Hunting a Detroit Tiger Read Online Free PDF

thing to say, and I could make no sense of it. I pictured Pearl White tied to the railroad tracks in one of her movie serials, and briefly wondered if that was what the caller meant.
    Although sunrise hadn’t yet come, I knew I wouldn’t be falling asleep again. Instead of going back to bed, I went to the kitchen. As I filled the coffeepot with water, I thought of other threats I’d received over the years. They’d involved fists, bats, knives, guns, even a sword once. And those were all before I went to war and had to face cannons, machine guns, and poison gas. But being thrown from a train? That was a new one.

    After two cups of black coffee and a hot bath, dawn was starting to light my apartment and the caffeine was beginning to clear my head.
    I made a quick trip to the local newsstand and returned with the Thursday morning editions of the Journal , the Free Press , and the News. Sitting on the least tattered spot of the parlor sofa, I sipped a fresh cup of coffee and began reading the papers.
    As usual during baseball season, I went to the back pages first. The sports section described in detail the Tigers’ 3—2 opening loss to Chicago. Not really a bad start, I thought. The game did go eleven innings, and the White Sox—despite their surprising loss to Cincinnati in last fall’s World Series—were still the best team in baseball. Holding them that close was something of an achievement.
    Reading about the ball game made me long to be back with the team. The home opener wouldn’t be for another week, and staying in Detroit by myself for that long seemed interminable.
    Moving to the front pages, I was relieved to see that there wasn’t another word printed about me or Emmett Siever. Most of the headlines were about the national railroad strike:

    Palmer Paints Rail Strike Red
Strike Chiefs Under Arrest
Senate Urges Action to Break Railroad Strike

    The only local news to make the front pages was a growing feud between the U.S. Treasury Department and the Detroit police. Treasury agents were accusing the police of graft, claiming they’d been paid off by rumrunners to turn a blind eye to the booze coming over the river from Canada. Detroit mayor Jim Couzens defended his police department as “above reproach” and charged that the federal “interlopers” were incompetent to enforce prohibition and were seeking a scapegoat for their own failures. I found this report encouraging—it sounded like I wouldn’t have much trouble getting a beer in Detroit.
    I went back to the articles about the railroad strike to see how travel would be affected. I was happy to read that strikers were only targeting freight, not passenger trains. Baseball teams would still be able to go from city to city according to schedule.
    The strike stories did contain some troubling statements from Attorney General Mitchell Palmer, however. Palmer claimed to have evidence that “Reds”—the catchall term for Wobblies, unionists, anarchists, foreigners, communists, and a host of others—were planning a May Day bombing campaign, and he was vowing to use “any means necessary” to prevent it. I had the feeling that whatever this labor war I’d been drawn into was all about, it was only going to get worse.
    We’re gonna throw you from the train . I couldn’t forget those words.
    I set the newspapers down next to me and took a swallow of coffee. Okay, somebody saw me with Hub Donner, assumed I’m working with him to bust the players’ union, and figured that’s why I killed Emmett Siever. Was it one of my teammates—the ones Hughie Jennings said were mad at me? I couldn’t see how—they’d all been in Chicago while I was meeting with Donner. Besides, the Tiger players I knew would make a more direct threat—involving a baseball bat, not an anonymous phone call.
    My guess was that the caller was a probably a Wobbly, somebody who’d been at the IWW hall and was angry about Siever’s death.
    Damn that Hub Donner and his