the stool swiveled under him, making him look ridiculous. “The Dagger Men are bigots. Their prejudice gives them strength. If we’re going to fight them, we’ll need the help of everyone in Sickle City—especially the residents of Hogshead Street. Please, don’t say any more horrible things l-like, like that word ever again.” His courage faded from him. “That’s what I think, at least.”

  Sophie patted his shoulder. “Well said, Harvey.”

  “Thank you, Miss Silver.” A smile crossed Harvey’s red face.

  Silver nodded. “Don’t you worry, Mr. Clay. I know at least one Negro who can hold his own in any mumbo-jumbo scrape, and you can bet your bottom dollar that he’ll help us out of this jam.” She picked up her purse, pausing to withdraw her snub-nosed pistol and check the ammunition. “Besides, I know Hogshead Street. I visit all the time.”

  “You do?” Zipporah asked.

  “Sure. Best jazz in town.” She nodded to Sophie. “You’re coming with me, darling—but Lucky’s gotta stay here. I’m not dragging a panda cub across the city today.”

  “Mom...” Sophie sounded annoyed as she swept Lucky into her arms.

  “No discussion on that matter.” She grinned at Clay and his friends. “And I’d be honored if you went with me as well.”

  “You should go, Clay,” Zipporah said. “And take Harvey. I think I’ll go
to Chinatown.” Her scimitars had been resting on the kitchen table, next to the milk and the package of Oreo Sandwich Cookies. She grabbed the scabbards and strapped them over her shoulders. “I’ll see if I can find Miss Hark, and Sapphire. He does business with the Ghost Brothers Tong, and they operate out of a joint called the Benevolent Merchantman’s Association.”

  Clay watched as she readied her blades. “How do you know?”

  “I worked security for the illegal casino in the Benevolent Merchantman’s Association’s basement,” Zipporah explained. “Those Chinamen have quite an operation.” She moved to the door, and paused. “It’d be better if we split up. Confuse the Dagger Men. I’ll meet you there.” She offered her hand to Harvey. “Be careful, Harvey.”

  Harvey took her hand and clasped it. “You too, Miss Sarfati.”

  Then she opened the door and stepped into the hall. Clay, Silver, and the children got ready next. Harvey and Sophie put on their coats, Silver loaded her revolver, and then they followed Zipporah’s path to the hall and to the elevator, after leaving a good amount of bamboo for Lucky. The Dusenberg waited around the block. Clay flexed his fists as the elevator brought them down to the lobby. He wondered what exactly was waiting for them in Hogshead Street. Harvey was right about there being no place for bigotry now. Compared to the Dagger Men, almost anyone was their friend.

  ~~~

  Hogshead Street had been hit hard by the riots following the police strike. While only one mob had hit Haven Street, several had fallen on the Negro neighborhood. Fueled by hatred, they had torched tenements, destroyed businesses, and looted everything. Now, the street lay quiet and empty. The overturned, burned-out husks of destroyed cars lay in the street. Silver weaved the Dusenberg around them, and stuck to the back alleys and side streets. Smashed furniture and broken shelves joined the ruined cars. They had been tossed out in the looting. The residents stayed in their shabby apartments or rundown stores, peering out and carefully watching the Dusenberg—doubtlessly wondering if Clay and his friends presented a threat. Clay didn’t blame them.

  Silver took another turn, and then drove her automobile down a straight cement road elevated along a fetid, green canal known as the Cut. A sluggish, manmade river, the Cut wound through the eastern half of Sickle City and emptied into the bay. Several docks jutted out into the still waters of the Cut, where rows of boats floated. The Cut was used for smuggling, as well as transport. Great volumes of bootleg booze must have flowed through the manmade river.

  After driving a few more blocks, Silver parked the car on the bank of the Cut. A rundown gambling joint overlooked the river, the sort of establishment where questions were never asked and bets could vary from pennies to fortunes. The square structure had the general shape of a tomb, with a pair of dull neon dice above the entrance. Clay and the others left the car and examined the shabby casino.

  “The Snake Eyes Social Club.” Harvey read the joint’s name. “Your friend’s in here, Miss Silver?”

  “That he is, darling,” Silver agreed. “Don’t let appearances deceive you. It’s a truly charming little place. Now, follow me, and try not to touch anything.” She led them to the door, gave it a pull, and then a loud knock. After a few more moments of waiting, the door creaked open just enough for the muzzle of a double-barreled shotgun to emerge and aim at Silver. She put her hands on her hips. “Easy there. We’re just here to see the doctor.”

  The shotgun wavered and then retracted. The doors opened. The fellow with the shotgun returned to his place behind the bar, his gun resting on his shoulder. He had a fringe of white hair, a perpetual frown, and sported suspenders over a frayed shirt with a band collar. He took up position behind the bar, rested his gun on the counter, and stared at Clay and the others. The Snake Eyes Social Club looked much like the bartender—tired, aging, but still tough. A pool table rested at one end, while places for card games took up the rest of the interior. Suspicious stains covered the wooden floorboards. The booze came in buckets, taken straight from barrels transported by smugglers from the Cut out back. Several buckets rested on the counter, froth spilling over their tops. The Snake Eyes Social Club had no customers, and no apparent occupants besides the bartender.

  Silver settled into a stool by the bar. “How’s business?”

  “I keep a loaded gun under the counter, ever since the strike,” the bartender muttered. “And now this crazy Jew’s declared himself emperor supreme. How the hell do you think business is?” He pointed to Clay and Harvey. “They look Hebrew. They some of that mad rabbi’s spies?”

  Sophie shook her head. “No, sir. They’re a pair of heroic detectives, battling against the Dagger Men.” Harvey blushed at the mention. “But we need a little bit of help to do so.”

  “That means meeting the doctor,” Silver said.

  “He’s in his room.” The bartender jabbed a thumb to the door behind the bar. “I don’t know why I let him stay here. He’s nothing but trouble. Still, in times like these, there are certain men who are handy to have around.”

  They filed behind the counter and approached the door. Silver threw it open and stepped inside and Clay and the others followed while the bartender stayed out. The back room housed a strange assortment of occult ingredients, along with a simple cot in the corner and a roll top desk. Clusters of withered herbs dangled from the ceiling, along with flesh-colored roots resembling misshapen fingers. A few shrunken heads sat on the walls, their lips and eyes sewn shut. Strange charms of bone and glass, idols of heathen gods, skulls of ravens, and odder objects joined them. A candelabrum provided flickering light—as the window had been shut to the gray sun.

  A thin fellow sat at the desk, his spindly arms and spider-like fingers using a miniature blade to carefully dice some dried leaves. He turned around from his work and came to his feet, grinning when he spotted Silver. “Miss Ava Silver, it is a rare pleasure.” He had dark coffee-colored skin and a pointed devil’s beard on his lean, grinning face. A single gold tooth glimmered in the center of his smile. He wore a stately Edwardian suit and tie, with charms dangling from his watch chain. His top hat rested next to him on the desk, and he grabbed it to add a flourish to his bow.

  “Dr. Cutte.” Silver offered her hand and received a kiss on the knuckles. “A rare pleasure indeed.” She indicated her companions with a polite wave of the hand. “You know my dear daughter, Sophie. And these fine gentlemen are Emmet Clay and Harvey Holtz. Mr. Clay, and young Harvey. I’d like to introduce Dr. Lazarus Cutte, a fine—”

  Clay glowered at Dr. Cutte. “We’ve met.”

  “You have?” Silver seemed a little taken aback.

  “We had a rather fortuitous meeting at a cabin owned by this nice young man’s father,” Dr. Cutte explained. “Pastoral bliss was interrupted by a local chapter of the Ku Klux Klan, and the half-made golems they summoned. We aligned our forces in order to survive.” Dr. Cutte returned to his seat and folded his thin legs. “How are you, Mr. Clay? I wondered what part you played in recent circumstances which have befallen Sickle City, and what your place is in Rabbi Eisendrath’s unfortunate new order.” He flashed his gold tooth again.

  Dr. Cutte was a witch doctor, an amateur sorcerer with a penchant for getting into trouble thanks to his various spells. He traveled from town to town, offering his magical remedies for assorted ailments, and trying to back up his big claims with bigger enchantments. It rarely succeeded, and he ended up in trouble more often than not. Clay didn’t care for Dr. Cutte, or the fancy way he talked, but the man had trained under Voodoo priests in New Orleans. He might not be an expert, but he still knew his business.

  Harvey politely offered his hand. “Pleased to meet you again, Dr. Cutte. Mr. Clay and I are on the run from the Dagger Men, but we’re trying to gather some allies and eventually stop the Dagger Men for good and save the town. Would you please consider joining us?”

  “It would b
e my pleasure.” Dr. Cutte glanced back at his table, where he had almost finished cutting the herbs. “I knew right away that Biblical rule would be disastrous for Hogshead Street and for all of Sickle City as well. I made entreaties to certain underworld figures. The boss of Hogshead Street, a charming woman named Madam Gracie, has already agreed to send help. She should be arriving with some of her trusted lieutenants to discuss our next move. You can meet her, young Harvey, and explain what’s happened to Sickle City.” He paused for a moment. “It’s been transformed into a golem, I take it.”

  “Yeah,” Clay said. “Sickle City’s been turned into one giant golem, under Rabbi Eisendrath’s control.” He paused as he stared at Dr. Cutte. “And you want to help us fight against Rabbi Eisendrath and the Dagger Men?”

  Sophie looked confused. “You don’t think he would?”

  “He doesn’t exactly seem the type.” Clay didn’t hide the distaste from his voice as he faced Dr. Cutte. “He’s more charlatan than soldier.”

  “You may be right.” Dr. Cutte let some of the ornamentation leave his voice. “And I’m not a particularly brave charlatan, at that. Perhaps that’s why I’ve summoned Madam Gracie for help.” He slumped in his seat. “It’s simple self-preservation. The Dagger Men have sent their attack golems and reanimated Roman skeletons to capture anyone they consider a threat. They’ve rounded up a few people in Hogshead Street already, and I am certain they intend to come for me.”

  “Because you’re a sorcerer,” Silver suggested.

  “A witch doctor,” Dr. Cutte corrected. “If I wish for blood to continue to flow through my body, the Dagger Men need to be defeated. I will happily work to that end alongside you, Mr. Clay.” He returned to his feet and reached for his coat. “Now, we are in agreement that the assorted sorceries come from a golem source. But how are we to stop it?”