by Jim Musgrave
“Do you have any laudanum? I need some. I can do anything you want.” The girl’s eyes were wide with panic. Her breath was coming in short bursts, and her face was white and clammy.
“It looks like we’ll also have to detoxify her. Becky will know what to do. She can get her doctor over to see to the girl.”
“Ya won’t hurt her none, will ya?” Dan asked.
“No, but she won’t be too comfortable for a while. She needs to come down to the real world. They’ve been keeping her addicted so they can manipulate her,” I explained.
“The bastards!” said Dan through gritted teeth.
I wondered why John Allen was so passive about letting the girl go. Did he know something about her that we did not? Perhaps he was aware that she was not our sister. If that were the case, then he would be making some kind of plans to get even. We had to prepare for everything.
Becky was quite pleased when she saw the girl with us. “How did you get her out of there?” she asked, leading the girl over to her plush red couch and laying her down. Irene’s eyes were large, and her legs were writhing back and forth on the cushions.
“I think she needs to be detoxified. Can you get your doctor over here? She kept asking for laudanum.”
“Doctor Epstein is at Mt. Sinai today. Patrick, you know the administrator, Missus Mergenthaler. Could you get him for me? He comes to see my ladies once a month at a designated day and time. This would be an extra visit. If you could go now that would be wonderful.”
“First, I want to know what Bill found in Haskins’ safe.” I was quite curious about the contents, as this was the main purpose for our visit to the Palace.
Bill Maguire sat down in one of Becky’s red stuffed chairs. He looked uncomfortable, but he seemed resolute, and his brow furrowed in concentration. “There were some accounting ledgers that showed how much money was being collected every night. There was about five hundred in cash. But I also found something that was a real puzzle.”
“A puzzle? What exactly was it, Bill?” I asked.
“It was a sheet of paper that had a confusing message and then a list of names. Let me see if I can remember exactly what the message said.” He stared off into space for a few moments before returning to his subject. “They were sentences that made no sense. Such as, ‘He needs the freshest roses for his lettuce garden.’ Or, ‘We need more little guppies in the big pond.’ Then, at the bottom, there were about fifty names of men and some women with amounts of money beside each name. What could this mean?”
“That is strange,” I said. I was wondering why such a document would need to be hidden away inside a safe. However, Becky seemed to have an idea right away.
“If I were conducting business with important clients, then I would not want their names to be accessed easily. It stands to reason they would be placed inside the safe. What bothers me, however, are those two sentences. Perhaps they might be code words for something else.”
“Code? You mean, like Morse code? Dit-dit-dit-dah?” Dan laughed.
“Close, but no cigar. These might be words that stand for other, more concrete terms. These other words might also represent something Hester doesn’t want let out into the public. What could that be?” I asked.
I looked down at Irene. She seemed to be getting worse. She was yawning, big enormous yawns. She then began to sneeze rapidly, ten times, and her nose began to run with phlegm. She also began to shout, “I hate you! Get out of here! I need to go! Now!” she screamed, and Becky quickly led her to the back room toilet. We could hear loud, gaseous noises of diarrhea being expunged.
“Is she all right?” asked Dan, and he looked quite frightened. It was obvious he cared about the young woman.
“I will go now to get Doctor Epstein. Please think about what those words could represent. Also, Bill, did you recognize any of the names on that list? Were they names you can remember?”
“There were two that I realized were quite important names. One was a doctor by the name of Foote. The other was our mayor, John Hoffman.”
“Doctor Edward Foote?” I asked, and I looked over at Becky, who had returned with Irene from the back of the apartment. She seemed nonplussed.
“Yes. I think that was his name. I do know it was the mayor’s name because I see it all the time in the papers,” said Bill.
I stood at the door for a moment before leaving to get Doctor Epstein. “Thank you all for your help. I believe we might have something important here, so please think about what it all might mean. I will do the same on my way over to Mt. Sinai,” I said, and I shut the door behind me.
As I quick-marched over to the hospital on 28th Street, I thought about those two names. Hoffman and Foote. If Hester Haskins had those two names in her list, then the other names must also be those of V.I.P.s in New York. Hoffman, as everyone knew, was a direct protégé of Boss William M. Tweed the state senator and head of The Ring in Tammany Hall. Foote, of course, was the liberal medical giant who protected all women from unwanted pregnancies and venereal diseases. They seemed two unlikely candidates for anything Haskins might be doing for them at the Palace Theater, and yet, if we could discover what it was, we could possibly have the answer to the mystery of how to get something criminally liable on Jane the Grabber and permanently put her out of business.
Doctor Hiram Epstein was working on the second floor, according to Bessie Mergenthaler. She also asked me when I was going to visit her and Seth, and I told her I was quite busy with a case, but I would be there in due time and that I was looking forward to it. Doctor Epstein was a short man with wire-rimmed spectacles and he had a wisp of curly feathered hair that covered the front of forehead and made him appear as if he were some kind of an exotic bird.
“Yes? What is it?” he asked, as I burst into the hospital room. He looked up at me as he listened at the chest of a young boy of about seven whose face looked puffy and red.
“Miss Rebecca Charming has an emergency at her place. She was hoping you could come to look at the woman and determine how to best handle her malady,” I said.
Doctor Epstein immediately put his stethoscope into a black satchel and turned to face me. “I must first tell Missus Mergenthaler. We can leave shortly thereafter.”
When we arrived at Becky’s apartment, I had learned that Doctor Epstein respected my friend very much. He told me very few of the brothels in the city sought medical care for their women, and most of the ones that catered to wealthy clientele used Madame Restell’s services of abortion and sterilization. Restell, however, had smaller abortionists located all over the five boroughs and New Jersey, and these places were far less careful and medically quite dangerous. Doctor Epstein believed many of these women died during botched procedures.
Irene was still splayed out on the parlor couch, her reddish-brown hair spread out like a fan on the pillow, her stocking-covered legs curled beneath her frail young body. Doctor Epstein immediately began to examine her with the stethoscope he extracted from his black bag.
“She was kept drugged with opiates,” I told him. “She must be addicted.”
“I know. Those drugs should not be legal! How many people must die in order for the public to wake up to the dangers of opiate derivatives?” said Doctor Epstein as he felt the girl’s pulse and checked her eyes. She was now sleeping soundly, although her breathing was coming in wheezy gasps.
“When the rich begin to die from those drugs, then we will see some legislative reaction,” said Becky. “Until then, I am afraid, grandma will get her laudanum.”
After examining Irene, Doctor Epstein stretched his short frame and yawned. “In the South, there are many addicts who are given their addiction by doctors treating war wounds and the psychological damage of being a defeated people. Ironically, the freed Negroes do not experience the same problem. They are not depressed, and they do not get the good medical care, so they do not become addicted. As long as this addiction is kept a secret, the men who make money from all the home remedies on the m
arket will continue to profit from their sale. This woman, I am afraid, is one of many thousands who are collateral damage to the much larger problem of national ignorance to these drugs.”
“You know I never allow any of these drugs or alcohol to be used by my ladies. If I find out they are using them, I terminate their employment immediately!” said Becky, striking her left palm with her right fist.
“Ah, yes, if all employers in your profession were as progressively aware as you, we would have a much less dangerous problem on our hands. Now. As for this girl. She needs rest for a few days, and I want you to give her some of this ground up and placed in her tea.” Doctor Epstein reached down into his satchel and extracted a small, hermetically sealed metal container. He handed it to Becky.
“What is it?” Becky asked, fingering the cylindrical container.
“It’s called cannabis Indica. I use it to treat veterans, the ones who have what is euphemistically called ‘soldiers disease.’ What they actually have is an addiction to morphine administered to them on the battlefield after being wounded. The addiction occurs after they have become physically dependent on this strong drug. This cannabis, I have found, is the perfect way for the patient to come down and detoxify from the physical symptoms of the opiate. It also helps with the nauseated feelings and gives the patient a good outlook on life. The mood of this woman should be much improved by taking this drug. Once you see that her opiate addiction symptoms have disappeared, you may withdraw the cannabis medication.”
“Don’t worry, Doctor. I’ll watch over our little Alice in her Wonderland. I told her she would be free when she came to me, and I intend to keep that promise,” said Becky as she stroked the girl’s forehead.
Dan Maguire stood beside the two women and looked down on them. “Do you suppose I could come over to visit her from time to time?” his voice a bit high-pitched and shaky.
“I believe you should wait until she becomes physically and mentally prepared to have visitors,” said Becky. When she saw the crestfallen look on the lad’s face she added, “Of course, if you promise that you won’t unduly disturb her, I suppose you could visit. Not this week, but perhaps the next.”
Big Dan Maguire’s face radiated with a gigantic smile. He was obviously pleased with this news.
His brother Bill walked over and put his arm around his twin. “You better have food around, Miss Charming,” he said. “My brother can eat the side off of a standing cow.”
“I believe it’s your brother who is the love-sick moon cow,” said Becky, laughing. “Now you should all leave us alone. I thank you Doctor, and we still have our usual appointment this month, is that correct?”
“Indeed it is, Miss Charming. I look forward to it.” The doctor began packing his satchel, humming as he did so. I would also often find myself singing a song or humming a melody before I came over to visit her. She had that effect on men.
“Patrick, I would like you to stay for a bit. I want to discuss what we have so far in this case.”
“Of course, Becky,” I said, and I shook hands with Doctor Epstein, and then each of the twins, as they departed the premises. As I held Bill’s hand, I said, “Tell Walter I’ll see him tomorrow. We need to plan a way to retaliate for the little demonstration Haskins pulled the other day.”
“I’ll be doin’ just that,” said Bill.
Once the other men had left, I sat down at my usual place on the end of Becky’s French couch and waited until she had tucked her new roommate into bed. She came back and sat down next to me and took my hand into her own two. The softness of her hands, even though she was quite the martial arts expert, always surprised me. I also could smell her lilac powder, despite her nursing of the sick young girl.
“Patrick, I wanted to speak to you alone because I believe I know what those sentences mean that Bill found inside Haskins’ safe.”
“You do? How can you be certain? Also, why is this information so secretive?” I was wondering if this could possibly be a key to our getting this woman arrested or at the least run out of town.
“There are sexual appetites that defy description. I know you are a good Catholic boy, and I hesitate telling you this, but I have run into most of them during my experience as both a lady of the evening and a Madame. I was actually reminded of one of them when Irene had her discomfort earlier. Some men enjoy watching a woman defecate in front of them and urinate upon them. During the war, there were men who wanted women who were missing limbs. Sometimes, it was because they, too, had lost a leg or arm in the war, but not all the time. Some just enjoyed the experience with an amputee.”
“You don’t have to tell me all of this if you feel uncomfortable,” I said.
“It is you I don’t want to make uncomfortable, silly boy! There were also those who did not even want to be with a real woman. They wanted to talk and have relations with a manikin or large doll. I have also had men who wanted to dine upon a woman’s naked body. She literally became a table upon which he could feast from his favorite delicacies.”
“Actually, that sounds rather nice,” I said, squeezing Becky’s hand.
She smiled at me and continued, “I had one man who wanted to wear a mock horse’s head. He then had me mount his back, holding a whip, and I would ride him around the room, urging him on with my riding crop!”
I laughed out loud as she got up and gave a brief example of how the gentleman would prance around as a pony-boy.
“That’s just one of the animals. They also wanted dogs, wolves, kittens, lions, and one even wanted to be a walrus.”
“A walrus! What in heaven’s name for?”
“He wanted to rub is brush-like mustache upon my naked form, of course!” she smiled.
“Of course!” I mocked.
“There were also men with cannibal fantasies. They wanted food shaped into realistic female forms. Bread, ground meat and other foods, often filled with vegetables, were laid out before them shaped like the body of a woman. They ate with gusto and performed some strange activities during their repast.” Becky smoothed out her dress as if it were a tablecloth.
“It sounds tasty,” I opined. “I hope you provide napkins,” I added.
“That’s not the end of it. Some want you dead, so you must act like a corpse. Some want you covered in mud, filth or some other demeaning substance because they enjoy seeing beauty being besmirched. Some want you mummified, so you get wrapped up with bandages, including over your mouth, so they can enjoy themselves at your displeasure. I even had one young man with a rather long erection. I believe he was in your regiment, Patrick. He didn’t want to use it on me, however. He proceeded to bend over, in quite a contortionist’s feat, and give himself fellatio!”
“Goodness!” I said, with understatement. “But what are leading up to? How do all these perversions relate to the list we found in the safe?”
“I wanted to tell you this because this last perversion is the most disgusting and potentially harmful act one can perform. I thought about those sentences while you were gone. I know that the word ‘fresh’ if often used as a euphemism for child, as is the word ‘guppy.’ Therefore, what I have deduced is that that list could be those persons who prefer having sexual intercourse with underage children.” Becky pulled away from me and sat up straight, as if she were using her posture to cleanse her psyche.
“If these important men have such sexual proclivities, then all we need to do is find concrete evidence that this type of activity is actually occurring at the Palace Theater or elsewhere.” My voice was adamant.
“Except, are you aware of the fact that the age of legal consent for females is ten?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.
“This is quite different! If these children are used for profit, then they are being morally compromised. They have no choice in the matter, as we have already seen in the instance of Irene. Younger children are even less able to protect themselves from unscrupulous adults.” I was louder and more aggravated.
“You must find
out who does this and put a stop to it!” Becky’s voice was like I had never heard it. It was filled with rancor and panic. She began to cry, heaving uncontrollable sobs which wracked her body with convulsions.
I walked over and put my arms around her and held her closely to me. “Becky, please. Tell me why you feel this way!”
She raised her head from my shoulder, and I could finally look onto her tear-stained face. She hiccupped a few times, and then spoke, her voice a kind of bitter vibration of doom mixed with hate.
“My father raped me when I was ten,” she said. “He told me it would be our little secret, and it was, until I went off to college. When he found out what I was doing to make money on campus, he came to visit me. I screamed at him and told him I would call the police if he placed one finger on my body. I have never told anyone else about this, but these are the secrets we women bear. This is why I cannot abide what these men call ‘child’s play.’ The moment I was violated, I was no longer a child. I hated everything I had become. Today, I have learned to love everything I am, and make it my sole purpose in life to protect women who are like me. No child should ever experience what I have experienced!”
As I held her closely, I knew I had to investigate the Mayor of New York City, John Hoffman, as well as Doctor Edward Bliss Foote. If they were indeed perverted child molesters, I would soon find out.
Chapter 5: A Kind of Wonderland
I was quite unnerved after discovering that Becky Charming had been raped by her father. It explained a great deal about her character and her present occupation, and I wanted more than ever to relieve the stress in her life by removing the most immediate threat to Becky caused by Hester Jane Haskins. Women with such intelligence and humanistic values as Rebecca Jones should not have to be harassed by deviants such as Haskins, and Becky certainly could never be compared with them.
Now that we had determined that the list found in the Palace Theater safe enumerated important persons who wanted to have sexual relations with children, the circle of suspects connected to the Hester Jane Haskins business grew into a more important and dangerous enterprise. If the Mayor of New York City were a suspect, then his connection to Boss Tweed and the other Tammany Hall members made the task of finding evidence that much more difficult. If I did go after Hoffman, then I would have to tread very softly. I would need only the most concrete evidence.