Caleb Carr - The angel of darkness

By Caleb Carr:

CASING THE PROMISED LAND
AMERICA INVULNERABLE (with James Chace)
THE DEVIL SOLDIER
THE ALIENIST
THE ANGEL OF DARKNESS*

Published by Ballantine Books

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To my mother and father

It is not having been in the dark house,
but having left it, that counts.

THEODORE ROOSEVELT

June 19th, 1919

T heres likely some polished way of starting a story like this, a clever bit of gaming thatd sucker people in surer than the best banco feeler in town. But the truth is that I havent got the quick tongue or the slick wit for that kind of game. Words havent figured much in my life, and though over the years Ive met many of what the world counts to be the big thinkers and talkers of our times, Ive stayed what most would call a plain man. And so a plain way of starting will suit me well.

The first thing to do, along these plain lines, is to say why Ive closed the shop up and come into the back office on a night when theres still plenty of business that might be done. Its a fine evening, the kind what I used to live for: a night when you can take in all the affairs of the avenue with nothing more than your shirtsleeves for cover, blowing the smoke of a dozen good cigarettes up to the stars above the city and feeling, on balance, like maybe theres some point to living in this madhouse after all. The trafficgasoline-powered automobiles and trucks these days, not just clattering old nags dragging carriages and cartshas slowed quite a bit with the passing of midnight, and soon the after-supper ladies and gents will be over from the Albemarle Hotel and the Hoffman House to pick up their fine-blended smokes. Theyll wonder why Ive closed early, but they wont wonder long before heading for some other shop; and after theyve gone, quiet will settle in around this grand Flatiron Building with a purpose. She still lords it over Madison Square, the Flatiron does, with her solitary, peculiar silhouette and her fussy stone face, all of which, at the time she was built, had architects and critics going at each other tooth and nail. The Metropolitan Life Tower across the park may be taller, but it doesnt have near the style or presence; and next to the Flatiron, buildings like Madison Square Garden, topped by its once-shocking statue of naked Diana, just seem like hangovers from another age, an age that, looking back, feels like it passed in the space of a night. It was a gay night, many folksd say; but for some of us, it was a strange and dangerous time, when we learned things about human behavior that most sensible people would never want to know. Even the few that mightve been curious got all the grimness they could stand from the Great War. What people want nows a good time, and they want it with a vengeance.

Certainly that drive is whatll be powering the type of folks wholl be on their way over to my shop to try and buy the smokes theyll need for long hours at the citys gaming tables and dance halls. The weather alone would rule out any darker, motivations. The breezy, light arms of the night air will wrap themselves around all those keen, hopeful souls, and theyll tear into the town like a meat district dog whos smelled out a bit of bone at the bottom of an ash heap. Most of their activities wont amount to nothing, of course, but that doesnt matter; part of the strange fun of getting rooked into thinking that anythings possible on the beaten, dirty streets of this Big Onion is knowing that if you dont find what youre looking for tonight, its all that much more important that you try again tomorrow.

I remember that feeling; I had it many times myself before I reached my present lamentable state. Being forever on the verge of coughing up a lung has taken away much of my joy in this existence, for its hard to relish the worlds pleasures when youre leaving pools of blood and pus wherever you go like some wretched, wounded animal. Still, though, my memorys as good as ever, and to be sure, I can recall the raw joy that nights like this used to bring, the feeling of being outside and on your own, with the whole world stretched out and waiting. Yes, even with the hack I know that you dont come in from a night like this without a damned good reason. But thats exactly what Mr. John Schuyler Moore has given me.