Robert Walker - Shadows in the White City

“Me? A groundhog, a copper penny, a ferret, a rat?”

“You’ve all the talent for it, and it’ll put your considerable mind and experience and knowledge of the streets to good use,” Ransom had encouraged.

Bosch thought about it for several days, then suddenly agreed but only if an advance of twenty dollars was made.

Alastair quickly located a carriage and was soon west of the city. He found Bosch where he knew Bosch would be-at the racetrack-losing whatever money the leprechaun managed to gain from the ill-fated incident that almost got Ransom killed. After all, it was Sunday so the races were in full swing. With the beer garden open and ale mugs filled to spilling over, the crowd was as jovial as if at the World’s Fair. The numbers looked to be in the upper hundreds, perhaps a thousand, all in high spirits, save for the recent losers, who could be picked out at a glance. Bosch was not hard to find within this congregation; one need only listen for the familiar dot ’n’ carry sound of his peg leg and cane as he pushed along.

“Canya advance me, Inspector?” Bosch immediately asked, astonishing Ransom with his sheer nerve.

Ransom yanked him into the recessed area between two ticket booths not being used. Somewhere through a bullhorn speaker, a minstrel song played, the lyrics wafting over the track: “Dance boatman dance, dance all night till the broad daylight, go home with a gal in the morning. Dance boatman dance, dance boatman dance.”

“You damn near got me killed, you gimp fool!”

“Oh, that. Now, Rance…it tweren’t my fault in the least, you see-”

“Dance boatman dance…”

“It was Kohler set me up, wasn’t it?”

“I only shouted that cause…cause I knew you’d jump.”

“Dance boatman dance…”

“Lying little weasel! I know it was Nathan Kohler, and you’re going to say so in a court of law.”

He laughed at this. Ransom grabbed him roughly by the throat. A passing pair of friends in frock coats and bowler hats noticed the ruckus, but they quickly glanced away and moved off elsewhere to place their bets.

“You think this is funny, Bosch? You see me laughing?”

“I only laugh,” he choked out, “cause I’m sick with nerves at the thought. Me in a courta law. Imagine anyone believing me on a stack-a-Bibles!”

“Are you saying Elias Jervis acted on his own? That Jervis himself paid you?”

“Yes, but what would you’ve done at that instant if I’d’ve yelled out Jervis’s name instead of Kohler, you see? Human nature, see. I am a student of it.”

“Dance boatman dance…”

Ransom had not removed his hand from Bosch’s scrawny neck.

“I saved your life, Inspector.”

“And collected from both sides,” added Ransom.

“Well ahhh yeah…I did collect both sides on the deal, but that’s the mark of a good businessman now, isn’t it?”

“Bosch, I ought to crack your head open.”

“H-hey, at first, I didn’t know anymore than you did.”

“No?” Ransom had to remember this man weaved with words.

“Elias was wantin’ to set up shop again in Chicago.”

“Still buying and selling women?”

“Still dealin’ women, like your Polly Pete once.”

“Leave Polly to her grave, old man!”

“But Jervis, he sent a woman to stand in as this young lady with a diary, knowing that I was your, ahhh …associate, see? I was fooled for a time, too, so you needn’t feel as if you were the only one made a fool of, Inspector.”

“That’s a real comfort to me, Bosch.” Ransom released his hold on his “associate.”

“If you’ve got something for me, you know, like a bonus for saving your hide, young man!” said Bosch as he straightened his clothes, his hand out. “I could use some wagerin’ capital.”

“Something for you ?” Ransome laughed now, thinking it weird someone calling him “young man.” “Damn it, Bosch, where’ve you been? Do you know another child’s been killed?”

“Ohhh…it’s a horror, what’s happening on the streets, isn’t it? I mean children! I know, but it’s a stone-cold mystery, and nobody seems to know nothing whatsoever, but there is something in the wind.” Bosch looked about to be certain no one was near enough to overhear this. “Still, I can’t vouch for its validity, you see, only that it’s blowin’ ’bout.”

Then Bosch heard the race begin, and he looked out longingly toward the gate, salivating. Ransom pushed him out of the booth area for the racetrack, following the old man as he ambled toward the free spectator’s area, his cane and wooden leg silent on the turf.

They soon found a section of fence and Bosch’s horse came thundering by in a neck-to-neck with another animal. Bosch leapt onto the fence, disregarding his handicap, slapping the inside of the fence with his cane, shouting, “Come on! Damn you, nag! Come on!” A note of desperation created an edge to his screaming at the dumb animal he’d bet on. Only Ransom was close enough to hear his excitement over the noise of the crowd. He’d never seen Bosch truly happy at any time in their “association” until now, watching him cry out to “his” horse, and for the first time in his life, Ransom realized that for the duration of the race, a guy like Bosch “owned” a piece of that racehorse.

“Do ya think the horse hears your prayers, Bosch?” Alastair asked.

Bosch’s horse won.

“Damn straight he heard that one!” shouted Bosch, jubilant, dropping from the fence and doing a jig to the delight of people all round them, drawing too much attention so far as Alastair was concerned.

“All right, Bosch, so tell me now, what’s in the wind?”

“I’ve got me winnings to pick up at the window, and that was a long shot. Twenty to one, Inspector. Twenty to one!”

“Damn it Bosch, next week you will be looking for cash again, so tell me now what it is you’ve heard on the bloody wind!”

“I am hearing the killer…well…he ain’t no he. He’s a she, and that it’s Bloody Mary gone so far off her rocker as to do this thing.”

“Bloody Mary, heh? You’re a day late and a dollar short as usual,” he replied, slapping two singles into Bosch’s hands. “Get me something credible, will you? I know Bloody Mary. She’s quite incapable of being Leather Apron.”

“The old battle-ax is daft!” Bosch’s frown shrank his entire face. “Makes her capable of anything.”

“Half the population is daft, including you! Should I arrest you for being daft?”

Bosch’s scrunched face now looked sour. “I didn’t say it was Bloody Mary what done it.”

“That’s what you inferred for money, Bosch.”

“You asked for what’s being touted ’bout the street. I only told you what is going round, what people’re whispering.”

“All right, but it’s no use, man.”

“Didn’t promise no great revelations, now did I?” He pouted.

“Nor have you given any. Look, Bosch, I heard it was Mary from the homeless kids on the street days ago, and I put no more stock in it now as then.”

“And I hear you’re paying homeless kids and cabbies to do my job! And I’m here to tell you that’s a waste of money. You won’t get no straight answer from a snot-nosed shelter kid or a lorry driver.”

“Go claim your winnings, Bosch,” Alastair replied, taking in a deep breath of air. “I’m done with you.”

“Done with me?” Bosch stood his ground, stunned, silent, a look of disbelief coming over his features like a cloud moving in from over the lake.

“For the moment, man! Done for now, so please, just go-outta my sight!”

Bosch smiled at this. “ Ahhh …then our association is still intact?” Bosch grabbed his hand and pumped it.