Page 33 of Blowing Off Steam

But Field was staring fixedly at Calliope, more than likely because of the “Mrs. Catalina Rowland” business. She had told them her last name was Cavendish. Rushy thought that Rowland was a perfectly fine last name. It was probably the “Mrs.” part that threw Field for a loop.

Brannan drew himself up. “Nevertheless. Captains, I expect remuneration. At the very least for the past few weeks I’ve been missing Mrs. Rowland. I’ll have my bookkeeper give you a figure. Good day.” Brannan turned on his boot heel and stalked back down from whence he had come.

Calliope and Rushy sighed heavily, but Field had withdrawn from Calliope and was regarding her skeptically.

Rushy said, “I thought Haight was going to do something about Brannan. I reckon he hasn’t had a chance to yet.” When Field only stared daggers at Calliope, Rushy continued rambling. “Well, paying him a few hundred to get him off our backs seems like a small bite from our o-fuyung commission.”

Calliope said cheerfully, “Hey! It’d be a lot more than a few hundred, buddy! And how much are you earning because everyone has heard of the amazing new chef? Plenty dineros.”

Since Field didn’t seem inclined to say anything, Rushy inquired, “What’s this business about the Mormons? I can’t picture you with those there dried-up old brethren. They can take us in the First Testament any day.”

Calliope looked as though she wanted to jump over the rail. “The emigrant train I was with became very argumentative, and…Oh, hell. We should be getting ready for the race. I’ll tell you later.”

Indeed, Cincinnatus then came around the hold to inform them Clive Bixby had sent them cigars to congratulate himself on the race he hadn’t yet won, and all hands scrambled to their stations so Rushy could give the Ready about! command.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

This time, they met Soquel Haight at an actual chicken farm. Sun baked the chicken shit into a giant cake of smelly offal, but Field supposed it would cover the smell of their shame when Haight lectured them for racing. Although of course they’d won the race against Clive Bixby, that was small consolation for enduring a scolding by Haight. Also, this time he’d demanded that Tobias Fosburgh accompany them, not a good sign.

So they leaned against the railing of the chicken pen, Haight’s face completely mysterious and inscrutable as always. Adjusting his necktie with precision, he intoned, “I have heard you were racing. I have warned you against that.”

“To be fair,” Field started out, “we thought it might look even more suspicious if we didn’t race.” But Field couldn’t shake the creepy feeling Haight gave him. He seemed the sort who would garrote a man with no compunction whatsoever, then go finish his tea.

“Speed is not of the essence in this sort of operation,” Haight said flatly. “I chose you because you have your own mechanic and can repair anything without outside assistance. You also have the best pilot on the river. I didn’t choose you because you’re the fastest steamer.”

“In our defense,” said Field, “passengers don’t pay us because we have our own engineer or the best darn pilot. They pay us because they get a thrill when we race.”

“Leave out the thrills. The less thrills in this business, the better. Did you get the new safe I sent over? Good. And no making stops along the river. No picking up asparagus from ricemen, or lone passengers who will only give you five dollars. You are only making yourselves vulnerable to thieving pirates.”

Field knew Rushy would bust, but he didn’t think it would be this soon. Rushy exclaimed, “Mr. Haight! This is my boat still. I’ve built up a rep by picking up asparagus from ricemen, or lone passengers who need a ride. The business isn’t only about transporting your corpses. There are many other facets you haven’t been given all the facts about. The El Dorado isn’t just set aside for your especial use because you pay us a few thousand dollars.”

To Field’s surprise, Haight said coolly, “I understand. You’re a businessman. But you are also now a criminal because the United States has decided to unfairly tax our commodity, a commodity highly in need by the Celestial community as well as women and miners. And for this you don’t need a criminal lawyer. You need a lawyer who is a criminal.”

“Hey, now,” Tobias said mildly, as though unsure whether to object or not.

Field said, “Are you saying we need another lawyer? Someone who is a bit more devious? Someone who can blow a little more smoke?”

“Oh, Mr. Fosburgh can blow smoke just fine.” Haight actually smiled a bit when he said that—or at least seemed to, the way he stretched his lips over his teeth. “He can advise you of the consequences should you fail to follow my suggestions.”

Tobias kicked at a chicken that had escaped from the pen. “Yes. Why should they go to jail for a crime that someone else noticed?”

“Exactly,” said Haight. “Rest assured, gentlemen. If you follow my instructions, you will never be found culpable. Opium in ricemen corpses? Who else would do such a thing, other than ricemen themselves?”

“Well, that’s not really fair,” Field started to say, but Haight was already onto another subject.

“And this public exhibition I have heard about.” Haight frowned with disgust. “It simply has to stop immediately. What is the El Dorado, a floating Roman orgy? Not acceptable.”

“To be fair”—Tobias echoed Field’s lingo with a chummy chuckle—“that sort of stuff goes on all the time on these riverboats. No one minds at all. Fact, I’d say it’s gained them many passengers who hear stories about the shows.”

While Field had discovered that, in an extremely perverse way, he enjoyed putting on these shows, he also wanted to placate Haight. “All right, we’ll agree to that. But you need to do us a favor regarding Samuel Brannan. I know you probably haven’t had time to set him straight regarding the first matter. But now he’s coming after us regarding our new chef, Calliope.”

Haight cut him off by closing his eyes patiently. “I will take care of Mr. Brannan,” he vowed.

The meeting over, the trio walked down J Street toward the embarcadero.

Tobias slapped Rushy’s chest with the back of his hand. “Jesus H. Criminy, boys. If I ever get hemorrhoids, I’ll know what to name them. Rushy and Field.”

Rushy said, “Oh, we’re not that bad, Tobias. It’s just that dried-up old businessman who thinks there’s something wrong with what we do. I don’t see him lecturing you about spanking hookers dressed up as schoolgirls.”