The Legend of Long Jones Read online

  “You looking for your mighty boar again, Muc?” a gravelled voice said. Muc turned to face the pig trader Turnbridge, his throat deeply scarred and his voice raspy from damage incurred in gang fighting in his youth.

  “I will until I find it,” Muc nodded.

  “You might have to come up with a new breed to get what you want,” Turnbridge laughed.

  “What’s your biggest today like?”

  “Not for you, Muc.” Muc nodded, at least Turnbridge had learned not to talk up his animals to him anymore unless it was something special.

  “I’ll come down and have a look all the same,” Muc said and the two of them fell into step. They were quite a sight these two battle scarred men walking side by side. Muc was the taller but only two inches and in breadth they much equally matched. It had been a long time since Turnbridge was involved in gang fighting but he was still in much better shape than men half his age. Muc had never seen the man fight but had heard tales from people who had. If these stories were even half true Muc would have found the younger Turnbridge a worthy opponent.

  “Did you hear about the girl by the pond?” Turnbridge asked.

  “Yes, the police were searching for the killer down my way earlier.”

  “Did you hear what happened to her?”

  “Throat torn out is the gossip.”

  “That’s what I hear too,” Turnbridge said, “What kind of a monster does that kind of thing? And how?”

  “Looks like someone tried the same thing on you once,” Muc laughed tapping at the pig trader’s throat with a thick finger. Turnbridge batted his hand away in agitation,

  “But seriously, how in the hell would a young strip of a lad be able to do that to a woman? I’d say even you would have trouble pulling that off.”

  “Was it not cut out after she was knocked out or already dead?” This is what Muc had assumed.

  “Not from what I hear, all the muscles around and all were pinched in and crushed, like nothing I ever heard of.”

  “That must be just a rumour,” Muc said shaking his head, “Like you say, even I would have trouble ripping someone's throat out of their neck with a bare hand.”

  “You may be right,” Turnbridge conceded, “I hope so anyway.”

  “Did they catch the lad yet?” Muc asked.

  “Not that I’ve heard.”

  AFTER THE STOCK YARDS, Muc walked the streets to see if anything noteworthy was going on. Under his arm he carried his latest acquisition, a male piglet who’d shown promise in Tunbridge’s pen by knocking over a few large, older piglets who had tried to get a rag he’d been playing with. Muc had named him ‘Ragjaw’ for this reason.

  The streets were busy with as many pickpockets and thieves as there were market traders. A vegetable girl passed by carrying a basket of potatoes for sale and he was reminded of a girl back home. There was a lot in this city to remind Muc on a daily basis of his old life.

  As his eyes roved the snowy street, Muc spotted Susan and a couple of her friends huddled together on the corner, sheltering from the breeze that whipped up the street sending little flurries of snowflakes up from the ground where they’d come to rest. Her eyes met his and she smiled. He nodded and went on, not wanting to disturb her while she worked. Susan featured in his idea of the land too, but how that would work he’d never given any thought.

  Walking on, Muc came to the Bridge Cafe on Water Street and decided to stop in for a drink. It wasn’t a place he came often but he liked it all the same. He glanced up at the three story clapboard exterior, noting there were candles burning in some of the rooms above.

  There was a rush of heat as Muc stepped inside and some of those closest to the door turned to look at him a moment when they felt the icy blast from outside hit their backs.

  “Close that damn door!” someone called. Muc stepped inside leaving the door open behind him. Someone sitting close by leaned over and pulled it shut.

  “Jesus that’s cold,” he said getting back in his seat.

  The bar was full and there was a fire going on a grate by the wall opposite the bar. Muc looked around and saw the landlord looking at him with a grumpy face.

  “You can’t bring that thing in here,” he said firmly pointing at Ragjaw. Muc looked down at the piglet and then took in the room once more.

  “One more pig in here won’t make any difference,” he smiled and he continued on towards the bar.

  “I mean it Muc, I want that thing out of here or you won’t be getting a drink.” Muc continued walking and then dropped Ragjaw on his four feet on the counter. The pig shuddered nervously as men all around burst into peals of laughter.

  “Get that dirty swine off my bar!” the landlord shouted, his voice so high it was almost a squeal. Muc leaned over and grabbed a man who was dozing with his elbow on the bar and yanked him up,

  “You heard the man,” Muc laughed, “Up!” More laughter as the place erupted in mirth at this- all save the rudely awoken man who didn’t have a clue what was going on.

  “Oh, there’s a pig on the bar,” he said drunkenly pointing.

  The landlord’s face reddened and he pushed the piglet towards the edge of the bar roughly. Muc was about to take it in his hands when Ragjaw turned and snorted and then butted the landlords hand away violently. This brought the house down and the landlord ,losing face completely, slapped his cloth down on the counter and pushing past another man at the bar said,

  “You take over here, I’ve had enough of this nonsense!”

  The man took up his duties and waited for the sound of boots upstairs before saying to Muc,

  “You shouldn’t rile him so much, Muc, his heart will give out soon,” though he couldn’t help chuckling as he said it. Muc lifted his piglet up to face him,

  “Well done Ragjaw,” he said and then to the new barman said, “Pour me a bottle of porter will ya?”

  In the mirror behind the bar, Muc saw a young man had been looking at him but glanced away when Muc met his mirrored eye. Without looking at Muc again the man quickly left and slammed the door shut behind him. Muc didn’t recognise him and he went to the window to see where the fellow was going but there was no sign of him. He went back to the bar and took the glass up, now filled with porter, and asked the barman,

  “Who was that who just left in a hurry?”

  “I don’t know who he was,” the barman said, “He came in a little while ago, has been sitting over on whiskey for a half hour. I didn’t see him talk to anyone the whole time.”

  “Did he order from you?”

  “No,” the barman shook his head, “His lordship upstairs was behind the counter.” Muc mused on this a moment and then lifted his glass and downed the contents in one go.

  “I better be off,” he said patting Ragjaw before taking out a coin and placing it on the counter.

  Back out into the cold streets. He hadn’t intended his visit to the bar to be so fast, but there was something about the young man he didn’t like. He wanted to try to find him now and see what he was about. There was only one direction he could have gone so that Muc would not have been able to see him from the window and Muc went that way now.

  There was a good chance that if he continued off in the same hurry he left, the young man could be long gone, but Muc was a patient and tenacious man and he had time to wander and seek him out, for a while at least.

  Asking a few street traders and vendors on his way, Muc soon thought he had a trail on his man. None of them knew who he was, but they had thought they’d seen him pass. Muc popped inside a few more taverns and stores but in the end it came to nothing and the trail went cold. Whoever he was, he was gone for now.

  Muc stood in the street trying to think what it was about the man that had him so keen to follow him. His eagerness to look away from Muc was not something uncommon, especially in a bar setting. Had it been the way he was looking at Muc, using the mirror to study his face before being caught at it? Yes, Muc thought that was it. The man had been studying hi
m, sizing him up. The man’s size spoke against his wanting to fight Muc, but there was something hostile in his intent. People don’t tend to study secretly unless they have intent. He was going to have to keep an eye out for him, whoever he was.

  BACK ON ORANGE STREET, Muc sat and ate lunch at the table in the kitchen with the three men. Tobias was talking about something and James and John listened, but Muc was distracted. It had not been a satisfactory day so far. There were too many things he didn’t know the answer to. Who was the new policeman, and who had Muc been following earlier? What designs on him did this man have?

  “Tobias,” he said and each of them fell silent and looked at him.

  “Yeah, boss?”

  “Set the gangs ears to listening for me will ya. I want to know if something is going on.”

  “Anything in particular?” Tobias asked.

  “Not necessarily,” Muc said, “But I think a young fella was scoping me today and I’m wondering if someone is planning something against me.”

  “Who was he?” James asked.

  “I don’t know, that’s why I want everyone listening out.”

  “I’ll get the word out right away,” Tobias said getting up from the table. He grabbed a last slice of bread and went out eating it.

  “Do you want us to go too?” John asked.

  “No, but I want a sharp eye in both of your heads for anyone passing by the yard. If they so much as look inside make sure you know who they are.”

  “You got it,” James said and the two men also grabbed some food and left at once.

  Muc was now alone at the table. Something was shifting, he could feel it. Dispatching his men had only made it more real to him. Something told him that this wasn’t a run of the mill gang fight brewing. This had the feeling of newness. Whoever was coming for him, wasn’t going to face down in the street with a small army of goons. It was going to be something different, but what? Simple assassination was the most likely thing, but that hadn’t proved easy for people in the past who tried it, both here in New York and back in Ireland.

  THAT EVENING, WHEN all the gang members were aware to be keeping an eye out, Muc went to see Susan. It took a short while to find her but thankfully she was free when he did. She was at ‘The Eagles Rest’ a tavern run by a fat old English man called John Cousins who had recently started to let prostitutes work in his pub when business grew slack. It was clear he didn’t like the fact but also he had no choice if he wanted his business to stay afloat.

  “Third time to see you today,” Susan smiled when Muc came up to her by the stairs in the tavern. “Anyone would think you were in love!” she teased him. His nose crinkled at this,

  “I’ve just come to tell you it’s best you stay away from me for a little while,” he said. Her smile dropped and she looked into his eyes,

  “Why what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing's wrong,” he said, “but I want to look into a few things. I won’t be coming to stay at yours until I know it safe to do so- I don’t want you coming near Orange Street either.”

  “What’s this about?” Susan asked, “I don’t like it.” Muc knew she loved having him stay over, to feel safe in her bed and get a good night's sleep without jumping at every noise in the building.

  “I don’t know yet, but just do as I say. It will be over soon and things can go on as normal then.”

  “I’ll keep my ears open for you,” she said and he nodded. He wouldn’t expect anything less from her. He often wondered if she was in love with him. He didn’t see how it could be possible, but still he wondered. “Why don’t you buy me a drink while you’re here?” she said.

  “Aren’t you working?” he asked.

  “Yes, but I have time for a drink. Business is good, the cold weather has men looking for warm bodies more than usual,” her smile was wide and filled with devilment and he couldn’t help but smile back.

  “Fair enough,” he said and went to the bar. As he stood waiting for his drinks he glanced around the room. He could feel eyes on him but he didn’t feel like it was the same man as earlier. He was right. His eyes met Terrence Scaddow, leader of the rival ‘Shadows’ gang, the ones most likely to give Muc’s own ‘Wild Boars’ a run for their money. Scaddow raised his drink and nodded to Muc in greeting. Muc went over to him with his drinks.

  “What’s the news Scaddow?” Muc asked.

  “All quiet,” his rival said. Muc could feel those at the tables around these two men bristle with worry that a brawl was about to break out and they might become embroiled in it. Muc grinned at the thought, it reminded him of the old Whiskey Cabin on Cook Street where he and the giant blacksmith Mullins would cause the same consternation there when they squared up to one another.

  “Did you hear anything about a new cop down Mulberry way?”

  “No, what about it?”

  “I don’t know yet, myself, I’ve heard of him but no news about him so far.”

  “I’ll have my boys look into it too. If anything comes up I’ll let you know.”

  “Appreciate it,” Muc said and then he went back to Susan and handed her a drink.

  “What was that about?” she asked nodding at Scaddow.

  “Just talking a little business,” Muc replied raising his glass to his lips.

  NIGHT FELL AND THE snow came again. Crumping footsteps could be heard on Orange Street as the last of the traders made their way home to warm fires and warm meals. Muc sat by the window, not looking out but glancing now and then at the snowflakes falling.

  Aunty Kay came in with a pot of tea and poured some into the cup on the low table beside the chair where Muc sat. He watched the fall of the steaming liquid from the spout to the vessel and nodded absently in thanks. The candles flickered with a low breeze coming through the room. After a long moment, he noticed that she was still standing there and he looked up to meet her eyes.

  “What have you got to say, Kay?” he asked. He wondered if she might have heard something through the housekeeper’s gossip channel.

  “You’re not right, Muc,” she said, “I should be asking what’s wrong with you.”

  “Ah don’t be hexing me, old woman,” he laughed waving her away. She smiled, but stayed where she was.

  “I mean it, something’s up with you. It’s not fear ‘cos I don’t think that’s in you, but there’s something unsettling you.” Muc looked to the door to make sure no one was in the other room, satisfied he said,

  “I have a couple of things to figure out. Once that’s done all will be back as usual.”

  “Is it anything to do with that girl’s murder down by the pond?” Kay asked.

  “What?” Muc hadn’t expected this question, “No, nothing at all to do with that.” Why did she think that? Kay nodded,

  “How terrible,” she said talking of the murder now like it was what they had been conversing about already, “and they still haven’t caught that boyfriend of hers yet.”

  “Is that so?” Muc asked despite himself.

  “It is so,” Kay said, “His sister was here today, after you left in the afternoon.”

  “Was she?” this surprised him, “I ran her off in the morning, what did she want?”

  “She told me her brother is innocent and then she asked if you were a kind hearted man at all.”

  “And what did you answer to that?”

  “I said that as far as I knew your heart was pulled out in your first fight and you hadn’t had once since!” she squealed with laughter at her own humour and Muc grinned along.

  “Do you think she’ll be back?” he asked of the girl. Kay nodded,

  “Yes, she thinks she’s in the right and she’ll keep asking until someone helps her.”

  “Well, it won’t be me,” Muc said taking up his cup to drink. Kay nodded,

  “I look forward to the end of your troubles so you can be back to yourself,” she said and then she left the room.

  When she was gone, Muc couldn’t shake the thought of Alice Stirling and her
plea about her brother. It seemed he’d heard about nothing but that murder all day today. Everywhere he went it sprung up at him. He wondered why she had come to him.

  Though most people who knew Muc in America didn't know it, back in Dublin he’d once been involved in a case involving a serial killer. Muc had been the one to discover the man’s identity and bring him in to the police and not long after this Muc had also been the man to end the life of another serial killer colourfully known at the time as the ‘Shadow of the Dolocher.’

  A Dublin City Alderman by the name of James had worked on a bizarre series of murders lasting almost ten years, involving multiple killers and all orchestrated by one man. It had been a wild time and when it was all finally over the new quiet that fell over Dublin was one of the deciding factors in Muc’s decision to leave his homeland to start anew in New York. Muc in America, as he sometimes liked to think of it. Alderman James had left the city after that time too, and come to think of it, Muc believed everyone involved who was still alive at the end of it had left Ireland.

  He smiled at his getting wrapped up in nostalgia so easily. Whatever had happened in the past, it was the past. His new life here didn’t involve looking out for people or chasing down killers. There were more than enough cops to do that kind of work in this place.

  Besides, there were more pressing matters in Muc’s own life at present.

  Chapter 3

  Starving Sam Seedorf leaned in a doorway on Little Water Street watching the passers-by shuffling past in the cold. After another full night falling, the snow was thick and deep on the ground this morning and it was tiring to get anywhere on foot. It was hard to decide if this would make it more or less likely someone would choose now as a good time to strike at Lord Muc.

  Sam was a loyal member of the Wild Boars and had shown well in some of their fights, but this wasn’t the life he wanted to be living. He’d come to America to try to make a better life for himself, but so far all he’d done was live the same life here as he had at home, only it seemed to be more dangerous here as the fighting was more brutal than before. Back home in England a man might leave you be if you were badly enough wounded, but here the fighters didn’t pause a beat before finishing someone off with a club or knife- it was much less civilised.