Suspension by Richard E. Crabbe Read Free Book Online Page B

smiled thinly. He was supremely confident when it came to his mission. He and his men had planned it well, down to nearly the last detail. They were professionals, not the sort of bumbling street gangsters the cops were used to. They had all the advantages of training, skill, planning, and discipline. Thaddeus walked with a confident stride. They were and always would be one step ahead of the police, and that was all they’d need.
    A block farther on he stopped for a moment and spoke in hushed tones to a tall man in suspenders. They parted quickly. Thaddeus didn’t want to go back
to his office just yet. There was no pressing need. The small cotton factoring and warehouse business he used as both cover and source of funding was a sleepy affair. It didn’t require much of his time and lent an air of legitimacy to his other endeavors. A perfect site for late-night meetings, it would be abandoned when the time came.

Chapter Three
    Singing my days
Singing the great achievements of the present
Singing the strong light work of engineers.
    â€”WALT WHITMAN
    T om dodged the traffic and flagged down a hack at the corner of Peck Slip and Front Street. He gave the cabbie the address, getting a grunt in response. Tom bounced uptown, passing under the land span of the bridge. Workers were busy adding the overhead trusses—at least that’s what the World was reporting. Braddock didn’t know a truss from a train track. He could clearly hear the hammering as it echoed under the span and through the cables overhead. Looking out over the river, he realized that he was seeing the bridge in a different way. Sam sure had a passion for the thing. He hadn’t said that much on any subject since Custer got himself wiped out in ’76. The hack continued, past the endless lines of ships at wharves up and down the river. The masts, spars, booms, and rigging formed a graceful geometric forest along the river, reaching up toward the March sky. There were nearly as many smokestacks as spars and sails these days.
    The hack made a left on Market Street. As they rode farther into the heart of the Lower East Side, Tom was suddenly reminded of a stop he needed to make. Part of his arrangement with Captain Coffin was that he’d do a little collecting from time to time. August Coffin had quite a network of “clients” who required protection from the scrutiny of the law. Tom, as an officer who owed a debt to the captain, was expected to make collections and enforce a certain discipline on “clients” as a “favor” to Coffin. It was the part of their arrangement that irked Tom from the very beginning. The stop he needed to make now was the most irksome of all, but it was on the way, and he figured he may as well get it over with.

    â€œMake a right on Henry, driver.” He got a nod in response. They went a little more than a block before Braddock said, “Stop here.” Tom got out of the hack, looking up at the dirty red brick building in front of him. It gave no outward sign of what went on within. “Wait for me, driver. I’ll be out in ten minutes.”
    â€œGotta charge ya fer the time” were the cabbie’s first words to him.
    â€œDo what I tell you,” Tom said flatly. “You’ll get paid.”
    Tom went up a short flight of stairs to an unmarked door and pushed it open, revealing a long hallway that extended halfway to the back of the building. Near the back, a tall man of medium build lounged against the wall. His bowler was cocked at a jaunty angle and he chewed on a short cigar. He didn’t look happy to see Braddock.
    â€œThe mistress in?” Tom asked.
    â€œGuess she is, Braddock,” the tall man said, spitting on the floor for punctuation.
    â€œYeah, I love you too, Quinn. Just stay out of my way and we’ll get along fine.”
    Quinn grunted his derision, but he moved out of the way.
    A door on the right opened into a sort of