by S. L. Stoner
Eich shrugged. “Maybe. But we better plan our next step in case she did not.”
Sage straightened. “I’m thinking Glad’s brother might have some answers.”
Seven
Halfway through the snake and crane’s one hundred and eight movements, Sage sensed Fong stepping into the attic behind him. He wanted to stop to greet his friend but knew he’d only get a scolding look. So he kept moving, acutely aware of Fong shedding his shoes and stepping into a position slightly to his side and rear. Forcing himself to focus on the movements and ignore the welcome but scrutinizing presence of his teacher, Sage finally reached the end. He turned, put knuckles to palm and bowed to his teacher. Fong grinned in response.
“Kum Ho is alright?” Sage asked.
“She say she ‘right as rain.’ Funny. Rain may be good if you are bush,” Fong said and shrugged, though his relief was evident in his easy smile.
Sage knew Ida had been sending soup and other healing vittles to the Fong’s provision shop. The last message she’d gotten back said that Fong’s wife had turned the corner and was on the mend. Still, pneumonia was nothing to fool with.
“Mr. Fong, are you sure it’s okay to leave her? It’s been tough without you around but she’s more important.”
Fong nodded and held up a hand. “No problem, Mr. Sage. I hire young fellow to watch shop and Kum Ho. She not happy but that too bad.”
Sage laughed. Fong’s wife was the tiniest woman Sage had ever met but her iron will countered any size disadvantage. For much of her difficult life, she’d needed that strength.
“In that case, you got here just in time. We have a problem,” Sage began and told Fong about the Gladney Tobias situation. “So, Eich and I think we need to learn more about the brother. If you could follow him, find out who he works for, that would help. Eich can’t do it, his pushcart is too noticeable and he can’t move as fast as a young boy. As for me, at this point, I don’t want Terry Tobias to know I’m involved because something’s fishy about all this. Depending on what we learn, I may need to get close to him as a stranger, not as someone hunting for his brother.”
“You say he live in Sullivan’s Gulch? How do I find him to follow?”
“Eich says if we send word, he can point out the Tobias shack from the top of the ravine.”
“Okay. I send word right away. Maybe start trailing him tonight. Lady wife tell me she not want to see me until tomorrow. Right now, I'm out on ear because I hire helper.”
Since Fong had a room next to Mae’s on Mozart’s third floor, his banishment was harmless. He often stayed at Mozart’s while his wife ran their provision store. Regardless, Fong’s sojourn in the dog house would be short-lived. Sage had seen Kum Ho’s affectionate looks at her husband. She probably just wanted Fong to end his sick room duty without guilt.
Fong turned toward the steep stairs to Mozart’s third floor. “We go down now. Lady Mother said she meet us in your room.”
Sure enough, Mae sat at the small table in his bedroom’s bay window, a coffee pot and biscuit plate awaiting them.
“What happened at Glad’s house, yesterday?” Sage asked her without preamble.
“The boy isn’t there, just like Herman said. And the family’s mighty upset about it. For some reason, his mother is keeping secret that he’s gone or why he’s gone. I sure don’t understand it.”
Sage repeated what he’d learned from the newsboys and what he and Eich thought should be their next step. “What we want to know is—why did the brother stop searching for him? Fong’s going to tail him tonight. Hopefully, he’ll turn something up.”
She agreed with their plan to have Fong shadow the brother. Switching topics she asked, “What are you going to do about the dead boy, the one that doesn’t have a name? There’s another article in the newspaper again today. They still don’t know who he was.”
“I’ve been thinking on that. Hanke thinks the boy ran away from a glass factory. We don’t have one in Portland, though I heard the Kerr brothers are building a canning jar factory. That means it’s likely the little fellow rode the rails into town.”
“Meachum,” she said.
“Yup, that’s what I was thinking. He’s best situated to learn whether the boy got here by boxcar and where he might have come from. Meach knows more people riding the rails than ten hobos put together. If the kid traveled that way, someone will remember him.”
“So, have you heard from Meachum? Is he in town?”
“While I was looking for Glad, I went into Slap Jacks. There was a message for me, saying he’ll arrive tonight. I figured I’d describe the kid and ask if he can find something out about him. With that god awful burn on his face, someone should remember him.”
Mae nodded in satisfaction and stood. “Okay then, I want to talk to Millie Trumbull now that I know more about the family’s situation.” She put their dirty cups on a tray and headed for the door until Sage asked a question that stopped her.
“Hey, Ma, what’s going on with Ida? I couldn’t coax even a little smile out of her this morning.”
Mae stopped in her tracks and turned back to them, guilt flushing her face. “Oh, my Lord. I forgot.” She put the tray down on the walnut bureau and returned to the table. Quickly she told them about Matthew’s transformation from sweet boy to surly teenager. “And, I promised her, the day before yesterday that you’d talk to him. What must she think of me?”
Seeing her distress, Sage patted her hand. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it. If she asks, I’ll tell her that you told me but I couldn’t break away before now.”
Mae nodded briskly and rose again. “Good. See that you do.” Seconds later she and the tray were gone. Although her words lacked gratitude, the squeeze she gave his shoulder told him she was grateful. He exchanged looks with Fong and they both chuckled.
Sage was leaning against a fir tree across from the West Side High School, waiting to do what he’d promised Ida—talk to Matthew. He didn’t have to worry about the boy peddling off on his beloved Blue Beauty. Matthew had banished the bicycle to the cellar. That stored bicycle was worrisome in itself. Matthew loved it. He rode it all over town carrying messages, determined to earn enough for his college tuition.
The school doors slammed open just as the clouds parted and students poured out. Matthew’s auburn hair shone like a bright beacon in the fitful sunlight but otherwise, he was a picture of gloom, descending the stairs alone and slowly, his shoulders slumped as if carrying a heavy weight.
Sage hurried to intercept the boy. “Matthew!” he called and saw the boy start only to relax at seeing Sage. Then concern quickly replaced his relief.
“Mr. Adair, what are you doing—” but he didn’t finish the question. “Oh no!” he exclaimed. “Has something happened to Uncle Knute, to Aunt Ida, to Mozart’s?” Alarm turned the boy’s face white, making his freckles stand out like cinnamon sprinkled on milk.
Sage raised a calming hand, “No, everybody is just fine. No problems with them or the restaurant.” He searched Matthew’s face. “Why did you think something might be wrong, Matthew?”
Red overcast the freckles and Matthew’s lips tightened. He looked away and mumbled, “No reason.”
Taking hold of the boy’s elbow Sage said, “Come on. You and I have to talk. Let’s get some hot chocolate.” He didn’t wait for Matthew to agree before steering the boy down the sidewalk toward the corner café.
Once inside and sitting at a back table with hot chocolate before them, Sage got to the point. “Okay, Matthew. Something is clearly wrong. What is it? You’ve got everyone worried about you.”
Matthew didn’t answer. Instead, he lifted the cup to his lips and swallowed. Sage noticed the boy’s hand shook.
“You might as well tell me. You know I’ll find out eventually. You’ve got your Aunt so upset she’s burning things. O
ur customers don’t particularly relish charcoaled food,” he said, trying for a little humor.
That effort failed. Matthew still said nothing, only looked down into the mug he was now turning round and round.
“Is someone threatening you? Have you gotten into a fight with one of the other messengers? With one of your friends?”
That question brought first a hesitation, followed by a vehement shake of his head. Matthew cleared his throat, “I just decided I didn’t want to be a messenger anymore. Thought I’d concentrate on my school work instead.”
“That’s not a bad idea but it doesn’t explain the fight or your foul mood lately.” Sage decided tough talk was called for. “You know I’m happy to pay for your college but quite frankly, this sudden dislike of messenger work is puzzling.”
Matthew shrugged, drained his cup and stood up. “Sorry, Mr. Adair, but I got to get going. I promised a friend I’d study with him this afternoon. Thank you for the hot chocolate.” Matthew left the café without a backward glance.
“Well, damn,” Sage said to himself.
When the door opened soft piano music drifted out. “Miss Lucinda is in the front parlor. Go on in,” Elvira said to Sage as she took his coat and hat. He slipped into the room and saw Lucinda sitting at the piano, with her back to the door, and playing the wildly popular “Sweet Adeline.” He slipped into a chair to listen. She was singing the words softly to herself in her sweet soprano.
He clapped when the song reached its end and she whirled around on the piano stool, looking flustered. “Nice playing,” he told her, “Though I don’t like the song, all that much. It’s one long howl at the moon.”
When he saw the hurt reaction in her face he rushed to say. “You played and sang it beautifully. I guess I’m tired of hearing it. Last count, there were a hundred versions of it. Anywhere there’s a piano somebody’s plunking it out.”
“I suppose ‘Uncle Josh and the Insurance Company’ is more your taste,” she said before turning around to drop the cover down over the keyboard. She didn’t drop it gently. Sage sighed. He’d stepped in it once again.
When she turned back toward him her face was bland. She rose, tugged the call ribbon and when Elvira appeared, ordered coffee. Still saying nothing, she gestured him to a chair and took the one next to it.
No canoodling on the sofa, he thought ruefully. Well, if she wanted their meeting to be all business, so be it. “So, is there a new pedophile house in town?” he asked her.
“Getting right to it, Sage? No ‘hello’ or, ‘how are you’?”
“Did seem like you were in that kind of mood,” he said.
She shrugged and let it drop. “To answer your question, I think there may be. But the women I met with don’t think we’ll find Glad there. He isn’t the type of boy they want—because he has family here. Still, one of the women is going to try to find the address of the new house. Once she does, she’ll send it to me.”
As if summoned by the words, Elvira stepped into the room with the coffee and announced, “One of Louise Rumbold’s girls is here. She says she needs to talk to you right away.”
When the young woman stepped into the room, her hat was askew and her stockings sagging. She was breathing hard.
She didn’t wait but rushed into speaking, “Miss Collins, Mrs. Rumbold said I should come to warn you. Some men just came to our house and said she better stop helping you or else she was going to be sorry. They pushed her around. Even slapped her.”
Lucinda jumped to her feet. “Is she alright?”
The young woman nodded vigorously. “They only got but the one slap in and Mrs. Rumbold dodged too fast for it to hit hard. Us girls drove them out of the house. Our cook brained one of them with her iron skillet. But Mrs. Rumbold wanted you to know right quick in case they aim to visit you next.”
Sage butted in, “How many of them were there?”
“Four big fellows,” she answered.
After a beat, during which Lucinda and Sage exchanged worried glances, Lucinda said, “Tell her I am very grateful for the warning and to let me know if there is anything I can do.” Then she added, “And, please tell her I am very sorry for the trouble I’ve caused her and her ladies.”
The girl turned to go then whirled back to Lucinda and extended a piece of paper. “I almost forgot. Mrs. Rumbold also asked me to give this to you.”
Lucinda took the paper and waited until the girl was out the door before reading it.
Sage jumped up, impatient. “What is it?” he demanded.
“It appears to be the address you wanted,” she said holding it out to him. He noticed her hand was shaking.
He glanced at the writing, shoved it in his pocket and headed for the door. Glancing back he was alarmed to see her eyes filling with sudden tears. Surely she can’t be that scared, she’s too tough. Then he realized what the problem might be instead. “Hell, Lucinda. I’m not leaving. I’m going to ask Elvira to send a message to get us some help.”
Lucinda reached behind her for the chair arm and lowered herself down, the tears now spilling in earnest. He fought the urge to cross the room to comfort her. There wasn’t time. The thugs could be already heading their way. He sped from the room.
Eight
A rapidly diminishing twilight lit the transom window above Lucinda’s front door. They were ready. Elvira was at her post, peering out a small window. She was to inform arriving customers the house was closed and give warning when the thugs showed up.
Sage shifted on the bottom step of the staircase and checked his watch again. If they were coming, it’d be soon. Otherwise, they’d risk running into the last people in the city they’d want to offend—Portland’s powerful, monied, elite men. He glanced around the entry hall. They’d stripped it of furniture, pictures and mirrors and knickknacks and locked every door off it. A barricade of wooden boxes blocked the corridor leading to the kitchen. The house’s other outside doors were also locked and barricaded. That left the front door as the only way in.
Sage shifted again. He hated waiting. He glanced up at his companions who sat on the stair treads above him. The scarred knuckles on Lucinda’s new driver, Bernard, indicated this wouldn’t be his first dustup. Fong was relaxed, sitting quietly on his step, thinking who knew what. Lucinda was there too. She had insisted on being present but had agreed to stay farthest from the action on the topmost step. He’d grinned as she’d climbed past him carrying a heavy iron skillet.
Elvira tensed. “I think they’re here,” she said. Everyone stood.
“You be careful. Jump out of the way if they push their way in,” Sage told Elvira, just as the brass knocker clanged.
Elvira took a deep breath, glanced at them all and reached for the door handle. She eased the door open only a few feet. “May I help—” were the only words she got out before the door was shoved wider, knocking her backward. She quickly scuttled behind the door and beneath the wide leaves of a potted rubber tree.
Four rough-looking fellows filled the entryway. One of them was holding a length of wood. He glanced around as if seeking something to hit. His forehead wrinkled at the sight of the stripped-down entryway.
“What exactly do you men want?” Sage asked, stepping onto the floor. Behind him, he heard Bernard and Fong descending the stairs to stand at his back.
“We want to speak private-like to the Collins woman. That her up there?” asked one of them.
“Sorry, gentlemen, but I am afraid Miss Collins is not available for a conference at present.”
‘“Not available for a conference’?” mimicked the man in front just before he and the other three charged forward and Lucinda’s defenders stepped to meet them.
Sage dropped into a bow stance with his feet rooted, hands raised, his body centered and sideways to the leader who got within striking distance and threw a punch. Before
it could connect, Sage stepped forward, his raised right hand rolling around the man’s wrist, grabbing it, and yanking. The man fell forward, off-balance, bringing his chest close to Sage’s left side. Sage drove a sharp elbow into the man’s rib cage. Then he released the man’s wrist while simultaneously delivering a right-handed open punch that sent the man stumbling backward a good six feet.
Nice beginning, Sage thought and saw that Fong was dealing with two of the attackers while Bernard was fully engaged in a one-on-one bare-knuckle fight. He glanced over his shoulder. Lucinda stood halfway down the stairs, gripping the black skillet. She was ready. He shook his head at her, saw alarm widen her eyes which snapped his attention forward.
His man had pulled a knife. “I really wish you hadn’t done that,” Sage calmly remarked to his attacker. The man barred his grimy teeth and charged forward, leading with the knife.
“Evade, bump, strike.” The three words streamed through Sage’s mind as he focused on the man’s body movement, ignoring the knife. Twisting to the side Sage used his left forearm to deliver a sharp bump beneath the attacker’s arm that deflected the knife sideways. This left the attacker’s right temple exposed to Sage’s single knuckle jab and he struck with his full force. The man’s eyes rolled back in his head and he dropped to the floor, out cold.
Glancing around, Sage saw that Bernard had also knocked out his guy. Only Fong was still facing both his attackers. As Bernard moved to help, Sage grabbed his arm and pulled him away. “Fong doesn’t need help. He’s just been playing with them. Just watch. I give him sixty seconds to end it.”
Fong overhead and threw a grin their way. He drew himself up and, with his face a serene mask, he bowed slightly to his attackers. That flummoxed them into immobility. “Bad mistake, they should have run,” Sage muttered.
But they didn’t run. Noses bloodied, lips split, the two exchanged looks and moved forward, each grabbing one of Fong’s arms. He didn’t resist. Instead, he looked grateful, like they were doing him a favor. The two thugs exchanged puzzled looks.
