John Miller - The First Assassin

The men eventually rose from their chairs. As they shook hands, Clark could tell that the group was splitting up. Two of them made for the door, leaving behind Davis and Stephens. For a moment, Clark thought about following the men who had departed, but he decided it was smarter to remain near Davis. He was the one to watch.

Back in their seats, Davis and Stephens seemed to relax. They even ordered drinks. Clark began to wonder if they were going to waste their night. Yet the two men limited themselves to a single drink apiece. When these were gone, they stood and stretched.

“Tomorrow we scout,” said Davis. “But tonight is ours. I know how I want to spend it.”

Stephens chuckled. “Yeah, me too!”

They exited through the hotel’s front door. Clark waited a minute, set down his newspaper, and chased after them. The afternoon had passed more quickly than he had realized. The shadows were growing long, and dusk was preparing to settle onto the city.

On the curb of Pennsylvania Avenue, Clark watched a horse-drawn omnibus kick up a small cloud of dust as it pulled toward Georgetown. For a moment, he feared that Davis and Stephens had hopped on board and that he had lost them. He would not be able to catch up to the vehicle without calling attention to himself. Then he spotted the duo on the other side of the street, walking by the vendors outside of Central Market.

Clark immediately had a notion of where they were heading, but he wanted to be sure. He stayed on his side of the Avenue and kept pace. They passed Eighth Street, then Ninth Street. They paused at the corner of Tenth. Davis seemed to indicate a desire to turn. Stephens pointed up the Avenue but quickly relented. They went left, walking south, and soon dropped out of Clark’s sight.

This took them into the heart of Murder Bay, a section of Washington that was both built up and run-down. It was possibly the most dangerous part of the city-a lair of pickpockets, con men, and worse. Unlike other areas of the city, there were no wide-open spaces in Murder Bay. The streets were cramped by two-and three-story structures that stood in various states of disrepair. Many of them housed drinking establishments, though Clark was fairly certain that Davis and Stephens were not trying to quench a liquid thirst. They did not have to leave Brown’s for that. Murder Bay was also a popular destination for gamblers, so perhaps they would try their hands at a game of chance. Yet Clark suspected that they sought a different sort of recreation.

Clark hustled across Pennsylvania Avenue and stood on the same corner, at Tenth Street, where Davis and Stephens had had their quick debate. He spotted them half a block away. Davis removed a wallet from his pocket, opened it, counted his cash, and handed a few notes to Stephens. The two men looked at each other and grinned, then entered an establishment called Madam Russell’s Bake Oven.

With that, Clark knew how Davis and Stephens intended to spend their second night in Washington. He had never been inside Madam Russell’s Bake Oven, but he knew that nobody visited it for the cooking.

Beneath a clear sky full of stars and a moon that was nearly full, Portia slipped into the stables carrying a small sack. She saw nothing out of the ordinary. The only noises she heard came from the horses.

A moment later, another person shuffled into the stables. Portia dropped to a crouch. She rose again when she saw that it was her grandfather. Lucius saw her too. They quickly embraced.

“Thanks for bein’ here,” said Lucius.

“I don’t wanna let you down.”

“I know-and I know you won’t.”

Lucius let go of her and made a quick search of the building. Every individual stall received a short inspection. While this was going on, Portia stuck her head outside. She was disappointed not to see anybody.

“There ain’t much time,” said Lucius when he was done. He reached inside a pocket and pulled out the photograph. “Here it is,” he said, handing it to her. “This is the whole reason for what you’re gonna do.”

Portia strained to see the photograph, but it was too dark. She stuffed it into her bag.

“What else is in there?”

“Just some food.”

“Lemme see.”

Portia opened the sack.

“That’s enough for two people. I don’t want you goin’ hungry, but that’s gonna slow you down. You can find food on the road.”

“I just wanna be prepared.”

“All right,” said the old man, warily. “Let’s make this short so you can get goin’. I’m gonna set you up with a horse. You’ll wanna stay off the main roads and travel at night, and it’ll take a couple of nights.”

Lucius described a route to Charleston that would keep her on some less-traveled roads.

“When I get to Charleston, what do I do?”

“You remember Nelly?”

“Sure I do. She works next door to Mr. Bennett’s.”

“That’s right. She asks about you all the time. She knows someone who can help slaves get to the North. I don’t know who it is or how it works. Nelly’s a talker, but the truth is, she usually knows what she’s talkin’ about.”

Just then they both heard the sound of a foot scraping at the doorway. Lucius froze in place, but Portia jumped up. She ran over to Big Joe and put her arms around him. Then she took him by the hand and led him to her grandfather.

“What’s goin’ on?” asked Lucius.

“Big Joe is comin’ with me.”

“That ain’t a good idea, Portia.”

“I want him to come.”

“This is trouble. There’ll be two horses gone instead of one and twice as many tracks to follow.”

“Grandpa, he’s comin’ with me.”

Lucius shook his head. “I’m hopin’ to get through the whole day tomorrow without anybody thinkin’ too hard about where you’re at, Portia. I can cover for you much longer than I can cover you and him together. Tate will start missin’ Joe early in the mornin’. Bringin’ him is a big mistake.”

“Grandpa, he’s comin’ with me.”

“Joe, have you told your mother about this?”

Joe didn’t say anything right away, and it suddenly occurred to Portia that he had not actually agreed to escape with her. Maybe he was here to tell her that he was staying put.

“Your mother is gonna be a mess. Have you thought of that?”

Portia still held Joe’s hand. She squeezed it.

“Yep,” said the big man. “I’m goin’ with Portia.” He squeezed her hand back.

“Mr. Bennett’s gonna send dogs after you. Chasin’ two people is a whole lot easier than chasin’ one.”

Portia and Joe did not say anything. For the first time, Lucius saw their clasped hands. It occurred to him that if they were caught, their motive could be explained as a crazy elopement. They would still be punished, though perhaps not as severely. The reputation of Joe’s jealous mother would make the story credible. Everybody knew about Sally.

“I’m not gonna change your minds, am I?”

“No,” said Portia and Joe at the same time.

“We could talk about this all night, but that’s only gonna slow you down.” He looked at Portia. “Have you told him why you’re doin’ this?”

“He knows.”

“And Joe, do you understand why that picture needs to get to Abe Lincoln?”

“Yeah, I get it.”

“OK. Let’s send you two off to Charleston. When you get there, find Nelly. She’ll take care of the rest.”

Portia watched Lucius and Joe move to the center of the stable and discuss which horses to take. They picked a pair, saddled them, and led them to the door. Joe held the reins while Lucius stepped outside to make sure the runaways would not be seen.

“Thank you for doin’ this,” whispered Portia. She gave Joe a quick kiss on the cheek.