Page 21 of Angel of Vengeance
“Ah, of course. Of course.” Seely wasn’t sure exactly where this was headed, but he had a tingling sense there was going to be money in it for him—maybe lots of it. This bumpkin and his wealth would be quickly separated in New York, and Seely figured there was no reason he shouldn’t be present for the division.
He let his instinct guide the conversation. “As I am the chief building inspector of the city, I don’t actually have real estate for sale… Was there some other way I could be of help?”
“That’s exactly right, Mr. Chief Inspector—you can most certainly help a feller out. Since arriving, I’ve spent my time, well… doing prospecting of a different sort.” He seemed to find this privately amusing. “There’s a brewery up by Longacre Square. Called Hockelmann’s Brewery. Main entrance on Forty-First Street, back gate down Smee’s Alley. You know it?”
Seely did not.
“Good strong ale. Prosperous enterprise, too. The brewery has bought up the block and is emptying out the tenements for development. That Longacre Square is going to be some valuable property, sir, as the city grows—I’m from Leadville, like I said, and I’ve watched a dozen towns spring up in the territories. I saw which ones boomed, which went bust… and why. New York here may be a mite bigger, but business is business, as sure as men are men. And I’ve learned to sniff out an opportunity like a stallion sniffs out a mare.”
Seely nodded, his hands folded, waiting.
“Well, that’s the property I want. Them empty tenements.”
“And you’ve tried to purchase it?”
“No, sir. I’m too smart for that. I inquired around first. The devil who owns it won’t sell. He’s turned down many offers. Can’t see past his flourishing beer business enough to realize there are other things like to flourish more. Thing is—” and he leaned closer— “I was talking to this friend of mine, lives over the Stonewall Inn, and he told me I had one shot at getting them buildings. One shot, and one only—and that was to get the property condemned.” He leaned back again. “I understand you’re the man who can do that.”
“Who might have told you such a thing?” Seely felt a slight twinge of alarm at the thought his name was being bandied about in this way. It was true, he’d condemned two, maybe three, buildings—that were unfit to live in, of course—for certain considerations. But he had his reputation to consider. On the other hand, twenty-four million ounces of silver, at a dollar an ounce… Thoughts of reputation fell away as he realized this Pendergast must be as rich as Croesus—and a lot wilier in business matters than his rube-like appearance implied. Looking closer, Seely saw that the man’s silvery eyes were positively glittering with greed and cunning.
“A friend,” was his only response. He drew a line on his cheek with his thumb and followed it with an exaggerated wink.
“I see,” said Seely. He thought for a moment about how this might be done in such a way that, if it ever came out, there’d be deniability. As he was ruminating, the man, Pendergast, spoke up again, his voice falling to a hush.
“Mr. Seely, I got it all worked out. You loan me one of them badges, make me into an inspector. I take it up to Hockelmann. He don’t know me from Adam, and I scare him with it. Soften him up. I won’t actually condemn nothing, because then it’d be on record. I’ll just do an inspection, find a passel of things wrong, and make a lot of noise. Ain’t no harm in that, is there?”
Seely was careful not to let his expression betray his thoughts. It actually seemed like a sound plan—and it had deniability baked in.
“And while I’m here,” Pendergast said, “I’d like to take a squint at the construction plats of them tenements. I believe they’re filed with your office?”
Seely tented his fingers. There was a reason this man had grown so rich—and it wasn’t just stumbling on a silver lode. As he waited for the offer, he told himself not to judge strangers too rashly in the future.
“You do this for me, Mr. Seely—just loan me the badge for a couple of days and give me some papers. You know, the kind with fancy stamps and seals on them.”
Seely again waited.
“You do that for me, friend, and I’ll see you right.”
Seely raised his eyebrows, indicating his interest.
“Five hundred dollars now, five hundred when I return the badge.”
A thousand dollars—this was at least five times what Seely had been expecting. Stunned, he managed to control himself, even fashion a little frown on his face, and allowed his silence to drag on.
“One thousand dollars now,” Pendergast said.
More silence.
“Damn it, man!” Pendergast urged.
“Fifteen hundred. All up front.”
“Twelve hundred.”
“Thirteen hundred.”
Pendergast scowled. “All right. Give me whatever I need to put a scare into that damned brewmeister, and I’ll give you the money. But I’m going to need the badge for at least a week, maybe more.”
It was as easy to enlist a false inspector as it was a real one—even easier—and Seely had all the necessary accoutrements at hand. He went to his closet, unlocked it, took out a badge and a portfolio of embossed leather. He brought them over to his desk, filled out several lines here and there, then showed them to Pendergast. “I’ve put an alias on the paperwork—Mr. Alphonse Billington. I’ll have my clerk bring up the plats for you to look at—not, however, to take with you. I’ll give you the credentials when you bring me the funds.”