Steeplechase, page 7
Katie looked up at him in astonishment. “Actually…yes. You’re smarter than you look, Mr. Corrigan.”
“This mutt’s face fools ’em every time.” Corrigan smiled.
Katie looked out over the darkened ocean. It occurred to her that, somehow, being with this man at this time—and in the impossibly romantic setting of the glowing beach—was more real to her than anything she’d experienced in a long time.
“So, that’s out of the way,” Corrigan said. “Or maybe I should prove it this way.” He reached up and began undoing the pearl buttons that held Katie’s collar together. “Actions do speak louder than words.…”
Chapter 22
Coney Island, 2017
Shafts of soft light appeared through a scattering of clouds as the sun came up over the horizon. Katie slowly opened her eyes to the growing illumination of sky above her. She quickly closed them again and tried to remember the last thing that happened before she fell asleep.
The soft lull of the tide. Jake. Making love on the nighttime beach. As real as anything she had ever felt.
Katie slowly opened her eyes and willed herself to simply take in the view and be calm and present and, most of all, not to think. She lasted all of five seconds before she turned onto her side. From her vantage point on the beach, the park came into view; the graceful arching of the roller coaster was the first thing to catch her eye. She tried to linger over it and take in its timeless design, but almost involuntarily, she turned to her right and saw the far-off backdrop of the park: the glinting skyscrapers of modern-day New York City.
“Home again,” Katie muttered.
She looked down at her clothes: the same T-shirt and jeans as yesterday—filthy after that dip in the ocean. And she was barefoot.
Mortified, Katie quickly got up and looked around to see who might have spotted her. She uttered a drawn-out sigh.
“Enough,” she said out loud. “This stops now.”
With that, Katie hurried over to the boardwalk and warily entered the Surf Shack. After casing both the lobby and her room, she headed into the community bathroom, which was, for once, blessedly empty.
Twenty minutes later, the freshly showered and presentably dressed Katie exited the Shack and started toward the park using backstreets. She would know them blindfolded—just as she had known the shadowy streets in last night’s dream. Eventually, she ended up at the entrance to the Cyclone.
Katie jogged up the front ramp and saw her father at the end of a row of cars, wiping grease from a wheel on the end cart. He glanced up with surprise as Katie approached.
“You’re keeping some unusually early mornings these days,” Billy observed warily. “Or is this just the end of an unusually long night?”
“I’m stone-cold sober, Dad,” she said. “That’s one of the few things I’m sure of right now.”
He went back to degreasing the cart’s wheel. “What is it that’s troubling you, Katie?”
“I honestly don’t know where to begin,” Katie said as she took a seat in the cart and watched her father work. “But I have to try. Before I do, though: would you describe me as a fairly levelheaded person? Or am I flighty? Or dreamy?”
Billy scoffed. “You haven’t a flighty bone in your body. But dreamy? Well, you used to have some wild ones when you were a little girl. The things you’d report to your mother and I in the morning!”
“I remember. They always seemed so real to me.” Katie frowned. “You’d tell me if I were delusional or something, right? Even if I wasn’t aware of it or you thought it would hurt me?”
Billy put down his dirty rag. “That is an awfully strange question, my girl.”
“Not the most reassuring response, Dad,” Katie sighed ruefully.
He got up and gave her a good long stare.
“Tell you what we’re going to do,” Billy stated. “We’re going to get some breakfast, and you’re going to tell me all about it, from start to finish. But first, you’re going with me on my morning ride. Nothing clears the head better than a turn on the old Cyclone.”
Despite the funk she was in, Katie grinned. “Jeez, it’s been years.”
Billy joined her in the cart and gave a thumbs-up signal to a short man standing in the control booth. The empty row of carts slowly started down the track, with Katie and her father in the last cart. As they went up the first hill, Billy took her hand and gave it a kiss.
They cleared the top and shot back down with a stomach-flipping jolt. Katie had almost forgotten the incredible adrenaline high that the Cyclone could produce. As they swung over the next hilltop, Katie threw her arms in the air and let out the biggest scream she could muster—a cry of equal parts exhilaration, frustration, and, she realized with surprise, determination.
As the row of cars slowed and crested back to the entrance point, Katie hugged her father. He gripped her back tightly and then gave another thumbs-up signal to his controller. Katie turned and caught a glimpse of the man, who looked swarthy. And he had—even at this distance she could see it—noticeably bad skin.
“New guy?” she asked.
“Yep.” Billy nodded. “Just out on parole. Shears made a big show about hiring him. Giving people a second chance and all that. Even uses him as his personal chauffeur sometimes. That’s awfully trusting, if you ask me.”
Katie turned sharply toward her father and then looked back at the controller.
“I wonder…” Katie said aloud. Suddenly, she bolted out of the cart and said, as she ran toward the exit, “Thanks, Dad! You’ve saved the day once again.”
Katie made a beeline across the park toward the corporate offices. It was so early that the building hadn’t yet opened, so Katie let herself in with her key. Without turning on the lights, she made her way down the elegant marble floor of the main hall and was surprised to see one door at the end slightly ajar, with a light on inside.
As she approached the office, she glanced at the framed images that adorned the walls: glossy black-and-white photographs and faded color lithographs of old Steeplechase Park and the surrounding areas of Coney Island. Katie paused, fascinated by the long-gone people and the much-changed landscape. Here were the old attractions: the Tickler, Ward’s Bathing Pavilion, and the carousel. Another set of images showed rows of scattered Craftsman-style homes near the park. In front in one of the pictures stood the proud developer, a man with a thick thatch of white hair. Next to that picture was one of a roadhouse restaurant, with the unsmiling staff standing on its porch.
Dwarfing them all was a large photo of Stauch’s Ballroom. It was dated 1907, and standing in front of the ballroom were several men holding up steins of beer. Katie leaned in closer. One of the men wore a slouch hat and had a mischievous glint in his eyes—light eyes that sparkled, evident even in a black-and-white photo. Corrigan.
Katie almost gasped but stifled her reaction when she heard an angry voice from inside the office. On the door was the name Mickey Shears. She leaned in and listened.
Shears was on the phone and pacing across his office, agitated in a way that conflicted with his usual cool demeanor.
“No, you made the mistake!” he hissed into the phone. “No one was supposed to be hurt, let alone killed!”
While he listened, Shears picked up a pen from his desk and then furiously threw it across the room.
“You can’t make it right!” he all but screamed. He went over to his plush office chair and dropped into it. His face sagged as he listened. “I know, I know,” he sighed. “She’s the only person who’s going to be able to put all this together.…She’s a known alcoholic, so it won’t be questioned. But it’s got to look like a suicide. There can’t be any more accidental deaths, certainly not to our own security manager.”
Katie reared backward as though reacting to a blast of heat. Terrified, she slowly turned and tried to silently creep back down the hall. Now her shoes seemed to squeak like a rusty hinge with every step on the marble floor. Shears called out from behind her.
“Katie! Katie, come here!” he yelled.
She yanked open the door and fled out onto the empty boardwalk. She looked around desperately, just as she had when the pale man had chased her—when she had raced down to the pier. When Corrigan had saved her.
She took off across the boardwalk and did a neat jump over the railing and onto the beach. She ran and ran across the expanse of the beach until she reached the wooden piling under the pier. She closed her eyes tightly.
“Jake! Jake!” she cried. “I don’t know how this works. I don’t understand any of this. But please come. Please!”
She slowly opened her eyes. She heard someone approaching from behind. Smiling with relief, she turned around.
Directly behind her stood a short man wearing a worn jockey’s cap and an old-fashioned tweed jacket. He was holding a knife.
And his face was cruelly disfigured with pitted acne scars.
Chapter 23
Coney Island, 1907
Marinacci used a pistol to nudge Katie forward through streets and alleys that, initially, she did not recognize at all. The roads were unpaved and muddy and ran along the undeveloped back of the park. But as they came upon a rickety and squalid office building, she suddenly realized by its proximity to the beach that one day a modern apartment complex would stand on the very spot.
Katie looked around desperately for someone passing by, but the back ways were eerily deserted. Marinacci noticed her side-glances and reached forward to rudely cup her buttocks. She whipped around, incensed.
“We’re all alone, sugar,” Marinacci said, leering. “It’s too bad we gotta meet some people or we coulda got to know each other a little better. Won’t happen now.”
“So death really isn’t the worst fate,” Katie sniped, but she couldn’t hide the slight tremble in her voice.
Marinacci shoved her toward a staircase. When they got to the door at the top, he lightly tapped out a code on it with his pistol. After a moment, the door opened to reveal a darkened room with a single lantern shining on a table in the middle.
Katie was shoved into the room. Marinacci slammed the door and locked it behind them.
Katie tried to adjust her eyes to the near darkness. Eventually she saw two figures in the far corner of the room, heavily bound to chairs: Corrigan and Africa. As she made a startled move toward them, Katie sensed someone else standing to the side in the shadows. She turned slowly.
“Don’t hide. I know you’re there,” she said with disgust. “Come out…Mr. Caps.”
Stepping forward, the ever buttoned-up and crisp Nathan Caps looked bizarrely out of place in the squalid surroundings.
“Oh, Katie,” he sighed. “You’ve always been too smart for your own good. If only you’d stayed out of all of this.…”
From across the room, Marinacci flicked his cigarette butt at Corrigan.
“Let’s get this over with, boss,” he said. “I’m sick of looking at this bastard.”
“The feeling couldn’t be more mutual, Pizza Face,” Corrigan calmly replied. “Can the prisoner request a blindfold?”
Marinacci spat at him as he grabbed Katie and thrust her into a chair. As Marinacci began to tie her up, Caps looked Katie up and down with regret.
“This wasn’t my intention, Katie,” he said, lifting a lock of her hair. “I had hopes for you. Much different hopes.”
Katie violently pulled her head away from his touch.
“But you and these gentlemen have made trouble,” Caps went on. “You upset plans and have left me with no choice here. I wish you could understand that.”
Katie stared evenly at him. “Oh, but I can. I know exactly what you’re going to do.”
“This lady thinks she knows everything,” Marinacci sneered. Then he turned to Katie and asked, “What is the plan?”
Ignoring him, Katie continued staring straight at Caps. “You’re going to burn down Steeplechase Park.”
Startled, Caps backed slightly away from her. Africa gasped.
“These two clowns?” Corrigan chortled. “They couldn’t mastermind the burning down of a cigar butt.”
“Why?” Africa asked with alarm. “Why destroy your business?”
Katie kept her eyes on Caps.
“Because it’s not his business,” she said. “George Tilyou owns the park. And if the park is destroyed, Tilyou doesn’t have the capital to rebuild. He’ll have to sell. And then all of the property around here will go up in value. And most of that property is owned by…Mr. Caps.”
“A fire sale.” Corrigan whistled loudly. “Nice work, partner. But when were you going to fill me in?”
Katie gave him a resigned look. “I’m sorry, Jake. I only put it all together this morning.”
Caps approached her with an expression that contained menace and a barely visible touch of fright. “And who else have you shared this with? Tell me!”
Katie remained silent. Enraged, Marinacci pulled out his pistol and placed it at the side of her head.
“I’m gonna end this now, boss,” he snarled.
“For once can you not be such a goddamn hothead?” Caps barked, clearly unnerved. “There can’t be any trace of a shooting. I’ve told you over and over that this must look like an accident—the entire operation depends upon it.”
Marinacci sighed with disappointment and lowered his pistol. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigar. Taking his time, he lit the cigar and then stepped over and, with a big cheesy smile, exhaled the smoke directly into Corrigan’s face.
“Sorry, Pizza Face. Try blowin’ smoke up someone else’s a—” Corrigan stopped, with a glance at Katie.
“Ass!” she exclaimed with exasperation. “Not that it really matters at this point, Jake, but you can relax on the whole language thing.…”
Marinacci picked up an oily rag from the table and dramatically held it in front of his cigar. Caps moved toward the door and gave Katie a last look.
“We leave you with a parting gift,” he said. “Forgive the theatrics, but after all, Coney Island is all about thrills and spectacle.…”
Marinacci lit the rag and tossed it onto the floor directly in front of Corrigan. It sputtered for a moment and then caught the edge of a worn-out rug. In seconds, the flames flared. As Caps and Marinacci stepped out and slammed the door, smoke instantly began filling the room.
“Don’t worry, Katie,” Corrigan assured her as he began struggling with his ropes. “There’s no way they can destroy the park.”
Katie looked at Corrigan and then over at Africa. She hesitated a moment and then hung her head.
“Unfortunately, they can,” she sighed. “And they will. The park is going to burn down—all of it.”
Chapter 24
Corrigan leaned into his ropes and then pushed back against his chair, straining till his face turned beet red. Katie and Africa tried the same but to no avail.
“It’s no use, Jake!” she cried as the flames picked up steam and spread to the far wall.
Undeterred, Corrigan kept up the struggle. “We need to work on your attitude, Silver. I’ve got no use for a pessimistic partner.”
Katie shook her head. “I can’t help knowing what I know.…”
“Well, I know a trick I got from Houdini,” Corrigan gasped through the rising smoke. “You lean forward and expand your muscles when they tie you. It makes the ropes go a little slack.…”
After he pushed till his eyes bulged, the rope on Corrigan’s left side sagged just enough for him to painfully pull his arm free. As he quickly used his left hand to untie his other side, a piercing animal cry rang out.
“My animals!” Africa yelled. “The fire is burning the holding pens!”
“Easy place to lay blame for an accident, I’m afraid,” Corrigan said as he pulled himself off the chair and tossed the ropes to the side.
The smoke was now almost impenetrable and all three began hacking and gasping for breath. Corrigan quickly undid Katie’s ropes, and within moments they had freed Africa from his chair.
Katie raced over to the door and flung it open. Against the darkening night sky, shooting flames could be seen only a short distance away. The three hurried down the stairs and began to make their way against the chaotic crowd fleeing the fire. Bells and sirens began to ring throughout the park. A horse-drawn carriage of firefighters tore past the trio as they approached the burning structure that contained the animals. From inside, the piteous cries of monkeys, lions, and tigers could be heard. Africa started toward the door of the pen but Katie pulled at his arm.
“No, Africa! It’s too late!” she cried. “The whole place is on fire!”
“I can’t just leave them!” he insisted. “I can still free some.”
Corrigan took hold of the man’s other arm. “But you can’t let the lions and tigers loose, Africa. There are people out here!”
Africa sagged in anguished defeat and watched as smoke poured out of the building. Suddenly, Africa broke free of their grasps and ran to the door and opened it. Katie screamed after him, but he disappeared into the raging inferno. Corrigan had to take hold of her shoulders to stop her from following.
“Oh, God, I could have prevented this!” she moaned. “The Steeplechase fire of 1907. What a blind idiot I’ve been!”
Perplexed, Corrigan tried to comfort her. “How could you have known? No one could.”
Katie was starting to protest when suddenly a duo of monkeys came racing out of the burning building. Terrified and unsure where to go, they darted in separate directions, away from the fire. Seconds later, the great lion, King Lee, leapt out of the billowing smoke. Africa, gasping for breath, ran out after him.
“King Lee!” he screamed. “Stop! Come back!”
With his mane afire, King Lee rolled to the ground in an attempt to put out the flames. Smoldering and panicked, the traumatized creature crouched for a moment and then sprang up and began running toward the beach.
He leapt across the boardwalk, terrifying a woman and her two children, who were fleeing the fire in a panic. As the family screamed in unison, two agitated cops came running around the corner and were stunned to be confronted by the sight of the charred wild animal. One of them—Frankie, the bushy-haired junior cop—dropped to his knees and pulled out his pistol.
