The Ballad of James McKenna

Day Seventeen: Trigger

Day Seventeen
         Trigger
Word Count: 945

The day dawned bright and blessedly clear, with a slight, crisp breeze that made the necessity of jackets a comfort rather than an odious thing. Jimmy was glad of it. After a week of rain had brought their investigation to a stand-still, sunshine and good air were just what they needed to continue working. It was past time to finally solve the thing, to bring rest to the victims and closure to their case. He was missing Chicago, truth be told, and the simplicity of a time when his mechanicals could make everything right when the world was upside down. But first he needed to solve the case.

"Ah, what a glorious day. I can't believe something like this is happening in July." Nate breathed deep, sucking in the first clean air he'd seen since Virginia. "As happy as I am to finally be done with that blasted rain, it has done wonders for the weather."

"I'm glad you like it, because we have to walk. We're running through our discretionary funds remarkably quickly."

Nate frowned, but shrugged. "Glorious days are meant for walking, I suppose. To the Tenderloin, hmm?"

Jimmy nodded and the two men set off from their hotel, heading north on the Bowery toward Union Square, where they could pick up Broadway and head for midtown. As everyone had moved north, the theater district had moved, too, taking with it all of the various unsavory peoples that cleaved to the business of show business. So, anywhere from 23rd to 42nd, from 5th to 7th, you were far more likely to end up seeing a prostitute outside a brothel than a Churchman in his robes. Truth be told, you were most likely to see a Churchman following a prostitute into a brothel after a night at the best theater America had to offer.

It was a shame, really. Theater was wonderful. Just the sound of a curtain swooshing its way along the polished wood of the stage was enough to bring Jimmy back to the finally months before he went off to war and before Father's injury, the last time the family had been whole, if separated. Ainsley, his middle sister (and nine years younger than him) fancied herself an actress, nay, a performer (if there is anything as ridiculous as a six-year-old girl swooning dramatically over a broken heart, Jimmy has yet to see it). Her passion was song and dance, lines delivered with gravitas or hysterical laughter. She harbored a particular passion for Shakespeare (no matter that she couldn't understand it properly), as more modern playwrights were considered far too salubrious for the likes of a good Christian girl, and Jimmy had no problem fawning all over her.

For Ainsley's seventh birthday, Jimmy had built her a clockwork stage. With only a few twists of a wind-up key, the curtain opened all on its own and electric lights brightened in time with the motion of the curtain pull. It had taken him most of the year, but he'd managed to get it ready right on time for his little sister who loved to perform. She'd squealed in delight, auburn curls bouncing in delight and dark, McKenna eyes flashing with joy. "Why, it is just simply wonderful, dearest brother! I declare it the best gift I could have possibly received!"

Jimmy laughed as she, forgetting that she was supposed to be a serious actress of the stage, launched herself at him, all long arms and little girl excitement. He'd hugged her close for a moment before releasing her to explore her new world. That evening, sitting in front of a fire that they didn't really need for the light but liked for the warmth, Ainsley treated them to the seven-year-old girl version of "The Merry Wives of Windor", complete with random audience member cameos.

Three months later, Jimmy turned sixteen and he joined the Union Army. Six months after that, Father took a minie ball to the hip, shattering it completely. And their family was broken forever.

"You with me, Jimmy?" Nate waved in front of Jimmy's eyes. Somehow, they'd reached the Flatiron District and headed into the Tenderloin. They were here to interview the Negro community. Because the victims were themselves Negro, it was hard to tell what sort of familial relations they may have fostered since the 13th Amendment outlawed slavery. Many times, blood relatives had different names and lived thousands of miles apart, thus Negro families often had more to do with shared emotional and psychological bonds than traditional blood ties. Thus, all they could do was invade the Negro centers of town and canvas the whole damned neighborhood. The Tenderloin was the more southerly of the two Negro centers; the other, bigger one, was Harlem, but no one there had wanted to speak to two white investigators, even if they were investigating the deaths of their own.

Old habits died hard, on both sides of the fence.

"Yeah, I'm here. Just remembering better times."

"Old times are always better times, my friend." Nate smiled. "Keep your memories. I have a feeling we're going to need them, in the end."

Jimmy nodded. "I've a very great feeling you're right, Nate. Good memories to think of and a great deal of drink to wipe the bad ones away." The two men laughed together, then, for a brief moment sharing the ease of being good friends walking together in the big city. Then the gravity of their situation reasserted itself and they steeled once more for the horror of being Pinkerton men on the dwindling trail of a crazed killer, struggling with their last lead and quickly running out of options.