The Russian Hill Murders (5 page)
Read The Russian Hill Murders Online
Authors: Shirley Tallman
Not long ago, I’d shared an adventure with Margaret Culbertson, the dedicated and fearless woman who ran the Presbyterian Mission on Sacramento Street. While trying to rescue a young Chinese girl from white slavery, I’d met Li Ying, the most powerful of all the Chinatown tong leaders.
Through Li Ying, I’d learned much about the secret way of life that existed within Tangrenbu, or Port of the People of China. The Chinese, largely to defend themselves against increasing anti-Chinese attitudes, had banded together to form tongs, groups organized along the general lines of kinship and geographical origins. The result was a unique and intensely private subculture that protected its own. If the owner of the sweatshop where Jack Mankin died was indeed Chinese—and he wished to disappear—there was hardly a better place to accomplish that purpose than the dense ten-block-square area of Chinatown.
The same situation, of course, would not apply to Paddy McGuire. As a poor Irish laborer with no tong to protect him, he’d be forced to find a new job as soon as possible, probably in another sweatshop. Which was why I’d decided to start my search around Pacific and Kearney. If anyone knew Paddy’s whereabouts, it would likely be people he had seen on a regular basis.
Robert and I dropped Mrs. Mankin off at her lodgings before going on to the scene of the fire. Not surprisingly, my colleague grumbled incessantly as our hansom cab plodded along, protesting he’d been tricked into accompanying me on yet another wild goose chase. Thankfully, I’d perfected the ability to block out his complaints, and I occupied myself by wondering what we would find.
To my surprise, instead of the mess of soggy, charred debris I’d
expected, most of the rubble from the fire had been cleared away and men were already at work erecting a new building. Robert noted that the materials they were using probably wouldn’t pass the city’s new building codes, but I doubted that would matter. It was no secret that construction regulations were not as closely monitored in some San Francisco districts as they were in others.
expected, most of the rubble from the fire had been cleared away and men were already at work erecting a new building. Robert noted that the materials they were using probably wouldn’t pass the city’s new building codes, but I doubted that would matter. It was no secret that construction regulations were not as closely monitored in some San Francisco districts as they were in others.
“I suggest we separate,” I told him. “You take that side of the street. I’ll start with the tobacco store on this corner.”
“And just what am I supposed to ask?” he said testily.
“Oh, for goodness sake! Describe Paddy McGuire and the other man who periodically inspected the shop. Surely someone should remember them.”
With an irritable grunt, my crotchety companion duly crossed the street. There, after a moment’s hesitation, he entered the nearest saloon.
I tugged at the long cuirass bodice of my dark burgundy dress and brushed at the horizontal pleating that made up the matching skirt. Then, straightening my velvet hat, I marched purposefully to the tobacconist’s shop and boldly entered. The clerk, who was waiting on a man wearing an odd assortment of work clothes, looked astonished to find a lady in his establishment. He finished with his customer, then, wiping his hands on his apron, turned to me in a fluster.
“Yes, ma’am, what can I do for you then? Some cigars for yer husband, maybe? I have some top-notch smokes over here.”
“Yes, I see.” Examining his merchandise, I spotted the Havana cigars favored by my father. “I’ll take half a dozen of these, please.”
The clerk beamed; these were probably his most expensive brand. “Snappin’ good choice, ma’am. Yer husband will be sure to like these.”
I didn’t bother to correct him, since I’d only made the purchase to obtain information. While he wrapped the cigars in plain brown
paper, I inquired if he knew either of the men we were seeking. He looked up when I mentioned McGuire.
paper, I inquired if he knew either of the men we were seeking. He looked up when I mentioned McGuire.
“Everyone knows Paddy,” he said, as if surprised I should ask. “He was the beatingest man on the street. Awful about the fire, wasn’t it? For a while there I thought the whole block was a goner.”
“Do you know where Paddy is working now?”
The clerk handed me the package. “I knew he was lookin’ for a job, but I never heard if he found anythin’.”
“What about the other man?” I said, briefly describing what little I knew about the stout man we hoped might be the owner.
“Don’t know nothin’ about him. Leastwise I don’t remember seein’ him in my shop.” The clerk could not contain his curiosity. “If you don’t mind my askin’, ma’am, why are you so het up to find these fellows?”
Expecting this question, I’d prepared an answer. “I’ve heard that Mr. McGuire might be interested in doing a few odd jobs for us. I was told the other man might know where Paddy was employed.”
The clerk scratched his head. “Sorry I can’t help. I’m sure Paddy would be glad enough to make some extra cash.”
Taking up the package of cigars, I thanked the man and left the shop. An hour later, burdened now with not only the cigars but a fresh fillet of salmon and a box of sweets for Celia’s children, I met Robert, who was also carrying several parcels. I detected the smell of whiskey on his breath, a testament to the bars he’d visited on his side of the street.
“Nothing, absolutely nothing,” he complained. “Everyone knows McGuire, but not where we can find him.”
“What about the other man?”
He shook his head. “Not a thing. What about you? Any luck?”
“No.” It was discouraging, but I was not yet ready to give up. “Let’s try another street.”
“Why? We’ve already wasted half the afternoon.”
“Come on, Robert, just one more block?” I smiled, deciding a dose of honey might get me further than vinegar.
It didn’t fool him for a moment. “I like it better when you’re biting off my head than trying to butter me up.” He grinned. “You’re no good at it, you know.”
Laughing, I crossed Kearney Street. Robert reshuffled his packages and set off in the opposite direction.
I was coming out of a shop midway down the block when it happened. A tall, heavy-set man stopped directly in front of me, his face so close I could see tufts of hair protruding from his beefy nose. His eyes resembled small black olives that had been poked into a plate of fat.
“Excuse me, sir,” I said, endeavoring to move past him. It was like trying to push aside an oak tree. “Please, you’re blocking my way.” I was annoyed to hear fear in my voice. Surely he wouldn’t dare harm me in broad daylight, in front of so many people. Then, looking around, I realized no one was paying us the least attention.
“Whatcha after, missy?” he asked, nearly bowling me over with his foul breath. “Why all the questions about Paddy?”
“I, ah, was told he’s an able repairman,” I said, wishing I sounded more convincing.
He seemed to find this uproariously funny. “Oh, you was, was ya?” The amusement was suddenly gone. He leaned in even closer. I caught a glimpse of rotting teeth, and again his fetid breath nearly caused me to choke. I tried to move away, but I’d backed up against the shop wall and there was no place else to go.
“And what about Killy, huh, missy? I ain’t never heard anyone call him able—unless you got a different sort of work in mind. I hear he knows how to make the ladies happy, if you take my meanin’.” His leering wink left little doubt about Killy’s special talents.
Despite my fear, at least I’d just learned the name of the second man we were after.
“Yes, Killy.” I forced a smile. “I’d be grateful if you could tell me where to find—”
“The only thing I’m tellin’ you, lady, is to mind yer own bloody business. ’Cause if you don’t, you just might find a hammer comin’ at yer head instead of yer house.” He wrapped huge, filthy fingers around the lapel of my bodice, ripping the fabric as he yanked me nearly off my feet. “It’d be a shame to spoil such a pretty face.”
With a throaty laugh, he released me so suddenly I staggered into a fruit display, knocking down a crate of apples. The man didn’t hurry but sauntered off as if he had nothing to fear. Which was probably true. Several people averted their faces as he passed, then turned and almost ran in the opposite direction.
It was several moments before I could move. My limbs felt as if they’d turned to mush and, to my horror, I’d begun to shake.
A small hand suddenly touched my arm and I nearly jumped out of my boots. “Don’t mean to alarm ya, ma‘am,” a voice said. “I saw you talkin’ to Bert Corrigan. You want to stay as far away from that hooligan as you can.”
The woman who stood beside me was so tiny she barely reached my shoulder. She looked about forty but might have been much younger. A life of grueling work often aged these poor souls beyond their years. She wasn’t an attractive creature, I thought, yet there was a quality about her that set her apart. Pride, I decided, and an unmistakable air of defiance.
“Are you all right, ma’am?” she asked when I didn’t immediately answer.
“Yes, I’m fine now,” I replied. “I admit Bert Corrigan gave me a bit of a fright.”
“Hah! He could scare the devil himself, could our Bert.” She
looked up and down the street. “I know who yer looking for. I was in the fishmongers and heard you ask.”
looked up and down the street. “I know who yer looking for. I was in the fishmongers and heard you ask.”
“You mean you know where I can find Paddy McGuire or Killy? I’m sorry, but I don’t know Killy’s last name.”
“It’s Doyle, but that’s all I know about him. He only shows his face around here when he has to. I know Paddy well enough, though. Got himself a job in a sweatshop on Washington Street. It’s run by a Johnny—you know, a Chinaman. I think its called Wing Yo’s. Seems our Paddy’s doin’ all right for himself.” This last was said in a bitter tone, and her thin lips turned down at the corners.
“Why are you telling me all this, Mrs … . ?”
“Never mind who I am. It’s enough for you to know that my husband was killed in that fire, along with four other souls. And I know well enough it was Paddy McGuire who nailed that door shut.” Her eyes burned so fiercely they seemed to gleam with orange sparks. “I don’t know why you’re lookin’ for him, but I can guess it’s to do with what happened. Somebody’s gotta pay for those five lives!”
The fiery emotion in her eyes went out as suddenly as it had ignited, replaced by pools of tears. I realized the courage it had taken for her to approach me. If Bert Corrigan was an example of the retribution she might expect for talking to me, she was a very brave woman indeed.
“I’ll do everything I can to see the responsible parties brought to justice,” I said, placing my hand on her arm. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
As if she could no longer hold them back, tears coursed down her face. Unwilling or unable to speak, she nodded her head and walked away.
I watched until she was absorbed into the crowd. Behind me, I heard a loud cry as the grocer discovered his apples rolling about
the street. Ignoring the man’s curses, street urchins snatched them up and ran.
the street. Ignoring the man’s curses, street urchins snatched them up and ran.
Feeling responsible for the melee, I handed the man some money, then crossed to Robert’s side of the street. I found him arguing with a butcher over the price of pork.
“I’ve found Paddy McGuire,” I said, tugging on his arm.”
“This man is no better than a common thief,” he cried. You wouldn’t believe the price he’s asking for—”
“Did you hear me, Robert? I’ve found Paddy McGuire.” Robert seemed disinclined to end his quarrel, then noticed my torn bodice. “What happened to you?”
As I pulled my colleague away from the shop, the butcher let loose a string of profanities and slapped the pork back into the brine barrel.
“Damn it all, Sarah, who did this to you?”
As we walked on, I described my encounter with Bert Corrigan. Although I downplayed it as much as possible, Robert’s face darkened with fury.
“Why didn’t you call me?” he demanded. “That ruffian could have done far worse than rip your dress. Damn it all, woman, one of these days you’re going to push your luck too far.”
“Calm down, Robert. The man was unpleasant, but he didn’t actually harm me. And he did let slip the name of the second man we’re looking for.”
“Humph. As if we’re ever likely to find the fellow.”
“Oh, do try to be less pessimistic. It gets tiresome.”
We’d reached the corner of Washington and Kearney and I wasn’t sure which way to turn. The street had taken on more of the flavor of Chinatown and less of the Barbary Coast. As I say, I’d visited Chinatown only once before—the night I’d joined Miss Culbertson to save the young slave girl—but that had been after
midnight. I was struck by how different the district appeared in broad daylight. What had seemed exotic by night now looked shabby and depressing. Most people either averted their faces as we passed or darted looks of suspicion and outright dislike at us. I couldn’t blame them; we were the outsiders, members of the race who persecuted them for taking our jobs and for often doing them better and at lower wages.
midnight. I was struck by how different the district appeared in broad daylight. What had seemed exotic by night now looked shabby and depressing. Most people either averted their faces as we passed or darted looks of suspicion and outright dislike at us. I couldn’t blame them; we were the outsiders, members of the race who persecuted them for taking our jobs and for often doing them better and at lower wages.
The streets were jammed with little shops, one upon the other. Tables blocked the sidewalks displaying fruits, nuts, vegetables, cigars, herbs, potions and twisted roots. From the lanes and alleys came clouds of smoke from open cooking fires.
“Why don’t you go to the right and I’ll take the left,” I suggested. “We’re looking for a place called Wing Yo’s.”
“Not on your life. I’m sticking to you like glue.”
I started to argue, then thought better of it. In truth, I wasn’t anxious for another encounter with Bert Corrigan—or with any other street thug, for that matter. I nodded my agreement, and we made our way toward Dupont. Since most shop signs were written in Chinese characters, though, finding Wing Yo’s was all but impossible. It was doubly frustrating when I could find no one who spoke English.
Other books
Home by Morning by Harrington, Alexis
Johann Sebastian Bach by Christoph Wolff
Werebeasties by Lizzie Lynn Lee
Feral Nights by Cynthia Leitich Smith
Caballo de Troya 1 by J. J. Benitez
Fearlings Two (The Fearlings Series Book 2) by Michael Edward
The Rising Moon by Nilsa Rodriguez
Dangerous by Daniels, Suzannah
Iron Council by China Mieville
