Okay.
Casey might want to put taxpayer money into his own pocket. Welcome to California.
After their meeting, King walked down the street toward his office, running this new information into printed lines in his mind. He wouldn't actually write anything before Monday morning. He didn't like working on Sunday, but he needed to visit the paper to check on the new kid, Billy Cahill, sent over by Count Mike.
Warren, their printer, had been teaching him to set type. He'd already said the kid was plenty bright, picking it up right away. He had to be bright. The count had only been teaching him to read and write for less than a year. Now he could read backward and set type.
King walked into the front office and the kid smiled over the top of the press, always friendly. Warren handed King the daily edition and King went into his office to read Warren's clean, flawless print.
King set the paper down and leaned back, watching the press room through a large plate-glass window.
Billy Cahill shut down the press and helped Warren fold and stack, getting that evening's edition ready for the street. Billy had more enthusiasm for the news business than anybody King had ever hired. He was a natural newspaper man.
King jotted down some notes from his meeting with the alderman, left his office, and took a taxi up to the mining exchange for a meeting with Coleman. Since Charles Cora's trial for killing Marshal Richardson wound up in a hung jury, possibilities of payoffs and witness tampering had been debated at nearly every street corner. Fearing anarchy, Coleman had called meetings to build support for the reactivation of the Committee of Vigilance.
In 1851, Coleman, King, and others had formed the first Committee of Vigilance to roust out the Sydney Ducks, a bunch of thugs and convicts from Australia. Some had called them Regulators or Hounds. They'd roamed the streets of San Francisco at will, victimizing local citizens and setting fires to any business that refused to pay protection.
After hanging some of the worst and deporting others, the city had so cleaned up that King had been able to bring his wife and kids from Washington, D.C. on one of Coleman's steam ships.
More recently, a crowd of Irish immigrants had formed the Law and Order Party and taken over the local government. Now crime was again on the rise.
The main entrance to the mining exchange was closed on Sundays, but the door at the west end was open, as promised.
King took the narrow stair to the second floor, where about a dozen well-dressed citizens stood in the hall, waiting to be called in by Coleman.
Francis Dillard, one of Coleman's assistants, recognized King and motioned him to come forward, speaking low. "He's got Downey in there. Go on in." Dillard opened the door, King entered and the door closed behind him.
John Downey nodded hello from a stuffed chair in front of Coleman's desk. Coleman stood and walked around to shake hands. "Sorry to ask you over today. I know you like to spend Sundays with your family, but John needs to leave for Sacramento tomorrow morning." He glanced at Downey. "We both thought you should be in on this."
"John." King extended his hand.
"Jim." Downey stood, shook hands, and sat back down. There were no smiles.
King sat in a third chair.
Coleman circled his desk, sat, and asked Downey, "Where were we?"
"I was talking about our mealy-mouthed governor, J. Mealy Johnson."
The governor's middle name was Neely. King hadn't voted for him.
"He's with the American Party. I have no idea what he might do. If he was a Democrat, at least we'd know we've got a fight on our hands. There's no telling, with this mealy-mouthed scoundrel. Calls himself independent."
King knew they'd been discussing a new Committee of Vigilance. "I don't think there's enough public support for another committee. Not yet, anyway. The Bulletin's been writing about the Cora trial, all the rumors of corruption and bribes, but Charlie and Belle Cora are both well liked. Not so much by our growing population of housewives, but well liked by this city's gentlemen." They both understood his meaning.
Coleman said, "I'm not so much concerned with the Cora trial as I am with the state of our local governments. That's why I asked you here, John. What's going to happen with this Consolidation Act?"
"Looks like a done deal."
"That's what I heard, too," said King. "I just left a meeting with John Myerson."
Coleman's eyes rolled back, searching his memory for the name.
John Downey had no idea.
"He's the only honest city alderman I know. The County Commission and City Hall are already teaming up to take control of the polling stations. They're working through James Casey, a known felon from New York. He got elected to the County Commission last year. He's also editor over at the Sunday Times. He writes all those clever slogans."
"I've heard of Casey," said Coleman. "Didn't know he was a felon. What'd he do?"
"Something about steeling public funds for a private stock scheme back in New York. He served time in Sing Sing."
"That's what I mean." Coleman stood and waved his arms about, chasing imaginary demons. "With public servants like this guy, this city is in deep trouble."
Jim King knew where Coleman was headed. He'd seen it before. "This city is a lot different today. We're not dealing with murderous gangs setting fires. We need to build more public support, a tediously slow process."
"Tediously slow process?" Coleman's cheeks puffed. His chin wrinkled purple with frustration. He paced back and forth, wildly waving his hands in search of words. He stopped and faced Jim King. "That's my whole point. You can't hope to win in a political arena if your opponent cheats with such open disregard for the rule of law. This kind of political corruption will blow right over the top of us." He glared at Downey, as if blaming him personally.
The poor fellow pushed back in his chair. There was nowhere to run.
"Law and Order Party!" shouted Coleman, spittle spraying between his clenched teeth, and dribbling down his purple chin. He swiped his chin and sat on the edge of his desk, still glaring down at John Downey.
A plan of action flashed into King's mind. "Bill, do you have a ship leaving for New York?"
"Tomorrow." Coleman returned to his chair and checked his chart, making sure. "They shove off at six in the morning. Why?"
"Let's try to get the facts surrounding Casey's internment. I'll draft a letter to the attorney general of New York and get it to you tomorrow morning. Can you meet me at the dock around five thirty?"
Coleman nodded. "Good idea. At least I'll be doing something to get my wife off my back." Coleman stood and nodded toward the hallway outside his office. "I'll send our friends out there home." He looked from King to Downey. "You boys hungry? I'm starving. Let's get down to the Palace for some chowder. I haven't seen Abe's place, yet."
THE LAW AND ORDER PARTY had set up a coffee shop across from the mining exchange to keep an eye on Coleman's office. It was a good place for Dink Watkins to wait and sip a cup. Getting dark, now.
A trickle of men exited the end of the building, followed by King, Coleman and a well-dressed, porky gent. All three climbed into a taxi.
Dink climbed aboard his waiting taxi and followed the troublesome trio at a gallop. They turned a corner a few blocks later and both taxis slowed to a crawl, easing down the steep Russian Hill toward Meigg's Wharf.
Dink leaned forward and braced both knees against the back of the front bench to see past the teamster.
The other taxi stopped at the bottom of the hill. King and the others climbed out and turned down into the Palace.
"Let me off at the bottom and get over to Tommy's at a gallop. Tell him King's at the Palace."
The taxi rounded the corner at the bottom of Russian Hill and Dink jumped to the brick pavers at a run. He crossed the street in a wet, cold mist from the bay. The sun was gone for the day. He trotted down two steps to the wharf and turned into the front door of the Palace. The smell of tobacco, chowder, and stale beer hung thick in the still
air. Good smells, they was.
Sailors sipping beers and smoking pipes stood shoulder to shoulder at the bar, laughing and telling stories. Dink knew not a one of these sailors. A good thing.
James King of William, Colonel Coleman, and that other fellow stood in a group at the far end of the bar. A tall man in a plug hat stood behind the bar—probably Abe Warner, the owner, having a private talk with them three.
A pair of monkeys leashed to center posts moved from table to table, smiling up at customers, begging crackers. One of the monkeys snatched a half full mug of beer and drank it down. Three of the men at the table laughed. The one whose beer got taken did not.
Dink sank into himself. He yearned for this type of companionship. Tommy Chandler's Boardinghouse had no such thing.
Dink found an empty spot at the near end of the bar and bellied up.
The bartender turned up from the far end of the bar and gave Dink that look, walking toward him.
"I'll have chowder and a beer."
"Bowl or cup?"
"What?"
"Chowder. You want a bowl or a cup?"
It smelled good, and Dink hadn't eaten all day. "A bowl, if you please, and a tall beer." He turned slowly, taking the place in. Three large birds in cages hung high over the bar, two mostly red, one yellow and green. Some paintings of near-naked women hung on the wall behind the bar, with a few carved pieces of whalebone sitting about.
Yikes!
A maze of spiderwebs hung from the rafters. The place looked otherwise clean.
The bartender delivered a large bowl of chowder on a plate, a spread of crackers around the bowl and a spoon.
Dink crumbled in a fistful of crackers, mouth watering from the smell.
The bartender delivered a tall mug of beer. "That'll be six bits."
Dink reached into his pocket and set newly minted coins on the bar. He took a long slug of beer, relaxed a bit, and devoured the chowder. He noisily scraped the spoon across the bottom of the bowl, collecting every tasty drop.
The bartender returned with a ladle and poured more chowder into the bowl, half refilling it. "Compliments of the Palace."
I like that.
Dink relaxed, ate chowder, and sipped beer.
The front door opened and in walked Tommy Chandler, wearing the mink coat and cap he liked so much. Elegant, he was. He spotted Dink right away and gave him the eye. Keep clear.
The county commissioner and Justin Murphy followed Chandler in and Murphy closed the door.
The porky man with James King and Colonel Coleman left the group and hurried through a swinging door at the far end of the room.
Tommy stared at the man in the plug hat and wound between the tables toward him, the county commissioner and Justin close behind.
The Palace dropped quiet. Everybody felt the tension.
Dink grabbed his beer and hurried down the length of the bar, not wanting to miss one word of this.
"Just the men we hoped to find." Tommy spread his mink coat and tweed jacket to show off his shiny new police badge. Polished silver, it was, pinned high on his matching tweed vest. He put a hand on the commissioner's shoulder and pulled him forward. "James Casey is one of our county commissioners. Jim, meet Abe Warner, Colonel William Tell Coleman, and James King of William."
Friendly-like, Casey shook hands with Warner, Coleman, and King. "You're the editor of that filthy rag, the Evening Bulletin?"
The room grew noisy again, eating, drinking, joking and such.
Tommy said, "Jim Casey, here, has been reading the swill you printed in your Evening Bulletin. Among other things, he's the editor of the Sunday Times."
Casey smiled and dipped his head, still being friendly.
Abe Warner took off his plug hat and set it on the bar, ready for a fight. "You boys here for some chowder or what?"
Tommy said, "Never eat another man's cooking."
Tension crawled across the floor, the room growing quiet again. "We just dropped in for some friendly conversation." Tommy wasn't smiling.
James King smiled and leaned out from the bar. "Good idea. We've just been talking about Mr. Casey, here." He nodded and smiled at Casey, eyes locked like a pair of roosters.
"Indeed we have." Colonel Coleman stepped face to face with Tommy and spread Tommy's mink coat, his jacket, more closely examining Tommy's new badge. "We've also been talking about Charles Cora." He dropped his hand and stared into Tommy. "You know anything about that?"
"You mean, that gentleman who defended himself against a drunken marshal?" Tommy smiled his most dangerous smile.
"The timing seems a little odd . . ." King smiled, still being friendly. "Marshal Richardson getting gunned down before he could start his investigation."
The portly gentleman returned through the swinging door with a taller, well-dressed man. Both kept their distance and listened.
The taller gent looked familiar, but Dink couldn't place him.
Tommy said, "The state attorney general has already filed a report with Governor Johnson. It was a fair trial. The jury just couldn't decide." He flinched sideways with a glance and smile around the room. "So what?"
Coleman placed the back of his hand against King's chest, telling him to stay out of this. "We'll set that aside for now. There's the more important issue of voter fraud. The citizens of this city deserve fair and honest elections. Now, here's you and this county commissioner forming a coalition before the consolidation bill hits the floor of the state house."
James Casey swelled with confidence. "Still a free country. Political coalitions are both legal and prudent, especially if we're to have honest, representative government."
James King brushed Colonel Coleman aside and faced Casey. "Speaking of which, I wonder if the citizens know about your past dealings in government."
"Excuse me?" Casey blinked, his confidence vanished, and he stepped back.
"What would they say if they knew about your term at Sing Sing?"
"What are you talking about?"
"The Bulletin is investigating. As soon as we've got the official report, you can read all about it."
Casey screamed like a woman. "You print anything libelous, I'll sue you right into that bay." He pointed at the door, away from the bay.
Dink snickered.
Tommy pulled Casey back and faced up to Coleman. "The reason we came in here tonight is because we've heard some rumors about reorganizing the Committee of Vigilance."
James King leaned into Coleman, staring at Casey. "We're not aware of any public support for such a move."
Casey stared right back at King. "Well, just in case you are, the county government will throw its full support behind the lawful city government, run by the Law and Order Party."
Nervous laughter erupted from around the room, only for a moment. Nobody in the Palace liked the Law and Order Party.
Tommy said, "The county sheriff's department and the city police department will join forces to suppress any such insurrection of that sort. Mob rule will never again be tolerated in this city."
"On that, sir, we agree." Colonel Coleman stepped closer, ready for blows. A stupid thing, to trade blows with Tommy Chandler.
Tommy, James Casey, and Justin Murphy had finished what they'd come for, backing slowly toward the door.
That familiar-looking man at the end of the bar walked toward them, looking down at his hand and counting out gold coins. "Mr. Chandler . . ." He carried an accent, so familiar. "I believe I still owe you some money."
Tommy and Justin seemed to recognize him at once.
Dink, not so much.
Tommy smiled. "Why, if it isn't the Count?" He opened his hand, ready to be paid.
Dink knew him, now. That dandy, not so gaunt as before.
"I've added some interest." The dandy dropped the gold coins into Tommy's upturned hand and waited.
Tommy counted the money and smiled. "Why, yes. That should just about do it." He stared into the dandy. "We thought you'd left the country.
" He stuffed the coins into his vest pocket.
"We are even?"
"I'm satisfied." Tommy smiled nose to nose with the dandy. Cocky, he was.
The dandy took a small step back and looked down at Tommy's mink coat. "Then I will ask you to return my property."
"This?" Tommy spread the coat and turned slowly, showing it off to everyone.
"That, the cap, and my dress sword and sash."
Tommy's smile disappeared. "There's obviously some misunderstanding, here." He stared dangerously at the dandy. "I won these in a prize fight."
The room hushed.
"Of course, you're welcome to try and win them back." Tommy removed the cap, handed it to Justin, and allowed Justin to remove the coat.
The dandy smiled at this. He removed his fancy dinner jacket and handed it to Abe Warner, a surprise to little Dink.
The crowd scrambled to their feet, dragging chairs and tables to make room.
Tommy slipped out of his tweed jacket and handed it to Dink.
The dandy looked at Dink and Justin. Then a warning look fell on Dink.
Dink didn't like it much.
While still looking at little Dink, the dandy never saw the coming of Tommy's right cross. It slammed into the side of his face behind his left eye.
The dandy went down like a dead fish, arms limp at his sides, face to the floor. A knockout.
Kissing the floor must have wakened the dandy, the way he sprang back up. Tommy stepped in to hit him again.
The dandy dropped his head into Tommy's fist with a sound like a mallet breaking a walnut.
Tommy stepped back, shook his right hand, and circled left, opening and closing his hand several times, kissing his knuckles. He smiled, ready to go.
Be over soon.
Dink had watched Tommy work many times.
They both circled left, taking breezy left jabs at each other, Tommy looking confident as ever he had.
He had no idea what the dandy was thinking. Neither anger nor fear creased his steady stare.
Moving quickly, Tommy stepped in and faked a right.
The dandy's left arm went up and Tommy slammed into his gut with a knee. Very nice.
DELIBERATE JUSTICE: The American Way Page 12