Willow Locke - Anarchist Detective

Locke and Whitcomb

Willow and James had finished meticulously cleaning the lab. As they worked, Willow had told James the story of the attack on her father. After they had finished the cleaning they began on their homework. Willow was particularly resentful because she had nearly finished all of it during French (while James had sat next to her struggling) and Nikolai had simply walked out of the lab with her notebook. She had had to start over completely. The lab was spotless. The burned and scarred wood of the lab tables shone. Willow sat on the lab stool and ruffled the pages of her notebook with her thumb and laid it on the table next to James's with a weary sigh.

There was no natural light in the basement lab, the kerosene lamp always emitted the same steady yellow light, and for some reason Cenek hardly ever used the carbon-arc lights. Willow glanced at the clock, wondering how long it had been since the sun set. It was past 11:00.

"When do you think they'll be back?" asked James "How long do you think it will take?"

"Not tonight," said Willow. She was wearing the elegant brown dress Mrs. Whitcomb had given her.

"I've got to change clothes." she said.

She opened her backpack and pulled out her threadbare gray shift, smoothing it out on the table.
James looked away and concentrated on his drawing as she unbuttoned her dress. The lab was one big open space, and Willow didn't want to use the darkroom to change, she was afraid of accidentally knocking over Nikolai's developing chemicals in the dark.

"They're watching our family," she said, as she slipped her gray shift over her head and unlaced the ribbon from her dark hair, purposefully mussing it. She kept the boots on that Ayala had given her.

"Who is? The Pinkertons? Who are they working for?" asked James, looking up from his drawing to meet her eyes.

"I'm not sure. My father was attacked. It was a reprisal. The Union rejected a contract with Frick Steel the same day. What's more, they weren't trying to disguise it as a random mugging. It was a show of force." Willow opened her backpack and pulled out the steel handle of the automatic leverlock knife she had taken from her father's tools. "They even mentioned the United Association meeting. They attacked Reuven to send a message to the UA. They weren't even carrying guns, but one of them had this."

Willow threw the switch. The long blade lept out of the handle into the dim light of the lab with a sharp click. James drew back, startled.

"So, you're saying they-" James began, but Willow spoke over him.

"They wanted to grievously injure him, not kill him. If they killed him there would be an official police investigation," Willow opened her backpack again and pulled out a file folder full of blue papers and began sifting through them. "And if Reuven died the patent would revert to his family." She showed James where this clause was stipulated in the paperwork. "Rachel would own the pressure switch."
"But why would they mention the UA? Why mention Edison?" James asked, "Isn't Frick steel afraid that the attack will be traced back to them?"

"To them the risk is negligible," said Willow, "An immigrant family doesn't have the resources to uncover the truth in court."

"But a murder inquest would proceed automatically," said James, "Under the auspices of New York City."

"That's right." said Willow. "An injured old man would be a different story."

"My mother has watchers within the UA," said James. "The UA is divided. McHale's leadership is challenged at every meeting."

"That's what Reuven said, Frick supporters started a fight during the meeting when McHale refused the deal. Frick Steel is carefully cultivating a pro-union image to seed dissension in the ranks- they even made a large donation to the union during the meeting."

"Well how does stabbing a union member help them create a pro-union image?" Asked James. 

"It's an inversion, a counter-information gambit," Willow replied, running her fingertips along the edge of the long blade. "They're trying to isolate McHale. By defending Reuven he already seems like a sentimentalist. If Rueven starts telling the story of the attack, claiming that it was orchestrated by Frick Steel as retaliation, he sounds like a demented, vindictive old man. It's the perfect incentive for the pro-Frick faction to decisively oust McHale, or force him to renege the patent and agree to cooperate with Edison."

"They underestimate Reuven." said James.

"The counter-information doesn't have to come from Reuven," said Willow. "His whole crew was there, as well as Jack McHale and John Marchant. Anyone of them can spill. They'll brag and then it will circulate. It's a tool to make McHale seem ludicrous."

"So we wait," said James "See how it plays out"

"No," said Willow "We get above them, define their system. Map the flow of information. And when we understand how it works-" she struck the leverlock into the lab table "We strike first."

"We have to confer with my mother," James said, nervously adjusting his bow-tie.

"I still have to make it home tonight," said Willow. "They'll be watching."

"I'll come with you," said James.

"Not dressed like that," Willow slipped his tan jacket off of his shoulders and untucked his shirt. She took off his tortoise shell glasses, and put them into the inside pocket of his jacket.

"My vision's not great without them," James complained.

"It will have to do," said Willow.

Then she scooped up a double handful of graphite dust from the dustpan and threw it at him, engulfing him in a momentary cloud and staining his bright white cotton shirt dingy gray.

"That's better," she laughed, James sputtered and wiped his face.

She undid his bow-tie and kissed him, then turned away to pull the leverlock knife from the table and retract the long blade, stowing it in her pack.

"Let's go," she said, pulling his hand.

"Where?" he asked.

"To find my brother," she answered.