Stoney Hollow
Episode Eleven: John Recalls A Failed Deal
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Stoney Hollow, Massachusetts
October 1895
Evening had fallen on Stoney Hollow, but no one slept. A fire crackled in the hearth, the first one lit since the spring.
Seth Edgerton sat before John in his office.
Despite being the one behind the desk, John felt it was he who was under scrutiny.
Seth crossed his legs and tapped the stack of unopened letters before John. “Unread. Unopened. Uncared for.”
Dropping his gaze, John ran his tongue along the inside of his teeth. Remnants of whiskey played their final notes.
“John,” sighed Seth, “this is two weeks' worth of correspondence.”
He didn’t answer.
Seth rubbed his eyes. “John, you’re not a smith anymore. The obsession you have with these blueprints, getting ahead of the competition... It must not go before the health of the company in general. Your uncle made you his heir—”
“I know,” snapped John.
Brows knitted, he rose and walked to the window. It was too dark to see anything other than the pale limbs of the trees. The view was eerie in the faint torchlights in the driveway.
“Is it the Walshes on your mind?” asked Seth. “The break-in a few months ago could have been someone looking for a place to warm themselves.”
John watched the shadow of his wife as she passed by the third-story window projected onto the drive.
“It’s not just the Walshes we have to worry about,” muttered John.
“What do you mean?”
Movement caught John’s eye. Something darted through the trees; something that moved on all fours. At least, that was what he thought he saw.
John squinted into the night, hands deep in his pockets. Just as he drew the conclusion that it may have been a coyote, one of the maids—Anne or Annie, John couldn’t remember—exited the servants’ quarters and crossed the lawn. She was… skipping. Where was she going at this time?
John continued to watch the girl disappear into the forest. Probably a late-night rendezvous with a young man. “What did you say, Seth?” asked John absently.
“I asked what you meant by ‘not just the Walshes’?”
Once again, John did not hear Seth’s question. He felt familiar tension mount in his jaw as his teeth clenched.
“I need to tell the staff to be wary of the forest,” said John. “Coyotes…”
“John?” Seth called, exasperated. “The Walshes, I said!”
“Ah.”
Ah, yes, the ‘Walshes’, John thought. Sources said they were trying to go clean. That explained the name change.
Old habits die hard, however. John would not put it past them to break into the factory.
Another concern among the others. It felt as though everything was spiralling out of control. How could he regain it?
“Disallow guests to the property for a time,” said John.
“Good heavens, John. Don’t you think that’s a bit drastic?”
“Is it?”
“I think so.”
John turned to see his friend’s face and did his best to smile. It came across as a grimace. “I’m afraid the house isn’t ready for guests, my friend. You’ll need to cancel the meeting with the potential client—the one you mentioned on the telephone.”
“I can’t do that, John.”
“You will.”
Boston
December 1894
John stared out the window at the square below, watching men come and go from the street into his factory. Entering with rough materials, leaving with crates of firearms. Continuing without their creator.
He chewed the inside of his cheek.
The funeral had been a small, quiet affair. The Murphys had been present, Eleanor squeezing his hand tightly to offer what comfort she could.
But that was three days ago and today was today.
He would need to make arrangements for his aunt. She would move in with her brother and his children to remain in Boston while John and his new wife relocated.
There was a knock at the door. Disturbed from his thoughts, John’s head swivelled.
Seth peeked inside, blond curly hair standing on end and glasses slightly askew as always. “We’ve got a visitor.”
Frowning, John reached across for his daily schedule to check. “Today?”
“They don’t have an appointment. Should I send them away?”
John sighed, replacing his paperwork neatly. “No, no. Send them in. Who are they?”
“Mr. Francis Walsh and his brother.”
John raised his eyebrows.
“New York,” explained Seth. Then, he mouthed, “Big dick swingers.”
Aloud—maybe louder than needed—Seth said, “from Walsh shipping and construction. Shall I bring them up?”
John did not immediately answer, fiddling with a fountain pen.
Seth gestured over his shoulder. “I can tell them to come back some other time.”
Roused, John finally responded. “No, no. Send them up—Ah, but Seth?”
“Hm?”
“Don’t take their coats.”
“Understood.”
The two middle-aged men that entered John’s office were slick and neatly dressed. “Francis Walsh,” greeted one, offering a hand. He had jet black hair that showed no signs of greying and bright, dark eyes. The other looked much the same, though less handsome.
John grasped it, doubting the truth of the introduction.
Francis Walsh gestured to his silent companion. “My brother, Daniel Walsh. You’ll need to forgive him, he doesn’t talk much.”
Both were big, Daniel bearing a smashed nose. Between the two of them, there were four cauliflower ears. Neither man looked like a “Walsh”. The complexion gave that away quickly.
Without being asked, the two sat.
John took his seat.
Francis retrieved a golden lighter and pack of cigarettes from his breast pocket, offering one to John who politely refused.
John produced his own. “How can I help you gentlemen?” he asked as he lit the cigarette.
“First we’d like to offer our condolences,” said Francis. “I understand your uncle owned this place up until a few days ago. “
John nodded.
Daniel Walsh spoke up for the first time. “We’d like to buy your blueprints.” His words were slightly slurred. Punch-drunk, in John’s estimation.
John shrugged. “I hate to disappoint you, sir—especially as you came all the way down from New York–but the blueprints aren’t for sale. Of course, if you’re still interested in our services, we’re happy to take orders—
“Is this your first business?” interrupted Francis.
John calmly stamped out the cigarette on the ashtray with a final exhale. “Did you come all the way here to interview me?”
“We really think it’s in your best interest, sir. I don’t think you quite realise how big of a hole it’s going to burn in your pocket.”
John silently tilted his head to the door. The message was clear.
Reddening, the mute Daniel looked at Francis with an air of barely contained expectation.
Ignoring his brother, Francis released a long sigh. “Mr. Griffin, I’ll be honest with you. I have been hired by someone with a lot of money, someone who will hire just about anyone to help… negotiate.”
“I’ve already given my answer, Mr. Walsh. If you don’t mind, today is not a good day for the back and forth—”
“Fuckin’ mick,” snarled Daniel, surging to his feet hand plunging into his jacket pocket.
There was a click of a hammer as, in a flash, John revealed his own pistol. His eyes were cold.
Francis lowered his head, seemingly in frustration. “Danny,” he whispered, “Sit the fuck down.”
Daniel hesitated. John could see the outline of his gun in the pocket.
Once more, Francis spoke. “Sedere. Stai causando problemi, Daniel.”
John spoke up, voice low. “I don’t make a habit of repeating myself, but I’ll make an exception since your brother has issue understanding both in Italian and English. Once again: The blueprints. Are. Not. For. Sale. Now, kindly, fuck off.”
“He’s being rude, Frankie,” said Daniel. He inconspicuously moved his hand a fraction.
John fixed his gaze on him. “Go on take your piece out,” he said. “You might kill me but there is no chance—if you make that choice—that you two are walking out of here alive. I’ll take you sons of bitches with me.”
“There’s no need for this,” interjected Francis, hands in the air. “Please, Danny. That’s enough. L'hai promesso a tua moglie, eh? Let’s go.”
At last, Danny removed his hand from his pocket and lowered his hands to his sides. Francis stood and began to usher his brother out as if he were a misbehaving child. The height difference between them made it a comical sight.
“He’s a hot head, Mr. Griffin,” said Francis with an apologetic smile. “That happens when you get hit too many times, right? Think you’re always in the ring. We’ll be leaving you in peace.”
On their way out, Francis paused. “You know, Mr. Griffin… it’s not us you have to worry about. We go down easy. I’m old enough to understand that now. But there are some men who’ll do a lot of digging to get what they want.”
And then they were gone.
John replaced his gun on his desk, taking a deep, shaking breath. Adrenaline surged through his veins.
Seth entered the office, eyes wide. “John, what the hell happened?” he whispered.
“Guineas tried to buy the new plans and didn’t like the answer I gave them.”
Seth went pale.
John stood and moved to the far-side window to watch the two gangsters exit onto the street.
“Why wouldn’t he just ask for a prototype?” questioned Seth. “Are they gangsters? They should know it isn’t ready yet. It’s no different than the Browning.”
“They’re not buying for a gang. They could never use a machine gun on the streets and get away with it. Maybe someday but not today. No, they’re working for someone. Likely a person who’s been in the business for a while. They hired those two so we look in all the wrong places.”
Seth closed the door behind him and came closer. “So, we have a rat.”
“We do,” John agreed. He grabbed another cigarette from his pocket. From over his shoulder, he directed, “Cut down personnel at our new branch in half, move everything to my shop at the house in Stoney Hollow… and tell everyone that the project is a bust.”
John lit another cigarette and inhaled deeply. He retained the breath in his lungs for some time. As he released the smoke, John said, “My uncle has a list of competitors. I’d like you to try and narrow down who would have the resources and guts to hire thugs out of New York. Keep it to yourself.”
“It’s not just thugs you have to worry about, John.”
“What do you mean?”
“People can do other things to force you to sell.”
John turned away from the window and gave Seth a befuddled look. “Huh?”
Seth shrugged. “I’ll have the lawyers look at our contracts again.”
“What are you saying, Seth?”
“I’m worried about Robert’s will and other things they find on you. Legal or personal attacks can be worse. Hopefully you’re not on the run from anyone.” Seth released a small laugh.
John did not join.
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Thank you so much for taking the time to read my work!
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Letter from the Author
Hello everyone!
My subscriber count has risen since my last post and I feel I should take the time to greet you. Welcome and thank you for subscribing. I hope my work is worth your time.
Some things you should know:
I post once a week, Mondays or Wednesdays unless otherwise stated,
one series per season,
for inquiries, comments, and concerns you may contact me at shades.of.night23@gmail.com,
I sincerely appreciate you all! ❤️
In other news, I will be postponing next week’s episode of Stoney Hollow. I have some work to catch up on, but will return as quick as I’m able. Luckily, I have other projects coming up:
I will be featuring on an episode of
new podcast Authors and Embers.I’m judging the very first Macabre Monday writing contest, spearheaded by the wonderful
(he’s great, go check out for his work).I also participate in Macabre Monday on Notes, which is rounded up on
each week.
I am also prepping the winter series for you guys! I’ve learned so much while writing my first series with you and I want to take my work to the next level. I am so, so excited! Stay tuned for its announcement in November.
Once again, thank you for your time and attention. Please look forward to my next post!
Kindly,
Maya
I feel like we're getting closer to unveiling John's past. Exciting!