House of Thieves Read Online Free

me introduce you to Abe Gibbons. In his former life, Abe was a butcher.”
    A lanky, gray-haired man of about fifty walked over and placed a long knife to George’s throat. Carney continued to punch, ignoring him; the ex-boxer was enjoying himself too much to stop.
    â€œThey’ll find pieces of your body from the Bronx to Cape May, George.”
    â€œPlease—no!” screamed George.
    â€œThere’s no one you know who can pay off the debt?” Kent asked, more irritated than curious. “What about your family?”
    â€œMy family doesn’t have that kind of money. My father’s just an architect.”
    Kent’s brow wrinkled, and he motioned for Carney to cease his pummeling.
    â€œI didn’t know your father was an architect. What does he design?”
    â€œOffice buildings. Like the Chandler Building on East Fourth.”
    â€œIndeed? That’s a very handsome building. What else?” Kent sounded genuinely impressed.
    â€œEmpire State Life Assurance on Nassau Street. Saint Mary’s Church. Lots of big houses up on Madison Avenue and Riverside Drive.”
    Kent turned and walked slowly across the power plant. He made a wide arc, returned to George’s hanging body, and nodded at Gibbons, who lunged at George.
    â€œGod help me!” George screamed.
    With a slash of the knife, the thick rope was severed. George fell hard and landed on his head with a groan that echoed throughout the empty plant. The men howled with laughter.
    Kent walked over to Culver, who, relieved of holding the rope, was leaning against a wall, smoking a cigarette and enjoying the festivities.
    â€œYou remember George Leslie, don’t you, Mr. Culver?”
    â€œSure. The king of bank robbers. Planned the Manhattan Savings job on Bleecker in ’78. Got away with two million .”
    â€œWasn’t he an architect?”
    â€œThat’s what they say. I heard that he could read them building drawings of banks, could even draw ’em up himself.”
    â€œAnd didn’t they find him dead up in Yonkers?”
    â€œYep, said he was fooling around with one of his men’s girls. The man was a genius. Shame to die because of a goddamned woman,” Culver said, shaking his head.
    Writhing in pain on the concrete floor, George yelled, “Just get it over with! Kill me and be done with it, you bastard.”
    â€œA Harvar d man,” Kent murmured, smirking. He turned to Flannigan.
    â€œMr. Flannigan, you’re going to take George on a little vacation.”
    Visibly disappointed, Gibbons sheathed his blade.
    â€œYes, sir,” muttered Flannigan.
    â€œWhat are you going to do to me?” George shouted.
    Flannigan took hold of George’s feet.
    â€œWait,” said Kent.
    Kent pulled out a handsome leather billfold from George’s inside pocket. He opened it, examined the contents, removed a card, and then returned the billfold. He nodded to Flannigan, who began dragging George out of the power plant.
    â€œMr. Culver, first thing tomorrow morning, I want you to deliver a message.”

4
    John Cross sat in the upper deck of the Fifth Avenue omnibus, the air already baked by the hot July sun. His eyes were vacant, his mind elsewhere as he mulled the strange events of the past two hours. He had never gotten new work in so peculiar a manner.
    At around 9:00 a.m., a rough-looking man came into the office, asking to see him. The fellow had very crooked teeth but was dressed better than Cross, who felt himself taken aback when the man entered his private office. The clothes and the man seemed entirely at odds; it was like a pig wearing evening dress to the opera. The man explained that his boss admired Cross’s work and would like to talk to him about designing a building. Because he was going out of town, however, they had to meet that day, at 11:00 a.m.
    The economic boom of the 1880s had set off an enormous amount of construction in New York