Red Dog Conspiracy: A Noir Future Steampunk Crime Family Saga

Every few hours Tony woke in pain. I dosed him with opium then held him as he gasped until the medication took effect.

It reminded me of Air, a month before he died. We sat on the cold ground by the fence, and I held him as he coughed up blood. Eleanora screamed, long hair flying, banging on the black iron bars with a piece of metal until the lady at the poorhouse called a doctor. I felt sorry for two-year-old David and six-year-old Herbert, who clutched her skirts and cried in terror.

I couldn’t smoke around Tony: this made him cough. Even with Amelia and Michaels there to assist, I dared not leave him for long. It took several days before Tony was well enough to sit in a chair, so I wasn’t able to venture out as I wished.

At times, I felt trapped, at other times, close to tears at his suffering. I thought once, gazing at Tony as he slept, perhaps this is what a mother feels for her child.

We were in a terrible situation, and so sudden.

A reporter writing an editorial against the Families. Someone forging a note from Madame. Air’s little brother missing. A couple who knew of my business and told others about it. At least one man following me, watching me. The Red Dog stamps. A focused attack on Tony by a group of men. Our guards missing. A shipment hijacked.

I needed to do something. I often wept in frustration, not knowing what to do to help.

A fourth-page article in the Golden Bridges appeared: “unidentified bodies in the river, dead several days.” Other than that, Tony’s adventure went unnoticed, and we were grateful.

Roy and Molly Spadros visited shortly after. Since Tony slept, they took me to the far end of the garden for my shooting lesson while Roy questioned me as to how the house fared.

Roy insisted on holding lessons at least monthly, up until now when Tony was away. I couldn’t see when I would ever need to shoot someone.

“We’re in the Business, dammit,” Roy said the one time I asked. “Someone pulls out a gun, you better defend yourself.”

So I practiced in my morning dress on grass still damp with dew. I fired while lying flat, on both knees, on one knee, standing, one handed, two handed, with my right hand, with my left hand … I seemed to have some talent for it.

Roy often shouted or struck the ground beside me, or kicked me, or forced Molly to stand next to the target. The only way I could bring myself to pull the trigger was to focus only on the target. The world became silent; Roy’s curses and blows vanished, Molly disappeared. The target was all I saw.

I didn’t always hit precisely at first, but I have never once missed a target.

Roy examined the paper target. “You’re almost as good as Molly.” I breathed a sigh of relief once his back turned.

Molly took my arm as we walked back to the house, while Roy followed several paces behind smoking a cigar. “I’m glad no harm has befallen you. Rumors of an attempt against you came before the Ball.”

“Against me. Me in particular?”

Molly nodded.

This was startling. “From where? Why did you not say so before this?”

She glanced away. “I don’t know the threat’s exact nature. My husband didn’t wish you to know.”

Perhaps to see what would happen? Roy took a perverse pleasure in harm coming to anyone, but seemed to especially revel in harm coming to me. The protection we received was all for Tony’s benefit. “Well, other than Mr. Spadros being so ill, things have been peaceful.” We strolled along, and a bird flew past.

“I heard you visited the Kerrs last week.”

“Why, yes.” I wondered how she heard.

“How is Mr. Kerr?”

“Quite well. I didn’t know you knew him.”

Molly smiled. “I knew Mr. Kerr when he ran a speakeasy in the Spadros Pot. You’re not the only one born there.”

I stared at her, and she laughed as if my expression were the funniest thing in the world.

Molly, born in the Pot? Did Roy know? Surely he didn’t know. How did she end up here?

But then Roy came up beside Molly, and she took his arm. “Darling, let’s see if Jane has a treat for Katherine. She loves it so when you bring her something.” Katherine was Tony’s younger sister and very much Daddy’s girl.

Roy seemed pleased with the idea, and never asked why Molly laughed.

Ma told me once if you did your job really well, a quadrant-man might make you his mistress. You and your children would never have to work the beds again. She told me she knew a woman who left the Pot that way, sponsored by her Family man and set up with her own shop.

Being sponsored by a Family and moved into one of the quadrants was the highest achievement for a Pot rag. “Real freedom,” Ma called it.

Had Molly managed to do this? But how? With who? How did she end up married to Roy? For her, the dream seemed to have turned into a nightmare.

We later had tea in the parlor. “It’s strange,” Roy said, “Anthony was never ill as a child. Did the doctor say why he got pleurisy now?”

I shrugged. “I have no idea. The doctor was definite on the diagnosis, though.”

Roy said, “He’s a good one, Dr. Salmon, been in our family since I was a boy.” He lit a cigar. “I hear some of the men have been brawling.”

“Oh? Oh, yes, they … I don’t know what they were doing. Mr. Spadros was quite stern with them.”

“Heh.” Roy blew a smoke ring into the air.

“Sir, I would like your advice on a matter.” That tack seemed best to take with one so mercurial as he.

Roy leaned forward. “Go on.”

“I read in the paper last week some were unhappy with the current state of affairs …”

Roy scowled.

“… and it occurred to me that a novel way to silence such talk would be to attack the issue head on. With your permission, I would like to invite this wayward reporter to discuss the benefits our house bestows upon the city.”

Roy leaned back, one hand to his chin, and crossed one leg over the other. “It’s risky. Depends on the reporter and what his ideas are. If he’s a crusader, seeing how we live could make him even more set against us.”

I smiled. “But of course, the editor of the Bridges Daily has been the recipient of much of our favor, has he not? A word and anything unpleasant would be sent to the trash can, and we would know this reporter was one we … couldn’t work with.”

Roy laughed. “Clever girl! Loosen the fangs, so to speak.”

Molly looked at me sideways, as if she guessed what I had in mind, and gave a slight smile.

* * *

A few days later I had an awed Thrace Pike seated in my parlor. Mr. Pike was twenty, lean, and dressed in a threadbare dark brown suit which was out of fashion by close to ten years. He had a shock of straw-colored hair and eyes so dark as to appear black. When he appeared at the door, he looked like a crusader, and for a moment I reconsidered my plans.

I recalled my mother’s skill at turning men to her favor without taking them into her bed. This gave me an idea as to how to gain this reporter’s goodwill and information both. I wished I could see my mother for advice, but Roy’s threats still frightened me. I dared not go to the Spadros section of the Pot to see her, and I didn’t know if she could meet with me without harm befalling her. It seemed Roy’s eyes and ears were everywhere.

From my contacts I learned Mr. Pike kept a locket with a small portrait of his wife and newborn child in his waist band, given to him by his grandmother. He wore no ring. A pale indentation in his finger suggested he either felt unhappy with his situation or his family had fallen on very hard times. During my tour of our home, rather than admiring the house, he hung on my every word. At the time, I thought, crusader or not, my scheme might still work.

Amelia remained in the corner with her needlework after bringing us both some tea. I placed my chair so Mr. Pike would be illuminated, yet I would be in shadow.

The sun broke through the clouds and lit the room, revealing Mr. Pike’s eyes were not black, instead a very dark brown.

“I’m sorry Mr. Spadros is unable to meet with you. Business, you know.” I smiled.

“I understand, ma’am. What sort of business does Mr. Spadros engage in?”

“Managing these estates is enough work for any gentleman, don’t you think? Overseeing the staff, examining the books to make sure none of our holdings is mismanaged, directing repairs of our buildings …”

Tony did all these. He also oversaw the casino and directed the Party Time shipments, but I didn’t think Mr. Pike needed to know that.

“Yes, I see.” Mr. Pike opened his notebook, then hesitated. “May I ask why you wanted to see me?”

“I read your editorial at New Year’s, and I wanted to hear more of your thoughts.”

“Really.” He seemed more at ease. “What part of my editorial interested you so?”

“Well …” I unwrapped my shawl, placing it aside.

Before meeting with Mr. Pike, I put on a new corset which matched my skin tone, with a neckline which cut straight across my bosom. I had Amelia lace my corset to enhance my decolletage — I dared not breathe too deeply, or I might show more than I wished — and wore a wispy, low-cut bodice covering made of veil material, also in my skin tone.

This bodice was normally worn over a darker colored corset or bodice at a ball or evening party, but worn straight over the skin-colored corset like this, sitting in relative shadow, it gave the appearance that I wore … very little. Only intent scrutiny would show the truth.

And scrutiny was what I desired. I have a sufficiently endowed body for almost any man.

This combination of clothing — while perhaps indiscreet — was perfectly legal wear, even in public. Yet I noticed, as I thought might be the case with a man so newly with child, his eyes were drawn to my body rather than to my actions.

When he didn’t look away, I knew I had him.

“… Mr. Pike, you wrote that changes needed to be made — I believe the quote was, ‘to the current state of … affairs.’ What changes do you … propose?”

Silence does terrible things to a man. It makes him consider his words or makes them fly from his head.

Mr. Pike said nothing. His mouth hung open; his eyes rested somewhat below mine.

Very good.

I chose a necklace for this occasion with a long, thin pendant that dipped between my breasts. After a few moments of silence, I began to toy with my necklace, just to see the effect this produced.

Dip … dip … dip …

The color rose in his cheeks and his pupils widened. Very good. “Ah, well,” he glanced at my necklace, “um, I have considered the recent, um, violence in the area … due to the, ah,” another glance, “recent, um, gang activity.”

“Oh, yes.” I felt gratified to see him glance at my necklace again. “Their brazen appearance, out in the open …” I took as deep a breath as I dared and let it out. “… it’s intriguing. Could you … tell me more about them?”

His face turned crimson, and he swallowed, shifting a bit in his seat. This would have the effect of making his trousers much more comfortable than they appeared. “Well, um, ma’am, um … there are always so many.”

He then grimaced a bit. I didn’t believe the man’s face could turn any redder, but it did.

This was highly entertaining.

“Um,” he said, “uh, the most recent ones … um, the police are calling Red Dogs, because of the stamps found on walls or on cards, um, such as you might use for calling.”

I nodded, and began playing with my necklace again. “What do the police know of these scoundrels?”

“Well,” he said, not looking at me, the color subsiding from his cheeks, and I realized he had found a topic he could focus on safely, “they are all young, some as young as 12 or 14, uh,” he glanced briefly at my necklace, and his face reddened again, “mum, but, uh, apparently led by older boys who direct their actions. A lesser gang, to be sure, but they are causing a great deal of mischief at present.”

“These older boys. What do the police know of them?”

“Very little.” He stared at the wall behind me. “The smaller ones call them aces, that’s all I know. Two chips and an ace is what the boys say, and the chips just do what the ace tells them.”

“This is what I don’t understand: what changes should we make to improve the situation? The Spadros Family provides employment, shelter, food, clothing, and safety for our whole quadrant. Would you take these benefits away merely because some children misbehave?”

Thrace Pike blinked, realizing he had been caught. “Perhaps I wrote hastily, madam. Of course I wouldn’t want the city to suffer. But … surely you agree that the conditions in the poorer areas — when people see the opulence of the Families — could lead to a certain dissatisfaction and what you call ‘misbehavior’ in our younger citizens.”

This wasn’t going the way I wanted it to.

I had an idea.

I rose, re-wrapping my shawl to cover myself, and Amelia rose as well. “Then we must do something to help! I invite you to accompany me to our poorer areas so I may donate to the needs of our people. Would you be able to join me, say, next Tuesday at noon, by the charity house outside the Spadros Pot?”

Mr. Pike picked up his overcoat and held it in front of him. “Most certainly,” he said, not meeting my eye. “Thank you for your invitation, and your gracious hospitality.”

After he left, Amelia chuckled. “You are a wicked woman, mum. He dare not write anything specific about our meeting today, and there will be little of negativity to write about on Tuesday, unless he is more cynical than he seems.”

I wasn’t sure. He was supposed to leave in a warmer mood towards me … but he almost seemed angry.

I hoped I hadn’t made matters worse.