Alice and the Assassin

by R. J. Koreto

“That’s very funny coming from you, Cowboy. But it could’ve been anyone. There were lots of people around when I was asking Preston about Miss Goldman—and I mentioned her name to lots of other people that evening, even before I dragged you along. Most of Aunt Anna’s friends were appalled I even knew who she was. Also, Preston’s friend could’ve gossiped about it. If Preston really wanted to keep me away from Emma Goldman, he wouldn’t have helped me find her. It’s ridiculous. But we’re wasting time. We have to see what Miss Goldman has to say.”

  I paused. I could say no. I could insist we go back to the zoo and pick up her damn snake. About half of me just wanted to indulge Alice, and half of me actually wanted to know the answers to Alice’s questions. And what could one lady do to us, after all?

  “All right, here’s the deal. We go downtown and check it out. If I think everything looks all right, we’ll visit. Fair enough?” And it was a pleasure to see her face light up.

  “You’re a good man, Mr. St. Clair.” She linked her arm into mine and dragged me outside onto the sidewalk.

  I hailed a cab. The driver looked a little skeptical but seemed to think we were all right and agreed to take us. I had him let us off a block away from Emma Goldman’s address, just off the Bowery, so I could look around. A few bums were passed out in doorways, and I saw a couple of petty criminals who might pick a pocket or grab a bag, but no one appeared outwardly violent.

  We found the house easily enough. I’d like to say it had seen better days, but it had probably always looked as bad as it did now. The information we had said she was on the top floor, and as we walked up, I kept a close eye on the other doors. There were cooking smells, and I heard a baby crying, but I couldn’t see much because the walls were dark and there was little light.

  We finally reached Miss Goldman’s apartment, and Alice knocked. We didn’t hear anyone say anything, but a few moments later, the door was opened by a scary-looking woman. She looked to be in her thirties but had one of the hardest faces I had seen on a female, and I’m guessing a frown was her normal expression. She might not have been bad-looking if she had cared, which she obviously didn’t.

  “Well?” She looked Alice up and down and didn’t seem to like what she saw. “Who are you, and what do you want?” Her English had a Russian-sounding accent but was clear.

  “My name is Alice Roosevelt. And I want to discuss items of mutual interest.”

  “Alice Roosevelt?”

  “Yes. And keep your voice down. We don’t need the whole building knowing our business. And this is my Secret Service bodyguard, Mr. St. Clair.”

  “A pleasure, ma’am,” I said. But it obviously wasn’t a pleasure on her side. She just kept looking back and forth between us.

  “I want to talk about Leon Czolgosz. Do you think we could come in? It’s most awkward talking in the hallway like this.”

  She didn’t say anything but opened the door wider, and we walked in. It wasn’t much of a place, but I’m guessing there’s not a lot of money in being an anarchist. There were a few mismatched chairs around a painted wooden table piled with books and papers. We took seats without being invited, and by then, Miss Goldman seemed to have found herself.

  “I’m honored that the government sees fit to send the president’s daughter to threaten me,” she said, giving me a look. “Accompanied by a hired thug.”

  Alice laughed. “A thug? Mr. St. Clair is an honest workingman and a war hero.”

  “The Spanish-American War? So you helped build an American empire over the slaughter of innocents?”

  “Oh, don’t be silly, Miss Goldman,” Alice said with a wave of her hand. “Mr. St. Clair was a sergeant. But nevermind. Neither of us is here to threaten you. We have some questions about Leon Czolgosz’s role in President McKinley’s assassination.”

  Miss Goldman just stared at Alice stupidly for a few moments. “Why are you here, Miss Roosevelt? Your colleagues in the police were persuasive enough during my stay with them. You think you’ll get more out of me?”

  Alice sighed. “For God’s sake, I’m not here to interrogate you. I will be honest with you. I will tell you I was going to come out of—”

  “The idle rich and their idle curiosity,” said Miss Goldman, and her mouth twisted into a bitter smile.

  “I’m not idle. We are rich, but Roosevelts are never idle. My father wouldn’t hear of it. Now, I’m talking, so please don’t interrupt until I’m done. I was going to say, ‘Out of concern for my family.’ And on my way here, Mr. St. Clair and I were accosted by a private investigator hired by an unknown person who was concerned about my visiting you. I now wonder if you and I have a common enemy. Why is someone concerned about our meeting? I would like to know what you know about Leon Czolgosz. Whatever you told the police.”

  “This is true?” asked Miss Goldman, seeming a little uncertain now.

  “Why would I lie about it? I am here about my family.”

  Miss Goldman considered her for a moment. “I will tell you, then. He visited me twice briefly. I recommended some books and we spoke for a few minutes.” She paused. “You will probably hear, if you haven’t already, that I have written articles defending him.” She gave Alice a challenging look, daring her to disagree. But Alice didn’t explode; she just looked at Miss Goldman curiously, as if she were some rare bird in a zoo.

  “Really? How perfectly horrible of you. But you didn’t assist him?”

  “As I told the police, no, I didn’t. I had no knowledge of his intentions beforehand. But I applauded his actions. Is that horrible enough for you, Miss Roosevelt?”

  Alice nodded absently. “If I accept that Mr. Czolgosz didn’t have your help, will you tell me whether you know if he had anyone else’s?”

  Miss Goldman pursed her lips. “Do you know what I like about you, Miss Roosevelt?”

  Alice laughed fully and openly, like a child. “I didn’t think there was anything you liked about me,” she replied. And at that, even Miss Goldman relaxed her face enough to smile.

  “You pronounced his name correctly, Leon Czolgosz. It’s more than the police did. That showed a certain care. It made me curious. And that’s the reason I let you in.”

  “I move in political circles. One has to pronounce everyone’s names correctly. And I see that you possess curiosity. That means there’s something I like about you too, Miss Goldman.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. But you asked whether Leon Czolgosz had any help. That’s the first time anyone has asked me that question. The men who detained me only asked if I had helped. They didn’t ask if others did. So I will give you my opinion as a reward for your open-mindedness. In our brief meetings, it was clear to me that however strong his heart, he lacked the intelligence and sense of purpose to do something like that of his own volition.”

  “So he was being used by someone else?”

  “Very good, Miss Roosevelt.”

  “One of your anarchist friends?” Alice raised an eyebrow. “Or am I pushing you too far?”

  “Not an anarchist. Indeed, you will find I am alone among my colleagues in supporting him. Someone from your circle, Miss Roosevelt. Someone who used Czolgosz to kill the president for his own ends. Look to your own. Among your own class, you’ll find the common enemy to both of us.”

  She had a point there. We had learned there were divisions among the anarchists, and even though all of them wanted to see the government go, most of them stopped short of political murder. In the wake of the killing, some of them condemned Czolgosz as bringing down the government’s wrath on the movement.

  In fact, Czolgosz wasn’t even part of any of the anarchist groups being tracked, and before he killed McKinley, some anarchists thought he was a government spy. Goldman, who was on the edge even by anarchist standards, seemed to be hanging on to that fact. Alice wasn’t having it, though. She just glared. “You’re stupid and ignorant if you think that’s the way men in power get things done.”

  “And you’re stupid and naïve if you think
they don’t.” She stood. “This has been interesting, but I think we’re done here, Miss Roosevelt. Still, if you think anarchists are behind this, take yourself to the Freethinker Club, just a few blocks down on the Bowery. Ask about Czolgosz, and you’ll see how wrong you are. It’s time for you to leave. Believe yourself fortunate I spoke with you at all, considering who your father is.”

  That was the wrong thing to say, I could’ve told Miss Goldman. I sat up straight and prepared to prevent a fistfight between a pair of women, which is a much harder task than it sounds.

  Alice stood as well. “My father has devoted his life to building this country. All I can see is you and your kind working to destroy it. But you’ve been helpful, and for that, I thank you.” Alice then leaned over the table. “However, I will leave you with some advice. Don’t ever criticize my father to my face again. Ever.” Then and there, it was easy to forget she was only seventeen.

  I tipped my hat to Miss Goldman. “Ma’am,” I said, and I felt her hate-filled eyes on our backs as we left the apartment.

  Outside, it took Alice a few moments in silence to gather herself.

  “What a ghastly person,” she finally said. “How could she think that of my father? She was just so . . . twisted. But for all that, she seemed truthful. I’m not saying she was right, but I think she was telling us the truth as she saw it.”

  “I agree. And I have to say, I know I wasn’t keen on bringing you here and didn’t think there was much point. But I’m not too proud to admit I was wrong. You pulled off a neat trick. The questions you asked and the way you asked them—you got something out of her. Nicely done.”

  She looked at me sharply, as if she thought I was making fun of her or patronizing her. And when she realized I wasn’t, she looked suddenly shy.

  “Thank you, Mr. St. Clair. You know, it’s not all that different from talking to people at some political soiree. People ask each other things and lie when you talk to them, all the while wanting something from you, so you lie right back.”

  I laughed. “If your father could hear you.”

  “Nevermind Father. If my Aunt Anna heard me.” She giggled and grabbed my hand. “Come. Let’s go see that Freethinker Club.”

  “Miss Alice, be reasonable. It’s one thing to pay a visit to Miss Goldman, but we can’t very well go into a room full of anarchists. You’d have better luck jumping into a lion’s den. At least with lions, it wouldn’t be personal.”

  “But we have to go. You heard what she said. Czolgosz may have had someone pulling his strings. And it sounds like he was not truly supported by the anarchists. We have to talk to more of them. It can’t hurt to have a look. And I bet they’re mostly just big talk. Anyway, it’s your duty to make sure there are no more anarchists plotting against us.”

  She half dragged me along the street to a tavern about as broken-looking as I’ve ever seen. It was several steps down under another tenement, and it was easy to miss because the wooden sign with the name was cracked and weathered. I could hardly see through the window.

  I looked up and down the street. No one was around. I figured I could leave her alone for half a minute.

  “Wait here. I’m going to have a quick look. Don’t move, and don’t follow me until I call for you.”

  I pushed through the door. It was dark and smoky inside, and the place looked as if it had been furnished by the same firm that fixed up Miss Goldman’s apartment. It was crowded, and I saw equal numbers of men and women, which was odd for a bar. They were plainly dressed, but not in rags. Everyone here worked. The city clothes were the only thing that separated this tavern from some bars I knew back home. I had handled things there, and I could handle them here.

  I got some looks, but I was used to that. Still, there was no open hostility. You can usually tell when someone is carrying a pistol, and it didn’t seem anyone was.

  I stuck my head out and watched Alice grin as I waved her in.

  CHAPTER 3

  I took her by the hand and led her to an empty table close to the door, seating both of us with our backs against the wall, and made sure my Colt was in easy reach.

  A waitress came over, not looking too well trained for her job. She looked us up and down.

  “Can I get you folks some lunch? We’ve got a chicken stew.”

  “Yes, please. And a couple of beers,” said Alice. The waitress stepped away, and Alice’s eyes darted around. “So how do we meet these people?”

  “I have a feeling they’ll want to meet us.” Me in my riding coat and Alice in her furs—we were probably the most unusual thing that had happened to that place in a while. We saw the waitress speak to a few other people, and then she came back with our food and drinks. I’ve had worse beer, although I can’t remember when, and the chicken in that stew must’ve died of old age.

  But we didn’t have too long to contemplate our disappointment alone. A man in his thirties, also holding a beer, pulled up a chair and sat down without being invited. His suit was no better than mine and a little older.

  “There’s a meeting here at four o’clock. Are you here for that?” he asked. His smile indicated he knew the answer already.

  “We’re not here for the food,” I said, and he laughed.

  “I don’t know about you,” and then he pointed a thumb at Alice, “but she’s certainly used to better. Anyway, they call me Nicky.”

  “I’m Alice. And this is St. Clair,” said Alice.

  “Alice, we are honored,” and he gave her a mocking bow. She had become famous, indeed, in recent months. “So I take it you’re slumming, Miss Roo—”

  “Alice. Call me Alice. If you won’t share your surname, why should I share mine? And no, I’m not slumming. I want some information. Now, are you the man in charge of this place?”

  He laughed again, and there was definite good humor there, not the bitterness we had heard from Miss Goldman. This Nicky had a friendly, open face—but his eyes were sharp. “In charge? Of this crew? You have a pretty high opinion of me if you think I could be ‘in charge’ here. Let’s say I have a certain organizing role. Like this afternoon’s meeting. So what are you here for? To warn me off violence? But you, St. Clair, you’re the one who came in here armed.”

  “Just for self-protection,” I said.

  “If you had any sense of self-protection, you might’ve avoided this place altogether.”

  “That sounds a lot like a threat,” said Alice. “We’re here for a talk, and I hardly think our behavior merits a threat.”

  “Your behavior, Alice? How about the behavior of you and your class over the last one hundred years—”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, Nicky, spare me a speech. I’ve been lectured enough for one day. I’m stuck with this damn slop and watered-down beer, and the chair is sticky. You and I have reasons to share information. I’ll even go first to show my good faith. What do you say?”

  Nicky looked like he had been slapped. He shook his head and drained his glass.

  “If you want me to talk, I’ll need more beer. On your tab.” He waved to the waitress, and she came back with another glass. He took a deep drink. “Now, what have you to say?”

  “We have reasons to look into the behavior of Leon Czolgosz. It was our understanding he had been affiliated with the anarchist movement—”

  “A damned lie!” shouted Nicky. He stood up so fast, he spilled some of his beer.

  “Sit down,” said Alice coldly. Under the table, I put my hand on my gun. “And be quiet until I’m done speaking. I’m not buying you another drink.” People were looking at us, and I started to hope Alice would finish this up quickly.

  Reluctantly, Nicky sat down.

  “As I was saying, we were beginning to realize that Czolgosz was not acting with your movement but perhaps was the tool of other people. We spoke with Emma Goldman, and she seemed to think Czolgosz didn’t have the personality or passion to assassinate a man. And St. Clair and I were accosted by a private investigator with an unknown client
who was concerned about our questions. There. I’ve been open and honest with you. Now tell me—can you confirm Czolgosz was not acting with your association? Give me a reason to think he wasn’t, and we’ll leave you in peace. Better yet, tell me someone else was controlling him.”

  Nicky leaned back and pondered that. “Czolgosz is dead and buried. Why do you care?”

  “If someone was using him, he may use someone else to commit more political killings. The fact that a private investigator expressed interest in my visiting Emma Goldman’s house shows that there are people out there who care what I learn. Czolgosz isn’t as dead and buried as we’d all like to think.” She crossed her arms across her chest and looked angry but also a little proud of herself.

  “There’s something in that. But as the saying goes, ‘If you dine with the devil, you’d better have a long spoon.’ I’m not sure I can trust you, Alice. Thanks for the beer. Enjoy the rest of your lunch.” He stood again, and I glanced sideways at Alice. Nicky was a damned fool if he thought that was the end of the conversation.

  “Don’t you walk away from me,” she said, rising up. “I was open and honest with you, and I expect you to be the same with me.”

  “Complaints about fairness coming from the ruling class? That’s a funny one.” He grinned and turned to go.

  “I’ll be back,” said Alice, and her voice rose. “This is the best chicken stew I’ve ever had. The best beer I’ve ever drunk. I’ll be back tomorrow and the next day. With more bodyguards. And police officers outside. Day after day. This establishment will be very popular.”

  That certainly got Nicky’s attention. It also got everyone else’s attention, and curious glances became outright stares. A little crowd began to gather. Alice either didn’t notice or didn’t care, but I did.

  Nicky reluctantly sat back down. “You won,” he said with bad grace. “Let’s make this quick. I don’t hold with Emma Goldman. I don’t hold with Leon Czolgosz. He wasn’t one of us. Have you heard the phrase ‘propaganda of the deed’?” It was new to both of us.