by S. L. Stoner
Like him, the other two were now wearing overalls. Drake carried a kerosene lantern.
“You got him stashed right below here?” Fogel rasped.
“Near here,” responded Sage. His muscles still remembered the work of dragging a limp LaRue across a number of basements and then erasing all the drag marks. He’d wanted to make certain there’d be no backtrack to the New Elijah.
When Sage entered the underground with Drake and Fogel, he felt only a sense of comfortable familiarity. He shuffled through the dust toward LaRue, slightly ahead of Drake’s light. His only fear came from the threat posed by the two men following his lead. After ducking under the low arches between buildings, following tunnels beneath streets, and making unnecessary turns to confuse their sense of direction, Sage stopped and pointed toward a motionless figure lying against a damp stone wall.
Drake raised his lantern, moving its light along the length of the snoring body. “Well, Crowley, it appears you told us true. He’s a big one and seems sound of limb. It will take a block and pulley from the main yardarm to hoist him aboard the Karluk. Sure you didn’t give him too much of the Doctor’s Delight?”
“Given his size, I’m more afraid that I didn’t give him enough and he’ll wake up before we get him aboard the ship.”
“We got ways of dealing with those kind of situations,” Drake said, putting his lantern on the dirt floor so that their shadows flowed up the surrounding stone walls. He removed a leather-covered blackjack from his pocket and slapped it in his palm. Sage moved a step outside the pool of light. Drake continued looking at LaRue, but Sage sensed Fogel moving, sandwiching Sage between the two of them so that he could see only one at a time. Drake’s eyes flicked from the still form at his feet into the darkness behind Sage. He stepped toward Sage just as Fogel’s footsteps scuffled behind him. Sage envisioned a companion to Drake’s blackjack in Fogel’s raised hand.
Sage’s face must have shown his train of thought because Drake’s thin lips stretched into his mirthless smile. “Now, Crowley, we told you that the Karluk’s short two men. You delivered one. You wouldn’t want us to disappoint her captain, would you? Besides, you and your big friend here will have so much to talk about when he wakes up.”
Drake’s eyes jumped, signaling that he was about to spring forward. Sage dropped onto his hands while his right leg swept out to catch the lantern, dousing its flame and sending it clattering into darkness. Sage dropped further and rolled, following the lantern’s path. As he did so, he heard the “humph” sound of two bodies colliding in the dark. Cursing filled the basement. Upright again, Sage snagged the lantern handle as he moved away from the two men and into a niche he’d discovered earlier. He’d already practiced how to use its configuration to throw his voice straight out to bounce against another wall and back to them. He didn’t think they would be able to determine his location when he spoke. Just in case, his groping hand found the club he’d hidden there earlier.
“You busted my nose. You lowdown scum, Crowley,” whimpered Fogel.
Drake’s voice snarled in the dark, “You damn idiot! You ran into me, not Crowley. Shut your trap! I need to hear where he is!”
Sage smiled in the darkness, waiting for them to quiet. Fong once said “tricking enemy into attacking self was fun.” It hadn’t been intentional, but Fong was right. It felt satisfying to cause them a bloodied nose and a few bruises with so little effort. Resolving to keep the gloat from his voice, he turned away to bounce his words off a nearby wall, “Seems to me that I’ve won this round, boys. You got my friend here for the Karluk and maybe a little embarrassment that your boss doesn’t need to know about. You just recommend me for the job and we’ll be even. Like I told you, I don’t want a cut from this delivery,” Sage said.
“Recommend you, hell,” came Fogel’s rasp accompanied by a shuffling of boots through dust, blundering in a direction away from Sage. “I find you, you’re going to be shipped out as a dead man on that damn whaling ship.”
“Fogel!” Drake’s sharp voice brought the scuffling boots to a halt. “If you don’t want to stumble around down here for the rest of the night, you better shut up. Unless you’re carrying a lantern or a candle somewhere in your coveralls that I don’t know about.”
“Nah, I just have a few matches.” Fogel sounded subdued.
“So, that’s all you want, Crowley?” Drake asked. “You just want us to tell Mordaunt he should take you on? What’s to stop us from putting a knife into your ribs, first chance we get?”
Sage had asked himself the same question earlier, while he was thoroughly exploring this section of the underground. He was ready with an answer. “Nothing at all. But I figure that being the new man, I should pay the both of you a little training fee as we go along. Besides, Drake, once you see me work, you will think I’m an asset. You strike me as a smart man who knows how to look out for his own best interests.” Sage didn’t bother flattering Fogel. Drake was the leader.
Near silence greeted Sage’s proposal, the only sound being LaRue’s ragged snores from where he lay against the wall. For the first time when Fogel spoke, his words were something other than derisive or threatening. “A training fee? I never heard of no training fee for runners.”
Since Drake didn’t jump to hush his companion, Sage explained further. “Well, I’m just calling it that. What I’m saying is that whatever Mordaunt pays me, I give you five percent—each.”
“Fifteen,” said Drake.
“Ten,” Sage countered.
“Deal. But you better not give us any cause to think you’re up to something or try to cheat us or the deal’s off. You got that?”
The menace in Drake’s voice made Sage decide that, deal or not, he’d make sure that Drake never got in behind him. He said nothing, though. Instead, he stepped noiselessly out from the niche, moved in the direction of the men and rolled the lantern toward them. “There’s the lantern. I’m sure Mr. Fogel’s match will light it. You men can haul your new acquisition to the Karluk on your own. I’m sure you understand why I can’t stay to help. But I’ll meet you at ten o’clock tomorrow morning on the Couch Street wharf so you can take me to your boss.”
That said, Sage moved swiftly away from them, not waiting for an answer. Despite it being pitch black, his shoulder bones tried to meet each other in the middle of his back. He could imagine one of the men deciding to throw a knife on the chance it would find its target.
Sage arrived at the Couch Street wharf the next morning just before ten o’clock. The sun was already high in the pale summer sky. Drake and Fogel were late, making him wait on the wharf, but he didn’t mind. He used the time to ponder. He’d spoken with Fong and his mother the night before but had said nothing of Homer LaRue.
Fong was distracted. Sage was forced to repeatedly say Fong’s name just to pull him back into their conversation. Sage’s mind had ambled elsewhere, too. Despite knowing the man wasn’t worth a canteen of spit–one of Mae Clemens’s harshest judgments–Sage still felt a tinge of guilt when he thought of LaRue being doomed to sail into the whaling grounds on a death ship.
This morning, as Sage waited for the two men, he stared into the cold water flowing past on its journey to the ocean. Sage considered whether a difference existed between guilt and remorse. He definitely felt guilty about the fate he’d engineered for LaRue. Yet, given a choice, he’d rather live with that guilt than undo what he’d done. Simply put, he felt no remorse. He would do the same thing again. Why? Because LaRue was a despicable human being. That gloating voice, bragging about killing Fong’s friends and relatives, would forever plague Sage’s memory. Anyway, the outcome now lay beyond Sage’s control. Life had delivered LaRue to Sage and he had acted as best he could to protect a good man. Relief was mostly what he felt. Relief because Fong was safe. Relief because the ultimate decision over LaRue’s fate now rested in hands other than his own.
Those and other thoughts chased themselves around and around until the arrival of Drake and Fogel
pulled Sage back into the task of surviving the present. Neither man’s greeting was friendly. Not surprising. Fogel’s eyes sported purple-black shiners on either side of a swollen nose. Drake had a faint bruise in the middle of his forehead.
Drake lit a cigar, spit out a bit of tobacco and said,“Mordaunt says he’ll give you a try but you better give us that training fee like you said or we’ll make you wish you never met us.”
Sage nodded, asking, “How’d you explain Fogel’s nose?”
Fogel scowled and Drake answered. “We sure the hell didn’t tell him that we ran into each other.” He started walking, leaving Fogel and Sage to follow. The three of them set off for Mordaunt’s office in the North End. As they reached the office, a big man bustled out of the door, almost knocking the three men off the steps. He neither apologized nor acknowledged their presence. Which was fortunate since the rude man was Earl Gordon, the very man Sage saw while in the company of James Laidlaw at the Cabot Club. Even though it was unlikely Gordon would recognize him in his seaman’s duds, Sage turned his face away until the man rounded the corner.
Once indoors, Sage couldn’t help but notice that the carpet before the desk was just the right shade of blood red to hide the real thing. Kaspar Mordaunt lounged in a leather chair, his expansive posture a study in satisfaction. That impression was momentary because Mordaunt snapped upright in his chair as they entered. By most standards, he would be called handsome–straight nose, dark eyes, a luxuriant moustache. But a more studied look revealed cruelty in the narrow mouth and in dark eyes that were as lifeless as obsidian.
“Did you round up the two men before the whaler sailed last night?” Mordaunt’s voice came out in a low menacing growl.
“Yes, Mr. Mordaunt,” Drake quickly replied. “Thanks to help from Crowley, here. The one he got us brought top dollar. ‘Cause he was so big, the captain said he could do the work of two men.” As he spoke, he jerked his thumb in Sage’s direction.
Mordaunt slowly examined Sage, then said, “We’ll see.” He turned his attention back to Drake. “Captain Hambley of the Calypso is looking for a cabin boy. Won’t bring much in return for our effort, but it’s the first time Hambley’s been in this port, and I want him to get the habit of coming to me.”
Drake was again quick to respond. “Cabin boy won’t be too hard to find. I’ve already got my eye on a young fella, as a matter of fact.”
“See that he’s healthy. The Calypso is sailing in two days,” said Mordaunt.
“Say, wasn’t that Mr. Gordon we saw coming out of here, Mr. Mordaunt? Did he come to pay off his son’s debts?” Fogel spoke for the first time.
Mordaunt’s eyes narrowed and his face twisted with sudden fury.“What do you mean by questioning me or talking about business in front of a stranger?” Mordaunt half-rose out of his chair, reaching for a brass-headed cane leaning against his desk. “You know better than to open your damn yap!” Fogel beat a swift retreat, backing toward the door.
Mordaunt seemed to reconsider his outburst and relaxed back into his chair. “As a matter of fact, boys, that was indeed, Mr. Earl P. Gordon. And no, he didn’t come to pay off his son’s debts. That’s a separate matter we’ll take care of ourselves. No, Mr. Gordon came with a special invite for me. You boys are looking at the new precinct captain here in the North End.”
Sage barely heard Drake and Fogel’s congratulatory murmurings to their boss. The establishment was rewarding this murderer with a plum political position? He bit his lower lip to control his tongue. Then his mind began racing. As a precinct captain, Mordaunt would rub shoulders socially with the very men who patronized Mozart’s restaurant. That meant the land shark would visit Mozart’s, which in turn meant Sage faced the possibility of Mordaunt noticing a physical resemblance between the crimp’s runner Twig Crowley and the urbane restaurateur, John Adair. As Adair, Sage might avoid such a meeting. But for how long?
Mordaunt was smiling at Sage, his lips stretched into a shark’s grin. “No congratulations from you?” he asked.
Sage started, then recovered. “Why, I guess it’s taking me a minute to find the words. No boss of mine has ever been an important man in town. For sure, I congratulate you.”
Mordaunt must have liked Sage’s answer because the shark smile widened. Still, Mordaunt’s tone remained testy. “We’ll see if I’m your boss, Crowley. My boys convinced me that you might be an asset, especially since you managed to plant a good one on Fogel here.” Sage felt Fogel bristle behind him. Apparently, Drake had used the fact of Fogel’s black eyes and broken nose to obtain Mordaunt’s agreement to take Sage on as a runner.
Mordaunt continued, “But then, it might have been just luck. You don’t look like you can do much. I’ll tell you right now–and you listen good. If I take you on and you don’t produce or you pull something tricky, you’re going to be sorry that you ever met me or my boys. Do you understand that?”
Sage nodded eagerly, like he desired nothing more than an opportunity to lick Kaspar Mordaunt’s boots.
TWENTY FOUR
MORDAUNT STARED AT HIM LONG enough for Sage to shift uncomfortably where he stood. At last, with suspicion still narrowing his eyes, Mordaunt said, “Okay, Crowley, I’ll give you a tryout. See that you meet Fogel and Drake around eight tonight at Erickson’s saloon. Afterwards, go get your gear and come back here. You’ll be staying right here in the boardinghouse. I want to keep you where I can see you.”
Sage got out of there, went to his hotel and checked out. He made a flying visit to Mozart’s where he dropped off his salesman’s garb and picked up the rest of his seaman’s duds. He arrived just as the dinner hour ended. When his mother climbed to the third floor, her steps sounded heavier than usual.
“What’s wrong?” he asked her when she entered his room.
“With you and Fong gone, it’s more work on me,” she said without rancor.
“Fong’s gone?”
She nodded glumly.
“He’s out looking for LaRue,” Sage told his mother.
She rolled her eyes. “You think I don’t know that? Why do you think I didn’t sleep a wink last night?”
“Guess I was stating the obvious,” Sage said as he reached across the table to pat her hand. He wanted to reassure her. To tell her that Fong couldn’t get into trouble because LaRue was gone, already on his way to the whaling grounds. But Sage held that information back. He wasn’t sure whether he kept quiet from shame or from the need to tell Fong about it first.
Noises sounded above their heads and their eyes jerked up toward the ceiling. Someone was in the attic. Fong had returned.
“I’d better go talk to him,” Sage said.
“Mr. Fong,” Sage began, but stopped when he realized Fong was rolling up a scroll that had hung on the wall for two years.
“What are you doing? Why are you taking down the scroll?” he asked. Was Fong preparing for death or for arrest? Putting his possessions in order? “You don’t need to do that. If anything goes wrong, I’ll make sure your wife . . .”
Fong flung a trunk lid open with such force that it crashed against the wall. It was the first time Sage had ever seen Fong angry.
“Mr. Fong,” he began as the trunk lid slammed back down.
Fong whirled toward him, his face suffused with anger.“You interfered, Sage. You put nose where it not supposed to be!”
How could Fong know? He hadn’t been seen with LaRue. He was certain of it. “Fong, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Do not lie! You with LaRue and now he disappear! I just watch you go in and out of his hotel. Cousin who scrub floors in drummer hotel say you and LaRue left hotel together after supper yesterday. LaRue never came back to sleep in bed.”
Sage raised a placating hand, “You’re right. I did get involved, but maybe I’ve solved your problem.”
Fong’s face flushed a deeper red. “It not your business to solve my problem! Where is LaRue? You tell me now.” He stepped forward, fists clenched.
Sage stepped back out of Fong’s reach, saying, “LaRue’s heading downriver on a whaling ship. The ship has rotten timbers, a bad captain and it’s heading toward the Bering Strait to hunt whales. It’s such a leaky old bucket that no one wanted to sail on her.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I shanghaied LaRue. Used him as bait to get in with the crimps. They dumped him onto an old rotten whaler heading for the Arctic Ocean. People predict that the ship will sink, and if it does, LaRue will sink with it!”
Rather than being pleased or less angry, Fong turned more infuriated. “You should not have stuck your nose in my business. It is my duty to take care of my uncle’s murderer, not you. You had no right, you . . . white man,” Fong put a snarling emphasis on the second to last word.
“Wait a minute, Fong. You’re the one always blathering on about Life pushing opportunity up against that damn bird’s legs. You’re not the only one Life sends opportunity to.” Sage’s words were heated and he could feel his face reddening as anger rose in him at Fong’s insult. The man didn’t even care what risks Sage had taken.
“It is my duty to kill LaRue. You have robbed me!” Fong shouted and hit his own chest with a closed fist.
Enough of this! “Listen to yourself, Fong Kam Tong, you’re nothing but a damn hypocrite. You keep telling me that hatred has no place in a warrior’s heart. Yet you were planning to kill a man with nothing but hate in your heart! You are nothing more than a murdering boo how doy! You never changed at all!” Now, Sage was shouting, too.
Fong’s lightening blow to Sage’s breastbone knocked him to the floor and sent him sliding across its polished surface. The Chinese man followed and raised a foot as if to kick Sage. At the last moment, he checked the motion. Without another word, and taking nothing with him, Fong rushed from the room, slamming the stair door as he left.
