“Cut line, Decker. Why are you here and more to the point, who sent you? Boss Kroker?”
Decker stiffened with a semblance of affronted dignity. “Mr. Richard Kroker and I are certainly acquaintances. We are both privileged to be members of Tammany Hall. But I am not his lackey.”
Zeke sneered, not troubling to disguise what he thought of both Decker’s assertion and Tammany Hall. Its members might drone on about the defense of liberties and the American way of life, and hold their silly initiation rituals, dressing like Indian braves, but for all that, the Hall was mainly a political machine, efficient, ruthless, controlling New York for the benefit of the sachems. The old days of Boss Tweed were remembered as bad, but under Richard Kroker’s rule, the city government had reached new levels of graft and corruption.
But Decker continued to deny that he was influenced by Kroker. “It was my own idea to approach you, Mr. Morrison. I am gravely concerned about a rumor that has reached me, that you have been supporting this man Addison.”
“It’s no rumor. It’s a fact. Stanley Addison is a bright young attorney, a good Democrat. He’ll make a fine mayor, don’t you think?”
“Not without the support of Tammany Hall.”
“There are other Democrats in this town besides your Tammany cronies.”
“Not enough to elect Mr. Addison. He is a reform candidate. They never do well at the polls. If you persist in contributing to his campaign, you will be flinging your money away, Mr. Morrison.”
“It’s good of you to be so concerned about my purse. It’s too bad you don’t worry more about the city treasury, which you Tammany boys have a habit of dipping into.”
Decker flushed bright red. “That remark, sir, brings me to the real purpose of my visit. Your candidate Addison has been making similar libelous comments, flinging about unfoundedcharges of corruption and graft. Since receiving your financial backing, he has become even more reckless in his speeches. He has even made some slanders against me.”
“And you, such an upstanding member of the community,’ Zeke mocked. “The Commissioner for the Public Weal. A very comfortable little sinecure and profitable too. I can understand why you find Addison irritating, asking so many questions as he does, about what became of all the funds appropriated for new city parks, why, instead of libraries, the city gets more sweatshops and brothels.”
Decker shot dramatically to his feet. “Sir, your insinuations are intolerable. In another era, such words would have been grounds for a duel.”
“I’m a very old-fashioned fellow, Decker,” Zeke said, edging off the desk, doubling up his fists. “I’d be more than happy to meet you round back.”
As he stepped forward, Decker abandoned his blustering attitude. He retreated around the chair, resuming his ingratiating manner.
“Mr. Morrison, I am sure you are too fair-minded a man to accept all of Addison’s accusations without proof.”
“We’ll get the proof, never fear. We’ll dig it out if it takes every last cent of my own money to do so.”
A fine sweat broke out on Decker’s brow. “I don’t know why I should be singled out for this abuse. I have been an alderman for years and discharged my duties well, I might add. Ask our mutual friend, Mrs. Van Hallsburg, or inquire of any of my constituents.”
“Such as these?” Zeke asked. Turning, he produced from his desk the one book in his library that showed signs of being well worn—Jacob Riis’s photographic essay,How the Other Half Lives.
Zeke held the book out to Decker, rifling through the pages. Stark images of poverty flipped beneath Zeke’s fingers—the slums, the brothels, the nickel-a-cup rotgut liquor saloons. All those pictures in uncompromising black and white—the ragged children in the refuse-littered alleyways, the family of six cramped in one room, the withered old women; sitting on stoops outside tumbledown tenements. All those faces so devoid of hope, seemed to stare at Zeke, haunt him with images of a life he had once known, scenes too well remembered, places he had tried to escape from and just forget.
Decker averted his gaze, refusing to look at the book. “I am hardly responsible for such misery, Mr. Morrison. On the contrary, I and my fellow Members at Tammany Hall have done much by way of charity to relieve the sufferings of these poor creatures.”
“Oh, indeed. You hand out turkeys for Christmas while you block any real social reform.” He slapped the book closed and dropped it back on the desk.
“I am sorry, Mr. Decker. With my full support, Mr. Addison will continue saying all those unkind things about you and your Tammany friends. With a little luck, we may even be able to arrange a congressional investigation into your activities.”
Decker ran one finger beneath his starched collar. “You can’t have considered, Mr. Morrison, the advantages you might find yourself from belonging to Tammany Hall. You have shipping interests. Arrangements might be made with customs authorities that you would find beneficial.”
What little patience Zeke had had for this interview reached its end. “Get out of here. Now!”
“On the other hand, Mr. Morrison, if you persist in this course, you may find yourself in a world of difficulties, For instance, I hope your fire insurance is paid up. The volunteer companies can be so slow in answering a call?—”
Decker’s words were choked off as Zeke collared him.
“Are you threatening me, Decker?”
Decker’s eyes dilated with fear, but he managed to gasp, “Only trying to give you some good advice.”
“You know what you can do with your advice.” Zeke raised his fist, but Decker was such a pathetic excuse for a man, white faced and trembling, a look of desperation in his eyes. Zeke contented himself with hustling him to the door. Opening it up, he thrust Decker out of his study.
“Give my regards to the boss when you see him,” he growled.
