Miss Shumway Waves A Wand

As we walked towards the long flight of stone steps that led out of the park, she said, “Will you see Andasca?”

“Yeah,” I said, “I’ll see him sometime this evening.”

“Promise?” she said, pressing my arm against her side.

“Promise,” I said. “If it means all that to you.”

As we entered the apartment, Sam came out of the kitchen with a worried look on his face.

“There you are,” he said, relieved. “Is Whisky with you?”

“Why, no,” I said, “Myra didn’t take him.”

Sam looked distressed, “Hell!” he said. “Then he’s lost. He went out soon after you’d gone,” he went on to Myra. “He ain’t been back. I’ve looked up and down the street, but there’s no sign of him. I thought maybe he followed you and you’d taken him for a walk.”

Myra shook her head, “I haven’t seen him,” she said.

“Oh, he’ll turn up,” I said, tossing my hat on the chair, “you know Whisky. He’s found a lady friend and is getting acquainted.”

Doc Ansell came in just then. “Found Whisky?” he asked anxiously.

“Don’t get excited,” I said. “He’ll turn up. He’s just finding his feet. A big dog like that wants some exercise and he’s having a look around.”

Ansell looked at Myra, “Well,” he said, smiling, “how pretty you look this morning. Did you have a nice lunch?”

“Yes, thank you,” she said, pulling off her hat. “It was very nice.”

Sam said, “Aint you worried about Whisky?”

She blinked, “Why, no. If Ross thinks…”

“Ross?” Sam’s eyes opened, “Gee! Have you two gone soft on each other?”

Myra turned on me. “You’d better tell them,” she said and ran out of the room. Ansell and Sam looked at me suspiciously. “What’s buzzin’?” Sam demanded.

I wandered over to an armchair and sat down. “I don’t know,” I returned. “A lot’s happened since I last saw you,” and I told them about Peppi and Andasca and Lydia Brandt.

They sat listening in silence, then Doc said, “I’ve heard of Andasca. He’s no good to anyone.”

“So have I,” Sam said, “he used to carry a gun for Jo-jo in Chi when I was there. You don’t want to get mixed up with him.”

I jerked my thumb at the ceiling. “That’s what she wants,” I said, slowly. “She wants me to drop you two and live with her. She says nothing else matters so long as we have each other and I work for Andasca. What do you make of that?”

They didn’t make anything of it.

“She doesn’t want to be bothered with her father. She doesn’t mind being impersonated. Almost as if she was someone else,” I went on, looking hard at Ansell.

“Yes,” he said, “I see what you mean. Now, I wonder…”

“It wants looking into,” I said, closing my eyes. “Maybe I’d better see Andasca.”

“I think so,” Doc said. “Take Sam with you.”

“Where’ll I find him?” I said. “Either of you know?”

“Last time I heard of him,” Sam said, “he lived in a joint off Mulberry Park. Maybe someone knows what he’s doing now.”

“We’ll go to Mulberry Park,” I said. “In the meantime keep an eye on the girl friend. Don’t let her leave the apartment. I may be wrong, Doc, but I’m suspicious of her change of heart.”

“Leave ft to me,” Doc said, and we went out into the street, leaving him on his own.

Now, Mulberry Park lies north of the Brooklyn Bridge and a hundred yards or so from Chinatown. Right now it is a tree-shaded square which the city has equipped with swings, wading pools and showers for the kiddies. It looks quiet and faded but a century ago it was the toughest spot in Manhattan; Five Points was situated there and nearby a huge rambling building called the Old Brewery where swarms of Negroes and whites used to live. Seventy-five men, women and children once lived in one room of the Old Brewery. That ought to tell you how tough the place was. Murder was a daily occurrence and the kids in Old Brewery lived for years without leaving the rooms because in the hails they might get themselves knocked off by some guy with the blood-itch. The young punks were strong enough to stand up for themselves met their pals in alleys and there formed the first gangs of New York.

For the next hundred years the stretch from Mulberry Bend through Chatham Square and up the Bowery remained the centre of the sin industries of the metropolis. The gangs flourished.

So in those days the Mulberry Park district was plenty tough. Now the old gangs were dead, Chinatown and Mulberry Bend had faded into seeming innocence, but the district was still the breeding ground for thugs.

Anyway, it was like a breath of home to Sam as we into the Square and picked our way through the kids that cluttered up the sidewalk.

“Where do we go from here?” I asked, feeling the eyes of the slatternly women hostile on my back as they stood in open doorways of their drab, dirty apartments.

“There’s a guy I used to know,” Sam said, head, “who had a gin mill around here some place. what was his name?” He screwed up his face while he thought.

I waited patiently, trying to pretend I wasn’t there. Even the kids had stopped playing and were watching us.

“Good-time Waxey,” Sam said suddenly. “That’s the runt. He’ll know about Andasca. He knew every punk around here.”