The Legend of Long Jones Read online

  “Yes, I know that part- he was orphaned and ran away. What I want to know is who killed him?” Another uneasy look passed between the two men and Muc was sure they knew. “Spit it out!” he said angrily.

  “It’s not something you will believe,” Tojo said.

  “Try me.”

  “When the body of the boy was discovered, the men who found him searched the graveyard in case the killer was hiding there,” Tojo said.

  “Was he?” Muc asked. Both men shook their heads.

  “They found a grave had been opened, a huge long trench in the ground, much longer than any usual grave.”

  “What was in it?” Muc asked.

  “Nothing,” Tojo said, “It was what had come out of it that killed the boy.”

  “What?” Muc didn’t understand what they were getting at.

  “Long Jones has come up from his grave again,” Benny said and there was no doubting the fear in him as he spoke. “It has happened before, a long time ago.”

  “Who in the hell is Long Jones?” Mucasked.

  “He was a huge tall man, a slave who went crazy and killed his owners somewhere south of here. He ran from there and when he got to this place he killed men and women and children all over before killing himself over there among his own people.”

  “When was all of this supposed to have happened?” Muc asked.

  “Many years ago, perhaps we were only children then,” Tojo said. Benny nodded in agreement. Muc shook his head,

  “So you think a tall man has risen from the grave and is killing again?”

  “It’s happened before!” Benny shot back defensively.

  “I’m sure it did,” Muc said thinking what a waste of time this was turning out to be. “How tall do you think this Long Jones is?” he asked.

  “A good half your height on top of you,” Tojo said sizing Muc up. That would make him well over ten feet tall in Muc’s quick calculation- he wouldn’t find it easy to walk around at night unnoticed. Muc thanked the two and sent them back to work.

  As he walked away, he thought about what they had said. He didn’t believe for a moment there was some giant killer back from the dead roaming the streets of New York, but he knew from experience how well people were able to put old tales and superstitions to use for their own evil ends. The trip across the Pond was even more important now.

  “I CAN’T JUST DROP EVERYTHING in the middle of the day and go off gallivanting all over the countryside on a whim!” Mullins said when Muc came into the smithy to tell him where they were going. Muc looked around the place,

  “There’s nothing here that can’t wait for a couple of hours is there?” he said, “And besides, I’d have thought you’d prefer to go to this graveyard during daylight hours instead of at night?” Mullins thought about this a moment and it was true, though he didn’t want Muc to know this.

  “What are you hoping to achieve going over there anyway?”

  “There’s a few things I want to check out. I talked to some slaves who knew about the boy’s murder.”

  “And?”

  “I’ll tell you on the way over, it’s a bit of trip.” Mullins shook his head,

  “Let me tell Kate I’m off,” he said.

  “Do you not have an apprentice yet to ferry these kinds of messages for you?”

  “I haven’t found anyone suitable yet.”

  “Bullshit,” Muc laughed, “There are no shortages of young lads who’d be more than happy to take the job and be well suited to it. You need to forget about the past, it wasn’t your fault what happened to Steven Olocher- and the other lad, Larry turned out fine didn’t he?” Mullins shrugged his shoulders and ignored Muc, he didn’t want the responsibility of an apprentice right now, but he knew he was going to be needing help soon.

  “Let’s just get going if we’re goin’!” Mullins said walking out of the smithy.

  The walk around the Collect Pond took almost an hour. Muc had told Mullins on the way about the superstitions of the slaves. Mullins scoffed at the ridiculousness of it, but Muc reminded him,

  “It’s not all that long since the people of Dublin believed a giant pig was going around killing people at night.” Mullins couldn’t say anything back to this.

  They arrived at the African Burial Site and both men were surprised at the amount of graves that were there.

  “Jaysus,” Mullins said taking off his ragged cap. Muc was scanning around for something and his eyes found it easily enough. He tapped Mullins on the arm,

  “Over here,” he said and set off.

  They came to the edge of what at first looked like a trench dug in the ground but then it ended at a small erected cross for the dead. The emptied grave was about twelve feet long and four wide.

  “This is what those slave lads were talking about,” Mullins said. “It’s fuckin’ huge!” Muc was looking around the place and then said,

  “Did you notice how close to the edge it is? No matter what way you came here from the city you’re bound to come on it.” Mullins looked around and saw he was right.

  “Well, we both know the whole thing is only for theatrics; people were supposed to see it.”

  “That’s right,” Muc said “And yet Tojo and Benny were both scared of the prospect of Long Jones being back from the dead. What does that tell you?” Mullins shrugged; it didn’t tell him anything right now. “It tells me the man we are looking for is not a black man, but someone who had heard about this Long Jones character before. Enough to be able to scare the slaves with at least.”

  “Why would anyone do that?”

  “I don’t know, but I’m sure it’s part of some plan.”

  They looked at the grave itself and then the old cross before Muc said they should look around for signs of the little boy’s murder.

  “I suspect it won’t be far from this grave, for maximum effect on superstitious minds.” They spread out pacing the ground and looking down for any evidence of death. It wasn’t long at all before Mullins called out,

  “This is it here, Muc!”

  The grass had been flattened out here and black stains showed where the blood had once been red. There was a lot of it and on closer inspection of the ground Muc found black dots on the grass as far away as ten feet. It had been a horrific death for the poor little lad.

  “What do you think?” Mullins asked. Muc stood up and walked to the edge of the dug up grave and turned back to Mullins, holding out his hand to full distance.

  “I think the killer was here, probably sitting down in the grave waiting and he called out to the boy.” Muc was taking a few steps towards where the murder had happened as he spoke, “Then when the boy turned to face him, he gripped the throat, lifted him off the ground and pulled the throat out spraying the whole place here with blood.” Mullins winced at the idea. “Then he dropped the body and left it to be found at a funeral due that night.”

  “Do you already have someone in mind as the killer?” Mullins asked him as he ran through all Muc had told him so far. Muc shook his head,

  “Unfortunately not, and I don’t have much time to find out wither.”

  “You think he’s going to kill again?”

  “I’ve no doubt of it, but that’s not the reason I’m short on time.”

  “Why then?”

  “I’ll tell you about it on the way back,” Muc said. They looked around the area for a little longer and then started the walk back to the city on the other side to the Pond.

  WHEN MUC LEFT MULLINS on the city side, he went to ‘Lizard’ Lawndale’s usual haunt ‘The Widow’s Bar’- this wasn’t the proper name of the place, it didn’t seem to have one- but the name given to it by Lawndales’s gang ‘The Widowmakers.’ As with his visit to Scaddow’s place, Muc was greeted with surprise and worry by the men on the door. They looked around him as if expecting a rush on the door by the rest of Muc’s gang.

  “I’m here alone,” he said, “Is Lizard in?” Muc couldn’t help but smirk a little every time he sai
d this ridiculous name.

  “What do you want?” the shorter of the two doormen asked with a sour look on his face.

  “I want to talk to him.”

  “About what?” This was trying Muc’s patience but he knew if he slapped these two out of his way he’d most likely be set upon by ten more once he was inside and he couldn't afford that right now, fun though it might be. Instead, he stepped back from the door and called out loudly,

  “Lizard! This is Lord Muc here, I’m looking to talk to you for a few minutes but your guard dogs are irritating me!” The two men shot startled glances at one another and then looked back to Muc angrily. He stared them both down, his hands out to his sides as if to say, ‘What are you going to do about it?’

  “Let him in, boys,” the deep voice came from within. Both men stepped aside at once though neither deigned to push the door open for Muc as he passed by. He gave them a sneering smile in passing, marking them out for the next time the two gangs met in a street battle.

  It was dark inside with few people about. One older man sat by the window looking drunk already but with no intention of going anywhere else. Lawndale was leaning against the bar looking at Muc when he came in.

  “What do you want?” he asked gruffly.

  “A few days’ worth of favour.”

  “What kind of favour?”

  “Don’t try to kill me for the next three days,” Muc said, on thinking about it, he’d felt Lizard’s gang was the most likely to try to kill him in an underhand way. They had never come close to a victory over the ‘Wild Boars.’

  “Why not?” Lizard asked. Muc knew the man well enough not to take this as an admission from him. He’d like to see Muc worried, let him be afraid they might be going to kill him.

  “I need to find the man who’s been ripping out throats this week, if I don’t do it in three days, it won’t matter so much then.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s too long a tale,” Muc said, “But it just won’t.” Lizard looked into Muc’s face long and hard and an evil smile came over his own,

  “Someone’s found your soft spot,” he said, “Goddamn I wish it’d been me.” His smile widened and it turned soon into an uproarious laugh. The drunk at the table seemed to get caught up and he too started laughing hysterically. Muc sighed, it was tough having to put up with this kind of thing but he had to for now.

  Lizard’s laughing ended as abruptly as it had started, however, and he looked on Muc now with a fresh mask of contempt.

  “You’ve gone weak, Muc,” he said with disgust, “Get the fuck out of here. I’ll do to you what I want, when I want!”

  The most powerful thing Lord Muc ever did in his life happened in the next few seconds. He took a small step backwards, took a shallow breath and nodded. He walked away, without leaving a mangled man in his wake,

  “Three days is plenty,” he said over his shoulder.

  AT THE END OF WHAT he thought of as ‘Day One’, Lord Muc sat by the window in his usual evening chair- usual when he was at home in the evening that was- and drank a bottle of beer. It had been a trying day all in all. The new enemies in the O’Malley’s was not sitting well with him. At first glance they were simply textile people, upper class and nothing to be fearful of, but there was something more to them- especially the brother, Peter. He held a coldness and fearlessness Muc had rarely seen. There were certainly things the world at large didn’t know about that one. James O’Malley was harder to read being in mourning as he was. No doubt had it been up to him, David Stirling would already be dead. Muc had asked for information on them as part of the search for where they were hiding Stirling, but the search was to be the main priority and no one had come back with anything of interest on the men yet.

  Muc recalled standing with Sergeant Malwey the other morning and wondered if perhaps he should pay a visit to the policeman for information about the brothers. Something to keep in reserve for the moment, maybe. If Muc chanced on him in the street he could ask him then, but there was no pressing need for it yet.

  Aunty Kay came into the room and flopped down into the chair across from him as though they were a married couple and her day’s work was done. He regarded her with a raised eyebrow,

  “What do you want?” he asked her. Kay looked at him in return and said,

  “There was talk this afternoon.” Kay never said exactly where she was talking about or who the person had been who spoke.

  “What talk?”

  “They say someone had recently been putting pressure on Jeremiah Roan to sell up his store.”

  “Did ‘they’ say who it was putting the pressure on?” Kay shook her head,

  “No, but apparently a few weeks ago someone was caught trying to set the place on fire.”

  “Who?”

  “Some street kid, but he made a mess of it and got away.”

  “Anything else?” he asked her.

  “No, that was it.”

  “They didn’t say why the person might want the tailors shop?”

  “I’ll see if I can find out more in the market in the morning,” she said.

  “Thanks, Kay, this is something worth looking in to.” Kay didn’t say anything to this but when a few seconds later she was still sitting in the chair looking at him, he said, “What now?”

  “You should take that girl Susan out of her line of work and marry her,” Kay said, her tone no nonsense. Muc spat up the sip of beer he’d just taken as she spoke,

  “What in the hell are you saying, woman!” he laughed.

  “I’m not laughing,” she said, “I think it would be good for you, and I know it would be good for her.”

  “Well,” Muc said in a falsely polite voice, “I thank you for your concern, but I am, well, let’s just say, not of marriageable material.” Kay stood up and nodded still looking into his face, a smile coming over her own,

  “It’s in your head now, Muc, and you’ll think about it whether you want to or not, that’s enough for me for now.” Her smile widened and she started out of the room.

  “Witch!” Muc called after her, and he couldn’t help but grin madly when he found he was already thinking about Susan when Kay was only seconds out of the room.

  Chapter 7

  The morning of ‘Day two’, began with an idea that should have come to him before now. Muc needed to see Roan’s body, and in particular the wounding at the neck. He could only hope it was not too late as he hadn’t heard anything about a proposed funeral. Muc had been sceptical from the start about a man pulling out the throat of another with his bare hand- he thought it may in some cases be possible, but he didn’t think it was likely. The edges of the wound should tell him all he needed to know. Muc had been in many street fights and had seen injuries caused by all manner of hands, feet and weapons and he knew what each of them looked like. He had an idea Jeremiah Roan’s neck was not going to show the marks of some giant’s grabbing hands.

  Straight after a large breakfast- the only kind he knew off- Muc left for the mortuary at the police station closest to where Roan had lived assuming this would be where he would be if not buried yet. It hadn’t snowed at all for a couple of days and the streets were sopping wet with dirty melting snow. It was colder than recent days and low cloud was blocking out any contribution the sun may have been trying to make. It looked like more snow might be on the way.

  When Muc came to the precinct in question, he stood on the street corner for a time watching the building. He assumed, as he’d heard somewhere, that the mortuary would be in a basement room and he wanted to see if there was a door down to it from the street. If he could avoid going inside the station itself he would be happy. It didn't look like there was.

  He decided to go around to the back of the building to look before attempting entry through the front door. It was fitting after all that a place filled with dead bodies wouldn’t have a front door facing out into the street. A wide alley ran behind the building and it was only a moment before he discovered
his hunch had been correct. The door was not marked but he knew it had to be the place.

  Muc came down the stone steps slowly. They were slippery and dangerous. At the bottom, he listened at the door for any sound from within. Nothing came. Testing the door knob he found it turned easily and with a gentle push and two swift steps he was inside. The cold steel that pressed to his throat told him he should have been more careful in coming in. Someone had been there after all.

  “Barely a day goes by when I don’t expect to find you laid out on one of my tables, Lord Muc,” a friendly sounding voice said. The knife stuck to his Adam’s apple was all that eroded the friendliness. The man was off to Muc’s left and he couldn’t see him without turning his head. From what he’d said, however, Muc knew he was a worker here.

  “I’m sure you’ll get your wish someday,” he answered. A thought flashed through his mind that somehow he’d walked into the very assassination he’d feared this week. Was this the man who’d been following him, who he’d chased through the streets?

  “Why are you here?” the man asked.

  “I’m hoping to see the body of Jeremiah Roan,” Muc answered, “Is he here?” From where he stood Muc could see that there was a room just ahead with covered bodies on the tables. It was impossible to tell if any of them was Roan.

  “He is,” the man said and the knife snapped away from Muc’s neck and was gone before he ever saw it. The man walked on ahead of him and Muc followed impressed; he could use a man like this in his gang. “What do you want with him?” he asked standing before a covered body.

  “I want to see the wound, to know what caused it.” The man looked in Muc’s face and tutted,

  “You don’t trust the police reports?” he said.

  “Haven’t see them, only heard the rumours.”

  “One and the same,” the man said, “I’ll leave you. Two or three minutes and you’re gone, yes?” Muc looked at him and wondered why he was allowing him this at all.

  “Who are you?” he asked the man.