THE EDUCATION OF ROSE DAWSON: PART II

Chapter Seven

Resumption

“Would you like to try some Chinese tea?” Amsterdam asked Rose as they turned back on Pell Street. “We’ll ride out the storm in one of these restaurants.”

“That sounds great. How about this one?” Rose pointed to the Chinese Delmonico restaurant as they approached and were about to pass it.

“Not a bad choice,” said Amsterdam. They hurried into the restaurant, which the locals knew as Mon Lay Won. Rose was immediately fascinated by the very unfamiliar décor of the place, which allowed her to ignore the noise and grime on the floor. Some of the patrons, perhaps the same ones who had stared at her when she entered Pell Street earlier in the afternoon, did the same thing here. She smiled back politely as she, Amsterdam, and Jenny followed a waiter, who seated them at a table. The waiter promptly served them tea in some tiny teacups and left once Amsterdam announced in simple Chinese that they would not require anything else.

(L) Pell St. circa 1912 with Mon Lay Won (Chinese Delmonico) on the left;

(C) Cover of the Mon Lay Won menu; (R) Interior of Mon Lay Won

Rose was impressed by Amsterdam’s use of Chinese. “Where did you learn it?”

“Some Chinese had the good fortune to spend time in Hellgate with me. They taught me simple Chinese and I taught them simple English – the kind the headmasters don’t teach,” Amsterdam replied with a wink. “Then I picked up more once I got out and later in California.”

“I am in awe,” said Rose.

“Wow, even my wife never praised me like that.” Amsterdam knew how Jenny would reply: with another playful slap on the arm. He paid her back with a kiss to the cheek.

“This is good tea,” said Rose as she finished one cup. “What is it?”

“It’s a black tea called bo lay,” said Jenny. “I think it’s the best, but they won’t serve it to you if you’re not Chinese. So you have to ask for it. Not only do we do that every time we eat at a Chinese restaurant, we’ve also bought some to make at home.”

“I can see why. But why do they call this ‘The Chinese Delmonico’?” asked Rose as she viewed one of the menus.

“Ever heard of the real Delmonico’s on Fifth Avenue?” asked Amsterdam.

I certainly have. “Yes, I have.”

“Well, the owner of this restaurant wanted everyone to know it serves the best Chinese food in the city, so he gave it a famous name. The Chinese love to imitate anything they find superior. But you have to admit the prices here are better than at the real Delmonico’s!”

“I am sure they are.” Even the tips paid at the real Delmonico’s exceed the cost of the most expensive dish here.

* * *

Amsterdam resumed telling his life story. “You know, Rose, I kept thinking about yer question during our walk here – if it was worth killing Bill during a riot. You could actually expand yer question to ask if there was even an ounce of worth to the riot, despite the senselessness of it all. I must admit in a way, it felt good because I saw the rich know fear for the first time – fear of being attacked in their homes and offices…”

Fear. Rose saw many of the rich exhibit the same fear on Titanic when it was sinking – fear of not being in control, of not being the masters of the universe; fear that their hired hands would be unable to keep the steerage passengers from breaking down the gates and storming the lifeboats; fear that they would be separated from their fortunes in a most untimely manner.

“…Fear of being seen as a three hundred dollar man and attacked on the streets. Some of the rich had profited handsomely by supplying our soldiers with shoddy equipment and…”

Shoddy. Three hundred-dollar man. These very words provoked the same sense of guilt in Rose that she first experienced on board Titanic when she recounted her grandfathers’ less-than-noble conduct during the war to Jack and Angus.

“…putting their lives in more danger. It’s funny how these same soldiers came back to protect the very people who sent them to die in a rich man’s war in the first place.”

“All wars are rich men’s wars,” said Jenny. “But the costs are borne by everyone else.”

Rose nodded in agreement before she shook her head and cast her eyes downward. “How can one so easily convince a group of people to move against another group with whom they share so much in common?”

“It’s not so hard, Rose, when you can hire just half the poor to kill the other half – and for only thirteen dollars a month,” observed Amsterdam impassively. “That’s the monthly wage for a Union soldier during the war.”

Rose looked up. “I could not have said it better myself.”

“You’ve probably never seen the ugly side of class relations close up,” speculated Amsterdam.

“Actually, I have, and it was not pleasant.” Not when I was on the other side looking in.

“My apologies, then, Rose. The riot showed how big the rift between the classes was in this city. The rich stayed rich, as they always do, while the poor swallowed the blame. New York must have been the most hated city in the Union after the riot. Not that we was loved by the rest of the country before that. We was always different – always the arse of America, and the Five Points was the arsehole.” He smiled wryly at his analogy. “And a damn, dirty one, too. We needed a wiping, and the riot gave it to us.”

Rose rolled her eyes à la Jenny over another of Amsterdam’s vulgar comparisons. She had heard more profanity in the last ten days than in the ten years before that, with a few of the offending words coming from her own mouth. “What happened to you after the riot?”

“After we buried Bill, we stayed in Brooklyn for a while so I could heal my wounds and hide from the crushers. Before the riot, Bill sent a crusher named Happy Jack to eliminate me. Happy Jack also ran with my father when he was alive. After he died, Happy Jack became one of the most corrupt policemen in a department that had more crooked cops than a dog has fleas. He actually thieved off the thieves! I killed him first, but I knew his mates would come looking for me, and that came after the riot when our gang was scattered. The crushers was hurt pretty badly in the riot, and they wanted retribution.”

Happy Jack. My Jack was happy, too…even after the sinking. “Both of you eventually left New York, I assume.”

“Eventually. We was afraid the army would also come looking for me, too, because I killed a soldier in the riot. I’d already discarded my telltale Rabbit garb. Once we recovered, we headed north with the many colored who was also fleeing the city. We arrived in Canada like fugitive slaves on the Underground Railroad. Then we married and lay low for over a year to ride out the war, living on the money we escaped with from New York and working small jobs. Once it began to die down we re-entered this country through Maine and headed south to Boston, where we caught a steamer going west, arriving in San Francisco in the spring of ’65 ready to start our lives anew. California seemed a haven for men who wanted no part of the war. Most went there to avoid the draft. Some went for new opportunities – as Horace Greeley told them to. Some was running from the law. I was all three.”

The mention of California further aroused Rose’s interest in what was already a very fascinating story. I will be all three, too, if Cal discovers that I am alive and enlists the law to locate and “draft” me back to him. “What did the two of you do once you arrived in San Francisco?”

Amsterdam had an answer prepared. “We settled near its Chinatown, of all places. At least we could afford the rent there. Then we had to worry about making a living. Neither of us had much experience beyond the outlawed trades, so we used the skills we learned from them to take on something a little more legitimate. I helped guard a Chinese gambling parlor, while Jenny decided to turn over a new leaf by working as a maid in a hotel. She learned that from her turtledoving days.”

Rose became puzzled. “You were a bird?” she asked Jenny.

Jenny giggled. “No, a turtledove is a thief who poses as a maid to rob rich people’s homes. Of course I didn’t do that in the hotel, but I knew people who did.” Seeing that Rose’s confusion had deepened, she elaborated on her former life. “That’s right, Rose. I had to steal to survive – even from Ammie himself.” She gave her husband a devilish grin.

“Yes, she once lifted St. Michael from me before I followed her and snatched it back,” replied Amsterdam as he pointed a finger at Jenny. “Every day was like the second day of Christmas for her.”

Now Rose understood why Jenny volunteered to get her money clip back from the swindler the previous day. “That must have been the start of a beautiful relationship,” she said as she joined in the humor.

Everyone laughed before Amsterdam resumed his tale. “My wife took up nursing and sewing in her spare time. She had plenty of chances to practice both on me.”

“Starting with the time Bill almost killed him,” Jenny cut in. “Do you know how many times he’s been cut, Rose?”

“More times than a slab of meat,” Amsterdam answered almost proudly. “Maybe several slabs. I didn’t work long at the gambling parlor. After I threw out some unruly gamblers one time, a man approached me and offered me more money to work as a foreman for the Central Pacific Railroad. The company had hired a lot of Chinese to build the railroad and needed someone to supervise them. The money was too good to turn down, but I’d have to play the gander.”

“I assume you did not turn into a bird yourself.”

“No, a gander’s a married man who doesn’t live with his wife. I had to leave San Francisco because the railroad was being built eastward. Jenny convinced me to take the job because we needed the money. So, for two years, I worked farther and farther away from home, only returning once or twice a month to see her. I mingled well with the Chinese and supported them when they struck for higher pay. The company cut off their food supply and threatened to bring in coloreds to replace them, and I got so disgusted I quit in protest. If I hadn’t, I would have ended up hurting someone. The company was doing what Bill warned against – driving down the cost of a hard day’s work. Besides, I missed my wife, so I returned to Frisco, half of it by foot after they refused to provide me with transportation.”

“You stood up for what you believed in,” commented Rose.

Amsterdam smiled at the praise. “I guess I did. And I still do, even if it endangers my life.”

“Which seems to be much of the time,” teased Jenny.

Amsterdam glared mischievously at his wife before turning serious again. “After I went back to Frisco, I worked security again in different locations, mostly establishments of ill repute. Now that I look back, the foreman post was one of the more ‘honest’ jobs I’ve had. It’s so hard to break out of a life of crime and vice once you jumped in.”

“So, you turned to crime again?”

“Yes, but unwittingly. I once worked for a saloon owner who was a crimp. That’s a person who helps shanghai men for sailing ships. It’s kidnapping, really, but they call it shanghaiing because Shanghai, China was a big and mysterious destination for many ships. And a dangerous one, too, so no sailor from America wanted to end up there.” Amsterdam shook his head. “I should have known better, since I’d seen it in New York. But the practice was more sophisticated in California. During the war, the crimps and their runners – that’s their henchmen – would just snatch a man in the open, knock him out, and force him onto a ship. But in Frisco, a crimp would usually choose an unlucky customer, become friendly with him, and then drug his drink behind his back. After the customer passed out, my boss would tell me or another big fellow to carry him to a room with a bed, saying the man had too much grog and to let him sleep it off so he’d pay the tab. It didn’t take long for me to find out the truth because these customers would vanish from their beds just minutes after I put them there. Later, my boss simply installed a trap door under the customer’s spot, which he activated by pulling a lever. The customer would fall into the basement and be whisked away to serve on a ship against their will. Many wouldn’t see home for years, if they had one. Then the crimps and ship captains would cheat them out of their wages so they ended up working for free.”

“That sounds like slavery.”

“It was slavery, but unlike slavery, it wasn’t outlawed.”

The revelation shocked Rose. Was Jack ever shanghaied? she thought to herself after recalling him tell her that he worked on a squid boat during his time in California. “Why was this practice so common?” she finally asked Amsterdam.

“Maybe because of maritime trade, which was connecting the world. Since there was so many ships sailing around, captains needed crews to man them. But being a seaman was no walk in the park. The pay was low and you had to be away from home for long periods. Then there was the gold rush of ’49. Seamen quickly deserted their ships to get rich in California, and most failed. That left many ship owners hanging high and dry, so they turned to the crimps for new seamen. It didn’t take much to be a seaman, so a crimp could target almost anyone and was paid handsomely for his efforts. The practice was so lucrative, and no crimp was going to give it up without a fight, so he was ready to kill to protect his trade. After the trap door eliminated part of my job, my boss wanted me to join his runners by heading down to the waterfront, out to the ships arriving in port if need be, and entice sailors with offers of wine and women. If they refused, I was to threaten them.”

“And you turned down your boss.”

“Right. If I’d wanted to continue my old ways, I’d stay in New York. So I quit, but my boss wasn’t letting me off easy. He hired a runner named Johnny Devine to shanghai me! Johnny was a fellow Irishman from New York who claimed to be shanghaied to Frisco before the war. He wasn’t much bigger than a leprechaun, but he gained a fearsome reputation as a brawler and criminal. Then he took up shanghaiing and found that he was good at it – so good that people nicknamed him the “Shanghai Chicken”. Our paths and fists crossed a couple of times. Johnny was a tough and dirty fighter and even gave me a few good licks, but I knocked him down each time and he never forgot that, always burning to avenge his defeats. So, when he was offered the job, he accepted immediately. But I was ready. I lured him to the waterfront and ambushed him, knocked him out, bound him, and tossed him into the water. But he’s sturdy. He escaped and came looking for me again, but got into another brawl first and had a hand cut off.”

Johnny Devine

Rose cringed again at the mention of a limb being violently amputated. Jenny, fearing that she was about to faint, moved to stop her husband from going any further with his story until Rose indicated that she would be fine. She gulped down some tea, refilled her cup and easily gulped down two more servings before signaling for Amsterdam to continue.

“That still didn’t stop Johnny. He had a hook fitted over his stump, and he sharpened it to make it deadlier. That made him a real-life Captain Hook! Or was it ‘Captain Crook’? He found me at home and quickly introduced his new weapon to me. I had to defend my castle and my wife, so I challenged him to beat me with it. Damn, did he try! He pierced me with the hook, and that enraged me so much I seized him by the neck and bit off a piece of his ear! He stabbed me a couple more times with the hook, but not seriously. Then Jenny clubbed his head with a kettle, knocking him out. That took care of him, and he never bothered us again.”

“That sounds similar to yesterday’s fight.”

“In some ways. But that wasn’t the end of Johnny. He couldn’t perform the big jobs anymore, and once his boss found him a liability, he tried to shanghai him! But Johnny was still a fighter. Once again he escaped, but he never learned his lesson, continuing his criminal ways and landing in and out of jail. Finally, he was convicted of murdering a sailor, and for that he swung in ’73.” Amsterdam became more solemn as he spoke.

Rose became speechless for a few seconds. “You do not sound very relieved at this outcome.”

“Should I be? When I think about Johnny, I’m reminded of myself. I don’t know much about his early life, but I’d reckon he grew up poor and unloved like me. He just didn’t know how to pick his fights or when to say ‘Enough!’. That’s how he lost his hand and then his life.”

“Am I wrong to presume that you…felt a little sorry for Johnny, despite the way he tormented you and Jenny?”

“No, you’re absolutely right. Johnny reminded me that some have led lives more wretched than mine. Maybe he wanted to turn over a new leaf, too, but couldn’t. And for me, maybe Hellgate wasn’t such a bad place after all. It was still a prison and I still got into fights, but at least I received an education there and the headmasters was patient, if preachy. I’ll never forget that message atop one of its windows: ‘The way of the transgressor is hard.’ It was right, but it took me years, decades to realize that. Until then, the schooling made me literate, while the thought of avenging my father kept me hungry.”

“And it was Bill who sent you to Hellgate,” reminded Jenny.

“I was just about to mention that,” said Rose. “So, there was a silver lining to this cloud, and the person who lined it was your worst enemy.”

“I suppose that’s true,” admitted Amsterdam. “Bill was a ruthless, vicious, Irish-hating thug, but he also treated me like a son before finding out who I was. If he hadn’t killed my father, I might have called him uncle just for teaching me the laws of the street. Bill could be yer best friend or yer worst nightmare.”

“Some people are just complex.”

“And Bill was one of them. He was a terror with the knife, but even he had more honor than those lowlife crimps who never met a man they didn’t want to snatch. Shanghaiing’s a truly evil practice – as evil as slavery – and I regret ever taking part in it.”

“Did you try to do something about it after you abandoned the practice?”

“Yes. I began by surprising my old boss one night and breaking his nose. He deserved worse for trying to ruin my life, and I was going to give it to him when his henchmen attacked me. They was gaining the upper hand when my wife showed up with a pistol, promising to shoot anyone who continued to beat on me. She came in the nick of time because they likely would have killed or shanghaied me if she hadn’t.”

Rose was amazed. “The two of you must have a long history of helping each other in a fight.”

“Well, I didn’t want to be a widow,” declared Jenny.

“Nor I a widower,” countered Amsterdam teasingly. “The henchmen each got only two months in jail, while my old boss wasn’t even arrested for his dealings. That’s because the law was on his side. The cops couldn’t move against the crimps and their politician friends. In fact, some crimps became elected officials, and the level of corruption in Frisco made it almost impossible to fight them. So, I did the next best thing. When my old boss tried to have me jailed for cracking his beak, I threatened to expose his deeds and backers in city hall to a wider audience by enlisting the help of unions and the press. Labor was trying to organize workers in California, particularly seamen, and the crimps was interfering with that.”

“Did it work?”

“It did, and the bastard backed down. But I was the exception, unfortunately.”

“So, what did you do to survive after this?”

“I told you job interviews are unpleasant, Rose, because I found that out after I went to a few in my quest to find ‘real’ work. But employers was wary of my past, and they refused to hire me. So, I hired myself out to do any job as long as I could do it and it wasn’t against the law. In short, I became a mercenary. I didn’t last long under any one boss, so the pay was sporadic. But it gave me a measure of freedom and I could claim to have held some ‘real’ jobs – other than the one with the railroad.”

“And what were some of these ‘real’ jobs you tried?”

“Bouncer, bodyguard, longshoreman, a lot of short-term positions. I even became a deputy for the local sheriff the few times it tried to do something about the shanghaiing trade.” Amsterdam chuckled. “Imagine me, a cop-hating former gangster, as a sheriff’s deputy! Life is just unpredictable!”

“You seemed to have liked these short-term positions,” said Rose admiringly.

Amsterdam beamed. “In a way, I did because they was the best I could manage at that time. My proudest moment was when I helped a ship’s captain fight off some runners who boarded his ship to grab his crew. Not all captains was bad; some really did care about their crews. They also had to keep them intact because if the runners took them off the ship before it docked, it would be stranded in the water. This captain hired me to protect his men, so I scheduled to meet him ten miles out at sea – before the runners arrived. We quickly prepared the entire crew to repel all hostile boarders, and when the runners came, we was ready. Some had guns, but so did the captain, and we dumped hot coal and boiling grease on them before they could use theirs. Then the fight aboard the ship was like the battles in Paradise Square – close-quartered, brutal, and bloody – but we won. We was also lucky that day. The water police was patrolling the harbor and managed to chase most of the runners away while arresting those we’d wounded too badly to escape.”

“That was not the end, though, right?”

“Of course not. Shanghaiing was just too profitable and the penalty for it too light. The crimps was determined to protect their trade, so they redoubled their efforts before the unions became too strong and the good lawmakers and journalists too many. Even the lady crimps became more aggressive.”

“Did women become shanghaiers, too?”

“They certainly did, and was every bit as ferocious as the men. One of them wounded my wife after hearing her speak out against crimps. She was this big Amazon named Virginia Payne – or simply Miss Payne. I ain’t making this up because that was her name. She ran a saloon and personally threw out any man who became violently drunk—unless she wanted him shanghaied. She also had sharp teeth which she liked sinking into her victims. My wife caught a taste of them on her shoulder, but broke free. I went looking for Miss Payne the next day and challenged her to a fight outside the saloon. She accepted and attacked me with a two-by-four, but I wrestled it from her and broke it over her head.” Amsterdam saw Rose wince at the mention of such a violent encounter. “Don’t worry, Rose, she lived. She even tried to bite me when I bent down to check on her. But I brought two rocks coated with shit and honey and shoved them into her mouth. She actually tried to crush them with her jaws to show how strong they was, but ended up breaking four teeth and choking when she found out what was under the honey! Then I stood over her, pointed the two-by-four in her face, and warned her: ‘If you ever touch my wife again, I’m going to shove this timber up yer arse!’ I’ll tell you this much: she was speechless for a while after that!”

As Rose sat there digesting this incredible story, Amsterdam tried hard to keep himself from laughing. “Without those teeth, people wasn’t as afraid of Miss Payne anymore. Even worse, they started calling her ‘Foul-Mouth Ginnie’ behind her back – not only because she ate shit, but also because it was a pun of Falmouth, England, where she was from.” Amsterdam’s face turned red and his body shook in a near futile attempt to control himself. “She never tested me, so I guess her bottom wasn’t as hard as her top, though it was hard to tell them apart after that. It ain’t easy picking on someone when you’ve lost yer biggest weapon, but people made sure to avoid direct contact with her face!” Amsterdam’s urge to cackle at his own feat was so great that he gave in, repeatedly banging his right fist on the table while burying his head in his left arm. This drew the attention of other diners, a few of whom whispered among themselves, perhaps commenting on what this ostensibly crazy gweilo (a term Rose heard them mumble) was thinking or drinking.

Jenny rolled her eyes again and firmly tapped her husband on the shoulder to get him to compose himself, while Rose joined him in polite laughter. “He’s so childish sometimes,” said Jenny.

“Just let him release his emotions, Jenny. He probably has not done that in a long time.”

Amsterdam took a few minutes to calm down, after which Rose resumed the discussion. “I just cannot picture women being so…rough,” she said as she sipped her tea while fumbling for a suitable word to describe Amsterdam’s encounter with a female crimp, which, for all its comedy, was still violent. But then, I could not believe I had punched that steward in the nose!

“She ain’t much, Rose. Really, she wasn’t even if she’d kept her teeth,” assured Amsterdam as he emptied the rest of the teapot’s contents into Rose’s cup and then signaled to the waiter to refill the pot. The waiter came back a minute later with a new boiling pot of tea, which Rose took and repaid Amsterdam’s favor by replenishing his and Jenny’s cups.

“I’d seen enough harpies from hell in the Five Points,” continued Amsterdam. “None of those in Frisco could hold a candle to Hell-Cat Maggie. Now that was a real woman warrior – smaller than you, but she willingly battled men bigger than me. That’s why my father wanted her in the gang. In his last fight, she ripped out a man’s eyes with metal claws she designed herself. She dawdled around for a while after he died, but I brought her back when I reformed the Rabbits. Then she died in the riot.”

“So, there were women in your gang, too.”

“The Rabbits was a motley collection of individuals no one else wanted. Most of us was Irish, after all. We also had a few women and coloreds. Even the Chinese gave a little help, if they didn’t join outright.”

Rose came to view Amsterdam’s time as a gang leader with some admiration. “Would it be too implausible to say that your gang was, in some ways, ‘progressive’?”

“You’re quite perceptive, Rose,” said Amsterdam in surprised delight. “I never thought of the Rabbits as ‘progressive’. But it was founded to advance the Irish cause in New York because no one else would do it for us. So, you can say we was progressive in a way, even if we used unlawful and violent means to get what we wanted.” Then he turned melancholy. “But that brotherhood ended on a summer day in ‘63.”

“But the Irish cause didn’t,” Jenny proudly pointed out.

“That is true,” said Rose. “The Irish continue to come for a better life, as do many other people.” I saw them on the Titanic.

“But the riot set our cause back,” elaborated Amsterdam. “That was one time we Irish deserved our vilification in the press. It took us years to recover from just that before we could realize a better life.”

“Yes, it was, but some people take a more convoluted path to that life – even if it means joining a gang. Yet, I see how hard it was for you to escape your past entirely...even after you went to California.”

“We hoped California would be the place to do it, Rose, but it wasn’t. Even if you change yer life completely, yer past lingers around for a while. Some say you never really leave a gang. I didn’t want to slip back into my past, but trouble has a way of finding some people – like yesterday.”

“But it was your past that helped you deal with yesterday, Ammie,” said Jenny.

“And thankfully so,” added Rose. “Some adversity in our lives probably would not hurt.” Then she returned to the previous topic. “Is shanghaiing still practiced today?”

“Yes, but not as much,” said Amsterdam. “And not because people suddenly turned honest, but because of steam power. Now ships need more skilled hands to operate, so the crimps can’t grab just anyone off the streets anymore.” No sooner had he finished speaking than the attention of everyone in the restaurant was diverted to the forceful sound of a group of men entering the premises. They were all Chinese and similarly dressed. The restaurant’s proprietor apparently knew who they were and quickly escorted them to a table in the back.

“Speaking of gangs,” whispered Amsterdam, “the local chapter just walked in.”

Curious, Rose tried to get a better look at the group of men, but their table was largely secluded from hers. “You seem to be familiar with all of them,” she whispered back.

“It takes one to know one. The one you hear talking right now is the boss. Name’s Mock Duck. He heads the Hip Sing Tong. ‘Tong’ is Chinese for ‘meeting hall’, but it was twisted to mean ‘gang’. From what I heard, the Chinese history with gangs goes back almost a thousand years. Mock formed or took over the gang around the time I returned to New York, depending on who you ask. Then he launched a bloody tong war against his rival, which still goes on.”

Mock Duck

“I guess he is more dangerous than he looks.”

“You can’t lead a gang until you prove you can fight and bend others to yer will. Mock Duck is most likely wearing an armored vest under his jacket and is armed with a pistol. His lackeys have hatchets under their jackets. When you’re on top, you need to protect yerself because everyone else is aiming for you.”

“That sounds a lot like the business world.”

“Once they’re established, gangs are all about business.”

“Would the Rabbits have gone into business if they had survived the war?”

“Probably, because Bill did it. After all, chopping up meat and fighting on the streets wasn’t very profitable. That’s why we bet on boxing matches, looted homes and ships, and engaged in prostitution. Once you’re king, you don’t ever want to give up the throne – nor risk so much holding on to it.”

“Did you really engage in prostitution?” Rose noticed that Amsterdam and Jenny looked at each other, as if uncertain as to how to answer her query.

“As suppliers,” Amsterdam finally responded after Jenny nodded to him. “Anything to make money, Rose. You think we was less scrupulous than the ‘real’ merchants? We control resources, they control resources. We guard our territory, they guard their territory. We give people what they want, they give people what they want – and what they want them to want. We make shady deals, they make shady deals. We pay government officials to look the other way, so do they. The main difference is that the ‘real’ merchants rely on the government when they want to use force, while we do it ourselves.”

“Well said.”

“Sometimes they turn to you when it’s too shady to turn to the cops,” said Jenny to her husband.

“Right,” replied Amsterdam, “which makes me wonder if the Rabbits would have become corrupt and forgetful of our purpose if we’d survived. At least we wasn’t beaten by the Natives.” He looked out the window. “The rain’s let up. Let’s continue the conversation someplace else.”

“Is there a lavatory or water closet here?” asked Rose. “I had quite a bit of tea.”

“The ones in Chinatown aren’t very suitable for women—if you know what I mean,” said Jenny. “Why don’t you come home with us, Rose? You can use ours and have supper there. That’s if you can hold it in.”

“That is very kind of you, Jenny. I think I can wait.” Rose saw that Amsterdam was about to pay for the tea when she stepped in front of him.

“Amsterdam, please allow me to pay for the tea,” she insisted. “Especially if I am going to your place for supper. Besides, it was my idea to come here.”

“Never mind that, Rose. I wanted to come here, too.”

Jenny took her husband’s arm. “Let Rose pay this time,” she advised. “It means a lot to her.”

“Thank you, Jenny.” Rose confidently went to the cashier, saw him calculate the total on a manual adding machine known as an abacus, and paid the tab.

At least this allows me to say I paid for a meal at Delmonico’s, even if it is only for tea at the Chinese Delmonico!

Chapter Eight

Stories