Black Drop by S. L. Stoner

Author:S. L. Stoner
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: martial arts, pacific northwest, portland oregon, theodore roosevelt, labor union, mystery historical, mystery action adventure, progressivepopulist
Publisher: S. L. Stoner

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Late that night, Sage slipped down the hidden staircase into Mozart’s cellar, moving along the tunnel to the alley trapdoor and surfacing behind a row of empty dustbins. Sage slipped from the alley’s mouth, pretending to button his trousers in the well known way of men who’d had too much to drink and needed the alley’s privacy to achieve relief. The few passersby didn’t cast a second look at him, in his shabby clothes and slouch hat.

There was a soft rustle at Sage’s side and he looked over to see Fong moving past him. They couldn’t walk together, not in that part of town. So Sage trailed Fong until they reached the side door into a building. Fong put a finger to his lips, pulled the door open and slipped inside. Sage followed, tugging the door shut behind himself. At the end of a dingy hallway a Chinese man leaned casually against a wall, a dirty white apron tied around his middle. He nodded at Fong and pointed toward another door. Fong and Sage went through that door and down some wooden steps into a cellar. Bags of flour and other provisions used by the restaurant overhead were stacked high against the walls. Across the room, an open padlock dangled from a door hasp. For a moment, Sage reveled in the realization that he no longer feared exiting out that door into the underground. Not anymore. He’d conquered his fear of the dark. At least as far as the underground was concerned. The darkness of a mine, well, that was likely another kettle of fish.

The sight on the other side of the door was not the dusty blackness of the underground. Instead, like some strange Renaissance painting, a man sat on an upturned wooden box, the smoky glow of a kerosene lantern at his feet. The man’s back was toward them, but as they stepped into the cellar the man turned his head and a swath of thick silver hair caught the light.

“Meachum!” Sage said, as he eagerly stepped forward to grab the other man’s hand.

“Ouch, careful there! That’s the sore arm,” Meachum said without any heat, a wide grin splitting his craggy face.

“Sorry, I’m just glad to see that you are still in one piece.” Meachum smiled but then nodded grimly. “Let’s have a little sit before we head out. Thanks to Fong’s men, I got here early and found a box for each of you.”

Sure enough, two other upturned wooden boxes faced the lantern as if it were a campfire. Once seated, Sage couldn’t help but notice how the light at their boots shot spooky shadows up their faces.

Not beating around the bush, Meachum said, “I got more information about the bomb-throwing fellow we’re looking for.

St. Alban sent word that he thinks our duped assassin is a former union member who used to work in the government printing office.”

“So, our union dupe is a former government printer hoping to embarrass Roosevelt with a stink bomb?” Sage said.

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