"What time was this?"
"I...I am not sure, but I am thinking it was near midnight."
"Which shore did he swim to?"
"I...I do not know...the vodka, it blurs the memory."
"Pretty convenient," I said, fixing him with my stoniest stare.
"Look Kellerman, my boys, they rough, but they not killers! Besides, I would not have let them kill Monaghan," he said reaching into the pocket of his pea coat and pulling out a crumpled piece of paper. He pushed it across the table at me.
I picked it up and uncrumpled it. It was a fresh I.O.U. for $500, signed Ethan Monaghan.
"Monaghan, he owe money to me. I would not kill man who owed such a sum! Would you? He climb ashore, I don't know which." Petrovich sighed. "Now I am thinking I will not be seeing my money. You have truth now Kellerman. Happy?"
I sighed and pocketed the I.O.U. "C'mon Stanley...we're done here. Good sailing, Petrovich. Look me up if you ever hit town again. We'll drink to Ethan."
"Das vedanya, Kellerman."
We clambered carefully back down into the Emmy Lou and headed back to shore.
"You really think you could have gotten Tony's lazy ass out to that boat, Kellerman?" Stanley shouted at me as we headed for shore.
"Not a chance," I shouted back. "Fortunately, Petrovich ain't from around here."
***
I spent the remainder of the day showing Ethan's picture around both the Waterfront and Angelfish Island, with absolutely no luck whatsoever. No one had seen him, at least not last night. The sun was just dropping over the horizon when I finally unlocked the door to my combination office and apartment.
My place is located right above the Lucky Lady, one of the loudest and rowdiest saloons in Red Lantern Town. The noise keeps the rent cheap. The entire top floor of the two story building cost me less than a one bedroom joint would have back in the Big Apple. I unlocked the door at the top of the stairs, pausing to wipe a little of the grime off the frosted glass stenciled with my name: Walter Kellerman, Freelance Investigator.
I passed quickly through the room that served as my office, through a door in the back to my living quarters, and for the first time all day, I allowed myself to relax.
A few short hours later, I was feeling much more human. I'd eaten, had a few drinks, and was now prepared to think about my next move.
Looking back on it all now, the best thing to do would probably have been to forget the whole thing, go to bed, and try to scare up some nice safe work the next day. Momma always said I had more determination than good horse sense.
I believed Petrovich. Who would make up a story like that? And the Russian definitely didn't seem the type to let a $500 I.O.U. go. So, Ethan had gone for a swim.
But the Russian had claimed Ethan was tossed overboard about midnight. And his body hadn't been on shore at two o'clock. Where the Hell did he go during those two hours? Nobody on the Waterfront or Angelfish Island had seen a thing.
I had almost forgotten about the animal skin Ethan had been clutching. I pulled it from my pocket and studied it closely. It was a strip about one inch wide and three inches long, light tan in color. One side was covered with very tiny Chinese writing. It had obviously been torn from some larger piece, as the writing seemed to continue off the edge of it.
The more I looked at and handled it, the less I liked it. The surface of the hide had a greasy quality, and the writing was so tiny and intricate that it almost seemed to dance before my eyes.
I knew that Long Haired Tony could probably translate the thing for me if I showed him, but I'd hidden it from him for a reason. I decided to pay Kan Li a visit the next day.
***
I awoke late the next morning feeling like a whole new man, and after grabbing a quick breakfast, I headed over into Taeltown to see Kan Li.
Kan Li was my favorite source of information on all things Oriental. He was one of the few people I knew in Shan Fan who wasn't in the pocket of the Hsieh Chia J6n, and I had visited Kan Li's Antique Emporium on many occasions. Of course, "antique" meant "anything that can be passed off as old and valuable to the teeming masses." The man was a con artist, but a decidedly friendly one. He tended to victimize out-of-town folks, or those with more money than sense. He made a good enough living to maintain his shop in Taeltown. Rumor had it that lately he'd actually been trying to go legit, and had taken to stocking the occasional genuine antique.
Surprisingly, there were actually a few people browsing the shop when I pushed open the heavy wooden door, and entered the Emporium's dim interior. A well-dressed couple (quite obviously from Back East) browsed the shelves on one side of the store, while a negro in cow-puncher's clothes flipped through a few "rare" books, and a man in a Union Army uniform examined a selection of shrunken heads and various voodoo gear.
"Gleetings, Mr. Kellerman," said the fat little fireplug of a Chinese man standing behind the counter. Kan Li always played the "mysterious oriental" bit to the hilt, right down to exaggerating his accent. He knew what people expected when they came in to a "mysterious curio shop," and by God, he gave it to them.
Today he was in rare form, he was dressed in a bright red silk mandarin robe, with one of those funny hats perched on his head. His pigtail trailed down his back and his thin mustache hung down below his chin like a droopy set of whiskers on a cat.
"Hello, Kan."
"What can this most humble of servants do for you today?" he asked, unction positively dripping from his voice.
"I'm looking for something."
"As are all who grace Kan Li's establishment."
I leaned in close and lowered my voice. "I'm looking for information."
Checking to see that his customers were either far enough away or occupied, Kan leaned in close, as well. "What do you need?" he said in almost unaccented English. "Make it fast. I have a few pigeons here, and I don't want to lose any sales."
"What can you tell me about this?" I said, pushing the piece of hide across the glass-topped counter to him.
He picked it up and studied it for a moment. His eyes narrowed, and he leaned in even closer to me.
"Where in Heaven's name did you get this?" he hissed, almost angrily.
"From the hand of a dead man."
"You know this is human skin, don't you?"
I stared at him, unconsciously wiping the hand that had been holding it on my pants.
"This is bad. Very bad," he whispered.
"I need to know what it says, Kan."
He furrowed his brow in thought for a moment. "Meet me tonight," he whispered. "Three raps, the back door. I'll have something more for you then." The pudgy man leaned back and winked at me, as he slipped back into his "sales-persona."
"So solly sir, that rarest of tragic events has occurred. Kan Li's humble establishment does not have the object that you desire," he said in a voice loud enough for the few customers browsing the shelves to hear.
"That's just fine, Kan. I'll just have to check back another time."
"My ancestors blessing upon you, most honorable one," he said, bowing as I walked out. What a ham.
***
The rest of that morning and the greater part of the afternoon passed uneventfully. I had an appointment just after noon with a man who suspected his wife of cheating and wanted her watched. I took the case, of course. It's boring and tedious work, but at $5 a day plus expenses, it pays the bills.
After that, I was just killing time until my meeting with Kan Li that night. I had picked up a copy of the Tombstone Epitaph, strictly for entertainment value, you understand, and was relaxing at my desk, on the off chance that another client might show up.
I was aroused from my reverie by the sound of someone outside my office door. I looked up just in time to see a shadow on the frosted glass pane...and then it was gone. I drew my gun and walked slowly over to the door. Poised for trouble, I threw it wide open.
The stairwell and landing were quiet and empty except for a parcel wrapped in brown pa
per lying right in front of my door. Picking it up, I withdrew back into my office, locking the door. The box was light, too light to contain dynamite or anything explosive. I pulled a knife from the top drawer of my desk and slit the brown paper, unwrapping the package. A pasteboard box was within. The top of the box bore a drawing of a stylized Oriental dragon done in black ink. I carefully opened the box up.
I could feel the color drain from my face as I saw the box's contents. Laid out carefully on a bed of wool was a human tongue.
***
Fortunately, I don't scare easily.
It was nine o' clock. I stood at the back door of Kan Li's shop and knocked on the door, three sharp raps, as he and I
had arranged. No answer. I pressed my ear against the door and listened.
Voices. Two of them. Arguing in Chinese.
I tried the door. Locked. Suddenly one voice grew louder, shouting almost. There was a crash of glass, then a strange low chanting, and Kan Li-it had to be Kan Li-began to scream.
My gun was in my hand in an instant. It barked twice as I blew the lock off the sturdy back door. The scream was dying as I darted into the cluttered back room of the junk shop. The faint flickering light of an oil lamp shone from the other room but was extinguished as Kan Li's shriek faded out to a strange gurgle.
I moved carefully through the darkness of the junk shop's back room, keeping my back against the shelves that lined the walls. There was a sudden shadowy movement from the doorway to the front room of the shop, almost faster than my eye could follow. My .44 spoke twice, and by the muzzle flash of the firearm I thought 1 saw a man's diving, rolling form speed past me. The back door was knocked fully open like it had been hit with a battering ram, and the figure was gone.
More out of reflex than any thought that I'd actually see anything, I raced to the back door and peered out into the darkened alley. It was empty and quiet.
Kan Li.
I wheeled around and moved quickly through the darkness back into the shop, making my way to the front room, which was dimly lit by the lantern hanging from the front of the shop. The glass top of his counter was shattered, almost as if a head had smashed against it.
It had. I found Kan slumped on the floor behind the counter, breathing in wet gasps. His head was bleeding from cuts from the glass. Looking up at me glassy-eyed, he motioned me closer. I crouched down next to him.
He opened his mouth to speak and a wet gurgle came from his throat. In the dim light I saw small white things falling from between his lips. At first I thought they were his teeth. But they weren't.
Maggots. Just like Ethan.
Something writhed and roiled under his silk robes in the area of his stomach. My own gorge rose as I saw his tongue working, struggling to form words, pushing more of the tiny white grubs out of his mouth. Suddenly, with a desperate strength, he grabbed the collar of my jacket and pulled me even closer. He said something in Chinese and stared at me crazily. He repeated it, carefully enunciating each syllable.
The movement under his clothes intensified and he coughed moistly. "Be...beware the Black Dragon." he managed as his grip on my lapel loosened. His eyes closed tightly and he vomited a black bile, full of maggots and chunks of his own internal organs.
Kan Li slumped back against the back of the counter, stone dead.
Time to get some help, Kellerman.
***
"You should have told me about the skin" Tony said, his pockmarked face twisted into a scowl. "And you should have told me about the warning. I don't like being kept in the dark."
We stood in the front room of Kan Li's junk shop. There was myself, Tony, and two of his deputies. Kan Li's corpse was right where he had fallen.
"You mean your bosses don't like it."
"I could have saved you a lot of trouble, Kellerman."
"I would have handed you that scrap of hide and never heard another word about it, and you know it. There's something strange going on here, Tony, and 1 know how much Big Ears Tam hates strange things. Now are you going to tell me about this Black Dragon, or am I going to have to go bother your boss?"
Tony's ugly face took on a look of resignation and he heaved a great sigh. "Han Lo. An old 'associate' of the Shan Fan triad. A few years back, Tam found out that Han Lo had some unsavory personal habits-ones that Tam usually has a man killed for. Han was pretty cagey. He got wind of Tarn's displeasure and left town. Not before swearing revenge, though."
I remembered hearing the name Han Lo before. He had been one of Tarn's most efficient and profitable Big Brothers in the Triad, he had disappeared a few years back and no one seemed to know why. "What the Hell does a man have to do for Big Ears Tam to consider it 'unsavory'?"
"Black magic. Human sacrifice. Worshipping things that shouldn't be worshipped."
I stared at him, searching for any trace of levity in his face. There was none. "You're serious."
"Dead serious."
"You're crazy," I said.
Tony just pointed at the body of the shopkeeper lying dead on the floor, then turned to commiserate with his deputies.
I scratched my chin and considered his words. Those old memories flashed through my mind. Cold Harbor. Men shot stone dead getting up and walking around again. Our own fallen brothers-in-arms becoming our worst enemies. Nights of terror.
I thought I had left all that behind me. Years behind me. 1 stared at Kan Li's body and the maggots still writhing out of his belly.
Suddenly Tony didn't seem so crazy.
I tapped Tony on the shoulder. "Kan said something to me before he died." I said. I repeated his syllables as meticulously as I could and was gratified to see a light dawn in Tony's eyes.
"The Isle of Ghost's Tears," he said, "At midnight. Tonight." The ugly law man grinned like a hungry predator. "Ready for another boat ride, Kellerman?"
***
Before I knew it, there we were out on the damn water again. I had dropped back by my place and picked up my second .44 and a pocket full of extra rounds, so I absorbed myself in checking and rechecking them as Tony's men rowed us silently across the black waters. The moon was up and full in the summer sky, and we cast dark shadows on the bay surface as we crossed.
Tony had rounded up about 15 men in the short time since we had left Kan Li's shop, and we had commandeered three boats right off the docks. There are a few upsides to working with the law With four men rowing each boat, we were making great time. Soon the shore of the Isle of Ghost Tears was right in front of us.
Two men from each boat silently slipped into the water when it was about waist deep. They dragged us up onto the rocky beach and we all clambered out as silently as possible. Tony said a few short words to one slightly built rascal. The man nodded and faded into the night like he had never been there. The rest of Tony's men unloaded a bewildering array of strange hand-to-hand weapons from the bottom of the boats as well as some knives and even a few swords.
"No guns?" I asked, a bit puzzled.
"Too much noise. We don't want to draw attention to ourselves any more than we have to. Those hand cannons of yours are more than enough," Tony hissed, gesturing at my twin ,44s. "Besides, Tam wants this done up close and personal."
"Excuse me if I prefer a little distance between me and a crowd of thugs."
Tony grinned at me in the moonlight and fired up one of those cigars of his.
We waited.
Midnight was getting close. The only sound was the clicking of gun breeches and the rasping of a few whetstones on steel.
As silently as he had vanished, Tony's scout reappeared. He said a few quite words and gestured up the slope toward the back of the island.
"There are about 30 of them," Tony said, turning to face me. He was speaking in English, mostly for my benefit. "About a half a mile back. They're backed up on a cliff so we can easily seal them off." He gathered the rest of his men around. "We will surround them, and on my signal, we will take them. Alive if possible, dead if necessary. Let's go."
When they had first set up Shan Fan, the Triads had declared the Island of Ghost's Tears off limits for any sort of mining or development. They claimed that it was dedicated to their ancestors, but as we carefully picked our way through the low brush and scrub pines that dotted the island in small copses, I wondered if their decision had been as much practical as spiritual. Who the Hell would want to live out here anyway?
After about ten minutes of careful sneaking, we finally saw some light. A bonfire, flickering orange and yellow in the darkness. Sure enough, it came from right out on a rocky point. It was on the back side of the island, so no one from Shan Fan itself would see it. Any passing ships would probably chalk it up to either one of the hermits rumored to live out here or to some sort of "spiritual manifestation." Some people are superstitious that way. It took another five minutes for us to get into a position from which we could actually see what was going on, about 30 yards away from the action.
A large bonfire blazed away. The whole scene was lit by its flickering light and the dancing shadows it made. The men, 27 I counted, stood in a circle around a rough slab of stone that acted as a makeshift altar, chanting that low sonorous mantra over and over again. The men were all Chinese, dressed in variety of clothes, but one thing united them. Each of them held in his hand what looked like a piece of leather or animal hide, roughly the shape of a piece of writing paper. I tried not to think too hard about how much human skin it would have taken to make all those pieces.
Deadlands: For a Few Dead Guys More Page 20
