Vincent stopped and looked Santiago in the eyes. “If I tell you something, you must promise not to act on it until the time is right! You must promise to say nothing to anyone and not to confront McIntyre with any of what I tell you.”
“Why, what is this all about?”
“Promise!”
“But...,”
“Promise!”
“Yes, I promise.”
“Swear it!”
“On my mother’s grave I promise to do what you say.”
“You had gold hidden in your bag, didn’t you?”
“You know I did! They took it all..., and you showed them where to look!”
Vincent looked guilty. “Yes, I showed them. You know McIntyre didn’t know you had the gold. I didn’t know you had it! I was supposed to find papers you might have that would tell him who you really were. It was not until you told me yourself how much you had and where it was while you were hallucinating and before the men got there, that I found out. They heard it as well when you mentioned it again when they were outside the door waiting for my signal. I had to find it and turn it over to them. McIntyre would have beaten me badly or thrown me to The Hounds if he found out I lied to him again. In any case, the men who were there that night did not get all your gold!”
Santiago stopped in his tracks and looked at Vincent, who had an ever-increasing smile on his face.
“What are you saying?”
“I am telling you that I thought it stupid to turn over the amount that only you and I knew was there. While you were in your stupor I searched your things. I showed them where the dust was. All they took was the dust.”
“Then you have the...”
“I have the nugget hidden. You know that nugget is worth much more than the dust!”
“What will you do about it? Will you give it back?”
Vincent put his arm around Santiago’s shoulders and hugged him.
“We need to stick together. I did not intend to steal the gold and keep it for myself. I have put it away, as it would not be safe to keep anything like that on us or in the room. I have a friend, a man who likes me very much. We have been together many times. He trusts me and I trust him. It is someone McIntyre does not know about. We meet secretly, although he will be at the festivities this evening. Santiago, he gives me money and keeps it in a banking account he started for me. He suggested this plan when he found out that McIntyre takes most of what I make. Each time we are together he puts an amount in my account. There will be a time when enough will have been accumulated that I will be able to disappear and never come back. I gave the nugget to him. I told him what had happened and he is holding it in your name.”
“He would give me the nugget if I asked for it?”
“Not that easy. My friend knows how easily we are intimidated by McIntyre and how McIntyre keeps opium and hashish freely dispensed. The opium we smoked that night was to knock you out so that you would offer no resistance. McIntyre gives us cigarettes to smoke that contain the same substance. My friend knows that most of McIntyre’s boys are addicted and work only to obtain drugs. When the time comes, my friend will make himself known to you and will be willing to give you the nugget.
“I expect something for my efforts, Santiago!”
“I have no idea what the nugget is worth. What could I give you?”
“The rock is worth two thousand dollars. Five hundred would suffice”
“You will have it. Can he be trusted with that much? He will not steal it?”
Vincent laughed and slapped his leg. “Santiago, he would light his cigar with a note of that value! No he will not steal your money, as he has much of his own. I will point him out to you so that you know who to go to if you must.”
“Will McIntyre know anything about this? You said he will be there tonight? But if McIntyre is bringing us to meet customers, is this man one of McIntyre’s customers?”
“Yes, he buys a boy once in a while so as to not draw attention to our relationship. He even buys me, sometimes. But he usually pays little attention to me when McIntyre is around.”
“Does he love you?”
“Love has nothing to do with it. I am good, and Anthony knows I will not steal from him or threaten his family life.”
“He has a family?”
“His wife is well known in the city. She leads a group of women, wives of the wealthiest men in San Francisco, who are crusading to clean up the city of vice! His children are my age. Anthony is good to his family. I must remain a secret.”
“But why does he not take you away from McIntyre? He could set you up and have you all to himself.”
“Because he knows McIntyre would find out and ruin him. No, this is the best way.”
They had walked from the center of the city through streets where buildings became less familiar and smaller in size. The slopes of the surrounding hills were covered with fewer tents, replaced with more permanent structures that went up daily. Where there had been nothing but grass and shrubs, Santiago now saw houses with fences and chickens pecking in the yards. Paths had become streets and streets, avenues. The pace at which things changed made it difficult for any who looked for stability, to adjust. Many of the exploding territory’s citizens were from places where changes as currently happening, took centuries to evolve.
“Here,” Vincent tugged at Santiago’s arm. “The man we need to see lives here.”
They stood before a group of six buildings, some with second floors that were made of wood and were unpainted, obviously having been only recently constructed. All had a common walk covered by a slanted roofs that shed the rain and provided shade. Vincent pointed to the sign, Tailor and Dentist —Come In, above the door.
“Say nothing,” Vincent warned. “Let me speak. The man knows exactly what needs to be done. He will take your measurements. While he works, we will go eat. Then we will come back in two hours for the final fitting and you will have your new clothes.”
They entered without knocking. The room was small and the light filtered in through one window near the door. A counter separated the entrance from the shop and beyond the counter were tables festooned with bolts of cloth, spools of thread and scissors of various sizes and shapes, and an assortment of needles stuck in cushions for that purpose. Vincent rang a bell hung by the door. From the rear of the shop a man with glasses perched at the tip of his nose, and bent from too much stooping, came forward. He raised his hand in recognition when he got close enough to see Vincent.
“Ahh... shalom Vincent. You are back with another one I see. McIntyre must have himself quite a stable by now! And judging by the two of you they are becoming more beautiful!”
The tailor came from around the counter and stood in front of them, eyeing Santiago from head to foot, nodding approval.
“Such a fine young man..., eh? You would want something to show off all your best assets, I think? And you, Vincent, do you approve what I made for you?”
“Yes old man! And McIntyre was pleased with it. He says that it was because of what I wore that night that I’ve done so well with him.”
“Yes, indeed the first impression holds much weight. And you, my boy..., I will dress you so that you too are not soon forgotten. Come!”
“His name is Rueben,” Vincent said as they followed the man to the rear of the shop where everything was brightly lit by windows that went from floor to ceiling. There were numerous tailor’s forms, each covered with a partially completed suite or dress.
The old man turned to Santiago, pointing to a platform.
“Stand there.”
The tailor began taking Santiago’s measurements, scribbling them on a piece of paper held between his teeth. Santiago slowly turned as the man’s hands moved all over him, pulling, tugging, wrapping measuring tape around thighs and waist, across shoulders, over chest, at crotch down to feet. After twenty minutes the old man completed his preliminary work and asked Santiago to step down. He stood back and scrutinized Santiago, walking aro
und him again, this time admiring him openly.
“Such a fine boy, you look to me. That I should have been so lucky when I was young, to have had such boys as you! When McIntyre sends his new finds to me I have a hard time keeping the mind on the work. Yet I think still, this old body is capable of doing some of the things of the old days. My little pleasures are in being able to do these orders for him and Mr. McIntyre sometimes sends old Rueben a little treat, something sweet to warm a cold night.
“Now boys, go off and leave me to my work and you come back in three hours. Go find the sun and relax in the fields. I will have something ready for you later. You will pay me, today?”
Vincent spoke before Santiago could open his mouth. “You should charge McIntyre’s account. He will pay you! Come Santiago, we must eat and leave this man to his work. I am ready for a good meal aren’t you?”
They left the tailor after he showed them a bolt of cloth he planned to use for Santiago’s suite. The tailor knew McIntyre’s taste and he chose carefully. Santiago thought the material too bold, brocade was something women wore! The tailor watched the boys as they left, arm in arm, carefree and so young..., and envied them their youth and beauty.
“Vincent, what did you do? You know that money was for the clothes. McIntyre will be upset!”
“By the time he gets the bill he won’t remember whether he gave us money or not. He was so drugged this morning that he will not be able to trust his own judgment when he asks about it. Remember, there were no witnesses. We can use the money for other things and you have it coming to you, as he owes you more than he’ll ever repay.”
Vincent had said the words with an edge of hate and warning. It made Santiago fearful of what was to come.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Come, we may as well treat ourselves to a good meal at McIntyre’s expense!”
Vincent and Santiago walked back to Portsmouth Square and entered DelMonico’s, a restaurant like none Santiago had ever seen or imagined. There were many tables and waiters dashed about, all miraculously avoiding each other so that at the last moment they escaped collisions. The establishment was brightly lit by the sun shining through its many windows. The tables were laden with flowers and food and there was sawdust on the floor to reduce the grime of the street so that the air was tolerably breathable.
The two boys stood by the door, waiting to be seated. The Maitre-d’, a robust man elaborately uniformed looked at them as scornfully as he would have looked at a dog. Vincent stepped up to him and, almost nose-to-nose, and asked for a table.
“I want one near the window,” he pointed to one of three empty tables across the room.
“Have you money?”
The question was asked with great disdain.
“Let me see your money please!”
Santiago leaned close to Vincent and pleaded with him.
“Please let us go elsewhere. I do not like this place. It is not for us.”
Vincent placed a hand on his arm and motioned silence. Removing a bag of coins from his pocket and untying the knot, he dumped the coins on the floor.
“Will this satisfy you? Did you think we were stupid enough to think we would be served without money? Do you take us for fools? My father is a friend of the Alcalde and he is meeting with him right now. It was he who sent us here for a meal and he will be surprised at how we were accosted before we even got in! The Alcalde said we would be treated with respect. I hardly call this greeting, respect! I will inform him that this place seems to have difficulty distinguishing between a gentleman’s son and rabble. Perhaps you have not spent enough time with the former to recognize the latter?”
The Maitre-d’ stooped to pick up the money as soon as he heard Vincent explain who he was. The change that came over the man was remarkable and the boys knew they would be allowed inside.
“Well..., please accept my apology for my error, young gentlemen. Follow me..., I have a table for you now.”
They sat in sunlight with everything on the table sparkling, the tableware polished to a high sheen. Never had Santiago seen so many glasses at one table except perhaps at Padre Lipolito’s where these things were considered a necessity for the comfort and reverence of priests. A waiter quickly appeared, a boy not much beyond their age, to pour water. Santiago gulped it down. Again the boy filled the glass and smiled at Santiago as he turned to leave.
“We will require much water from you, I think,” Vincent told the boy as he gave him an approving wink. The water-boy smiled back and turned to show his small and rounded rump as it bounced while he walked away.
“That one does more than take care of water needs! He could be ours for the asking. But, more of that later, for I am sure we have not seen the last of him.”
The menu, a large placard with flowery lettering was filled with selections and Vincent became noticeably flustered, unable to read. He looked to Santiago for help.
Can you read?”
“Si..., I read Spanish. My mother taught me when I was little. I can also write. But if you ask if I can read this, I must tell you it makes no sense.”
“Sure you can understand some of it!”
Santiago put the menu down and looked at Vincent in disgust.
“You brought me here without ever having been here yourself? Have you no idea of what to ask for? We will look like fools if we ask for something that is not written here. What are we to do?”
Vincent looked about the room to see what others had on their plates.
“I know they have a well-portioned beef-steak. They will give us potatoes and corn, and the steak will be covered with gravy. Look, there is even sweet-tasting bread. That is what we will order.”
“I will have the same. What will all this cost?”
“Whatever it costs, we will have enough to pay for it. Do not worry, Santiago, you are in my hands now!”
Santiago laughed. “It is what worries me.”
When the meals arrived twenty minutes later, Santiago had never seen so much food on one plate and they ate with a relish. The meat was thick and juicy and pink in the center, as Vincent liked it to be. The sight of blood made Santiago queasy, but he found the taste of the meat delicious. Two ears of corn, a mound of boiled potatoes and onions filled the plate. Baskets of steaming sourdough bread were brought each time one was emptied. It was almost an hour before they finished gnawing the bones and left the plates empty and cleaned of juices. They ordered iced milk when the waiter told them DelMonicos always had a supply even during the summer months. As if the meal had not been enough, further suggestions were made of baked apple pie fresh from the oven. Two orders arrived with saucers of heavy cream into which the pie could be dipped.
It was with pain and effort that they pushed themselves from the table. Santiago thought his pants would burst if he bent forward. The check was brought on a silver dish. Vincent called the bus-boy.
“Tell us what this says we owe.”
The boy looked at them, surprised they would ask such a question.
“Don’t you know?”
Vincent pushed the check closer to the boy. “We are not fluent in your language. Now, can you answer!”
The boy looked apologetic and asked their forgiveness.
“It comes to forty dollars.”
Vincent took his pouch and dumped the money on the table, counting out the correct amount of coins.
“I can not take your money,” the boy said. “You must pay him,” as he pointed to the waiter.
Santiago took an extra five-dollar piece and gave it to the boy, who was unused to receiving such gratuity.
“This is for your help.”
The amount was more than the boy earned in a week.
“Close your mouth,” Vincent said, laughing. “When my brother feels good, he likes to pass his feelings on to others. He also likes to give money to pretty boys that attract him. Do you like pretty boys?”
Santiago reddened at the disclosure. Both had become more interested by the boy’s
provocative clothing and had noticed how he had stared at them when they had entered. The boy had lingered near their table and Vincent suspected that the boy was attracted to one of them. As he talked to him, Vincent purposely stared at the boy’s crotch. The boy became flustered and began to stutter something about being needed elsewhere as he stumbled to move away.
“He suspected we were about to ask if he wanted to earn more than what you gave him,” Vincent laughed as he slapped his thigh.
They lingered over coffee and continued to stare at the boy each time he came into the room until he became so self-conscious that he could look at them no longer.
As they paid the bill the maitre-d’ asked if they were pleased with the meal, in a solicitous tone.
“Do you speak Spanish?” Santiago asked.
In Spanish, the man responded that he spoke a little, enough to understand his respected Spanish-speaking customers.
“Good,” Vincent replied, leaning close to the man as though about to tell him something confidential. “I think that the boy who pours the water may be hiding something from you.”
The maitre-d’ looked surprised. “What could he be hiding..., what do you mean?”
“I think he is hiding something between his legs! Have you not noticed? You should, you know...!”
Vincent and Santiago left the man standing at the door, his mouth open, looking bewildered, wondering if he had understood correctly, thinking something had been twisted in the translation. From the lobby of the hotel they watched as he searched out the water-boy and stared at the place between his legs as the boy passed him with a tray filled with glasses. When the boy found himself being stared at again, he missed the doorway and walked into the wall as the tray and glasses he carried went crashing to the hardwood floor. As he stooped to clean up the breakage they heard him say in a loud tone,
“Jesus Christ..., is there no one in this city that doesn’t love boys...” and he pushed the maitre’d away when the man tried to help.
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