Willow Locke - Anarchist Detective

The Union Busters

Although Edison and Yaakov had departed quietly, the UA meeting had ended in an uproar. Half the pipe-fitters supported Edison and wanted the great inventor to do business with the United Association. They called for McHale to resign the presidency of the UA immediately. McHale's supporters were equally vociferous, and a fight had broken out right before the lectern.

The energy of the fight had quickly dissipated, and McHale was able to persuade the men of the United Association that he had done the right thing.

"Reuven Lostch created the pressure switch, and it belongs to him!" McHale had shouted. "No one deals dishonestly with the United Association, no matter who they are or what they have to offer!"

After all the commotion, Jack, John Marchant, and a large group of UA pipefitters had left together to get drinks. The posse included many who had called for McHale's resignation and who had received black eyes and other injuries from the fight. As they made their way to the bar, the raucous commotion of their union song was as loud as their fight from a few minutes previous.

"Oh brother swear fidelity

In the light of Union's dawning

Oh, cast off corporate slavery

And join in freedom's singing."

The song only rose in volume as they entered the public house, kicking up the sawdust on the floor. Scott knocked over a barstool. Pints of beer were ordered all around and the UA pipefitters stood at their tables drinking and recounting and embellishing the events of the meeting.

The general contentment didn't seem to reach McHale. He was standing next to John Marchant and only sipped a half-pint of stout. His gaze was always in motion, peering into the dim lamplight of the bar, assessing the other patrons, looking for someone.

The door of McSorely's opened and three new patrons stepped inside. McHale's gaze followed them. One was tall and rail thin with sharp features. He wore a crisp dark suit. He was accompanied by a shorter man with a goatee and a tall, fair-complected youth in a shabby, oversize gray peacoat and wool cap. McHale watched as they ordered beer at the bar and then chose a table near the back where they sat shrouded in flickering shadow.

"Excuse me for a few minutes," he said to Marchant, laying his hand on John's shoulder and stepping away from the table holding his half-pint of stout. McHale walked to the back of the room and sat down in the privacy of the shadowed table with the three new patrons.

"I'm not sure what you were thinking, but the Anarkhos are unpleased," said the youth- McHale didn't recognize him.

"I had no choice," said McHale.

"If the name 'Lostch' appears in the paper we risk severe exposure," the youth continued.

"Curse your theatrics McHale!" Cenek growled. "You have all the subtlety of a sledge hammer."

"It wasn't my choice," McHale repeated. "They tried to use the UA for Frick propaganda. They made it into a public event. They were twisting Lostch. Frick hired his future son-in-law to present the offer. I didn't know Edison was going to be there. We had to reject them, there was no other way. The UA cannot become a corporate pawn. They asked for an answer publicly, silence would have been permission."

"You didn't have to humiliate them, McHale," the youth said. "That was just your personal touch, and it may cost us dearly."

"Why should I answer to you, I don't even know you," McHale growled, his bloodless hands gripped the edge of the table. "What is your role in the Anarkhos? Why haven't I seen you before?"