The Other Teddy Roosevelts (6 page)

At least I hope that is the outcome. One would like to think
that if one’s life didn’t count for much, at least one’s death did
—
and if Whitechapel can either be cleansed or razed to the
ground, then perhaps, just perhaps, these five unfortunate women
did not die totally in vain.

Your Theodore

***

Theodore Roosevelt returned to London 22 years later, in 1910, on the way home from the year-long safari that followed his Presidency.

Whitechapel remained unchanged.

1897:

Two Hunters in Manhattan

This is my most recent Roosevelt story. It was written for Darrell Schweitzer’s original anthology
The True History of Vampires
, and the conceit was to have real historical characters interact with vampires at various times and places.

Well, when it comes to real historical characters my first choice is always Teddy Roosevelt, and if there was a vampire in Manhattan in the mid-1890s, he was just the man to deal with it, as he was the city’s Police Commissioner from 1895 to 1897.

***

Things had not been going well for New York’s Commissioner of Police. He’d started like a house afire, cleaning up most of the more obvious crime within a year—but then he came to a stone wall. He’d never before met a problem that he couldn’t overcome by the sheer force of his will, but although he had conquered the political world, the literary world, and what was left of the Wild West, Theodore Roosevelt had to admit that after making a good start, his efforts to conquer the criminal elements of his city had come to a dead halt.

He’d insisted that every policeman go armed. In their first three shoot-outs with wanted criminals, they’d killed two bystanders, wounded seven more, and totally missed their targets.

So he’d made target practice mandatory. When the city’s budget couldn’t accommodate the extra time required, almost a quarter of the force quit rather than practice for free.

He’d begun sleeping days and wandering the more dangerous areas by night—but everyone knew that Teddy Roosevelt wasn’t a man to miss what he was aiming at, or to run away when confronted by superior numbers, so they just melted away when word went out (and it
always
went out) that he was on the prowl.

1896 drew to a close, and he realized he wasn’t much closer to achieving his goal then he’d been at the end of 1895. He seriously considered resigning. After all, he and Edith had four children now, he had two books on the bestseller list, he’d been offered a post as Chief Naturalist at the American Museum, and he’d hardly been able to spend any time at his beloved Sagamore Hill since accepting the post as Commissioner. But every time he thought about it, his chin jutted forward, he inadvertently bared his teeth in a cross between a humorless smile and a snarl, and he knew that he wasn’t going anywhere until the job was done. Americans didn’t quit when things got rough; that was when they showed the courage and sense of purpose that differentiated them from Europeans.

But if he was to stay, he couldn’t continue to depend on his police force to do the job. Men were quitting every day, and many of the ones who stayed did so only because they knew a corrupt cop could make more money than an honest businessman.

There had to be a way to tame the city—and then one day it came to him. Who knew the criminal element better than anyone else? The criminals themselves. Who knew their haunts and their habits, their leaders and their hideouts? Same answer.

Then, on a Tuesday evening in January, he had two members of the most notorious gang brought to his office. They glared at him with open hostility when they arrived.

“You got no right to pull us in here,” said the taller of the two, a hard-looking man with a black eye-patch. “We didn’t do nothing.”

“No one said you did,” answered Roosevelt.

The shorter man, who had shaved his head bald—Roosevelt suspected it was to rid himself of lice or worse—looked around. “This ain’t no jail. What are we doing here?”

“I thought we might get to know each other better,” said Roosevelt.

“You gonna beat us and then put us in jail?” demanded Eye-Patch.

“Why would I do something like that?” said Roosevelt. He turned to the officers who had brought them in. “You can leave us now.”

“Are you sure, sir?” said one of them.

“Quite sure. Thank you for your efforts.”

The officers looked at each other, shrugged, and walked out, closing the door behind them.

“You men look thirsty,” said Roosevelt, producing a bottle and a pair of glasses from his desk drawer. “Why don’t you help yourselves?”

“That’s damned Christian of you, Mr. Roosevelt, sir,” said Baldy. He poured himself a drink, lifted it to his lips, then froze.

“It’s not poisoned,” said Roosevelt.

“Then you drink it first,” said Baldy.

“I don’t like to imbibe,” said Roosevelt, lifting the bottle to his lips and taking a swallow. “But I’ll have enough to convince you that it’s perfectly safe.”

Baldy stood back, just in case Roosevelt was about to collapse, and when the Commissioner remained standing and flashed him a toothy smile, he downed his drink, and Eye-Patch followed suit a moment later.

“That’s mighty good stuff, sir,” said Baldy.

“I’m glad you like it,” said Roosevelt.

“Maybe we was wrong about you,” continued Baldy. “Maybe you ain’t such a bad guy after all.” He poured himself another drink.

“You still ain’t told us what we’re here for,” said Eye- Patch. “You got to want
something
from us.”

“Just the pleasure of your company,” said Roosevelt. “I figure men who get to know each other are less likely to be enemies.”

“That suits me fine,” said Baldy. “You mind if I sit down?”

“That’s what chairs are for,” said Roosevelt. He picked up the bottle, walked over to each of them, and refilled their glasses.

“They say you spent some time out West as a cowboy, sir,” said Baldy. “Maybe you’d like to tell us about it. I ain’t never been west of the Hudson River.”

“I’d be happy to,” said Roosevelt. “But I wasn’t a cowboy. I was a rancher, and I hunted bear and elk and buffalo, and I spent some time as a lawman.”

“You ever run into Doc Holliday or Billy the Kid?” asked Eye- Patch.

Roosevelt shook his head. “No, I was in the Dakota Bad Lands and they were down in New Mexico and Arizona. But I did bring in three killers during the Winter of the Blue Snow.”

He spent the next half hour telling them the story and making sure that their glasses stayed full. When he was done he walked to the door and opened it.

“This was most enjoyable, gentlemen,” he said. “We must do it again very soon.”

“Suits me fine,” slurred Baldy. “You’re an okay guy, Mr. Roosevelt, sir.”

“That goes for me, too,” said Eye-Patch.

Roosevelt put an arm around each of them. “Anyone care for one last drink?”

Both men smiled happily at the mention of more liquor, and just then a man stepped into the doorway. There was a loud pop! and a blinding flash of light.

“What the hell was that?” asked Eye-Patch, blinking his one functioning eye furiously.

“Oh, just a friend. Pay him no attention.”

They had their final drink and staggered to the door.

“Boys,” said Roosevelt, “you’re in no condition to walk home, and I don’t have a horse and buggy at my disposal. I suggest you spend the night right here. You won’t be under arrest, your cell doors won’t be locked or even closed, and you can leave first thing in the morning or sooner if you feel up to it.”

“And you won’t lock us in or keep us if we want to leave?” said Eye-Patch.

“You have my word on it.”

“Well, they say you word is your bond…”

“I say we do it,” said Baldy. “If we don’t, I’m going to lay down and take a little nap right here.”

“I’ll summon a couple of men to take you to your quarters,” said Roosevelt. He stepped into the corridor outside his office, waved his hand, and a moment later the two men were led to a pair of cells. True to his word, Roosevelt insisted that the doors be kept open.

When they woke up, Roosevelt was standing just outside the cells, staring at them.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” he said. “I trust you slept well?”

“God, my head feels like there’s an army trying to get out,” moaned Baldy.

“We’re free to go, right?” said Eye-Patch.

“Right,” said Roosevelt. “But I thought we might have a little chat first.”

“More stories about cowboy outlaws?”

“No, I thought we’d talk about New York City outlaws.”

“Oh?” said Baldy, suddenly alert.

“The criminal element thinks it controls this city,” answered Roosevelt. “And to be truthful, they are very close to being right. This is unacceptable. I will bring law and order to New York no matter what it takes.” He paused, staring at each in turn through his spectacles. “I thought you two might like to help.”

“I
knew
it!” said Baldy. He looked around. “Where’s the rubber hoses?”

“Nobody’s going to hurt you,” said Roosevelt. “We’re all friends, remember?”

“Sure we are.”

“We
are
,” insisted Roosevelt. “In fact, I have proof of it.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” demanded Eye-Patch.

“This,” said Roosevelt. He handed each of them a photograph, taken the night before. There was Roosevelt, throwing his massive arms around the two happy criminals.

“I don’t understand,” said Baldy.

“You’re going to become my spies,” said Roosevelt. “I’ve rented a room under a false name in the worst section of the Bowery. I’ll be there every Monday and Thursday night, and twice a week you’re going to report to me and tell me everything that’s being planned, who’s behind it, who is responsible for crimes that have already been committed, and where I can find the perpetrators.”

“You must be crazy!” said Baldy.

“Oh, I don’t think so. “There are more copies of that photo. If you
don’t
agree to help me, the next time we capture a member from either of your gangs, that photo will be in every newspaper in the city, and the caption will say that it’s a picture of me thanking you for informing on your friends.”

“Oh, shit!” muttered Eye-Patch. “You’d do it, too, wouldn’t you?”

“Absolutely. One way or another, I’m going to bring law and order to New York. Do we have an agreement?”

“We ain’t got no choice,” said Baldy.

“No, you don’t,” agreed Roosevelt.

“How long are you going to hold that photo like a rope over our heads?” asked Eye-Patch.

“As long as it takes to get some results.”

“Are you open to a deal?”

“We just made one,” said Roosevelt.

“A different one.”

“Go ahead.”

“We’ll do what you want,” said Eye-Patch. “We ain’t got any choice. But there’s a guy who can get everything you need a lot quicker than we can, and maybe put a few of the biggest crooks out of action for you. You don’t know him—nobody on your side of the fence does—but if I can put you together with him and he’s what I say he is, will you burn the pictures?”

“He’ll never go for it,” said Baldy.

“I might,” said Roosevelt.

“I don’t mean you, sir,” said Baldy. “I’m talking about Big D. There’s no place he can’t go, and he ain’t scared of nothing.”

“Big D,” Roosevelt frowned. “I’ve never heard of him.”

“That’s not surprising,” said Eye-Patch. “He only comes around once a week or so, usually just before the bars close. But I’ve seen him talking and drinking with just about every man you want to nail. Yes, sir, if you’ll go for my deal, we’ll pass the word to Big D that you’d like to have a pow-wow with him.”

Roosevelt pulled out a piece of paper and scribbled an address on it. “This is my room in the Bowery,” he said, handing it to Eye-Patch. “Beneath it is the name I will be using while there. Tell him there’s money involved if he accepts my offer.”

“Then we have a deal?”

“Not until I meet him and decide if he’s the man I need.”

“And if he’s not?” persisted Eye-Patch.

“Then you’ll be no worse off than you are now,” said Roosevelt.

“What happens to the photos if he kills you?” asked Baldy.

“You think he might?” asked Roosevelt.

“Anything’s possible,” said Baldy. “He’s a strange one, that Big D.” He paused uncomfortably. “So
if
he decides to kill you…” He let the sentence hang in the air.

“He’ll find out what it’s like to be up against a Harvard boxing champion,” answered Roosevelt. “It’s Wednesday morning. Can you get in touch with him in time for him to come to the room tomorrow night?”

“This town’s got a pretty good grapevine,” said Eye-Patch.

“Bully! The sooner we get the crusade under way, the better. Gentlemen, you’re free to go.”

Eye-Patch began walking toward the end of the cell block, but Baldy hung back for a moment.

“I don’t figure I owe you nothing, the way you tricked us,” he said to Roosevelt. He lowered his voice. “But watch yourself around him, sir.” He made no attempt to hide the little shudder that ran through him. “I’m not kidding, sir. I ain’t never been scared of nobody or nothing, but I’m scared of
him
.”

***

Roosevelt went to his squalid Bowery room on Thursday night, laid his hat and a walking stick on a chair, and waited. He’d brought a book with him, in case this Big D character hadn’t gotten the word or chose not to show up, and by midnight he was pretty sure he’d be reading straight through until dawn.

And then, at 2:30 AM, there was a knock at the door.

“Come,” said Roosevelt, who was sitting on an oft-repaired wooden chair. He closed the book and put it on the ugly table that held the room’s only lamp.

The door opened and a tall, skeletally thin man entered. He had wild black hair that seemed to have resisted all efforts to brush or comb it, piercing blue eyes, and very pale skin. He wore an expensively-tailored black suit that had seen better days.

“I understand you wish to speak to me,” he said, articulating each word precisely.

“If you’re Big D, I do,” said Roosevelt.

A smile that Roosevelt thought seemed almost indistinguishable from a sneer briefly crossed the man’s face. “I am the man you seek. But my name is not Big D.”

“Oh?”

“They call me that because they are too uneducated to pronounce my real name. But you, Mr. Roosevelt, will have no difficulty with it.”

“I didn’t give my…ah…
representatives
permission to reveal my identity.”

“They didn’t,” was the reply. “But you are a famous and easily-recognized man, sir. I have read many of your books, and seen your photograph in the newspapers.”