“How’s the boy…?” Richard asked Santiago, nodding toward Kim, noticing how drugged he appeared.
“He is not meant to be in a place like this,” Santiago spoke quietly, seeing Kim already drifting off to sleep.
“Few of us are!” Richard laughed. “But when there’s nowhere else to go and it’s tough to complain isn’t it?”
Santiago watched Kim, his face having taken on a peaceful appearance in sleep. “I must admit that it could be worse. But for him, I think it is killing him.”
“Like it killed his brother?”
Richard looked at Santiago, watching his reaction. Santiago sensed the boy was not as dense as he appeared.
“His brother was killed by someone in this place, not by the place itself.” Santiago edged on.
“Does he know?”
“I think he suspects. I think he knows somehow. But for now it is not something we speak about.”
“You like him very much, don’t you?”
Santiago’s eyes were closed and his hands folded behind his head.
“I suppose you are going to ask what everyone else asks…, are we fucking?”
“No, I wasn’t. I know you’re not!”
“You do?”
“If you were, you would not get along as well as you do.”
Santiago realized Richard was not as dense as he made himself out to be.
“Tell me,” he said, raising himself on one elbow and looking at the cross-legged boy sitting beside him. “Why do you do what you do?”
“Do what?”
“You know..., behave as though you are stupid.”
‘What makes you think I’m not?”
Santiago smiled knowingly. “I know you’re not!”
“Well, don’t let the secret out.”
Richard turned onto his stomach to let the sun get to his back.
“I wouldn’t want to have to live up to any higher expectations than are currently required of me. I’m satisfied..., they are satisfied..., and McIntyre is satisfied.”
“What are your plans?”
Santiago wondered what it was that the boy hoped to do or become. He knew Richard’s time at the peg-house was limited. It was for all of them. Most boys were finished with their careers by the time they turned seventeen or eighteen.
“I don’t think McIntyre will be keeping me here long. He’ll probably send me back to the boardinghouse once he’s replaced me with a younger and prettier boy.”
“Is that what you want?”
“What I want is a roof over my head and food in my stomach, opium to smoke and someone to pay the bills. My needs are simple.”
They laughed, realizing how much alike they were. But Santiago wanted more. He wanted to have money and to be free. He wanted to have someone to love. He wanted to have whatever it was possible to get.
‘I want more.”
“Not much hope out there, is there?”
Richard said the words as fact.
“I thought there was.” Santiago said, with a note of uncertainty in his voice.
“You mean you are not sure about the man you have been seeing who is in love with you?”
The observation surprised Santiago. “You think he is?”
“You think he is not?”
“Until last Wednesday I thought he had some interest. But it has been a week since he has been here. He used to come see me twice a week.”
Richard knew McIntyre had avoided mentioning Bolen’s absence intentionally. There was more to the omission that met the eye. He found it necessary to swear Santiago to secrecy.
“There’s a good reason, you know.”
“What do you mean?” Santiago saw that the boy knew more than he was saying.
“Tell no one I told you?”
“I promise.”
The thoughts that passed through Santiago’s head made him dizzy. Has Bolen decided not to come back? Had he taken Vincent away from Belle’s and set him up as he, himself, had hoped? Perhaps Bolen had found someone else. Would he ever see Bolen again? Could he retrieve his nugget, or had it been lost?
“Tell me,” he said, urging the boy to speak.
Richard leaned close, looking around to see if they were being watched.
“Bolen was burned badly in a fire. The Spanish section was attacked by the Hounds last Wednesday. He rushed in to help some women and children and was caught in the flames.”
“Then, he is not dead?”
“No. At least, I don’t think so. A man who sees me regularly, told me about it. He said many people were killed. Many of them were children. Bolen was one of the Yankees who helped.”
Santiago felt relief and distress all at the same time. Bolen’s absence had not been because he had deserted him. He had not been replaced by Vincent.
“Do you know how badly he is hurt?”
“Bolen is hurt...?” Kim had awakened and had been listening. “Then he has not forgotten you!” He was looking at Santiago with a smile.
“We know little.” Santiago hushed him. “I only know that he was hurt and has been unable to move.
“Can you find out more for me, he asked his new friend?”
Richard nodded. “I’ll try. Are you serious about him?”
“He has been good to me. I am concerned.”
“I am sure you are!”
Richard winked, having noted the intensity of both their faces. He was sure that the concern was more than friendly curiosity.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Belle Pendergast had heard rumors and what she heard made her angry if the rumors proved true. She knew Samuel McIntyre was a brutal and degenerate man. She had never believed otherwise. Belle was not unfamiliar with brutality, having been the product of severe abuse herself as a child. She understood life could be unpleasant. But there were limits to brutalities. Rumors however, were rumors!
There were unspoken agreements within the community known as the Barbary Coast that allowed for whatever behavior the climate would bear. Crime was rampant in this deplorable hell-hole, and much of it waged among its own population. Murders and sudden disappearances were common. Owners of gambling halls, houses of prostitution, and opium dens had banded together to fight outside interference from the few attempts by the expanding town to bring about law and order. Too many men with well-known names and of high-position had become caught in the web of crime and could not afford to be exposed when word got out names divulged of their sexual proclivities and activities. Of the elimination of an insignificant immigrant child involved in prostitution, little would be done. Belle decided to wait before intervening. Perhaps if the rumors about how badly McIntyre was treating his boys were true, she would hear more.
Belle heard about the attack on Little Chile. On the day following the massacre she walked to the site and saw the devastation. Not all the bodies had been removed and she wept at the sight of the charred remains of a woman whose child still clung to her breast. The stench was more than she could bear. Upon her return to the salon, Belle sent for the clergyman who sometimes came to buy her boys, and gave him an envelope that contained a thousand dollars with instructions that the money was to be used to immediately build shelters for the survivors. They were to be given whatever provisions they had lost. Belle and whoever else she could convince to contribute, would cover the expenses. Her only provision was that expenditures were to be carefully accounted for and no one was to be told of the source of the money.
Belle was saddened by the news of Anthony Bolen’s injuries. Vincent sat in her office waiting for her to finish making notations in her ledger. She had sent for him that morning with word that she had an errand for him to run. He watched her now, this woman who in recent weeks had become such an important person in his life. He liked her because of how differently she operated her business compared to McIntyre. Vincent was unrestrained and free. Belle seemed more a friend than employer. She allowed him to make the final decision in choosing clients. She never forced or urged him to go
with anyone she suspected of being dangerous. Where McIntyre had attracted this sort of clientele, Belle avoided them.
Finally the ledger was closed and she and brought out a long-stemmed pipe and tin of opium from one of the deep draws of her massive desk.
“You do the honors,” she said, handing him the paraphernalia and watching as he pushed the gummy substance into the bowl.
“As you know..., I’m sure you’ve heard it from the other boys that there was an incident that happened two days ago. One of our very good customers was injured. It was your Mr. Bolen. I know how fond he is of you and how much you like him. I’m sure you have been worried. I brought you here to let you know that I have learned of his condition.”
“Is he dead?”
“No, Vincent, he is not. His injuries are serious, however. I met the doctor this morning while shopping at Crawford’s Mercantile. He said Mr. Bolen was not responding to treatment as he had hoped. Apparently he had a bad night and the Doctor is worried.”
Belle did not mention that the Doctor had also expressed concern for McIntyre’s operations, suggesting that there were things going on that he could not talk about.
“What will happen?”
“I don’t know. I do know I want to do something for him and knowing how close you are to him, I thought the best one to take a message to him was you. Could you do that for me?”
“Of course! But how will I get to see him? What about his wife?”
“You will need to be patient and wait to be alone. I have a little note that I want you to slip to him, but only if you see that he is capable of reading it. Be sure he is conscious enough to see it then destroy it. At the same time it will give you opportunity to have a few words together.”
“But who will I say I am? I can’t tell her I am coming from you. I can’t say that I’m his prostitute. What will I use for an excuse to see him?”
“You will tell whoever answers the door that you are an employee at his warehouse, and that you have information to pass on and that you also wanted to pay your respects. There should be no reason for them to suspect anything. I have already arranged for someone at the warehouse to verify you, if asked.”
“But what if his wife should question me?”
“Vincent, trust me that I would not be sending you if there was danger. I would not place Mr. Bolen in such a sensitive position. He and I have spoken many times together over a glass of wine. He has talked about his family. One of the things he said was that his wife has never taken any interest in his business other than the amount of money it brought her to spend. Mrs. Bolen will not know who you are.”
The Sunday of Vincent’s visit was warm and the early morning fog had lifted before noon. The streets were filled with people and carriages. Vincent decided to walk to the Bolen mansion so that he would pass McIntyre’s peghouse. He had been by several times before but had been unable to tell anything from looking at the outside. There were too few windows. As he approached he noticed several carriages waiting in the narrow alley, their rich owners no doubt enjoying themselves inside. Above the alley he noticed two figures near the edge of the flat roof, looking downward to the street. One of them was Santiago. Vincent knew the danger of calling out his name. If McIntyre’s men were in the vicinity, he would be chased away. Vincent had tried once before to see Santiago but had been stopped at the door. He had even asked Belle to intervene for permission for a visit, but she had either forgotten or had chosen not to get involved. Now they were looking at each other, separated by a height of forty or fifty feet.
Santiago motioned for Vincent to go down the alley, to the rear of the building. The structure had been built close to the face of a hill that rose sharply and high enough that, from the top of it one could look down to the rocky cove below. Vincent saw that if he climbed the hill he would be as high and at the same level with the roof upon which the two boys were standing.
Soon they were looking at each other with only fifteen feet between them. Vincent was amazed at the change he saw in his friend. Santiago was thin and was pale in comparison to when they had first met. Vincent recognized the other boy as one of the twins McIntyre had bought. The boys were able to speak to each other across the space without shouting. Santiago looked worried as he constantly looked behind him to see if they were being watched or if someone else was coming.
“Quick,” he said. “We have little time. I’m sure one of his men will be up here soon. They just came after Richard, and they’ll be looking for us next. People are beginning to arrive and we’ll be needed downstairs.”
“How are you?” Vincent asked.
“I live from day to day. You remember Kim..., he was here just before you left?”
The little boy waived, but said nothing.
“Tell me...,” Santiago continued cautiously. “How is it working where you are. Are you happy?”
“I would never come back.” Vincent said emphatically, showing his disgust for McIntyre’s operation. “I am actually treated like I am worth something..., not the way that bastard McIntyre used to treat me! I wish you could leave as well. Do you know who I am on my way to see?”
“Who?”
“Bolen. He was hurt. Did you know? Belle is sending me to him.”
“I found out this afternoon,” Santiago said, all the while watching the street so as not to be seen by anyone who might report them.
“Is he badly hurt?”
”Belle said the doctor told her it was serious. She’s sending me there to say hello for her because she knows I’ve wanted to see him. I’m supposed to be one of his warehouse workers. Think I can pass for one”?
“Yes, I suppose you could.”
Santiago was suddenly filled with the tension of being confined and was jealous at seeing Vincent able go wherever he pleased. He felt envious of his friend being on his way to see the man on whom he depended for his freedom. Santiago felt trapped.
“He has been coming to see you, hasn’t he?”
Vincent asked the question without rancor.
“Yes, he had been coming almost every week,” Santiago answered, feeling some guilt.
“He likes you, you know. He’s told me that.”
“Does that bother you?” Santiago asked, concerned about Vincent’s influence.
“Yes, I suppose it does. I can see why he likes you. You are beautiful. He likes beautiful boys! I like you too, Santiago. I have missed you since we have been separated.”
“And I feel the same, my friend. Why does it have to be like this?”
“Perhaps because it is the way you want it!”
“But I don’t! Oh, I don’t mind what I do. Sometimes I like it. But I don’t like where this is all going. Kim is not feeling well. I need to do something about that. Do you think Mr. Bolen could persuade Belle to get us released from McIntyre? I do want to get out of here..., especially for him!”
Kim sat close, looking frightened and desperate, like an animal caught with no hope of escape. Vincent felt a twinge of sympathy for the boy and recalled some of his own experiences.
“I don’t know,” Vincent said, hearing the frustration in Santiago’s voice. He saw how the younger boy clung to Santiago’s side and wondered about the relationship, remembering how close the twins had been to each other.
“Please, Vincent, when you see Bolen tell him that I hope he gets well. You know I am concerned about the item I put in his care. If anything should happen I don’t know that I would get that back.”
Vincent heard a carriage approaching down the alley. Thinking it might be McIntyre, he hurriedly said good-bye.
“I’ll speak to him about it if I have a chance, Santiago. When do you think you could be out here on the roof again?”
The boys were allowed to come out only occasionally and without schedule.
“I’ll try to come tomorrow, at the same time. Quick, hide yourself..., I hear someone coming up the stairs!”
Santiago ran back to the spot where they had been layin
g on a blanket just as the door opened and one of McIntyre’s men came out, looking around. Vincent hid behind bushes, waiting, trying not to move and give himself away. Below a carriage had pulled up and it was, indeed, McIntyre. He entered the building followed by two men holding and pushing two boys ahead of them with their hands tied behind their backs.
The Bolen house sat imposingly alone on a small rise near the top of one of the seven hills. From its location a panorama of the entire city could be seen. Much of it was made of wood, but the foundation was one of huge rocks hewn from the nearby cliffs. A dirt road wound its way up to the portico, one so grand that Vincent felt reluctant to use it. He was more inclined to walk to the rear of the house to the servant’s entrance. But he did not and swung the knocker three times before a black woman opened the door cautiously. When he told her he was from Mr. Bolen’s work place, she led him in. After taking his hat he was asked to be seated in one of numerous chairs that lined the long entryway. After some time, a short and stout woman, one with rounded face without expression, approached. After a few moments of silence while she looked him over, she spoke.
“Well?”
Vincent was unsure as to what to do next.
“Speak up, boy! What do you want?”
“I’m here to see Mr. Bolen.”
“Mr. Bolen is not well. Who are you?”
“My name is Vincent. I work for Mr. Bolen at the warehouse. I heard he was injured and wanted to pay my respects and wish him well. Some of the men asked me to come. Mr. Bolen has been good to me.”
“I’m sure he has,” she said suspiciously with a look of anger in her eyes.
“I’ll tell him you stopped by. What did you say your name was?”
“Vincent, ma’am.”
“Yes..., well Vincent Mr. Bolen has been hurt badly and is not up to seeing anyone.”
“Not even for a few minutes, ma’am? I won’t tire him, I promise.”
Charlotte Bolen scrutinized the boy. He had looked almost crushed when told he could not see her husband. There was something about him that she liked in spite of her suspicions. What he lacked in culture and finesse, he made up in grace of movement and she found herself relenting.
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