The Mangle

by S. L. Stoner

  Once outside, he saw the Chinese man again. This time, peeking at Sage from the alley. When Sage reached him, the man wasted no time, “Mr. Adair. Mr. Fong say hurry quick to Portland Hotel. Man you want, eating there right now.”

  That was enough. Sage dropped a few coins into the man’s hand and headed toward the hotel at a near run. When he got there, Solomon’s eyes lit up and he tilted his head in the direction of a table near the window. Sure enough, there was Thaddeus Cobb sitting with a stranger. They were leaning toward each other over empty plates, obviously engaged in an earnest conversation.

  “Oh, what the hell,” Sage told himself and he strolled in their direction. Upon seeing him approach, Cobb raised a palm before the other man who abruptly stopped talking. Cobb smiled widely as he stood to greet Sage, his hand outstretched. The other man also rose, expecting an introduction to someone Cobb clearly considered important.

  “Mr. Adair, how nice to see you! This is my business associate, James Farley. He’s traveled here from New York,” Cobb said as he shook Sage’s hand. While Farley and Sage shook, Cobb explained Sage’s status to Farley, “Mr. Adair is the owner of the city’s most exclusive restaurant, Mozart’s Table. I will have to take you there before you leave town. We hope to acquire his future business for our laundry.”

  Farley was a rotund man, with small stony blue eyes sunk deep beneath bristling gray brows. He had a button nose and a rosebud mouth that flashed an insincere smile. From the smile, Sage gathered his was an unwelcome interruption.

  Cobb, however, didn’t seem to mind, because he snapped his fingers at a waiter and motioned to an empty chair at a neighboring table. The waiter carried the chair to their table and Cobb gestured for Sage to take a seat, saying, “Please, sit with us. Unfortunately, we have finished our luncheon but would love to have you join us for coffee.”

  Sage would have liked the conversation to reveal Farley’s purpose for being in Portland, but Cobb had other ideas. “Look here, Adair. Have you had anymore thoughts about moving Mozart’s laundry business to the Sparta? I understand you are still using that Chinese laundry down on Second. Surely, they can’t get your linens as clean or sharply pressed as our steam laundry. ”

  Somewhat taken aback by the knowledge that Cobb was so familiar with Mozart’s business, Sage hesitated before answering, “Well, I’ve been using that laundry on Second for three years and they’ve never let me down. Always done a fine job. So, I do have some loyalty to them.”

  That comment brought a snort from Farley who said, “You have loyalty to a Chink. Ha! That’s a new one!”

  Cobb glowered at his companion before turning to Sage. “Yet, you did request a tour of the Sparta. Surely that means you are contemplating making a change?”

  “Yes, the owner of the laundry informed me that it is likely that he will close up shop and move out to Hillsboro to take over his cousin’s washhouse. He says the rents are getting too high here in the city and that the steam laundries are taking too much of his business.”

  That answer brought a fleeting smile of satisfaction to Cobb’s face but he said nothing. The waiter brought Sage’s coffee and refilled the other men’s cups during the ensuing silence. Once he’d departed, Sage turned toward Farley, “So, Mr. Farley, what brings you to our fair city?”

  For a moment Farley was speechless, clearly flailing for an acceptable answer. Sage was aware that Cobb was holding his breath as if concerned that Farley might say the wrong thing. After taking a hurried swallow of coffee to stall for time, Farley said, “I had heard that there are some business opportunities here. I have some funds to invest and thought I’d see what I could find.”

  Sage felt Cobb relax at his side and decided to play along, “Oh, yes. Portland has been growing by leaps and bounds. And, now the city fathers are planning a Lewis and Clark Exposition for 1905. The business community is certain that event will attract hordes of people who will remain in the city.” Both men eagerly nodded, happy to have dodged the uncomfortable question about Farley’s presence.

  Sage decided to goad them a bit. “Though, I am sure that Mr. Cobb has informed you that this is a highly unionized town. Labor carries a big club here. Isn’t that right, Cobb?”

  Cobb cautiously nodded. Farley waved a dismissive hand in the air. “Oh, those damn unions can be handled. Fellow just has to know how to put them in their place.”

  “What place is that?” Sage couldn’t help asking. He could tell that Cobb had gone rigid, likely fearing that Farley’s arrogance would lead him to slip.

  “Why, in the ground or jail, if possible. If not, at least in a place that leaves them toothless. Either way, I’ve lots of experience in that regard, so I’m not worried.”

  Sage hid the clenching of his own teeth behind the edge of the delicate china cup. We’ll just have to see about that, he thought to himself.

  Exiting the laundry, Mae paused to look around for Eich or Sage. Neither was in sight. She’d have to walk to the trolley and ride it home. She’d gotten soft working in Mozart’s because she found herself dreading the trip. Far better to snooze in the cab whilst Sage dealt with the driver.

  She started the six block walk to the trolley stop but soon paused to think. If she went home, without knowing what had happened to Rachel, tomorrow would bring that same uncertainty. Besides, the women needed to know where their union representative had gone. Nothing could hurt their spirits more than Rachel’s continued absence. That thought brought an involuntary shiver at odds with the still pressing heat of what had been another unbearably hot day.

  Her decision made, Mae turned east, away from the river. Rachel had told everyone where she lived. Finding the boarding house should be easy because there were few on the east side of the river. Mostly it was still farmland although the areas between the villages of Buckman, Sunnyside and Mt. Villa were rapidly filling with houses. Two things were at work to make that happen. First, was that a trolley now rattled its way between the little settlements. And secondly, union activity in the city had raised people’s wages. For the first time, regular working people could afford to buy their own homes. Small builders flocked to take advantage of these eager new homeowners, often constructing pattern houses from Sears and Roebuck. So many family homes were being built that folks had taken to calling the area “Union Town.” That idea made her smile until she noticed passersby looking at her like the heat had stupefied her head.

  The boarding house was easy to spot despite the deepening night. It was a two-story clapboard building with wide verandas front and back. As she advanced, she saw that most of the building sat upon stilts anchored in the sides and bottom of a ravine. Streams, ravines and swamps riddled the eastside. Now that the city had annexed it, the developers and landowners were hoping to exploit the area. Men were encasing streams in pipes while fill dirt was eradicating the ravines and swamps. She tried to imagine what the area would look like in another twenty-five years and couldn’t. She’d miss seeing the farmland climbing up the gentle slopes of Mt. Tabor to the east and the milk cows meandering along the dirt roads.

  Her thoughts screeched to a halt at the familiar sight of the ragpicker’s cart parked across the street from the boarding house. Her eyes sought Herman and a momentary pang of fear grabbed at her heart. He wouldn’t just abandon his cart. Then, a relieved gasp escaped her. There he was, sitting on the porch. And, next to him, sat Rachel her hands clenched tightly in her lap. The strained look on the young woman’s face said that something was very wrong.

  Chapter Eight

  “I’m expecting two of my best operatives to arrive in the next few days. As you know, I already have one in place,” Farley told the assembled group of laundry owners.

  “James, perhaps you should wait until our coffee has been replenished,” interrupted Cobb while nodding at the white jacket waiter silently moving around the table pouring from a silver coffee pot. To the waiter he said, “Once you have finished pouring the coffee, you may leave the room and close the door b
ehind you.”

  The fellow nodded, finished serving and, closing the door firmly behind him, departed. Cobb addressed the group. “Thank you all for coming tonight. We have had a pleasant visit but now we must discuss our plans. So far, we are exactly on track. We have just struck the enemy and weakened him. We have warned the namby-pambies that we will no longer tolerate their neutrality. Next comes our boldest step of all.”

  “Are you certain that it won’t backfire on us? The unions are making a big to-do over working conditions in our laundries. They keep yammering on about the laundry women being the weaker sex, in need of protection.”

  Cobb was nodding patiently, as if he’d anticipated this question and answered easily, “There is always a danger that the public will turn against us. That’s why we have to control the time line and have our defense prepared. Offense, actually,” he added, correcting himself.

  “What about the Chinese laundries? They’ll steal our customers.”

  Cobb’s hand waved that concern away, “The Chinese laundries can’t do as good or as quick a job as a steam laundry because they don’t have the equipment. They’ll be overwhelmed with orders which will make them slower than usual. So yes, in the short term, they will benefit. And, believe me, they will take advantage. I’ll bet their prices will soar. But, that’s all good. In the end, once we’re back in business, our customers will return.”

  “I fail to see how losing business to the Chinks is going to help my laundry,” said one of the men who, up to that point, had been scowling down at the tablecloth.

  Cobb was dismissive of the man’s concern. “As the cost and the soiled laundry piles up, who will your customers blame? And how long will the women be able to hold out? It’s the laundry women who matter in this fight since they do most of the work.”

  “I don’t see why the girls have to raise a fuss. They should be grateful for the work. There aren’t that many businesses hiring women. I tell ‘em, if they don’t like the work, go find another job. That’s what I’d do,” said yet another of the men. Around him, there were nods of agreement.

  “Yes, but in the meantime they cause problems, don’t they? And every time we hire another one she runs to the union and cries that she’s worked too hard and paid too little. There’s another thing in our favor. They don’t make enough to save. So, I ask you again, ‘how long can they hold out?’ How long can their so-called ‘union brothers and sisters’,” scorn dripped off Cobb’s words, “afford to support them all? How long will they be willing to support them all?”

  One of the men shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “That may be true but I don’t know how long I can hold out, myself. I just bought two new extractors and still owe on them,” he said worriedly.

  “Not a problem,” Cobb assured him. “We’ve already agreed that, if any one of us falls short of funds, the rest will help out with a low cost loan. Right fellows?” Cobb’s piercing eyes raked across their faces, as if daring them to disagree. He got unanimous nods of agreement. He turned to Farley saying, “Okay James, let’s fill everyone in on what happened today and what we have planned.”

  “Two times in one day, Solomon?” Sage asked as he slipped inside the Portland Hotel’s closed dining room. There were no patrons, just the waiters snapping fresh linens out over tabletops and carefully positioning cutlery. A clattering came from the kitchen as the help washed, stacked and put away the dishes. Soon all would be set and ready for tomorrow’s breakfast crowd. Sage was glad Mozart’s didn’t serve breakfast because by the end of the night, most everyone was too tired to set up for the next day. Usually, they sent the waiters home to rest and, first thing in the morning, he and Mae readied the dining room for its first customers of the day. Of course, that all changed when he and Mae were on a mission for St. Alban. Then their head waiter, Homer, took over running the restaurant.

  Solomon smiled, and gestured at a nearby table where Sage promptly sat. Solomon joined him and signaled to a waiter. The fellow laid down his handful of cutlery and made his way over to them. Despite what must have been a tiring evening, the fellow acted bright-eyed and vigorous. He was younger than the other waiters and, Sage couldn’t remember ever having seen the young man before. His smooth, nut brown face was handsome by any standard, with high cheekbones that bespoke a mixed Indian and African heritage. Sage cast a questioning glance at Solomon whose face looked remarkably similar.

  “I’d like to introduce my nephew, Nathan, who just arrived here from the Carolinas to make his fortune,” said Solomon. Sage rose to shake hands. After they took their seats, Solomon said, “Our private dining room is currently being used by Thaddeus Cobb and the other laundry owners for a meeting. I asked Nathan to serve as their waiter in the hope he would overhear something.” Pride was in Solomon’s voice indicating he believed his nephew smart and discreet enough to carry out such a sensitive and secret task.

  “They are here right now?”

  Solomon nodded and turned to Nathan. “Suppose you tell Mister Adair what you overheard?”

  “They are exceedingly cautious not to be overheard,” began the young man, his well-spoken words mirroring his uncle’s refined way of speaking. “But one of them, the man who currently resides here in the hotel, did say that he has one operative in place and expects two more to arrive any day now. ‘Operative’ was his word, not mine,” Nathan said.

  It struck Sage that perhaps Solomon’s entire family was highly educated but he only said, “That is all you were able to overhear?” rushing to add, “Not to say it isn’t valuable. It means we now know exactly how many people Farley and Cobb have working behind the scenes. We didn’t know that before.”

  Nathan smiled. “It was all I could overhear but, they complained that the room was too hot. So, I opened the outside door onto the terrace. I was thinking that someone standing on the terrace might be able to overhear more. I can’t do it because they’d notice and so would the hotel’s manager. But perhaps someone who appeared to be a guest, such as yourself, might want to enjoy a breath of fresh air before going to bed.”

  Sage was already rising before the sentence had ended. “Great idea. I could do with some fresh air. Thank you very, very much Nathan,” he added before hurrying off.

  “Shh. Let’s let Sage sleep a bit longer before we wake him up.” Mae cautioned Eich as she unlocked the door to let them into Mozart’s kitchen. It was close to midnight and the cook stove was cool to the touch. It was too much trouble to boil water for tea or coffee. After pulling the string to light the restaurant’s only electric bulb, she asked. “How about some wine, Herman?” She wasn’t ready to be alone just yet. And she wasn’t ready to face Sage and add yet another worry onto his shoulders. Right now, she needed peace and a chance to rest her thoughts. Herman understood. He’d held her when she finally gave into her fear and despair at the end of their fruitless search.

  They took seats at Ida’s plank table, wine glasses before them. The single light bulb dangling overhead cast harsh shadows. Still it was better than gas jets spewing even more heat into an already too warm room. Poor Herman, he looked exhausted. Probably no more than she did, she told herself glumly. After a day in the steam laundry and hours roaming the street she was sick with worry. If they ever reached the end of this escapade she was going to sleep for three days straight.

  She bent to unlace her boots, saying, “Herman, if I don’t get these clod hoppers off, I swear my feet will swell too big to get them off.” As she straightened and wriggled her freed toes with a relieved sigh, she heard footsteps hurrying across the restaurant. Damn. Sage, it had to be him. It was still too early for Ida’s pie baking to start.

  Sure enough, the doors burst open as her beloved son strode into the room, a scowl darkening his face as soon as he saw her. She raised a hand. “Don’t start,” she cautioned.

  Of course, he ignored her. “Where the hell have you been? Do you realize that you are almost three hours late getting home?”

  She looked up at him, l
etting her face sag into its weary lines. “Oh hush up, Sage. I can’t count the number of times I’ve waited for you to come home from one of your jaunts,” she said tiredly.

  A throat cleared and Sage started. He hadn’t realized they weren’t alone. Eich was walking toward the table, holding an empty wine glass. “I am happy to see you down here, Sage. Your mother was going to send me up those stairs to fetch you. Glad I don’t have to climb them. It’s been an extraordinarily long day,” the ragpicker said with a warm smile. “For both of us,” he added, nodding toward Mae, his eyes commanding Sage to back off his attack.

  Sage’s face lost its anger. He quietly took a seat and accepted the wine from Herman. He still shot her a stern look but she responded with a deliberate eye roll to let him know his look had no effect.

  “If you are done bellowing like a lost calf,” she said, “we’ve been hunting for a missing woman.”

  “Missing? Who is missing?” he asked.

  “Rachel Levy didn’t come to work today. Eich caught up with her outside her boarding house first thing in this morning. He thought he was going to follow her to work but instead, she was wandering all over the eastside, looking into nooks and crannies, abandoned buildings and old sheds.” She looked at Eich, saying, “Herman, you tell him the rest. I’m so darn tired, it hurts to talk.”

  The ragpicker patted her hand, his deep brown eyes affectionate. He turned to Sage. “After awhile, I realized that the poor woman was frantic. I couldn’t watch anymore without trying to help her, whatever it was she was doing. So I approached and asked if I could assist.

  “She just dissolved into tears. It was only after she calmed down that she was able to tell me what had happened. It seems that two days ago, on Saturday, her sister Rebecca stopped by the laundry to drop lunch off for Rachel. Rebecca works as a sales girl in the Olds and King department store. Apparently, the owner has decided to work his sales clerks only five and one half days a week. He lets them take a half day off on Saturday.”