Bitter Cry

by S. L. Stoner

  The Chinese man plucked his bundle from the puddle and stowed it in his cart. “Thank you,” he said to Sage. “Lucky, laundry already dirty,” he added, before trundling down the street.

  Returning to the sidewalk, he was surprised to see Millie Trumbull standing there. She had a big grin on her wide face. “Folks are saying it’s messenger boys causing all the trouble on this corner but I know it’s not,” she told him.

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because the only messenger service within a block of this corner is the Hasty Messenger Service. Jeff Hayes runs it and he keeps a tight rein on his messengers. He’s the fellow I want you to meet.”

  As they started to enter the storefront, a hawk-faced, well-dressed man exited and nearly knocked Millie down with his elbow. Apparently, with his gold watch fob and embroidered vest, he thought himself too important to apologize. Recognition flashed through Sage. It was that new lawyer, the one who’d booked his wife’s birthday party at Mozart’s. Fortunately, the man hadn’t glanced in Sage’s direction.

  Inside they found a counter presided over by a bright-eyed young man. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Trumbull and Sir,” he said. “Do you need to send a message?”

  Millie shook her head. “No, Davey. We’d like to see Mr. Hayes if he isn’t busy.”

  The young man disappeared and came back within a minute. “He says he’d be delighted. Come this way.”

  He led them through a door into a large room containing benches and chairs scattered about. A bookshelf, overflowing with books, papers and magazines stretched along one wall. There were about twelve young men present, some stretched out asleep on the benches, others reading in armchairs and still others playing cards. There was no money on the table so they weren’t gambling. To Sage’s eye, they all looked older than sixteen. Each wore a dark blue tunic. Matching caps hung on wall pegs.

  Millie saw Sage’s look and tapped a poster on the wall. It read, “Messenger Rules.” There appeared to be at least ten numbered rules, but Sage only had time to read the first one that she’d tapped, “No boy under the age of sixteen will be employed by the Hasty Messenger Service.”

  “And, Jeff means it,” Millie said before turning to follow Davey into a back corner office. After ushering them into the small space, he departed, closing the door firmly behind him. The man across the wide desk looked about fifty with gray hair, smoked eyeglasses, and an impassive face. He stood and reached out a hand, saying, “Mrs. Trumbull, how kind of you to visit. And, I understand that you have a friend with you.”

  That reaching hand explained it all. It was not reaching toward Millie Trumbull nor toward Sage. Instead, it was aimed midpoint between them. Jeff Hayes was blind. Sage glanced toward Millie and she gave him a raised-eyebrow-I-told-you-so look as she shook the man’s hand.

  “Mr. Hayes, my friend is John Miner,” she nodded at Sage to also take and shake Hayes’ proffered hand. Sage did so while saying, “Pleased to meet you, Sir.”

  Millie wasted no time getting to the point. She gave the explanation they’d agreed on. “We came to you for help. Mr. Miner here is going to work undercover for me. We need him to get a job at the Speedy Messenger Service. I’ve received disturbing reports on it. We hoped you would educate Mr. Miner about messenger work and maybe tell us something about the Speedy company in particular.”

  All was quiet in the office as Hayes considered Trumbull’s request. His first words were reassuring. “You can’t get no more low down than Speedy. You probably know they’re new in town. Only been here for about six months. I hear tell they aren’t choosy who they hire and they’re undercutting the rest of us on charges. And, you are right to be concerned. One of my fellows said there’s a ten-year-old working for them. So, the rest of us would be mighty glad if you were able to pull them up short.”

  Sage relaxed. “I’ve never worked as a messenger. And, we think I should try to get a night position. Can you tell me about the work and do you think a night job is possible?”

  Hayes’ smile was rueful “That won’t be a problem. They can’t keep people so they’re always hiring. And, only the lowest of the low or desperate kids will work nights at those wages.”

  “Why’s that?” Sage asked.

  “First you got to understand, no child under the age of sixteen is permitted to work before 7 a.m. or after 6 p.m. Despite that law, the Speedy folks regularly have young kids whizzing around town in the wee hours, delivering and picking up messages. But think about it. What kind of businesses are open at night?”

  “Uh, saloons, brothels, opium and gambling dens, a few restaurants,” Sage reeled off.

  “Exactly. Now the tips in those disreputable places are good. I know. I’ve been in the messenger business for twenty-two years. I’ve seen it all. And, I’ve seen enough to know that no child should go into such places. I never accept any delivery that would take my messengers into places like that.” For the first time, Hayes’ blank face showed an emotion—disgust. “I don’t want them seeing what goes on in those places, not to mention the danger of them joining in those kinds of activities.”

  “It sounds like you care about your messengers,” was all Sage could think to say.

  It was the right response because for the first time, Hayes gave a genuine smile and a look of pride suffused his otherwise blank face, “During the quarter of a century that I have lived in Portland, I’ve worked as a Western Union manager, Postal Telegraph manager, Pacific Messenger manager, and, now, I’m owner of the Hasty Messenger Service. I’ve supervised thousands of boys and very few have turned out bad. The brightest man in the last Legislature is one of my former messengers and he had the pleasure of working with six other former messengers who’ve worked for me. We have doctors, lawyers, dentists, actors and businessmen by the score who started out working for me. And, I know of four ministers of the gospel who once ‘donned the cap’ of my messenger service. That’s why I worked so hard to get the night school started at West Side High School. I take great pride in my former messengers’ successes.”

  Hayes leaned forward over the desk. Despite the dark glasses covering his eyes, there was no mistaking his intense feelings as he said, “These boys must necessarily be brighter and quicker than the average youngster. And, as their business necessitates an active mentality, it means they have little time for mischief and foolishness. And I make sure of it. I forbid my boys from entering disreputable houses, drink, smoke cigarettes or use profanity. I insist that they keep themselves neat and clean and save their money. Of course, I occasionally get a bad boy, but he does not last. I usually find him out in short order.”

  Hayes raised a finger and wagged it in their general direction. “And I’ll tell you something else; my messenger boys have courage and self-possession. They go to the farthest limits of the city at all hours of the night and in all kinds of weather. We send boys to Mount Tabor or Willamette Heights at midnight or in the early hours of the morning—when many another man would be afraid to go. That takes nerve.”

  Hayes sat back in his chair like someone who’d finished saying his piece and was satisfied with what he’d said. He expected no contradiction and got none.

  Instead, Sage asked, “Do you know anything else about the Speedy company?”

  Hayes pursed his lips and said cautiously, “I got to be careful what I say. I don’t want to get sued by a competitor. My new lawyer, Mr. Abernathy, was just here cautioning me about that very thing.”

  Ten

  Millie spoke up. “Mr. Hayes, Mr. Miner assures me that anything you say will not be repeated outside this room. You can speak freely.”

  Hayes’ face turned in Sage’s direction and he asked, “Is that true Mr. Miner? You swear to keep whatever I say in confidence?”

  Sage nodded, remembered Hayes’ couldn’t see him, and said, “I promise that I will not mention I ever spoke to you. This meeting never happened.” He hop
ed that evasive response would suffice because, of course, Mae and Fong would have to know everything. That’s how they worked. That’s why their team had been successful.

  Sage’s answer seemed to satisfy because Hayes again relaxed. “Okay then, mind you that what I tell you next is only rumor. Bits and pieces I’ve heard from my boys and others. Bottom line, Speedy plans to drive all of us out of business by undercutting our prices and by other means as well.”

  “They’re taking on Western Union?” Incredulity sharpened Sage’s tone. He couldn’t believe any upstart would challenge financier Jay Gould’s telegraph company with its million miles of wire and two undersea international cables.

  Hayes’ answer was vehement, “No, no. Not the two companies that carry the telegrams, Western Union and American District Telegraph, or ADT, as we call it. Just us smaller ones that do message delivery for local householders and businesses.”

  Millie jumped in. “What “other means” are they using besides undercutting your prices?” she asked and got a grateful look from Sage. He’d forgotten that comment.

  “Lately, some of us have been getting bogus orders. The other night, my messenger got called to a house clear out at the city’s eastside boundary. He arrived there at the time ordered, 12:30 a.m. His knocking woke up the householder who blasted the poor boy’s ears for waking him up. I got to talking to other managers and they said someone called to send their messengers to the same house that same night. The last messenger said the angry man pointed a gun at him and threatened his life. That prank cost us time and money—not to mention scaring our messengers.”

  “Anything else Speedy might be doing?” Sage prodded.

  “Well, yes. Someone’s been stealing tail lanterns off my messengers’ bikes. That’s dangerous. Besides which, the police arrest and haul the messenger into court for riding without a light after dark. So far this week, their fines have cost me $6. And my messengers aren’t the only ones. Same thing’s happening all over town.”

  “Anything else?”

  Hayes nodded. “Some of my competitors say someone’s twisting their messengers’ arms to work for Speedy, even threatening them and their families. But that’s a rumor too. As far as I know, it hasn’t happened to any of my boys, yet. But then, they’re older and better able to take care of themselves.

  “Besides, I think they have a different attack plan for Hasty Messenger. I am sure Speedy’s behind the rowdies hanging about outside the office here. They turned up right after Speedy went into business. Their antics; yelling, fighting, gambling and the like are scaring my walk-in customers away. Who wants to walk through that mess? You saw it today. Davey said you stopped their attack on a Chinese man. He said you cracked their heads together. That must have been something to see.”

  “What makes you think Speedy’s behind that?”

  “Quite a few things. The timing’s one. Also, one of the regular rowdies outside in the street used to work for me before I fired him. My fellows say he now carries messages for Speedy when he’s not out front of our place raising a ruckus. And, someone told the Oregonian reporter that it’s my messengers who are causing the problem. That’s a bald-faced lie. I don’t allow them to wait out in the street for their assignments. They have to wait in that room, right outside this office door. Those are some of the reasons why I’m sure Speedy is behind my troubles.”

  “The Speedy company sounds all-around nasty. You have any suggestions on what I should do if I want to get a job there?” Sage asked.

  “Look desperate and like you’re willing to do anything. Tell them you know the city well and that you want to work nights. They’ll snatch you up,” Hayes said.

  As they got up to leave and were shaking hands, Hayes said, “I don’t know whose money is behind the Speedy company but I do know one thing.”

  “What’s that?” Sage said.

  “You best be mighty darn careful. Cracking rowdy boys’ heads together is one thing. Going up against conniving men is another thing altogether.”

    

  They’d hatched the plan in Sage’s upstairs bedroom after he had said, “We don’t have a lot of time to find Glad. The longer we take, the more dangerous it is for him. My gut tells me the brother knows something. And, I have to agree with Lucinda, I don’t think Glad is locked away in that eastside house.”

  Mae cocked her head and asked, “Does it even matter whether he’s there or not?”

  Sage’s eyebrows pulled together. “What do you mean? Sure, it matters. We’re trying to find him.”

  He caught a look passing between Mae and Fong. “What?” he demanded, irritated at their wordless communication. They were always doing that.

  Fong spoke, “Think, Mr. Sage. If Glad not in house, who is in house?”

  “Other kids . . . oh heck,” Sage said, finally catching Mae’s point. “You’re right. Last time I waited a whole year before acting and I’ll always regret that delay.” He had rashly promised an old man that he’d close the house only to be later overwhelmed by guilt when he learned that the old man died before Sage delivered on his promise. Not again.

  “Actually,” he began, “we just don’t have the time to sit outside the house on the off chance Glad will step out the door. If he is being held there, they’ll never let him out on his own.”

  “How about we be criminals?” Fong suggested.

  “What do you mean?” Sage asked, though he had a good idea of where Fong was heading.

  “We raid house and take kids and customers’ money to feed kids.”

  Sage felt compelled to argue against the plan since Mae was looking interested rather than getting ready to object. “We’d get caught. Where would we take them?”

  “We do it right. Wear masks. Surprise on our side. For sure, they not call police on us. Trumbull lady know where to take kids.”

  Sage quickly gave in. After all, sitting outside that house during wintertime was unlikely to yield anything more than pneumonia. Crashing in and searching the place was the quickest way to determine whether Glad was there. And, the bonus would be rescuing all the children.

  So, here they were about to carry out the scheme. Mae had met with Millie Trumbull to figure out where to take the children. It turned out that Millie Trumbull sat on the board of the Boys and Girls Aid Society. The Society housed orphans and children sent to it by the court. Millie had agreed to arrange for the Society to receive the children.

  They’d rented a covered moving van devoid of any markings. Now it was midnight and they were rolling through the moonless night behind two sturdy horses. There were just the four of them—Fong to drive and raid the house with Sage, Mae, and Lucinda riding inside the van, ready to reassure the rescued children and make them presentable for the Society. It wouldn’t do for the Society’s other wards to guess where these children had come from. To that end, loose pants, shirts, and sweaters were waiting for them once they climbed aboard the van.

  Fong pulled to the curb half a block away from the house. It was a run-down Victorian with scalloped shingles and turned porch pillars. Sage and Fong jumped on to the boardwalk while Lucinda and Mae crawled out of the back to hold the horses. The women were unrecognizable. Poke bonnets hid their faces while long black coats did the same for their figures.

  Sage and Fong’s tattered black dusters reached their shins and they wore flop-brimmed hats and kerchiefs around their necks. After checking to make sure the street was empty, they strode up to the house’s front door and pulled the kerchiefs up to their eyes. Fong would stay silent—his accent being too pronounced.

  This time, they were the ones shoving their way inside. “What the hell—” was all the small man who opened the door got out before Sage’s raised pistol silenced him.

  “We don’t want to hurt anyone,” Sage told the man whose mouth opened and closed like a beached fish’s. “But we’re taking the kids. Wh
ere are they?”

  The man pointed up the stairs. Sage glanced into the front parlor. Empty. He grabbed the man’s arm and steered him toward the stairs. “We’re keeping you with us, so don’t try anything,” he told the man.

  The three of them climbed the narrow stairs. Only a single gas flame lit the narrow, upstairs hallway. Spaced along it were five closed doors and a sixth that opened into a bathing room.

  Sage gestured with his gun at the first closed door. “Open it,” he ordered. The man looked like he wanted to protest but a well-placed gun barrel prod squelched that idea. He opened the door on the expected scene.

  The boy was young, somewhere around ten or so. He scrambled into a far corner and silently began pulling on his clothes—his wide-eyed stare missing nothing.

  Fong slid past Sage and held out an open cloth bag to the adult male in the room.

  “Put all your cash in that bag,” Sage ordered. “Don’t bother with your watch or other valuables. We only want your cash—coins and paper.”

  The man fished in the pockets of the trousers that lay pooled around his feet. Coming up with a wad of cash he dropped it in the bag. The boy remained silent. Sage looked in his direction and said, “We’re here to help you. Go with my friend here. We’re taking you to a safe place.”

  When the boy hesitated, Fong stepped to him, seized his elbow and steered him from the room. Their soft steps descended the stairs followed by the sound of the front door opening.