by S. L. Stoner
Fong and Sage deposited their charges in the cell and slammed the iron door shut before the men understood what was happening. Sage and Fong stepped away, taking the lantern’s light with them.
“I’m thinking they might be too drunk to answer any questions.” Sage said.
“Maybe should try anyway. They not talk, we come back later,” Fong responded.
Returning to stand before the cell, Sage told them, “You men want to be released, all you have to do is answer a few simple questions,” He was careful to keep the light aimed at their eyes and away from his face. This was a kidnapping after all.
The smaller fellow seemed alert compared to the other bigger one who was sitting in the dust, his back against the brick wall, his mouth lax and gaping. “And exactly what are the questions?” asked the more alert one.
“First of all, do you know where Farley’s keeping the Levy women?”
The fellow blinked. “Who?” he finally asked.
“Rebecca and Rachel Levy. Your boss has taken them. He’s hiding them somewhere. We want to know where.”
“Rachel Levy’s that gal working at the Sparta Laundry, ain’t she?” the fellow asked.
“That’s right. She was kidnapped last Saturday night.”
The fellow shook his head. “I don’t know nothing about no kidnapping. Farley hired us to work with the drivers. He ain’t said nothing about no kidnapping.” The fellow’s tone was emphatic and rang true.
Sage and Fong exchanged a glance. “Okay, then,” Sage said. “How about the other fellow Farley hired? The one who wears the bowler hat all the time? What’s his name? Where does he stay?”
The man sitting in the dirt stirred and struggled to straighten up. “Alfred,” he slurred warningly.
“His name’s Alfred?” Sage asked, amazed the man would be so compliant.
“Nah, my name’s Alfred,” the standing man said. “I don’t remember nothing about any fellow in a bowler hat,” he added. This time, there was a sly twist to his lips, accompanied by a narrowing and juddering glance of his eyes to one side. He was lying.
It being just hours before dawn, Sage was beyond tired and without patience. He looked at Fong and said, “I suggest we leave these fellows right here to think about their answers. Maybe come back in a day or two to see if their memories have improved.”
Fong nodded and, without another word, he, Sage and the only light in the basement moved silently away from the cell, leaving the two captives behind in the pitch black dark.
Mae knew her boots were dragging but she didn’t care. She’d started in the North End and walked the entire length of the waterfront. She trod down every dock access, studied every ship, trying to figure out which one might hold the Levy women. There’d been a lot of ships.
After all that walking, she realized that some ships could be eliminated based on distance alone. For example, it made no sense that they would have moved the two women all the way south, far from the North End. Too many chances someone would notice them during the move. And, Mr. Fong had assured her that not a single covered van, wagon or coach had left the North End without his cousins knowing who or what, was in it. That eliminated any ship south of Burnside Street, the North End’s border.
Her footsteps slowed as she pondered the ships she’d seen berthed along the river north of Burnside, near the brothel where they’d kept Rachel. There’d been far fewer tied up along that stretch—six total. She sent her mind roaming across those six ships. Two were out because they were river boat tugs. A couple were huge ships in the midst of loading which meant they were busy hives of activity. So many people bustling about made them unlikely prisons for the two women. That left the remaining two. Which one could it be?
Mae let her mind still. Not trying to decide between the two, just letting her thoughts drift back and forth between them. Then a question came to her. One of the ships, a small coastal vessel, wasn’t actually tied to the wharf. Instead, it had dropped an anchor out in the river. Why? There’d been room at the wharf, so why not tie up there? Besides, the boat was falling apart, its paint splotched, its mast rusty and stains were trailing down its cabin’s side. She was no sailor and hadn’t lived in a port city but a few years. Still, even she could see the ship’s owner must not have money for upkeep. So, he needed money and might be tempted to do anything to get it. She realized one more thing. That small coastal steamer was the ship closest to the whorehouse where they’d imprisoned Rebecca. She took a deep breath as certainty took hold. That was the ship.
Minutes later she was at Mozart’s kitchen door and soon on the third floor. She checked Sage’s room. He wasn’t there or in the attic. Going into her room, she noticed her note was gone. That meant he’d noticed she’d moved back from across the river and knew she gone to look at ships. All she had to do was scratch the name on a second note and he’d know where to find her. Quickly she scrawled “Maggie Jane,” set her hairbrush atop the note and hurried back downstairs. She had to get back to that ship, keep an eye on it until Sage could get there with Fong and some men.
She slipped out the kitchen door, locking it behind her. As she moved rapidly down the empty street, Mae’s mind traveled far ahead of her feet. That focused intent was why she failed to sense the other person who followed her onto the wharf—the person who suddenly yanked her back against his chest and slapped a wet, cold and stinky rag over her nose and mouth.
Chapter Twenty Nine
“Good god, man. It’s barely dawn,” Cobb spluttered when he saw Farley standing on his doorstep. Gold was just beginning to shimmer at the eastern edge of an overcast sky.
“Sorry, Mr. Cobb but problems have sprung up since we last met. Problems I thought you should know about as soon as possible.”
Cobb opened the door wider and gestured Farley inside. “Go into the parlor there, I’ll be with you in a few minutes. I just have to pull on some clothes.”
After Cobb left, Farley studied the room. It had that overdressed Victorian feel, all patterns, drapery and clutter. He couldn’t live in the mess. He liked clean lines and open spaces. One of his clients lived in a new Frank Wright house and it was unlike anything Farley’d ever seen before. A man felt free walking through those rooms of glass, wood and light. If he ever built a home, that’s the kind of house he wanted.
“So what’s happened that’s so damn bad you had to wake up my household?” Cobb was back, still wearing a bathrobe but now trousers covered his naked legs. His words were tough but his forehead wore deep creases of concern.
“First of all, someone set fire to the American Laundry late last night.” Farley began.
“Oh, no. Did it burn down? Is it gone?” Cobb interrupted.
Farley held up a hand. “That’s not the bad part. Ryland McCarthy was working inside when it burned. They found his body just a while ago in the ashes.”
Cobb slumped against the back of his armchair. “Oh, that is bad news. Was it the union thugs? Did the police catch the ones who did it?”
“Well, no. They haven’t arrested anyone but I did talk to the officer on the scene and steered him in the right direction.”
“That was fast thinking. Who’d you tell him did it?” Cobb asked.
“A fellow who’d been sleeping in a doorway was telling folks he saw two figures throw something burning through the front window and then hightail it down the street. He said there was a big explosion right afterward. When I saw a policeman, I suggested the arsonists must have been the union president and one of his thugs, seeing how there was a labor lockout going on.”
“An explosion? They used dynamite?”
“Nope, the fire chief said the place was full of gasoline cans. He hunted up one of the workers who told him that last night, just before the laundry closed, McCarthy took a gasoline delivery for his generator. They’d left the gas cans stacked in the laundry’s front office. McCarthy planned to move the cans to the back first thing this morning. The fire chief thinks that when the arsonists heaved b
urning bottles through the window, they set off the gasoline cans inside. It made a huge explosion. People heard it from blocks away.”
Farley fell silent. Cobb saw that the man was frowning and rubbing his hands. “What is it, what aren’t you telling me?” Cobb demanded.
Farley looked up and said, “It’s my two operatives, they’re missing. They didn’t come back to their boardinghouse all night. I looked in every saloon. Thought I’d send them snooping around, see if there was any activity at the Levy woman’s boardinghouse. But, they weren’t there. They’re missing.”
“Surely you don’t think they had anything to do with the fire?” Anxiety shrilled Cobb’s voice.
Farley hesitated, whooshed out a breath before saying, “That’s just it. They told me that they suspected McCarthy was going to sell the American Laundry to the unions. And, I kind of supported their suspicion by saying he had seemed the fellow most resistant to the association’s plans.”
“Oh, my god. Do you think they’re the ones who burned down McCarthy’s laundry?” This time fear dropped Cobb’s voice to a whisper.
Farley shrugged. “I surely hope not but I have to admit that was the first thought that came to my mind. That’s why I went hunting for them right away. Now that the two of them seemed to have vanished it makes me think it’s a real possibility. I’m sure whoever did it had no idea they’d cause an explosion, let alone a death. Since that’s what happened, it would make sense that they would skedaddle out of town as fast as possible.”
“What are we going to do?” Cobb asked as he lit a cigarette with shaking hands.
“I’m going to keep looking for them, quiet like. Check the stables to see if they rented horses last night. I know they didn’t leave on any trains because none were running. If I find them, I’ll ask if they did it. If they did, I’ll make sure they get out of town.”
Cobb was nodding eagerly. “Yes, yes. We can’t be associated in any way with the fire. It would end the lockout, we’d have to cave. You did the right thing coming here, Farley. Thank you.” He stood, ready to usher Farley to the door.
Farley stayed seated. “There is one other different complication that’s come up,” he said. “Sinclair caught that older woman, Mae, the one who was living with Rachel Levy, snooping around the ship where we have the two women stashed. He, ah, well, he . . . “
“Spit it out man! Don’t tell me he killed her.” Cobb sank back down onto the chair.
“No, no. He didn’t hurt her but he did kidnap her.”
“What! We now have three women on our hands that we need to get rid of?” Cobb’s face flushed red. “This is turning into a nightmare. What are we going to do with her?”
“Sinclair dumped her in a row boat and took her out to the ship. She’s locked up with the other two. I propose that we send her south as well.”
Cobb was silent for a moment before clearing his throat to say hesitantly, “It’s doubtful that your friends in San Francisco are going to be interested in paying her fare to Panama. She’s a bit long in the tooth for whorehouse work.”
Farley shrugged. “Once the ship crosses the Columbia River bar, do we really care what happens to any of them? We just need to be sure they can’t come back to point their fingers at us.”
“You mean at me or the association. You’ll be long gone. Tell me that Sinclair didn’t let them see his face. Tell me they have no way of knowing that it was my foreman who snatched them.”
Farley said nothing, just pressed his lips together.
“Well, I guess that settles that. Either all three go the Panama or else . . .” Cobb left the sentence unfinished. He didn’t need to finish his sentence out loud.
Sage hurriedly climbed the hidden staircase to Mozart’s third floor. He couldn’t remember ever being so tired. Pushing aside tapestry hiding the doorway, he stepped into the hallway only to freeze at the sight of a dark figure rushing toward him. He quickly spread his feet, bent his knees slightly to anchor himself before he realized it was Fong.
“Good grief, Mr. Fong. What is going on?”
“Mr. Eich just came to back door in kitchen. He say he is here to escort Miz Clemens to union hall. I come up here, no Miz Clemens. Her bed is rumpled but she is gone. Found this on her table.” He handed Sage a note scrawled across a torn piece of paper. Only two words were there, Maggie Jane. Fong said, “Mister Eich and me are going to union hall to find this Maggie person. See if she knows where lady mother went.”
Sage’s scalp prickled, as if army ants were charging across it, just under the skin. “No, no, Maggie Jane isn’t a person, it’s a ship. That’s why I was coming here, to get you. I think that the Levy women are being held on it.”
“How do you know this, Mr. Sage?” Fong demanded.
“Because I just stumbled into two sailors who were yammering on about the fact they’d been waiting for two women to board their ship so it could set sail to San Francisco. They talked like the women were traveling against their will. I figured it has to be the Levy women.”
“Where is Maggie Jane anchored?”
“That’s just it, I don’t know. I thought I’d head over to James Laidlaw’s office. He’ll know her berth and when the tide is going to turn.”
Laidlaw was the British Consul in Portland. In that capacity he oversaw the British sailors and ships berthed in port. He made sure that the men signing on to British ships went willingly. He was an active enemy of the shanghaiers and the business men who profited from shanghaiing. The year prior, Laidlaw teamed up with Sage’s group to put one particularly deadly shanghaier out of business. Laidlaw was someone Sage trusted, making him one of the few in the city who knew about Sage’s undercover role.
“Yes, we all go out kitchen door. The restaurant still closed so not too many workers in kitchen. Quick, please. Mr. Eich waiting in alley. He very nervous,” Fong said as he rushed toward the stairway that led down into Mozart’s entrance hallway.
Sage followed on the heels of his friend. Soon the three of them were heading to Laidlaw’s office three blocks away. Bursting in through the front door, they saw a line of men waiting before the counter. Fortunately, Laidlaw took one look at their faces and understood matters were urgent. He gestured them toward his office while telling his clerk he’d return to help in just a few minutes.
“What is it? Has something happened?” he asked once the door was shut.
“We think white slavers have three women. Mae Clemens is probably one of them. We think that they’re taking the women down to ‘Frisco on a coastal steamer called the Maggie Jane. We need to find out where that ship is tied up and when she’s going to leave. You have that information, don’t you, Mr. Laidlaw?”
Sage spoke in a rush but Laidlaw instantly grasped the situation. He pawed through papers on his desk until he found a list of some sort. Running his fingers down the column he settled on a spot, saying, “Here she is. The Maggie Jane is tied up at the Couch Street wharf.” He plucked another piece of paper from the desk, studied it and said. “She was scheduled to leave this morning. If she’s departing with the outgoing tide, she will have left nearly an hour ago.”
“Christ,” Sage swore and turned toward the door. As he flung it open he hurled a “Thank you” over his shoulder but didn’t wait to hear Laidlaw’s response. Fong and Eich were right behind him as he burst out onto the street.
Caroline stared open-mouthed at the big police sergeant who’d just burst into the union hall followed by a passel of men. “Someone’s been . . . been murdered?” she stuttered. “Who?” The silence in the hall was so profound that a dropping pin would have boomed. It seemed everyone was holding their breath.
“The fellow who owns the American Laundry, Ryland McCarthy,” Hanke answered, glancing around the room as cries rang out. A few women began sobbing.
“I take it Mr. McCarthy wasn’t hated, even though he locked you out?” he asked the room in general.
A woman pushed forward, her eyes wet with tears. “Mr. McCar
thy weren’t a bad man. Not like some of the others. I spoke to him, private-like. He wasn’t happy to lock us out, he even apologized. He said he just felt he had no choice. That laundry association wudda run him outta business. ”
Caroline could see the police sergeant considering the woman’s words. Glancing around the room, he asked. “So, is Rachel Levy in the hall, here?”
Everyone shook their heads. Caroline wondered how the officer knew of Rachel but she only said, “No, we believe that she’s been kidnapped. Rachel’s been missing since last Sunday night.”
Hanke’s face didn’t change but his blue eyes narrowed slightly. “Who’s in charge here?” he finally asked. No one said anything until Caroline took a small step forward and said, “I guess that would be me for now.”
Hanke gestured with his head toward the outer door. “Would you mind talking with me in private for a bit, Miss?”
Caroline dutifully followed Hanke through the doors once he told his men to stay in place and make sure no one left by another door. Outside on the sidewalk, he turned to Caroline. “Where’s Mae Clemens?” he asked.
His question shocked her. How could he know about Mae too? She stuttered, “She, she was supposed to meet me early this morning at a cafe about a block from here. She never showed up. I thought maybe she’d forgotten and come on ahead to the hall, here. But, she wasn’t here and the women say they haven’t seen her.” Caroline let the worry show in her voice.
Hanke’s concern mirrored her own as he said, “I know she’s been here every day. I’ve been keeping in touch with her folks. I counted on her to tell me the truth because she always does.”
She stood quietly as the big policeman stared into an overcast sky that had finally brought relief from the heat. If the moisture in the air was any indication, they’d soon have rain. Thoughts were tumbling willy-nilly through Caroline’s head.
