Bitter Cry

by S. L. Stoner

  That is when Fong exploded into action, sinking down while stepping to one side and pulling his two arms together. This brought the two attackers crashing into each other just as Fong raised his arms, breaking both their holds. He moved forward, pushed one into the other, and they both crashed to the floor.

  They clambered to their feet and, though both were panting, they charged again. This time Fong merely twisted, grabbed an arm and slung one into the path of the other. The collision sent them to the wall and then onto the floor again.

  Their next effort was a pincer attack. One charged Fong’s front while the other lumbered around to Fong’s rear. Fong turned his back on the slower fellow, grabbed the first attacker’s wrist and forearm and dropped into a very low snake creeps down position, his one leg stretched its full length out to the side. With an almost imperceptible tug, Fong sent the first attacker flying over the outstretched leg and into the second attacker who was charging from Fong’s rear. The two bodies, moving fast in opposite directions, cracked heads. Both fell to the floor.

  This time when they got up, they staggered toward the door. Elvira jumped forward and opened it for them. They stumbled down the steep steps to the sidewalk and soon were out of sight.

  Sage turned to Bernard. “I was right. One minute.”

  Lucinda came slowly down the stairs. “Are they dead?” she asked, gesturing with her skillet toward the two men on her entryway floor.

  Sage stepped forward, put a finger to each neck and said, with some relief, “They both have a pulse. Come on Bernard, let’s dump them in the street.”

  Minutes later the front door was locked tight and Elvira began re-hanging pictures and otherwise putting the entryway “to rights” while the four of them trooped into the parlor.

  “I doubt they’ll come back,” Lucinda said. “The three of you hurt them pretty badly.”

  Sage and Fong exchanged a look. “You’re probably right,” Sage said, “but it would be better if Bernard stays inside the house for the next few days, just in case.” He looked at the driver who nodded eagerly, even as he flexed his hands. The smirk on his face said he’d relished his successful bout of fisticuffs.

  Lucinda heaved a sigh. “I suppose you’re right.” She strode over to the door, opened it and they heard her say, “Elvira, kindly show Bernard the attic bedroom. He’s going to be staying with us for a while.”

  Elvira promptly appeared in the doorway and beckoned Bernard to follow her. As they climbed the stairs, Lucinda came back into the room, closing the door behind her.

  “Who sent men?” Fong asked her.

  “Well, I asked a few madams if there’s a new pedophile house in town. And, I asked whether anyone had seen the boy, Glad,” Lucinda told them. “I know Louise Rumbold very well. She would have been discreet when obtaining the address of the new house. I know she must have gotten it without anyone knowing she’d asked.”

  “So, how did they know about her inquiries? And, how did they know she was helping you?” Sage asked.

  Lucinda was nodding her head. “I’ve been thinking on that ever since we heard about the attack on Louise. When I met with the ladies, one of them, Vera Clark, was very hostile. At the time, I thought she was jealous of me. But, now I’m thinking there could have been another reason. Maybe she’s mixed up in something. And, just maybe, she told whoever she’s involved with about my questions.”

  “If so, that’s the person we’d like to talk to since they sent goons to shut you and Mrs. Rumbold up,” Sage mused aloud.

  “Where is Vera person’s business?” Fong asked.

  “She runs a brothel in three wood-frame houses sitting side-by-side in the North End. They’re right near Erickson’s Saloon on Third, just north of Couch Street. You can’t miss them. They have the same red window curtains. Real dumps,” Lucinda said with a hint of satisfaction.

    

  “Somebody roughed Matthew up pretty good. He’s got a black eye and a split lip,” were the words that greeted Sage when he stepped into his bedroom shortly after six.

  “How can that be? I just saw him at three o’clock and he was fine. He said he was going to study with a friend.”

  Mae shrugged. “Don’t know. He wouldn’t say. Just mumbled something about falling down before he headed to Ida and Knute’s apartment. Brushed right past Ida, he did. Poor woman. She’s fit to be tied.”

  “Damn. He wouldn’t tell me anything. But listen, right now we’ve got more serious problems than some schoolboy tussle. Four men attacked Lucinda today. Someone warned us they were coming and we were able to toss them out. It seems her questions about Glad stirred something up. So, I don’t know when I’ll be able to get to the bottom of what’s bothering Matthew. And, we can’t ask Fong to follow him because Fong’s busy following Glad’s brother right now.”

  He stepped to the wardrobe and began tossing clothes on the bed. “I have to help you with the supper hour and then I have to change and head out to watch a brothel run by the woman Lucinda thinks triggered the attack. Then I have to meet Meachum and ask him to find someone who knows about the dead boy with the burns. God help us if Meach is bringing us a new assignment from St. Alban. I don’t think we can take on anything more.” As he talked, Sage was hurriedly donning his restaurateur outfit.

  “Well, Glad’s still missing. I went back to Sullivan’s Gulch today. Millie’s a board member of the Visiting Nurses’ Association. When I told her about Mary’s frailty and coughing, she got hold of a nurse and the three of us went to the Tobias shack.”

  Mae took a deep breath. “Mary was a little flustered and not happy to see us but Millie talked her around. She let the nurse examine her and Glad was right. She has TB. The nurse said that Mary needs good food, rest and a warmer, drier place to live. Millie will be asking Doc Lane to see if he’ll admit Mary to that new sanatorium. Millie’s on that board, too, and so is the doctor, so chances are good he’ll approve her admission.”

  “Sounds like you had a busy day.”

  She shrugged. “I didn’t do much. It was all Millie and the nurse. I did manage to ask about Glad again. Mary claimed that he’s still off visiting that relative only this time she said it’s a cousin. Yesterday, she said it was an aunt. The dear woman can’t keep her lies straight. And that poor little Carry Anne starts blubbering every time someone mentions Glad’s name. It breaks my heart.” Mae’s face was bleak.

  Sage was standing before the mirror but he kept his eyes on his mother as he said, “We could rent the family a better house but if Mrs. Tobias goes into a sanatorium the kids can’t stay alone, they’re not old enough. What will happen to them?” He couldn’t see how they could take care of three children in addition to everything else they were doing. Besides, where would they sleep?

  Mae brightened. “When I saw her this morning, Millie said she can help place the kids. She says there are shelters where they can stay while their mother’s getting better. Millie is happy to help. She says she 'owes' me.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “According to her, the inspection of the cracker factory was successful because I’d confirmed she’d find kids there if she just barged onto the factory floor. So that’s exactly what she did. She zoomed past the receptionist, into the factory and straight into the side room where she caught the foreman ordering the kids down into a concealed cellar. Millie says she fined the owner and the kids no longer work there.” Mae’s words held pride and satisfaction. She was proud to have helped rescue the children from their factory labor.

  “Jeez, she works fast.”

  “She’s the kind of woman who charges ahead. She raided the factory while the owner was at lunch—just like she said she would.” Mae clearly admired Mrs. Millie Trumbull. When the hullabaloo over Glad was done, he suspected he’d be hearing more about Mrs. “Grab your hat, Willie, here comes Millie” Trumbull.

    <
br />
  “A burn you say? Which side of his face?” Meachum asked. The two of them were drinking whiskey. Meachum had said he was just passing through town on his way to Boise. As it was still freezing in the mountain passes, the Flying Squadron’s leader had luxuriated in riding the cushions to Portland instead of hopping onto a boxcar. He had brought Sage a new assignment from St. Alban.

  “It was a nasty scar on his left side,” Sage said. He leaned over the table and asked earnestly. “Meach, are you sure you don’t mind taking over St. Alban’s Seattle assignment for me?” The labor leader had wanted Sage to check out the newly-formed Women’s Trade Union League in Seattle. The organization’s stated purpose was to support labor union women, especially those working in the garment trade. But, according to Meachum, one of St. Alban’s concerns was that the organization was a mix of working and well-to-do women. Because of the latter, St. Alban wanted to make sure it wasn’t a front for employers.

  When Sage explained the problems he was trying to solve, Meachum offered to take on St. Alban’s assignment. “We both know that’s what the Saint would want me to do,” he assured Sage.

  Meachum tossed back the whiskey in his glass and pushed the bottle cork home. “If you don’t mind, I’ll take what’s left of this to the camp. Might free up some talk about your dead boy.

  “As for going to Seattle, riding the cushions inside a warm rail coach is like taking a vacation. I’ll also get to sleep in a nice bed, instead of on the ground in the hobo camp. Pure luxury.”

  When he saw Sage’s skeptical look he added, “Besides, I can ask the fellows about the dead kid while I’m up there. That way, I’ll cover the camps here, in Seattle and in Boise once I get there. I’m more likely to get information since I know just about every regular ‘bo on the west coast.”

  He squinted at Sage, saying, “You look tired. I hope you’re heading home to bed.”

  Sage sighed. “I should but not just yet. I want to go back to Vera Clark’s whorehouses and see if I recognize anyone. I was there for a couple of hours before I met you and mostly it looks like she caters to the timber workers living it up during their downtime.”

    

  Two hours later Sage was finally heading home. He’d seen a few men enter Clark’s houses but none looked familiar. One man, though, had snagged his attention when he came up the boardwalk and crossed the porch with a purposeful stride. Clearly, he wants something other than a roll in the sheets, Sage thought. His supposition was borne out when, only a few minutes later, the door opened and the man came out. He clapped on his hat and headed south toward the business district.

  Sage decided to follow and trailed the man to the doors of the Romanesque Imperial Hotel. Unfortunately, Sage’s John Miner clothes barred him from entering since the Imperial was one of the city’s most expensive hostelries. That left Sage with the man’s height, profile and walk—tall, hook-nosed, and slightly pigeon-toed. That’s all he’d seen in the dark.

  Nine

  “Up all night, huh?” Sage said more as a statement than a question. Fong couldn’t deny it since his near-black eyes had equally dark smudges beneath them.

  Fong nodded wearily. “I up all night because Glad’s brother Terry work all night.” There was a grim note to Fong’s words.

  “What did you learn?” Sage prodded.

  “Boy has no more than twelve years. He go to Speedy Messenger Service, on First Street near rail station. I wait outside in dark. Man drags Terry boy out of office, pushes him against building. Waving hands and shouting. I ready to jump in but he only yell, no hitting.

  “What did Glad’s brother do?”

  “He shake head ‘no’ bunch of times. Like he refusing. Man get more angry. Terry act like he afraid he get hit and finally nod, ‘okay’.”

  “Then what?”

  “They go back in office. Later boy come back out and I follow. He go to Erickson saloon come out with bottle in sack then goes to close-by house. I think it that Clark woman’s—red curtains in windows.”

  “They sent a twelve-year-old into a saloon and a whorehouse?”

  Fong’s nod was sad as he said, “All night long, that where they send him—brothels, restaurants, saloons, opium dens, gambling houses. He fetch and carry.”

  “You know anything about the Speedy Messenger Service?”

  “Only know it new in town,” Fong answered and yawned. “Has hire sign in window.”

  “You think you want to be a messenger? I can just see you in one of those little caps.”

  This time Fong’s smile was sardonic, as if he knew the quandary he was about to deliver. “Sign also say, ‘White Only’.”

  Sage thought for a minute. “I’m too old to be a messenger boy,” he said dismissively, putting an end to that idea.

  “So sorry, Mr. Sage. Must tell you. Speedy messengers, some older than you.” This time Fong’s eyes twinkled before he yawned again.

  “You better get some sleep,” Sage told him.

  Fong got up but, before leaving, said, “You remember men who take Glad?”

  “It was foggy and dark. I only saw vague outlines.”

  “Was one very big man?”

  Sage thought back. He pictured Glad being turned upside down and shook until all his money fell onto the boardwalk. The boy’s feet had been high in the air. “I know one of them was really tall. Taller than me by at least three inches, maybe more,” he told Fong.

  His answer made Fong smile. “Man who yell at brother Terry also very tall,” he said as he headed to his room down the hall.

  Sage pondered Fong’s information and then made a decision. He had no choice. They needed to talk to Glad’s brother without scaring him off.

    

  “Do you think Mrs. Trumbull could help?” Sage asked his mother. “After all, both the messenger services and newspapers employ a lot of kids.”

  Mae looked dubious. “You realize she’ll know exactly who you are.”

  “You don’t trust her to keep that secret?” he asked and saw her denial on her face before she spoke a word.

  “I’d trust that woman with my life!” Mae exclaimed. “It’s just I know how fussy you are about not letting people know about your secret doings outside of the restaurant.”

  They didn’t have a choice, Sage thought later as they climbed the staircase to Trumbull’s office. If he wanted to go undercover in a messenger service, he had to learn something about the business.

  Millie Trumbull was in her office and alone. She came to her office door and raised an eyebrow when she spotted Sage beside Mae. “Mr. Adair, I must say, I am surprised to see you here.” Her deep brown eyes twinkled as she said, “Is it too much to hope that you are here to offer a donation?” She laughed before he could answer and asked them both to step into her office. Once they were inside and seated, she closed the hallway door and locked it.

  She looked at Mae. “I take it this is your friend, the one who told you about the Tobias family?”

  Mae nodded as Sage said, “Mrs. Clemens said you are intelligent. She didn’t tell me you are also exceedingly quick off the mark.”

  Millie laughed heartily. “Not really. I put two and two together. Mae seemed to have your approval to be absent from work, so I’d already wondered. I could also tell there was more to the story.” She sent an apologetic smile toward Mae. “I didn’t think you lied, just that you withheld a bit. I figured that was on orders.”

  Sage jumped in before Mae could. “You’re right. And, it is because Mrs. Clemens thinks so highly of you that we are here. Let me tell you what triggered everything.” With that, he told of meeting Glad and the subsequent kidnapping, though he didn’t mention the fact that he’d been in disguise at the time.

  After Sage’s factual recitation, Millie said. “It sounds like you plan to become a messenger so you can see if the brother knows
anything.”

  “That’s exactly right. I was hoping you could tell me something about the business in advance. I use messengers of course. Our cook’s nephew, until very recently, was one. But he was freelance. He didn’t work for a company. So, he can’t tell me anything about how these places work.”

  Millie heaved a sigh. “Newsboys and messengers. Those are my two big defeats.”

  Mae jumped in, “Are messengers legally considered contractors as well—like the newsboys?”

  “No, but that doesn’t solve the problem. The statute forbids employing youngsters under fourteen in the messenger service but some of the companies get around it. They work them at night and they falsify their papers.”

  Sage scooted forward in his chair. “All of them?”

  “No, thank God. Only a few at this point. Western Union and ADT abide by the new law. So does the Hasty Messenger Service.” As she said this, a speculative look came into her eyes. “You said the Tobias boy works for the Speedy Messenger Service?”

  Sage nodded. “Yes, so that’s the one I’d be applying to.”

  Trumbull sat back in her chair and gazed out the rain-streaked window. “You know, we can maybe help each other out. Speedy Messenger is new in town and I’ve heard some bad things about them, including that they work young boys at night. If you go undercover, you could confirm whether those reports are true.” She stood up, slapped her palms on her desk and said, “I’ve got an idea. You go find a way to make yourself look less like John Adair, owner of Mozart’s restaurant. Then meet me in one hour at Third and Stark Streets. There’s a man you need to talk to.”

  “Wait, that’s close to Mozart’s. Even if I’m disguised he might recognize me.”

  Trumbull’s chuckle was brief. “No chance whatsoever of that happening. But those around him might, so you need to be disguised. What name are you going to use?”

  “John Miner,” Sage answered.

    

  An hour later, Sage was at Third and Stark. It was a rowdy corner lately known for too many street hawkers and idle hooligans. As he strode up, three of the latter were in the street, trying to grab bundled laundry off a hand truck. The Chinese laundryman was trying to hold onto the bundles but was no match for the three of them. One bundle was already in a puddle. Sage darted forward, caught two of the youngsters by their collars and cracked their heads together. Yowling with pain, they backed away and all three took to their heels, yelling indecipherable threats back over their shoulders.