Page 84 of By Any Means

Mr. Sumner himself sniffed. “Superficial hematomata. And speaking of…”

“Hema-tomato-what?” Laurie asked.

Sumner rolled his eyes, handed them the umbrella, and strode forward.

“I’m so sorry,” Chary said.

“Nah,” Laurie said. “You didn’t know what it would be like. Those of us who did should’ve warned you better.”

“I don’t think there would have been any true preparing.”

“No. There isn’t.” Laurie’s hand twitched south, nudged at Chary’s fingers. “I’m sorry.”

“Mr. Tulley!” Raberding wailed. “New York’s witness to injustice—won’t you see what they’re doing to me?”

Laurie raised the umbrella and glanced over. Chary looked, too. Raberding, whether he had been armed or not, was now half-naked, having been stripped to a half-removed, wetly transparent union suit. Other than that, no one seemed to have touched him, though he was surrounded; he had pinned himself to warehouse brick like a hair-raised cat. Mr. Sumner was approaching him, unhurried, and Raberding had frantic eyes locked on him.

“I don’t see anything,” Laurie said mildly. “Do you, Sam?”

Sam Sullivan, who had ambled over, smoothed his mustache. “I see a rich man robbed of his five-thousand-dollar automobile.” He paused. “And possibly a pocket watch.”

“And we’re cooperative, aren’t we, the press and the gangs?”

The editor put his hands in pockets and nodded. “Newspaper Row’s a block away from Five Points,” he said reasonably.

“Yeah. An Irishman guarding the threshold every night. Kinda gotta be cooperative.” Laurie shrugged. “I had a different kind of exposure in mind for you,” he called to Raberding, “but this will do nicely to start.”

Raberding moaned.

Mr. Sumner had reached him. He took the man’s broad chin in hand and turned it to the side. Raberding shook, otherwise motionless against the brick, as though being held by all four mob men and awaiting a right hook.

Sumner did nothing but slap him, softly, like a kiss. The slap slid and left no mark at all.

Raberding sneered through Sumner’s grip on him. “That’s the best you can do? The famous fairy?”

“No,” Mr. Sumner said. “But it’s the most you can handle.” One-handed, he tossed Raberding aside, and the man crumpled down to concrete. “Run home, Tjo.”

August’s companions herded the man, nudging him crablike along the wall to the corner.

“I—I can’t— I need my shoes— It’s raining— Please— At least my shoes⁠—”

“Wait.” August himself came forward. He had the man’s shined wingtips, one in each hand.

“August,” Raberding whispered. “August, my love. I take it all back—it was you I wanted; that’s all I’ve ever wanted⁠—”

In response, August hocked and spat: into one shoe, directly inside. He must’ve known precisely what disgusted Raberding, right on target; the man made a noise. Beside Chary, Laurie chortled like a boy. “Aw, hell,” he whispered. “That’s foul.”

“I don’t need you, Tjo,” August said. “I don’t want you.” He spat again, into the other shoe, then crouched to drop the pair at Raberding’s feet, lining them up neat and straight and shiny-wet. “I never have needed you. And if you come to our home again, or try to buy us out, or so much as speak to Chary, I’ll shoot you off the doorstep and throw you in the East River. You’ll be the dead one this time. Understand?”

Raberding breathed hard for a moment, then all fear dropped away. “You always were an untamed animal. Start looking over your shoulder, my love. If you can hire these lowlifes, then so can I. I’ll hire anyone. You remember how short a trip it is to Bellevue gates. I’m sure they have two beds in the mental ward to spare.”

“Two?” Laurie drawled. “Not as long as I’m alive.”

August said nothing. He, too, was trembling. You remember. What had Raberding meant by that?

Raberding snatched up the shoes. “We’ll see what you need from me then. If I’ll answer. Look for your name in the morning editions.” He fled down East 8th—toward Tompkins Square.

“It’s an empty threat,” Chary tried. “Surely.”