The Black Hand

30

I gave a long, shuddering sigh and let my body float in the bathhouse behind my employer’s house. I lay to the side, my head resting on a towel on the cedar slats, but my limbs were buoyant due to the Epsom salts Mac had thoughtfully put in the water. The salts stung a little, for I had sustained a half dozen cuts and bruises during the last week; but taken altogether, it felt marvelous. Give me a comfortable bathhouse over a dockside any day.

Barker suddenly breached like a sperm whale. He didn’t even remove his spectacles when he went underwater. He stood and waded to the side, where he dried himself, sitting on the ledge.

“You should get that looked after,” I said, regarding the bullet wound near his shoulder. “It could go septic.”

“I’ll have Mac disinfect and bandage it in the morning,” he said, drying his arms. He stretched and gave a yawn.

“It’s finally over,” I remarked. “Another successful case.”

“It’s a wee bit early for that, lad. Let’s wait to hear from Mr. Anderson.”

“To what could he object?” I countered. “True, Scotland Yard got involved at the last minute, but surely the government knows we were working for the Home Office.”

“I’ve never known a Home Office man who was completely satisfied about anything.”

I stood up, because I was getting a crick in my neck. “Let them fight their own battles, then. I doubt we shall clear expenses when the check finally arrives.”

“It’s not always about the money, lad.”

“It is for me. I’ve got a burial to pay for.”

Barker soaked his feet in the warm water. “There is a streak of pessimism in you.”

“It comes from the Llewelyns having their kingdom taken away, I suppose.”

“Aye, well, you don’t see me crying over Culloden.” He stood and pulled on one of the thick white robes. That’s Barker all over. Be optimistic and he cautions you. Be pessimistic and he’ll blame your entire race. I got out and threw on my own robe, following him into the garden.

“At least the heat is past,” I remarked, as I hopped across the white gravel that the Guv’s gardeners were obliged to rake every couple of days. One of the black ornamental stones suddenly moved. I reached down and scratched one of Harm’s ears, to stop him from biting my exposed ankles. It was cool enough for me to wish I’d dried myself more thoroughly before venturing outside.

“Are you going down to Sussex tomorrow?” I asked.

“I’ll go soon,” he said. “She’ll expect a report.”

I nodded and left it at that. I wouldn’t pester him with more questions, nor would I invite myself along. If he wanted me to come, he would ask me.

My employer walked barefoot across the bridge and past the standing rocks to the corner where his potted Penjing trees stood on shelves against a slatted wall. It was dark here, but he stuck his fingers into the soil of each. He must have considered them dry because he took up a watering can and plied it thoroughly. Then he gave a low whistle to Harm and led us into the house.

“Nice that the garden is safe again,” I said.

“Do you think we should fortify the back gate?” he asked.

It occurred to me that it was the first time he had actually asked my opinion on something. “No,” I replied after a moment. “It would ruin the aesthetics. Leave it as it is, I think. We can chase out whatever pests get in.”

Barker nodded and went upstairs, the dog tucked under his arm. I locked the door behind us and followed him.

The next morning, our lives had returned to normal, that is, the part of our lives that was like everyone else’s. We got up, dressed for church, and walked across the street to the Metropolitan Tabernacle. Or at least we tried. There was an obstacle between us and the tabernacle. It was Vincenzo Gigliotti, resplendent in a morning suit with a white boutonniere. He had not come to sell ice cream that day, but was waiting to speak to Barker. My employer frowned. He does not like to be diverted from a mission, which at that moment was to get to chapel on time and into our accustomed pew.

“Mr. Barker,” Gigliotti said, bowing slightly.

“You are not at mass this morning, sir?” the Guv asked, nodding his head.

“I am too occupied with arrangements. I bury my son tomorrow.”

“I will miss Victor and our little talks. Will the Neapolitan remain open?”

“For a while, at least. I understand that you have killed the man responsible for Victor’s death and that of the Serafinis.”

“It was Scotland Yard who killed him,” Barker pointed out.

“Oh, come,” he objected, as if my employer were merely being modest. “They are but hounds that bite whom you tell them to. I merely wish to inform you that the Camorra is satisfied and our vendetta ended. There will be no reprisal here against any Sicilians, unless they cause a new outrage.”

“That is for the best,” Barker stated. “Your community is too small to be divided into factions.”

“I believe Father Amati is satisfied with the outcome of this situation, save for the loss of my son.”

“How is your grandson?”

“He has retreated into himself. His mother is trying to teach him not to nurse anger in his heart, but Victor’s death has been a cruel blow to us all. I am glad my wife is not alive to see it.”

“And who shall run the Camorra now that Victor is gone?”

“That mantle is on my shoulders now. I gave it to him and now it comes back to me again.”

“It was a dangerous business he was in,” Barker said.

“It is a dangerous world, Mr. Barker.”

“I’ll not argue the point, sir. Is there another question I can answer for you? We must get to chapel.”

“Just one. These brothers, twins. I understand they actually killed Victor.”

“Aye. Both are seriously injured. I understand Scotland Yard is watching them carefully. Do you intend to go against them?”

Gigliotti frowned. “We have not decided. Are you still involved in this?”

“No, my involvement is at an end.”

I watched Gigliotti nod in thought. The truce with the Sicilians did not extend to the man who killed his son.

“Give our respects to your family,” the Guv said, tugging the brim of his bowler.

We parted company with Mr. Gigliotti. When he was gone, Barker turned to me. “The Camorra is dead, or very nearly. Most of their members joined because of Victor’s passion. With him gone, Vincenzo will most likely devote all his energy toward protecting his family.”

“Forgive me for asking, sir, but you didn’t plan this in any way, did you?”

“No, Victor brought it down upon his own shoulders. You saw him challenge the Sicilians openly on the docks. Why do you ask?”

“Everything worked to our advantage. You didn’t just bring down one criminal organization, you brought down three: the Mafia, the Camorra, and the Hooley Gang, since Patrick is bound for prison.”

The Guv gave a wintry smile. “Thomas, sometimes the best defense is simply to step out of the way and wait for the smoke to clear.”