The Driver

by Steve Bartholomew

  “They wanted to know how well I knew Alexander Penworthy. That’s some personal stationery I printed for him. They found a sheet of it in his pocket. The fact is I never met the man. He had his butler or secretary or someone bring the order in and I filled it. It’s expensive paper, full rag content, acid free, with silver engraving. If Alexander had come in himself I would have remembered.”

  He admired the artwork a moment, handed it back. “So why did you want to see me?”

  “They also wanted to know how long I have known you.”

  He gave a short laugh. “Me? We only just met.”

  “Yes, but they will believe what they like. I think they want to suspect you of being involved somehow with Denis Kearney. Kearney hates the Penworthys along with all the other rich people.”

  Now he gave a real laugh. “I wouldn’t give Kearney the time of day. Anyway, I work for the Market Street Railway. I’m in the Transit Union. Not the Workingman.”

  “The cops don’t care what’s true, only what they can prove in Court. Do you have a lawyer, Mr. Vintner?”

  “I’m afraid I couldn’t afford one, ma’am. I’m just a beached sailor.”

  “You were a sailor? I didn’t know.”

  “Yes, ma’am. But I won’t go back to sea. If I ever leave the rail company I might look for farm work.”

  “Will you stop calling me ma’am? Call me Jenny. I’ll call you George.”

  He didn’t mind her changing his name. “Yes, ma― Jenny.” For some reason he felt himself blushing.

  “Would you like to stay for supper, George? Believe it or not, I know how to cook. My parlor is just upstairs.”

  He got to his feet. He felt unnaturally warm. He opened his mouth to refuse, then shut it again. He looked her in the eye.

  “That would be a great privilege, Miss Jenny.”

  As it turned out he had a good time. It was years since he had been alone in a room with a single unchaperoned woman, saving the ones in fancy houses. She served him steamed crab, fresh from the wharf, with sourdough bread. They had mostly small talk until he asked her about her business.

  “Oh, that’s not unusual,” she said. “Women here in the West have more chances than back East. In fact I know several other women in the city with printing businesses. In my case I fell into it when my husband Mattias died. I had been mostly running the place anyway. He had a problem with drink, you see, which was what killed him.” She fell silent a moment, gazing into space.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude.”

  “What about you? You say you were a sailor. You have fine manners for a man of the sea.”

  He grinned. “Oh, that. I served as cabin boy on several liners. I had to learn my Ps and Qs. Too bad I never got much schooling.”

  “And why, if I may ask, did you determine to leave the sea and become a streetcar driver?”

  This was his turn to fall silent a moment. He cleared his throat. “I don’t mind your asking, ma― Jenny. But, truth is, I’d druther talk about something else right now. Maybe later.”

  “Oh, of course. Would you like coffee?”

  They chatted till nearly sundown. Then Georg excused himself. “I’m up early tomorrow, it’s a long day. Thank you for the supper. Mrs. Costello is all right, but this was fine.”

  4

  Laughing Larry

  On Monday he got to the barn as usual at six a.m., to find Jim already hitched and waiting. Bob Mullins shoved a copy of the Call into his hands. “Better take a look when you get the chance. They’re making a big deal out of that killing. The cops think Denis Kearney had something to do with it. Turns out Penworthy was going to foreclose on his property or something. They hated each other. ‘Course Kearney hates about everybody, but the cops would like to pin something on him.”

  “Denis Kearney wasn’t on board my streetcar.” He folded the paper and put it away. Later he would get someone to read it to him.

  “No, but Kearney could have paid somebody. Whoever killed him was on your car. I bet the cops are going to want to talk to you again.”

  He climbed aboard. “Thanks for the paper, Mr. Mullins.”

  He knew that was a bad start to the day, but Georg didn’t think it would get much worse. At least he didn’t know of any riots. He changed his mind when, during his second trip on the route, Laughing Larry got on board. Larry was one of the characters that Georg let ride for free, along with Emperor Norton. Of course the Emperor had official mandate from the City to ride free on all the cars. Larry was just one of Georg’s personal exceptions.

  “Haddy, Mr. Driver.” Haddy was Larry’s way of saying howdy, or howdoyoudo. Georg had never been able to figure out where the accent came from.

  “Howdy yourself, Larry.”

  Larry wrapped himself around a pole, though there were empty seats. He leaned across in a confidential manner. Today he was wearing some strange kind of fur cloak, moth-eaten and smelly, but no worse than Larry’s own smell. “You hear the latest, Mr. Driver? ‘Bout that killin’ on your bus?”

  “This ain’t no omnibus, Larry. She’s a streetcar. You oughta know the difference.”

  “Oh, now I’m real sorry, Mr. Driver, I din’t mean no harm. Din’t mean to go insultin’ nobody.”

  “Never mind, Larry. What did you hear about that murder?”

  Larry leaned closer and spoke in a stage whisper. “I was down at the jail last night. They let me sleep over. Fed me a real nice meal, they did. Baloney sammitches. Anyway, I got to talkin’ to the cops there. They said that dagger what was in that dead fella’s gut was Chinee. They think maybe a Chinee fella did it.”

  “There weren’t any Chinese on my car that day. You know they’re not allowed to leave Chinatown if they don’t have business in the city.”

  Larry made a helpless gesture. “Just sayin’ what I heard. They think maybe Kearney paid a Chinaman to do the deed.”

  “That don’t make sense, Larry. Kearney hates the Chinese.”

  “Yeah, but he hates rich folks too. Wasn’t that Penny fellow pretty rich?”

  “Penworthy. Yes, he was. I wouldn’t pay attention to rumors, was I you, Larry.”

  “I wisht I was a roomer. Me, I had a room oncet but they kicked me out just ‘cause I was laughin’ a lot. They said I kept the others awake all night.”

  “Well, you just keep laughing, Larry.”

  Larry did just that, then hopped off the moving car. “This is my stop. Thanks for the ride, Mr. Driver. I’m headed for that free lunch counter. Hee hee hee hee!” And he was gone.

  Georg remembered, indeed, that Denis Kearney was said to hate rich people. At some of his rallies he had urged his followers to burn down all the mansions on Nob Hill. As yet they had not followed through. Still, he wondered if Kearney might have had some personal grudge against Penworthy. If it was a Chinese dagger, that meant nothing, unless someone was trying to throw the cops off with a fake clue. He shrugged, none of his business.

  Then it became his business at the end of his shift at nine p.m., when two cops arrested him.

  One was in uniform, the other in a tacky brown suit. He said, “We need you to come with us, Mr. Vintner.”

  Georg pulled out a bandanna and wiped his forehead. “What did I do now? Sorry I’m late. The car following me had a horse drop dead in the street. I had to unhitch and haul it out of the road. I’m a little tired, gentlemen.”

  The cop with the suit stuck out his lower lip. “It ain’t nuthin’ like that, Mr. Vintner. Seems you’re wanted for questioning in that murder of yours the other day.”

  “It wasn’t my murder, it was Mr. Penworthy’s. I already answered all your questions down at the station.”

  “Well, now it looks like you’re a suspect. You’re under arrest on Suspicion. Put the cuffs on him, Al.”

  Georg knew better than to resist or complain. He stuck out his arms. Al clamped the cuffs on painfully tight. Bob Mullins had been standing to one side, watching.

  “Guess you won�
�t be comin’ in tomorrow, George. We’re going to be short a driver.”

  Georg smiled. “Let my landlady know, Bob. Mrs. Costello, you know her.”

  “Sure thing, George. Don’t you worry now, we all know you didn’t do it.”

  “Let’s go,” the cop said. He wasn’t smiling.

  The City Jail wasn’t too bad. He got a cell of his own, since the place held only a few prisoners at the moment. He missed his evening meal, but it couldn’t be helped. He pulled off his boots, lay down and tried to get comfortable. He was asleep in five minutes.

  That was when the Dream came back. It had been months since he’d had the Dream. He supposed as long as he had a job and plenty of work to do he would be too tired to dream. For some reason it chose tonight to return.

  The Ship! We need to reach that ship! Samuel was screaming at him. He was tugging at his shoulder. Georg was tired. He wanted to lie there. To lie still on the ice.

  Somehow Samuel made him get to his feet. Georg shivered, waving his arms trying to get warm. Everything was blurred. He wasn’t sure what was happening or what he was doing.

  “Keep moving!” Samuel told him. “We must reach that ship! She’s waiting for us.”

  They shuffled forward over the ice floe. Georg wasn’t sure if it was fog, or his vision, it was all blurry. “What happened to us?” His voice came out a croak.

  “You can’t remember? Our ship crashed. The Suzannah. The ice crushed her. She just snapped and went to the bottom. Someone sent up some rockets before that. That ship over there, she fired a gun to answer and hove to. We need to get to her.”

  Samuel was an able-bodied seaman. He wore a sealskin jacket and watch cap. Georg had a wool coat but he was still cold. He tried to see the ship that Samuel was going on about, but he could make out only dim shapes. Memory was coming back. A long drawn-out groan, then a long shriek of timbers as if the Suzannah screamed in agony. An explosion as the ice shelf took her. He jumped from the rail and landed hard.

  “How many others?”

  Samuel said, “I’m not sure. Maybe eight or twelve. Not many. We’re trying to get to that ship.”

  Eight or twelve, only a fraction of the crew. The Suzannah was a whaler, working the seas near the Bering Straight. Georg nearly stumbled over a man lying on the ice. It was the one called Howie, a Kanaka from somewhere in the South Pacific. Georg bent over and shook him. The man didn’t move. He wasn’t breathing. Samuel pulled him away.

  “Too late, he’s froze.”

  They struggled forward, cold. Now Georg could make out the rescue ship, hove to at the far edge of the ice shelf. A light swung from her topmast. They must reach her before they froze . . .

  “Hey! Shut up in there!” A guard was yelling at him, rattling the bars.

  He opened his eyes, sat up. “What?”

  “You were screamin’. You crazy or something? Stop your screamin,’ you’re scaring everybody in this jail.

  “I’m sorry. Bad dream. I won’t do it again.”

  “Better not.” The guard moved away. Georg rubbed the sweat from his face. He shivered with cold, though the jail was warm.

  In the morning they gave him stale bread and coffee. Then he sat waiting, staring at the wall. He knew why they made him wait, to make him more afraid. He was afraid.

  Around noon the Police Commissioner showed up, the same man who had seen him that first time. Dunnigan, his name was. The uniform with him unlocked the cell without saying anything. He jerked a thumb, telling Georg to come out. Then he shoved him toward the end of the hall.

  They took him to a small room and sat him at a table. Dunnigan took out an old pipe, filled and lit it without looking at Georg. After a couple of puffs he said,

  “How long have you known Denis Kearney?”

  “I have never met the man, sir.”

  “You’re lying.” He spoke in a conversational tone. “I don’t know if you killed Penworthy yourself, or you’re only an accomplice. Anyway you’re in it up to your neck. You tell the truth, they might go easy on you.”

  “Why do you think I know Kearney?”

  Dunnigan didn’t answer. Instead he took a small cloth sack from a pocket. He opened it and spilled out a small silver knife. “Ever see that before?”

  Georg leaned closer. He didn’t try to touch it. “I saw the hilt once, when it was sticking out of Penworthy.”

  “That’s no ordinary knife. Solid silver with a carved jade grip. You could get a few dollars for it.”

  “So?”

  “So we know Penworthy wasn’t stabbed by no Chinaman. We talked to some other passengers from that car, the ones we could find. No Chinese on board. But it’s like Kearney to try to make us think there was.”

  Georg said again, “What makes you think I know Kearney?”

  Dunnigan took the pipe from his mouth, blew a smoke ring, and gave Georg a blank look. “Because right now one of his lawyers is down at City Hall getting a writ to get you out of the slammer.”

  He expected the detective to take a hard line with him, maybe rough him up a little. But Dunnigan seemed to be holding back. Georg guessed it was either that he had a fear of Kearney’s lawyer, or he’d been bribed. Either was possible. He went back to his cell for awhile, then the lawyer showed up around lunch time. By then Georg had been looking forward to a baloney sandwich, even if the bread was stale.

  The lawyer’s name was Timmons. He was only about five feet tall, but he made up for that with an air of great authority.

  “Mr. Kearney put up your bail. It comes to fifty dollars. You can pay him back whenever you’re able. You can thank him, not me.”

  “Why would Kearney want to bail me out?”

  “Because the City would like to get rid of him. By the City I mean those toffs on Nob Hill. They don’t like his organizing workers. They want to set you up as a killer and claim Mr. Kearney hired you to do it.”

  “That’s nonsense. It would never stand up in Court.”

  “With no lawyer on your side it might stand up.” He waved a hand as if brushing a fly from his face. “Never you mind. If the business comes to trial, which it probably won’t, we can handle the judge and jury. You have nothing to worry about. Just make sure you show up in Court.”

  “I will. Thank you, Mr. Timmons. And I thank Mr. Kearney. Although I don’t agree with him.”

  “That’s neither here nor there.” He looked Georg up and down. Georg still had on his driver clothes, a uniform jacket and cap. “I think we better get you a new suit, in case you do have to show up in Court.” He took a pad from an inner pocket and scribbled an address on it. “Here. You take this to my tailor and tell him I said to fix you up. You can pay me later.”

  “Yes sir.”

  After that he had no desire to head for the barn and return to work. He had no money in his pocket for food, so he found one of those free lunch counters. It belonged to a tavern called The Acme and was in a window that opened onto the street. The food wasn’t bad, sausage, boiled eggs and crackers, but it was salty. That was to encourage a man to buy beer. He would have, had he any money. He came away fed but thirsty.

  It occurred to him he was only a few blocks from SUTLIFF FINE PRINTING. Mrs. Sutliff had told him to come back any time. Maybe she would give him some tea, or at least a glass of water. He headed there.

  He had to wait while she dealt with customers. When she had a break he said, “I’m sorry to show up like this.”

  “Not at all, I’m happy to see you. How are you?”

  “I’m fine, but I could use a glass of water.”

  “Of course, just a moment.” She disappeared into the back room. During the few seconds the door was open he glimpsed the black form of a press and cluttered shelves. She returned with a glass of water and two cups of tea on a tray. “Mr. Chang always has tea ready. Would you like some?”

  “I’d be pleased.” He sat on a stool by the counter and gulped down the water. “I was arrested yesterday.”

  “Oh, dear.
What happened?”

  He told her the whole brief story. She said,

  “I was afraid of something like that. Do you know, last week Kearney himself was here. He wanted me to print some of his broadsides, but I refused and told him to take his business elsewhere. I didn’t mention that to the police because I didn’t want them to think I ever met the man.”

  Georg sipped the tea. It was a different flavor than what he had ever before tasted. “Why do you suppose Penworthy was murdered on my streetcar?”

  “I’m sure I have no idea. I do know he was not well loved. At least so I have heard. Do you know, when I was being interviewed by the coppers they had to go into detail about how the man was killed. I’m not sure if they were trying to frighten or impress me. They said the knife was inserted at the exact spot to enter his heart. They think it must have been done by a trained assassin. Of course they want to believe the killer was Chinese. What do you think? Would that take a lot of training?”

  Despite himself he grinned. “No idea, ma’m, I never stabbed anybody. I guess a doctor would know how to do that.”

  She gave him a serious look. “That’s an idea. I never thought of a doctor. A trained physician would know exactly where to place the blade, wouldn’t he? I wonder if Mr. Penworthy was seeing any doctors?”

  He stared into space and for a moment seem to lose himself.

  “Are you all right, George?”

  “Sure. I just need some rest. Sometimes I have bad dreams.”

  “Go on upstairs. You can use my rooms to take a nap.”

  “That’s generous of you, Miss Genevieve.” He was thinking it was also improper, but then he was learning she was a surprising woman. “I think I better get back and let my landlady know I’m all right. Tomorrow it’s back to work, unless they fire me.”

  “If they do I’ll hire you. I can always use a large strong man.”

  He grinned, thanked her for the water and tea, and moved to the door. She said, “You be sure to tell me what happens. I want to be there with you in Court.”