by S. L. Stoner
Sage turned to Terry. “So, what we need you to do is identify the man you saw at Clark’s. We expect him to come out of the elevator.”
Terry’s face screwed up. “How do you know he’s going to come out of the elevator? We could sit here all night waiting for him. I want to see my brother. I need to see Glad.”
“Shh, Terry. The man will be down momentarily. Right after Vera Clark gets here.”
Even as he spoke, Hanke and Millie straightened in their chairs as a cold draft hit the back of Sage’s neck. “She’s here, isn’t she?” he said without turning around.
“Right on time, that one,” Hanke said. “She’s come in from Broadway. She’s heading for the reception desk, speaking to the clerk and now he’s picking up the house phone.” Hanke glanced around, giving an imperceptible nod at a man who stood perusing newspaper headlines at the lobby newsstand and another to the man quietly smoking a cigar near the hotel’s Washington Street exit.
Mae and Millie rose to their feet and began wandering the lobby, making a show of admiring the décor, the ceiling’s stucco whorls and the various paintings on its walls. Slowly they drifted in Clark’s direction. She’d taken a seat near the piano, screened by a row of potted palms. Mae and Millie settled into a conversational seating just beyond the palms where Russell was already waiting, his new camera concealed in a bag.
Sage pulled the boy closer to him. “Get ready, Terry. Lean against me and tuck your face behind my arm so neither one of them will recognize you. We don’t want to take any chances.” Terry pressed close and Sage felt the boy trembling, though whether from excitement or fear, he couldn’t tell.
For seemingly endless moments a breathless stillness filled the lobby, each person having a role in the silent tableau of those who waited and watched. Hanke and Sage stared silently at each other until a soft ping cut through the silence, signaling the arrival of an elevator car. Both men straightened in their chairs as the ornate bronze doors slid open and a well-dressed man stepped out.
Sage stiffened at the same time Terry hissed, “That’s him.” Sage quickly averted his face because there was a chance the man would find it odd to see Mozart’s owner in the lobby.
He needn’t have worried. The newcomer didn’t glance around as he stalked over to Clark, anger stiff in every line of his body. He loomed over her and quickly spat out something that sent her fishing in her handbag.
Hanke and Sage exchanged a look. This was it. Sage whispered to Terry, “Stay here.” Both men moved quickly, Sage heading for the Broadway door, Hanke to admire a flower arrangement decorating a table in mid-lobby.
Clark thrust a paper at the man who read it, crushed it and threw it in her face. Then he froze as realization washed over him. He slowly turned to survey the lobby. When his eyes met Sage’s, Sage winked.
That was all it took. The man exploded into action, running for a door just beyond the piano. He was only a few strides away from it when Russell’s camera flashed and he stumbled. Mae stepped out from behind a palm. With a two-handed shove, Sage’s mother sent the flash-disoriented felon crashing to the floor.
Vera Clark, meanwhile, jumped up and ran for the Broadway exit, holding her skirts far higher than considered respectable in such an upscale establishment. Sage and the other policeman moved forward to block the door. She halted a few feet away and looked frantically around the lobby for another escape route.
“Don’t even think about it, Miss Clark. Every exit is covered,” said the officer who moved forward, whirled her around and snapped steel bracelets on her wrists.
Across the lobby, Hanke was pulling a manacled Ambrose Abernathy to his feet. Once everyone was gathered in the lobby’s center, the camera’s flash popped again and again. Sage cast a look at the reception desk. The arrests had happened so fast that the manager was still immobile, his mouth frozen in a shocked “o”.
Though surrounded by three policemen, Mae, Millie, Sage and Terry, the two criminals only had eyes for each other. “You stupid bitch. If not for you, they wouldn’t be here,” snarled Abernathy.
“Don’t think I’m taking the blame for what you ordered done,” she snapped back and followed her words with a wad of spit that landed on his chin and dribbled down onto his ornate vest. She turned to Hanke, ‘Every single thing was Abernathy’s idea. He told us what to do. He ordered the kidnappings and Jasper’s murder. I didn’t have nothing to do with none of it. He made me do it. And, Willard killed Jasper, not me.”
“‘Jasper’? Who’s Jasper?” Sage had never heard that name.
His question turned her eyes toward him and her mouth fell open in surprise. “Why, you’re the messenger. What are you—” Her glance fell on Terry and the fear on her face tightened into anger. “You little shit. You did this, didn’t you?” She made as if to charge at him but Terry stood his ground. “You’ll pay,” he promised. “You’ll pay for every single thing you did.”
Hanke grinned and turned to his two men. “Take them to the station but keep them separated. I’ll be along in a tick.”
Once the prisoners were gone, Hanke turned to Mae. “Thanks to your shove, we caught him. I missed covering that door. What did you two ladies hear them say?”
Millie waved a small pocket notebook. “At last, I found a use for that shorthand they made me take.” She glanced down and read:
“He said, ‘You stupid woman, I told you never to come here. You stick out like a sore thumb’.”
“She said: ‘What do you mean? You told me to come here’.”
“He said, ‘Ridiculous. That opium crap has you imagining things’.”
“Then Clark dug around in her purse and held out the note,” Millie said. “There was silence as he read it and then he said, ‘Oh my God, they’re on to us’.” Then he threw it at her and took off running and so did she.”
“You’ll testify to all that, Mrs. Trumbull?” Hanke asked.
She gave him a wide smile, her big brown eyes twinkling. “Why, I would be delighted to, Sergeant Hanke.”
This exchange came to an abrupt halt as the entrance door flew open and an intent Matthew strode swiftly up to them. He grabbed Sage’s elbow and pulled him aside. “Mr. Eich says the Willard fellow must have taken Miss Lucinda into the underground. We need to meet him and Mr. Fong at Clark’s house pronto quick.”
Twenty Nine
They’d been standing in a basement for at least fifteen minutes when light began glowing in the distance. Willard quickly twisted his lantern off and pulled her into a corner. His arm gripped her around the waist, holding her against him as he pressed a dirty hand tight across her mouth. She began struggling until he moved the meaty hand to cover her nose as well. Only when she’d quieted did he let her breathe again.
Eyes wide, she watched the light brighten. This was it. Her one chance. She prayed those coming were Fong or his cousins. Willard would stand no chance against Fong, she was certain of that. She reached up, pried feebly at Willard’s hand and then let her prying hand drift down to her bodice. With trembling fingers, she fished for the hatpin. Once she gripped its steely stem, she held it tight and waited.
This is it. I’ll just have one chance, she thought and took a slow, deep breath through her nose. As she did so, Sage’s face filled her mind, his dark blue eyes warm with approval. Feeling strong, she tightened her grip and stabbed at the hand across her mouth, trying to drive the pin straight through it.
Willard roared and flung her aside. She caught her balance, lifted her skirts and ran, leaving the pin behind, certain she’d plunged it deep into the brute’s hand. “Good, that’ll take him a bit to recover,” she murmured even as she ran towards the light.
Just as she passed through an arch in a basement wall, Willard roared, “Grab her!” When those words penetrated, Lucinda halted and stared at the two men she could now see. Scruffy, gap-toothed white men, they stared back at her. Realization
struck. These were no rescuers. These two were the men Willard had been waiting for. Shanghaiers.
Lucinda whirled and ran back the way she’d come, straight past the corner where Willard stood cursing. The two men must have finally jumped into action because the light behind her bounced and grew, sending her shadow far ahead and lighting up the entrance to the Burnside Street tunnel. Five steps inside and the light vanished. Her fingers groped for the brick sidewall and used its damp surface to guide her forward.
The darkness lasted mere seconds because her three pursuers were close on her heels with their two lanterns held high. She ran faster not thinking about what she’d do when she reached the other end. About midway under the street, she started screaming, “Help, help!” and ran faster.
Suddenly her wall was gone and she stumbled into another basement. Strong hands grabbed her by the waist and jerked her to one side. Startled all she could do was gasp and fill her lungs to let loose another scream. “Shh, you’re safe now Lucinda, sweetheart,” whispered a familiar voice in her ear.
She froze, not believing what she’d just heard. “Sage?”
The hands turned her around and pressed her against an equally familiar chest. Squeezed tight, surrounded by the smell of him, “Sage,” she said again and hugged him back with every bit of strength she had left. For a minute, they just stood there, both awash with relief.
Another familiar voice spoke in the darkness. “Better move out of way. Maybe hug later.”
Sage reacted quickly, pulling her against a nearby wall. “Stay right here,” he said, “This will be over in a minute, you’ll see.”
“Sage, that boss is the new lawyer, Abernathy. He’s the one I had to throw out of my house so I recognized him when he went into Vera’s house,” she whispered.
Sage patted her arm. “Hanke’s arrested him,” he whispered in return.
“Quit your bitching. You ain’t gonna be late getting back to the ship,” came the muffled voice of a man.
“Willard has a gun in his back pocket,” Lucinda whispered.
An advancing light entered the tunnel. In its faint glow, Lucinda saw her rescuers: Sage, Eich, Fong, Hanke, and two of his uniformed officers stood waiting on either side of the tunnel entrance.
Willard’s high pitched haranguing came ever nearer and clearer. “Don’t blame me. I told you this was a stupid way to deliver her. A carriage would have been better but, oh, no, you wanted me to drag her around down here.”
There was a muted answer and Willard responded, “Where the hell can she go with no light? We’ll corner her. I saved her hat pin just so’s I can return it to her the same way she gave it to me, with interest.”
Even knowing she was safe, his threat sent a chill skittering up Lucinda’s spine. She held her breath as Willard stepped out of the tunnel and into the basement with the two other men close behind. Ten steps in, just as Willard raised his lantern to search for her, Hanke shouted, “Police! Halt!” and rushed forward.
With remarkable speed, the two shanghaiers turned tail and ran back the way they’d come. Hanke opened his lantern’s shutter as he and his men gave chase.
That left Willard who stood rooted, staring at the small Chinese man and the larger white man who were cautiously advancing on him. In an explosive movement, he threw his lantern at them. The basement went black until Eich, standing in front of Lucinda, opened the shutter on his lantern.
In that dim light, the action began. Willard waded forward like a big bear, his arms wide. Fong glanced at Sage. “You want it quick or you want to play?” he asked.
Sage glanced at Lucinda, took in her muddy dress, filthy hair and face and said, “Quick” as he stepped back. Fong grinned and sidled forward.
Now it was Eich who put an arm around Lucinda and pulled her close, as if to shelter her from the sight of violence. She pushed his arm away and stepped so she could watch, “No, no. I don’t want to miss a single minute of this. I might learn something,” she said.
He chuckled. “No wonder Mae is so fond of you. You could be her daughter.” His words instantly blurred her vision.
She blinked rapidly, not wanting to miss seeing the small Chinese man in action. Fong stepped toward the hulking Willard. In a flash, Fong’s head and shoulders went down and to the side, even as his foot connected with Willard’s chin. The big man staggered back.
Willard snatched up a loose brick and charged forward with the brick raised. Fong stepped in, grabbed the wrist of the hand holding the brick and effortlessly flipped it to the side. The brick flew through the air and landed at Lucinda’s feet.
Seconds later Fong sent Willard staggering back again, nearly into Lucinda who shoved him forward with both hands. As Willard flailed for balance, his hand groped for the gun butt sticking up from his waistband.
In an instant, Lucinda had picked up the brick and jumped forward. “Oh, no you don’t!" she exclaimed and brought it down on the back of Willard’s head. The big man’s knees buckled and he collapsed face-first in the dirt, a small gun lying inches from his hand.
Wordlessly, the three men turned to look at her, astonishment on their faces.
“You said you wanted ‘quick.’ Besides, I owed him,” she said. She dropped the brick and dusted her hands together, a smug smile on her face.
They chuckled and Sage stepped forward. Lifting her in his arms he hugged her so tight it hurt. When he set her down, he whispered in her ear, “That’s my girl but, whew, you could maybe benefit from a bath.”
She responded by punching his arm in the exact spot where Mae always punched him.
Whines and curses echoed from the tunnel down which the two shanghaiers had fled, cutting short their playful exchange. Hanke and his men emerged, the officers tightly gripping two handcuffed men.
“You caught them!” Sage exclaimed.
Hanke shook his head. “Nah, Fong’s men caught them and delivered them right to us. Soon as we handcuffed these rapscallions, the Chinamen disappeared.” He turned to Fong, “Thank them for us, will you?”
Lucinda looked at Willard who’d begun to stir. “You better cuff him as well. He and Vera Clark are responsible for the death of a little boy named Dougie Spencer. And, he also murdered someone else. I suspect it was the cabbie who drove me around before they locked me in Vera’s cellar.”
She turned to Sage and asked the question she feared most to ask, “The little boy, Glad?”
He grinned at her. “He’s safe and sound. He’s the reason we found you.” At those words, she burst into tears and he again wrapped his arms around her.
Thirty
“What did they hope to accomplish? I don’t understand it,” Mae asked as they sat around a large table in Mozart’s empty dining room. It was another traditional wrap up of their adventure. Each time, the group seemed to grow larger. Sage, Mae, Fong and his wife Kum Ho had always attended, but their group had grown to include Eich, Hanke, Lucinda, and Matthew. And tonight, there were two more additions: Millie Trumbull and Meachum.
“Some east coast investors wanted to create a national messenger service to rival and eventually takeover ADT, the American District Telegraph company. Abernathy told them he could make that happen. As it turns out, Portland was their test case,” Hanke said.
“He told you that?” Sage was mystified.
Hanke shrugged. “Well, it took some piecing together but Vera Clark’s running her mouth off. She’s terrified of the noose. When I confronted him with the scheme, he didn’t deny it.”
“What’s going to happen to Vera Clark?” This question came from Lucinda and held no animosity.
“She tried to distance herself from Dougie Spencer’s and that cabbie, Jasper’s, murders but once that hulk, Willard, realized she was going to abandon him, he talked a blue streak. Like Glad thought, they didn’t intend Dougie Spencer’s death. The boy just tripped on the stairs and the fall
broke his neck. But, they are still are responsible since they tied his hands so that he couldn’t catch himself when he fell.”
Hanke drank deeply of beer and continued, “The cabbie is a different matter. Your surprise visit to his room unnerved him. He went straight to Abernathy and demanded money to leave town. Evidently, he was too greedy. Abernathy agreed to pay but arranged to meet him on the Couch Street dock. When Jasper got there, Willard met him instead. According to Willard, the order came from Vera. She, of course, claims Abernathy ordered the murder. Still, she might not hang since she’s been cooperative about giving evidence against Abernathy and Willard but she’ll be a guest in the women’s prison for many years to come.”
“What about those two fellows they caught in Redding?” Sage asked.
“They’re residing at the Portland City jail. They’ve admitted to being the strong-arm part of Abernathy’s takeover plot but they insist and, there’s no evidence to the contrary, that they had nothing to do with the kidnappings or murders.
Hanke lifted his glass in a salute to Millie Trumbull. “They do admit to attacking your photographer, Mrs. Trumbull. And they also confessed to engineering those little disturbances outside Jeff Hayes’s, Hasty Messenger office. We’ll charge them with those crimes. Since they’ve both agreed to testify against Abernathy, Clark, and Willard, the prosecutor will recommend leniency.”
Millie straightened in her chair. “I’ve spoken to my fellow members on the local Child Labor Committee. We plan to use this incident to push the City into drafting an ordinance forbidding children under sixteen from entering in brothels, saloons, gambling dens, and other disreputable places. If he’s willing, I’m hoping Terry Tobias will testify before the Common Council as to what he saw in those places when he worked for Speedy Messenger.”
“Speaking of Speedy, what happened to Prang and Kimble, the fellows running Speedy?” Sage asked.