Red Dog Conspiracy, Act 1

The Jacq of Spades-5

Tony seemed pleased his guess had been correct.

After sipping wine with Tony (who seemed to have forgotten his earlier words), I took a lively turn with Charles Hart. Although portly and seventy, he was a excellent dancer. Roy had left the room, which was probably why Mr. Hart chose this time to dance with me.

“You were a good pick for Anthony,” Mr. Hart said. “I’m glad you two are happy.”

“Why, Mr. Hart, we’ve been married three years now. Of course, we’re happy.”

“So why no children?”

Turning my head, I glimpsed Jack Diamond across the room watching me. His eyes met mine: I shuddered at the hate in them.

The music was ending. I felt unsure of how to reply to Mr. Hart. “Is that proper to ask a married woman?”

Mr. Hart roared with laughter; everyone standing nearby turned and stared. Then he put his hand on my bare shoulder. “My dear, you are magnificent. You honestly don’t know. It’s a sincere pleasure to finally get to know you. I hope Anthony realizes what a prize he has.”

“Why thank you, sir.” I wondered what he found so funny. At the time, I thought the man was drunk.

As Charles Hart escorted me to my seat, a shout, then a loud commotion came from behind, drawing ever closer.

I didn’t turn or give any other sign I heard, but I marked the sound’s passage as we strolled along. When we neared Tony, he stood, gazing past me with concern. I turned to see Jack Diamond storming towards us from halfway across the room. My stomach churned, although I steeled myself not to show it.

The music, which had begun again, stopped.

Ten paces away, Jack Diamond struggled to free himself from the men from various Families who restrained him. “Let me go!” His voice, deeper than his brother Jonathan’s, carried well.

Tony said loudly, “Let the man have his say.”

Jack Diamond approached to three paces away. “You may have forgotten, Spadros, but I have not. I will never forget. I will not be ignored, and I will not be mocked. I call vengeance on your house and on the scum you shelter and protect, who murdered my own.”

A brown-haired man I didn’t recognize dashed towards us, shouting urgently. The gunshot echoed down the street; the man collapsed, ten yards away.

Jack Diamond galloped up bareback on one of his father’s white horses. Rushing to the brown-haired man, he held him in his arms, shocked and disbelieving. Jack’s face crumpled in grief, kneeling in the frozen mud and filth. He laid his head on the man’s chest, sobbing.

They say though he was cruel and reckless before, that night drove Jack Diamond mad.

Tony shook his head. “Diamond, this,” he waved his hand to encompass the hall, “is neutral territory. Ten years has passed since your man’s death. Has there not been enough suffering?” He paused. “Do you really want war between our Families? Is that what you truly desire?”

Jack Diamond hesitated, then took a step forward, pointing at me. It took every ounce of courage I had not to shrink from his approach. I would not give him the satisfaction.

“I want her father, dead! I want her family to pay for my brother’s murder —”

“He was not our brother,” Jonathan said mildly, standing next to and a bit in front of me.

“And you — you drink with his murderers! Look at you! Traitor! Scoundrel!” Jack lunged at Jonathan, who took a step back, eyes widening in alarm.

“No!” I felt horrified at the thought of Jack hurting him.

Tony pulled me out of Jack’s path and advanced upon him. “You dare threaten my wife?”

Joseph Kerr drew Jack away, whispering to him. Jack Diamond’s demeanor changed at once; he smiled and let himself be led off.

Jack Diamond had quite a different look when his father and five older brothers dragged him from the room.

I found that most entertaining.

Tony turned to me, shaken. “Are you all right?”

I nodded, but I felt my voice trembled more than it should. “Perhaps the man has had too much Party Time.”

Party Time: colorless, odorless, tastes like cinnamon sugar. The one thing still illegal in this rat-hole, yet the one thing everyone wants. The fact it’s illegal let us live like kings.

Jack showed no signs of being on Party Time. Rather, he seemed a coward and a bully. Jack hated my father, who he couldn’t touch, since Roy protected him. So he shouted at me and at his brother. It was shameful; he would never have dared such a display with Roy Spadros in the room.

The music resumed. I got another drink and leaned back in my chair, trying to calm myself. My hands shook as I drained the glass. I set it down and turned away to hide my stinging eyes.

“I apologize for my brother’s outburst,” Jonathan said. “Thank heavens Joseph Kerr was there to calm him. I wonder what clever words the man found to turn his anger.”

I wondered about this as well.

How did Jonathan come to meet Joe, or Joe to meet Jack?

“I owe Master Kerr a debt,” Tony said.

“Indeed,” Charles Hart said.

I forgot the man stood there and witnessed everything.

I felt embarrassed at him seeing our trials and glad for a chance at hospitality. “Mr. Hart, please join us.”

Charles Hart glanced at Tony, who said, “Yes, please do.”

Mr. Hart sat; a servant brought him some wine.

“Are you enjoying your evening?” Tony said.

“Come to mention it, yes!” Mr. Hart said. “The evening has been most entertaining.”

We laughed, and the thudding of my heart slowed. I thought I might not get another chance to ask, so I did.

“Sir,” I said to Mr. Hart, “forgive me, but this brings to mind something I saw today: a strange stamp on a wall, a silhouette of a dog, all in red. Since your Family’s color is red, I wondered if you had knowledge of it.”

Mr. Hart shook his head, his eyes not meeting mine. “Some childish prank — think nothing of it.”

Tony turned to one of his main men, a distant cousin who appeared when we seemed to be in danger. “You know anything about this?”

“Yes, sir. It looks like a new gang. We caught a boy the other day putting their marks around, sent him packing with a bit of a beat-down for his —”

“That will be enough,” Tony said. “A lady is present.”

“Yes, sir,” the man said. “Sorry, sir. My apologies, mum. But … they call themselves Red Dogs … or something like that. Mostly slum boys.”

Tony said, “Where did this happen?”

“We caught them around 80th.”

80th street? Those boys were miles from home.

“Well, I don’t need riffraff marking up my quadrant,” Tony said. “Makes the place look bad. Send a couple of Associates to find out who’s behind all this nonsense.”

This made me think of David, suddenly missing from his back stair. Did he get involved with these boys?

“Yes, sir,” the man said, “I’ll have them get one of their stamp cards to show you.”

Tony tucked a curl of hair behind my ear. “Let’s forget this unpleasantness and enjoy our party.”

When Roy Spadros returned to the room, Charles Hart moved to another table, as did Jonathan. I must have danced with every man of note in Bridges before the New Year’s toast and the midnight dinner.

As we crossed the lofty pale bridge from Market Center to the Spadros quadrant, Tony pulled me close. “The moment I first saw you, I thought you were the most beautiful girl I had ever seen.”

I remembered his wide innocent eyes as he sat in Roy’s carriage that cold, terrible night, and let him kiss me.

He was a good kisser.

Tony was more than a bit drunk, so it didn’t surprise me that when we reached home he asked for his husband’s prerogative.

The common advice to young women about to wed is “lie back and think of England,” a true absurdity during these enlightened days in the New World. But my task was much more pleasant. I thought of Joseph Kerr these many years, remembering those stolen moments in his arms, his too-skillful attentions upon my body. It made me as satisfied with my duty as any husband might wish for.

This might sound cruel, it might even sound scandalous, but who did it harm? My spouse had his pleasure, and I had mine. We were both content.

Seeing Joe there … ahhh, he had grown into a fine figure of a man. Too fine. I wanted more than thoughts. I wanted him, in my arms, in my bed.

If I had listened to Air and stayed home that terrible winter’s night, I would belong to Joe.

What would our lives have been like?

The Editorial

The gun went off. The light left my best friend’s beautiful dark eyes. His little body slumped to the ground three feet away, blood pooling around him.

I struggled, I tried to scream, but no sound came out.

David Bryce raised his head. “Help me.”

I woke, my face in the pillow, heart pounding.

The bed lay empty in the pale dawn light. I felt a pang of loneliness, my eyes filling with tears.

A firm knock at the door.

I took a deep breath, let it out. “Yes?”

“Your tea and wash-water, mum.”

“Thank you, just leave it on the table.”

My day footman Honor came in, set the tray on my tea table, and left, without once glancing my direction.

I pulled the covers over my head. I didn’t want to think of my dream. Did it mean David was dead?

Some said the dead sent messages to the living; the idea frightened me. If anyone should send a message, why hadn’t Air sent one on his brother’s behalf?

Air and I were born the same day. We went everywhere together, as far back as I can remember. Air’s real name was Nick, but he could jump much higher and farther than anyone his size should be able to. Joseph Kerr, one of our gang leaders back then, called him the air boy, and the name stuck.

Amelia had been in to open the curtains. It looked to be another drear, overcast day. Although weary, I got up to wash my face and hands before the water grew cold. Sitting by the window, I sipped my morning tea.

My room held white furniture trimmed in pastel blue, with pastel blue rugs over gray tiles. Portraits of strangers and landscapes of places I’d never seen hung in pale frames. I hated pale colors, but no one cared what I thought.

Snow lay in dirty piles, torn up by the feet of horses and servants milling around in the courtyard. The effect was bleak.

The tea’s bitter taste reminded me of last night’s discussion with Charles Hart. If Charles Hart dared approach me about our childlessness — why him, and not Molly Spadros? — then it was already being discussed amongst the Families.

Three years. I thought I had more time.

I stared into the clear brown liquid in my teacup, one of the things my mother taught me after that horrible night. She tried her best to protect me, to prepare me for what lay ahead.

I would have children when I wanted to, not whelping on command like some Spadros broodmare.

Should I have agreed to find David Bryce?

The idea of Air’s brother gone missing twisted my heart. But what could I do? Even if I took the case, I had no idea where to look for the boy.

The morgue might seem a reasonable place to begin, but I had no connections there. A woman inquiring after a child’s body might alarm the inspectors, who might contact the police, who would want to speak with her. I couldn’t risk that sort of attention.