Sam glanced away.

“I had problems,” Roscoe said. “With my manhood. I confided very personal issues to her. I was drunk and told Miss Davies. I was quite drunk. Very drunk.”

“So you were drunk,” Sam said.

“She said I lacked confidence and the whole business was in my head,” he said. “We walked on the beach when all hell was breaking loose with fireworks and champagne bottles uncorking and all that, and she led me by the hand behind a sand dune.”

“And proved you wrong,” Sam said. He ashed his cigarette into his hand.

Roscoe noted the gesture and handed him a cut-glass tray.

“This is all in confidence,” Roscoe said. “You must assure me.”

“I assure you.”

“Miss Davies isn’t what I call chaste,” Roscoe said. “Surely Mr. Hearst understands that. He’s quite a bit older, and for him to go to all this trouble… She’s known to entertain other gentlemen.”

“God bless her.”

“No one saw us.”

“Oh, someone saw you,” Sam said. “You just didn’t see them.”

“The only thing on that beach was shadows and moonlight,” Roscoe said. “I never told a soul.”

“They’ll convict you, Roscoe,” Sam said. “If Miss Davies is the friend you think, she’ll give us the goods on Hearst.”

Roscoe shook his head.

“This man has destroyed your life.”

“I don’t believe it,” Roscoe said. “Why would a man like Mr. Hearst go to all that trouble?”

“Do I need to draw a picture for you?” Sam asked. “You screwed his girl.”

“Mr. Hearst doesn’t have time to take such an interest-”

“I’ve seen him take an interest in a lot less.”

Roscoe watched Sam. Sam drank some more. There was more rain and headlights cut across the darkness of the cab.

“Miss Davies is-”

“I’ve done some work I’m not proud of,” Sam said. “I know for a fact Mr. Hearst once sent a man, the very same man who paid Fishback, to kill a fella by the name of Little. All Little did was try and help some miners and he ended up with his neck stretched under a train trestle.”

“That sounds like a business matter.”

“It wasn’t just money,” Sam said. “Hearst couldn’t control him. He spoke out louder and better than any Hearst stooge. He attacked Hearst in his speeches and on street corners. Workers listened to Little, respected him.”

“I can’t.”

“Get a message to Miss Davies,” Sam said. “I’ll take care of the rest.”

Roscoe shook his head, arm casually resting against the door. The cigarette smoldered in his hand, Roscoe seeming to forget about it.

“Hearst may have set the trap, but I was dumb enough to be snared,” Roscoe said. “I’ll carry my own water, thank you.”

“If you don’t speak up, they’ll win,” Sam said. “This isn’t just Hearst, it’s the lot of lousy bastards.”

“Who are we talking about?”

Sam studied the fat actor’s profile.

“He’s already won,” Roscoe said. “And dragging Miss Davies into the mud won’t do a goddamn thing.”

“Thinking like that is the reason this country is a goddamn mess.”

“I don’t follow.”

Moments passed. The big black Arrow rolled on. Sam ran a handkerchief across his sweating face. He felt his breathing slow as he composed himself and smiled at Roscoe.

“How’s your”-Sam pointed to Roscoe’s crotch-“now?”

Roscoe crossed his legs. He turned his eyes back to Sam, face breaking into a grin.

“Every time I see those Vigilant women, I feel like a scared turtle.”

THANKSGIVING MORNING, Sam awoke to the baby crying. He could smell coffee and bacon in the tiny kitchen and hear Jose rummaging around with the groceries and dry goods he’d brought home. He found his watch and his cigarettes, neatly made the Murphy bed and closed it up into the wall. He was still working on the cigarette when he walked into the kitchen, Jose handing him a warm cup and smiling. He kissed Mary Jane on the head. It was cold in the apartment. He owed the landlady for the heat.

“And a turkey, too?”

“A turkey, too,” Sam said, sitting at the rickety table. “Not a bad-looking bird. Bit skinny. Kinda felt sorry for it.”

“How much was this?”

“It’s Thanksgiving,” Sam said. “Rumor has it, we’re supposed to stuff ourselves.”

Sam rubbed his head and yawned, Jose laying the baby in his arms. She cried and cried and he stood and rocked her, walking around the tiny flat and to the window, fogged in the early morning. All of Eddy Street seeming gray and cold.

“Jose, I may have to leave for a spell.”

“Don’t worry,” she said, “I’ll keep dinner warm.”

“Longer than that. Not today, maybe next week. I may have to take that ship back to Australia. They haven’t located the loot and the Old Man may want me to sail with her.”

“I read The Call last night,” she said, face never changing. “I heard the purser located some of the gold through a dream. I found that odd.”

“So did we,” Sam said. “But the fella we make for it jumped ship yesterday morning and hasn’t been seen since.”

“How much is still missing?”

“Twenty thousand,” Sam said. “I’ll make sure you and the baby have plenty. I can pay up the rent for some time.”

“How?”

“It’d be taken care of. You wouldn’t have to worry for a thing.”

“I never asked for a thing, Sam.”

There were just the sounds in the kitchen for a while and the silence just kind of hung there between them for a long moment, Sam searching for something to say but Jose speaking first.

“I read about Mr. Arbuckle, too,” she said, cooking eggs now, hard-frying them, and browning the toast alongside in the skillet. “Doesn’t look good. His friend Mr. Fishback said that Arbuckle asked him to sneak into the women’s changing room to see Virginia.”

“Don’t believe everything you read.”

“You want some of those preserves?’

“You bet.”

“Say, you’re good with the kid, Sam. She asleep?”

“Like a baby.”

“Ha.”

“I’ve been doing some thinking about Mr. Arbuckle.”

“You have some theories?”

“I don’t think the autopsy was covering up her being pregnant. I think one of the reasons she came to the city was to get rid of the child.”

“Why do you say that?”

“There’s a doctor,” Sam said. “The one called by Mrs. Delmont to the St.

Francis. I shadowed him sometime back and, among other things, he treats whores.”

“Doesn’t mean he’s an abortionist.”

“Easy enough to find out.”

“But you don’t believe he was protecting Miss Rappe’s virtue when he destroyed her organs.”

“Nope.”

“You believe he was covering for something he botched.”

“Yep.”

“You don’t say much.”

“Nope.”

He smiled.

She laid down his plate of eggs. He slowly, very carefully, passed over the sleeping child to her. She took the handoff with a smile, the kid still dozing.

“That would be a hell of a thing to prove.”

“It’s not my case anymore,” Sam said. “Other men are on it.”

“But you’re still poking around?”

“A fella I think is a good egg asked me to.”

“That simple?”

“Yep.”

“You’re a good egg, Sam.”

Sam didn’t respond.

IT WAS MIDAFTERNOON when Sam stepped foot back on the Sonoma.

A couple of seamen in coveralls painted the deck and smoked cigarettes. He recognized one of them from the days before and gave him a short wave and hello, looking for the first officer, McManus or Captain Trask, but was told that both of ’em had gone ashore to meet with their families. Sam was headed back down, stepping onto a staircase leading belowdecks, back to the engine room and the hidden vent shaft, when he heard his name called.

He turned.

Tom Reagan stood there looking down on him. He wore a black slicker and black fedora and motioned for Sam to come on back up. “We need to talk.”

Sam followed him.

The wind on deck was a cold bastard. He lit a cigarette for warmth. Tom did the same.