He drew hard on his cigar and expelled a noxious cloud. “That’s just a drop in the bucket of the tribute daily exacted from the people by the giant corporations of this country. There’s no competition as far as the manufacturing industries and the railway systems are concerned.”
Haskell sounded almost cheerful after his recitation of the sad and sorry state of labor affairs. His attitude was no surprise to Inez. She had pegged him early in their acquaintance as the sort who was most happy when miserable. Perfect for a union-leaning publisher of a small labor newspaper.
Of course, his cheerfulness could indicate he had been dealt a strong hand.
Time would tell.
“Mark me,” he continued, “there will come a time when the oppression by the moneyed powers of this country will be so great it will no longer be endured. The people will demand the government adopt radical measures for eradicating the evil. The sooner this work begins, the better it’ll be for us. In my opinion.”
Otto groaned.
Percussionist Isaac Pérez nudged Otto with an elbow. “Mourning the future loss of Miss Donato’s sugar-laden pastries due to market manipulations?”
“Just mourning the waste of a cent.” Otto tossed his cards down. “I’m out.”
Inez knew a bad hand wasn’t the only reason for Otto’s uncharacteristic dolefulness. When he had arrived to the gathering late, still wearing the black armband from his day’s employment, she had pulled him aside for a quick word. “Have you told any of the others about the longshoreman’s visit to your boardinghouse this morning?” she murmured, handing him a glass of whiskey.
Otto had glanced at his companions, chatting and smoking at the table, out of earshot. “I have not seen them. I was working all day. I have not talked to anyone of this.” He looked down at his tumbler, gave the liquid a tentative swirl. She suspected he was barely controlling the urge to toss it down in one gulp.
“Good. No need to stir the pot any more than it has already been stirred. At least until we know what is what. Or who is who. It is being taken care of, and we should know soon. If the conversation allows, I will ask if anyone has seen Jamie out and about today. Verstehen Sie?”
He’d understood.
That was two games and six refills ago. And rather than increase his joviality, all the liquor had done was to carry him deeper into his funk.
“Not even staying in for the first round of betting?” Welles asked, eyeing Otto’s slim stacks of pennies and nickels.
“Not even,” Otto responded, and leaned back in his chair, fingers clasped over his checked waistcoat. “Landlady has been at the door. Rent is overdue.”
“Well, you’re not the only ones in the city scrambling to pay for lodgings right now,” continued Haskell cheerfully. “The city’s school fund has officially been declared exhausted as of yesterday and is short by seventeen thousand bucks. Teachers who didn’t present their warrants for payment before ten-thirty Saturday are now going to have to wait until the middle of December to get paid. Pity the school marm who’s got nothing saved up for room and board. It’ll be a long time until the next meal.”
With a twinge of sympathy, Inez thought of Miss Pierce and her snappish attitude toward Antonia. Perhaps she was one of the unfortunate teachers.
Haskell settled comfortably into his seat with another smoky exhalation. She debated the wisdom of buying a different brand of cigar and offering them all around at the next gathering, with the intent of switching Haskell off his current highly unpleasant favorite.
Welles said, “How about the music world? Anyone know of any leads?” He had dark circles under his eyes as if he hadn’t slept in days.
William Ash said, “Jossefy’s looking for a harmonium player, I hear.”
“No use to me,” said Welles glumly. “I’m not an organist. But maybe I ought to take it up. Could maybe pick up work in churches or for ladies’ clubs.”
Inez wondered why he was sitting in the game. His wife could no doubt make good use of the penny he’d just tossed into the pot. Inez decided she might see if she couldn’t arrange it so he left the evening richer than when he had arrived. She never engaged in card mechanics such as false shuffling and culling when the pots were small. If she did decide to try and better Welles’ lot, she would have to be careful. Despite the meager size of the winnings, the musicians were cutthroat, often reacting as if they were betting gold eagles when only raising nickels. For a moment, Inez drifted off into memories, reminiscing about evenings at the Silver Queen when hundreds, even thousands of dollars sometimes rode on the single turn of a card.
Giotto opened the first round of betting with a penny.
Everyone called.
With a pair of sevens, Inez decided to let the game play itself out naturally and instead focus on finding an opening in the conversation to ask if anyone knew a “Robert Gallagher.” She also hoped she could
