“No, I didn’t know that, Billy. What sort of jobs?”

“Got jobs. Sceneshifter in a theater. Once I was a stableman. I even worked as a dummy boy.”

“What is a dummy boy?” Bell asked.

“Railroad signalman. Eleventh Avenue. I rode a horse ahead of the train. It’s the law in New York. You can’t run a train on Eleventh Avenue without a guy on a horse. Only time the law ever gave me a job. I didn’t stick it.”

He started coughing. Consumption, Bell thought. The man is dying.

“Are you hungry, Billy?”

“Naw. I don’t get hungry.”

“Try this.” Bell handed him a sandwich. Billy Collins sniffed, held it near his mouth, and said, “You a friend of Tommy?”

“What did Tommy do to Eyes?”

“Nothing. Told you. Tommy couldn’t do Eyes. Nobody could do Eyes. Except that old man.”

“Old man?”

“Hard old man.”

“You mean his father?”

“Father? Eyes didn’t have no father. The old man. He’s what got us. Got us good.”

“What old man?”

“On Clarkson.”

“Clarkson Street?” Bell asked. “Downtown?”

“The Umbria was sailing for Liverpool.”

The Cunard liner. One of the old ones. “When?”

“That night.”

“When Eyes disappeared?”

“When we was kids,” Billy answered dreamily. He lay back and gazed up at the frame for the viaduct.

“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?”