Pat O'Malley Historical Steampunk Mystery Trilogy

by Jim Musgrave

  As for Doctor Edward Bliss Foote, this was the man I was going to pursue right away because first, it was less dangerous to do so and second because I had a personal dislike of the man. I believed he was hoodwinking Becky and other women with his magnetism machine and other concoctions, and I really wondered if his wholesale distribution of contraceptives through the mails was ethical. It would be satisfying to find out something on Foote that would prove he was a sexual pervert, as it might also teach Becky not to trust people just because they subscribe to causes in which she happens to believe.

  The structure of political corruption in New York was quite ingenious. It was known as the “Society of St. Tammany,” the “Sons of St. Tammany,” and the “Columbian Order,” and was incorporated in 1789 as the “Tammany Society.” This organization has controlled both New York City and New York State politics almost since its inception, including the mayoral victories of Fernando Wood in 1854 and the present Mayor, John T. Hoffman.

  The Tammany Society was named after Tamanend, a Native American leader of the Lenape tribe and emerged as the center for Democratic-Republican Party politics in the City in the early 19th Century. The “Hall” was built in 1830 on East 14th Street, marking the era when Tammany Hall became the city affiliate of the Democratic Party, controlling most of the New York City elections thereafter.

  How does this manipulation work? The Tammany politicos work through the partisan control of “wards,” which are the smallest units of policy and implementation at the local level. My father, Robert, is now an alderman, and he must report to the ward boss. The Tammany Hall ward boss or ward heeler serves as the local vote gatherer and provider of patronage. Beginning in late 1845, when my family arrived from Ireland, Tammany power surged with the influx of millions of other Irish immigrants. Today, like a grand puppet master, Boss Tweed pulls the strings in most of New York politics.

  William Magear Tweed is the third-largest land owner in the City and is the director of the Erie Railroad, the Tenth National Bank, and the New York Printing Company, and he is also the proprietor of the Metropolitan Hotel, one of the largest hotels in New York. From his humble beginnings as an apprentice to a saddler, he grew into the most corrupt and powerful politician in America. When he was elected to the New York County Board of Supervisors, he began his genius policy of corruption by convincing the other board members to force vendors to pay a fifteen percent overcharge to them in order to do business with the city.

  Since then, most all business enterprises in New York pay some form of tribute to Tweed and his cronies. In April, 1863, Tweed became the “Grand Sachem” of Tammany and everybody began to call him “boss.” Using local Irish immigrants as the political muscle he needed, he got all his friends elected throughout the city. He also repaid the immigrants who worked for him by creating orphanages, almshouses, schools and other programs to take care of the large, needy population. In return, Tweed and his ring literally controlled all business conducted in New York City and took a big slice of almost every contract negotiated through his law firm and disguised it all as “legal services.”

  Tweed and his pals had only one requirement for those who would want to do business for the city: they must make money and lots of it. In the New York State Senate, Senator Tweed helped all the financiers who built the hotels and other apartment buildings in the Tenderloin and other areas of the city and then turned them into dens of drinking, gambling and prostitution. Sin, as a result, was the second biggest economy. The garment industry was first, and then came the “secret economy” that was the true profit center of the Tammany Hall Ring of powerful politicians. Following the war, this corrupt business enterprise became even more important.

  This is the reason why I was hesitant to follow my lead to city hall. However, if need be, I was willing to pursue the devil himself into Hades. But first, my destination was to visit Doctor Foote, as his patient, as I hoped to discover some information about him that might connect his illegal activity to the list of V.I.P. perverts we found in Jane the Grabber’s office safe. I wore by best city coat of navy blue wool and a bowed red tie on my white shirt with pleated ruffles on the cuffs. My new black porkpie cap from Levine’s Haberdashery matched my black gabardines which Becky had given to me for Christmas.

  Foote’s medical offices were at 128 Lexington, near Tweed’s Metropolitan Hotel on Broadway. The hotel occupied a three-hundred-foot brownstone-faced frontage of four floors above fashionable shop fronts occupying a full city block on Broadway and two hundred feet on Prince Street. Each time I passed this hotel, with its Roman palazzo furnishings imported from Europe and the largest plate-glass mirrors in the entire United States, I understood how poor I really was. Foote’s building was also a large brownstone with four floors.

  As I entered the building, I saw the memorials to Doctor Foote’s medical practice. There was a model of his famous Magnetic Machine, posters of his variety of medicinal remedies, and, interestingly, not one example of any of his contraceptives. His solicitation of these “sex aides” was limited to his mail order business. It was this activity that angered men like Anthony Comstock, who believed Doctor Foote was distributing what amounted to pornographic literature.

  Sitting behind the reception desk was a young woman in a white nurse’s uniform. She had a small American flag pin on her lapel, and she smiled up at me in greeting. “Yes sir, welcome to Doctor Foote’s Clinic. May I ask your reason for this visit?”

  “I was hoping I could make an appointment to see the doctor,” I said.

  “May I ask the nature of your physical malady?” the smile continued unabated.

  “I am a bit uncomfortable communicating this, but I suppose it is kept in strict confidence,” I said, lowering my voice.

  “Yes, indeed it is, Mister?”

  “O’Malley. Patrick James. I have heard about Doctor Foote’s electro-magnetic machine. Is it true he can invigorate one’s relations with the opposite sex?” I looked down at my hands to emulate embarrassment.

  A warm kindness entered her voice as she said, “Doctor Foote is quite proud of his new method of electro-magnetic therapy. All of European society is raving about its wonders. I am certain he can help you. May I put you down for an appointment? The cost is fifteen dollars per visit,” she explained.

  “Will he also consult with me privately about certain matters pertaining to performance?” I asked.

  “Doctor Foote always discusses any topic a patient needs to know before proceeding with any electro-magnetic therapy. What day are you available, Mister O’Malley?”

  “Could I come tomorrow?”

  The nurse looked down at her ledger, ran her hand across, and then looked up. “There is an opening at two in the afternoon. Would that be acceptable?”

  “Yes. I shall make arrangements and be here tomorrow afternoon. I thank you and bid you good afternoon,” I said and turned to leave.

  “You can fill out the required forms when you come tomorrow,” she said.

  “Indeed,” I said, over my shoulder, as I opened the door and stepped out onto the first step leading down to the street front. Wagons, hackneys, handsome cabs and delivery carts were moving rapidly along Broadway, as I stepped out into the din of the city’s atmosphere.

  My next stop was to pay another visit to Superintendent of Police, John Kennedy. I wanted to find out what this experienced law man knew about vice and the practice of using children as prostitutes. He may also have some suggestions about how I could find evidence leading back to the procurers at the Palace Theater.

  The usual men were assembled inside the office of the superintendent and provost-marshal on 46th Street. They waved me into Kennedy’s back office. “He’s makin’ his list of saloons we’re gonta bust,” one of them remarked.

  I opened the door with the frosted glass that said “John A. Kennedy, Superintendent,” and stepped inside. Kennedy was hunched over the ledger writing with an old-fashioned quill pen, dipping it carefully into the ink and waving hi
s hand over the wet result and blowing on it. He stopped for a moment and looked up. “Ah, O’Malley. What brings you to this neck of the woods?”

  I took a seat in the chair in front of his desk. I noticed a photograph of Kennedy shaking hands with Mayor John Hoffman. “What would you need to have in the way of evidence to prove that an important person, say the mayor,” I said, pointing up to the photo on the wall, “has been soliciting children for sexual favors?”

  “You understand I am not a lawyer, but I do happen to understand the present law on these matters. Therefore, I must preface my discussion with a caveat. Most of the laws today in New York have application to the underclasses and not to the class of gentleman to which you refer in this instance.”

  “I am aware of this kind of disparity. I am attempting to discover what I would need to punish the provider of children in this scenario, as the punishment of the client is not significant. You already know about Hester Jane Haskins. She is the provider I need to convict.” I hoped this cleared up the confusion he might be having.

  “I would suppose that the best evidence one could provide would be to have someone bear witness to the exchange of money for such child services, and then show that there was a consummation of service with the client. Of course, this legal hypothetical would be for a case prosecuted in an administrative court and not a criminal one. I dare say, in this city, there has been no criminal conviction of a purveyor of child prostitutes unless that purveyor allowed the child to be tortured or murdered.” Kennedy rubbed his beard reflectively. “Yes, I would allow that a child prostitute would need to be tortured physically for there to be any chance at a criminal charge and judgment of guilt.”

  “Thank you, John. You have been quite helpful. I believe if I can establish either an administrative infraction or a criminal one, I will have satisfied the requirement I need to put Haskins out of business.” I stood up.

  “If you need assistance, please let me know. I would enjoy being the arresting officer at such a rendezvous in a bawdy house. I am quite fatigued by enforcing liquor laws in this city.” Kennedy shook my hand and led me to the door.

  “I will let you know when we attempt such a feat,” I told him, stepping out onto the front step. I would certainly need someone of his status to make such an arrest, and it was good to know he was behind me.

  Before I put my plan to trap Doctor Foote into action, I wanted to discuss it with Bessie Mergenthaler. She would understand the psychological implications of baiting such a twisted man as Doctor Foote. I did not trust Becky, as she had become too involved in Doctor Foote’s organization, and she seemed to have lost all objectivity when it came to everything this man did.

  It was past five in the afternoon, so I knew Bessie would be at her mansion at 238 Fifth Avenue. The walk was brisk and comfortable. Springtime was in full bloom, and my thoughts were concerning the love between little Irene and big Dan Maguire. To the poor, becoming a prostitute was not what the rich thought it was. The wealthy class believed a woman who had to resort to such activities to support her life was a “fallen woman.” The connotation was that any female who sold her body for money had fallen from God’s grace. As such, she was marked, like Mary Magdalene, with sin and in need of forgiveness.

  On the other side of the ledger, a poor woman who lost a husband, obtained a divorce, or was raped, became someone without a means of economic support. She was not born into money, and neither she nor her family could buy her way out of the scandal. Thus, she needed money immediately to lift herself out of the gutter and live another day. To the lower class, becoming a prostitute was the only chance a woman had to survive. Far from being a fallen woman, she was able to function as a working woman with a much better income than the women and children who worked in the dangerous factories of the garment industry.

  As a result, Irene and Dan were young people who looked upon life much more realistically. They only wanted the freedom to be together and attempt to survive on what meager chances life had given them. Becky, too, had come from the fortunate side of the class divide, and yet because she was wounded by her father’s illicit rape, she now understood what it was like to become a fallen woman. What Becky was trying to do was to allow these women a bit of respectability and freedom to choose their own lifestyle.

  “Patrick! How nice of you to come!” Bessie spoke to me as the family butler, John, led me into her drawing room on the first floor of her three-story mansion. The fringe lamps glowed red upon the mahogany tables, and the European paintings and statues decorated the room with artistic splendor. Bessie came up to me, stood up on her toes, and kissed my cheek. I could smell her French perfume, and her imperfect ear was still jutting out on the left side. Otherwise, she was as darkly beautiful as she had always been.

  “How is Seth?” I asked, knowing Bessie’s pride and joy was this young six-year-old.

  “He is doing well. Could you take him out someday soon? The men around here are not the type of heroes he has imagined in his dreams. You realize you are his image of a true hero. Since his father died, he has gone further into his shell, and he still believes he is a mazikeen. You are the only realistic memory he has.” Bessie was leaning forward, and I could tell by the tone in her voice she was quite concerned about her boy.

  “Tell him I’ll be around to take him to the Barnum Museum on Friday. That should feed his imagination for a while. They have Commodore Nutt, the midget, and Anna Swan, the giantess. We can have a grand time,” I said.

  “He will love it!” said Bessie. “Now, what was it you came to discuss? Are you having problems with that prostitution ring?”

  “There was a brief set-back. Hester Haskins sent a group of paid demonstrators and police around to Becky’s place. They were calling for her arrest and raising quite a ruckus. The only way I could stop them was to pretend to be a health inspector condemning Becky’s building because of cholera.”

  “My! You are a quick one, Patrick. I suppose now you want to get even.”

  “You already know about the threats made to Becky’s employees. As a result, I went on a spying expedition with four of my Plug Ugly friends. We were able to get a list of very important people from Haskins’ office safe, but my man was caught in the act before he could leave with it. He did remember two of the names on the list and also the two sentences that prefaced these names.” I saw the figure of Seth dart across the doorway outside in the hall. It seems we were also being spied upon.

  “Who were they? What did this list mean?”

  “Becky knew what the terms meant, as they were used in her business. They were a list of important people who were paying big sums of money to have relations with children, I am afraid, and now I want to plan a way to entrap one of the men who was on that list.” I could see by the look on Bessie’s face that this news was quite disturbing to her.

  “But what can you want from me? You don’t assume I would do anything to assist such freaks of nature, do you?”

  “I know you are a medical expert, and you also know a great deal about psychology. I need to know how one could go about enticing such a degenerate into meeting us at a location where we could get solid evidence as to his guilt in this kind of transaction.”

  Bessie’s face changed into one of calm reflection. She primped the sides of her raven hair. “I thank you for your trust, Patrick. Yes, I have been educated in a variety of psychological illnesses. I perhaps may not have the direct experience that a person like your Rebecca Charming might know, but I do understand what kind of rationale these monsters use to assuage their black souls. What are you looking to do? Do you want to know what they enjoy?”

  “Yes, I would like to write a letter to this person in order to entice him enough that he would come to the location we specify. Of course, we would be lying in wait so as to ensnarl him in our web of intrigue. We need enough evidence to take him to administrative court. I have spoken with Superintendent Kennedy, and he advises this method rather than a criminal indictment. We don
’t especially want to convict this gentleman. We merely want to get him frightened enough that he would testify against Haskins and her Palace Theater.”

  Bessie leaned forward, her eyes sparkling with interest. “I know you will not tell who this gentleman is, but I understand. Besides, these men are all the same. Let me tell you something about child abusers. There is an almost definite chance that he was abused himself as a child. This is a way he can return the favor, so to speak, as he sees his act as a form of an initiation or rite of passage. The sick nature of his thoughts, however, tells him he is not committing rape upon an innocent child. Oh no. He believes he is teaching this child the highest form of love. You see, these perverts rationalize that they are showing the purest form of love to a child. Once a child becomes his, the gift of pederasty can continue into another generation. In a warped way, these beastly men think they are ensuring their own immortality!”

  “How disgusting and disturbing! So, what would you advise would be an attraction to such a person?”

  Just then, Seth Mergenthaler ran into the room. He came right up to me and stood at attention. He gave me a hand salute with his left hand at his forehead, and his brown eyes were riveted upon mine. “Seth the first class mazikeen. Reporting for duty, sir!”

  “At ease,” I told him. “Did you hear my invitation to take you to see the Barnum Museum on Friday?”

  “Yes sir! I also know what you can tell the beast in your letter!” Seth’s voice sounded confident.

  I looked over at Bessie, and she shook her head in exasperation, obviously not really understanding what her son was saying.