Clemens grabbed his coat and hat from the table. “I know the address. I’ll take you there myself.”
“You’ll get your story later, Clemens. I won’t risk your nosiness costing a life.”
“This is more than just getting a story.” His voice lowered. “I failed Maggie in not protecting her. I may not like Miss Pelton, but she is a woman and doesn’t deserve the likes of whatever Lawson has planned.” Clemens pulled on his coat and plopped his hat in place. “Besides, you need me. I’ve connections in the Deer Creek Gang. If you run into them without me, you’re a dead man before you even reach the store.”
“I’m not going in there alone. I’m taking a group of officers with me.”
“Then you’ll have a bloody war in the street. It’s safer to go in as two men than to drag a bunch of officers to their potential deaths.”
He was right about a large group being more trouble than a pair of men, but going in with no backup was foolish and reckless. This wasn’t a novel. Lawson might be one man, but he was cagey and would have no compunction against using a hostage to negotiate his way out. And with him suspecting how Abraham felt about Lydia, Lawson would use her against Abraham.
“I’ll call for pairs of officers to join us at the store’s location.” Abraham stood his ground. “We’re not looking for trouble with the gang, but I’m not risking facing Lawson alone while he has two hostages.”
After making the necessary arrangements, Abraham checked that both his guns were loaded and that he had ample ammunition. God willing, not a single shot would be fired.
Clemens didn’t carry a gun, but he swore he wouldn’t need one. Words were his weapon of choice, and when those failed he’d rely on his champion pugilist skills. Abraham ignored that information. Pugilism was illegal in Cincinnati, though prizefights happened regularly in the remoter or more abandoned sections of town.
He and Clemens entered the Deer Creek Gang’s area on foot so as not to draw attention from any gang members who might be lurking in the streets, searching for early morning factory workers to rob. Dawn would soon be lighting the sky, meaning nearly an entire night had been spent in discovering evidence and Lawson’s whereabouts. Hours that Lawson had time to do whatever he’d planned and escape.
Lord, please have delayed him from any action, and keep Lydia and Ingram safe.
Ingram might have been a murderer and a scoundrel, but death at a vigilante’s hand was not how Abraham wished for anyone to go.
Twilight dusted the sky but gave no light to the streets. The few working gaslights only served to make shadows harder to discern. The normal noises of night animals sifting through refuse or getting into fights broke up the silence. Abraham and Clemens had yet to see anyone, but occasional lit windows in tenement buildings indicated workers were beginning their morning routines. Soon it would be difficult to predict if the sound of footsteps meant a dangerous gang member or a harmless citizen.
Abraham kept his head down and his hands in his pockets, though his eyes constantly surveyed his surroundings. The burns ached and complained at the cramped space, but it would appear odd to have only one hand in his pocket, and he needed to have quick access to his gun without it being obvious he carried one. In contrast, Clemens walked like he owned the night: head up, slight swagger to his step, and a whistle on his lips.
“Keep it quiet. You don’t want to alert anyone that we’re here.”
Clemens just whistled louder. When he reached the end of “Yankee Doodle,” he started over.
Midway through the second time, Abraham was ready to collar Clemens and shove a gag in his mouth. Before he could give in to the temptation, a group of seven men stepped out from the alley and blocked their way.
This was exactly what he was afraid of.
“Well, if it ain’t ol’ Bloody Knuckles himself.” The tallest and leanest man of the group pushed forward.
His cronies took up positions around Clemens and Abraham in a near full circle.
Abraham clenched his jaw so hard his teeth ached up to his temples. He should have forced Clemens to stop whistling the moment he’d started.
But Clemens stood there with a grin on his face. “Just the man I was looking for. I told you I’d be able to find the Bonecrusher.” He elbowed Abraham and nodded at Bonecrusher. “The old man can’t resist my rendition of ‘Yankee Doodle.’”
“It’s so awful, ya should be tried for treason.”
Clemens barked a laugh. “The only crime I’m interested in is a good rough-and-tumble. What do you say to a rematch? I’m short on rent and could use an influx of coin.”
“Might wanna reconsider that fight, seein’s how losin’ is what took your rent money the first time.”
“What can I say? I’m itching to punch someone. Might as well be your ugly mug.”
“Ya cocky … Ya ain’t even gonna draw blood before I have ya spillin’ yours on the pavers.”
“Care to put your money where your mouth is? Round up a crowd and meet me in front of Napier’s Dry Goods in fifteen minutes. London Prize Ring rules. None of that Queensberry rules nonsense. I want to feel the crunch of your nose beneath my fist.”
Bonecrusher cracked his neck. “You’re gonna have more than bloody knuckles when I’m finished with ya. See ya in fifteen. If ya turn chicken, I’ll be comin’ to find ya.”
The group split, each man knowing where to go to draw the crowd that Clemens wanted.
