Joe demanded, “What kind of brother spies on his own?”
Walter gave him a fiery look. “One who protects his family. He is my responsibility. I taught him everything from when he was a boy. To read, to write, to know right from wrong. He has been corrupted by the likes of you—”
Dash interrupted the tirade. “And the mirror. How did you know about that?”
Walter’s lips curved into another jack-o-lantern’s smile. “This is not the first club I’ve seen my brother enter. Many of you degenerates use the same tricks.”
Damn it all.
Atty, still holding on to Walter’s arm, said, “We done with him, boss?”
Dash reluctantly nodded.
Atty opened the front door and pushed Walter across the threshold, saying “Go chase yourself!”
Walter kept his blazing blue eyes on Dash as he stepped into the street, bloody grin still in place. “Good night, Mr. Parker. You should hope we never meet again.”
Dash swallowed the lump in his throat.
Atty slammed the front door shut and locked it. “Good riddance!” he said, returning to his post at the sewing table in the right-side window.
Joe shared the sentiment. “What a bloody fool. Coming in here trying to place blame for his brother’s actions. Not yer responsibility.”
“Yeah, not your responsibility.”
Except the scared kid hiding in my club is my responsibility.
Dash stood in front of the left-side window, watching as Walter sauntered down the street heading west towards Seventh Avenue, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Did he say anything of interest while I was gone?”
“A bunch of ramblings,” replied Joe.
Atty nodded. “He supports the Temperance Committee and the Anti-Saloon League. And he is a member of the Committee of Fourteen. Proud of the fact he works for the nannies.”
Dash cursed under his breath. The Committee of Fourteen was an independent organization designed to “discipline” the broader culture. Nannies, indeed. They hired undercover investigators to spy on New York’s dance halls, saloons, theaters, and other, what they called, “commercialized amusements.” A man working for a place like that was the last person they needed to know about Pinstripes.
Atty kept on. “Bet his Mother does all his thinking for him. Did you hear him, Joe? ‘Mother’ this and ‘Mother’ that.”
Joe’s eyes were afire. “Ha! I bet he don’t take a piss without dear old Mum telling him so.”
Atty raised his voice to mimic an elderly woman’s. “Remember to shake proper, Walter boy!”
Dash said, “Did he say he’d report us to anyone? Make any threats like that?”
Walter hadn’t. It didn’t mean he wouldn’t though.
Dash turned away from watching the street and glanced around the tailor shop, trying to get a handle on their situation. The parlor-green walls felt like they were closing in on a space already too small. The modest furnishings he’d found left on the city streets were crammed together: the sewing table by Atty and Joe, a small writing desk at Dash’s hip, and, next to the curtained-off changing area, a wardrobe standing against the back wall, which functioned as a display case for jackets and ties and was topped with various hats. In this mix of light and shadow, those hats looked like vultures staring down at the doomed.
Dash started walking towards his two friends. “Atty, what happened tonight?”
The question caught Atty by surprise, which didn’t bode well for the conversation to come.
“What do you mean, Boss?”
Joe saw where Dash was going and joined him. “He means, lad, how in the name of Mary did that bluenose get inside Pinstripes?”
Atty’s face creased with panic. His eyes flicked from Joe to Dash and back again. “He—he knew the knock. He did it perfectly.”
Dash now stood next to Joe, his brow wrinkling with questions. “He didn’t seem threatening to you?”
“Not a bit! He was excited. He spoke with a high voice, you know, like Finn. Said how he couldn’t wait to get inside. It had been a monstrous day and he was ready to forget it.”
Joe muttered, “He put on an act.”
Dash nodded. “And when he walked inside the tailor shop, did he know exactly where to go?”
Atty swallowed. “No, not at first.”
Joe said, “Ya didn’t think that was suspicious?”
Atty got more defensive. “Some of our regulars sometimes forget where it is. A lot of people think it’s behind the wardrobe. Hell, I’d think so myself. It’s not easy to guess.”
“It’s not supposed to be, lad.”
Atty crossed his arms over his chest, which he started to puff out. “It’s easy to criticize, but it’s not so easy sitting here trying to figure out who’s legit and who’s dangerous. If youse think you can do it better, than why don’t either one of youse sit in this chair and do it for a change. I did my best and—”
Dash held up a hand. “Atty, Atty, it’s alright. Everything is jake. Or it will be. We just need to figure out how and why Walter Müller snuck inside so it doesn’t happen again. That’s all.” He put on a friendly smile. “The knock is one security measure. The mirror is the other. If someone doesn’t go straight to the changing area, press the button.”
Joe sent Dash a worried look. “Lassie, are you sure about that? He’s gonna be pressing that button every other person.”
Atty was offended. “No, I won’t! I know exactly what Mr. Parker wants. They knock, they come in, if they walk around the shop or go in the wrong direction, that’s a warning sign.” He looked to Dash. “Right, Boss?”
Dash smiled. “Exactly right.” He returned his gaze to Joe. “See? He’s got it.”
Joe just shook his head slightly. “I sincerely hope so.”
I as well.
“Speaking of security, gents,” Dash said, “we have to change the knock.”
Joe and Atty nodded in agreement.
Then Joe clapped a hand on Dash’s shoulder. “Where is young Karl? I think we should buy the poor boy a drink.”
“You may need to buy me one as well. He’s hiding in the water closet. Atty? Can you take a look outside and make sure Walter has left our block?”
Atty nodded. “Aye aye, sir.”
“And Atty? Be sure
