“The Umbria?” Bell prompted. “The steamship? The Cunard liner?”
“We seen this old man. He was rushing to Pier 40 like he’s late. Not even looking where he was going. We couldn’t believe our luck. We was down on Clarkson Street looking for drunk sailors to roll. Instead, here comes a rich old man in a rich green coat and sparkling rings on his fingers who could pay one hundred fifty dollars for his steamship ticket. It was dark and pouring down rain, not a soul on Clarkson. Eyes clipped on his thumb gouge in case he gave us trouble. We pounced like cats on our rich rat. Brian went to tear his rings from his fingers. I figured to find a wallet bulging with money in his fancy coat…”
“What happened?”
“He pulled a sword out of his cane.”
Billy Collins turned his gaze on Bell, his eyes wide with wonder. “A sword. We were so drunk, we couldn’t hardly get out of our own way. The old man swings his sword. I dodged it. He floored me with the cane. Tough old man, knew his business. Set me up. I dodged right into his cane. Heard a noise like dynamite going off inside my head. Then I was gone.”
Billy Collins sniffed the sandwich again and stared at it.
“Then what happened?” asked Bell.
“I woke up in the gutter, soaking wet and freezing cold.”
“What about Eyes?”
“Brian O’Shay was gone, and I never seen him again.”
“Did the old man kill Eyes O’Shay?”
“I didn’t see no blood.”
“Could the rain have washed the blood away?”
Collins begins to weep. “Vanished into thin air. Just like my little girl. Except she wasn’t hurting nobody. But Eyes and me, we sure as hell was trying.”
“What if I told you Eyes came back?”
“I rather you told me my little girl came back.”
“From where?”
“I don’t know. Tiny little thing.”
“Your child?”
“Child? I got no child… Eyes came back, I heard.”
“Yes, he did. Tommy saw him.”
“Didn’t come to see me… But who the hell would?” He closed his eyes and began to snore. The sandwich fell from his fingers.
“Billy.” Isaac Bell shook him awake. “Who was the old man?”
“Rich old guy in a green coat.” He slipped toward sleep again.
“Billy!”
“Leave me be.”
“Who was your little girl?”
Billy Collins screwed his eyes shut. “No one knows. No one remembers. Except the priest.”
“Which priest?”
“Father Jack.”