Page 139 of If Looks Could Kill
“She’s gotta get to a hospital,” one of the taller paperboys says. “St. Vincent’s is the closest. Just a few blocks across town from here. Just up to… lessee… Twelfth. I think.”
“Can we get a cab this late?” asks the other boy.
“Dick, Freddie,” Oscar says. “Get yer bikes. We’re taking her to the hospital.Now.”
Over Nicolette’s protests, the boys bring forward two safety bicycles and position Pearl upon a seat. Indifferent to propriety, the one named Freddie tucks her excess skirts under her thighs while Oscar and Dick balance the bicycle. Freddie straddles the bar in front of Pearl and instructs her to holdtight to his waist. He pushes off, bobbing up and down as he pedals. The bicycle wobbles until it settles into a glide.
The scolding voice of Nicolette fades into the distance, then, curiously, keeps pace with them. Pearl manages to turn to see Nicolette riding along behind Dick, with Oscar running after.
She is lightheaded from loss of blood, and the wind whipping across her skin is biting cold. She feels disconnected, as though she’s floating above herself, watching the scene. An unwashed teenage boy she’s never met is doing his darnedest to propel her toward a hospital several long blocks away. The only clothes she owns in the world are drenched with her own blood.
It’s the strangest procession of her life. And the last one.
She might as well enjoy it while she can.
Find Their Way to the Devil(Early Morning, Tuesday, December 4, 1888)
The Lion’s Den is closed, and saloonkeeper Johnny Leone sits alone in his favorite, secluded booth, nursing a Campari and trying to make sense of his day. The city is quiet. Late night often feels like the only time he can think.
It’s not the day’s ordinary irritations occupying his mind. Not the loan he’s angling for to open a second location farther uptown. Not his wife, not his brothers, not his staff or friends.
Tonight his mind is on that Salvation Army girl.
What had she done to him? What womanish trick was that?
She made him hallucinate. That’s what. With… opium?
The Campari is both bitter and sweet on his tongue. Like the girl. Pearl. Just when he thought he had her measure, something diabolical took over.
Ordinarily, Johnny likes a girl with a bit of devil in her. But at the thought of Pearl—he can’tnotthink of Pearl—he keeps seeing the horrible snake. That creature, ready to devour him.
Maybe it’s something they teach them in the Salvation Army. Some trick to scare sinners into thinking they’re feeling the wrath of God.
That’s stupid.
A loud knocking at the windows bursts upon his reverie.
Two men in the window, pounding on the glass. A third man, standing by.
They see him. Damn.
He makes his way toward the windows. Etched, engraved, very expensive. They should keep their hands off.
He recognizes them. Those Irish pubkeepers from across the way, father and son; no, uncle and nephew. Same name. The other is a man he’s seen about, hard to miss in the neighborhood. A big strapping fellow in a Salvation Army suit.
What on earth?
He opens the door.
“Gentlemen?” he drawls. “How can I help you?”
“Mr. Leone,” the younger Irishman says urgently. “I’m Mike O’Keeffe.”
“I know who you are,” Johnny says coolly. He nods to the elder O’Keeffe. “Evening.”
“We need to know where Mother Rosie has gone,” the younger Mike says.
Johnny stands aside and beckons them in. No need to let all the warmth out.
