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“Johann Kozlov was a Wobbly?” Bell could not conceal his surprise. The Wobblies, the Industrial Workers of the World, were passionately dedicated to the dream of labor taking control of production. They strived to make the established conservative craft unions demand more and fight harder, usually without success.
“The strike in the spring?” asked Bell. The International Seamen’s Union had struck every port in the nation on May 1 and lost so badly they had to accept a quarter cut in pay.
“The union kept the Wobblies out, and with no Wobblies to give ’em guts, the owners broke the strike.”
Broken so badly, Bell wondered, that a dedicated labor organizer threw up his hands and became a rumrunner? The Wobblies had been accused of many failings, but never greed.
“Where is your uncle?”
“Bound for Singapore, last I heard.”
“What line?”
Kemp got truculent again. “What the hell does a bootlegger care what line my uncle’s
stoking for?”
The tall detective shifted smoothly back to his bootlegger act. “I don’t pay a man until I know whose side he’s on,” he said coldly, and started to stuff his roll back into his pocket. “What line owns the ship your uncle is working on?”
“No line will hire him since the strike. He shipped out on a tramp.”
• • •
“JOHANN KOZLOV’S NAME,” said Grady Forrer, chief of Van Dorn Research, reporting next morning to Isaac Bell, “suggests both German and Russian heritage. He was, in fact, a German-born alien radical.”
“Was he a Wobbly?”
“We’ve found no evidence of an IWW connection yet. But he did join the Communist Party, which had some Wobblies in it. In fact, Kozlov joined both wings of it simultaneously, which is odd because the Communist Labor Party and the Communist Party of America couldn’t stand each other. Moscow ordered them to merge, but even that didn’t take until this spring when they finally formed the so-called United Communist Party. You can imagine the shoutfests at their meetings.”
“Could Moscow have sent Kozlov to America to deliver the order from Moscow to merge?”
“Interesting thought,” Grady mused, “if not likely.” He made a note. “I’ll look into it.”
“But you found no evidence of a direct link to the IWW? Remember, I was told he was organizing for the Wobblies in the sailors’ strike.”
Grady shrugged. “We found no evidence of involvement in the sailors’ strike. And no record of his joining the IWW. Which is not surprising, considering that he was deported.”
“Deported? When?”
“Kozlov was arrested in the Red Scare roundups—the Palmer Raids—in the first wave, at the end of 1919. The Justice Department deported him back to his native Germany.”
The government raids on alien radicals’ homes, schools, and businesses had been launched in late 1919 by Attorney General Mitchell Palmer after an Italian anarchist bombed Palmer’s Washington home. Bell said, “I’m not sure what to make of that. It’s a heck of a background for a rumrunner.”
Bell pondered the curiosity. How big a leap was it from radical to criminal? He had encountered labor radicals and he thought it a big leap indeed for those dedicated to a cause. On the other hand, how many in the bootlegging line even considered themselves criminals? They told themselves they were providing a service. Or, as Scudder Smith had put it, “having fun.” At least until the real criminals started beating them up to steal the profits.
“How many were arrested in the Palmer Raids?”
“At least ten thousand,” Grady answered.
“How many were deported?”
“Eight hundred.”
“One in twelve? That puts Herr Kozlov in select company.”
“Or just unlucky.”
“How so?”
