The Anarchist Read Online Free PDF Page A

said. “Whiskey. He likes good whiskey, but not too much. And cigars—he likes a stogie. And he once mentioned trains.”
    “Trains?” She crushed her cigarette out in the ashtray she kept on the nightstand. “Maybe he find women ugly? Or maybe he think he is too good for us. Maybe that is his problem.”
    “You’re very smart, Motka. Too smart to stay in this place forever.”
    “We cannot all be ignorant immigrants.” She threw back the covers and got on her hands and knees, facing toward the foot of the bed. Looking around at him, she said, “Now, for another dollar, I am engine and you be caboose. Like choo-choo train.”

    THIS time Norris was early. He liked the fact that Hyde had arrived at their first meeting before him; it suggested that he had good instincts. This is how it goes, little distinctions, small observations. Don’t miss anything. Everything is important. And this time Norris sat in a booth in the back of the Three Brothers Café. When Hyde finally arrived, he was reluctant to sit down. He stared at the folded newspaper on the table.
    “You look like you need a good night’s sleep,” Norris said. “Sit, will you?”
    Hyde slid into the booth. “You promised more. Five dollars is not enough.”
    “You’ll like what’s in this edition, Hyde. Don’t sound so desperate.” He took out his silver cigar case, knife, and box of matches and laid them on the table. “I was wondering, you being an orphan and all, where do boys like you get your name?”
    Hyde prepared a cigar, and Norris struck a match. “The nuns just give you a name,” Hyde said once his cigar was lit. “I was left on the steps in an apple crate. The name of the farm was printed on it: Hyde.”
    “And the first name?”
    “The nuns often gave the boys the names of saints. If you were taken in at the protectory on Saint Bartholomew’s Day, chances were that would be the name they’d put down in their records.But I was a bit of an exception.” Hyde appeared reluctant as his fingers stroked his mustache. “It had to do with the weather. They tell me it was pouring and I was sopping wet. They thought it was a miracle I didn’t drown, so they wrote down Moses.” He took his hand away from his mouth. “But I don’t use it much.”
    “Moses Hyde,” Norris said. For a moment, the two men sat in silence, enshrouded in blue smoke. “Tell me about Czolgosz.”
    “I lose him,” Hyde said. “He comes and goes. The man does not stay in one place. Sometimes he says he’ll be at a meeting, but he doesn’t show. I ask where he’s been and he laughs and says Chicago or Akron or Columbus. I think he makes a lot of it up. With him there is no difference between the truth and a lie. That is the danger, you see.”
    “But—”
    “There’s something about him. Or maybe he’s just a lonely man who can’t find decent work. The city’s full of them.”
    “Do you think he suspects you?” Norris asked.
    “No. He told me that sometimes he goes by the name of Fred C. Nieman. He’s unpredictable. Very quiet, shy. But then after a meeting he’ll talk forever. He can find strange things to laugh about.”
    “He drink?”
    “Of course. And good stuff, but he’s no drunk.” “Women?”
    Hyde almost smiled. “He sees a decent woman on the street and he crosses to the other side to avoid her. That’s the truth. I took him to Big Maud’s but he’s afraid to go upstairs. Sits down in the parlor and listens to the player piano.”
    “How do you know? You sit down there with him?”
    “No. I lost a dollar bet on it.”
    “Maybe his problem is virginity?” Norris asked. “Can’t Big Maud cure that? Something with big pink nipples? Your first time you want to have pink.”
    “You’re right,” Hyde said. “I should take him to Big Maud’s again.”
    “Listen, I was sent out here from Washington to do a job, to protect the president. I talk to people like you every day, and every one of them has some conspiracy to