The Lunatic Fringe: A Novel Wherein Theodore Roosevelt Meets the Pink Angel by DeAndrea William L

Author:DeAndrea, William L. [DeAndrea, William L.]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9781453291313
Publisher: MysteriousPress.com/Open Road
Published: 2012-12-17T16:00:00+00:00

II.

Muldoon walked the familiar streets of Mackerelville for hours searching for Brian O’Leary. The boy had, since Saturday last, taken Mr. Roosevelt at his word and visited him at Mulberry Street once or twice.

The Commissioner remembered the boy’s home address. Muldoon had gone there. The dark windowless flat he’d found, and the drunk and the shrew inside, were all Muldoon needed to tell him why Brian O’Leary spent most of his time on the streets.

The boy’s name had come up as the solution to a problem. Cleo had to be found. As Mr. Roosevelt had pointed out, now that they had a name for her, the searching would go that much more easily.

But not for the police. It pained Muldoon to have to insist on that, but he was adamant. “Look, Mr. Roosevelt,” he’d said, “I don’t like this sneakin’ around any more than you do. But the fact is there for all to see: Captain Herkimer met me searchin’ for Cleo that afternoon, and before the day was out, I was tossed in the drink like I was personally chummin’ for sharks.”

Roosevelt had to face the truth, though it irritated him. He mumbled something about keeping closer eye on Captain Herkimer.

So the police were to be left out. How to find the woman’s trail?

Surprisingly enough, it was Roscoe who inspired the idea. Roscoe had a taste for sensational literature (acquired in prison) that was the rival of Muldoon’s own. While the patrolman and the Commissioner discussed the problem, the ex-pugilist wondered aloud what Mr. Sherlock Holmes would do in a situation like this.

Muldoon (and Mr. Roosevelt too, if the truth be known) gave out with a cry of astonishment. It was obvious what the hero of Mr. Arthur Conan Doyle’s detective romances would do.

So Muldoon strolled the streets of the neighborhood where he had grown to manhood, looking for the newsboy who counted Mr. Roosevelt his friend.

He found him at twilight in the midst of a game of hide-and-seek. The boy was so intent on the game, he never noticed Muldoon standing near home base until he’d “tap-tapped” everyone from his hiding place.

“You’ve got the makin’s of a good detective,” Muldoon told him. “I never thought you’d find the one under the ash-pile.”

“Ahh, that’s Filthy Larry. He always hides under the ash-pile.” He regarded Muldoon. “Ain’t I met you before, Mister?”

“You have. The same time night you met Mr. Roosevelt.”

The boy brushed red hair from his eyes, and narrowed them at the officer. “Mulroy, ain’t it?”

“Muldoon.”

“I ain’t done nothing,” Brian said quickly.

“I ain’t sayin’ you did. I’m just a messenger. I’ve got a note here for you from Mr. Roosevelt.”

The boy took it, after wiping his dirty hands on his knickers. He studied the note. “Uses a lot of big words, don’t he?”

“I’ll explain anything you can’t understand,” Muldoon said.

“Who’s this Doyle fellow? He the one lives on Delancey Street?”

“He’s an Englishman. We’re goin’ to borrow an idea he wrote in a book. You ought to read one sometime.”

“I’m too busy with my papers.

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