The Harlot’s Pen by Claudia H Long Read Free Book Online

rights!”
    “Any right-thinking person does!” I was lying on the floor, an agent on either side pressing on my hands, and yet I could not stop myself from saying what I said.
    To my relief, Macondo laughed. “Braver than I thought. But not as smart. Now how did you arrange to have that ridiculous poem printed on the day of Mrs. Whitney’s sentencing? What strings did you pull? What connections to what organization do you have? What leverage did you use?” He was getting heated again.
    “None! It was serendipity!”
    “Liar!”
    I cried out when the point of his shoe hit my ribs. “No! That is the absolute truth,” I breathed.
    “Impossible. You must, or did your false husband—” He stopped. “Mr. Toppings works for Mr. Dohrmann. Do you think Mr. Dohrmann knows what his wife was up to?”
    I could not think fast enough with the pain in my ribs and my throbbing head, but I knew that never in this lifetime would this federal agent take on A. B. C. Dohrmann, pillar of the community, wealthy beyond belief, close friend of Sunny Jim Rolph, who had been mayor of San Francisco for the past twelve years, business colleague of William Randolph Hearst, owner and publisher of the Examiner , the Call , and newspapers across the land. Even on the floor in pain, I knew Charlotte Dohrmann was safe. And perhaps even Sam was safe.
    I watched as the leader paced the cell, his face getting redder and contorting with what I realized was insurmountable frustration. With my purported associate, Mrs. Dohrmann, untouchable, his whole reason for arresting me fell to pieces. He had not found the thread to pull to unravel the cells of potential communists. With Sam connected to Dohrmann, he could not threaten to ruin Sam. The only one who wasn’t safe was me.
    The agents pulled me harshly to my feet and dragged me into another cell, perhaps the fearsome cell number four. It was empty of any furnishings, bare, and cold. There was no door, just remnants of the cell’s bars, but they did not need a door to imprison me. The three men surrounded me, cornered me. “Take care of her,” the leader said. I watched him walk away, and I knew that my minimal protection was leaving.
    “Well now, girlie. We’re going to have some fun.”
    I edged backwards, but I knew I couldn’t fight off three men in a secluded cell. I stood frozen, and one, the thinner one with the mustache, licked his lips. I tried to numb my mind. It couldn’t be much worse than what Sam had done to me so often when he was angry or drunk. The dapper one grabbed at my blouse, and I felt the first buttons pop.
    “Enough.” The Irishman pushed away the goon who was pawing at the sash to my skirt. The goon took one more grab before he was shoved against the wall. “The titty show is as much as you’re going to get. I won’t have this on my watch.”
    “Who the hell put you in charge?” one of the agents snarled, but Officer Moran had his billy club out and was far and away stronger than these suited monkeys. He swung it, and they backed away. “I’m telling Parker,” the disappointed goon said.
    “Go ahead,” Moran replied, “tell him. You idiot, you mess her up, and Dohrmann will have all our jobs.”
    “She’ll never squeal,” he answered. “Her boyfriend’ll kill her if she does.” The goon made another pass at me.
    One of the other agents shoved Officer Moran, who clobbered him with the club, but the first agent took advantage of the engagement and pushed me back against the wall of the cell. I struggled, now having an ally, but a second agent came to his aid and, between the two of them, they almost had my skirt off, tearing the sash and the back buttons. With my petticoat and stockings showing, they grew rabid, taking no heed of my cries and kicks. One pulled me to the floor and was quickly upon me. I worked my hand free of the press of his body and punched him in the nose. Blood spurted forth all over my breasts, and he reared back in anger. He