Free Grace's Pictures by Cindy Thomson

beaded necklaces. If only the native colors of the clothing hadn’t been grayed out.
    Mrs. Hawkins put a gloved hand to her throat. “I’ve never seen immigrants in such clothing, Gus.”
    “That’s why I photograph them on Ellis Island. As soon as they get to Battery Park, they shed their native trappings for more contemporary American clothing. Everyone wants to fit in and not appear foreign. But I think the costumes of their homelands are quite fascinating.”
    Grace saw more than that. Despite the lack of color, he had captured something vital. Poignant expressions. She admired his ability to capture them in all the photographs but one. Hers. He had not caught her indomitable Irish spirit, her desire to start anew. She did not want this reminder of the misery she’d endured.
    She handed the photographs back and rose. “Thank you for your trouble, but we shouldn’t tarry any longer. You’ve been most gracious.”
    Mrs. Hawkins stood too and embraced her friend. “Give your mother my love, Gus.”
    “Certainly.” He handed Grace’s picture to her.
    “No thank you. I’m not worthy of such a gift.”
    “But—”
    “Truly. It should stay with the others.”
    He seemed surprised. “Are you sure?”
    “Quite.”

7
    HAVING FINISHED CHECKING DOORS on the west side of the street, Owen crossed to do the same on the opposite side. There was a “café” on this side, a place that was more of a drinking and dancing facility than an eating establishment. All Owen had to do was make his appearance known.
    He was still a block away when he heard voices coming from a door well. Newsboys, he thought. He approached and called out so he wouldn’t surprise anyone. He was not on a mission to catch illegal activities, just to help deter them with his presence.
    A grunt.
    He moved closer. “Who’s there?”
    He heard the scramble of feet, and then a man emerged, a dirty white handkerchief tied over one eye. “McNulty, aye?”
    “I am. Who’s with you?”
    “Just a few mates.”
    “Send ’em out here.”
    He chuckled and turned toward the dark alley. “Mates, this copper wants to meet your acquaintance.”
    No reply.
    The man pulled the collar of his coat to his chin. “They say they aren’t coming out. Reckon you’ll have to go get ’em.”
    “What is your business here? If you have none, you fellas better move along.”
    “I know who you are, and people don’t like you snooping around.”
    “Just doing my job.”
    Suddenly someone sprang from the alley, a black-clothed figure with something in his hands. Before Owen could react, the thug whacked him on the knees with a metal pipe, and the bums lunged away like rats in the sewer.
    Owen limped to the other side of the street. He wasn’t hurt too badly, only his pride, but laughter bellowed from the dark buildings. “Pretty society boy! You don’t belong here!”
    Owen took a side street over to Broadway, where he met up with a couple of other officers. He told them what had happened and assured them he was all right.
    “We’ll check it out,” the man he knew as Murphy said. “You stay over here, though. They’re used to us, and they won’t give us no grief.”
    “Used to you, huh?”
    “Yeah, well, you might not be an official rookie cop anymore, but to the lowlife you’re still a greenhorn, McNulty.” He held up both palms. “I ain’t saying you are, but they’ll think what they want.”
    “They shouldn’t be allowed to believe they can intimidate me. I’ll go with you.”
    The man held a hand to Owen’s chest. “No. Not a good idea. We’ll let ’em know we’re standing up for you. They’ll understand we stick together.”
    Owen agreed and watched as the two men skirted down the street toward the alley where Owen had been jumped. As soon as they’d reached an intersection, Owen hurried, his legsthrobbing, to get to the next block. He knew they would not be moving as fast as he was, and when he got to the next side street, he was