Dead Harvest

  "Yeah, Johnnie mentioned she's a lunger." At that last, I flinched and cast my eyes around the bar to see if anyone had heard. Once tuberculosis moved to the lungs, it was both deadly and highly infectious – if word got out about Elizabeth, they'd surely lock her away in some horrid sanitarium where she'd slowly waste away to nothing. I refused to let that happen. Lucky for me, not a soul in the place was paying us any mind.

  Dumas said, "You seem healthy enough, though."

  "Docs say I'm doing fine." Of course, that was only half of what the doctors said. The whole of it was I'm doing fine for now. That living with Elizabeth, it was just a matter of time. The first few times, it didn't bother me – I mean, docs'll tell you all kinds of shit about eating your vegetables and laying off the drink, and that doesn't mean you listen to the letter. But you hear it enough, and eventually, it gets to you. I'd be lying if I said I didn't break out in a cold sweat every time I stifled a cough, wondering – is this the time my hand comes back flecked with blood? I'd be lying if I said I wasn't terrified. But I needed this job, and saying all that wasn't gonna help me none. Besides, the way Dumas was looking at me, I got the sense he already knew it.

  Our drinks arrived, and Dumas clanked his shot glass against mine, sloshing whiskey across the table, before tossing it back and chasing it with a swig of beer. I followed suit. My stomach roiled when the whiskey hit. Dumas held up his shot glass, signaled for two more.

  "So if it wasn't in the war, where'd you get the gimpy leg?"

  "Bad bit of business back in San Francisco. Back then, I worked the night shift at a foundry – at least, until we struck, that is. The owner of the place didn't take kindly to the idea, hired some boys to break it up. Some of us got a little more broke up than others."

  "Ah, so you're a union man," Dumas declared, beaming. "No wonder Johnnie sent you my way!"

  "I don't follow," I said.

  "Don't tell me Johnnie didn't tell you! You're among friends, brother! I run the International Longshoremen's Union, Local 1566. Christ, that Johnnie's quite a card, setting up a meeting like this and not telling you what it's all about – you musta thought we were the Cosa Nostra or some shit!"