Lakefront and Mrs. Grey

by Mr. David R. Dorrycott

Chapter Two

A New City

Kathleen found quickly that Lakefront was a typical harbor city, like thousands of others. Carrying her purse and nothing else, the Irishwoman in soiled New York clothing walked down the ferries gangplank alone. She was still somewhat surprised not to have been attacked by Fong’s men. That she hadn’t been, and Kathleen was under no allusions that she could take those four, meant that Fong trusted her to keep her mouth shut. It also meant that she wouldn’t be spending the rest of her life as someone’s playtoy, or worse.

By this time of the day she knew that most legit shops would be open, as would some other places she might be interested in. With only the clothes on her back, her automatic and a broken C note to her name Kathleen knew that she had to be careful. There just wasn't any fall back for her to turn too anymore. Right now though she needed certain things, and in her current situation there was only one real way to get them.

Pushing her way through the thongs of milling people, along with breaking two fingers of a random, and too familiar pickpocket, she made her way into the city. First she would need certain supplies, then a place to stay. That would have to be Irishtown of course. A place where a woman with her looks and accent could fade away undetected by the local police. Especially after her dye job washed out when she bathed. But first a throwaway gun, one untraceable in any way to her. She would have to prove herself, and it would be part of that proof.

"Bickfords" she read to herself as she looked up at the gunshops sign. With a nod to the thought of what she might obtain here she walked in. Being a woman, and obviously alone, the single young male clerk was there like a magnet. After all it wasn't often such an attractive woman entered the store, though in truth Kathleen was more plain than attractive to most peoples eyes. She liked it that way, people made fewer mistakes when they knew she wasn’t some bubble peroxide headed gun moll.

Certainly he knew that for social reasons she should not be alone, and never this early in the morning. Kathleen quickly noted his youth, knew his hormones would be raging and if she swung it well would be more interested in her than his stock. "A twenty-two" she asked, lowering her voice towards invitation, but not quite that desperate. "Something in an automatic please." She sat her purse on the counter, opening it with two fingers as she leaned forward just a little to give the boy a peek show.

"Yes Mam" the teenager agreed quickly. He dove behind the counter as if the earth had swallowed him up. She could heard a wooden door sliding open. Then he was back as quickly, a large partially filled tray in his hands. "Special? We've got ivory handles, nickel plated or just your good old plane Janes."

Kathleen made herself act interested in a cheap, ornate, false ivory handled weapon. "Does your employer warrantee these to stop a man?" she asked. "I've been.. bothered by someone." She fluttered her eyes. "I want him to stop. He frightens me."

"Stop? You mean kill? No mam. Mr. Bickford would be first to tell you. It takes at least a thirty eight to do that on the first shot. Unless you count luck, and Mr. Bickford doesn't gamble. A nine millimeter would be better, honest. But who's bothering you? Shouldn't you call the police?"

"I have spoken with the police" she answered, acting coy. "They were quite apologetic. But until my brother in law does something first, they simply cannot help me. Is Mr. Bickford here? Maybe he could suggest the correct handgun for someone my size."

"If you want to wait Mam, I'm all that's here right now. Mr. Bickford just went to breakfast." He looked up at a clock on the wall behind him. "He's only been gone ten minutes, if you can wait another half hour or so?" The man-boy turned his attention back to Kathleen, only to swallow. Her top button was about to slip from its place, as he watched it popped free, giving him a view of pale white skin sprinkled with tiny freckles.

"No. I fear that I cannot wait. I have to be at mothers by then. Perhaps you can suggest a weapon?" She carefully sat the ivory handled toy back in its place. As her attendant vanished again she palmed a small black revolver. A toy as well, but one a woman would be expected to carry. Reaching up to touch her next button she dropped the stolen weapon into her open purse, twisting the cloth bag so that the weapon dropped silently into its bottom. A glance around showed her no one had seen. It was a chancy move. If there had been those new fangled curved mirrors, or a viewing window she'd have avoided the move.

"Here miss.. Mrs? Uh, I better put these others away first." He took the first tray, she noted that he carefully reset the weapon she'd handled first, vanishing again then as quickly was back. "This is a nice model, good grip, light. Almost designed for.. your... hand.." He swallowed again, hard. Kathleen had leaned over to study the weapon he held, as she had another button slipped. A flash of black lace came into view and more female flesh than he'd yet seen in his young life.

"Its Mrs. Mrs. Hardenson, Grace Hardenson. But I'm a widow now" she admitted, accepting the heavy automatic. "It is my brother in law who follows my every move now, though I believe I have lost him today. This is German? Are they the best?" she asked.

"Yes Mam. It holds eight rounds an’ it will fire as fast as you can pull the trigger."

She took the offered weapon, sighting down it like some school girl beginner. "Its awful heavy in the front" she complained, a pouting little girl sound entering her voice.

In a flash the attendant had come around his display cases. "Not after you load it Mam" he explained, a full clip in his hand. "If you please?" He took the weapon, slipping its loaded clip into the grip. Handing it back to Kathleen he stood beside her. Close beside her. Very close to her.

"I see. This is much better. How do I aim it?"

With a grin of joy the clerk stepped behind her. She felt him touch her arms, then take her hands within his own. "Don't hold it out so far. When you fire it'll want to..." He went on explaining basic principles while he pressed his own body against her more and more firmly.

'Dang boy' she thought, trying not to be crushed against the counter. 'Get a grip before someone comes in.' "I think I understand. How much? And a.. box? Is that right? A box of bullets?"

With a sigh of both defeat and satisfaction the clerk released her, walking slowly, almost as if in a dream back to his place as her scent filled his senses. "Uh, that model.." she watched as he scribbled on something. "Um, "Sixty dollars for the weapon, another two for ammunition Mam.”

She let her face drop. "That's so much. Maybe I... What about that first pretty little gun?" She carefully handed the loaded weapon back to her disappointed salesman.

"Honestly Mam, that ivory handled twenty-two is a toy. It'll jam on you first shot. Second for sure. I really suggest a revolver in your case. You’ll either stop him with the first load or not at all." He put away the automatic, forgetting to remove its clip she noticed, then replaced the tray. When he stood again he held the mate to her stolen weapon. "This is a lot better. It won't stop him with one shot, but if you shoot all six rounds into his chest you might. It’ll at least slow him down so you can run away. Its only twenty-five dollars. Ammunition is still two dollars but three are a lot more rounds in the box."

She accepted the new weapon, letting him explain how to open it, load and fire it. "I guess... It is better than nothing. I wish I could afford that other one though. And I will need to practice won't I?" she asked.

"Yes Mam. Each box only holds fifty rounds. I know from experience that it'll take at least that much to get used to it. Two boxes would be best."

She acted disappointed at the cost. "Then the revolver. And two of the boxes. Perhaps something to carry them in?"

"Yes Mam..."

Eventually, her purchases made she started to walk out. Thirty dollars poorer with the taxes tacked on, but two weapons richer. More importantly one was totally untraceable, just what she liked. Now to find something to eat, a place to stay and more importantly... Employment. Legal employment right now, the kind she liked later. If she survived the coming hunt. Acting as though she just realized that her blouse had opened she smiled shyly at the clerk, turning back towards him, which placed her back to the shops windows while she carefully buttoned her blouse while he watched entranced, before turning away to leave the store. He would remember her name, her chest. But never her face. During her ten minute visit he hadn’t looked at her face for more than half a minute in total.

Eventually she found herself walking in the Irish district. It'd drawn her almost like a magnet after all, and soon Deja vu set in. It was... "I feel like I've been here before" she whispered to herself, shaking to rid herself of the feeling but not managing to fully do so. It didn't take too long for her to locate a clean but cheap flop. It was after all just some place to stay until she could afford better. "Queenscourt" she read off a slightly faded but clean sign. She'd just left the Windsor Arms after deciding that it was already too run down for her taste. Stepping inside she left the warm sun behind her, not that it made that much difference, as the interior was even warmer than outside.

"Yes Mam, we've several rooms for rent" an elderly clerk answered her question. Kathleen was already certain that he was the manager, if not the owner of this hotel. "Would you like to see one?"

"Yes please. Ah was completely unhappy with the Windsor Arms. Ah know this is more expensive but, Ah do like to have running water when Ah want it."

"I've heard about their plumbing problem" he chuckled. "I'm Bartholomew, call me Bart. Everyone does. Just a moment. Thomas" he yelled. "Thomas, get in here." A young boy no older than ten hurried in from a back room. 'Bart' handed him a key. "318. And be nice."

"Yes grandpa" the boy answered. He looked up at Kathleen and smiled. "No lift Mam, so you'll have to walk."

"Ah understand. Shall we lad?" Her face had shifted from the innocent frightened young woman she had shown at the gunshop to a friendly, natural expression. Her native accent, heavily suppressed at the gunshop, was allowed to slip through as well. She followed the boy, fully aware that old Bart's eyes were locked on her buttocks. She declined to give them an extra shake, it was better to let him believe she was really a grieving widow, not an easily accessible floozie. That was a lifestyle she’d tasted once after angering Tommy. Never again she’d quickly decided.

"Two rooms Mam, Bed ahn parlor. Running water in the bath down tha hall. Hot from 6am to 10am, then 6pm to 10pm. Beds almost new, the last tenet don died in bed so we threw it all out." He pulled back the thin dust sheet, showing her a nearly new mattress. "Sheets are twenty-five cents apiece, same for the pillow case. Wool blankets are ah dollar, yah gonna need two, three come dead o’ winter. There's a wash room in the basement, first one there gets it. Usually ah line by 7AM. Hot water all day. Mrs. O'Malley, she’s mah mah, takes in washing. If you want ah tell her you'd like to talk. This floors all women, some kids. If’n you want your own sheets ahn blanket I'll take these out today." He waved a hand at the bare window, a cast iron steam radiator sitting below it. "Opens from the bottom" he giggled as if at some private joke. "Great view o’ the harbor, if you lean out and twist just right. Noisy, smelly and dirty in tha daytime but not really bad this high up. Roof access on the fifth floor just like everywhere else, those are fam- apartments an are better. But their all full. We get the harbor breeze mostly. At night its really nice on this side and the roofs a dream. Chair, desk. Shared bathrooms down tha hall on yer left. Anythin else?"

"No, its fine” she decided, dropping her accent for the nonce. “You can take the bedclothes. I'll buy new today." She touched her nose at his sour look. "Mother told me to always buy your own. It makes a place a home. Not a place."

He grinned suddenly. "You really are Irish! Like my momma."

"Guilty. Now lets go downstairs so that I may settle accounts."

Sometime near noon, now with a room to stay in, Kathleen left behind her new weapons. One was hidden in the ceiling light fixture, the other balanced on the desks stringer, leaning against the wall. Not good hiding places but the boy would only check drawers and the mattress anyway, she had no illusions about that mattress. It was too new to have thrown out. It'd probably just been turned over. That superstition didn’t bother her, she’d killed enough in her own life not to worry about some old soul coming to join her in bed on a full moon. Bed clothing and a current newspaper, that's what she needed now. Who was where, who's territory had she settled in, how to contact him. As an independent she wasn't worried about 'horning in.' Not yet, not until she knew what was going on. But she needed a front. Something long term that looked like a legal job, or might even be a legal job to cover her movements. She needed a base of operations and people she could trust to keep their mouths shut in front of the police.

She was passing MacGregor’s Department store with her bag of cheap sheets when she saw it. A beautiful chair, one like she'd had and had been forced to leave in New York. With a groan of defeat she walked in, noting almost instantly that all but one of the clerks was female, and pretty. The single male clerk could have doubled as a mule.

"Welcome to MacGregor's" the male clerk greeted her. His voice though was surprisingly mellow, rich and very friendly. "My name is Robert, how may I help you?"

"To be honest, that chair. How much?" she asked, pointing.

"Ah, yes. That one is $37.50 Mam. Would you like it?"

"I'd love it" she admitted. "But its above my budget right now and I just got here, so I haven't found a job yet." She shrugged, admitting defeat. "Ah just got inta town you see” she let a little of her native accent drift into her voice. “My dear husband died and this is where God decided I should go. Thank you for your time Robert. Maybe it will still be here when I can afford it."

"I'll be honest with you Miss" Robert answered in a lower tone. "It's been sitting there nearly eight months. If it were up to me I'd have it on sale. I'm certain it will be here a few more months."

She gave him her best friendly smile. "Thank you. I will be.. And its still Mrs. Grey. Until I decided otherwise."

"YOUR USELESS WORM" a woman's voice screamed from the back, startling both of them. Kathleen turned to see a middle aged woman storming from the office area. Though a little plump she could have been Kathleen's twin, had she less weight. The angry woman turned to look back the way she'd come. "DON'T BOTHER COMING HOME TONIGHT WORM. I WON"T LET YOU IN!" She stormed out, barely noticing Kathleen as she passed.

"I'm sorry Mrs. Grey. Mrs. Beekman sometimes has arguments with her husband and.." He held up his hands in defeat. “You said that you needed a job. Have you worked in accounting before?”

"I understand, my parents we a lot like that. Accounting? I kept the books for a few small shops as an aside, until my husband died. I’ve no formal training though.”

“Perhaps then you should come back by tomorrow. Our accountant quit this morning. Perhaps something might be arranged.” He noted her wary look, shaking his head no. “There is no worry Mam, this is a straight up opening. I’m just a clerk, I’m not even the manager. That would be Patty. You would be talking to her. She’s off today but I think you’d like her. She gets along well with all the girls.”

“I will think on your offer” Kathleen decided. “Now I have several other things to attend too.” She gave the chair another wistful look before she left.

Later that afternoon, sitting in her apartment floor with a brand new glass filled with cool tap water beside her Kathleen studied a copy of today’s paper that was spread on her bed. A quick check had shown as she'd expected that her room had been searched. By an amateur of course. Both her new weapons had been untouched, though a handful of change was missing from an upper drawer. She knelt on the floor, reading the news. The boy wouldn't search again for a couple of weeks. By then it wouldn't matter. She would either be gone, too powerful for him to bother with or very dead. Her paper though was very informative, more so than she'd expected. By a little after lunchtime she'd finished her reading, setting the paper on her tiny desk for use later. Then a quick trip to the communal bathroom and to bed. Chinatown beckoned her tomorrow, along with locating a couple of names she'd noticed. With a yawn she turned in, it'd been a long night, a busy day. A short nap to refresh herself then to hunt tonight. First she would have to make contact with the local talent. That though could be dangerous