Red Dog Conspiracy: A Noir Future Steampunk Crime Family Saga

When I returned home, Tony, his mother Molly, and his sister Katherine played croquet in the garden. His father Roy sat under a lawn canopy smoking a cigar.

Why was Roy here? What did he tell Tony?

A maid stood behind Roy, waiting for orders. Roy’s men watched our surroundings; I imagined they scanned for marksmen. Not that I expected any to appear on the Spadros Manor grounds. But when you had as many enemies as Roy, paranoia became prudent.

Katherine Spadros was almost thirteen and in that gangling awkward age of intensity and drama. She dropped her mallet and charged, auburn hair flying, to envelop me in a crushing embrace. “Oh, Jacqui, I’m so happy to see you!”

“I’m happy to see you as well.” When she let go, I took a breath. “Who’s winning?”

“Mama, but I’m second.”

I lowered my voice. “You should let your brother win, since he’s not feeling well.”

Tony winced. “I heard that. I am neither incapacitated nor infirm.”

“Would you like to play?” Molly said.

“She can’t come in the middle!” Katherine said. “It’s not fair!”

I chuckled. “I’m content to watch.” I took a chair across from Roy, who ignored me, as I did him.

I was not happy to see Roy. If he had spoken to me right then I might have stabbed him with my boot-knife.

I asked the maid for brandy, sipping it, trying to forget the throbbing of my face and abdomen. I lit a cigarette and took a drag. When he glanced my way, I blew smoke in his direction, daring him to say anything. He disappointed me. I would have liked an excuse to put my knife in his cold dead eye.

Tony watched me without expression. I smiled at him.

As we walked back to the Manor later (Katherine did win after all), Roy spent a moment whispering with one of his men, then walked beside me, grinning.

“You look pleased.” I hoped the villain choked to death on whatever torment he planned.

Roy chuckled. “You just read the papers tomorrow, Missy … I’m planning a surprise.”

I recalled the third time I was taken to Spadros Manor, a few months after my father shot Jack’s friend. After bathing, scrubbing, stuffing me into a dress, and this time, a “training corset,” which I detested, the maids led me to Roy’s study.

Roy had said, “I’m planning a surprise …” which at the time meant sending Tony on an errand with his mother and taking me in his carriage on a tour of his holdings.

“How do you like Anthony?”

I'd shrugged. At twelve, I rarely thought about boys one way or the other.

“When you are grown, you and he will marry. Then you will own all this.”

Oh, I thought at the time, it would be good to own all this. I had no idea what being married meant. No one who lived in the Pot had money to get married.

Roy seemed in a particularly introspective mood that day. “I fear Anthony doesn’t have it in him to do what it takes to run this Family. But I think you do.” He turned to me. “I’ll teach you how to do what I do. If my son needs help, will you help him?”

“Yes, sir.” After many beatings, I learned to say this in reply to anything Roy Spadros asked.

After that, I received two sets of lessons when I went to the Manor, which increased to two or three times a month. One set of lessons took place with Molly and Pearson: reading, writing, painting, needlework, managing a household, doing accounts.

The other set of lessons was with Roy. Roy taught me to shoot, to kill without a gun, the structure and purposes of the Family Business, strategy, tactics.

Many times, Tony joined us for the lessons, but not always: Tony had never seen me beaten after the first time, which sent him into hysterics. As far as I know, he had no idea I knew anything about violence. I don’t know what he thought, but Tony never showed any jealousy about his parents teaching me.

As time went on, I began to feel in two worlds. I returned to the Pot clean and fed, with fine clothes, new knowledge, and new connections. In Spadros Manor, I felt dirty, unwanted, and misunderstood. “Are you going to kill the man?”

Roy laughed. “Don’t even try, Jacq — you’re out of your depth. Just watch and learn.”

I seethed at his cold, mocking tone.

Pearson met us at the back door and addressed Tony. “Will your family be staying for dinner, sir?”

Before Tony could answer, Roy said, “No. I have things to do.”

Thank the Floorman. Dinner with Roy was torture in itself.

Once they left, Tony sighed. “I’m glad they didn’t stay. I exerted myself too much, and Katie hugs much too vigorously.” He looked pale. “Would you tell Pearson we’ll be dining in our rooms tonight?”

I took Tony’s arm. “Only my corset saved me a fractured rib from Katherine’s pincer-like embrace.”

“Pincer-like.” Tony began to laugh, then winced. “Don’t make me laugh,” he said, but a laugh burst from him, “it hurts.”

“Perhaps you need a corset.”

“Ow.” Tony laughed again. “Stop.”

“Poor dear.” I put on a sober demeanor, “I will be completely grave henceforth.”

He began laughing. “You are utterly wicked.” He went from laughing to complaining and back again all the way up the stair.

I accompanied Tony to his room and got him seated with a book, then returned to tell Pearson of the changes. “And I will need to speak with Amelia after dinner.”

When I returned to our rooms, Tony stood by his dresser, putting the opium bottle away.

I felt chagrined. “I had no idea you were in such pain.”

“I only took a bit more.” He returned to his seat. “I wanted to sit with you up here, instead of going through such fuss as to dress for dinner. We have no one to entertain or impress tonight.”

“I’m glad!” Since he was left-handed, I sat to his right.

Honor came in with the tray, set out our dinner, uncovered our plates, and poured our wine. “If it please you, sir, Michaels will be available for the next hour should you need anything. I’ll be going to my mother’s for her birthday.” Our night footman would be on duty after that.

“Send her our blessings,” Tony said.

“Thank you, sir.” Honor bowed and left.

After the door closed, Tony took a drink of his wine as I began to eat, then picked at his food. I was halfway through my meal when he said, “You dislike my father.”

“Dislike is not the word I would use.”

Tony said nothing.

Rage boiled up. “He is your father, not mine. Nor my husband, nor my kin. Am I required to love him? He stole me from my home …” I stopped, coming too close to revealing his attack on me.

“You hate him.” Tony put his fork down. “I hated him once … long ago.…” He sighed. “Hate ties you to the one you hate as tightly as love. Far better, if you can’t love, to do neither.”

His words cut me to my heart. I kissed his hand, grieved at the thought of Tony having Roy for a father.

Tony turned my face to his. “Don’t cry.” Pain lay in his voice. “Not for me.” He kissed my forehead and smoothed my hair. “I’m well, and we’re safe here. Please. Be happy.”

I blinked my tears away and tried to smile.

“Forget my father. Let’s enjoy our dinner.”

For a few moments, I forgot everything but the peace of companionship, holding hands with Tony while we ate.

But then I remembered my evening was far from over.

Should I go to the tent meeting?

I needed to. In truth, it shocked me that Mr. Pike published the pamphlet. He must have done it before leaving the newspaper, unless the Bridgers owned a printing press themselves.

The publication was madness, especially for a man with a wife and child depending on his salary. What good did Mr. Pike think publishing the pamphlet would do, other than fixing the eyes of the four Families upon him?

Knowing what little I did of Mr. Pike, he probably felt publishing his pamphlet was the right thing to do, no matter what the cost to himself or his family. He was more than likely to end up dead.

Thrace Pike was too much the crusader, but I wished no harm on him. If Roy planned some hurt to come to the man because of me, I needed to warn him. If not, I had to learn his plans, if only to protect myself.

When dinner was cleared away, I poured Tony some red wine from the sideboard, putting a drop of opium in his cup. Since his back was to me, he never noticed. I handed him his glass. “To your health.” He clinked glasses with mine, smiling, then drank. I leaned over and kissed him. He set the empty cup down and took me into his lap, whereupon we made pleasant use of the time.

Twenty minutes later, he snored in his chair.

I'd never heard him snore before. At the time, I thought he must be very tired from his difficult day.

About then, Amelia arrived, and we got Tony into bed.

“I need to go out tonight.”

Amelia gave me a questioning glance but said nothing.

I replaced my wedding ring with a plain band from a poorhouse sale. Several carats of jewels seemed too much for one finger, but Tony insisted I have the best. Amelia helped me out of my corset, and I changed into an outfit which buttoned up the front. I only used this outfit when on cases, so no one would recognize me.

This dress was high necked, of plain cloth and dark brown. I wore a dark brown hat with a thick veil. With the veil, even I couldn’t tell who I was when I looked in the mirror. I used a scarf to cover my hair, and added various bits of padding to change my shape from time to time.

Leaving off my corset made me appear heavier, shorter, older. It also meant Amelia didn’t have to wait there to help me undress when I returned. I had a pair of shoes that I only used on cases, so even my shoe print wouldn’t give away my identity. “If someone asks, you left me sitting with Mr. Spadros, and he left orders not to be disturbed.”

“Yes, mum.” Amelia peeked into the hall. “No one out there.”

I turned off the lamps, went into the hall and closed the door.

We went through the upstairs storage room, then down the stair by the preparation room. Amelia peered out, then gestured to me. I slipped through the door and into the stables. Dodging the stable boys, I made it to the front of the house.

The streets were wet and deserted. Soon I found a public taxi-carriage and was on my way to Market Center Plaza.

* * *

A large crowd milled about, surrounding men and women hawking their wares. Butchers stood in their booths, cutting meat to sell the next day. Children sold sweets and hot chestnuts from trays round their necks. Cigar smoke and perfume wafted through the air.

A large white canvas tent stood on the damp grass, the base of the canvas open to the air at about mid-thigh level. Rows of wooden folding chairs faced a dark wooden stage. There some already sat, some stood, but most milled about. A tired baby cried, and his mother comforted him. Thrace Pike and his compatriots spoke together near the front of the stage.

A bell sounded and people began filling the seats. I took a seat near the back at the end of a row, clutching my dark brown handbag like any other lower-class widow.

Air and I raced down the grimy, trash-strewn alleyways until we got a couple of blocks away from the cops, then leaned against a wall, laughing. We escaped them again.

Snow glittered on the ruins of old Bridges: the bombed-out ‘scrapers and mansions, the fallen statues, the broken fountains.

Air surveyed the scene, his face full of wonder. “‘Tis near pretty, here at night.”

I nodded. It would have been prettier if the quadrant-folk hadn’t destroyed it all. “Why they bomb it?”

“Ma said people got mad,” Air said. “Rich men ate, they couldn’t.”

I shook my head. People were so stupid. “What’s different between then and now?”

Two to three hundred lower-class people almost filled the tent. A stout young woman wearing a gray dress which made her look like a man in a skirt went to the stage and began speaking about Mr. Pike.

Mr. Pike’s father and grandfather were in law, but after his father died, he became a reporter. The woman left out the part where he was no longer employed.

Mr. Pike appeared, to a smattering of applause. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming out tonight to hear me speak. I hope to enlighten and inform you of the facts about the illegal drug called Party Time …”

A man up front spoke, and laughter flowed around him.

“I understand,” Mr. Pike continued, a bit louder, “that this drug has been used in Bridges for many generations and in the past was a part of normal social life. However, with the harmful effects that can occur —”

A man a few rows down from me yelled, “— there ain’t no harm in it! You crazy do-gooders do more harm!”

“… seizures, hallucinations, and even death from overdose …”

An old woman across the room threw her hands in the air. “Garn! You’d have to drink a whole bottle to have all that happen!” Laughter broke out in several places in the tent.

“… myself and others can’t stand by and watch our town brought to destruction by those who lord over us with one hand and drag us down with the other.”

Voices began speaking out from all over:

“Now, wait just a minute —” a man said.

“You took away our socializing, now you’re going to take our Families too?” another man asked.

“What will we eat when they’re gone?” A woman said. “You gonna give us jobs?”

“My kids are alive now because we have work from the Clubbs,” another man said.

Several people nodded.

“You’re too young to remember when this city was tore apart by the gangs,” an old man said. “The Families beat them back and brought the city peace.”

Several cries of “Yeah!” came forth from the crowd.

A middle-aged man rose. “I know who you are. You’re Bridgers! You and your axes destroyed my Grampa’s saloon when I was a boy, about near killed him. I’ll listen to no more of this!” He spat and walked out, to applause. I recognized him; it was the man Roy whispered to at the house this afternoon.

So that was why Roy felt so pleased with himself.

Mr. Pike said, “Please … please just sit and listen to what I have to say …”

But the roar of the crowd made him impossible to hear. An apple knocked his hat off, and Mr. Pike retreated.

Most people walked out. Some went up front to talk with him (or at him). The woman in the gray dress handed out pamphlets … which looked suspiciously like the one Roy threw at me.

I watched the scene for some time. If enough people left, would Mr. Pike speak to the crowd which remained?

The tent creaked in the wind.

More people went to the stage than I expected, which was somewhat concerning. Roy was right: I was beyond my understanding in this matter. Killing Mr. Pike, while it would have been easier, would have not only proved his point, but made him a martyr to his cause.

A fight broke out near the stage and a whistle sounded in the distance. I moved to the side of the tent, not wanting to spend the evening questioned by the police. A constable entered the tent and I ducked underneath the canopy. Whistles and scuffling continued behind me as I stepped around the tent posts.

Stars shone that winter’s night. My breath left in clouds matching those passing high above the city near the full moon. The landscape resembled a photograph in grays and blacks: dark, yet lovely. The lights of Clubb quadrant twinkled in the distance across the river. A zeppelin passed by, farther still, and I watched its journey. Then I walked further from the tent to lean against an unlit lamp post, taking a cigarette from my handbag.

A voice, from behind. “Light that for you?”

It was Mr. Pike, of all people. I let him light my cigarette, trying my best not to laugh.

I pitched my voice lower; I was a middle-aged widow. “Thank you, sir.”

“Don’t pretend.” Something in his eyes and voice made me think rather than seeing me, veiled and high-necked, he saw me as I looked at our previous meeting. “When you went under the canopy rather than through the tent door as any usual woman would, I recognized you.”

I stared at him, afraid. “Why are you here?” Had he approached to unmask me? To humiliate me further?

“I could ask the same. Did you want to see how well your little trick worked?”

I felt relieved. “Mr. Pike, I knew nothing of the ‘trick,’ as you call it; I wanted to hear what you had to say. You may not believe it, but I agree with many of your points.” I took a drag of my cigarette through my veil and blew smoke at the uncaring stars. “Unfortunately, we’re not always free to do as we wish.”

Thrace Pike’s face, half-lit by the moon, seemed both resolute and sad. “We’re always free to do what we wish. Either way, there are consequences we can’t escape.”

I could say nothing to that.

The wind gusted, and my veil blew up, exposing my face. I pulled it down again, securing it better this time.

“You’re hurt,” he said, raising his hand.

I shrank from his touch. “You were free to publish your pamphlet, as you wished. Either way, there were consequences I couldn’t escape.”

Mr. Pike stood still for a long moment, staring past me, his jaw tight. Then the set of his face changed: he had come to some definite decision. He took hold of my upper arms, which shocked and surprised me so much I did nothing.

“I will not surrender. If your husband, or your father-in-law, or whoever sent that mob wants war, then war I will give them.”

I stared at him, stunned. “By yourself?”

“If that’s what it takes. I will see this city restored to one where law, not crime families, rule. Where people can move about their city safely, not limited by checkpoints and retribution. Where everyone has an equal say and a man can advance in life with honesty, not crawl in servitude to some trumped-up self-appointed monarchy.”

Could he really mean this? I saw no subterfuge in the man’s eyes. He could publicly humiliate me one day and lay hands on me another, speaking lofty words as he did so, without any guile.

He gazed into my eyes for a long moment, and he seemed then to realize where he stood and what he did. He let go.

I turned towards the river, relieved. “Noble, even admirable.” The man seemed determined to get himself killed. “But the Families will never allow changes in the way matters stand.” I faced him. “You don’t realize how dangerous these men are. If you oppose them, they will destroy you.”

“We shall see.” Mr. Pike tipped his hat. “Good night, madam,” he said, and walked away.

* * *

I made my way home, slipped in the back door by the breakfast room, and up the winding back stairs. I cracked open the door at the top of the stair. To my relief, our night footman wasn’t there. A glow came from around the corner, and I realized the man patrolled the hallway.

I crept into the darkened hall, opened Tony’s door, and went in. Tony snored in his bed, slowly and loudly, with slight hitches in his breathing, as if something was stuck in his throat. It frightened me: he had never sounded like this before.

I hurried into my closets, taking off my dress, hat, and shoes in the darkness, listening as Tony snored. I found myself holding my breath, waiting … waiting … waiting …

He wasn’t breathing.

I ran to the bed in my drawers and chemise, stockings still on. “Tony! Wake up!” I shook him, but he didn’t breathe. “Help!” I grabbed the bell-cord and pulled it.

The night footman rushed in. “What’s wrong?”

“He’s not breathing!”

He stood, stunned, then turned to the maids behind him. “Call the doctor!” Feet ran down the hall as I continued to shake Tony’s shoulder. “Lift him up,” the footman said, so I did so.

“Tony! Tony!” His head sagged forward, his lips dark and bluish. I shook him. “Wake up!”

Maids rushed into the room, screaming and crying. “Get out of here,” the footman said. “Give him air.”

Give him air? I leaned over, took a breath, and put my mouth on his, blowing as hard as I could. His chest rose sharply.

“Uhh.” Tony grimaced. “Ohh.”

My vision blurred. “Oh, please, Tony, wake up.”

His head slumped forward again, and the footman helped me sit him up better. “Do that again, breathe to him,” the footman said, so I did so, harder.

“Aaaah!” Tony’s chest rose. “Ow!” His eyes were closed, and his head lolled, but he took a breath on his own.

I never felt so grateful to see someone breathe before.

We held him upright for some time, and I breathed into him when he needed it. “Oh, Tony, please wake up.” I didn’t know how much longer I could do this, and it frightened me.

Shoes came stomping up the stairs, along the hall, as the footman and I held Tony up straighter. He hadn’t breathed again, so I blew in his mouth as hard as I could.

At the same time, I heard the door open behind me. “What are you doing?” Dr. Salmon said.

“He’s not breathing, Mrs. Spadros is breathing to him. It seems to help,” the footman said.

“Uhh, ah,” Tony said.

“He looks better,” I said. His lips were pinker.

“Dealer preserve us,” Dr. Salmon said, shocked. “How much opium did he take?”

Did I do this? I shrugged, mouth open, shaking my head, feeling close to tears.

The footman said. “Do that breathing again.”

I breathed in until my chest felt ready to burst, grabbed Tony’s face, and blew with all my might.

“Aaaah! Stop!” Tony yelled, and opened his eyes: his pupils were tiny, his eyes full of tears. Their unnatural form terrified me.

“You weren’t breathing, sir,” Dr. Salmon said. I glanced at the doctor; his shirt tails were loose around him, his jacket and vest open, his hair wild, as if he galloped straight here without a hat.

Tony focused on him. “What?” Then his head slumped to the left as his eyes closed.

“Did he have any alcohol?” Dr. Salmon appeared more concerned than I had ever seen him.

I nodded. “Two glasses of wine that I saw.”

The doctor shook his head. “We need to get him up walking.”

By this time, Pearson had entered the room, dressed, but barefoot, with his hair uncombed. So the footman and Pearson got Tony up, walking him around the room as he snored.

Pearson glanced at me. “Where is Amelia?”

Now I knew how he kept order. She had been crying in the hall but dashed in.

“Tend to your mistress at once,” Pearson said.

Amelia stared at me blankly, then grabbed my robe and covered me with it. It was then I realized my state of undress.

I sat on the side of the bed, my face in my hands. If I had returned five minutes later, Tony would be dead.

“How long ago did he take the opium?” Dr. Salmon said.

I stared up at him. “Right before dinner.” What time was it now? “An hour and a half, maybe two?”

“Dinner was at eight, mum,” Pearson said, as he lugged Tony along, who still snored. “It’s well past ten.”

Dr. Salmon shook his head. “Too long ago for an emetic.” He went to his bag and took out a device, listening to Tony’s chest for several seconds, then let out a sigh of relief. “His heart is sound. It just needs to work through him.” He moved some of the vials around in his bag, then came up with a tiny bottle containing yellow powder.

I watched as the doctor moved to Tony’s tea table and took out a small set of brass scales. He measured a tiny amount of the yellow powder. He peered at me over his shoulder. “Was his appetite good? What did he eat?”

I stared at Dr. Salmon, not remembering what we ate.

“We had pork roast,” Pearson said. “With winter peas and fatback.”

Dr. Salmon nodded. “The heavy meal saved him.”