With that he left, and Henry could only sit, staring at the door. He’d never anticipated Murdock’s distrust. After all, it was his office that had taken care of all their business dealings. It was by his willingness that Caleb had represented Patrick in court. How could Murdock doubt that Henry was just as eager to find Caleb as he was?
Henry picked up the ledger and turned it over and over. Murdock made a good point regarding the book, however. He needed to make sure it remained safe. He got up, thinking to put it in his wall safe where he’d put the ten thousand dollars, then changed his mind. He walked to the bookcase and moved a bookend that held his prized first edition commentaries by Blackstone. The set had been a gift from his wife a decade earlier. The ledger was about the same size and very nearly the same outer binding as the other volumes. At a glance, no one would notice the book wasn’t a part of the set.
He put the ledger between the commentaries, then re-secured the bookend. He stood back to survey the shelf. It looked good enough to fool most prying eyes.
He’d no sooner done this and returned to his desk, however, than he heard someone enter the outer office. Perhaps Murdock had come back to apologize.
But when the door opened, it wasn’t Murdock. Instead a seedy-looking character entered with a revolver pointed at Henry’s midsection.
“I’ve come to get the goods Coulter had on the boss,” the man growled.
Henry shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. What boss? What goods? Do I represent his company?” He gave the pretense of checking his appointment book. “I don’t have anything in my book that suggests we were to meet this evening.”
The man crossed the distance from the door to the desk in three long strides. He leaned across the desk and pressed the gun into Henry’s chest. “Don’t play dumb with me. Boss Ruef says your boy Coulter was looking to ruin him. Your boy has some sort of evidence, and the boss wants it back.”
“If my employee took something from Mr. Ruef, how should I know about it? Coulter’s been missing since the end of August. It’s now December. Whatever papers Mr. Ruef is seeking are most likely with Mr. Coulter. And I have no clue where he might be.”
The man grunted and without warning hit Henry against the temple with his gun. The pain was intense, and for a moment Henry saw stars.
“The boss said to tell you that if you don’t hand the papers over, along with his money, then I can kill you.”
Henry found himself hoping Patrick Murdock might return for some reason. The big Irishman was intimidating and would no doubt strike a bit of fear into the smaller thug.
“Where is it?” the man demanded.
“I don’t know.” Henry put his hand to his head and pulled it away sticky with blood. He stared at his hand for a moment. Would this man really kill him? “Tell me something.” Henry pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his hand. “Did your boss kill Caleb Coulter?”
The thug grinned and shrugged. “He ain’t telling me if he did. But then, I know better than to stick my nose into business what ain’t mine. What is my business, is that you give me what I came for.”
“But I don’t have it. Look around my office if you don’t believe me.” Henry remembered what Patrick had said about Caleb’s office being ransacked. “Tear it to pieces like you did Coulter’s study at home.”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll give it a good going-over after I give one to you.” He came around the desk and yanked Henry to his feet.
Dizzy from the blow to his head, Henry fought to remain upright. “You can do what you will, but I honestly do not know where your boss’s papers are. I’ve never seen them and didn’t even know they existed until tonight.”
The hoodlum punched Henry in the stomach. The blow knocked the wind out of him, and Henry’s knees buckled. For the oddest reason, he found himself thinking of a conversation he’d had with Caleb shortly after he’d come to work for him. Henry had found Caleb reading his Bible over lunch and asked him why.
“Because I want to know God,” Caleb had said, smiling. “That way, when I go to meet Him, there won’t be any doubt in my mind as to who He is. And in the meantime, I’ll be able to tell other folks about Him so they can know Him too.”
Caleb’s faith had helped Henry come back from his dark despair over losing his wife. It had helped put Henry back on a more positive path. He’d returned to church not long after that and from time to time shared Caleb’s noontime Bible study.
Henry looked up to find the man once again pointing his revolver. “This is your last chance, old man. Give me those papers and the money.”
Strangely enough, a peace washed over Henry, and a smile came to his lips. “I can’t give you what I don’t have.”
Patrick arrived home to find Liam sitting by the door of his apartment. “And why would ye be waitin’ out here?”
Liam got to his feet and dusted off his threadbare pants. “Your landlady said Ophelia was sleepin’. I didn’t want to bother her, knowin’ that she’s sick.”
Patrick nodded. “’Twas considerate of ye, but come on inside.” He unlocked the door and ushered Liam in. “Just let me go check on her, and I’ll be back.”
He tossed aside his hat and coat and made his way to the bedroom. Someone had lit the bedside lamp and turned it low. Patrick could see his sister’s pale face in the glow. For a moment he feared she was gone, but her ragged breathing told him otherwise. He turned from the room, leaving the door open in case she called to him.
Liam stood beside the window, looking out into the night. “Were ye workin’ late?”
“No. I was called to a meetin’ with Caleb Coulter’s employer. ’Twas rather strange, to be sure. I’ve never really known if I could trust him.”
“’Tis a hard thing to know who can be trusted in this town.”
“Aye.” Patrick eyed his friend. “But for sure ye didn’t come all this way to be talkin’ about that.”
Liam chuckled. “No, for sure I didn’t. Ye need to go see Malcolm Daniels at his dance hall. My friend’s brother, Sean Gallagher, will introduce ye. Daniels is looking for a few strong-armed men to keep his customers in line. Sean’s brother Bert said there was a ruckus that ended with a couple of Daniels’ trusted men being killed, so he’s lookin’ to replace ’em.”
“When am I supposed to go around?”
“Tonight wouldn’t hurt none.”
Patrick glanced at the clock. “’Tis nearly eight o’clock. I suppose I could go. I hate leavin’ Ophelia again, but I know she’ll understand. She wants Caleb to be found as much as I do.”
“I’ll walk ye part of the way,” Liam offered. “It’s on me way home.”
“Let me go speak to Ophelia first, and then we can go.”
Patrick went back to the bedroom and pulled up a chair he kept for just such talks. “Ophelia, darlin’, wake up.”
She stirred but didn’t open her eyes.
Patrick put his hand on her shoulder and gave a gentle shake. “Ophelia.”
This time she opened her eyes, and when she realized who called to her, she smiled. “Paddy, ’tis good to see ye.” Her voice was but a whisper.
“I have to go again, but I wanted to talk with ye first. I have to check somethin’ out, and I don’t know how long I’ll be gone.”
“Is it about Caleb?”
“Aye. I’ve had some word from Liam. He’s got me a possible job at the place where Caleb was last known to go.”
Ophelia nodded. “Then ye must be about it. I’ll wait up for ye.”
“No, ye need to sleep.”
She smiled and reached out to touch Patrick’s hand. “I’ll not be needin’ it much longer. Now go on with ye and find our Caleb.”
Patrick covered her hand with his. He didn’t want to leave her. The doctor had already said she could go at any time. Her heart was weak and her lungs congested. She didn’t even have the strength to cough, and the pain that coursed through her body was evident in her pale blu
e eyes.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He lifted her hand to his cheek.
“I’ll be here,” she said, her voice barely audible.
“See that ye are.” He let go of her hand and tucked her arm back under the covers.
Sorrow threatened to hold him in place, but Patrick knew he had to leave—had to see Daniels. He hated the very idea of working in such a vile place, but if there was even a remote chance of finding Caleb, then he had to try.
CHAPTER
17
The walk to Daniels’ Dance Hall was damp and chilly. Patrick pulled up the collar to his coat and wished he’d thought to bring along the scarf Ophelia had knitted him last year. Once Liam parted ways for the warmth of his house, Patrick couldn’t stop thinking about how cold he was and how much he longed to be home . . . or sitting by a fire with Camri.
He hurried his steps once he turned onto Pacific Street and made his way deeper into the seediest and vilest part of San Francisco. It was here, in what was called the Barbary Coast, that a man could pay and receive most anything he might dream up. Posters were plastered on the walls, advertising a variety of entertaining acts. Some were such that audience participation was even encouraged. All were of a perverted nature.
As he continued toward Daniels’ place, the crowds thickened. Men from various walks of life seemed anxious to spend their money and piled into one place or another. Music spilled out into the street from the various dance halls where women known as “pretty waiter girls” enticed men to drink and dance until the wee hours of the morning.
Patrick averted his eyes as he passed by dance halls and saloons where scantily clad soiled doves called out with crude invitations. He could remember his mother’s warnings about such forms of sin.
“Paddy, ye ne’er wanna be found in such places, doin’ such deeds. ’Tis a sorrow to yer Heavenly Father’s heart to see His creation so sadly used. Just remember, it could be yer own sister forced to live such a life. Those poor souls are someone’s daughters and sisters. Ye treat them with respect, and if I ever catch wind that ye went to those places for so much as a drink of whiskey, I’ll wear off your backside with a switch.”
He smiled. She would have done it too, even though at eighteen he was a man full-grown and towered over her petite frame by at least twelve inches.
Red lights lit up the sign that beckoned entry to Daniels’ Dance Hall. Patrick made his way to the door and the ham-fisted man who stood outside with two women who looked far older than their years. One of them immediately opened her robe to reveal herself to Patrick.
He quickly looked at the bouncer. “I’m lookin’ for Malcolm Daniels or Sean Gallagher.”
“And who might ye be, friend?”
“Name’s Patrick Murdock. I’ve come for a job.”
The man looked him up and down, then nodded. “Aye, ye’ll do nicely.” He extended his hand. “I’m Sean Gallagher.”
Patrick returned Gallagher’s firm handshake and waited for him to make the next move. It didn’t take long.
Gallagher gave the girls a nod. “Won’t be but a second. Don’t be givin’ too many favors for free.”
He headed inside the dance hall, where a tinny piano and four-piece brass band fought to outdo the drummer, who pounded out a beat as if leading troops to war. The room was filled with smoke and the odor of unwashed bodies and whiskey. A few tables were set up against the wall opposite the bar, but most of the crowd was on the dance floor.
Gallagher led Patrick through the room at a quick pace, but not quick enough. Patrick was appalled at the way the women were dressed and equally disgusted by the way their dance partners groped them. With such displays given so casually, he could only imagine what happened behind closed doors. How could he possibly work in a place like this, knowing what was going on?
“It’s just this way,” Gallagher said, pushing open a door. Patrick’s eyes adjusted to a dimly lit hallway just as Gallagher opened another door farther down the corridor.
“Mr. Daniels, here’s the man I told you about. Patrick Murdock.”
Patrick met the older man’s gaze. Malcolm Daniels was no stranger to a hard life. His face bore scars from previous battles, and his large nose looked to have been broken on more than one occasion.
“Get on back to work, Sean. Murdock, take a seat.” Daniels motioned to the well-worn leather chair that sat in front of his desk.
Patrick said nothing and did as he was told. He kept a keen eye on Daniels, however, even as he pretended to glance around the small room.
“Sean tells me you’re looking for work,” Daniels began.
“Aye.” Patrick saw no need to add to his reply and said nothing more. He did fix Daniels with a stern gaze, however.
The older man’s eyes narrowed. “Why did you come to me?”
“A friend knows Sean’s brother and told me ye might be lookin’ to hire a man or two.”
“I might. Can you fight?”
This actually made Patrick smile. “Aye. I used to do it for money. And before ye ask, yes—I won. Ne’er lost a single bout.”
“Never?”
Patrick shook his head. “Never.”
“So why’d you quit? Seems you could be making money doing that.”
Patrick stood. “Seems that would be my business. If ye’re not lookin’ to hire, then I won’t be takin’ up yer time.”
“Sit down, Mr. Murdock. I’m still looking to hire, but it’s my business to know your business. I need a man who can handle himself in a crowd of drunken sailors and riffraff. The men who come in here can be real brutes, and I won’t have them hurting my girls.” He laughed and added, “Not unless they pay extra.”
“So what is it ye’d be wantin’ me to do?”
“Keep the peace and break up the fights. If a fellow gets out of hand, it’ll be your job to straighten him out. I need someone on the dance floor at all times. Do a good job, and you might find some bonus work sent your way.”
“Bonus work? What kind of bonus work?”
“Right now, that’s not important. Do your job, and we’ll talk about it again.”
“So does that mean ye’ll be hirin’ me?” Patrick rubbed his sweaty palms against his pants. He hadn’t realized until that moment just how nervous he was about this encounter.
“I’m willing to give you a try. I’ll need you every night from six to six. You can start right away . . . tonight.”
“No, I can’t.”
Daniels looked at him angrily and growled, “What?”
“My sister is dying. She has just hours . . . days, at the most. I cannot come to work for ye until she passes.”
The rough man’s expression softened. “I am sorry. Of course, you can wait.”
Perhaps he had recently lost someone himself. Patrick didn’t much care why he’d suddenly struck a sympathetic note with the otherwise heartless man, but he was grateful.
Daniels regained his fierce scowl. “Can you handle a gun?”
“If I have to.”
Daniels nodded. “Good. I keep some revolvers here. It doesn’t hurt to let the customers know that my peacekeepers are armed.” He got up and headed for the door. “I’ll show you a few things, then you can go.”
Patrick followed him from the room.
Daniels pointed down the hall. “These are rooms for private card games.” He led Patrick down the corridor and motioned to his left when they came to the end. “This door goes upstairs to the girls’ rooms.”
Patrick looked at the closed door. “Does someone stand guard here?”
Daniels shook his head. “Not generally, although on occasion they do. The men have an incentive to behave themselves. They have to leave their wallets with the barkeep until their business is done. The girls are strict timekeepers, and if the men cause problems, they have a buzzer they can ring for help.” He turned to the door on his right and opened it. “This goes down to the storage room where we keep the liquor.” He turned on the light and st
arted down the steps.
Patrick followed without comment. There didn’t seem to be any good reason to speak, so he remained silent. At this point, it was more beneficial to be aware of his surroundings.
“If you’re asked to fetch a case of something, you’ll come here.” Daniels stepped aside and let Patrick survey the large open room. The walls were lined with crates bearing the names of various liquors.
Patrick heard the sound of water lapping but didn’t pose the question on his mind. Instead he let Daniels continue the tour.
“We’ve got a supply of household things back in this room. Towels, bedding, and such. It don’t amount to all that much, but we try to run a clean establishment. There’s extra glasses and mugs back here too.” He opened the second door far enough for Patrick to get a look.
Daniels pulled the door closed and proceeded across the room to another door. “This is our receiving room.” For this he pulled out a key and unlocked the door.
Patrick entered the room behind Daniels. The smell of filth and water mingled, and Patrick understood the sounds he’d been hearing. It was often said that many of the Barbary Coast establishments were built over water inlets and creeks that led into the bay. Daniels’ place was clearly one of them.
“We get our supplies of liquor through here as well as anything else we need.” Daniels smiled. “Send things out this way too.”
Patrick tried not to appear very interested, but by his estimate, they were directly under the saloon. He surveyed the docking area at the water’s edge and then looked back across the room where bales of hay were spread out. He glanced upward. There were telltale signs overhead of trapdoors. Men like Daniels would have the barkeeper slip something in the drink of a man who looked able-bodied. As the customer began to lose consciousness, a trapdoor could be used to drop the man here. A spring mechanism would quickly pop the door back in place before any of the other drunks even noticed.
In Places Hidden Page 15