Donna Andrews - Chesapeake Crimes - This Job Is Murder!

“Now, Miss Stern. You should be honored that you’ve caught my eye. You might find a little extra in your wages this week to help feed that family of yours. And, I assure you, no one will ever be the wiser.”

Elias Pearlstein never once considered his behavior shameful.

At seven o’clock on a Thursday evening, the girls rose from their machines and prepared to leave the factory. As Rivka stood and stretched to release the cramps in her back and legs, Monya Schwartz, a pretty young friend and neighbor, came over and whispered in Rivka’s ear.

“Do you think we can walk home, just the two of us? I need to talk to you, and I don’t want any of the others to hear.”

“Of course we can. I hope everything is good in your house?”

Monya’s eyes looked troubled and terribly sad. “We’ll talk outside, Rivka,” she said.

As a parade of tired young women made its way toward the narrow stairway of the five-story building, they were forced to pass Mr. Pearlstein’s office. Rivka was surprised and relieved that today, unlike most days, he was not standing at his door, smirking at them in his usual wolfish manner. Then from behind his closed door came an angry bellow. “You’re a gonif ! I’m done with you, you thief. Get out, and don’t let me set eyes on you again!” Another poor soul, protesting a cut in already meager wages, would be without a job tomorrow, Rivka thought as she hurried down the stairs.

When they reached the street, Rivka and Monya linked arms and slowly headed toward home. This was the one time of day when they could enjoy a moment of leisure before family chores in their crowded apartments would occupy them for the rest of the evening.

“Monya, it seems the weight of the world is on your shoulders today. Tell me what’s troubling you. Maybe I can help.”

Monya’s lips quivered, and tears filled her eyes.

Rivka felt alarm growing. “Tell me,” she urged.

Monya hesitated. “Rivka, I know that I’m a mouse, a creature afraid of her own shadow,” she said in a quiet, halting voice. “It would be unthinkable for me to raise a fuss about anything.”

Rivka disagreed. “Monya, you’re a gem. A perfect daughter. A good friend. Why is this not a good thing?”

“Because I can’t defend myself! I let bad things happen. I can’t stand up to anybody.”

Rivka was confused. “Tell me. What’s happened to make you so critical of yourself?”

Monya wavered. There were certain things that one just didn’t share. It was forbidden. Shameful. Not done. But Rivka was her closest friend, and Monya felt torn apart. She needed to talk about it.

“I’ll tell you. You’ll surely think ill of me afterward, but I’ll have to take that chance. You see, Pearlstein, that momzer , you should pardon my language, knows which of the girls at the factory are just like me. The obedient ones who do what they’re told. He tries to take advantage of us. Touch us. When we protest, he threatens us and reduces our wages. I’m worn out, Rivka. For all my work at the factory, I bring home less money each week.”

“Monya, why haven’t you told me about this before?”

“Oh, Rivka, I didn’t think you’d understand. You’re so strong, so unlike me. You’d never find yourself in this kind of situation. And, you know, we don’t talk about such things. Shame is a burden we carry alone.”

Rivka felt her blood boil at the thought of what Monya had endured. Well, no more.

The following morning, Rivka rose earlier than she normally did and hurried to Mendelsohn’s. Employees started work at seven a.m., but Pearlstein and the shipping department started their day at six. Rivka knew the factory would be quiet and the upper floors deserted, except for Pearlstein’s unpleasant presence. When she arrived, she quietly made her way up the stairs to the fifth floor. When she reached Pearlstein’s office, she stood in front of the door, taking deep breaths to ease the tightness in her chest and the uncontrollable trembling of her hands. Several moments later, resolved to do what was necessary, she softly knocked on the door. No answer. Had Pearlstein not come to the factory at his usual time? Rivka knocked again, louder this time, calling out his name.

“Go away!” a slurred, hoarse voice responded.

“Mr. Pearlstein, it’s Rivka Lipsky. I need to talk to you about a very important matter. May I come in?”

“Ah, Miss Lipsky, have you come to offer Pearlstein comfort in his time of need? Come in. Come in. I would welcome the company of such a lovely young lady.”

Rivka steeled herself and opened the door. The malignant stench from the office made her gasp. The putrid odors of an unwashed body, liquor, and vomit were enough to make her want to turn and flee.

“Mr. Pearlstein,” she managed to say, fighting the nausea that threatened to erupt. “I’ve learned how you take advantage of your position of authority, harassing girls at the factory in a most unacceptable manner and then reducing their wages to punish them for not complying with your demands. This must stop immediately.”

Even in his inebriated state, Pearlstein looked incredulous.

“Rivka, Rivka, you’re admonishing me for my behavior? Do you forget to whom you’re talking? Since when does a woman, no a girl, have the chutzpah to speak in that manner to her boss? It’s unheard of.”

Rivka’s anger erupted. To think that this pig, this chazer, felt he was better than her. She took a breath and forced herself to speak calmly.

“Mr. Pearlstein, there are important people working to make life better for factory workers. They invite news of the workplaces they call ‘sweatshops.’ I intend to tell as many of them as I possibly can about you. How long do you think your esteemed cousin will keep you in his employ when he becomes a target of those who are friends of the working poor?”

Without warning, Pearlstein roared and rose clumsily to his feet. In a second, he rounded his desk and grabbed at Rivka. Shaking off his hands, she turned and ran to the office door. But even in his diminished state, Pearlstein got his arms around her as she entered the hall. Horrified that she had not considered the prospect of putting herself in danger by coming here at this hour, Rivka gathered all her strength and pushed Pearlstein. He teetered in the small stairwell for a few seconds before falling backward. In an instant, with crashing glass and a frightened cry, he fell through the large window overlooking the airshaft.

Rivka stood stunned. It took a moment for her mind to register what had just happened. She stuffed her fist into her mouth to stifle the scream that rose inside her. She wanted to run away, but even as shock numbed her mind and body, she forced herself to think. She slowly moved toward the shattered window and carefully leaned through to look down into the airshaft. At the bottom, five floors below, Pearlstein lay sprawled amid the garbage and debris. Blood drained from his nose and mouth.

A few moments passed before Rivka knew what she had to do. She turned toward the stairs, opened her mouth, and screamed. “Help! Oh, my God. Somebody help!”

In no time, Rivka heard the sound of tramping feet making their way toward her with shouts of “what’s wrong” and “we’re coming” echoing in the stairwells. Soon John Gerotti and Isaac Levy, two of the workmen who always arrived at the factory early to pack finished garments into shipping crates, reached her, gulping to push air into their strained lungs.

“Are you all right, miss?” Mr. Gerotti asked Rivka in a concerned voice. “Are you hurt?”

“No, no, I’m fine. But something terrible has happened to Mr. Pearlstein. He’s lying in the airshaft. When I came upstairs to finish some work left from yesterday, I saw the broken window. I looked out and discovered him crumpled and bleeding outside. Please, help him.”