The Loner: Crossfire tl-11

by J. A. Johnstone

  The pain and anger on her face and in her voice was convincing, but Conrad didn’t believe it. “You were paid to lie,” he said coldly. “Pamela set this all up. She gave Lannigan the money to buy the Golden Gate Saloon, and she paid you to marry him and pretend the children were yours. But we all know that’s not true. You stole my son and my daughter from me ... and I’ll have them back.”

  So much for subtlety. So much for trying to get Lannigan alone and forcing him to talk. Everything had blown up, right out in the open. Conrad hadn’t intended to go that way, but when he found out Lannigan and Winifred were passing the twins off as their own, the emotions running unchecked through him were too strong to resist. They had overwhelmed him, and he let himself be carried along on the wave.

  Winifred’s furious glare suddenly crumpled into sobs. She turned to her husband and buried her face against his chest as she shuddered and pleaded, “Make him stop saying those awful things, Dex. Make him stop!”

  Lannigan patted her awkwardly on the back. “Don’t worry, dear. I’ll handle this.” He looked at Conrad. “I’m still not sure who you are, mister, but I think you’d better leave. Otherwise I’ll be forced to summon the authorities.”

  Conrad laughed. “Go ahead and call them. Call the police, and I’ll tell them all about how you tried to have me killed, and when that didn’t work, your men shanghaied me onto a ship bound for China with a shipment of rifles you’re smuggling to the warlords! So go ahead, Lannigan. Summon the authorities.”

  A hand plucked tentatively at Conrad’s sleeve. He looked into the pale face of Roberta Kimball. “Please, Conrad. I can tell how upset you are, but ... is it really necessary to do this here?”

  “I’m sorry,” he told her. “I didn’t set out to ruin your party. I really didn’t. But when I heard how these two liars had stolen my children—”

  That set off another round of bawling from Winifred, whose sobs had subsided to sniffles until Conrad repeated his accusation.

  “That’s enough,” Lannigan snapped. He tightened an arm around his wife’s shoulders. “We’re leaving—”

  Conrad reached under his coat and drew the .38. “No, you’re not,” he warned. “Not until we’ve settled this.”

  That was just about the worst thing he could have done, he realized a second later when he heard Frank say behind him, “Conrad, look out!”

  A gun roared somewhere in the ballroom.

  Of course Lannigan wouldn’t have come without guards, Conrad thought as panic erupted. Women screamed, men shouted curses, and everybody scattered ...

  Except the men wearing the red jackets of waiters, who charged across the ballroom with guns in their hands. Lannigan’s men working the party so they would be on hand in case of trouble.

  Trouble such as the real father of the children Lannigan claimed as his own showing up and pulling a .38.

  Lannigan grabbed Winifred and shoved her behind him again, then lunged at Conrad and grabbed the wrist of his gun hand, twisting it so the Smith & Wesson pointed at the fancy chandeliers dangling from the ceiling. Conrad tried to wrench his arm free, but Lannigan hung on stubbornly with both hands. Conrad smashed a punch with his left hand into Lannigan’s body. Lannigan grunted in pain but didn’t let go.

  A few feet away, Frank had whirled around to meet the threat from the saloon owner’s hired guns and keep them away from Conrad. His Colt was in his hand, but there were too many innocent people in the way. He held his fire.

  Suddenly a gap appeared in the crowd, and two of Lannigan’s men blasted shots at Frank when they spotted him holding a gun. The slugs whistled past, one on each side of his head. His Colt thundered in return as he squeezed off three shots so fast they sounded like one long roar. One of the gunmen doubled over and spun around as he clutched at his bullet-torn gut. The other collapsed as his thighbone, shattered by one of Frank’s bullets, gave out under him.

  The exchange of shots made the panic in the ballroom worse as everybody headed for the doors.

  Everybody except the struggling Conrad and Lannigan, the screaming Winifred, and Frank and the gunmen, who continued swapping lead as Frank overturned a table and knelt behind it for cover. Bullets chewed splinters from the heavy table but didn’t penetrate it.

  Conrad hooked another punch into Lannigan’s body, causing him to loosen his grip. Conrad tore his gun hand free and slashed the .38 across Lannigan’s face, opening a gash in the saloon owner’s forehead and causing him to take a stumbling step backward.

  Winifred stopped screaming, picked up a chair, and smashed it down over Conrad’s head as he turned toward her. He was taken by surprise and disoriented for a second although the chair was lightweight, a spindly-legged thing that didn’t have a lot of impact as it shattered. Using one of the broken chair legs she still clutched in her hand, Winifred hit him again. The blow landed solidly against Conrad’s skull just above his left ear.

  If he hadn’t already endured so much punishment in the past twenty-four hours, he could have shrugged it off, but skyrockets exploded in his head and the room started spinning. The dizziness made him lose his balance. As he staggered to the side, Lannigan tackled him, and they crashed to the floor. Conrad lost his grip on the .38. It went sliding away across the brilliantly polished hardwood.

  As Conrad struggled to regain his wits, Lannigan pummeled him viciously. The man panted in his ear, “Why ... won’t ... you ... just ... die!”

  Conrad got a hand up, and chopped at Lannigan’s face. Using his other hand he grabbed Lannigan’s collar and hauled him to the side. He swung another punch, burying his fist in Lannigan’s midsection. Breathing heavily, both men came to their knees and slugged at each other.

  The weight that suddenly landed on Conrad’s back drove him forward. Winifred wrapped her arms around his neck and shouted, “I’ve got him! I’ve got him!”

  Not for long. Conrad surged to his feet and slung her away from him. She cried out as she slid across the floor just like the Smith & Wesson had a few moments earlier.

  That startled cr y turned into a shriek of pain as she slid into the line of fire between Frank and the hired guns. She rolled onto her side and clutched at her right arm, which had been creased by one of the bullets flying back and forth.

  “Winifred!” Lannigan bellowed to his gunmen, “Hold your fire! Hold your fire!”

  Conrad scrambled after the .38. As he bent down to grab the gun Lannigan moved like a man possessed and lashed out with a kick that caught Conrad on the jaw. Conrad saw it coming and jerked his head aside, preventing the kick from shattering his jaw or breaking his neck. It sent him flying backward, leaving him too stunned to move after he landed.

  Lannigan scooped up his wounded wife into his arms. “Cover us!” he barked at his men. “We’re getting out of here!”

  Still firing, the gunmen leaped up and formed a line to shield Lannigan as he dashed toward the door with Winifred in his arms. Frank crouched lower behind the bullet-pocked table and held his fire. He didn’t try to bring Lannigan down. There was too great a chance of hitting the woman.

  Conrad rolled over onto his stomach, pushed himself up a little, and shook his head groggily in an attempt to clear away some of the cobwebs clogging his vision. As his eyesight cleared, he saw Lannigan disappear through the front door with Winifred. The gunmen retreated as well, shooting as they went to keep Frank pinned down. The last of them darted through the door, and a silence fell over the ballroom.

  Frank hurried over to Conrad and helped him to his feet. “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah. Just shaken up a little. And mighty tired of getting hit on the head and kicked in the gut.” Conrad clutched Frank’s arm. “Lannigan got away. Now that he knows I know about the twins, he’ll probably head for his house and try to fort up there.”

  Frank nodded. “Either that or take his wife and the kids and get out of town while he has some of his bought-and-paid-for lawdogs take care of you.”

  That thought shook Conrad. “If
he tries to have me arrested and locked up as a dangerous lunatic, after tonight the police will probably believe him.”

  “I reckon after everything you’ve gone through, nobody could blame you for acting a mite loco—”

  “Yes, they will,” Conrad cut in. “This is San Francisco, not Dodge City. You can’t just bust into a society party and start waving guns around. Frank, we have to get out of here.”

  Frank nodded. “If we can catch up to Lannigan and get our hands on those kids, maybe we can get to the bottom of this. Come on.”

  They started toward a rear door, figuring it would be safer to go out that way. Before they reached it, Francis Carlyle stepped out from where she had taken cover. “Conrad!”

  “Mrs. Carlyle, are you all right?” He paused for a moment.

  “I’m fine. That’s what this was all about? Lannigan’s children?”

  “My children.”

  “Can you prove it?”

  “Give me enough time and I can. Or rather, Claudius Turnbuckle can.”

  “I believe that. What a great story! And it’s all mine, because Jessup Nash isn’t here! What are you going to do now?”

  “Get my kids back,” Conrad said. “Settle with Lannigan.”

  “You’d better hurry, then, because the police will be here any minute.”

  Conrad nodded. “Thanks for your help.”

  “No need to thank me! Once I write this story, they’ll forget all about Nellie Bly!”

  Conrad and Frank made their way out of the mansion, twisting through hallways, pounding through a kitchen, and emerging into a garden at the back of the house. The carriage Diamond Jack had provided was still parked in front, but they would be running too great a risk of being caught by the police if they tried to reach it. They would have to find some other way to get to Lannigan’s house.

  With a sinking feeling, Conrad realized he didn’t even know where that was. He knew the location of the Golden Gate Saloon in the Barbary Coast, but that was all.

  “Frank,” he said miserably, “I don’t know where to—”

  A large, menacing shadow loomed over them, and they turned swiftly, bringing their guns up.

  Chapter 28

  “Mr. Browning, Mr. Morgan,” the familiar gravelly tones of Ling Yuan said. “Please come with me.”

  Conrad wasn’t surprised to see the big hatchet man in the fancy garden behind the Nob Hill mansion. Somehow, he had a habit of popping up wherever he was most needed.

  But that didn’t stop Conrad from asking, “What in blazes are you doing here?” as he lowered his gun.

  “Wong Duck sent me to report on what happened here tonight,” Ling Yuan replied. “I heard shots, then saw Lannigan, his wife, and a number of gunmen pretending to be waiters flee from the mansion. My feeling was that if you and Mr. Morgan survived the battle, you would take your leave this way, rather than risk running into the police.”

  “Your hunch was right about that,” Conrad said. “I found out Lannigan’s been pretending my children belong to him and his wife.” He caught his breath. “Wait a minute! Your boss knew I was looking for my kids, and with the way he keeps tabs on Lannigan, he must’ve known that Lannigan and his wife have twins. He must have put that together, but he didn’t tell me about it. Why would he keep that from me?”

  “It is not my place to question Wong Duck’s actions or his motives,” Ling Yuan said.

  “Never mind,” Conrad snapped. “I can figure it out for myself. He was counting on me losing my head when I found out about the twins. He thought I’d react by starting a fight, which is exactly what happened, and he hoped Lannigan would be killed in the ruckus. But it didn’t work out that way.”

  Ling Yuan didn’t comment on that theory. “We must go. The police will be here soon.”

  It was true. Conrad heard clanging bells on the police wagons as they approached the mansion. “All right, but Diamond Jack and I are going to have some words about this when it’s all over.”

  Ling Yuan didn’t say anything. He just gestured with a ham-like hand at the path that ran through the garden.

  “Come on, Conrad,” Frank urged. “I’m betting Ling Yuan knows how to get to Lannigan’s house.”

  “Of course,” the big hatchet man said.

  “Then you’re right,” Conrad said with a curt nod. “We have to go.”

  The three of them hurried along the path until they came to a brick wall about eight feet tall. With Ling Yuan’s help, Conrad and Frank clambered over it. The hatchet man was able to pull himself up and over without any assistance. They dropped onto one of the steep, narrow streets and quickly vanished into the darkness.

  “You realize I’m risking my reputation for you,” Claudius Turnbuckle said as he handed the gunbelt to Conrad. He had gone to the Palace Hotel to get it after a Chinese messenger had shown up on his doorstep with a note from Conrad. Ling Yuan had arranged that without much difficulty. “The police are looking for you.”

  “Am I wanted for anything?” Conrad asked as he buckled on the gunbelt and felt the familiar, comforting weight of the Colt revolver in the holster. He had discarded the cravat but still wore the suit. Its dark color made it easier for him to blend into the shadows outside the big estate belonging to Dex Lannigan.

  “No, no charges have been brought against you yet,” Turnbuckle said. “The police merely want to question you about the shooting at the Kimball mansion. But you can’t expect to disrupt such an affair and have bullets whizzing around the heads of the most important people in San Francisco without getting into trouble for it.”

  Frank said, “The shooting wasn’t our idea. Lannigan’s men started that particular ball.”

  “That may well be true. Still, I expect complaints to be filed against Conrad, at the very least.”

  “But not by Lannigan.”

  Turnbuckle shook his head. “No, despite what you said he threatened, he won’t go to the police. He can’t stand to have the authorities delving too deeply into his business, even his personal affairs.”

  Arturo had accompanied Turnbuckle from the hotel when he found out the lawyer was engaged in an errand for Conrad. The four men stood in deep shadows under some trees along the street a block away from the Lannigan house. Ling Yuan was scouting around in an attempt to find out just what sort of situation they were facing.

  Arturo said, “This fellow Lannigan probably has at least a dozen hardened killers in there to protect him and his family. You can’t hope to simply break in and take the children from him.”

  “Ling Yuan said we could get as many men from Diamond Jack as we need,” Conrad replied, “but that’s too dangerous. We can’t risk the children being hurt in an all-out battle like that.” His mouth twisted in a grimace. “Anyway, I’m not sure I trust Diamond Jack anymore, if I ever did. He knew where the kids were, and he didn’t tell me. He was using me to kill Lannigan, so his hands wouldn’t be dirty.”

  “He’s a crook, after all,” Frank said. “Can’t expect the hombre to be doing something out of the goodness of his heart.”

  “Maybe not, but I still don’t like it.”

  Turnbuckle pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his forehead, even though it wasn’t a particularly warm night. In fact, the air had a slight chill in it, made worse by the dampness of the fog rising from the bay. “If you don’t intend to attack the house, what are you going to do?”

  “I was thinking that if Frank and I can get in there and get our hands on the kids—”

  “You’ll be charged with kidnapping and sent to prison, more than likely,” Arturo said.

  Conrad shook his head. “The woman really seemed to care for them. I think we can persuade her to tell the truth. If she’ll admit to the deal she made with Pamela, and to the deal Lannigan made, the police won’t have anything against us. The twins are my children, and I have a right to them.”

  “What will wind up happening is the whole thing will be thrown into the courts,” Turnbuckle said. “T
he children won’t be turned over to you immediately, Conrad. This is going to take time.”

  “Well, at least they won’t be living with a criminal like Lannigan anymore,” Conrad said. “And eventually everything will come out and they’ll be with me.”

  “I wish I had your faith,” Arturo said. “In my experience, most often anything that can go wrong will go wrong.”

  “Not tonight,” Conrad said with grim determination.

  Before they could discuss the situation further, Ling Yuan came trotting out of the shadows. “There is a carriage house in back,” he reported without any preamble. “Something is going on in there. I believe a team is being hitched to a vehicle, and several horses are being saddled as well.”

  Conrad bit back a curse. “Lannigan’s not forting up here. He’s about to make a run for it.”

  “So it appears to me,” Ling Yuan agreed.

  “We have to stop him.” Conrad felt a sense of desperation growing inside him. “Where’s he going to go?”

  “Lannigan has a hunting lodge in the mountains east of here, on the other side of the bay. He must think he and his family will be safer there.”

  “It’s not his family,” Conrad snapped. “Claudius, you and Arturo stay here. Ling Yuan, take Frank and me to this carriage house.”

  Arturo began, “Sir, are you sure you should—”

  “I haven’t come this far and gone through so much to let them slip away from me now.” Conrad’s voice trembled a little from the strain he felt. “Not when I’m this close.”

  “Then we’d best not waste any time,” Frank said.

  He and Conrad followed Ling Yuan toward the rear of the estate that sprawled across a hillside overlooking the bay. The view would be pretty during the day, but there was nothing much to see at night. The fog blotted out the lights of the towns on the other side of the water.

  A brick wall surrounded the house and its grounds, much like the one around the Kimball mansion. Ling Yuan led Conrad and Frank to a wrought-iron gate in that wall. On the inside was a drive made of crushed stone that ran to the carriage house. Yellow light glowed through the windows.