“Yes.”
“Well, if he has a telephone, you can call him. As a guest of the hotel, you are authorized to use the public phone in the lobby.”
“Telephone?”
“Have you not used a telephone before, sir?”
“No, I haven’t. I’ve read about them, though.”
“It’s really quite simple. You turn the crank to signal the operator. She will then ask you what number you wish to call, and once you give it to her, she will connect you.”
The clerk showed Matt how to look up the number. Matt thanked him, looked through the directory, and found an Andrew Marcus. The number beside his name was 109J.
Matt turned the crank, then held the receiver to his ear.
“Number, please.”
The voice was tinny, but quite audible.
“Ha! I’ll be damned!” Matt said.
“I beg your pardon, sir?”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Matt said. “Excuse me, it just surprised me to hear how this thing works.”
The woman chuckled. “You’ve never used the telephone before?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Well, do you know the number you are calling?”
“Yes, ma’am, it’s one zero nine J.”
“One moment, please, and I will connect you,” the operator said.
Matt heard a ringing sound in his ear and he jerked the receiver away. “What’s that?”
“It’s all right, sir,” the operator explained. “What you are hearing is the telephone of the party you just called. The party answering the phone will say ‘Hello.’ Then you can talk.”
Almost as if waiting for a cue, the phone was answered.
“Hello?” It was a woman’s voice.
Matt didn’t respond.
“Hello?” the woman said again.
“Go ahead, sir,” the operator said.
“Uh—hello,” Matt said. “I’m trying to find a man named Andrew Marcus.”
“This is Mrs. Andrew Marcus,” the woman said. “How can I help you?”
“Mrs. Marcus, I was a friend of Lee Marcus, Andrew’s brother. I’ve come to—”
“You have the wrong number,” the woman on the other end of the line said.
“The number I have is one zero nine J,” Matt said.
“This is one zero nine J,” the woman replied. “But my husband has no brothers. He has two sisters, but no brothers.”
“Oh,” Matt said. “I’m sorry. I apologize for disturbing you.”
“That’s all right,” the woman said. “I hope you find your party.”
That was the only Andrew Marcus with a telephone, though there were two other Andrew Marcuses in the city directory. Writing down the addresses, Matt went up to his room to leave his suitcase, then went back down to hail a cab.
The first house he went to was on South Grand. Asking the driver to wait for him, he walked up to the house and knocked on the door. It was answered by a man who appeared to be in his late seventies. His name was Andrew Marcus, but he had no brother named Lee.
The next address was an apartment on Olive.
“You have the right address in that Andrew Marcus used to live here,” the man said. “But he moved away last month.”
“Do you know where he moved to?”
“No, sir, I’m afraid I can’t tell you that. Oh, but I can tell you that he works at the Anheuser Beer brewing company.”
“Thanks,” Matt said.
Matt had seen small breweries before, but never had he seen anything as large as the Anheuser company. It was located in a huge building and bustling with activity. Large wagons moved about, some empty, but many loaded with big barrels of beer. In addition to the wagons, there were also several railroad spurs on which stood freight cars being loaded with beer.
When Matt checked in at the front office, he learned that Andrew Marcus was no longer an employee of the brewery.
“Do you know where he is now?” Matt asked.
“I don’t know,” the personnel clerk replied, “but I’ll bet Cain knows. Cain worked with Marcus. You’ll find him inside at the mash kettles. Cain and Marcus were both brewmasters.”
“Is it all right for me to go find Mr. Cain?”
“Sure,” the friendly clerk said. Getting up from his desk, he took Matt over to a large window, then pointed down onto the floor where there were several huge copper pots. “Do you see the tall fellow with the mustache there on the third kettle?”
“Yes.”
“That is Gregory Cain,” the clerk said. He pointed to a door. “Go through that door and down the steps.”
“Thank you,” Matt replied.
The door led to an open platform that was elevated above the level of the many mash kettles that occupied the floor. From there, one could see every mash kettle and every corner of the large room.
The room was filled with a very strong, but not unpleasant, aroma of barley, hops, and malt. It was also warm, as the mash was being cooked in the giant kettles.
Matt walked down the two levels of unpainted stairs, then up between the mash kettles until he found Cain. Cain was on a ladder, looking down into the kettle.
“Mr. Cain?”
“That’s me,” Cain answered.
“I wonder if I could—”
Cain held his hand up to stop Matt. Then, closing the top of the kettle, he climbed back down the ladder. Picking up a towel, he began drying his hands. Then he smiled at Matt.
“Yes, sir, what can I do for you?” he asked.
“My name is Matt Jensen, Mr. Cain. I’m looking for Andrew Marcus.”
“Well, I’m afraid you are a little late,” Cain said. As another man walked by, Cain called out to him. “Gary, we need a little more barley in number seven.”
“Yes, sir, I’ll get right on it, Mr. Cain,” the other worker said.
Cain turned his attention back to Matt. “Why are you looking for Andy?”
“First, I need to know if this is the right Andrew Marcus,” Matt said. “Does he have a brother named Lee?”
“Lee? Yeah, I think that’s his name. Andy used to talk about him a lot. He lives out west somewhere, Colorado, Texas, some such place. I know that Andy said he was a fool for buying a gold mine from some scoundrel out there. Or maybe it was a silver mine, I don’t rightly remember now.” The man chuckled. “Anyhow, he used to talk about how dumb his brother was for doing such a thing.”
“Then he is the one I’m looking for.”
“Is it something about his brother?”
“His brother is dead,” Matt said. “Before he died, he asked me to get in touch with his brother to let him know what happened.”
“Oh,” Cain said. “I’m sorry to hear that. Andy set a great store by his brother. Even though he went on about how dumb he thought Lee was to buy that gold mine, I think that secretly he admired and maybe even envied his brother for doing that.” Cain chuckled. “In fact, I think that’s why he took off for Phoenix.”
“Phoenix?”
“Yep. Andy went out there last month. He’s planning on starting a brewery out there.” Cain laughed. “I told him his brother probably had a better chance with the gold mine than he would with a brewery, but, like I said, I think it was his brother doing what he done that inspired Andy, so to speak.”
“Thank you, Mr. Cain. You’ve been very helpful.”
“Glad I could be of help. Oh, and when you find him, tell him I asked about him and tell him that I’m sorry about his brother.”
“I’ll do that,” Matt said.
“Mr. Cain, we’ve got a boil over here!” someone shouted.
“I’d better get on that,” Cain said, hurrying away. “Good luck finding Andy!” he called back over his shoulder.
Chapter Ten
Santa Fe, New Mexico Territory
In New York’s Hell’s Kitchen, where Pogue Willis grew up, his size had been quite a disadvantage. Strength and the ability to uses one’s fists were what established the hierarchy of Willis’s neighborhood. Bullied by those who were larger than he was, Willis had his earlier years shadowed by intimidation and shame. Then one day, in desperation, Pogue Willis grabbed a shotgun and blew a hole in the guts of one of his tormentors. No one else in the neighborhood had ever seen an argument settled by any means other than sheer strength. When they saw the strongest of their number brought down by the weakest, they were visibly frightened and gave Willis a new, and unexpected, respect.