
In
1920s New York ,
Pinkerton Agent John Brady is assigned to a brutal robbery/kidnapping, an open
and shut case with an obvious culprit - but nothing and no one are what they
seem.
Small-time
crook Cesare Donati has the perfect getaway: a transatlantic cruise ship. When Brady
turns up at his cabin door, Cesare knows he is out of options until they reach England .
Will London be a safe haven or
a place of reckoning?
Excerpt:
“Brady!” The bellow echoed around the
half-empty bullpen and the four of us still scribbling reports winced.
Even the chatter and clatter from the typing
pool paused for a moment, and the new girl about to hand Parrish his copy,
jumped and squeaked like a startled mouse. She wasn’t the only one taken by
surprise. My involuntary jerk left a spreading blot of ink on my half-finished
statement. Hank Hampton ’s
usual short temper had an extra side of rage this morning. I dropped my pen,
spattering more ink, shot out of my chair and strode into his office. It didn’t
pay to be slow in responding to that
kind of shout.
“Yes, Boss?”
His heavy features were redder than I’d seen
for a while, and angrier. He scooped a file off his desk and thrust it at me.
“Our beloved Congressman Monroe had a break-in yesterday evening. His wife was
beaten up, her jewels stolen and her maid kidnapped. The cops aren’t moving
fast enough for him, so he’s roped us in as well.” ‘Us’ being the Pinkerton
Detective Agency. Lucky us. “Do what you gotta do,” Hampton snapped. “Go where you need to go. Monroe ’s breathing down my
neck on this and we can’t afford to mess this up.” His warning glare came close
to incinerating me. “Make it fast. He thinks this is more than a straightforward
robbery-kidnapping, and he’s made it clear that he wants a personal chat with
the bastard.”
“Yes, Boss,” I said and legged it back to my
desk.
Congressman Gerald ‘Bull’ Monroe
pulled a lot of political weight in New
York since Prohibition had been imposed a few years
ago: not all of it the kind that would make his momma proud. Rumor had it he
was a bad man to cross. But I still didn’t understand why Monroe had called us in. Hampton didn’t, either, I guessed, which
explained his more than usual lousy mood.
Okay, it isn't exactly a secret that
the New York Police Department hustled along at the speed of cold molasses:
even so, involving the Pinkertons at this early stage in the investigation seemed
odd to me. I had a sudden gut-feeling that no matter who brought the suspect
in, the guy would very quickly have a serious and almost certainly fatal
accident.
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