“Did you know during the draft riots several negro gentlemen having been pursued for blocks and blocks by enraged whites had sought refuge at the Challenger’s Club?” Fremont Davis, his arms folded, leaned against a pile of coffee beans in burlap sacks stacked high and long against one wall. During the Civil War, Congress passed compulsory inscription. This in the wake of the Emancipation Proclamation being enacted. Added to that, the well-heeled could pay for a poor person to take their place in the draft. Wage-earning whites revolted against Lincoln’s “nigger war.”
“Were they turned away?” Henson finished, climbing down into the ship’s hold from the main deck. While there was still cargo in here, from fifty-pound bags of apricots to coffee to machine parts in wooden crates, all of it had been shoved off to the sides allowing for a squared-off mostly bare center. It was cold outside, and a chill wind whistled around this metal cavity. Henson had come without a coat on, braced and invigorated by the frosty temperature. As far as he could tell, only he and Davis were on the ship, the SS Robeson.
Henson wore his workingman’s clothes and boots. Davis was in dungarees and a worn loose cotton shirt, western-type boots on his feet. Probably his hunting clothes, Henson figured. There were lights strung up at regular intervals along the walls providing illumination—though the shadows lengthened the more you moved away from the center area.
Davis straightened up, chuckling. “In fact, my dear departed grandfather Solomon who was head of the board then, sent word that what was happening out on the streets of the city was a travesty and that no innocent man nor woman seeking shelter would be harmed on his watch.” He motioned with his hand. “Those gentlemen and several others were secured in the club’s basement. Fed, bedded and safeguarded during the duration of the disturbance.”
“Very noble.”
“Do you know why I turned down your application for membership, Matthew?” Davis kept his gaze on Henson.
“To get back at ol’ granddad?”
He shook a finger at him. “Ha, no. I knew full well of your contributions to reach the North Pole. I knew full well you deserved to be the first black member of our august body.”
“But…” Henson said, orbiting the one small table there was in here. On it was a silver serving tray with two hunting knifes laid out ceremonially. Their blades had been vigorously polished.
“But it was business, plain and simple. Had I championed your application, it had been made clear to me from other, shall we say…more short-sighted members, that certain contracts I was in pursuit of would not be forthcoming. That meant ships shipping, jobs, food on the table and the clothes on the backs of the families of my workers. The needs of one can’t outweigh the many.”
“Really, it was a sacrifice on my part, only I didn’t know it.”
He shrugged. “Wanted to clear the air on that. I have the negro’s best interest in mind, Matthew”
“That a fact?”
“You scoff, but what is it you think I intended to do with the Daughter?’
“Considering you gave Schultz the ray gun, kill a lot of black folks?”
He shrugged. “Again, just business. You know I wouldn’t have kept that hothead as an ally for too much longer. But I will admit, I was curious to see how the weapon would operate.”
“Not too good, it turned out.”
“My scientists theorize the meteor will be the proper stabilization element. For you see, that’s what this power will be in my hands. I’ll bring stability and order. Mark my words, there’s unrest in Europe and sooner or later the skies will be filled again with the screams of dying men and women. Imagine what could be accomplished in the judicious use of several of the death rays?”
“You figure to be the dictator of the world? Or America at least”
“Setting the terms is how I see it. There’s a place for a man like you in such a vision, Matthew.”
“I’ll pass.”
He looked sincerely disappointed. “I imagine in that exclusive interview you’re set to conduct with The New York Amsterdam News, you’ll be naming names, raising certain allegations.”
“Most assuredly. Yet, I’m sure you’re not worried about that.”
“No, but there’s others who want you made an example of, make sure you’re put back in your place.”
“An example for any other uppity nigras,” Henson cracked.
“Yes,” Davis said wearily, “there is that. But I’ve already concluded I’ll have to get you out of the way. By my hand, not some rifleman on a roof as some had suggested. This has to be between you and me. Hunter to hunter.”
Henson imagined bulldog suggesting the sniper approach. “Now that you’ve figured out the meteorite isn’t here in town, if I’m dead, how will you find it?”
“I’d wager your friend Ootah knows. And one way or the other, I’ll track him down and wrest its location from him.” He said this without rancor, like listing items for a trip to the grocery store.
Henson cursed
“What? I own a freight line.” He swept his hand about indicating the hold. “I’m well connected here on the docks. You think an Eskimo can show up here a few years ago and
