Adventures of Dash Karp and Cat Flynn

Dash's Bio

Daniel Ashton Karp

Born January 1, 1900 Batsto, New Jersey

Father; Harrold Abner Karp 1876-1923 Batsto, New Jersey, died Atlantic City, NJ

Mother; Maria Valasquez 1880-1907 Havannah, Cuba, died Batsto, NJ

Uncle Bartram Hansel Karp 1870-???? Batsto, NJ, missing Luzon, Phillipines, 1898

Cousin Marcus Theodore Karp Chicago 1895

Cousin Gertrude Karp () Chicago 1893

Uncle Martin Calvan Karp 1871-1912 Batsto, NJ, died Batsto, NJ

Cousin Lucy Karp Manhattan 1888

Grandfather Albert Vincent Karp 1842-1907 Strasbourg, Alsace-Lorraine, died Batsto, NJ

Grandmother Caroline Von Der Tann 1849-1907 Lutha, died Batsto, NJ

Cat's Bio

Catarina Mariah Siobhan Flynn

Born June 21, 1910

Glenariff, Co. Antrim, Ireland

Father: Stephen Estavio Flynn 1877-1905, Glenariff Co. Antrim, Ireland died: Belfast City 1905

Mother: Siobhan Moira Esmerelda Brannaghan 1880-1924 Glencorp, Co. Antrim, Ireland died: Barbados, 1924

Siblings:

Michael Patrick Flynn 1895-1905

Dermot Seamus Flynn 1896-1905

• Eliza Sarah Flynn 1897-1897

• Riannah Mattia Flynn 1897-1897

Jessenia Gallia Flynn 1898-1904

Brandon Carrick Flynn 1899-1917

Meaghan Bridie Flynn 1900-1908

Padraigh Lorenzo Flynn 1901-unknown

Ellen Therese Flynn 1903-1924

Maisie Janine Flynn 1904-1918

• twins

Written records not kept by culture, official records rare and most destroyed in diaspora 1917-1922

Deported as indentured servant to Barbados September 13, 1922 with mother and sister.

Placed in the home of General Marshall Talliver and his wife Lorraine Vezier Talliver on British Territory of Barbados. Sister sent to the field houses. Mother retained by Tallivers as laundress.

Supporting Cast

Lorraine Talliver

Wife of General Talliver sent to North Brother Island for medical reasons and accompanied by Cat.

Horace Applewhite

Member of the Explorers Club and collector of rare art and artifacts. Employs Karp.

Mr. Lorenzo

Former member of the Explorers Club. Reportedly involved in slave trading and the occult. Collects rare and unusual artifacts of a supernatural reputation.

Ribbons

Karp's chauffeur and assistant. Very precise.

Willy

Elevator operator at the Wentworth House, where Karp's apartment is.

Joan Thornsbury

Woman 'friend' of Karp who he takes to Club Thirteen.

Gladys Rutherford

Antother woman friend of Karp.

Albert Garifini

An agent for Lorenzo.

The Irish Crown Affair

The Irish Crown Affair

Chapter 1 Dash

Pa used to like to tell me, and often, "I rode with the Rough Riders up San Juan Hill and found your Momma on the other side like she was waiting for me!" Momma, for her part, would counter with her version of events. "I saw the big dumb Gringo tumble down the hill right to my feet and had to drag him out of the way of his own horse." Everyone would laugh then and Pa, without fail, would kiss Momma on the cheek. Thats the most enduring image I have of Momma. I was seven when she died.

Pa managed to get transferred to the 10th Cavalry Regiment (Colored), the Buffalo Soldiers, so that he could remain in Santiago with the occupation and not leave his little 'Mexican Beauty'. As it turned out, Momma's parents left Mexico under some duress and Momma's father proudly clung to his Spanish-Mexican heritage and insisted his daughter was Mexican.

On December 10, 1898 (the same day the Treay of Paris was signed ending the war) Harold Abner Karp and Maria Juanita Valasquez were married in a small ceremony, in a small Catholic church in Santiago. A year later, Pa was honorably discharged from the Army and the young couple, about to become three, boarded a schooner bound for Miami. Thats where I come into the world.

Because Momma was so far long with child, Pa thought it best to wait out the impending birth right there in Miami before beginning the trek to New Jersey. He managed a few odd jobs to supplement the Army wages he had while they waited for me to arrive. Momma always said I refused to come into the old century, even though she thought I was coming everyday for a week, and no sooner had midnight struck to open the Twentieth Century, I clawed my way out and was smiling from the start. Both my parents loved to embellish the truth.

Two weeks later, once Pa was satisfied everyone was happy and hail, he put his family on a northbound train and introduced wife and son to Batsto, New Jersey.

It was a sleepy little village in the Pine Barrens where Pa's family did some cranberry growing and some glass blowing as well. Pa's family took immediately to the adorable 'Mexican Beauty' and my early years knew nothing but happiness.

But 1907 wasn't quite as idyllic. First Gramma took fever and passed in February. She was a sweet woman who believed the world existed to make happy children. Only two weeks later, and it somehow seemed right, Grampa caught fever as well and coughed until it seemed his lungs gave out.

Two months later, Cousin Lucy (Uncle Martin's illegitimate daughter) left Batsto for the excitement of New York. She had always been a troubled girl and Uncle Martin was filled with trepidation with her leaving. So was Momma, who had tried to be close to her, but with little success.

Then came that day in August when Pa and Uncle Martin took me fishing for the first time on Batsto Lake. That day is still very vivid for me. The sun was brillaint on the water and I thrilled every time my line got a tug and there was smallmouth bass on the end of it. The passing of Gramma and Grampa were behind us and Uncle Martin had gotten used to the paucity of letters from Lucy. It was a happy day on the lake and my seven year old self could not concieve of anything that could end the day in sadness.

I remember it was odd when we got back to the house. A strange sort of quiet as though the place had not been lived in for years and we were somehow trespassing in our own home. I think we all felt it because Pa and Uncle Martin looked at each other oddly a moment. Normally, Momma would be doing something. Anything. She rarely sat still except for a short bit at night if the family gathered in the parlor to tell each other stories. You could see it in her face how she loved such gatherings. But this day, there was no Momma rolling bread in teh kitchen, or hanging laundry outside or sweeping off the porch. I jumped, startled, when Pa dropped his tackle in the foyer and ran for the stairs, calling out, "Maria? Maria!" I wanted to run after him, but Uncle Martin caught my shirt collar and told me to stow Pa's tackle. Then suddenly came a wailing like I have never heard before or since. Pa had found Momma prone on top of the made bed, peaceful as could be as though she had just laid down for a rest. She was holding a photograph of the whole Karp clan in Batsto that had been taken the year before at the Fourth of July picnic by the lake. The doctor said he couldn't be sure what the cause was except it seemed her heart simply stopped. But Pa always insisted she knew before she laid down that she was about to breathe her last. He claimed Momma always knew things, but I could never get him to elaborate.

For the next five years things went apace, but the glass blowing was bringing less and less business. Eventually, the glassworks was sold and the two brothers just worked on the cranberries. I was never sure how much money they made off of cranberries, but I do know I was never hungry, cold, or shoeless.

Pa gave me a puppy for my eighth birthday. A retriever which I named Shilo. he was a good dog and a constant companion in a village where there happened to be no other boys my age. But in the fall of 1911 that happiness too was snuffed out. Batsto had suffered from a series of attacks on the small bit of livestock we maintained there. Over the course of four weeks from October into November, three cows from the Price's dairy farm were discovered mutilated and half eaten. A number of chickens, turkeys, goats and dogs had gone missing entierly, or found in the same condition as those cows. The Jersey Devil was blamed by some folks who believed in such things, as there had been sightings for the past several months all throughout South Jersey, but County Sheriif maintained it was a bear or perhaps even a rare cougar.

It was just a few days later that Uncle Martin didn't show for breakfast and Pa found his brother belly down in the mud not far from where I had found Shilo. Unlike Shiloh and the other attacks, Uncle Martin wasn't bloodied and chewed. But his head was turned completely around and staring wide eyed to the sky, despite the rest of his body being belly down. This shook Pa in a fierce way. He had been fair well stricken with grief for a time with Momma's passing, but this was different. This was fear.

It was only a month later that Pa sold everything - lock, stock and barrel - to the Girard Trust Company (who would later take the whole Village of Batsto into receivership) and we moved to Atlantic City.

Seemed I hardly had a moment to collect my twelve year old wits when I found myself working as a stockboy in the Karp General Store on Ventnor Avenue in Atlantic City. It was quite the transition from sleepy village and lots of land to run around in, to the many blocks of buildings on a gridwork of streets. Hotels and taverns bigger than I ever imagined and filled with folks of an entirely different nature than Pa and me. In Batsto, no one stood high enough to look down at anyone else. But in Atlantic City there were plenty of blue bloods who had homes in Camden, or Philadelphia, or Haddonfield and only came to Atlantic City for fun. Imagine that! Folks who could spend time away from home just to frolic in the ocean and eat at fancy hotels. My young mind started to imagine what it might be like to be among them, though I didn't like how some of them treated Pa like he was too far beneath them.

But Pa remained unbothered by that and eventually the events in Batsto were behind us. Atlantic City also meant better schooling for me and Pa was incessantly checking on my studies. When the Great War broke out, I became an avid reader of newspapers, though usually they were issues that had been discarded by one of them blue bloods and already days old. Sometimes I even got a New York Times when I would make a delivery to one of the hotels. But read them all voraciously, along with the occasional adventure magazine if it happened to be discarded as well.

I was mesmerized by the stories of war. The personalities of the leaders. They might as well have been Gods to me. The Kaiser, the Czar, the King! The yellow journalism of the time permeated my young mind - now a teenaged mind - and before long I was loathing the Germans and Austrian and Turks with an irrantional hatred that certainly worried Pa. He tried to explain to me not to believe everything I read and that there were good men fighting - and dying - on both sides. I really did try to heed him, because Pa was all that was left in my life and he never lied to me before. But I was becoming a young man with a mind of my own and suddenly Pa seemed like maybe he wasn't so smart. How could he not hate the Central Powers! I showed him the political cartoons of German soldiers with dead babies on the end of their bayonets. I refused to believe the Amercian press would lie about such things!

And such wonders of warfare! Aeroplanes with guns mounted on them. Giant Dreadnought battleships that could level cities with their guns. Sneaky vessels that could sail beneath the waves and send deadly torpedoes to destroy their prey. It sure had me wide-eyed with wonder, and Pa noticed that look in my eyes. When the United States finally entered the war, I was seventeen and hell bent to go enlist and save the world for Democracy! But Pa had already made other arrangements for this strapping young man. Through the auspices of some of Pa's old army buddies, (including Teddy Roosevelt himself!) I was admitted to the Virginia Military Institute and spent my days in classrooms and drills while other men experienced the horrors of trench warfare. But some men became aviators, who were the new knights of warfare. Glamorous, dashing, brave men who captured the imaginations of the newspapers and the people. I was determined to be one of them.

I graduated in 1921 and Pa was there wearing his old cavalry uniform from the day he met Momma. It was small, and a bit threadbare just from age, but I never saw him look more proud. I was given a lieutenant's commission in the army, and worked my way in to the Army Air Service where I learned how to fly, and I learned just how much I loved it! I also learned I didn't much love army regulations. Discipline was agreeable enough. The army needed to have discipline. I made a number of friends both at VMI and in the Army Air Service, and distinguished myself as quite the capable aviator. Nonetheless, I was starting to feel boxed in and when Pa passed in 1923, I decided to let my commission lapse and returned to civilian life.

Not quite the average civilian life mind you. Pa, unbeknownst to me, had purchased small amounts of stock in some young companies after Momma passed. He never touched them and they grew into quite the inheritance for me. Not that I was suddenly some J.P. Morgan or anything, but the company that made the Model-T rewarded its strock holders very well. As did a certain bottling comoany that claimed to have the freshest taste on the market. Finances would not be a worry for a while.

I purchased a Curtiss Jenny and went into the air courier business in 1924 and even took the Oath of Mail Messengers so I could secure contracts with the U.S. Post Office. For some extra fun, I would sometimes perform at air shows doing stunts that drove the crowd wild. And the dames! Oh they loved the flyboys, all right. Didn't even matter if you took them up or not. Sometimes I think they just liked the goggles and the scarf and the flight jacket. We were a new breed of cowboy, some folks said, and I never stopped to consider or argue the point. I just enjoyed myself.

It was a life that suited me just fine. I didn't much care to let any grass grow under my feet, and not one of the dozens of women I had across the country were going to clip my wings. Occasionally I might take a passenger, but mostly it was sacks of mail in the beginning, but soon grew into a more special delivery service. It seemed blue bloods were always ready to splurge on specialized service just so they could brag to their friends how they had that box of cigars "specially" shipped from Cuba, and flown from Miami, or some such extravagance.

I got to meet all sorts of notable blue bloods in my travels and actually got to like a few of them. They came from the vast spectrum of American personalities and included actors and actresses, secretive industrialists, the eccentric wealthy and furtive politicians. The cargo was usually documents that had to be somewhere fast, but more and more it grew into items of value that the client believed was more secure by air than by ground. Museums made up some of my business and eventually this earned me some notice by the Explorers Club in New York City.

Landing at Roosevelt Field one day in 1926 with a package destined for the Explorers Club, I was met by two men who intended to rob me of my cargo. I always carried a sidearm when I flew and it came in handy that day. One of the robbers was killed, but the other I allowed to live so he could talk to the police. It was a little sticky with the police since the men were only armed with blackjacks and brass knuckles, but certain key members of the Club smoothed things out on my behalf. The incident made the New York Times and I even had my picture in the paper! After that, I worked almost exclusively for members of the Explorers Club and was even admitted myself.

The Exploreres Club proved a fertile pasture of opportunity and adventure, as well as being fairly lucrative. Before long, I was more than just a courier and delivery boy. Some clients came to trust me enough that they would send me ahead to some location to gather some preliminary information, or examine a possible purchase. One person with whom I began to develope a close bond was Horace Applewhite. He was a stockbroker who had done well for himself and had a keen interest in the genealogy of the many royal houses of Europe.

Indeed it was Applewhite who discovered that I had my own sampling of blue blood in me. I was rather shocked that my father never told me that my paternal grandmother had been born into the royal family of the former kingdom of Lutha. Today, Lutha was part of Yugoslavia, a patchwork of slavic countries knitted together by the League of Nations after the Great War. Most fascinating was the very idea that I was, if all proper peerage was followed, four hundred-and-twenty-second in line for the throne of King Alxeander I. Mind you I doubt anyone there even knew I existed, but what a conversation starter at the speak easy!

Applewhite's interest were purely intellectual and not financial. If something was missing, he wanted it found. If something was unexplained, he wanted it explained. Through the Explorers Club, he financed, or obtained the funding for, many research expeditions to all corners of the. If some priceless, historic artifact was found, he saw to it that it found its way to the institution he felt best deserved it. Occasionally, that institution was his personal collection. But more often than not it was donated to a national museum from the country of origin.

Because I was not among the 'learned fellows' in the archeological community, I was only a part of the smaller expeditions that were of less scientific value, but far more interesting to the press for the sensational or even salacious aspects of the story. Such as the White Queen of the Congo, the Devil Women of Madagascar, the Giant Rats of Sumatra, the Book of the Necronomicon, and many others. Few of them ever turned out to be exactly what was initially reported, though sometimes there was enough for a fantastic photo to be sent to the newspapers and magazines. In between these adventures, I sometimes tested new aircraft designs for the amateur inventors that populated the Explorers Club.

In 1929 came the Crash. Although Applewhite had managed to secure adecent savings for himself, his funding for expeditions nearly dried. Now he was only interested in items of real value that could pay for the expedition, and hopefully return a small profit for himself. Applewhite became obsessed with certain legendary or missing treasures and was still capable of hiring agents around the world to do research. Usually, I was called in after the research to do the 'acquisition.' In the years after the Crash, the acquisitions were often less legal and more dangerous. So long as my own personal ethics weren't violated, I was happy to do the work.

  Chapter 2

Cat

The Glens of Antrim have long been considered the wonders of the North of Ireland. Nine in total, they range from farmland and field to forested highlands with waterfalls and secret pathways. It was in one such place, Glenariff, that a large population of Romnichal settled as far back as local history can recall. Apart, never quite a part, of the local culture, they lived in camps and travel was forever in their blood. Indeed, it is said that the Irish Gypsies were born to ride the wind and wave, though as so much that is said about their people....how much is charming poetic liscence and how much reality..well, we'll leave that to the reader to decide.

Among Clan Eireann there were several dozen families, one of which was the Flynn family. Steven as patriarch worked as a tinker, taking to the roads between country towns and into Belfast city for work, along with his own two eldest sons as soon as they could carry a pail. His wife Siobhan kept the family camp running with the aid and community of her own people, though where the merry sound of children running was throughout the Romnichal people, sadness too often visited the Flynns, most especially where their girl children were concerned. Married young, as were they all, and birthing young, Siobhan and Steven saw illness, hardship and the lack of medicinal cures take too many of their children over time. Siobhan kept to the Catholic ways, devoted even when she could not walk the miles from Glen to church, she kept her saints displayed and prayed with the fervor of the Virgin Mother herself for her children.

In the time of the Troubles, however, it was no good time to be Catholic in British Ulstermen Northern Ireland. It was never a good time to be Romnichal. Steven, as were so many, took up arms against the British and acted as both gun runner and thug as needed. It was in the uprising of 1910, downland of Belfast city that he found himself, as well as his two eldest (young though they were) caught in a British trap. Executed on his knees beside a dirt road, he watched Michael's body fall limp before his own world went black. Stories came back that Dermot, too, was left in that shallow ditch, but when the women went to carry back their dead he was not found. To this day it is assumed he died the same righteous but ultimately futile death as his Da and brother.

With five young mouths to feed, Siobhan was in the same predicament as so many others were. The only joy to shine on her world that year was the birth of a girl child on the Summer Solstice. She always considered Catarina to be Steven's last gift to her. With parents and siblings olive of skin and ranging from chestnut to honey, the fair skinned raven haired child was said by some to be fae kissed from birth. Among her people there are many legends, customs and beliefs that have nothing to do with any man made church and everything to do with what they call the "Thin Spaces". After three hours of labor the girl child was spilled onto the green grass beneath a noon sky, a caul across her face that drew knowing nods and smiles from the women.

The plan had been to name the child, if female, Eireann Eileen Stephania in honor of her homeland and father. As Siobhan saw her child's dark eyes open, a quiet sort of depth to them as the pale body squirmed she broke with all tradition in naming trhe child then and there. Too many lost, she lifted the child, life cord a spiral connecting them and spoke her name as Catarina Mariah Siobhan. Back to a name from the old lands, melding with the name of the wind itself, her mother's seventh daughter, the name would live on, gods willing and grace allowed.

Part 2 1910-1922

Catarina grew well despite less than sanitary and swank circumstances. Living amid the Clan Eiarran in Glenariff she took to the forested hills and secret paths as naturally as a doe. A petite child, she was quick to laugh, loved to play and had an affinity for the Thin Spaces from birth. Often as not she could be found sitting cross-legged near a fae ring chatting happily with someone that no one else could see. She grew to know the roots and herbs and flowers and their many uses and while the Troubles increased beyond Glenariff, her mother shielded her and her siblings from both war time and local trouble. Cat adored young children and the elderly, rarely spending time in idle gossip with her peers among the Clan. She was a wiry little worker, learning early that life was struggle but somehow she always seemed to be the one with a secret smile.

Youth suited the girl and it was not until she was seven that death crosed her path for the first time. Her brother Brandon fell ill after Samhain and though she brought him what herbs she could find in the frost covered ground and sat for hours singing to him and telling him stories, he grew sicker and sicker, the deep body shaking coughs wracking his body. It was close to midnight when his breath ceased, and yet she refused to leave his bedside, talking quietly with what she said was his spirit. Only as dawn broke did she open the wagon door, smiling faintly as her mother and sister tended to the body behind her. A strange girl. Touched by the sight. Fae kissed.

It was the thick cold damp of March that took her sister Maisie to her bed, broken by the couching that snapped ribs and took the color from her skin. Again, it was Catarina who brought her teas and sachets of roots and herbs preserved from the fall before. No remedy nor softly sung tunes could save the girl, and she too passed from the coughing sickness that Cat would not come to know as Tuberculosis for many years yet. Another small grave joined the others and again Siobhan turned to her saints and statuary for solace. Strangely, Cat spent many an evening as the weather warmed running and playing near the graves, laughter heard, and the other women sometimes paused their tasks, certain they heard more than one child, though whenever seen, only the raven haired dirt streaked young Cat was visible.

No matter how fierce her mother's efforts to protect her children, especially her youngest, life intruded again when her brother Padraigh left the Glen to work and failed to return. Rumors were rife that he had joined Sinn Fein, but others believed he simply walked away from the poor conditions and the more nefarious rumors held he turned his back on Romnichal ways and followed a Protestant woman into the world of the Others. When WWI ended times were harder than ever in County Antrim and there was a movement afoot to deport and rid their fair Isle of undesirables, among whom the Romnichals were counted.

It could have been a slow trickle, but that was not the way the jackboots of the British military operated. It was December of 1921 and they descended on the Glens, Glenariff among them. Cat found herself herded into wooden sided wagons with her mother and sister, bereft as she watched the beloved hills and streams disappear as she was taken to the city of Belfast and housed from December until March in a warehouse in the north Londonderry district. Ill fed, ill clothed, the barefoot twelve year old was as much a prisoner as those who raised arms, confused and scared but spending her time caring for the very many who suffered grievously from the damp and cold and lack of food and medicine. No more herbs or roots to forage here, she sang too many across the veil to count. As spring came around that 1922 she found herself once more being transported, this time to a town hall where men in white suits and puffing on long cigars roamed the platforms. She was curious about what was going on, but it was not until a man paused by her and her sister that she knew, somehow, that her life was about to change.

His name was Lucas Merritan and he was an employee of General Talliver, seeking indentured servants for his master's Barbados home. He certainly had an eye for her older sister, a shy girl who Cat could see at once was terrified. He tugged Ellen to the floor, directing her to dance, to entertain like a gypsy by Cat knew her sister preferred books over bohemia and she did not miss the annoyed surprise when Cat herself stepped down, pushing her sister back gently. A vivid smile and vibrant confidence rolled from the fair skinned child as she danced, the music entirely in her own mind. Bare feet stamped the wooden boards and though there was no costume, no tambourine, nothing but a dirty too thin child...the glamour held.

They sailed for Barbados within three days, Ellen and her mother as well as Cat. The trip was difficult and unpleasant, but there was a trembling edge of curiosity for the child. Convinced she would at least be with her mother and sister, she stepped foot onto Barbados on the docks of Needham's Point on the southwestern coast of the tropical island. She clambered into the straw filled wagon with Siobhan, crying out as Ellen was seized by Lucas and drawn to a separate wagon. It would not be for some time until Cat came to know that her sister would serve her time as a servant in a far different way than Cat herself.

At twelve she was worked in many ways in the grand home of the General and his wife. The days were long and filled with menial tasks but she found a measure of joy in the sound of the ocean, the sway of the trees and even in the company of her fellow servants. The General was as kind a master as one could be who bought and worked children forced from their homelands could be. He was strict but never abusive with her and his wife was a solemn sorrow eyed woman after the loss of their beloved Aradia Jenice to an accidental drowning in the sea. It was after the child's death that Cat became close with the woman, and some said it was the drowned girl who joined them on their dusk walks along the beach fronts. Cat was the first to hear the shallow rattle in Lorraine's chest, to see the creeping greyness of her skin.

She was acutely aware of the bond between the General and his wife, and she found herself packing trunks as she was to be sent with Lorraine to a new place, a place they said treatment might be had. A mysterious somewhere called North Brother Island, located in America in a city called New York. She was only thirteen yet when they sailed, tears spilling as her mother waved from the dock. Her sister was unable to see her off, but even as the ship steamed away from turquoise waters she held a measure of hope.

Maybe this new island would have the herbs and roots that would help Miss Lorraine. And a life cast to the winds, with travel at its core.....well...she was a Romnichal by blood, perhaps it was her destiny to be found there.

Bio Part 3

North Brother Island was the new home of Riverside Hospital, a location to quarantine those who were suffering with contagious and all too often deadly diseases. It was more than well appointed, with Cat's favorite area being the stained glass gallery with its wrap around porch. When they first arrived in 1923 the Hospital specialized in typhus and tuberculosis, in fact word was that the lady in the laundry, Mary, was somehow integral in the spread of the disease. Cat kept her distance, holding the beliefs and superstitions of her people she also carried herbs and talismen against illness. It was not common for any of the residents to have serving girls and the nuns were more than happy to scorn the girl as a dirty gypsy and shoo her away at every turn. Luckily, Lorraine's money and clout as well as Cat's strange ability to know when someone would take a turn for the worse bought her the favor of the nurses. More than once she was found sitting crosslegged on the bed of a frail man or woman, singing softly and speaking in quiet whispers, the melange of Romnichal and Gaelic not spoken by any others there and yet the clouded eyes would focus on her fair face and raven hair, and slowly, peacefully, their spirits would leave the broken flesh and she would stay a while, singing them across. Make no mistake, she was as much admired for her smile and ability to spread a sense of peace as she was feared for her differences. Much of her time was spent with Miss Lorraine, tending to her needs, washing her laundry, wheeling her along the green pathways of the island. For fifteen months she stayed by the woman's side, listening to her tales of young life on Barbados, of life with the General. But as time went on, the stories became more a mixture of coherence and dream tales. She knew Miss Lorraine was fading, that the sickness filling her lungs and wracking her body was not responding to the treatments or to the fresh air so touted as key to recovery.

The cold rains of March were sweeping across the Island in the early morning, the fifteen year old girl sat once more upon a bed, singing softly, her hands clasped tightly around the brooch in her hands. Emerald set in gold, Miss Lorraine had been give it as a gift by her mother in law in Britain many years ago. The piece was worth a small fortune for the gem alone, but the tale behind it as a piece taken from the coffers of Belfast long long back when the British first staked claim to what had been the Irish monarch's goods.......well, Cat was pretty sure it was a legend only. To her, it was precious for the woman who had given it to her, told her to keep it, use it to make her way. The woman who had called her daughter before the life faded from her eyes.

Funerals and such were rare on the Island, too many bodies and not enough families to dare set foot on the Island to see them off. Cat was there though, blue eyes haunted as she watched the plain pine box lower into the simple grace, a single cross marking the resting spot of Miss Lorraine and the end of whatever path she had come to know in life. The nurses asked her to stay on, to continue to help, but the nuns wanted the fae kissed Gypsy gone and set in motion a plan to have her returned to Barbados, property as it were of the General. That was all Cat needed to hear for her to be very certain that she was not going back to that life. Standing on the edge of the cemetery on the Island she could see the buildings of New York City across the water rising high and close. The weather warmed and the Solstice came, her sixteenth birthday finding her wearing all she owned, two dresses and a coat, some coin and the brooch in her pocket and a spirit unable to conceive of failure as she snuck aboard the cargo ferry that departed, having dropped its food and linens.

Summer 1926 was a bustle in the streets of lower Manhattan. A girl alone was easy prey for too many and yet Cat was not quite like other women. The Romnichal had a gift of spinning speech into truths from pure lies and she managed to parlay a small room in the Blue Star boarding house in exchange for telling the fortune of the landlord's wife, a corpulent Scotswoman poor enough to not give the Gypsy girl overmuch trouble. With the nation's liquor dry in principle, Cat soon came to know precisely the sort of people who knew which alley doors to knock on to find the party. She was not a drinker, but she was young enough and able to portray innocent well enough to run bottles for the Broken Anchor in the alley between Mott and Elizabeth. That was how it started but her raven hair and slim build, combined with a naturally outgoing personality soon drew the eye of one of the speak easy's managers.

Joseph was a straight up thug really, hailing from Belfast though, he had the scent of home and as he spent more and more time with her at his private table in the club the pair bonded. He, clearly, saw in her the budding cutpurse and charming front. She, to naive by half as sixteen became seventeen, saw him as a source of safety and strength in a city that was no one who lived there's idea of a golden American dream. Oh she knew his friends and partners were criminals to the last of them, but she was for better or worse at ease in their company. They kept her safe and clothed, fed and sheltered and the tasks they asked in return were far less onerous than what many young girls had to sacrifice.

It was Autumn of 1927 when she lay with him for the first time, utterly clear that while it was not love, it was comfort and touch and she found that she quite enjoyed the physicality. Known as his girl, she made her money reading palms, telling fortunes, reading tea leaves and generally allowing him to exploit her exotic heritage. It was one moonlit night on the roof of the boarding house beneath a full moon that he first saw her dance. The dances she knew were alive, sensual, uninhibited and filled with the wild freedom of the Romnichal and he got the spark of an idea. Much more coin to be made on stage than in petty number running and bottle smuggling. He set her up under the stage name Exotica, Gypsy Flower of the Far East...laughable really given her coloring. But in the revealing dress of her people and in the smoky darkness of the clubs, no one cared what her name really was. Her clothing stayed on, and she rebuffed all efforts to bring her home, but it was not the life she sought.

Over the course of the next six years she became a well known entertainer, at least in the circles she traveled in. Queen of the back alleys was better than servant in the high court, no? She took advantage of the mystique of her heritage even though there were precious few opportunities to really touch the spiritual here, catering to those who paid well for private tea leaf parties or seances. Always careful to pull back from the reality of the mournful spirits, by experience knowing that even the best paying clients did not really want to know how close their dear departed were.

  Chapter 3

The Gypsy and the Jewels

Applewhite, whom I often called 'Horsey' (and sometimes Horse-face, if he was being disagreeable) caught afever in 1930 for the Irish Crown Jewels which had been stolen in 1907. He was convinced the theft was still, in historical terms, too fresh not to be uncovered. The fact that the great Sherlock Holmes himself had not solved the case did not deter Applewhite in the least. He hired teams of researchers in London and Dublin to scour every scrap of record they could find, including notes by Holmes's assisstant Dr. Watson.

The trail, if it was a legitimate trail, went from Dublin, to Antwerp, to the British possession of Barbados where it seemed to grow cold. Then, just a few weeks ago, Applewhite was visiting North Brother Island where he sometimes made donatiions. In one of those strange and unusual circumstances, Apllewhite made reference to a possible trip to Barbados (which he never undertook personally) which prompted one of the nuns to mention the passing of a British General's wife just seven years prior. Thats when I was called in.

It became my sole mission to learn everything about Lorraine Talliver and her husband the General. But sometimes Applewhite overlooked the finer details, and in this case, my attention focused on the servant girl that had accompanied Mrs. Talliver and stayed with he runtil her death. Of course, this didn't mean I expected to find the Irish Crown Jewels! I personally believed if they had not been sold by now and turned up somewhere, then they were gone forever.

Still, I was being paid well enough, so I started my hunt for a young gypsy girl named Catarina. I liked the name, I did. Something exotic and even royal about it and I must admit some of Applewhite's affection and interest in royalty was rubbing off on me. Afterall, I too had some blue blood!

It took some digging among the nurses and nuns at North Brother Island, but a grainy photograph finally turned up of Mrs. Talliver being tended to by her young servant. Granted, the photo was eight years old, but at least it was something. Despite the poor quality of the photo, there was something haunting about her face, and something hauntingly familiar. For all I knew, the girl could be anywhere in teh world by now and I might have considered the case closed and cold, but Applewhite was the money-bags and insisted I pursue everything.

Every direction I took came to a dead end and that old grainy picture of some far too young gypsy girl was recognized by no one outside of North brother Island. I then started checking all the pawn shops and every fence I knew in the city, but no one knew anything about that jewelry. Of course, I only explained they family heirlooms someone was trying to recover. Had I mentioned the Irish Crown Jewels, I would have drawn too much unwanted attention. This case was cold and dead and I tried to tell Applewhite that who then made some mention of a trip to Barbados. But no matter how hard I tried to shake the case and turn it back over to Applewhite, it always seemed to come back to me.

I needed a break finally and took Joan Thornsbury to Club Thirteen which was dry and mostly repsectable. I had not been there since before the Irish Jewels caper came my way and when I walked in and looked to the stage I literally slapped my hand over my face. There she was! No wonder the face in the photograph looked so familiar...I had seen that face half a dozen times before! I felt like such a chump and Joan stood there with her hands on her flared hips waiting for me to follow the maitre de to the table.

The woman dancing on stage in such an alluring fashion was none other than Exoctica, Gypsy Flower of teh Far East! How did I miss that? How did that very title not pop into my head in all those weeks I was asking around about a young gypsy girl. Except, this was no girl dancing on the stage. I had seen her at the Thriteen and other clubs before and heard she did some fortune telling as well. Under my damn nose she was all this time!

As soon as the gypsy left the stage, I gave Joan the bum's rush out the door and into a cab. She wasn't happy, but she knew sometimes my line of work necessitated hasty exits. I was sorry I had given Ribbons, my chauffeur, the night off, nor was I prepared to go tailing someone either. I was dressed in one of my finer suits, for one thing, and did not even have my .45 with me. I did have my wits, however, and hurried around to the back alley to catch her leaving by the stage door, but after not seeing her exit, I went back into the club through the door and immediately ran into one of my many old flames. "Danny!" she called out to me and that reminded me I had not seen her in years. Applewhite had taken to calling me Dash by combine my first and middle names and it pretty much stuck as my moniker. Somehow, I didn't really mind it. Kay pressed herself up against me, but I was in no mood for her amorous attentions. I held her back and peppered her with questions about Miss Exoctica. Between Kat and the stage manager, I got Exoctica's address and hurried on my way by foot.

She never left her room at the boarding house, having hidden in the walls her money and the precious brooch. She was content to live a life that seemed small but she was unaware that there were those who seemed to know she was somehow more than she pretended to be. She was 23 when she returned home near dawn, unlocking her door with the skeleton key she kept around her neck, the icy cold the first clue that something was wrong. The window by the fire escape had been smashed, her few belongings tossed around carelessly, bed overturned, mattress sliced open. Blue gaze went to the wall, the paneling intact and she sprinted to it, prying it free and almost fainting to see her cash and brooch there. She tucked the money and gem into her bra, a frightened look around when she heard footsteps in the hall, heavy ones and heading this way fast. Cops or culprits, she did not care as she raced to the fire escape, feet crunching broken glass as she sought to get as far away from the epicenter of trouble as possible.

She couldn't go to her contacts, they were all or almost all criminals and might well be behind this. Her greatest fear was that she was to be impressed into the debauchery of prostitution, an angry rebuffed patron perhaps, it happened all too often. She could have no way of knowing it was something far deeper and more dangerous.......

When I got to the boarding house, I notice two other men turning into the alley and my gut just told me these were goons up to no good. I had no reason to think tyhey were after the gypsy, but I chose to slow my own approach just the same. Nice and soft and easy I snuck into the alley to hear footsteps clanking on the fire escape. I looked up and saw my mark descending in a hurry, but one of those goons was waiting for her right underneath. Just as she got to the bottom, the goon wrapped her up in one arm and clapped a hand on her mouth. "Now be quiet sister and I don't hafta break no arms."

He started to drag her back towards me and thats when I stepped in and played a bluff that I had only seen in the movies. "Let the girl go and I won't need to fill you full of led." I had my hand in my coat pocket and pointed it at him like I was holding a concealed gun. But I guess I wasn't threatening enough with it.

"Don't be stupid, fella," the goon warned me. "Mister Lorenzo don't like no interference in his bizzyness." Mr. Lorenzo? This was getting worse. Lorenzo was a former member of the Explorers Club who had been expelled on suspicion of criminal activity that involved white slavery and narcotics. Rumors were rampant about his strange activities, and he also had a reputation as some sort of Swengali where the ladies were concerned.

The goon was big, but I was bigger, so acting on impulse and arrogance, I rushed him and punched him full in the face. A bit of blood spattered from his nose, his eyes shut, but he was still holding the gypsy when he hit the ground like a sack of potatoes. There was no time to waste and I offered my hand. "No time for explanations right now, Miss Flynn. There's another goon like this one just around the corner. We need to hurry."

  Chapter 4

A Dashing Rescue

Her heart was racing as she descended the metal ladders, she'd not even removed her stage makeup yet and the hand that clasped over her mouth smeared the deep red lipstick as she shrieked, his arm painful around her waist. Her feet kicked, connecting solidly with his shin, but his grin only tightened. Blue eyes went wide as she saw yet another man there and then she was on the ground, the man's grip slacking as he had been laid out cold. She stared,scrambing back from the large man but he knew her name and in times like these, that was enough. She seized his hand, a frightened look around as she got to her feet. "Who? And why? And who are you?" Her Irish brogue evident in her fear though she was generally good at hiding it.

Her hand was small and soft and disappeared in mine. Not sure why I noticed that, but I did. I gave a tug to get her to her feet and we existed the alley in a hurry. "Karp. Dash Karp," I made my standard introduction as we reached the street and I hailed a cab. Luck was with me and a Yellow Taxi veered to the sidewalk to answer my hail. I thrust the gypsy inside and turned to see the other goon coming out of the alley. "Fourth and Thirty-fourth," I instructed the cabbie and added the standard, "...and step on it!" Through the rear window, I saw the goon trying to hail a cab of his own, but we were already turning a corner and out of sight. Only then did I take a moment to stare at the gypsy girl next to me. I saw that her lipstick was smeared, so I reached in my breast pocket and handed her my hanky. "Your lipstick, Miss Flynn. You might want to fix it."

She shivered slightly, no time to grab a coat as she had run, a surreptitious pass of hand over her chest, the stiff thickness of her padded bra concealed what was hidden within. Her hair was still done up from the show, make up dark and exotic around the eyes, her skin tone darker from the pancake makeup. She slid to the far side of the seat, glancing to the driver then taking the handkerchief. "Up town?" To her anything north of Houston was up town, well used to the darker underbelly of the city. She used the rearview to wipe at the smears. "So what was that? If you have a beef with Johnny or his boys, ain't nothing to me. I keep outta his business." Blatant lie but hell, she didn't know the man and as far as she knew, he could be one of any number of enforcers.

"Yes, Miss Flynn, uptown," and I was furtively glancing out the back for any tails. "Thats where I lay my head. Now don't get any wrong ideas, I don't normally take strange women there, but seems someone else wanted to horn in on our party." Another glance behind revealed no tails yet and I was starting to feel a bit better. "But if they those goons don't know me, then its a good place to cool our heels." I leaned forward so I could get a better look at the cabbie. It was just something I liked to do as an exercise in memory. "I don't know Johnny or his boys, Miss Flynn, but I am sure if you co-operate fully, we can have you back with Johnny by morning." I believed that would be the case too. I had no expectations of finding the jewels in her possession and a short interrogation should reveal that.

She studied the man in profile, he was large, impressively handsome even if he was scaring her. Her brows rose. "Your place? Cooperate?" She sat forward. "I do not know what kind of woman you think I am, but as grateful as I am for your...timing....back there....I am not that kind of grateful." She wrapped her arms at her waist softly, she knew she was nowhere near safe in life, ever really, but she would use what gift of gab she had to try and dissuade whom she took, thus far, for another underworld sort. "And after what my place looked like? Not sure I want to be anywhere near Johnny." Her hands twisted as she looked out the window, the enormity hitting her. "He was supposed to be keeping me safe." A soft snort of derision.

I really didn't care about Johnny, or what he was to her. As far as I was concerned, I only needed a few minutes with her to put this whole jewel caper to rest once and for all. I hated dead ends and I was still convinced thats exactly where I was heading now. When the taxi stopped where I indicated, I flipped the cabbie a sawbuck and ushered Catarina, aka Exoctica, into Wentworth House. Without word, Willy, the elevator operator, lifted us to the sixth floor. I didn't utter a word until i had her inside my apartment. A suite, really. Well appointed and obviously a touch on the swank side compared to what she was used to. "Please, make yourself comfortable Miss Flynn," But I wasn't sure how comfortable she would feel when I bolted the door as a precaution against intruders (not really expected) and her escape (more likely). I lifted the reciever on the phone and spoke quickly. "Connect me with Applewhite," I told the house operator. After a moment, I said, "Keep trying and ring me when you have him." I hung up the phone and turned to Catarina. "Can I get you anything, miss?"

She knew her eyes widened as she looked around the suite, it was definitely high class by her standards, a sharp look at the door when she heard the bolt click into place, blue eyes surveying for windows. She moved toward one, a lovely view but no fire escape. Shit. She walked past a setee, keeping it between herself and him casually. "Yeah, you know some water would be nice, thanks....Mr. Karp." She smiled, head tossed a bit, the charm an easy glamour usually and she wanted him out of the room. She had heard enough half conversations in her time to know something was not kosher here and diversion was often all the ploy one needed.

"Have a seat, please. I'll be right back." So much for my well stocked, if illegal, liquor cabinet. "I assure you, Miss Flynn, you will not be harmed. I only have a few questions for you." If she refused to answer, I had no real options available to me. But she didn't know that yet. For some reason, however, I wanted her to know that. I was no kidnapper or torturer. If she demanded to leave, I would let her go. No matter how angry Applewhite became. Though Applewhite was no kidnapper or torturer either. Since she was only drinking water, I decided against helping myself to the cognac I often enjoyed at this time of night. As I handed her the glass of water from the spigot, I asked my first question. "Are you the same Catarina Flynn who stayed with Mrs. Talliver at North Brother Island until her death seven years ago?" It was the first establishment question. I already knew it was her, but it was always good to start with the question you knew the answers to.

When he walked to the spigot she took a few steps toward the door when she felt the wad of cash and the brooch slipping. Her back was to him as a hand snaked down the front of her dress, trying to stabilize things, spinning back as he spoke, startling her by being so quick, her arm wrapped high under her boobs. "I should have asked for whiskey." A quiet lament but genuine. Heels sank into the soft carpet as she crossed to the setee and perched at the edge,blue eyes turning to him with a shrewd narrowing at the question. "How do you know that? Are you related to Miss Lorraine?" And fear curled low in her belly, recalling well the plan years back to send her back to Barbados, was this man some sort of retrieval agent? "She was a wonderful woman, sweet as nectar she was, a shame the gods called her home so early in life." Genuine sorrow in her voice even as the curled arm pressed the brooch almost painfully against her breast.

Her posture seemed odd, but I considered the likelihood of her being nervous. The poor dear. At six-foot-two, I know I can be intimidating, and my voice, according to others, had a leonid quality to it. "I'm afraid I didn't know the woman. Were you aware the General, her husband, passed only a year later? It was syphilis, as I understand it." I regretted making that report, but it was the truth and I hoped it would help open her up some. "Now, Miss Flynn, I want you to understand I am not with the authorities. I have no interest in your legal status in this country or what you've been doing for the last seven years. Did Mrs. Talliver give you any items of value? Any jewelry perhaps?"

Her hand holding the glass shook and a hand came to her mouth. "I....no..." She stood, pacing, her heels making no sound in the soft carpet. "Syphillis? Gods above." Her hands went to her hair, feeling the stiffness of spray and the beaded hair wrap she still wore. "I had no idea." Her voice sad, gaze dropping to a small shadow box on the shelf, hand reaching to touch the small medal in it, a soft pause as her head rose, blue eyes distant. "Ohhhh...I am so sorry. You were close." Her eyes closed a moment and she smiled. "He never did like the smell of the cigars your grandfather sent did he?" That was the thing with Catarina, she sometimes forgot that not everyone could see and know what she could, and much as her hard shell exterior was a necessity....there was a far softer young woman in there. "And if you're not with the cops, why do you want to know? Do I look like I have such riches and wealth Mr. Karp?" Trying to chuckle but shaken, fingers still touching the medal.

Well this was a fine how-do-you-do! I picked up a girl that belonged in the funnyf farm! "I wasn't close..." He started, but she continued and I was at a loss for a moment. I shook my head when she seemed to be addressing me and I refused to ask who she'd been talking to. "Do you have any keepsake from her......" And then the phone rang. "Karp here," I answered. "You're never going to guess who I have in my apartment, Horsey," I said with a smile. "The gypsy girl!" Silence. "Well no, we just..." Silence and a grimace on my face. "No! I haven't tried any such...." And I was interrupted again. "I was just getting to that, Horsey, but I don't she's going to be any help." Now my head was nodding. "Of course, of course, but," And I turned my head to talk quieter, though I was certain she could still hear me. "I think she may be in some sort of trouble with Lorenzo." Silence. "I have no idea, and I can fill you in tomorrow, but I think you should send a car for her and take her to the chateau if she's willing." Silence, and a sneer. "Here?" My eyes went wide and I turned to look at her again. "But she doesn't even know me!" Silence. "I'll ask but if she doesn't want to, I'm not making her." Silence. "Well you just make sure you have two cars here at seven a.m." A roll of eyes. "Oh cut it, Horse-face! I said two cars. This is why you pay me, to handle the heavy lifting." I smiled then, as much to Cat as for my own sake. I hung up the phone, and my smile slowly faded. "I need to ask, Miss Flynn, would you mind sleeping here tonight? Tomorrow, with your permission, you will taken to my employer's estate outside the city where we can discuss things in greater detail."

She took her hand off of the medal on display from Dash's father's days in the army. Turning to blatantly listen to the conversation, letting the fact that she had in fact been talking to Dash about his deceased but not departed father fade. The reference to 'that gypsy girl' was not unusual, and she did cultivate the image for profit and survival, but she was still soft enough on the inside for it to ache. She watched and listened to him talk, admiring the line of his shoulders before she felt the heat of a soft blush, arms folded, a strategic shift and a wince as the brooch dug in. "Who is the Horse? And why do you care about what Miss Lorraine might have given me?" She was curious, and also certain that for both sentimental and practical reasons she was not going to give away the one gift she had ever been given with no strings attached. Oh sure, men had given her flowers, clothing, even jewelry, but they gave it to Exotica, the Gypsy Dancer, not to Catarina of Glenariff. "And she did give me a gift, but it is not something I am going to part with, you should know that now."

She had not responded to his 'invitation', but I am a patient man. Normally, it would be too soon for me to share information, but I was increasingly convinced this poor girl really knew nothing. "Ahhh....Horsey is one Horace Applewhite; a man very interested in artifacts and art and making sure it gets back to the rightful owners." I was almost convinced she had nothing of interest until she mentioned receiving a gift from the late Mrs. Talliver. I'm sure the immediate curiosity flashed on my face. "She did? May I ask what it was exactly?" But before letting her answer further, I decided to explain my own reasons for asking. "Let me explain..." I walked to the liquor cabinet then and decided to have that cognac now. "In 1907, the Irish Crown Jewels were stolen from Dublin Castle and have never been recovered. Horsey....Applewhite...has gone to great trouble and expense to find those jewels. The trail, tenuous it may be, took us to your Mrs. Talliver. Personally, I would not have believed the jewels even made it to Barbados, let alone to America with a sick woman. But, I have to ask. Where is the gift you were given?"

"You have any whiskey in there Mr....did you say your name was Dash?" Her brogue was back and she eyed him a long moment before she stepped from her heels, moving back to the setee and sitting crosslegged. "It is...safe." Brows furrowed some, wanting to rub her face but the makeup would smear everywhere. "Crown Jewels of the Irish or the filthy jackboots?" No disguising the hatred in her tone for the British. "It is an emerald brooch, about so big, the stone." Holding out her palm and tracing the size of the palm. "But I will throw it in the East River before I let the jackboots have it back, friend of yours or no." And her chin rose, the stubborn Romnichal evident in her gaze, all cocksure and tough in the samw way a puffed up kitten might be. "And I will agree to stay on three counts....you sleep on the couch, your shower has hot water and you hurry with that whiskey." A small smile quirked, the girl behind the stage make up peeping through.

"You may call me Dash if I may call you Catarina...Miss Flynn." I nodded to her request for whiskey, half expecting that to be her choice. While she spoke, I enjoyed my cognac, but when Cat even hinted at showing some claws, just a small bit of sympathy faded away. I set my cognac down and started to pour her whiskey, nodding as she recounted what she would do before the 'jackboots' could get their hands on whatever it was she was holding on to. I still wasn't sure it was the jewels even when she described it because she was only describing one item! It soiunded like the diamond star of the Order of Saint Patrick. Still, I wanted to see it. "I do hope it is safe, if its what I think it is. Applewhite believes it belongs to the Irish people and, if recovered, he would see to it that it was returned to Dublin Castle." I took my time with my cognac, then took my time pouring her whiskey, and took my time bringing it to her. "Evenings and mornings can be iffy for a hot shower. I will sleep in my own bed, thank you very much," And I finally delivered her whiskey. "You can sleep in the guest room and I will have some feminine toiletries delivered in the morning." I stepped away then to return to my cognac. "One last thing," I smiled, "I never hurry anything on command."

She ducked her chin some. "You have a guest room?" She did not realize how backwater she probably sounded to a man of means such as him, but coming from where she did, the idea of an apartment having more than one bedroom was alien to her. She took the whiskey, startled by his words of not being commanded, she gave him a cheeky smile. "I'll remember that, and Catarina is fine. Let me ask you, why does he want it to go back? Miss Lorraine wanted me to have it. She swallowed down some whiskey, wincing at the burn, not sure if she could speak openly with him, she changed tack, sliding close enough to take his hand, flipping it palm up, studying his hand and catching a breath. "Oh my...your life line is very deep....so is your heart line, though it has started to spread very thin, many threads." Fingers delicate as she traced the lines.

"Applewhite is a deep intellectual, a lover of antiquities, a collector of art," I started to explain, but there was so much more to say about Applewhite that no one ever really asked him about before. "He is an honest man and just likes to see things in their proper place. Or at least what he believes is the proper place. I assure you, if you have the item he seeks, he will pay you quite well for it." When she took my hand and started tracing lines, I felt my brows knit together. My first instinct was to pull my hand away, but I have to admit her touch was pleasing. Even soothing. I smiled and as her words faded, I finally managed to free my hand of hers. "You are quite the disarming girl, Catarina, but I'm afraid I don't much buy into palm reading and fortune telling. Anyway, no one is going to force you to give up anything, but Applewhite will sure do his best to convince you." My fingers curled against my own palm where she touched it only a moment ago. I missed the touch already, but I was also trying to erase the 'lifelines' she had traced. For me, it was so much hocus-pocus, though there were times I wondered.

She gave a delicate sniff at the mention of being paid. "Many talk money but few deliver Dash." A small salute of her whiskey glass and a sip taken. She was not a big drinker, despite her heritage, but the warmth was nice as the chill of reality settled in. Her home, sloven as it was, was no longer an option, her job....well, likely no safer. A hand squeezed his forearm softly, noting the muscle. 'Tis a rare man who believes such gifts at first sight, you're far from alone in that." A pat pat given, not her first rebuff on such matters, she was a pro. "Did you know those two men?"

I couldn't decide if I wanted to watch her hand or her eyes. For the moment, I watched her hand squeeze my arm. "Not exactly my first 'sight', as you put it," Because I have seen some odd things in my days with the Explorers Club. "You mean the goons that tried to nab you? Never seen those two, but goons are goons." I shot my grey eyes right into hers then. There was another wrinkle in this matter that was quite unexpected. I honestly didn't think anyone else had connected Miss Exoctica to the Irish Crown Jewels. In all the time I've been hunting them down I never got a sense that anyone else was on the trail at all. "Do you know Mr. Lorenzo, Catarina? Are you in some sort of trouble with him?"

The mention of the Explorer's Club lifted a brow and she lifted her hand from his arm, a self conscious smile as she shook her head. "No, I have never even heard of him. Though I may know him by another name, many use....aliases...as it were." She almost physically jerked when those eyes caught hers, a rare lapse in facade and she was suddenly glad she was still in stage makeup, teeth catching at her lower lip as she dropped her gaze away. "Honest, I know I am Romnichal but we are not all as people say." And her chin rose, those deep sapphire eyes meeting his, a stubborn little jut of chin, life having handed her many reminders about the way her people were too often viewed.

I consider myself a worldly man and though I was aware of the term 'Romnichal' and I had no preconcieved connotations to attach to it. Now for gypsies, there were a slew of connotations! "Are you really a gypsy? I thought maybe that was just a stage act." I kept my cool grey eyes locked to her pretty blues. Mostly because the were pretty and it was hard to draw away. But alos because it seemed to have an affect upon her. "I've never know Lorenzo to use an alias, Catarina. He's bad news and I think he likes it that way." Then I started doing a little math in my head. Palm reading plus fortune telling plus gypsy. Lorenzo was known for his interests in the occult and now I had to wonder just what else this gypsy girl had besides the Irish Crown Jewels. Lorenzo was mad, a determined collector of occult items said to have mystrical qualities. "Is there anything else in your possession of a strange, unusual nature?"

She laughed, not offended by his question as it was so clearly genuine. "I am a proud gypsy indeed. Pureblood, seventh daughter of a seventh daughter. Her smile reached her eyes, a small tuck of hair behind the shell of an ear. "Oh....Lorenzo......could he also go by Giuseppe?" And then fear crept over her face, a shiver seen. "There is a man who has come to the club and has asked to watch my sessions with some clients. Oh....seance sessions that is." She turned a ripe pink, that could have sounded simply scandalous. "I said no of course. Say what you may about it, but my abilities are fae given and real. And well Johnny knows it, too." It had never occurred to her that she herself might be an occult objet-de-arte of sorts for some.

Seances too! Fae given! Oh Applewhite was going to love her! Applewhite was a man of science who hoped against hope he could prove something of a supernatural nature. Because I was such a skeptic, he often sent me to check out various claims and more I almost always found charlatans. Almost always. There had been that fellow with the tall tale about a vampire in New Orleans. He was certainly convincing, and the police reports of the murders had all the earmarks of the strange. But, as usual, it fizzled to nothing. I found her mouth alluring as I watched her speak, but caught myself. Her mention of Johnny was just another item to add to the equation. "This town is full of 'Giuseppes' and Lorenzo is just known as....Mr. Lorenzo." Even official documents at the Explorers Club showed only the one name. "I'm not going to judge your abilities or where they came from, Catarina. My only concern is to settle the affair of the jewels." And that should have been my only concern! It seemed likely Johnny had 'sold' her out somehow and Catarina just might be caught in a mess beyond her 'fae given' abilities.

She listened to his words, those lips pursing some before she lifted the whiskey glass, a small sip taken again that left a faint press of red lipstick on the clear surface. Her gaze met his again and much as she might well have wanted to remain caught in the steel grey, she gave a small shake of dark head, her chin dropping some. "So then you see me safe to this friend of yours, he sees about some jewel and....then what?" It was partially rhetorical, partially a voiced fear. She'd been in tough spots before, but given the night thus far and those two goons, all of the usual places she would turn for help seemed suddenly suspect.

Once our eyes became unlocked, I rose up to go refill my cognac. I didn't usually have a second cognac before bed, but I didn't usually have female guests that were going to sleep in the guest room either. "If all goes as I suspect it will, Catarina, we will convince Mr. Applewhite to let you keep your keepsake and to drop the matter entirely. Or, you might accept whatever generous offer he makes. In any case, it is my hope the matter is neatly wrapped up before lunch tomorrow and I can be back in Manhattan in time to take Gladys Rutherford to the opera tomorrow night." Of course that didn't say much about what to her and I was not exactly satisfied not having that answer myself. I swirled the freshly poured cognac in my glass and looked to the far wall as though the answer was there. "It might not be safe to send you back to your apartment," I sippedsome cognac. "I am sure Applewhite will let you stay at the chateu while you make other arrangements." I returned to her and tossed back the entirety of the cognac. "Might be time to take a powder from the Big Apple, Catarina."

"Opera?" Her nose wrinkled and she laughed softly. "Isn't that dreadfully, well, dull? Not that I've ever gone, but it always seemed to me strange to sing so....stuffily." She watched him move, something predatory but smooth about it and she sliced her gaze away, annoyed with herself. "Well, I think maybe you and I must travel in diferent circles if its as easy as all that for you Dash." Oh she smiled, most would even have bought it, but she was scared. She was all too well aware that she was clanless in a subculture that was beholden to clan above all, living illegally in a country glutted with refugees and immigrants already and with a skill set that hardly set her up for long term success. The string of thought brought her hand up, throwing back the rest of the whiskey as a shot, wincing some before she coughed. "Hit me again?"

"Stuffily?" Well she wasn't wrong, but I could find entertainment in many venues. "Opera is simply another expression of art, I suppose." I set down my empty glass and took up hers when she asked for more. I didn't want to get her drunk, but one more wouldn't hurt. "We will see to the arrangements, with your permission, of course." I smiled while I poured her whiskey and when I brought it to her, I held it out of reach for a moment. "Don't worry about expenses, Catarina. That will be taken care of." I stopped to study her again. Ostensibly out of the normal curiosity for wanting to learn about things I didn't know. Romnichal, she claimed. "Forgive me for staring, but I never would have taken you for a gypsy. You're not just taking advantage of the Gypsy Rose Lee's popularity?" I had actually seen the burlesque queen perform twice and she certainly put on a show? And I do mean show! "How long have you been doing burlesque?"

She felt her cheeks go hot and she stood up from the setee where she was sitting, arms wrapping around herself, one at her waist and one over her breasts, a painful poke reminding her of what she had concealed. "I am no lewd low class dancer as all that are." She paced past him, her Celtic brogue thickening, the usually more careful grasp on proper speech taking a back seat to being embarassed and angry. "Nunya clasp to what is nor isn't....slap a harlot in tassles and feathers and enough pancake for half the coast and suddenly everyone's all high n courtly amn't they now?" Pace pace pace, a pass by and she snatched up the whiskey and paced some more before turning on him, forgetting that she still wore heavy stage make up and done fancy hair herself. "I dance the dances my people have danced since before yorn were to set their nappied arses on a mare's flank thank you muchly." Her blue eyes were hot,cheeks too obviously red despite the pancake she wore to darken her own complexion.

Her sudden indignance fairly amused me, as did change in her speech pattern. I almost helped myself to more cognac. "Forgive me, Catarina, I did not mean to upset you." Though it was an interesting development. Interesting and oddly attractive. Perhaps she was simply naive about what burlesque was, or why men came to watch her dance. "Do you believe the men come to watch the dance of your people for the sake of cultural enlightenment? Or do they come to watch Exoctica move about in an alluring fashion that sets their passions aflame?" I still resisted having any more to drink and just stood in one spot while I watched her pace. Even in her pacing she moved in a way that held my gaze. "Different performances appeal to different people for different reasons, Catarina. The performer, however, might not always intend to be appealing in certain ways, or to certain people." I offered up a dashing smile then as she passed by me for the umpteenth time. "Did you want to wash the, uh, pancake from your face?" And I twirled a finger in her direction.

She did indeed move in a way that was simply lyrical, always had from the moment she transitioned from crawling to walking to running. She was, for better or worse, generally unaware of doing so and surely there was no salacious sway or strut right then. "I had a good thing going." If by good one included criminals, dank clubs, smoky haze and strangers trying to make the leap from club audience to wanting her to dance a whole nother dance with them. His sudden smile caught her offguard and she started, disarmed suddenly. A hand touched her cheek and she chuckled. "I am in desperate need of a quick shower off if you've maybe got something I could wear?" Her dres smelled of smoke and the idea of putting back on the worn clothing was a bit gross. She might be low rent, but she was, like all Romnichal, meticulous about cleanliness.

Normally, I slept in the nude, but I did keep pajamas on hand for various occasions. "I suppose I could lend you something of mine, though it will be big. Excuse me," And I left her there to go to my bedroom and root through the drawers. My hands clutched two different sets. Silk or cotton? The shirt alone would be like a night dress for her, but I chose the cotton and included the bottoms for the sake of her modesty. I believed she was rather naive about the affect her dancing had on men and for that reason I chose not to enter into any games with her. She was, I gathered, a 'good' girl and it would be wrong of me to tempt her. Or to make her more tempting than she already was. If I had flannel pajamas, I would have given her those. "Here you go," I offered with a smile as I handed her the plain white pajamas. "The bathroom is there," Pointing to the door between the bedrooms, "And you can change in there," Pointing to the second bedroom. "I will give you some privacy," And I gave her a short bow and retreated to my own room.

She was no hothouse flower beneath glass, but nor was she a low rent stripper. She had taken a few to her bed, but they had been choices, not opportunities or rungs on some ladder. The plain white pajamas got a strange look as she took them. "You haven't been a...patient...anywhere recently have you? Some cozy padded place?" And that quicksilver smile flashed, teasing him about the virgin whites he was handing her. "I won't waste water." A strange comment maybe, but it made her chuckle as she headed for the bathroom, entering and widening eyes a bit, way nicer than the shared bathroom at the boarding house. She stripped off her clothing and eyed the room, tucking the wad of cash beneath the rug before stepping into the shower and turning on the water, a startled look when the water was warm to start with. She did not linger overlong in the shower, washing her face and body thoroughly, one cloth used below the waist, her hands above, culturally the divide was not moral but hygenic. In less than ten minutes she was clean and wrapping her hair in a towel as she slipped into the far too large pajamas, forgoing the pants after the fourth time they slid off her body and pooled at her ankles. Besides, the shirt almost reached her knees. She folded her other clothes and tucked the money and jewel into the pile deeply before emerging.

I changed into the satin pajamas and was immediately reminded I was no fan of satin against my skin, but it was teh choice left me. I covered myself further with a scarlet house robe and grabbed the cigarette case on the top of my dresser. It was my plan to have a smoke on the balcony and then turn in, but when I heard her in the sitting room, I decided to have my soke out there. "Did you find everything to your satisfaction? As I said, I will have feminine toiletries sent up in the morning, along with breakfast. Do you like poached eggs? Or perhaps you would prefer...panckaes?" I smiled and lit my cigarette then, enjoying a long pull to end the day. I did my best to not look too closely at her wearing only my nightshirt. She had extremely pretty ankles, which I recall noticing when I saw her dance before. "There is a house robe in the closet there," I should have told her that before.

It was almost a new woman who emerged, the make up gone, her skin was very fair, not a freckle in sight, though she did have a few here and there unseen just then. Barefoot, raven hair soft and loose in damp strands spilling to her midback, she nodded. "Everything was fine, I do not need to smell like roses." She smiled, looking far less harsh, younger, easier somehow in her natural state as it were. She looked to his cigarette. "Have one I can beg?" An expression, common, but accompanied by a smile. She looked down at herself and then back to him. "Am I making you uncomfortable Dash?" Just enough of a hint of seduction in the smile to make one wonder.

Never was I uncomfortable with a pretty girl in any state of dress. In that moment, I was trying to be less comfortable before I started to see her as a potential conquest. "Certainly," And I pulled the cigarette case from the pocket of my robe and snapped it open in front of her. From my other pocket, I pulled the lighter and flipped that open in readiness. "Certainly, you may have a cigarette, that is. You do not make me uncomfortable, Catarina. Not at all." I spoke with distinct assurance as I lit her cigarette. "Obviously, I do not make you uncomfortable either. We are, afterall, modern people in a modern world with modern ideas, wouldn't you agree?"

She took the cigarette, the white tip pressed against full lower lip bare of any but the berry pink nature gifted her with, drawing in a drag and releasing a perfect trio of smoke rings before stepping back to settle on the setee. "Thank you." And she took another drag, eyes closing a moment. "I come from a place and people most would not term very modern Dash. But they are long ago and far away." A single shoulder rose and fell, her legs tucked up onto the setee, the pajama top came down over her knees, legs bare from knee to bare feet. "Besides, girls like me, we are made for the Thin Spaces, the modern world looks past those." She gave him a look, meeting his eyes.

I crushed my cigarette in the ashtray and was looking at her chest, imagining one more button being undone. "You said it," I smiled, "They are long ago and far away." I did manage to drag my eyes from her chest up to her eyes. Beautiful blue eyes. They were alive with something I was unused to among most of teh women I dallied with. Perhaps I was being unfair to the other women, just then. Perhaps I never really looked for it before and only just saw it now in Catarina's eyes. "Thin spaces?" The odd mention shook me out of my imaginings and I once again looked at Cat as part and parcel of his current case. "And tell me, please, my dear, what do you mean by a 'girl like you'?" I adjusted the belt around my robe against it flying open for a free show of what I was *not* wearing underneath.

Oh he could have let it slip, she might have been draped in virgin whites but she was not exactly qualified to be doing so. "Hm, well, not all of my people are born with the gift I have Dash. Oh to a degree it is said we are all closer to the natural world than others. In my case, though, I do not just know where the veil is, I can step through it." She took a drag on her cigarette slowly in that luxurious way women had with a cigarette. "Thin spaces, um well, they are everywhere. The twixt and tween, the outside of time and space." Blue eyes shifted and she stood up, moving to the doorframe between the sitting room and his room, hands pressing to the frame and sliding up. "Like this...places where the veil is thinner is all." And she smiled, it made perfect sense to her.

Hocus pocus! Mumbo jumbo! Or that's all it was to me. Mostly. It was obvious she believed it and I was sure she had her reasons, but even when I encountered mysteries I could not explain, I still believed a scientific explanation was lurking somewhere. "You can step through the veil you say?" I smiled. "I would like to learn what is on the other side of that veil," Or what she believed was on the other side. I stepped to the doorframe and took her by the wrist, removing her hand from the doorframe. I notice I liked how my finergs closed completely around her slim wrist. "But it is late, Catarina, and your room is there," And I turned her in that direction and, regretably released her wrist. "Breakfast is at seven and I hope to be on the road by eight." I was in the doorframe leading to my room then and she was without. "Goodnight, Catarina. Do sleep well."

  Chapter 5~ Meeting With Lorenzo

Morning came quickly and it seemed I couldn't stop yawning even as the hot shower hit my face. Even as I passed teh razor over my face, my jaw stretched repeatedly from sleepy yawns. But I really didn't feel that tired despite all that yawning. I dressed in a comfortable suit and entered the sitting room as the ladies from the cafe down the street were setting up breakfast. I went to Cat's door and knocked softly. "Breakfast is here, Miss Flynn," Maintaining a sense of formality for the sake of the cafe ladies. They had delivered breakfast to me and my 'guests' before, but I didn't feel they should get the same impression of Catarina.

She was awake and dressed, even if self conscious about the fact that she was wearing her dress from last night. She tucked the cash and jewel back into her bra, trying to adjust the angle not to poke herself. No make up on but her raven hair was silken smooth and fell to mid back, heels adding an inch to her height as she emerged, a fresh faced smile his way as blue eyes skimmed over his suited form. "Good morning Mr. Karp, I hope you slept well." A glance went to the cafe ladies, no idea if she sould say hello, unused to being served anything really. "Smells good!"

With all due courtesy, I pulled a chair out for her and helped her to her seat. "I hope you like pancakes and poached eggs," As I pushed her chair in. "I don't mean to rush you, but I did want to get on the road soon." I got myself situated and set the cradled poached egg before me, tapping it with myu spoon to crack the shell. I paused when I realized Mildred, from the cafe, was staring expectantly at me. "That will be all, Mildred," I smiled. "Tell Mister Peterson he prepared a swell breakfast." I resumed my egg cracking.

She settled into the chair, reaching for the carafe of coffee, a habit she had picked up since being in New York, though tea was still a go to when stressed or upset. "Oh I am a light eater in the mornings, I will be quick." She tried to act natural but seeing as she'd been the one on Mildred's side of the scene for so long, she had to flash the woman a smile too. "I do not think I have had pancakes in years." She helped herself to two, ignoring the butter but damned near drowning them in syrup. She cut a bite, syrup drenching fork as she brought it to her mouth.

Mildred seemed nervous, but I could not fathom whatb would make her nervous just then. She did not move right away and seemed like she wanted to say something, but a knock on the door startled her to silence. It startled me to stillness as well since normally the doorman would ring to announce a visitor I was not otherwise expecting. "Expecting anyone?" I asked Cat, albiet rhetorically and dropped my napkin on my plate when I rose. "Mr. Karp, please be careful," Mildred warned me, but I did not understand. When I opened the door, a tall, lanky gentleman bent a bit at the waist. "Good morning, Mr. Karp. Please forgive my intrusion upon you morning meal, my name is Albert Garifini." That could be the name of any two bit Italian thug, but this man spoke with great refinement and eloquence. "I have been asked to call on you by Mr. Lorenzo, whom I believe you are acquainted with?" It was a natural inclination of mine to worry my tongue against my gum. I waved the man to seat at the table.

She had a mouthful of pankcake but made an amused little scoffing noise at his question to her. She'd just swallowed when she heard Mildred and a cold sinking sensation hit her stomach. Long ago and far away her people had lived in deep fear from the sudden knock on the door or, more accurately, the sudden burst open of broken door followed by boots. She had half risen, the plain truth being that running was her go to response to fear, but Dash opened the door and she swallowed, transforming the motion into an apparent reach for the sugar. Vivid blue eyes touched on the man or what she could see of him before Dash waved him toward the table and then her gaze shifted to Dash. Was he setting her up? Perhaps he had made a phone call last night? No, instinctively she just could not believe that of him, his energy was not cold that way, the way she had of just....sensing these things. She was very rarely wrong. Enough of a performer to put on a believable smile.

Dash Karp: Garifini declined the invitation with a gentleman's applomb. "You are quite kind, Mr. Karp, but I'm afraid I cannot. I am only here to extend an invitation from Mr. Lorenzo to meet with you at the lovely Miss Flynn at his Dash Karp: penthouse within the hour. I have a car waiting downstairs and Mr. Lorenzo wanted me to assure you both it would be quite lucrative." I looked to Cat, taking note of the worried look on her face. I was worried too, but did a much Dash Karp: better job of hiding it. "Well, we do have a conflicting appointment, perhaps we could delay until this afternoon?" Garifini seemed to bristle at the suggestion, but otherwise never lost poise. "I will be waiting with the car Dash Karp: downstairs. It is unwise to disappoint Mr. Lorenzo, Mr. Karp." With a sharp bow, Garifini left and I closed the door. With a smile, I turned to Mildred. "Be a dear and hurry to the cafe for more pancakes, Mildred. Be sure to be Dash Karp: quite vocal about it, you hear?" Mildred understood, and nodded that she would, but she certainly seemed nervous. When she and the other cafe lady left, my own demeanor shifted from calm to urgent. "We need to leave, now," and I Dash Karp: reached for Cat's hand. "I'll get you more pancakes at Applewhite's." ()

CatarinaFlynn: ::her heart was in her throat as she listened to the exchange between the two men, studying details of the lanky man's face but careful not to meet his gaze. He knew her name, which meant that any inkling of coincidence was out the CatarinaFlynn: window, but how they knew his name, and where she was, that had her completely puzzled. She watched as the women left, her hands white knuckled beneath the table on her lap. She had lost her appetite entirely and while she CatarinaFlynn: reached to take the hand he offered she also looked stricken:: how? he is down there, and I cannot let you get hurt over me.  ::her blue eyes were scared but that small chin rose:: it would be safer for you to stay here, let me go CatarinaFlynn: down....::she was aware that even as she spoke of that, her smaller hand squeezed his more tightly, her body speaking truth while her mouth spoke pragmatism::/d

Dash Karp: "Mr. Applewhite does not like people to miss appointments either, Catarina," I smiled at the tightness of her fingers in my hand, "and he did make an appointment first." When I dressed this morning, I did add one particular Dash Karp: accessory...my Colt .45. It was holstered under my jacket over my left side. "Come with me," and I led her through my bedroom to a door that exited to the hallway nearest the stairway. "The front door isn't the only way out," and Dash Karp: we began our descent down the stairwell in a hurry. "You are indeed quite the sought after lady, Catarina," five levels to the street. "Do you think Mr. Lorenzo wants to see the dance of your people?" Four levels to the street. "Mr. Dash Karp: Lorenzo, it is said, sells American women to slavers in the Orient." Three levels to the street. "But I don't think thats what he wants from you," two levels to the street. "How often have you talked about your....'abilities?" ()

CatarinaFlynn: ::there was something tense inside of her that eased when he retained that grip and made it clear he was not going to toss her to the proverbial wolves. She did not hesitate to run with him, a hand in his and a hand at her chest to CatarinaFlynn: be sure her precious cargo was not shaken loose. Her brassiere was tight as all were but still, it would not do to lose her only possesions outside her body and abilities. Sure footed and nimble she was a wee bit breathless when CatarinaFlynn: they hit the street, fear tightening her throat at the mention of being sold in the orient. She had heard dark rumors but never considered such a danger to herself:: they have come up, its inevitable, I do readings and seances for CatarinaFlynn: people, some of whom he refered in my direction. I do not brag about them though ::her gaze swept what she could see of the street,, pressing close to him::/d

Dash Karp: At street level, I led her down a service corridor to a stairway that led to the basement. "Mr. Lorenzo enjoys seances. And Zodiac readings. And collecting paraphenalia of teh strange and mystical." I kept moving through the laundry Dash Karp: area and then past the boilers that provided the steam heat for the building. The clanked and hissed and it was damn hot in there, but it was a contingency route I had discovered within a week of taking up residence. "Perhaps he Dash Karp: wants you in his collection." We passed tyhrougha steel door that exited into a subway station. But rather than take the train, we went up to the street and hailed a cab. "I almost forgot....Mr. Lorenzo is quite the Egyptologist as Dash Karp: well." Instructions were given to the cab driver and we were on our way to Central Park. ()

CatarinaFlynn: ::she kept a tight grip on his hand as they maneuvered their way out of the building, a little bit shocked to find themselves in a subway station, her heels clicking on the stairs up to the street.:: I am not a collectible ::an CatarinaFlynn: indignant protest coming from the gypsy girl. Ushered into the cab ahead of him, she was not conscious of how close she sat right then, sliding down in the seat as the cab pulled away, not wanting to risk being seen:: Egypt? They CatarinaFlynn: have some fascinating customs but I am not versed in them ::troubled still by the notion of anyone being after her. Some small voice in her head reminded her that she should be scared that Dash himself might be one of them, but CatarinaFlynn: again, her senses did not agree::/d

Dash Karp: When we reached Central Park, I was worried that Ribbons might not have sniffed out my plan...assuming Mildred had played her part. I was big on contingencies and I informed Ribbons long ago that if I gave any indication I was not Dash Karp: coming down to meet the car, then he was to look for me in Central Park. There were a number of such plans I had in place, but this was actually the first time I ever needed to implement one. It was eight minutes before I spotted Dash Karp: Ford sedan driven by Ribbons and we were on our way to Long Island and Applewhite's chateu. In the back of the Ford, I found mjyself still holding Cat's hand, but I gave it a pat and finally released it. "Sorry, Dash Karp: Sir. Traffic," Ribbons explained, but I waved it off. No plan was perfect. "You can relax now, Cat. I think we've given them the slip." ()

CatarinaFlynn: ::the park itself had its usual walkers and such, and she was nervous even as they enbtered the new car, her gaze lifting to the rearview mirror to glance at the driver. She noticed he called Dash sir and that made her look back at CatarinaFlynn: Dash. Right then he chosen to let go of her hand and she felt a warm blush as she realized she had not let go this whole time:: sorry ::whispered to him, shifting a bit away and smoothing her skirt, a hand trying to smooth raven CatarinaFlynn: hair that on a good day liked to do as it pleased. She looked out the window, a skeptical look at Dash but she nodded:: I am not sure relaxing is on the menu but thank you, it does seem that we will only keep one appointment this CatarinaFlynn: morning.  ::she gave him a smile though she was still troubled by the situation, hard not to be. She resolved, though, to simply make the best of what came, no easy feat for her:: is it a far way to our destination? ::she had CatarinaFlynn: really never been out of the city since crossing the east river from North Brother years back now::/d

Dash Karp: "Perhaps an hour..." I started to answer, but that's when Ribbons chimed in. "I estimate fifty-thre minutes, Madame," then he flashed a smile to me. He might have been right. He often measured city distances and traffic patterns just Dash Karp: to be precise about such matters. "The chateu is quite secure and I am sure you will be safe there while I investigate what Mr. Lorenzo wants." But no sooner did I attempt such reassurance, then the car lurched suddenly to one side Dash Karp: amidst the sound of crunching metal. The impact left Cat in my lap and the Ford ground sickenly to a halt. The next thing I know, the door is

Dash Karp: TGhe next thing I know the door is being yanked open and a big ugly face is peering inside. It was the goon from the night before who I sent to dreamland with one punch. I realized my shoulder hurt and before I could react, he was Dash Karp: pulling Cat from my lap and out of the car. I didn't even have time to think about Ribbons when the other goon was reaching for me. I managed to kick him away and helped myself out of the car with every intention of unholstering my Dash Karp: Colt and persuading the goon squad to back off. But apparently there was a thrid someone whom I failed to see and darkness came over me. ()

CatarinaFlynn: ::she did not even have time to scream when the car was struck, finding herself hurled across the car and onto Dash's lap. Stunned, she was just processing trying to get up when the door was yanked open and oh this time she did CatarinaFlynn: have time to scream as the hands of the man who had grabbed her last night did so again. She was not exactly a damsel in distress sort, but neither was she a fighter or even very big. She struggled, the man's hand slapping over CatarinaFlynn: her mouth to quiet her screaming, her heels kicking at his shins when his free arm grabbed her waist, pinning her arms. Call it instinct, or maybe a very bad decision, but she bit his hand as hard as she could, gratified to hear CatarinaFlynn: him yowl as she tasted blood. Unfortunately, he did not drop her, instead she felt his hand whisk away, a cloth replacing it. The sickly sweet dampness on it was nauseating but she could not figure out how to work her limbs as her CatarinaFlynn: vision swam in streamers of color. The last thing she saw as she went limp in his arms was a third man clubbing Dash over the head. Then blackness claimed her::/d

Dash Karp: How long I was out, I couldn't say. The light that glared in my face was garrish and made my head pound even harder. I squinted and discovered I was secreuly bound to a chair, but I could see nothing for that glaring light. My Dash Karp: ankles were tied to the legs of the chair and my wrists behind the back. I struggled only a moment before deciding to save my strength. I was alive, so that meant I wasn't wanted fpr something, though I had no idea what. I only had Dash Karp: to wait a moment before I heard someone else nearby. A movement of furniture, I thought. I shuffle of feet, and then a voice. "I regret the violence, Mr. Karp, but I'm afraid you've proven rather uncooperative.' I recognized the Dash Karp: voice immediately as Mr. Garifini and wondered how he managed to catch up with us. It seemede certain they had decided to follow Ribbons against any eventuality. "Mr. Lorenzo would prefer to avoid any further unpleasantries and your Dash Karp: cooperation, as I tried to convey before, might even prove rewarding to both you and Miss Flynn." The light was turned away from me and cast upon Catarina who is in a nearby chair and likewise bound, though she was additionally Dash Karp: gagged. It was still hard to see Garifini, who directed the light, but both goons flanked Catarina, who appeared otherwise unharmed and quite awake. ()

CatarinaFlynn: ::she'd woken to a headache but otherwise physically fine. Panic served no purpose, but that was not to say she was calm either, currently trying to dislodge the cloth gag that was pressed far back behind her teeth and tied behind CatarinaFlynn: her head, her hair a tumble of curls and a bit rumpled. She wished her ankles wree not tied, as her dress was dangerously close to rising above her left knee and that was making her very uncomfortable given the two large men CatarinaFlynn: flanking her. Seeing Dash wake up she made small noises behind the gag, blue eyes wide as she listened to the lanky man from the doorway. Gods had that only been this same day? She blinked, turning her face from the light but CatarinaFlynn: one of the men seized her hair and brought her head back to center. She did not like him touching her and she could feel that tight small fist of energy that was always present in her start to loosen, nostrils flaring. Angry CatarinaFlynn: noises came from the gagged mouth::/d

Dash Karp: I was none too happy with Catarina's predicament but being tied as well, tough words seemed useless. "Now this isn't necessary at all, Mr. Garifini. I was simply taking Miss Flynn to our first appointment," trying to imply that we Dash Karp: had every intention of keeping our appointment with Mr. Lorenzo. "Now if yuou'll just untie us, we can discuss your proposal in a more civil manner." There was some difficulty on my part in keeping my eyes away from Dash Karp: Catarina then. The bit of thigh that was exposed caught my eye and was alluring, despite the circumstances. Garifini nodded to one of the goons, who left the side of Cat and came to untie me. I was surprised at this and would likely Dash Karp: have boxed the fellows ears had it not been for Garfini's next words. "We will keep Miss Flynn restrained for now and you will in turn remain peaceful, is taht understood Mr. Karp? Mr. Lorenzo will hold *you* personally responsible Dash Karp: should anything happen yo her." I rubbed my wrists as soon a I got to my feet and stepped away from the chair I had been in. "So what makes you think her safety will guarantee my cooperation? I only met the dame last night." I tried Dash Karp: to sound as dispassionate as possible without even glancing to Cat. Mr. Garifini finally emerged from the shadows. "Your reputation quite precedes you, Mr. Karp. Quite the gallant gentleman anjd womanizer all in one." ()

CatarinaFlynn: ::her pulse was quick and she could feel her cheeks warming with a creeping blush, squirming some in the chair, trying the rope that bound her wrists. Her eyes widened a bit as she watched them untie Dash, a shake of her head in CatarinaFlynn: negative in terms of the statement that they were keeping her bound. The words the lanky man spoke made her go very still, it was becoming clear to her that Dash had likely been right, it seemed her skills or person were of some CatarinaFlynn: value, albeit nefarious value, to Lorenzo. She recoiled slightly when Dash so casually implied he did not care what happened to her and a sinking sensation filled her, dipping her chin as she felt her eyes prickle, trying to shake CatarinaFlynn: the feeling. Her hands flexed in their bonds and her awareness opened a bit, the temperature of the area directly around her dipping noticably. The light that was shining on her flickered a moment::/d

Dash Karp: "I'll take over from here now, Albert," and a door opened, admitting a short, but slim man with a pencil thin mustache, wearing a black suit and spats on his shoes. "Boys, gho get coffee," he waved off the goons. "You too Albert, Dash Karp: everything is fine. Thank you for getting this meeting together." When the other three men left, Lorenzo closed the door and moved along the wall a few steps. Lorenzo was too comfortable and it indicated he was quite aware he was Dash Karp: safe in my presence. Sure, he had things all ordered to his liking and unless I wanted to risk getting Cat hurt, I wasn't going to make any disquiting moves. "I think the last time we met, I trounced you in billiards, Lorenzo. Did Dash Karp: you want a rematch?" He seemed to ignore me and walked behind Cat's chair and removed her gag. "Please accept my apologies, Miss Flynn. Albert has a flare for the damsel in distress scenario." He smiled, then nturned to me. "Perhaps Dash Karp: later, Daniel." We had first met before I started using the 'Dash' moniker and it somehow made my skin crawl to hear him call me Daniel now. "For the moment, I only ask that help me convince Miss Flynn to join us in a ....quest of Dash Karp: sorts." What was he talking about, and why did he think I would help him? "Join you?" and I relaized I might have sounded too indignant so i toned it down. "Well, I suppose we could hear what you had to say," as though I was Dash Karp: Catarina's agent or something. ()

CatarinaFlynn: ::she was somewhat split focus right then, aware of the changing energy though when she heard Lorenzo's voice, the temperature dipping a few more degrees and the chair Dash was no longer in gave a soft creak. Blue eyes lifted, her CatarinaFlynn: tongue tracing her dry lips, working the feel and taste of the gag from her lips as best she could, shaking her head some. Her eyes blazed when she looked at Lorenzo, cutting a glance to include Dash as well:: If you truly wish me CatarinaFlynn: to cooperate in any way, untie me.  ::her accent was thicker as she was stressed, the lyrical Irish brogue somehow feminine and sweet despite the heat behind the CatarinaFlynn: words she spoke:: and what sort of quest is it that you think I would undertake to help you anyway?  ::she was trying to reign in her fear, knowing it only fanned the flames of the energy surrounding her like a close protective CatarinaFlynn: swarm::/d

Dash Karp: I only knew Catarina for less than twenty-four hours, but I was already gaining a sense about her. The moment she spoke, I hurried to her side and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Now, now, Kitten," I knew it sounded condescending, Dash Karp: but it was for Lorenzo's benefit. "Leave the man to make his offer. He's a serious customer, you know." I gave her shoulder a squeeze which I hoped she would take as somehow reassuring and looked to Lorenzo, who gave me a suspicous Dash Karp: nod and smile. Somehow, I didn't think he was buying my cooperation, but he was going along just the same. "I am a collector of the unusual, Miss Flynn. One might say even the mystical. There is one item I have been seeking for Dash Karp: a number of years now. It is known as the Missile of Eros; a sculpture dating back to the fourth century B.C. I believe I may have uncovered a clue to its whereabouts." He stopped there and was probably waiting for me to argue Dash Karp: against its authenticity. Even Applewhite never invested any money in that fruitless search. But I said nothing just yet. I left it to Cat to respond so i could better play my own game. ()\

CatarinaFlynn: ::Her eyes widened a bit when he called her Kitten and she really wished her legs were free so she could stomp on his foot right then. His hand on her shoulder squeezed and she drew a breath, odd to be so distracted by so small a CatarinaFlynn: thing at a time like this, but it reeled in her temper some. Blue eyes turned to Lorenzo and she was quiet a moment:: I have never even heard of a missle of whoever, how in the name of Katie Clancy am I supposed to help you to find CatarinaFlynn: it? Have you tried the daily papers? Place an advert? ::her frustration sometimes shorted out her brain to mouth filter but at least she was not swearing at him::/d

Dash Karp: It was attractive in its way, I suppose, how she tried to be defiant while tied to a chair. Just the same, I was more interested in getting to the bottom of what Lorenzo wanted. "It would be a wonderful find for the archeological Dash Karp: community," though I was quite awar he no intentions of sharing anything he found. He was quite the opposite of Applewhite in that regard. "But just how do you expect the gypsy girl here to find it?" Sure, I was digging myself deep Dash Karp: wiyth Catarina, but I was still hoping I could convince Lorenzo my own interests were purely mercenary. "She's just a burlesque dancer." I was sure that was another nail in my coffin when I called her that. ()