ISAAC BELL AND HARRY WARREN made the rounds of dives in the East Eighties and finally found the dead man’s brother leaning on a saloon front under the Third Avenue El. He was fumbling for money in empty pockets. Hi name was Frank, and he was a tall, handsome, broad-shouldered German-American with a street fighter’s scarred face and fists. He assessed Isaac Bell in a glance and nodded his head as if to say he would fight the tall detective if he had to, but he didn’t want to. Bell read something else in the resigned nod, a confirmation of what Harry Warren had told him. The gangster had seen evil that shook him to the core.

They took Frank into the saloon and bought a bottle.

Bell said, “I’m sorry about your brother.”

“Yeah.”

“Were you and Bruno close?”

“Used to be. When we was kids. Not so much now.”

“Did your brother tell you what the deal was at the pier?”

Frank shrugged. “Grab a fellow who got off the boat.”

“What did this fellow look like?”

“Twenties, five-six, mussed brown hair, blue eyes, pencil mustache.”

Clyde Lynds to a T.

“He say why?”

“No.”

“Did your brother say who you were grabbing the guy for?”

“No.”

“Did you ever see him?”

“How could I see him? Bruno kept him to himself.”

“Did your brother tell you how much the guy was paying?”

Frank shook his head. “Bruno would never tell me. He’d take what it was and pay us what he felt like.”

“Hard man, your brother.”

“Not as a hard as them.”

“No, I suppose not… Mind me asking something?”

“Nothing’s stopped you so far.”

“Nothing’s stopped you from answering, and I do appreciate that, especially at such a hard time.”

“You gunning for those guys?”

“Yes,” said Bell.

Frank nodded. “What was you asking?”

“Did your brother ever work for them before?”

Frank hesitated.

Bell asked, “Was this the first time?”

“I dunno. I mean, I dunno if it was the same or who knew the same. You know what I mean?”

“No.”

“I mean, for when they have a party, sometimes, we sell ’em dust. We sell ’em goils.”

“Who?”

“They might have been who told this guy about my brother.”

“Could have been,” Bell agreed. “Who are they?”

Frank hesitated. “I don’t want to queer things with them. Maybe it wasn’t them who told the guy about us. I don’t want to…”

“You don’t want to mess up a good arrangement,” said Bell. “I don’t blame you.”

“Neither do I,” said Harry Warren.

“Yeah, I mean, steady money is steady money.”

“With your brother out of action, money’s going to be tight,” said Bell. “At least until your crew gets back on its feet. Look, Harry’s standing so no one can see me handing you this. Just a couple of hundred dollars to tide you over.”