The Violence of Wealth: Violence of History, #3

By Tom Pope

In early 1900s America, rail worker Huey takes his union work with the early American Railway Union to another level by traveling to Germany and Russia, helping oppressed people.

 

Huey encounters forces that would lead Europe into a world war. His actions defuse some of those causes. Militarism in Germany, lack of justice in Russia, banking interests in France and England, and the imperialism in Asia.

 

Returning to America, he is torn between using either nonviolent or violent tactics. Huey finds conflict resolution and brings the AFL together with the Wobblies. Then he turns the Supreme Court away from aiding Wall Street. In the process, Huey helps Eugene Debs become President in 1908.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tom Pope
• Release date: Nov 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9798218058210

Book preview

Prologue

1891 Seeds to a New Century

Old Black Textile Sales Companies Give Way To Railroads

Financial Times

Black Crime Increases

The Black Journal

Workers Struggle to Organize

The Joe Hill News

Europe Sees War Clouds

New York Herald

A STOMACH PUNCH LANDED Huey on the pavement outside the pool hall. Gray shadows looked down on him. Misty night. The attacker hovered. Ooh. Hard to breathe, but his mind went to the book he had...went flying after the punch.

Air came back in his lungs as the guy above stood with wrists flexing.

Huey whipped his head, looking for the book.

Ain’t no law book a help yer now.

Digging into his pocket, Huey grabbed a wad of dollars. "Glover. Great answer to get what you want. Your fist have a mouth to speak too?"

A sneer came from Glover as he was about to kick Huey while he was down.

Glover. Told you, I ain’t thieving for you any more.

Rising, Huey handed the wad to Glover who scowled. Then saw the book.

No White man’s law gonna help you.

Only sound the clomping of some horses, and the clacking of balls inside the poolroom as a drizzle hid Glover’s face. Play me. You don play me. Like yous want be agin the man, but you be yellow, same as others.

Looking at the law book, pages blowing in the breeze, Huey stooped to pick it up. He shook it in Glover’s face. I thought it would help me be a better thief. Shook his head. Found a new way to use it. Can be a heavy punch if I want to wack you. Use the system.

Fingering the cash, Glover stopped. Sighed. Dipped his head to the ground. "Shit. Don want ya money. Should have it from...from..."

Huey held his breath. Your mom still sick?

Glaring eyes stabbed Huey. Shut it...

I thought the doctor gave you some drugs.

A sneer. Can’t get more — need two weeks wages just for a day’s supply.

Just when the foreman let you go.

Glover didn’t answer. Kicked a can on the street, clanked along the cobblestones.

You told the foreman the forklift was broken, you warned him...

Make no matter, Huey. He say I did it, broke it.

He’s lying. Just hired his nephew.

Another sneer. And what? You gonna start a union for me...ha.

A rumbling wagon loaded with beer barrels clunked past, forcing Glover to step closer to Huey.

Why was Glover watching the wagon. "You see that wagon, you think money? Maybe hitting Flanagan’s pub?

Glover sneered. No problem — no one goes there.

Huey had to hold back a laugh. Because it’s a cop hang out. Cops hang at some local places, but you wouldn’t know that, would you.

He paced around Glover, extending his finger. Learn the hang outs. You bust a cop-loved place, you’re in the slammer for twice the time.

That caught Glover. So this law knowledge help yo?

Holding the bridge of his nose, Huey wondered why he bothered explaining.

Started to walk away. But without turning to look, had to ask, Why you bother this petty ante crime — ain’t it a waste oh time?

A sigh, followed by a dip of the head. Ain’t nothin’ else. No job, no future...no hope.

Huey hissed. No time for this.

Before he could take a step, he felt a hard hit from Glover. "Even you daddy couldn’t help...no more oh dem companies what sold shirts and made Black men respected jus a little. Hah. Helped Whitey owned factories."

While he didn’t turn, Huey felt that familiar ache in his stomach. How did Glover know Huey resented Dad. 

Drizzle in the night helped cloud him from Glover. From thinking of Dad. The great Rumi. Granddad...Sharpy. Great plans. Turn former slaves into salesmen. Make White America see the value of Black people. Hum...worked for awhile. Then fell apart.

He stopped to think what Glover said. No job, no future.

Unions were needed. Like one for rail workers. No. Dad didn’t set up those companies. Rumi was in Africa. He was also in Chicago a few years ago at the Haymarket disaster. Then Rumi seemed shocked to see Huey.

That ache filled Huey because it was hard to visualize his dad, or mom. Maybe Rumi was the real dad, but Huey found it hard to like him. Never growing up with him. Never...as he sat at that small table in a small kitchen in Chicago. Even when Rumi came from Africa. Rumi talked of changes. Not for Huey. Not for Glover.

Shook his head to push Dad from his thoughts.

A corner store flapped with banners showing the leopard animal. Leopards. A cunning animal, protecting the forest. Lions be stealing from animals. Like the railroad lions here. So these were Huey’s Leopards.

Inside the store, he found people making new banners and writing papers to be sent to a printer.

Clapping his hands, he called people around a low table filled with shirts. Tonight, we have a job to do. We’re giving old man Pullman a surprise for his town stores’ 10th anniversary.

Shirts?

The cry came from some, making Huey hold his breath. After a few seconds when everyone turned full attention to him, he let it out. "Everyone wears shirts — yes shirts. Bet you even wear one."

Pacing the table he felt like he had to spell it out. These shops Pullman set up in 1881...they rob people. We don’t have a union yet. So we’re the protestors.

Why the shops?

Huey eyed the fellow. Because my young man, you forgot to read history. Shops charge rail workers for clothing they use — take the very money they give as a salary.

The office shook as a train approached just across the street. Huey saw the movement of the Pullman cars through the windows. Felt as if the train aimed to knock down the office.

This idea of a company shop is a danger. What’s to stop Pullman from cutting wages maybe up to twenty-five percent. What about lowering the rents for his company-owned homes. Rents could be about twenty-five percent higher than normal for the area. Many are shabbily built — some without any kind of plumbing. In order to work for Pullman, workers have to live in his houses.

So we’re giving him shirts?

Smiling, Huey placed his palm on a stack of shirts. We’re putting these in the company store here, right next to Pullman’s shirts. People won’t have to pay us for the shirts — they came from volunteers who know workers here. Workers won’t have to pay for these.

ON THE WAY TO THE PULLMAN store, Huey wanted to check out activity in the rail yards. Wanted no surprises when his people broke into the company store. Besides the rail yard was a good place to place signs about their shirts. Donated by Aunt Martha. Be a nice uproar when customers see that. Attendants wouldn’t know what to do. Management won’t be able to tell which shirts were theirs and which were Aunt Martha’s.

He stopped to smile as he thought an Aunt Martha did exist. Wife of an attorney who backed Huey’s Leopards. Any trouble with rail management trying to charge workers for the donated shirts and Pullman would have a legal problem.

Just as he stepped over the last track, a metallic thud froze his feet. Someone was between two parked train cars.

Hitting the ground, Huey rolled to one side of the first car where the intruder lay. Another sound from a tube. A cylinder, he saw.    

Squinting, he saw the device. A type of bomb. Great. Some fool is getting back at the big guys. Most likely this’d be blamed on Huey and the Leopards.

Huey jumped up, charged the intruder, and kicked away the canister from his hands. Shock held him as the person turned. The face of a woman.

She lashed out with a leg kick that floored him, his head hitting the ground. A knife raised up in his face before the woman gave a surprised look. You ain’t no rail jockey — Pinkerton neither. She sat down next to him, still holding the knife. Who you workin’ for?

Only then did he see her notice his gold Leopard beret. "Oh...the animals who think they can stop the man."

Huey sat upright. Whoever you are...you’re helping them. This goes off and my group gets the blame.

Was that a sigh of recognition he was right. She closed her eyes, lowered the knife. "Damn...you must be that Huey fella E-D told me about...some lunatic think he can change the world."

"ED? Don’t know an Eddie."

A laugh. "Not ED. E...D..."

Huey stood realizing what she meant. You know Debs? Eugene Debs? Did’t tell me he knew reckless women.

She paced around him, casting a glance at the rails to see if anyone heard them. Didn’t tell me he knew Leopards who could think.

Walking back to the street, the lamp light showed a tense face. Why’d she become so upset when he mentioned the shirts for the Pullman workers?

Stopping with a sigh, she almost seemed drained. My daddy sold shirts for those Black companies years ago.

His reaction must have shown on his face the way she glared. What — some shirt come out ta bite yer?

Granddad set up those companies.

Her eyes grew large. "I’ll be a rail biter. Sharpy set up those...damn...Rumi was..."

My father.

He brought her to the Leopard storefront. No one around this time of night, but he had to show her the shirts.

Lamp light from the street floated over the shirts waiting for tomorrow’s surprise for Pullman. We’re pushing for a union. A real union and Debs hopes for rail workers to get their rights. 

He watched her run hands over one stack of shirts. Yeah. Bet yer believe in Santa fairies giving gifts too.

My, my. Such a punch and Judy.

Confusion lit her face. Ain’t no Judy. Wells is the name to you. She flipped one shirt over to see the material. Punching Judy?

He had to laugh. "Not Punching. Punch and Judy. It was a show with roots in the 16th-century Italian commedia dell'arte. Derived from the Neapolitan stock character of Pulcinella. They showed the Lord of Misrule. Characters who go into deep-rooted myths."

Who the hell are you anyway? Some college type?

How could he tell her about coming home as a kid to find no one? How he turned to books as friends. Trained himself.

No. Had to look away. Those shirts mean nothing if you blow that train. The shirts will show workers they can rely on our union.

Saw her balled fist pound on one shirt. Your ARU doesn’t exist yet.

Debs told you about his plans for the American Railway Union?

Her fist kept hitting the stack of shirts as her breathing increased. Dad went around the world for one of your granddaddy’s companies. Came home to die. Some new director changed the company. Lost his home... lost his job...went to court...no justice for a Black worker.

So you make bombs?

Her hand came up to cover her face as she went to the window to look away from him. Your little union, if ED ever gets it goin’...mean nothin a tall. Ain’t change nothing...they tear it down.

Then it’s up to us to put it back. The first lesson a revolutionary must learn is that he is a doomed man.

That made her turn to look at him. You some fool? Whipped her head around the office.

This party we’re planning for the Pullman workers...just the first part. We’ll have a union. Not like the Knights of Labor...no segregated locals.

A laugh. Listen to yer, I almos believe yer.

She started for the door, but stopped as her hand went to her mouth. Held back a sob. "When Dad passed, I found a job workin’ the rails...only job for Blacks. Worked dem since...be five years now. Left the US for Mexico, just other side of the big muddy."

Huey tapped one pile of shirts and thought about a conversation with Debs just last week. How he was afraid of some interference from Mexico with the rail union he wanted to organize.

So Debs sent you to Mexico. To find out who supports those Mexican rail companies.

Her head flashed with a shocked surprise. You some type of Sherlock or somethin’?

I took a course in criminology because I wanted to be a criminal, but I didn't know which type...I was a big time fool. But I changed. I use books to find an answer.

Shaking her head, she opened the door to leave, but stopped, still holding the door. You know, ED told me you read Tolstoy, Marx, Voltaire...must have a lot of time on your hands.

Huey held the bridge of his nose. This was a waste. Go your way...you’ll be alone. Only with the union will you find support.

Why that look of desperation? The wave of her hand? 

She came back to the shirts and fingered them again, almost seeming to reconnect with something in the past. "You too young Huey, what — your 20s?

The revolution has always been in the hands of the young. The young always inherit the revolution.

You’re a hothead thinks he knows all — leads to violence.

Huey looked at the ceiling above her. I wasn’t the one with the bomb. The Leopards never advocated violence. Violence is inflicted upon us. But we do believe in protecting ourselves and other Black people.

Her hands fumbled through a satchel to pull out a wrinkled note on Baltimore and Ohio Rail stationery. One hand covered her mouth before she thrust it to her side, replacing fear in her face with a stoney look. A revolutionary found this in a Mexican train yard after the courier was killed by him.

GERMAN COMPANY RESEARCHING maglev for British. Life willing to use funds for West development. Stop Mexico and other Europeans. Make allies with British.

PACING AROUND THE TABLE, Huey felt his hands flexing. Had to think. What was a maglev? What was this about someone’s life? Why would this be in the hands of someone from B&O rail?

Her hands shook. That’s not all. She took out a smaller note.

The scribbled words meant nothing to Huey. What’s this?

A sigh. "Just phrases...’build military, disrupt old powers...Turkey, Austria, Russia.’ Then there’s this, ‘start financial drain...new world order.’"

Strength returned to her face as she stiffened her back. This is larger than working with unions. You could get killed doing this work.

Wells. My fear is not of death itself, but a death without meaning.

Chapter I

1894 — Wild Cats for Wild Cats

The American Railway Union (ARU) Threatens Strike on Pullman

Railroad News Daily

Railway workers Seek Redress of Grievances With Strikes

Financial Times

Eugene Debs Union Worries About Disruptions

Chicago Business Weekly

Pullman Palace Car Workers Launch Wildcat Strike

Journal of United Labor

Debs Travels to Chicago to Decide on Backing Wildcats

The American Radical Press

WELLS BRACED HERSELF, felt the train jerk into the future. Things would be changin’. Had to make things happen. Stopped by one seat neath a broken car window. Cries shot from a young child in a mother’s lap. Wells saw the crumbs her mother offered the child.

She started for the door to the next car, closing her eyes, hearing the pain from the youngster.

"You. Negress. Where ya think yer going? This be yer car."

Felt a hand whipping her around. I’m talk’in to yer, yer hear?

Wells’ ignored the conductor. She stood with her hands on her hips. Instead of looking at him, she stared at the young girl with the mother.

I’ll have you put off.

She felt her gaze whip right back to the conductor’s face. Then you’d look mighty silly, me being an officer of the ARU. You be rollin’ in it.

His face turned angry. "My, my, noise from the Amer...i...can Railroad...U...nion." He began rapping his baton into a sweaty palm.

Had a thin mustache that kept twisting from one side of his cheeks to the other. Helped make him look more mousy than his small frame would show.

Wells watched him about to squeak again when a fancy shirt hobbled up to his rear.

Can I have a pillow, just a small pillow for my head?

The mousy conductor snorted before turning, then his mouth leaped into a wide yawn imitating a smile. We have the nicest pillows, just ordered them, meself, fluffy pillows, laced, patterned pillows...oh such a wealth of pillows.

Er...just a pillow.

Oh, let me take you back to our closet. He squirmed along the aisle, pulling the passenger.

Ah...really...just a pillow.

Wells wheeled around to walk the aisle to the child, dipping her hand into her side bag for that half sandwich she wanted for later.

As she knelt, she saw the frightened look on the mother. We don’t want no trouble none.

Wells rolled her eyes at the mom. Handed the sandwich to the girl. What’s your name?

The child tensed, sliding back to the mother. ...Lisa. She put the sandwich in her lap and held her arms.

Mom grabbed the child closer. You gonna shut down the rail? Switchmen all round be stopped from working.

Wells looked at the floor. You better see what’s happenin’ out there to help your child. She had to shake her head.

I know what’s happening. I work with Pullman...all money goes to the company store...still owe ‘em a debt. Even though I work sorting’ in his store.

Wells looked over the mother’s shoulder. Knew Pullman calculated the money so closely, the workers would always owe. 

She caressed the child’s hair. "Daddy’s not with you here?

The mother wheezed with sorrow. Died last month. Got caught in a train coupling...arm...

The mother came right into focus as Wells turned away from the youngster.

Wells saw her eyes fill. The train couldn’t take him to a hospital?

Heavy breathing. Pullman people said they couldn’t go behind schedule. Died in the yard.

Footsteps sounded behind her. Ain’t gonna be no strike on my line, you ungrateful agitator.

As Wells stood, she sniffed at the conductor. Then bent down to the mother again.

Our Pullman City from old man Pullman. It gives us a place to live and buy goods. Least I got a job sorting in the store. You wanna take all that away with your strike? 

Sure. Live there — you can do that. Give all your wages back to Pullman. Ever notice the chains around your waist?

The conductor leaned over the seat to make Wells look at him. Smiled, patting a fat stomach. You’re just causing trouble. I gots plenty to eat — she could too.

Wells had to shake her head at him. Just like your son or daughter who wants to go to college — bet you got the dough for that?

He twisted his face. Ain’t your concern, you trouble maker.

Hands on hips, she stared at the flea on the ceiling. Yeah. Not the union’s concern when those dollars meant for college end up in old man Pullman’s stores...yeah I know. You gots to eat. As long as your can oh beans be there. Sure be nuff.

Nodded that pompous head, the conductor bobbed one way then another. Look around. Plush cars. You people never be allowed on a train if you didn’t help us with those Black companies a bringin’ trade from Africa.

Wells looked around at the torn curtains, and wooden planks falling from the ceiling. Bet you keep up the cars of people with money like this plush job.

You ungrateful...

Wells pointed at the mother and child. Why not get a fancy pillow for the child?

She saw the curve on the track through the window, spread her feet as the car jostled, throwing the conductor into the seat opposite the mother.

Yeah. You really be an asset for the rail.

She had to move. Noticed the fields outside. They’d be approaching Chicago soon. Time to hurry.

Turned to the opposite door to plan the timing.

Outside the car, the wind pushed as she was about to climb the ladder. Heard Bobby bolt open the opposite car door behind her.

Saw Bobby adjust his Leopard beret. His eyes darted around the platform between cars. Shook his head. Wish Huey was here.

Yeah, well. He playing it safe. — not backin’ us. You be some kinda wild cat. More than Huey. 

Bobby inhaled, disappointed. But look what his pappy started, Rumi, and Sharpy afore him.

Wells’ fist formed, she controlled herself.  Not helping us today. On the sidelines. Not official union strike. So he stays clear.

Just like the professor.

Wells felt herself grunt. "Least Debs is here — going to assess the strike."

Climbed the ladder to the roof. Smoke from the engine hit her face, hiding the outline of Chicago streaming up like a grey lizard on the fields.

She scampered, taking short steps on the train roof to the front of the train. Dropped down to land without falling. She opened the door of the car in front of the mail car. Had to shake her head at seeing Debs sitting with a wealthy suit guy. Trying to convince him of the ARU struggle probably. But Debs was still not backing this wildcat strike she planned. Hopeless. ED, when will you learn? They have no ears.

Went to the next car, the mail car. Using a crowbar from her side pack, she pried open the door on two surprised clerks standing over stacks of gold bars. Raised her finger to her lips. Didn’t expect them to listen.

What’s going on? This is a private car.

Wells pointed a finger at them, shook her head. "And a Pullman car. Keep your mouth shut."

She looked over one shoulder to see the door leading to the engineer.

Her path to the door became blocked by one clerk, thinking to be heroic as he raised a hand to stop her. But she bent, avoiding contact with his arm as she kicked out her leg to make the clerk fall. On the floor, he lifted both arms as he noticed her hand ready to chop his neck.

Said to herself, looking at her hand ready for a martial arts’ chop. Thanks Dad for takin’ me to Asia. Looked down at the clerk. Want to rethink being a hero?

Seeing he was shaken, she bounced away as the clerk shuffled off to the side by the other clerk.

Wells knew how to dance around the coal car to come behind the engineer. Placing a pinch on one side of the neck, she saw him wriggle with fear. Move and you’re a dead man. I have no wish to hurt you as long as follow my instructions.

What do you want?

She saw the curve up ahead. Pull to the siding on the left...you’re going to unleash mail car, and the car with gold.

Was her timing on, she worried. Are you on schedule?

The engineer shook, hearing a rumble of wagons racing to approach the train.

You have a new mission. We’ll be delivering the mail.

WELLS WATCHED THE TRAIN squeal to the siding. Heard the sigh from the engineer as he started to rise.

Wagons arrived, and men dropped off the sides to uncouple the Pullman car with the mail and the gold.

That couldn’t be.

The fellow with the Leopard beret, holding the reins of the horses in the first wagon?

I’ll be damned. Huey. Decided to join the fun?

As the men came up steps to the Pullman car, the clerks backed off.

Wells inhaled, seeing the hard narrow eyes from Huey pour over the car. Muscles seemed to bulge under his shirt while his narrow face hid a small set of lips.

Where’s Bobby?

Wells felt the brush of some men, carrying off bags of mail. Why? Need ‘em to hold yer hand?   His face tore into her.

Thought you didn’t want to join us wild cats.

Saw the sigh of frustration from Huey. Debs didn’t want this — not yet.

Yeah. He’s in the next car. He’ll come around.

That stare dug into her. She sneered back.

The moment held, broken finally by the bounce on the car entrance from the roof as Bobby jumped down to approach Huey. Doors are locked in the passenger’s cars to stop any commotion.

She saw Bobby hug Huey, but Huey backed off, eyes closed, smiling.

Bobby just sighed. He looked up. That’s Iona Wells, I think — worked for the rails a little.

Wells spread her feet. Hands on her hips, she glared. Why the change to join us.

Huey shielded his eyes. Yeah Bobby. I heard about her. Ah... Wells. Still blowing up the tracks?

She looked at the fly buzzing over his shoulder, relaxing her fists. Guess it’s better late than never you decided to join us.

I had some thinking to do ‘bout violence. Your strike could...create problems.

The door burst open from the passenger car, spewing Debs, waving papers from one hand, using the other to catch falling sheets.

She laughed at Bobby. Nice job barring the doors, Bobby. You be rollin’ in it.

Debs took one look at her, then faced Huey and Bobby. These papers show Pullman adjusted the wages and expenses of the workers. Every dollar winds up back in Pullman’s coffers. Workers are getting deeper into debt.

Wells had to smile. So, ED, now you’ve come to the party?

Not when you steal the mail. This is bad. But a wild cat strike? Yes. This should be supported by the whole union.

Huey stepped in between. Wide grin just came out like some baby. "Who says stealin’ mail? People have a right to their mail. Post office is better than a Pullman store. Post office doesn’t charge people extra. We...not Pullman be handing it out."

A rumble caught Wells attention from the other side of the door. Looked past Huey’s face. Had to digest his entry into the strike. Well, better now than sittin’ on that porch.

Another rumble as the door burst open on a dark suit with some other guy in a torn vest.

Dark suit was a problem for Wells. Bobby, it’s a Pink.

Bobby was clipped by the gun handle of the Pinkerton agent who sidestepped over the fallen Bobby. He swung the gun, threatening the Leopards in the car.

Huey took a calm step forward, his hands pushing down to slow the pace. No one here wants trouble — maybe slow down a bit.

The Pink waved the gun. "You. You’re that Black instigator."

A shadow stopped Wells view as the engineer on her right rose. Seeing the commotion, he decided to stalk away. But before he could slip down the steps, a shot sounded.

Wells turned to see Huey, trying to lift the Pink’s gun hand. A knee came up, knocking the Pink off balance.

She saw his finger tense on the trigger when a moan drew her to the floor where the engineer lay. She rushed over as blood gushed from the man. Before she knelt, she knew it was too late, his eyes glazing.

Another shot and she turned to see the Pink slumping, his hand still on the gun. He was out cold.

Debs dropped to the floor as the other stranger in the torn vest covered his mouth, then fled back to another car.

Shaking his head, Debs jumped to stop Bobby from running after the guy.

She could see Huey’s head twitching in shock.

The Leopards had stopped unloading the mail as a hush filled the car.

Glancing at the door, Debs watched where the stranger ran, then to Huey. He’s a witness.

Wells froze, seeing the glare from Huey on the fallen engineer. He looked dazed.

Her breath caught. Yeah. That’s Huey all the time. He be thinkin’ bout that worker...blames hisself for the mess. What he spect. The bad guys ta smile? People get hurt. Not his fault a toll.

Saw Debs hand oh Huey’s, slipping the gun away from the Pink. Then Debs voice, I have the gun.

Before Huey could answer, the blare of a bugle cut the air, coming with a clomping of horses.

Wells bounced up to the open door. We be partyin’ now. Cleveland’s boys are here.

Debs sighed, looking down at the floor. I thought the President would wait. Turned alert. Better me with the gun than you.

Huey shook his head, uncertain. You? Man. You’re the heart of the struggle.

Debs rose, shaking the comment off. What chance would you have? You’re Black and that’s not healthy. Before they come aboard, get hidden in the wagons.

He grabbed Bobby’s arm. Take him, and the Leopards — hurry.

Debs fingered the weapon, a sad look lined his face.

Wells darted, hearing the troops coming closer. Her fists formed. You gonna keep talkin’ while they bring you a cake?

Huey turned from one Leopard to another. All nodded.

He let Bobby lead him into the opposite car as the Leopards back-pedaled to cover him.

How could he look so calm? She saw the Leopards’ heads nod and the sight grabbed her. You’re actually listening to people around you. She found herself swallowing. Must be puttin’ on a show.

What if he ain’t? What if he’s really thinking of others?

Right before she left with Huey, she heard Debs voice from behind. We need you Huey...for the struggle around the world. I’m only in part of that...in America.

Strange. Huey seemed lost, not understanding Debs.

THE WAGON BUMPED AWAY from the train, dipped under a hill as she heard clanking of steel and pounding feet from troops storm aboard the train.

She sat opposite Huey, who lifted his grin in her direction. Besides trying to plant that bomb when I first met you, Iona Wells, you have quite a resume. Worked with the Mississippi Africa Trading Sharpy set up. Hum...brokered a deal to make B’Ham in Alabama rich. Even saved people in Mali so they could start a new coops.

"What? You been attached to my shoes?"

Just admiring good work. Asia? Africa? Right? Tea...from China? Came back to America to the rails.

Wells shifted to see the hills roll by. Yeah. Well. Things change, don’t they. Found people back here wanted no part of the African companies. Wanted big banks. 

Saw Huey scratch his chin. Well, granddad Sharpy also didn’t think the banks would be so friendly.

He looked away, face dipped. Dad set up those coops in Africa and Europe. Here too.

The Leopards led them away to a valley where a shack loomed in the distance.

What you gonna do now?

Watched him inhale. You heard Debs. He’s America. We have to help him.

Wells felt her eyes close. You didn’t hear Debs at all. The problem is larger than America.

Sunlight blasted the Greenwich Village two-room rental Huey shared with Wells. Blasting him like the halos of explosions he could imagine from the world about to kill itself. Started reading about problems in the Balkans, North Africa, Germany. Had to plan things.

Couldn’t do anything with Debs now. Not with the Feds looking for the killer of that engineer.

The scene of the Washington Square arch with a pastoral calm hid whispers from anarchists plotting in homes surrounding the square.

This was no life. Not even a cause. Had to leave Chicago two steps ahead of the Pinks. Just a few days in Cleveland before detectives found the single room. Wells had come running up the stairs of the tenement there, grabbing his arm to pull him to the hall as bullets from below smacked around him. 

They made it to New York just a half step ahead of the reaper. On the train, he scanned stolen papers Wells found. Took them from the headquarters of the Baltimore and Ohio Rail Company.

Stabbing a finger on one line of the paper, she whispered to avoid other passengers hearing them. Real estate brokers...pushing old man Pullman to tighten his belt in Pullman City.

So the hurt on workers in Chicago was coming because real estate brokers were hitting Pullman.

Right. Her eyes grew. Not the half of it. Those brokers in Chicago were being helped by other brokers in New York. They could shut down Pullman if he didn’t cave to them.

Huey leaned back on the train seat. Brokers are natural competitors. Why would they be working together?

Stared at her. Someone else is helping them.

She nodded that got-you look.

LOOKING AT WELLS IN the apartment in the Village, Huey regretted drawing her into this. Just last night he touched her cheek, gazed into her face, and wanted to tell her about her strength and feistiness. Saw the moist lips. But...stopped. Had to focus. Too many enemies.

The door kicked open. Glover stood agitated, shaking. Sweat covered his forehead. "Been followed...got to go. Now...this shit’s too much."

He moved to the side of the bed, shaking his hands, eyes growing larger. Went to the stock market...looked for a guy I know.

Glover stood, rubbing his head. Just asked some questions about brokers...you never saw such a shock on a guy’s face. Started looking right and left.

Racing over to the window, Glover looked up and down the street. These guys are planning something big and it isn’t just here or the Pinks wouldn’t be so pissed.

Hearing the words, just here, Huey moved closer. "What do you mean, just here?"

Chopping his palm with his other hand to emphasize, Glover’s words rasped out, "This fellow I’m talking to, he gets three papers as I’m standing there. Papers from investors backed by European money — damn, man. He’s the broker king, only a few clients — all brokers. Getting money from..."

Huey heard the shattered glass before he saw blood stream from Glover as he slid down the wall by the window, leaving red stains.

Cradling Glover in his arms, Huey knelt. Through the shattered window, Huey saw a man running along the roof opposite to his apartment.

A grasp from Glover’s hand on Huey came with a crackling voice. Get outta here. Ain’t safe...

Glover coughed before his eyes went dark.

Sonabitch. Huey’s fist formed as he rocked Glover. Not Glover. I pulled him from crime years ago. Left the streets to follow me.

A tug from Wells, turning Huey around. Then a push out the door, Huey feeling aimless at leaving Glover, but knew the running feet from Pinks would be coming soon, ready to blame him for Glover’s death.

The front of the building by Fifth Avenue took on a strange sight as Huey saw cops setting up road blocks on Waverly Place. He spotted some utility workers wearing overalls by the square’s arch. Turned to see some discarded overalls thrown into dumpster across the street.

Grabbing Well’s hand he drew her to the dumpster and picked up the overalls. Putting them on, he knew this was good bye to America. He had planned to leave anyway before Glover came rushing into the room.

As she finished closing her overalls, Wells placed a travel ticket in his hands. "You’re set for the Olympia to leave in two hours...but Huey..."

But?

You can’t go now — Europe is working with the brokers. The Pinks will be on to you.

Head down. Don’t care. Damn. Have to. For people like Glover. Told him once not to hit a bar where cops would find him, he’d be sent away.

Twitched his head. Son of a.... Came here. Helped us. Look what it got him.

A squeeze from her hand filled him with unexpected strength. "Huey. No one’s alone. We’re in this together. All us people who believe in working for each other — the community."

Huey inhaled. She was right. What did Debs say? Thought of those last  words. That America was only one part of the struggle. Well, Huey had to find just how large this fight was. He had to go. Avoid the Pinks. Find what Dad did with those coops that helped Europe and Asia. Why were they in decline? What were the brokers doing? Where was the big money coming from?

Touching her face, he felt her embrace. Her lips. Her sadness at seeing him leave.

Huey...it’s too dangerous to stay.

You think going there is safer?

The last sights before the ocean trip were the cops at the road block arguing between themselves while ignoring Huey and Wells. And the overalls. They walked past them. Then a last sight of Wells’ eyes filled with moisture. Huey would remember that and the white foam of the Hudson River.

Chapter II

1903 — Rocks of Wealth