#kppi

He led them through the cellar, up another set of stairs, and through another door. The stench of rotting food billowed towards them as soon as Jack opened the door. They were in what once might have been a kitchen. Filthy dishes, most of them cracked or chipped, were stacked everywhere except in the sink. A rat squeaked and scampered uncomfortably close to her, causing her to jump.

Jack walked through without flinching. “Ya should see where they keep the boys.”

She and David followed him out of the kitchen to a hallway with a staircase. A door, probably the entrance to the Refuge, stood at the other end. Jack led them to a door halfway through and pressed his ear to it.

“Snyder sleeps in the room off this one,” Jack whispered as Katherine fished out her lockpicks again. “Quiet as ya can.”

A silhouette slid over the frosted glass of her office door, startling her. Clients’ knocking used to make her jump when she was still green, but now silence was what caught her off guard. An outline of a fist appeared as the visitor knocked twice, and then the silhouette warped and disappeared entirely as the visitor opened the door.

And again Katherine was caught off-guard, because he was distracting.

He was tall and proud, with a handsome face and kind green eyes. Men like him didn’t get cheated on, so what the hell was he doing here?

She gave a tiny shake of her head to clear it and then got on with her once-over: his clothes were rumpled but clean, save for the curious smears of paint they bore, especially around the cuffs of his sleeves. He sported a day’s growth of scruff on his jaw but his thick black hair was combed, which she noticed after he took off his gray cap and started wringing it within an inch of his life. His hands were splattered with paint, too, working into the calluses and cracks of his skin.

“’Scuse me.” She detected a subtle quake in his voice. “You’s the detective? Detective Plumber?”

“That’s me.” Katherine gestured to the chair before her desk. He came in, sat down, and put his cap back on, though his hands kept busy in his lap, wringing themselves or folding themselves or picking at the stray threads of his clothes. He couldn’t keep still for a second.

He cleared his throat. “I heard you is good at findin’ folks.”

“I am.” She reached into another desk drawer and pulled out a bottle of whiskey and a glass. She tried not to enjoy his puzzled gaze on her as she half-filled the glass and pushed it towards the visitor. “This will help after a bad night’s sleep.”

He stared at her, bewildered, and didn’t touch the drink. “How’d ya know?”

“Well.” She gestured to his clothes. “Forgive me, but your clothes look like you tried to sleep in them. And I know you didn’t get a wink because you didn’t shave this morning. You just splashed water on your face to wake yourself up.” Her face softened, as did her voice as she said, “And between you and I, most folks come to a private detective because there’s something keeping them up at night.”

“Damn.” He reached for his glass of whiskey, eyebrows lifting to his hairline. “You ain’t gonna have any? You wouldn’t be as scary if ya did.”

Katherine gave him a tight-lipped smile. “I don’t drink on the job.”

“Worth a shot.” Katherine had noticed the way his R’s would sometimes dip into Y’s, and found it charming. “Medda said ya wouldn’t touch a drop.”

She perked up. “Medda Larkin sent you?” Medda Larkin, owner and star of a theater in the bowery, had hired Katherine a while back to root out a tip thief. Medda was an absolute doll and shrewder than she let on, which was the shrewdest kind of shrewd to be.

Her visitor smiled just a little, a pinprick of hope shining through the chink in his armor. “She’s an old friend o’ mine. Said ya could help me better than anyone else.”

Katherine leaned forward. That was a challenge, plain and simple, and she had always loved challenges. She was many things, but a disappointment was not one of them. “What’s your name, sir, and what’s your trouble?”

Like an avenging angel, Jack Kelly stood in the doorway, his righteous anger washing into the room like a typhoon. His fists were clenched, his shoulders were squared, and his green eyes blazed with fury. He had opened his mouth to say something, but Katherine cut across him.

“Get out of here!”

And suddenly his righteousness was swept away by his surprise as his eyes were drawn to her.

“Plumber?”

“Wait a fuckin’ minute.” Conlon went forward until he was face to face with Jack. Katherine whirled and aimed her gun at him, but he hardly seemed more shaken by her and Jack’s recognizing each other than the threat of death. “Are ya the one that hired her? Ya fuckin twit!”

“So what? You took Crutchie!” Jack lunged forward and grabbed Conlon by the front of his shirt.

“Getcha hands offa him!” barked Race, finger curling around the trigger.

“Easy, easy!” Spot’s hands latched onto Jack’s and struggled against him without breaking Jack’s gaze. They were locked in a confrontation that seemed all but inevitable, like a pair of brothers in a Shakespeare play. Yes, they were undeniably brothers, too enraged with each other to be strangers.

The color drained from Jack’s face, along with the hope. “Spot Conlon? Is you sure?”

So Jack knows him. “I’m afraid so. He works out in Brooklyn, so at least we can narrow down the possibilities of your brother’s location to a borough.”

“He’s got all o’ Brooklyn under his thumb.” Jack stood again and began to pace, his whole body radiating with nervous shock. “Why would he take Crutchie? It don’t make no sense.”

Katherine stood with him but remained calm. Jack needed a port in this storm. “Could your brother have been involved in something unsavory in Brooklyn? Maybe he worked for this Conlon character.”

“Never,” he growled, waving off her suggestion with a vicious swipe of his arm. “He ain’t stupid.”

A truth denier. People put on blinders where their loved ones were concerned, even in the face of conclusive evidence. It was her duty to take them off. “Then he has to have some other connection to him, because my witness is certain it was Conlon. Mister Kelly—”

“I told ya, call me Jack—”

“Mister Kelly, you have to be honest with me and with yourself. If your brother was abducted, it’s because he was involved with someone he shouldn’t have been involved with.” If this were a ransom, the kidnappers would have left a note or made a demand by now. And, frankly speaking, Jack wasn’t in the kind of money that balanced out the risk of a kidnapping. This was punishment.

The car stilled and the engine cut off. The exhausted quartet heaved a collective sigh and climbed out onto the dark, familiar street. Katherine had insisted they come here to escape any of Snyder’s goons after Race had outmaneuvered them on the road. She was the only quantity unknown to Snyder, so her offices made the perfect home base.

Katherine fished in her pockets while Race and Conlon went around to check on Jack, whose shoulder had left an intimidating stain on the car seats. Katherine went to a door beside the tailor’s shop and unlocked it as they coaxed Jack onto the sidewalk. “This way.”

She climbed the narrow staircase to her office door and went to unlock it, but her door was already slightly ajar. Maybe she left it unlocked in her race to the Galleon, but that wasn’t like her. Not after that case with the Delanceys.

Who hired you to find Charlie? Was it Jack Kelly?"

Reid knows Jack? "How do you know that name?"

"The name is all I know," he said with an apologetic shrug. "Charlie started working here around the time Bill and I got our regular gig. He talks about his brother plenty, but he doesn't mention anyone else in the way of family."

Katherine sighed. Jack had said his brother was all he had. That meant the reverse was true, too. "You didn't bring me back here to ruminate on loneliness, Mister Reid."

He fixed his suspicious gaze back on her. "How much do you have to tell your clients about what you learn?"

She balked. Was now the time to talk about her policies? "I keep my clients informed of my case progress, but I don't see what bearing that has on my inquiries."

Actually, she could. But Darcy couldn't be the guilty party; asking about what Jack would know was just plain stupid.

Then again, what else was he hiding? Reid knew something that he didn't want Jack to know. That was worth pursuing.

"Are you sure you only know Kelly in passing? Withholding information from a detective is a dangerous thing."

Reid's eyes hardened. "Are you threatening me?"

"Of course not, Mister Reid. I'm just warning you that I'll be forced to consider you a suspect, should you give me reason to. And lying to me is a damn good reason."

"I wasn't lying!"