The Mangle

by S. L. Stoner

  Sage took a bite of biscuit and chewed as he tried to order his thoughts. “Well,” he began, “as you know, the laundry workers are locked out. So, they are using the union hall building as their base of operations. Other unions are chipping in with money, food, clothing. Some of the women are out lining up temporary jobs for folks. And, the Trades Council is in the process of buying a steam laundry, one they can run as a union-owned cooperative.

  “Unfortunately, the delivery drivers’ union isn’t supporting the women but that doesn’t hurt them at this point. For one thing, there’s no clean laundry to deliver and no sense in picking up dirty laundry that’ll not get cleaned. Of course, if the Laundrymen’s Association hires scabs to work in the laundries, then the delivery drivers’ lack of support will become a problem for the laundry workers.

  Fong was sipping his coffee to which he’d added way too much sugar for Sage’s taste. His friend smiled and said, “Chinese laundry cousins make out like bandits.” He flashed his toothy grin before adding, “Some of them are bandits. Brand new customers are paying much.” Here Fong shrugged his shoulders as if to say, “But, who can blame them? Steam laundries been driving them out of business.”

  “Yes, the lockout must be a real windfall for them. Same with the two steam laundries that haven’t joined the owners’ association. Still, I don’t know how long those two laundries will be able to keep operating.” Sage told Fong about the mysterious withholding of chemicals from the U.S. Laundry.

  “What I suspect is that Cobb and his cohorts have extorted the owner of the chemical company, telling him to either withhold chemicals or else face the consequence of no orders from the association members once the laundry dispute ends.”

  That information brought a headshake from Fong, “I am sure you are right. Laundry owners already prove they are mean men,” he said before asking, “Do we know anymore about missing Rebecca Levy? Cousin say he watch close sister Rachel and Mrs. Clemens. He see no one following close, except maybe two times. At boarding house, he sit in back while Mr. Eich sit out front.”

  “Tell the cousins to keep a sharp lookout for a man wearing a bowler hat. I talked to a pencil seller that Eich discovered. That fellow said that, before Rebecca was taken, both Rebecca and Rachel were followed by a man wearing a bowler hat. He said the same man has since followed Rachel and Mother.”

  “Does bowler hat work for laundry owners?” Fong asked, leaning forward.

  “I don’t know, yet. I’ve been trying to figure that out. Thanks to Solomon I got a good look at the Farley fellow staying at the Portland Hotel. Thanks to Solomon’s nephew and your cousins, the two men they found and have been following are two of Farley’s operatives. Last night, I saw them meet Farley.”

  “Did men wear bowler hat?” Fong asked.

  “Nope, one wore a cap and the other a fedora. No bowler hat on anyone. That means I still have to keep following Farley to see whether his third operative is our man with the bowler.”

  “You sure Rebecca Levy still in town?”

  Sage shook his head feeling dread settle atop his shoulders. “No, Mr. Fong, I’m not sure. If a regular white slaver snatched her off the street, she may be long gone. Thanks to Solomon’s porters we can be certain she wasn’t taken away by train. Still, there was nothing to stop them from using a wagon or coach or worse, one of the hundreds of ships going in and out of the harbor. I’m beginning to think that our only hope lies in the idea that her kidnapping is connected to the laundry workers’ dispute. If so, there’s a chance that, once the fight’s over, they’ll let her go.”

  Fong’s already narrow eyes, narrowed further as he said, “If that case, you think she still alive?”

  Sage nodded but said, “Yes, if as you say, that is the case. Why would Cobb’s hirelings murder a totally innocent girl? That’s why Farley’s third operative is so important. Fact is, I should check with the pencil seller today to see if he’s seen the bowler man since I last spoke with him.”

  Sage held up a finger, “One more thing. When I visited the hygiene society lady, she said white slavers always move their captives far from the home town right away. Otherwise, there is too big a chance that the woman will escape and find help from friends and family. If they took Rebecca Levy from Portland, it would have been to either Seattle or San Francisco. We know she wasn’t taken away by train. If the kidnapper is bowler hat man, he hasn’t had enough time to steal her away in a wagon—not if he’s the one who has been following Mother and Rachel around. If he put her aboard a ship, then we’re lost because they’d just lock her in a cabin until she’s at sea. I just wish bowler hats weren’t the most popular damn hat in the city. There must be thousands of men wearing one.”

  “But if reason for kidnap is laundry worker problem, why he take sister?”

  Sage heaved a sigh. “That is the one big question. It seems like they would have gone straight after Rachel. Her sister had nothing to do with the laundry. She works as a clerk in the Olds and King department store. I tell you, I am really worried about that. It’s the one thing that says the kidnapping has nothing to do with the labor dispute—that Rebecca Levy is in the hands of white slavers.”

  “What is next step? How can I and cousins help?”

  “I found out that the two operatives I saw last night are definitely posing as laundry delivery drivers. They seem to be sticking close to that union’s president when they’re not at a laundry. I suspect they are making sure he stays in the laundry association’s pocket.”

  “What laundries they work at?”

  “That’s why I stayed out all night. Lucky for us both it was a warm night. ‘Anyways,’ as Mother would say, since you followed me the whole time, you will remember that I was outside their boarding house early this morning. Lucky for us, they left together. As you saw, one went inside the American Laundry. The other continued on to the Union Laundry and also went inside.

  “I hung around and found out that the owners are taking advantage of the lockout to repair and move their equipment about. I suspect that once they’ve finished with those chores, they might hire scabs to run the laundries. If that happens, the union may have to surrender the fight. It’s a terrible job in the worst conditions but laundry women still get paid more there than if they got some other women’s job. Not that it is that much more money. It’s still only about a third of what men get paid, even though many of those women are raising families on their own.”

  “How can cousins help?” Fong asked again.

  “Your men are already keeping Rachel and Mae safe. But if they could also keep watch on those two fellows posing as delivery drivers that would be very helpful. You and Solomon already have men on the street looking for a brothel that might be doubling as Rebecca’s prison and for a woman matching her description being marched down the street or onto a ship. Solomon’s train porter friends are watching out for any woman who might be traveling under duress. I can’t think what more we can do to find Rebecca.”

  Sage stood up, walked to his wardrobe and pulled out his businessman’s walking suit. “As for me, I plan on sticking to Farley like a bear to honey. If we’re lucky, he’ll meet with Mister Bowler Hat and we’ll know for sure that Rebecca’s kidnapping has something to do with the laundry dispute. But first, I’m going to go buy me some more pencils.”

  Mae and Rachel walked beneath already hot morning sun to the picket line outside Sparta Laundry. There were only a token five picketers. The union members decided that, during work hours, there were too few passersby for picketing to matter much. This was because the Willamette River’s east bank, where it wasn’t flooded marshland, housed lumber yards, warehouses, industrial plants, steam laundries, canneries, and workingmen’s boarding houses. Most everybody in the area was hard at work by sun-up and off the streets until sundown. Still, walking the picket line meant strike benefits. So, there was no shortage of volunteers wanting to cover the three-hour picketing shifts.

  Once they’d seen all was calm on
the picket line, Mae and Rachel left to catch the trolley heading across the river to the union hall. There, a number of people milled about, most of them women with children. The corner kitchen was scenting the air with the smells of boiling soup and baking bread. Mae recognized the flour sacks and vegetable bags stacked up in a nearby corner. They’d come from Mozart’s kitchen. Of course, that was a secret. Sage’s money and Mozart’s resources frequently lightened people’s loads but always in secret. At least for now, hunger wouldn’t be a problem. Still, it was early days. No telling how long the dispute would go on. Soon rent money would become the problem.

  Mae rolled up her sleeves and took a place at the drain board to dry dishes. Other women in the hall were sorting clothes and various other donations, arranging them on rough planks that had been set atop wooden sawhorses. Small tables stood in two corners to provide for private conversation. Those sitting at the tables looked to be either being interviewed or doing the interviewing. Paper banners draped the wall behind the tables proclaimed, “Job, Rent and Utilities Support”. A third table was empty but the sign tacked to the wall above it announced “Temporary Jobs”.

  Rachel was right. They had to get moving on finding temporary work for the locked out workers. Even a week without pay meant disaster for many of these single parent families. Even the single women would soon find themselves in dire straits. Mae envisioned landlords turning women and children out onto the streets with nowhere to go. Already the city had too many people sleeping beneath bridges, in doorways and anywhere else that offered a bit of shelter. Her lips twisted. She knew how it felt to be that poor.

  “Hey now, Mae. Stop scaring yourself like some ninny afraid in the dark wood,” she muttered to herself. As a distraction, she let her eyes search the room for Caroline. At last she saw the young woman sitting on a chair, a group of children on the floor around her. She was reading to them from a book, frequently pausing to show them the pictures. Mae had to admit Caroline, with her wide brown eyes and ready smile, looked like a kind, honest person. Unfortunately, Mae had learned the hard way that a friendly face could disguise a lying heart.

  Near the end of the afternoon, when most of the laundry women had drifted out of the hall, she saw Caroline pinning her hat onto her curly black hair. Mae hurriedly thrust her dish towel at another woman and strode over to where Rachel was talking with some women sitting in a knitting circle. Drawing the union representative aside, Mae said, “I’m going to try to take care of that problem we discussed last night. I need to leave now to do it. You promise me you’ll go right home and stay there? Our Chinese shadow and Mr. Eich will be watching over you but don’t take any chances. Promise?”

  Rachel hugged Mae around the shoulders as she said, “Yes, yes, Mae. I promise you that I will go straight home and stay there until you come. I still say you’re going to find out Caroline’s a true blue union supporter and loyal to these women.”

  “That may be but I have to prove it to myself,” Mae said. She shoved her hat down on her head, gently patted Rachel’s cheek and headed toward the outside door, exiting right behind Caroline.

  Once she reached the sidewalk, Mae halted, looking up and down the street, until she spotted Caroline strolling south down the street. Mae began to follow. She was so fixated on not losing sight of the other woman that she didn’t see her Chinese follower hesitate before he shrugged and began to follow her. She was, after all, Mr. Fong’s very treasured friend. His departure left Rachel with just a single bodyguard, the Jewish ragpicker poet, Herman Eich.

  Chapter Twenty One

  “You ordered me to get to know the other laundry foreman and make sure they are still loyal to the association.” Sinclair knew he sounded irritated but didn’t care. Part of him wanted the job to be done and over no matter how. “Now you’re complaining because Rachel Levy is still around. I can’t be in two places at once.” Sinclair felt his face redden and his anger grew hotter than the provocation justified.

  Across the table, Farley’s face also flushed but he held on to his temper. Leaning forward he hissed, “Keep your voice down Sinclair, I wasn’t casting blame. I just wanted to know if you’d made any progress.” Farley’s eyes were stony as he added, “But just remember who’s paying you and show a bit of respect. You’ve been at this job for over two weeks and so far your results have fallen short of what’s needed.”

  Sinclair heaved a sigh. “Sorry, Mr. Farley. I’ve never been mixed up in a labor dispute before and nothing is going right. Anyway, I did manage to corner most of the foremen one-on-one in various saloons last night and in cafes this morning. They’re a mixed bunch, near as I can tell. Some of them have quite a bit of sympathy for the women and aren’t afraid to say it.”

  “Do you think they’re feeding information to the union?”

  “Nah, not yet. I just think most of them feel like they’re between a rock and a hard place, and need to complain a little about the pinch,” Sinclair said. He felt suddenly wary of identifying exactly which foremen were uncomfortable. They were men struggling with their consciences and shouldn’t be punished for it. That wouldn’t be right, he told himself.

  “What are they saying when they complain?”

  Sinclair made the instant decision not to repeat the foremen’s more colorful comments. Farley might parrot everything Sinclair said to Cobb and the other association members. That would only rile things up and make it harder for the two sides to iron out their differences. And it would definitely cost men their jobs. Where do my loyalties lie? he wondered.

  To Farley he said, “Mostly they talk about how hard the women work, how miserable the working conditions are and how unfair it is they get paid less than half what the drivers are taking home, and one-third less than the men running the wash tubs.”

  “And what’s your response to those complaints?” Farley’s eyes had narrowed.

  Maybe he thinks I’m developing sympathies he doesn’t like, Sinclair thought and quickly said, “I figure they’ll talk more freely if I act ignorant. So, mostly I ask questions. A few times I suggested that maybe the men were paid more because they have families to support or because their work requires more strength.”

  “What was their response?”

  “Some of them laughed. Said I didn’t know what I was talking about. Others seemed to agree. A few are one hundred percent on the bosses’ side. They only worry that they’ll lose money if the plant repairs finish before the lockout ends. They’re angry at the women for making a fuss.”

  Farley heaved a sigh. “Well, that sounds about par for the course. I’ll need you to write me up two lists. One naming those fellows likely to turn traitor and the other listing those who’ve stayed loyal. Cobb’s expecting it.”

  Sinclair nodded in agreement, hoping his face didn’t reveal his thoughts. He hadn’t slept the night before; partly because he worried Farley would ask for just such lists. Handing over lists like that would get some men fired. He found that he liked the men who sympathized with the women better than he liked those who were only out for themselves.

  He didn’t know what he was going to do. Back in his seminary days, he might have prayed over the decision. But he’d lost all faith in that route. Maybe the best course was to delay until he figured out what to do. Damn this job and all these moral dilemmas.

  Farley put his coffee cup down and again leaned forward. “Now to the matter of Rachel Levy.” Farley held up a hand as if to stop any protest. “I know that you were checking out the foremen, so I didn’t expect you to do anything about her last night. But, Cobb is going to ask. You know that.”

  “It’s gotten more complicated. Like I told you, that older woman, Mae Clemens, is sticking to her like a barnacle. And now, I am beginning to think there’s also a ragpicker fellow standing guard. I’ve even wondered whether a Chinaman is guarding them except that is too ridiculous. It seems like, once the ladies are indoors, the ragpicker hangs around the front of their boarding house. I’ve seen him there late at night,
hunkered down in a nearby doorway. Now that Chinaman, he walks right on past. Maybe he works and stays around there someplace. I’m sure it’s just coincidence.”

  Farley didn’t say anything, simply stared at Sinclair with pale dead eyes. Sinclair fiddled with a spoon, tapping it against the tablecloth. Taking a deep breath he finally said, “So, I figure the only way I can grab Rachel Levy is to lure her away from the Clemens woman and make sure that ragpicker isn’t around when I do it. I’ve got this,” he said, removing a woman’s lapel pin from his pocket. He laid it on the table in the full light of the afternoon sun streaming through the veranda windows. It was finely crafted enamel—a tiny pink rose, its petal edges tinted red, attached to dark green leaves and golden stem. “When she sees this pin, she’ll come running. It’s her sister’s.”

  Sage was hurrying. He’d gotten a message from Solomon to come to the Portland Hotel. Unfortunately, he’d been delayed by a delegation of businessmen who wanted to discuss holding their monthly meetings at Mozart’s. Much as he resented the delay, he’d feigned deep appreciation for their business and exercised rigid patience as he made careful note of all their requirements before graciously departing. Gaining the street, he’d raced to the hotel, despite knowing it was probably too late.

  Swiftly threading through a cluster of exiting guests, Sage caught a fleeting glimpse of a familiar face but couldn’t place it. Probably one of Mozart’s patrons. He saw so many people in the restaurant every day. And, besides, Portland’s business community was relatively small. Walk downtown streets often enough and a man would see plenty of familiar faces.

  Inside, Solomon was waiting for him at the entrance to the dining room. “Sorry John, you just missed them.”

  “Oh damn. I hurried but got trapped by a group of customers and couldn’t get away without talking to them. It took much longer than it should have.”