Chapter Four

“You received my note?” he asked, hoping the reminder would lessen his boss’s outrage over yet another night of failure.

His boss silently puffed cigar smoke in his direction before swallowing more whiskey. Even though they were alone in the hotel room, there’d been no offer of a companionable drink. His boss finally spoke, “Yes, I got it and passed the information on immediately. Don’t know yet if it is accurate. If it isn’t, he’s going to be even madder. He’s already in a tizzy because you’ve yet to deliver. It’ll be worse if we’ve given him false information. He’ll fire us and hire someone else.”

He relaxed. It sounded like the note would buy him a little more time to grab the girl. He knew his information was accurate because he’d made friends with one of the laundry women. Romance was on her mind which, of course, he encouraged. He’d easily sweet-talked her into joining him for beers at a local saloon. While they sat in a quiet corner, she’d told him that she could stay for a drink because the ladies were going to report for work two hours late the next day. Some girl had hurt her hand and the women planned to withhold their labor in protest.

Despite her tentative hints, he’d not taken her back to his room. He didn’t want anyone to know where he stayed. Besides, he had a note to write and have delivered. His boss needed to know the women planned a two-hour strike for the next morning. So, acting the regretful gentleman, he’d escorted the disappointed girl to her boarding house’s front door before he hurried off to find a messenger.

Tracing a wet ring on the varnished table top he said, “Actually, I checked. I was outside the laundry at 8:00 a.m. this morning. None of them had shown up for work. There were only delivery drivers milling around, waiting to load up.”

His boss nodded. “Well, well, then. But you still haven’t delivered the girl. Our client is becoming quite upset. I promised him you were the best and he paid your train fare all the way from Chicago. He’s expecting results. Besides, what with your fancy education and all, you’re supposed to be the smart one. She’s just a dumb washerwoman. What’s your excuse for failing last night, anyway?”

“They were upset over the girl getting hurt. The whole crew walked off the job early and they left as a group. People surrounded her. I knew they’d walk her home so it was a waste of time to follow her. I took my gal out for a beer instead.”

“Your gal?”

“Well, that’s what she thinks she is. We know better,” he added unnecessarily. As if he’d care about some steam laundry drab. Besides, she was too cow-eyed trusting. She should have stayed on the farm. He liked his women sassy, tough and a touch sophisticated.

“So, when are you going to grab the Levy woman?”

“I’m going to go there at noontime, just in case she goes out on her own. Otherwise, I’ll be waiting tonight when she gets off. This time, unless she has company, I’m going to poke a knife in her ribs. She’ll come along. One way or another, she’ll be in my hands and locked away by tonight’s end.”

“Why didn’t you try that knife gambit sooner?”

He couldn’t believe his boss lacked the imagination to answer that question for himself. But the man was paying, so he kept his tone respectful. “Because, she could scream or fight and there’s a lot of folks down there close to the river. The steam laundry isn’t the only workplace shutting down at dusk. People might come to her rescue and create that ‘ruckus’ you said our client didn’t want. You said he wants people to think she just walked away—deserted them and their little fight. That way, the police won’t put much effort into finding her.”

His boss stabbed his cigar into the ashtray. “Well, at this point, I guess we have to risk whatever it takes. Try to get her without anyone seeing but if you can’t, then get it done any way you can. And, no more excuses,” he commanded.

“No more excuses, no more excuses,” the man from Chicago repeated in a mocking chant—but only after he was back out on the street.

Sage stepped inside the red brick Davis Building. Home to a number of unions, its meeting halls were empty first thing in the morning though he was sure the various union offices were up and running. Climbing to the second floor, he entered the Carpenters’ office. Only Leo Lockwood was there.

“Leo, thanks for meeting me this morning. You’re not going to get in trouble for leaving the job are you?” he asked, noting that the union president was fully recovered from the both the strike and his own false imprisonment for murder the previous autumn. The stocky man’s smile was wide and easy with real affection lighting his eyes. Sage and his friends had straightened everything out, settling the strike and winning Leo’s freedom by finding the real killer.

The two men clasped hands before sitting down on the wooden chairs. The Carpenters’ Union president grinned and waved a dismissive hand as he answered Sage’s question, “Naw. Ever since Earl Mackey learned I didn’t kill his dad and we settled the strike, he’s been darn friendly. I swear that whole to-do changed the man. He’s turning into a pretty good boss.”

Sage smiled and said, “Sometimes that can happen. I’m glad to hear it, Leo.” Then he sobered. “Leo, I need to ask you where the Federated Trades Council stands on the laundry workers’ nine-hour day demand.” Since he wasn’t a card-carrying union man, Sage couldn’t attend the Council’s meetings to find out for himself. As a Council member, Leo was in a good position to keep Sage apprised of how the group was reacting to the laundry workers’ labor dispute. Leo wouldn’t hesitate to share that information because he was the only Portland labor leader who knew that Sage secretly worked for the labor hero, Vincent St. Alban.

Leo rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he said, “The Council feels bad that the state federation of unions only got the legislature to pass a ten-hour workday bill for all women but not the nine hours the steam laundry girls needed. We all know that’s an awful job.”

Sage had closely followed the Portland Council’s efforts in the legislature that prior spring. It had lobbied hard to get nine-hour days for the laundry women but, in the end, the state labor union federation judged a three-hour reduction in the workday would be a step too far for the legislature. They decided to try for a two-hour reduction instead.

Leo too, was familiar with the reasoning behind the shorter reduction request because he said, “As you know, the state federation decided we had to get the camel’s nose under the tent. First get ten hours for women, then get nine hours for everyone—men and women—in a subsequent session. They believed asking for nine hours, for men and women, right off the bat, would stir up too much political opposition since the standard at that time was twelve hours.”

He chuckled ruefully and looked Sage in the eye. “All of which is a long way of saying the Council has unanimously voted to support the laundry gals in their nine-hour demand.”

“Well, that’s good news. Did they vote on any action?”

That question lit Leo’s face with another grin, “Matter of fact, they did. They are going to do two things right off the bat. The first is to raise every union member’s monthly dues a penny for a strike fund. Now, we know the gals don’t want to strike. But who knows what Cobb and his buddies will do?

“And,” here Leo paused for dramatic effect—clearly he had something monumental to impart, “it looks like they’re going to sell shares so they can start their own cooperative laundry.”

“Wow, that’s a clever idea. Who thought of it?” Sage asked.

The red flush flooding Leo’s face answered that question. “Well,” he said, “Some of us have been talking about how hard that work is and we thought maybe we could make it easier on the ladies and still turn a fair profit. So, if Cobb locks them out, there’ll be work for them at the cooperative laundry.”

“And, the Council’s going to do it? Start a laundry?”

Leo nodded. “They’re taking it back to their unions and going to get authorization to buy shares. We figure that we can count on union households to use the union laundry. So, that’s a ready market.”

“Heck, I’ll buy into that,” Sage said.

This time Leo’s response was a shake of his head. “Nope, they decided that only unions and union members can buy shares. Even then, they are going to limit just how many shares can be bought by any one person or union.”

“Sounds like it was an involved discussion,” Sage mused. He’d heard of union cooperatives before but, still, it was a new idea for Portland. It would certainly raise the laundry women’s spirits when they heard of the plan.

“One other thing,” he said to Leo, “Would you let the Council know that the president of the laundry delivery drivers’ union has refused to support the women?”

Leo’s face turned grim. “That L.D. Warder is a pain in everybody’s backside. He’s nothing more than the bosses’ mouthpiece all down the line. He makes every driver negotiate a separate contract with his boss. ‘Course that butt-kissing means that Warder can guarantee that his favorite buddies will get the best pay and routes. I’m not surprised he won’t cooperate. I’ll be sure and let the Council know.

“Well, I better get back to work,” Leo said, standing up and slapping his cap onto his head, “Don’t want to discourage Mackey’s newfound good nature.”

Just as Sage turned toward the door, Leo stopped him with a call, “Say, Adair, I almost forgot. Someone I trust says that Laundryman’s Association brought in a New York City fellow, name of James Farley. Says Farley hires strike breaking scabs and sends them around the country. Summons them to new jobs using telegrams. Since the bosses will pay double wages to scabs, he always finds plenty of takers. If Farley is in town, you and your friends better watch your step. He’s not fussy about what kind of animal he hires. Leastways, that’s what my friend told me.”

Someone must have warned Cobb about the women’s two-hour protest because, when Mae arrived at the steam laundry two hours late, she and the others found the doors locked. The few delivery men still around said that Cobb had been there early so they could load up the finished laundry and get on with their deliveries. That done, he’d locked himself inside the building.

Mae eyed the group of women, particularly the new girl, Caroline. If someone warned Cobb, it was likely her. Even now the girl was coolly observant rather than upset like the other women. Once again, suspicion flared white hot. Just who was this young woman?

Half an hour later, the foreman exited the locked washroom and stood on the stoop. He wasn’t a bad sort for a foreman. He took no obvious pleasure in hectoring the women to work faster. In fact, he spent most of his time looking apologetic and lending an awkward hand wherever he could. This morning, he looked grim.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “Mr. Cobb has instructed me to inform you that the laundry will remain closed for another hour.” That pronouncement made, he turned to go back inside.

“Why is he keeping us out?” called one of the women.

The man looked embarrassed when he turned around to answer, “He said that’s your ‘punishment’ for abandoning your jobs last night and this morning. Says he’s docking your pay five hours.”

“They amputated my sister’s hand last night!” shouted Debbie’s sister. “Does Cobb know that?”

The foreman’s voice was soft as he said, “Sadie, I was there with you at the hospital. Of course, he knows. I told him.”

“Doesn’t he even care?” asked another woman.

The foreman removed his cap and ran his fingers through a thatch of graying hair. “Gloria, I really can’t say,” came his honest answer. Mae pitied his dilemma.

They milled around in the empty lot near the willow tree, waiting for the laundry door to open so they could return to work. For a long time, nothing happened then the door opened once again and the foreman stepped out. This time he carried his metal lunch bucket.

“Where you going, Harry?” called one of the girls.

“I just quit,” he responded and strode off down the street, his step jaunty—like he was heading off to a party.

They looked at each other, dumbfounded. Before anyone could speak, the washroom door banged open. Cobb stood in the doorway in his shirt sleeves, hands on his hips. “Anyone planning to work today better get themselves in here, this minute. Otherwise, this door is getting locked and you’re out of a job.”

Wordlessly they all filed into the washroom and donned their aprons.