"I ain't never seen a man who could ask and answer his own questions as fast as you, Hunter."
Christian walked to the window and stared at the mansion across the street, where a trickle of automobiles discharged their tony guests. "This is never going to be over," he said.
"What?"
"I said this is never going to be over."
"It's your sunny disposition I was always envious of."
"You put the pinch on Rolf and Schmitz, two more take their place. It's never over," Christian said.
"Well, at least we'll always have a job."
Christian laughed halfheartedly. "If mom could see you packin' a revolver and a badge, she'd have a conniption. She really thought you were going to build that bridge or find a cure for somethin'."
"I'm just sorry she won't be here to see me marry Annalisa. Do you want to be my best man?"
"You sure you want me?"
"There's only the two of us left."
Christian closed his eyes and rubbed his weary face. Abruptly, the clanging of the cable car outside became the clanging of fire bells. A mountain of flame swirled upward into a plume of smoke that separated into the Devil's grin. His body jerked. He opened his eyes and stared at Hunter, whose face grew smaller as though he was falling backward down a well.
"Christian? Are you all right? Christian!"
"I think I need a drink."
"Not until this is over."
"I've been having nightmares. A big earthquake, the city on fire. Now I'm having them when I'm awake."
"When a man stops drinking, it does strange things to him. A little gunfight, a good night's sleep, you'll be fine. Maybe you'll get to put a round in Rolf or Kelly, then you'll really feel better."
Hunter moved behind Christian and gazed over his shoulder as the Phaeton arrived at the curb in front of Rolf's mansion. Rolf quickly emerged with an uneasy Kaitlin, followed by Senator Payton and his wife.
"This Rolf is something," Christian said, "Probably told the Senator that girl is his niece. Guy's got more nieces than a Chinese pimp. I'm going to enjoy thumpin' him "
Christian raised a small brass telescope, checking the position of Francis and Patrick behind the gate of the Crocker mansion across California Street. Then he checked the heavy brass clock on the corner of California and Mason.
Twelve forty-seven A.M. And the dogs were still howling.
A half-hour later, Enrico Caruso leaned back in the rear seat of the Phaeton as Tommy drove us up California Street, the stars swimming above in a sparkling blur.
"When I am sing tonight, Annalisa, I am think of my peoples in Napoli and thees terrible Vesuvio. They are my Carmen. They are my, 'ow you say, amore perso."
"Lost love."
"My lost love, si. When I sing tonight, I close my eyes—also so I no see that fat cow who is play Carmen—and I see my beautiful Napoli. Thees night I am sing pia meraviglioso a' my life."
"It is a good thing the other tenors did not hear you. They might have to retire the part of Don Josè."
Tommy brought the Phaeton to his usual lurching stop in front of Rolf's mansion.
I climbed down and entered through the brass gate, clutching Caruso's arm, clandestinely stealing a look at the window on the fourth floor of the Fairmont. The shade jiggled, helping still my anxiousness.
We entered the massive front door into Rolf's festive double parlors. The stuffy crowd burst into applause as Caruso, in a gray suit and black porkpie hat with maroon satin band, strode beneath the enormous cut-glass chandelier.
I used the opportunity to maneuver toward Kaitlin. "Not bad for your first opera," I said. "Assuming it was your first."
"My God," she gushed, snatching a fluted glass of champagne from a passing waiter and guzzling half of it. "My heart is still pounding."
Kaitlin swallowed the other half of the champagne, trading the empty glass for a full one. She had passed less than an hour at the party and her eyes were already swimming.
"You'd better go easy on that stuff," I cautioned. "You might want to keep your wits about you tonight."
"Introduce me to Caruso. Please, Annalisa, oh please," she said.
I took her hand and pulled her through the crowd to where Caruso received well-wishers like an incumbent politician.
"Enrico, this is my friend, Kaitlin. She just arrived in town. We passed her in the Palace yesterday."
"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Caruso. This is so wonderful. I came all this way on the train just to see you."
"I am very much pleased to meet you, Kaitlin."
Caruso's eyes widened as he marveled at Kaitlin's shimmering blue eyes and flawless skin.
"My God. I'm shaking hands with Enrico Caruso."
"You are come a long ways to see Caruso, Kaitlin?" he asked.
"All the way from Lawrence, Kansas. I doubt you ever heard of it."
"Kansas? I am meet a man from Kansas." Then it hit him. The hair was shorter, the look more sophisticated. But the slim nose, the full lips, the strong jawline were identical to the photo Lincoln carried.
"I am meet a man who is look for his figlia. His daughter. A sheriff, chiamato Lincoln Staley."
Kaitlin turned pale and the champagne struck home, making her lightheaded and unsteady. I grabbed her arm.
"'E is your father, Lincoln, no? I am meet him on train and he becomes, 'ow you say
. . . my guardia del corpo?"
"Bodyguard," I offered.
"He's here? My father? In this house?"
"'E was at opera, then I no see him no more. 'E is leave with Mr. Rolf's chauffeur. Big man. Muscoloso."
I shuddered at the revelation, instantly fearing for Lincoln.
"Why don't we sit down, Kaitlin?" I urged. I led her away, carefully avoiding Adam Rolf as he chatted with Senator Payton.
Kaitlin slumped onto a divan. "My father. I saw him going into the Palace this afternoon. God. He's staying with Mr. Caruso."
"You're a runaway? How old are you?"
"Fifteen. They all think I'm eighteen."
I looked at Rolf, who walked to the foyer where Ah Toy entered clad in her trademark green silk. Behind her trailed Ting Leo in ivory pajamas, her angelic face framed by long black hair. Ah Toy nudged Ting Leo and spoke to her in Cantonese.
Slowly, Ting Leo offered her hand to Rolf. Rolf delicately pinched her smooth cheek, drawing a scowl.
I signaled a waiter, who recognized Kaitlin's condition and brought a glass of water for her.
"Drink this, Kaitlin. All of it," I told her.
I turned back to watch Ting Leo, dots of spectral light from the chandelier dancing across her face as she struggled to comprehend it all. I wanted to scream for Hunter and Christian to burst in and bludgeon Rolf and arrest them all.
Clyde Ebbens, the Senator's aide, walked over and touched Rolf's arm. Rolf excused himself, smiling down at Ting Leo.
Ebbens then nodded for the Senator, who left his wife to join them in the march toward the host's office. The jangle of forced laughter and tinkling glass swelled into a vortex.
I turned my attention to Kaitlin to avoid trading looks with Rolf as he passed.
Inside Rolf's office, Tommy locked the office door as his boss led Senator Payton to the safe.
"This is quite a home you have here, Adam," Senator Payton observed. "You must have collected things from all over the world."
"I hate to travel, actually. My San Francisco is everything to me. I buy from collectors. May I offer you a Havana cigar or a decent cognac?"
"Thank you. We have to be back in the capital to meet with the Governor first thing tomorrow. Mrs. Payton refuses to ride with me if I smell of cigars or have too much to drink. Much to my regret."
Rolf removed the leather portfolio and plopped it onto the middle of his desk. Ebbens and Payton stepped forward as Rolf opened the catches, spinning the case around to reveal the stacks of money.
"I usually prefer not to be involved in these sorts of transactions myself," the S
enator said, a little wide-eyed.
Rolf laughed. "Quite the contrary, Senator. I don't let anyone handle these transactions for me. It is my personal philosophy that if a man trusts no one, he cannot be betrayed."
"So the rumors of your pending legal problems are just that? Rumors? You have not been betrayed?"
"If you're not the subject of gossip, you are not working hard enough," Rolf replied.
Rolf shoved the portfolio closer to the edge of the desk. Ebbens thumbed through a stack of hundred-dollar bills.
"You are a man of vision, Mr. Rolf," Payton declared. "Consolidation is our destiny. Commerce and transport, rail and shipping. The consolidation of San Francisco's stature as the seat of power, the land of empire-builders. It's the only way to choke off this vile Labor movement, these Socialist rabble-rousers and so-called 'Progressives,' to keep power in the hands of men bred to use it."
In the main parlor, a rejuvenated John Barrymore burst through the door and staggered toward Caruso.
"Enrico, my God, what a performance!" he bellowed. Barrymore tripped over the carpet, spilling into Caruso's arms and kissing him on both cheeks.
Barrymore beamed even more brightly when he spotted Kaitlin. "Kaitlin! My Kaitlin, you left me all alone!"
Kaitlin regained her equilibrium and rose to greet him. Barrymore tripped over the carpet again and nearly brought Kaitlin down with him, wrapping his arms around her.
"Kate," he said, his eyes swimming. "Why don't you come away with me? I have a bottle of some marvelous champagne back at the Palace. In fact, I have almost anything marvelous you might want."
I nudged Kaitlin and nodded, knowing she could escape a besotted Barrymore easier than Rolf.
"Go. Please," I said to her.
Kaitlin seized his arm and pulled him across the room and out the door.
Through the window in the parlor, I could see workmen hustling in and out of the Fairmont. Bulging drays made their way to the front entrance in an endless parade, where workmen stripped their cargo and sent them for another load.
From the fourth floor of the Fairmont, Hunter and Christian watched as Barrymore stumbled down the front steps toward a Hansom. He chivalrously tried to take Kaitlin's arm and help her in, but she thought it better the other way around. When he stalled half-way, she put her hand on his rump and shoved.
"That must be a record even for Barrymore," Hunter said. "How long was he in there? Thirty seconds?"
He looked over at Christian, who was pacing anxiously, working his knuckles and fondling his revolver.
Inside the mansion, the door to Rolf's office opened and Senator Payton emerged. He was followed closely by Ebbens, who now carried a heavy valise.
I gathered my gown and headed for the front door, forcing myself to slow as a butler opened the door for me.
On the expansive walkway between the porch and the brass fence, I dug in my shoulder bag and produced a machine-rolled cigarette, then fumbled to strike a match. The wind blew it out. I tried another, and again the wind blew it out.
From the window of room 434, Hunter spotted me. "Christian! Christian! I see her."
Christian bolted to the window, where they watched as I cupped my hands, turning my back to buffer the wind. I lit the cigarette and a puff of smoke escaped my mouth. I coughed.
"All right," Hunter said, "the Senator has the money. We should have Max or Carlo arrest him as he boards the ferry."
"No. We'll have Patrick arrest him when he gets off and turn him over to the Oakland police. That way San Francisco cops can't tip off Rolf."
"I guess that's better," Hunter replied.
While the Fallon brothers decided his fate, Senator Payton, his wife, and Ebbens exited the Rolf mansion and walked toward me.
"Good evening, Senator, Mrs. Payton. I hope you enjoyed yourselves this evening."
"It was most enjoyable, Miss Passarelli," Payton said. "We will look forward to reading your column. I'll hope you'll give us a kind mention."
"Thank you, sir. I think you'll find it very interesting."
The trio headed toward a Rolls Royce idling at the curb. I puffed nervously as the automobile chattered away down California Street. "Annalisa. What are you doing out here?"
I wheeled as the sound of Rolf's voice startled me.
"Is that a cigarette I see you smoking? I have never seen you smoke before. Not very ladylike, I must say."
"It's one of those secret little vices," I whispered, trying to stifle a cough that threatened to unmask the lie.
"One you may wish to discontinue. Why don't you come back in before you catch yourself a death?"
I resisted the urge to flee. I raised the hem of my dress and started up the steps, distracted momentarily by the frantic whinnying of horses at the Fairmont.
"I'll be glad when these miserable nags are gone," Rolf said as he took my arm. "You, smoking: I'm afraid you are just full of surprises."
Hunter eased back from the window, reaching for his revolver. "Maybe we should go in now, Christian."
"And charge him with what? Making a campaign donation? You lose your nerve, your ass follows in this game. Sit tight. He's not going to hurt Annalisa in front of all those people. Last thing we want is Rolf and those clowns walking the street again."
Inside the mansion, Rolf looked about, his expression souring. "Where's Kaitlin, Annalisa?"
"I thought I saw her leaving with Mr. Barrymore. I'm not sure where they were headed."
Rolf examined my face with a look that stoked my uneasiness. "Another one of my guests who lack the most common courtesies. It amazes me, Annalisa, how some people mistake my kindness for weakness."
He stared at me for a few seconds, then spotted Ah Toy and Ting Leo in the adjacent parlor. "Enjoy yourself," he said. "The night is just beginning." He walked away.
"Annalisa," Caruso said, approaching from behind. "These are wonderful peoples here. I never expect that they are love so much the opera. I think before they are barbari but now I am not so sure."
"They're barbarians, just better dressed." I leaned close and spoke softly. "Enrico, I have a secret I would like to share with you."
"Enrico is do two things very well, Annalisa. 'E is sing and 'e is keep i segreti."
"I am getting married today. He asked me at the Opera House, just before you sang. You are the only one I am telling."
"You are no tell your genitori?"
"My parents are both dead. So are his."
"Then I come and sing just for you."
He leaned forward to kiss my cheek and I threw my arms around his neck. From the corner of a misty eye, I caught Tommy glaring at me.
The clock was ticking loudly on the mantle.
Chapter 47
NOB HILL
APRIL 18, 1906. 5:00 A.M.
Two tense hours later, I stood before the window of the lady's second-floor powder room, trying to signal discreetly to Hunter that I was still safe. I could see his weariness and fear, even at that distance in the shadows of room 434.
In the streets below, the last of Adam Rolf's guests sauntered to their cars and carriages, all glimmering beneath the streetlights.
A few blocks east, at Central Fire Station, Dennis Sullivan examined the blueprints on his desk. His breathing was fitful, his eyes red and swollen from the fire he had battled past midnight.
He leaned back in the creaky chair, forcing his weary eyes to focus on the calendar. April 18, 1906. He retrieved his pencil and scribbled on the corner of the blueprints: Thirteen years and thirteen days as Fire Chief. A superstitious Maggie would have considered it a bad omen.
Outside the third-floor window, the sun peeked above Mount Diablo, painting a small patch of clouds with pale gold, a radiant splash of light amidst the darkness; an entire city in chiaroscuro. People who believed that sunrise was a perfect ending to the day traded places with those who thought it a better beginning, tuxedos and topcoats passing carpenters' coveralls and butchers' aprons. Hooves clopped and engin
es rattled up and down cobblestoned Bush Street.
The Chief returned to his blueprints, circling the long-dormant cisterns beneath the city's streets. His head drifted forward slowly, his sandy eyes closing. By the time his forehead touched the desk, he was asleep.
Across Bush Street, Fremont Older pecked at his editorial for a special edition.
THE DAWNING OF A NEW SAN FRANCISCO
The open-minded spirit that has graced San Francisco since the discovery of gold in the American River does not extend to tolerance of thieves, thugs, kidnappers, and child peddlers, no matter how well-heeled or well-connected they may be. The arrests of Adam Rolf, Eugene Schmitz, and all their glue-handed puppets on the Board of Supervisors will send a signal that resounds clear to Washington. The days of wholesale corruption, the days of municipal government by grafters and predators, has been dealt a serious blow this day, April 18, 1906. By the time Caruso takes center stage tonight to follow his astonishing Carmen with an equally anticipated Bohème, San Francisco will be a different place. By nightfall, the Paris of the West will glow as never before.
Older scrawled his signature, tucked the sheaf of paper into his coat pocket, and donned his faded bowler.
Once outside, he inhaled the sweet morning air and headed toward the Palace Hotel, where Cora slept in the suite that served as home.
A mile away, where Washington Street crests between the cramped squalor of Chinatown and the splendor of Van Ness Avenue, Frederick Funston was awakened by muffled gunshots. He had been asleep an hour, having spent the night working on the war games he was to lead that month with all of the Army troops on the West Coast. He slid into his britches, tucking a revolver into his waistband, and hustled outside.
The crisp air invigorated him. Another gunshot told him the culprits were more than a dozen blocks away, in the midst of the Barbary Coast, and finding them would be impossible. He lingered, staring up Jones Street to Nob Hill where a lone painter tried to capture the morning sky.
All around the bay, brigantines and clippers, paddle-wheel ferries and graceful Whitehalls carved their foamy wakes.
1906: A Novel Page 24
