5
News
He did get back to work next day and put in his full sixteen hours. The weather was getting colder and he had to put a blanket on his horse. He was cold himself despite his heavy coat. Georg did not like cold. He had always found this city’s weather confusing, cold and foggy one day, hot and dry the next.
As he was leaving the barn Bob Mullins approached with another newspaper. Georg suspected that Mullins knew he couldn’t read but was too polite to mention it. That was why Mullins often read important articles to Georg.
“Your murder made the Evening Bulletin.”
“Is my name in it?
“Nope. They did say the cops are talkin’ to suspects, but they’re not named. The papers interviewed Penworthy’s pa, Thaddeus Milo. He didn’t have much to say, except he trusts the cops to bring the killers to justice. The funeral is this Sunday.”
Georg blinked. “Does it say where?”
“Sure. Masonic cemetery, at noon.”
“Thanks, Mr. Mullins. I owe you a favor.”
Mullins shook his head, no doubt wondering what favor. Before he could ask, Georg was gone.
That was on Thursday. Friday morning he told Mullins he needed the afternoon off, without saying why. Mullins agreed. Of course he would not be paid.
That afternoon he found the slip of paper the lawyer Timmons had given him. He headed downtown to Market Street and found a seedy-looking tailor’s shop. There was one proprietor. In back he could see an older woman pedaling a sewing machine.
He said, “I need something for a funeral. Right away.”
The man wore a green eye shade. He hadn’t given his name. He looked Georg up and down. “Looks to me you could use a whole new outfit. If you got time. I’m happy to bill Mr. Kearney.”
“Thanks, but I don’t have time right now. I just need the mourning suit. How soon can I have it?”
The tailor shrugged. “Let me take your measure. I think I’ve got something big enough to fit. A fella wore it once then brought it back. I returned most of his money. I can let it out a little, maybe make the sleeves longer. That you could have by Saturday. A new suit takes longer.”
“Go ahead and measure.” Georg took his coat off and held out his arms. The tailor hummed and clucked to himself for a few minutes, moving the tape around. Finally he stepped back.
“You can come in about noon Saturday. I’ll have her ready by then. I’m going to bill Mr. Kearney extra for the rush job.”
Georg had no doubt he would also bill for a brand new suit, but that was fine with him. As he turned to go he paused. “Could I wear the same suit to a Court appearance?”
“Sure. It’s just a black suit. Get married in it if you like.”
On a sudden impulse he went to visit Mrs. Sutliff once again. She wasn’t in the front of the shop so he rang the bell. A moment later she emerged from the back room. When the door was open he could hear the metallic sound of the press being cranked.
He told her about the funeral, and that he planned to go. She said, “Why?”
He shook his head. “I’m not sure. It’s just that I want to try to meet Mr. Thaddeus Milo Penworthy. I’m mixed up in this murder business like it or not. Maybe he can tell me something I don’t know.”
She paused, thoughtful. “I’ll go with you. I still have the dress I wore at my husband’s funeral. You come here Sunday morning. I can hire a buggy to get us there. It’s just that …” She paused again.
“Yes?”
She said, “I don’t wish to be recognized. Someone might wonder why I’m there. It’s all right, I’ll wear a veil. You need not introduce me to anyone.”
She invited him for coffee and supper, but he could see she was busy. He thanked her and was on his way. That evening he spent an hour at the bath house and then dined with Mrs. Costello’s other roomers.
Friday, he was back on his car. He felt uneasy, though he couldn’t say why. His usual riders boarded on their way to or from work. None of them engaged in conversation with him. In fact they all seemed unusually quiet, as if something was in the air.
He noticed a large number of broadsides posted on walls. They all seemed to have big lettering. A few bore drawings, but he couldn’t make out what they meant to say. On some he spelled out the words Chinese must go. He asked a passenger to read another for him. It said Workingman’s rally! 8:00 pm City Hall sandlot! He knew the sandlot was a favorite place for public orators, who had seldom held any interest for him. He wondered what sort of workingmen these were.
He had a feeling there was trouble coming. He became certain of it when Laughing Larry appeared near the end of his shift, suddenly swinging aboard in the middle of the block.
“Hee hee! Guess what? I am officer now!” He flipped back the lapel of his threadbare coat to show a shiny brass badge.
“What do you mean, an officer, Larry?”
“Well, I signed up with the Committee of Public Safety! They’ll take anybody. The Police are giving out badges and night sticks. It’s up to us to maintain law and order and such!”
“I did hear something about that. Some people call them Vigilantes. Are you up for the job, Larry?”
“Sure. I get some free meals. They’re letting me sleep in a stable. Next time a riot happens I’ll be there.”
“Well, I hope that won’t happen, Larry.” But he wasn’t too sure.
That was Friday. Saturday turned out routine. Now the July weather was finally heating up. Georg worked without a jacket, wishing he could remove his shirt. Sometimes he thought of his days in the South Seas, turning bronze in the sun, when he could go with only short trousers. He heard some of his riders arguing about Denis Kearney and his rallies, but he didn’t see any real trouble yet. He took an hour off to pick up his new suit. It fit well enough. He regarded himself in a full length mirror, and wondered for a moment at the stranger he saw.
Back at the barn Mullins had a warning for him. “The boss says if you take any more days off, he’s gonna have to hire somebody else. I’m just passing on the message.”
“That’s all right, Mr. Mullins. I might just decide to quit anyway.” Later, he wondered why he had said that. He liked his job.
6
Funeral
Sunday arrived. Georg dressed in his new suit. He had forgotten to order a shirt, so he had to wear his regular church shirt, only a little threadbare. He did have a new black tie, but he had to get Mrs. Costello to help him with it. Then he walked over to Mrs. Sutliff’s shop.
She was dressed and waiting. A hired hack and driver stood by the curb. Mrs. Sutliff wore a long black dress and cape. A veil hung down her back. She gave Georg a brief greeting, then allowed him to help her into the buggy. On the ride to the cemetery she spoke only a few words. Georg thought she was acting oddly. Usually he found her talkative. It was almost as if she were really in mourning.
The funeral party had already arrived by the time they got there. Only a few people had shown up, Georg counted less than twenty. That was a small crowd for a wealthy family.
A preacher wearing a Masonic apron had just launched into a droning liturgy. By now the sun was well up and Georg felt hot and constrained in his black suit. Genevieve had drawn the veil over her face, disappearing into invisibility as she hung back at the edge of mourners.
Georg looked over the guests. Most of them were older men wearing patient expressions, as if there to fulfill a social duty. Only three women, none of them young. No one wept. Georg guessed at who was Thaddeus Milo. He was of course the man standing by the preacher. He sported a full, well-kept beard. Georg wasn’t sure if any of the women nearby was his wife.
At last the preacher was done and heads bowed in prayer, then the first clods of earth tossed onto the casket. The guests filed forward to shake Thaddeus Milo’s hand and offer condolences. Georg was last in line.
“Mr. Penworthy. I’m sorry for your loss.”
Penworthy squinted. “I’m sorry, sir. I don’t seem to recogn
ize you. Have we met?”
“No sir. My name is Georg Vintner. I was present when your son was killed. I guess I feel in part responsible.”
Penworthy glanced around, looking nervous, making sure they were not overheard. “You were there? In what capacity?”
“I was driving the streetcar, sir. I’m a driver.”
“Ah, I see. Now that you mention it, I recall your name in the papers. It’s kind of you to come. I should like to speak to you more, if you don’t mind. There’s a reception later, but I’m afraid it’s only for close friends and family. Would you be at liberty to visit me later this week?”
“Yes sir, I guess I would. Just say when.”
Penworthy fished a small card from an inner pocket. “Here’s my pasteboard. You shouldn’t have any trouble finding my address. What say you drop in around noon on Wednesday? Just show my card to the butler. We shall have lunch.”
Georg put away the card without looking. “That would be fine, sir. Anything I can do to help.”
On the way back to Genevieve’s shop she tore off her hat and veil and yanked out a pin, letting her hair down. In the sunlight her hair was deep bronze. He could see she was sweating. She said, “What did you think?”
“Well, Penworthy seems decent. I offered to help. That way he won’t get the idea I’m going to him for help.”
She brought him upstairs to her rooms. She said, “I can’t afford a cook or maid, I do my own cooking. Let me change and I’ll fix us some sandwiches.”
He was happy to remove his coat and loosen his tie while she changed in another room. He leafed through the pages of a magazine he didn’t try to read. It was full of pictures of some foreign country.
She fed him well, cucumber and cheese sandwiches on French bread with soup. She ate only a little, he devoured everything offered. They spoke little until he had finished and she served apple pie. He said, “I may lose my job. I’m taking time off from work, and I don’t think the boss likes my being mixed up in murder.”
She smiled. “Don’t give it a thought. There’s plenty of work for strong men. Did you get those muscles driving horses?”
He raised an arm to look at his own bicep. He had never thought much about his own body or how he looked. “No, ma’am. It was by handling the rigging. When I was before the mast.”
Her eyes widened. “I keep forgetting you were a sailor. Tell me about that, please.”
He settled back, feeling comfortable with a full stomach and coffee. “Not a lot to say about it. My parents brought me over from Norway when I was six. Ma was going to have another baby, but they both died. Pa did the best he could, but he never made much working at farms. When I was twelve I signed up as cabin boy on a liner.
“You could say that’s where I got my education. I never got much book learning, but I learned manners, how to set a table and treat paying passengers and such. I learned grammar and how to speak. I also learned about ships and sailors. After that I worked on different kinds of vessels, freighters, fishers and a few steamers. Then I started whaling because it paid better.” He stopped talking, gazing past her at a narrow window. In the distance he could see the bay.
“Go on. Why did you leave the sea?”
He coughed, coming back to himself. He stared at her a moment before deciding to answer. “I don’t often think about that. I was on the Suzannah, a whaler up along the Bering. We had an early storm, the wind changed. The ship had nearly a full cargo of oil, riding low in the water. We got blown up against the ice shelf and couldn’t move.
“We were there for several days. We planned to wait it out, till spring if need be. Then the wind shifted again and ice closed in from our larboard side. The ship began to groan and complain. Pretty soon it was obvious she wasn’t going to live. We all put on our heavy coats. Captain Monson sent up rockets. Awhile later a ship on the other side of the shelf answered with their gun. She was about three miles away.
“That’s about all I can remember, until I woke up on the ice. There were other men, but I couldn’t tell how many. Some had broken bones. Some were already freezing. Samuel was there to help or I never would have made it. Samuel told me he used to be a slave before the War, but he stowed away on a Yankee ship in New Orleans when he was fifteen. He was a harpooner, a brave man.
“I don’t recall much about how I got to the rescue ship. Samuel was gone, I never did learn what happened to him. There were only ten of us, out of a crew of forty-four. We were the only ones left alive. The rescue ship was a Russian fur trader, just a two-masted schooner. She sailed down to Anchorage and let us out there, none of us with a penny to our names and only the clothes on our backs. That was when I decided to make my living on the beach.” He stopped talking, gazing out toward the bay again. It lay as smooth as green glass.
She stood up, poured him another cup of coffee, and returned. “I have some cake.”
He grinned. “Thank you, Genevieve. You are kind, but not today.”
She made no comment on his story. Instead, she said, “I don’t think you should go to see Mr. Penworthy.”
“No? Why ever not?”
“Because you are a good man, George. Penworthy and his crowd are not. You don’t want to get mixed up in affairs you don’t understand. It’s dangerous.”
“Thank you. You’re probably right. But I don’t want to be beholden to Denis Kearney either. I don’t want his lawyer. I’d like to find out who killed Alexander Penworthy, and why.”
She stirred sugar into her own cup. “Be careful you don’t learn more than you wanted to know.”
7
Riot
Monday morning the Driver returned to his job as usual. The day went by routine, no stranger than usual. Only two or three crazy people on board his car, ignored by other passengers. But he kept hearing fragments of conversation, talk about rallies going on elsewhere, the militia on horseback, roaming squads of vigilantes. The air was tense not with fear, but with deep misgivings. No one tried to engage him in conversation.
When he got back to his rooming house Mrs. Costello handed him an envelope. “It’s a summons, Mr. Vintner. You’re to show up in Court this Friday, eight a.m. sharp. That Mr. Timmons dropped it off. He said to make sure you got it.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Costello. I guess this means another day off work.”
She smiled. “Don’t you worry, now. If you have to be a little late with rent I shan’t complain.”
“That isn’t the problem, ma’am. I have enough saved to carry me six months if need be. It’s just that I’d rather be working. I sleep better.”
Tuesday morning. This also started off normally enough. For some reason Mrs. Costello had been extra generous with the lunch she had packed for him, with pork pie and beer. It was as if she sensed he might need more strength this day.
His regular passengers got on and got off at their usual stops. Once four men wearing Committee of Public Safety arm bands rode several blocks without speaking. A number of passengers got off at Woodward Gardens, others got on board. The usual. Georg ate some of his lunch when it was time to change horses, then went back to driving. In the afternoon someone pointed out a column of black smoke to the north, over the bay. Somewhere urgent bells began to toll, metallic voices crying fire.
Then there was chaos. Men spilled into the streets from all directions. Police were present, some on horses, but not nearly enough to control the crowd. All of Georg’s passengers got out and ran in different directions. Georg set the brake on his car and got out himself, not sure what to do. Further up the street someone had overturned several buggies, blocking the tracks. Then Laughing Larry showed up from somewhere, waving his baton and giggling. He was often near Georg’s streetcar, since he was the only driver who let him ride free.
“Helluva riot, Mr. Vintner!” Larry waggled his stick. “But don’t worry, I’m with the Committee. I’ll protect your car!”
He was standing there when a mounted policeman rode up and stopped, looking back over his sho
ulder. Georg thought he might be waiting for backup.
“What’s going on, Officer?”
The cop turned and blinked at him, brandishing a club. Then he seemed to recognize Georg for who he was, a streetcar driver.
“Just stay by that car of yours. Kearney’s boys set fire to the docks. That was just a diversion. They’re attacking Chinatown, burning stores and killing.”
“I see. Thanks, Officer.”
The cop seemed to make up his mind and spurred his horse forward into the crowd. Georg couldn’t tell rioters from bystanders or vigilantes. He gave his own horse a bucket of water, then made up his mind. The horse was calm enough, its blinders kept it from noticing most of the commotion. Chinatown was only a few blocks from where he stood. He grabbed Laughing Larry and shoved him on board the streetcar. “You guard my car and horse! I’ll be back.” That should keep Larry out of trouble. The horse wasn’t about to go anywhere, not with the brake set. He pushed through the mob and began walking fast.
Thus he found himself standing in front of a Chinese laundry when the rioters arrived. The laundry’s iron shutters were closed, the owner nowhere to be seen. It looked like a prosperous establishment, painted in bright red and green. English letters over the door spelled AH HOP.
About a dozen of the Workingman’s Party boys came running down the street, some of them bearing torches, other with axe handles or other weapons. Georg took his stand in front of the laundry doors. He was unarmed. He stood with fists balled on hips.
A young thug came to a stop in front of him. “Get out of our way! We’re burning all these Chinaman laundries.”
The man had yelled at him. Georg replied in a calm voice. “Not this one. It’s under protection. Kearney’s orders.”
The thug barked a laugh and turned to his followers. “You hear that? Under protection. Not damn likely!” He turned back to Georg, raising his club. He had a large knife stuck through his belt. “Get out of the damn way! Your last chance!”
The Driver Page 3
