Five Points by J. R. Roberts Read Free Book Online

he hopped on a train. He just hoped too much time hadn’t gone by, and maybe Bat would be able to find out something helpful.
    When he finished, he poured some water from the pitcher into the basin on top of the dresser. He washed his hands and face and, while drying, realized he was hungry. Or maybe he just wanted to go back to the tavern and talk to Angie some more. Or see what else she kept in her cleavage besides hotel keys.

FOURTEEN
    When George Appo spotted the boy Red on the street, he called him over.
    â€œHow’d you do today, young man?”
    â€œNot so good, George,” Red said. “I went to Grand Central Station, but wouldn’t ya know it, the cap’n was there.”
    â€œByrnes? What was he doin’ at the train station?” Appo asked.
    â€œMeetin’ somebody, I guess,” Red said. “I tried pickin’ this gent’s pocket, but he weren’t no sucker.”
    â€œHe caught you?”
    â€œSlick as you please.”
    â€œAnd let you go?”
    â€œYup.”>
    â€œAnd then what?”
    â€œI watched him,” Red said. “He met up with the cap’n, they shook hands, and then the cap’n drove him away.”
    â€œTo where?”
    â€œDidn’t see,” Red said. “I thought once the cap’n was gone I’d get some work done, but the terminal was emptying out and there weren’t another train for another couple of hours.”
    â€œYou should have waited.”
    â€œI thought I’d go over to Times Square and do some business but it was slim pickins.”
    â€œAre you hungry?”
    â€œI sure am.”
    â€œWell, come on,” Appo said. “I’m goin’ over to the Metropole for some supper.”
    â€œMetropole?” Red said, shaking his head. “They ain’t gonna let me in there, George.”
    â€œThey will if you’re with me,” Appo said.
    â€œYou’re the best, George.”
    â€œThat’s what they tell me.”
    And, indeed, Appo—the son of the notorious Quimbo Appo, thief and murderer—was the best pickpocket in all of Manhattan. Quimbo was Asian, and Appo’s mother was Irish. Like his father, Appo was not a large man. He had even been described as diminutive, but unlike his father, he was a dapper dresser who kept himself well-appointed. When he wasn’t picking pockets, he was running cons. But he had never killed anyone, and so was not “notorious” like his father. Rather, he was “infamous” among the lowlifes of Manhattan, who pretty much all looked up to him.
    Among those was Bethany, who was a protégé of Appo. She was waiting on the steps of the Metropole when Appo arrived with Red in tow. At nineteen she was less than ten years younger than George, but there was nothing romantic between them. Rather he saw her as someone he could pass his experiences on to, and she had the best set of hands he’d ever seen on a pickpocket, man or woman. She truly had “the touch.”
    â€œWhere’s Ben?” Appo asked.
    â€œOh, he’s sulkin’ in his room,” Bethany said.
    â€œAbout what?”
    â€œI’ll tell you over supper. Hello, Red.”
    â€œMiss Bethany.”
    Red blushed furiously every time Bethany spoke to him, because his ten-year-old heart belonged to her. She ruffled his hair and said, “You could use a face washin’.”
    â€œAw, Miss Bethany . . .”
    â€œWell, work on him at our table,” Appo said. “A napkin and a glass of water and we’ll spruce the boy up. Come on, I’m starved. You have to tell me and Red all about your trip out West.”
    â€œDid you see any Indians, Miss Bethany?” Red asked.
    â€œNo,” Bethany said, “but I saw a real-life gunfighter. ”
    â€œWow.”
    â€œInside, children,” Appo said. “Let’s take this inside. ”
    Ben heard Bethany leave her room, walk down the hall,