The Anatomy of Deception - Lawrence Goldstone [11]
“My, my,” said Turk with a smirk, as I took the seat next to him, “aren’t you the boulevardier? You best take care in that getup, Carroll. Every pickpocket and prostitute in Philadelphia will be after you.”
“You said the theater,” I replied coldly. “Shall I change?”
“No time,” he replied, and signaled the driver to be under way.
“When does the show begin?” I asked.
“Starts at ten,” he said. “We’ll dine first.”
“Ten? What show is it?”
Turk sighed. “Carroll, you are the most incurable prig. We are attending Bonhomme’s Paris Revue. It is not Hamlet, Edwin Booth will not be in attendance, and no one will dust off your seat before you sit down. If someone offers to take your hat, don’t give it to him unless you wish never to see it again.”
The carriage headed north, eventually turning east on Market Street, toward downtown. The electric street lighting and macadam roads of Center City were in acute contrast to the gas lamps and worn cobblestones still in use in most of the city. Streetcar tracks branched off onto almost every cross street and, on Market Street itself, stanchions had been constructed for the imminent conversion of the streetcar line from horse to electric power. Carriage and foot traffic were heavy as we reached Center Square, with city officials, lawyers, businessmen, and younger, less well-dressed clerical and stenographic staff bustling about well after official closing time. As we rode around the square, the still unfinished City Hall, already seventeen years under construction, loomed over us. If ever completed, the monstrous granite edifice was destined to be the tallest and most expansive public building in the nation, larger than the United States Capitol. Mayor Fitler had recently moved in to great fanfare—perhaps to counter persistent allegations of massive graft in the granting of construction contracts—and the entire building was currently being wired for electric lighting.
We continued east on Market Street, passing Independence Hall. When we neared the waterfront, the cab once again turned north. Out of Old City, conditions fell off sharply. After more twists and turns, we were soon into a seamy area, the narrow streets closely lined with warehouses and small storefronts behind which questionable commerce and illicit activity were surely the norm.
Eventually, the carriage pulled up at a dimly lit establishment, with the words “Barker’s Tavern” in chipped paint on each of two large, darkened windows framing a faded green wooden door. I was surprised to see a number of private carriages idling along the rutted street—broughams, even a landau or two.
“Ever been here before, Carroll?” my companion inquired.
I told him I had not.
Turk opened the trap and we alit, our carriage remaining with the others near the front of the restaurant. Once inside, however, I pulled up short. Rather than the den of iniquity I feared, filled with voluble drunks and questionable women, before me lay a bustling eating establishment. Not Society Hill, perhaps, but, with its large, open room, sawdust floors, checked tablecloths, boisterous young clientele, and aroma of broiled meat, Barker’s environment was quite agreeable.
“Well, it doesn’t look like much on the outside, but I’ll warrant there isn’t a better steak to be had in the entire city.”
Turk was obviously well-known, because the man at the door, who wore a striped vest, arm garters, and boater, greeted him with enthusiasm and quickly led us to a table in the center of the room. While most of our fellow diners were male and, like Turk, casually but not inexpensively dressed, there was also a liberal sprinkling of women present. Most were young and attractive. They seemed to be enjoying the atmosphere without inhibition. As we walked through the room, an auburn-haired woman with startling blue eyes caught me staring and smiled back, causing me to avert my gaze, which seemed to amuse her all the more. Her companion, a tousle-haired man with his back to me, did not turn about.
Turk ordered two pints of Pabst. When our waiter left menus and departed,