Chapter 131: New Beginnings

Ricky stared at Commissioner Cropsey as he opened the cell doors and stepped inside, his breathing slow and measured as the burning rage in his chest settled into a cold, hard focus.

​"What sort of deal are you proposing?" Ricky asked, his voice low and raspy. "Are you getting me out of this cage?"

​Cropsey adjusted his silver-topped cane, shaking his head slightly. "An official release through the magistrate’s court is impossible right now, Mr. Stevenson. You have to understand, Frank Knox has Tammany Hall in his back pocket. They’ve already manufactured affidavits and bought witnesses to ensure you’re bound over for grand jury indictment without bail."

​Ricky scoffed, wiping a smear of dried blood from his chin. "Then how am I supposed to get out of here? I can’t do a damn thing for you from a holding cell. And I certainly can’t help you when I’m dead."

​"I am going to arrange for you to escape," Cropsey said smoothly.

​Ricky blinked, a dry, faint chuckle escaping his throat. "An escape? That’s a strange line coming from a police commissioner. Isn’t it supposed to be the other way around?"

​"I am a realist, Mr. Stevenson," Cropsey replied, his posture straight and unbending. "Nearly half the precinct captains in this city are taking bribes from thieves, murderers, and extortionists. I am choosing to assist you simply because you are the lesser evil."

​Ricky raised an eyebrow. "Evil? I don’t recall committing any crimes worth rotting in Sing Sing over."

​"You run an un-licensed distribution syndicate outside municipal oversight," Cropsey said flatly. "However, the fact that your supply networks drive down the price of coal, grain, and common dry goods for the working families of this city is a benefit I cannot ignore. If I get you out of this precinct tonight, I expect you to use your network to help me track down and investigate the core leadership of Tammany Hall."

​Ricky’s jaw clamped tight, his eyes darkening. "Look... I made a promise to myself. When I find the men who did this, I’m going to kill them with my own hands."

​"And what good does a dead Tammany boss do us if three more step up to take his place?" Cropsey countered, leaning forward slightly. "I understand your desire for vengeance, but you need to destroy them the right way. Exposing their ledgers, bringing their financial corruption to the press, and sending them to the electric chair at Sing Sing is far more devastating to their political machine. Especially if we strike during an election year."

​Ricky stood silently for a moment, processing the commissioner’s words. "Exposing them to the public, huh? Yeah... suppose that works too. But don’t you have an internal squad or a detective bureau for this sort of thing?"

​"I don’t know who to trust in my own headquarters," Cropsey admitted, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "Tammany has eyes and ears in every precinct. An official investigation would be leaked before the ink dried on the warrants."

​Ricky nodded slowly. "Alright. Fine. I’ll get you what you need. But how are you pulling me out of here without every copper in the building shooting at me?"

​"I will have a trusted officer unlock the rear corridor tonight before the morning shift arrives and the formal charges are logged," Cropsey said. "However, you must understand the consequences. Once you walk out that door, Tammany will force the magistrate to post your name as a wanted fugitive."

​Ricky didn’t hesitate. "That’s fine. I can work with that."

​"I assume you have a secure location outside the city where you can lay low for a while?" Cropsey asked.

​"I do," Ricky said.

​Cropsey reached into his waistcoat, pulled out a heavy cream-colored calling card. "Here is my private address and telephone line. Call me at this number the moment you are established. The central operator knows to patch it through directly. I shall expect your call within the week."

​As Cropsey turned, he closed the cell doors and locked them back as he head out the stairs. Ricky then called out after him. "Hey, Commissioner?"

​Cropsey paused, looking back over his shoulder.

​Ricky gestured down at his blood-stained undershirt and drawers. "Would you mind having someone fetch me something to wear? It’s a bit drafty down here for a chat."

​A faint, amused twitch touched the corner of Cropsey’s mouth. "Of course. I’ll have an officer bring down your trousers and coat."

​Up in Westchester County, the morning air was crisp and clear as the 9:15 express train pulled into the White Plains depot. Steam hissed loudly from the locomotive’s undercarriage, swirling around the wooden platform as passengers stepped off onto the gravel walkway.

​Evelyn walked down the wooden steps of the passenger car holding a leather travelling bag tightly in her gloved hands. Beside her, Arthur and Frank Murphy stepped down, each carrying heavy suitcases, followed by the four Williams brothers—Jimmy, Michael, Sean, and Patrick. Behind them, twenty young men from the Minetta block stepped off the train, their hands tucked into the pockets of their dark wool suits as they looked around the quiet suburban station.

​"Main Street is just two blocks south," Evelyn said, checking her pocket watch as the steam cleared. She turned to face Arthur. "I’ll meet you at the corner of Mamaroneck Avenue at six o’clock this evening. By then, I’ll know if we’ve secured a storefront. In the meantime, help the boys find rooming houses nearby. Keep everyone clustered close together."

​Arthur adjusted his flat cap and nodded. "Right. I’ll talk to the local boarding house managers near the rail yards."

​Frank Murphy looked down the street, stretching his shoulders. "I suppose I’ll hang around the platform and wait for the afternoon train. The rest of John’s crew should be coming in on the two o’clock."

​"Yes, that’s the plan," Evelyn agreed, looking at Frank firmly. "Just remember where we are, Frank. Don’t go looking for trouble on our first day in town."

​Frank grinned slightly, patting his coat pocket. "Don’t worry, Evelyn. I’m on my best behavior." He waved his hand toward the twenty tenement boys. "Come on, lads. Let’s go see about some breakfast."

​As Arthur, Frank, and the men headed toward the boarding houses near the freight tracks, the four Williams brothers fell into step behind Evelyn as she walked toward the commercial district of Main Street.

​The brick-paved avenue was lined with two-story storefronts, dry-goods merchants, tailors, and hardware shops, with horse-drawn delivery wagons rattling along the street alongside a few early-model motorcars.

​Evelyn pulled a small brass notepad from her handbag, stepping into a hardware shop near the corner.

​"Good morning," Evelyn said politely to the middle-aged shopkeeper behind the counter. "We are looking to lease a commercial property along Main Street—preferably something with a large ground-floor storage area and upper office space."

​The shopkeeper looked over Evelyn’s fine coat, then glanced uneasily at Jimmy, Michael, Sean, and Patrick standing near the door. "Can’t help you, ma’am. Properties on Main are all occupied, and nobody’s looking to sublease to folks coming up from the city."

​"We are prepared to offer three months’ rent in advance, in cash," Evelyn offered smoothly.

​The man shook his head, leaning over his counter. "It ain’t about the coin, miss. The local merchants’ board keeps a tight grip on Main Street. We don’t take kindly to new firms popping up overnight."

​Evelyn thanked him calmly and walked out.

​Over the next three hours, Evelyn and the Williams brothers visited six different property brokers, two bank land offices, and several vacant storefronts along Main Street, Grand Street, and Lexington Avenue. Every single attempt ended the same way—either the landlords demanded astronomical prices upon seeing their city clothes, or they flatly refused to deal with newcomers.

​"Stubborn country bastards," Jimmy Williams grumbled as they stepped back out onto the sidewalk, wiping sweat from his forehead. "You’d think we were offering ’em wooden nickels the way they look at us."

​"They’re protective of their local trade," Evelyn said evenly, though her brows were knit with frustration. "They don’t know who we are yet."

​"Well, my feet are killing me," Sean Williams muttered. "Can we at least get a cup of coffee while we figure out where to turn next?"

​Evelyn nodded, pointing down the block. "There’s a restaurant on the corner. Let’s try there."

​They pushed open the glass door of a modest brick restaurant. The scent of roasted pork, fried onions, and fresh coffee filled the warm room. A few local tradesmen sat at the wooden booths, eating lunch.

​Behind the long oak counter, a broad-shouldered man in a white apron was wiping down a glass display case with a towel. He looked up as the bell above the door chimed.

​"Afternoon," the owner said, his voice deep and friendly. "Table for five?"

​"Just coffee for the gentlemen, and tea for myself, please," Evelyn said, taking a seat at a table near the front window.

​The owner brought over a brass tray with four steaming mugs and a teapot, setting them down on the wooden table. As he poured the hot tea, he noticed the stack of handwritten property notes and maps spread across Evelyn’s table.

​"Looking for land?" the owner asked, wiping his hands on his apron.

​"We are looking to purchase or lease a large commercial building," Evelyn explained, looking up at him. "Something suitable for a regional trading firm. But every broker on Main Street seems to have closed their doors to us."

​The owner chuckled, shaking his head. "Main Street brokers won’t sell to anyone who wasn’t born in Westchester County, miss. They keep the prime retail spots for their own cousins."

​Jimmy leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "You know anywhere else in town that isn’t run by a town council board?"

​The restaurant owner paused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Well... now that you mention it, I might know a place. Though it ain’t on Main Street."

​Evelyn sat up straight, her interest piqued. "Where is it?"

​"North Broadway," the owner said, leaning in slightly. "Just past the turn near the White Plains Cemetery. It’s right on the edge of the residential district."

​"What kind of building is it?" Michael Williams asked.

​"Six stories, red brick, heavy timber framing," the owner replied. "Used to be a wholesale furniture warehouse years ago, but it’s been sitting abandoned for at least five or six years now. Place needs a proper cleaning and some renovation work on the lower floors, but the structure is solid as a rock."

​"Who owns it?" Evelyn asked instantly.

​"An old widow lady named Mrs. Abernathy," the owner explained. "Her late husband built it back in the nineties. She’s been paying property taxes on an empty shell for years and has been dying to find a serious buyer who can take it off her hands without dragging her through months of bank paperwork."

​Evelyn’s eyes lit up, a confident smile touching her lips for the first time all morning. A six-story brick building near a residential area would give them ample space for offices, trading rooms, and private accommodations for the men, far away from the prying eyes of Main Street’s merchants board.

​"Is Mrs. Abernathy in town?" Evelyn asked, pulling out her coin purse. "Could you put me in touch with her today?"