Utah Terror : Utah Terror (9781101606971)

by Sharpe, Jon

  “I have been meaning to ask you,” Mai Wing said. “Whatever happened to Mr. Bannon?”

  Fargo shook his head.

  “Another life Han must answer for,” Mai Wing said. “If he isn’t stopped there will be no end to the killing.” She brushed at her bangs. “There are days when I am ashamed that my people are such sheep.”

  “A lot of folks aren’t fit to fight,” Fargo said. “They don’t have it in them.”

  “You are kind to make excuses. But I have learned that some things in life are worth fighting for, whether we live or we die.”

  “Do me a favor and keep an eye on Flanna while I’m gone,” Fargo requested. “Don’t let her come after me.”

  Just then the girl stepped out of the shadows. She had bottles in both hands. “What was that? I heard my name mentioned.”

  “I was wondering where you’d gotten to,” Fargo lied. “Now I need a towel I can cut into strips. And lucifers if you have them.”

  Flanna hastened off again.

  Fargo set to work. He placed the bottles in a row, then opened the first keg. He had to pour by feel and a lot of powder spilled over the bottles but he got it done. By then Flanna was back. He cut the towels into strips and plugged one end of each strip into a bottle.

  “Oh, I get it,” Flanna said. “You light the strips and they burn down and set the black powder off.”

  “That’s the plan,” Fargo said as he crammed another strip in.

  “I would not have thought of this in a million years,” Mai Wing said. “And my country invented black powder.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Flanna said.

  “It is true. The world owes much of its culture to my people. We are not as backward as many in your country believe.”

  “Can’t prove that by Han.”

  “He is Tong,” Mai Wing said. “He is not typical of most Chinese.”

  “Ladies,” Fargo interrupted. “We have to decide where you two will hide until I get back with Terry and Noirin.” The Tong had checked the store and been to the house but they might return.

  “Hide, nothing,” Flanna declared. “I’m going with you.”

  “Like hell you are.”

  “They’re my parents. I have every right.”

  “You’d only get yourself killed, and me probably besides.”

  “I can be as sneaky as the next person,” Flanna argued. “I’ll bring a six-shooter and shoot any of the Tong who need shooting.”

  “Killed a lot of people, have you?” Fargo sarcastically asked.

  “You know I haven’t. But that doesn’t mean I can’t. The lives of my parents are at stake.”

  “My no is final,” Fargo reiterated, wishing she would see sense. “Mai Wing, tell her,” he said, thinking she would take his side.

  “I would like to come as well,” Mai Wing responded. “And I would very much like a gun if you will show me how to use it.”

  “Hell,” Fargo said.

  Flanna grinned. “Think of us as soldiers and you’re our general.”

  “Hell, hell, hell.”

  “We’ll take your orders. I promise.”

  “That’s not the damn point. I can’t watch you two and everything else at the same time. It’s better if you hide out.” Fargo had an inspiration. “And I know just where to do it.” He pointed at the cellar. “Down there.”

  “It’s too cramped,” Flanna said.

  “I would feel like—what do you call it?—a rat in a box?” Mai Wing said.

  For two bits Fargo would bean both with a club and drop them in. “Ladies,” he said as earnestly as he knew how, “tagging along is the worst notion either of you have ever had.”

  Damned if Flanna didn’t cross her arms and stamp a foot and say, “You can’t stop me.”

  “And if she goes, I go,” Mai Wing said.

  Fargo swore.

  “My, oh my. That was colorful,” Flanna said. “But you’re wasting time. Who knows what that monster is doing to my parents? Let’s be on our way, or I will by God go without you.”

  “This one is ready to give her life if she must for her friends,” Mai Wing proudly declared.

  “I could shoot both of you,” Fargo said. Instead, he hopped back down into the hole and rummaged through the guns and found a Smith & Wesson for Flanna and a Remington for Mai Wing. He loaded both and handed them up. “You’ll need something to carry extra ammunition.”

  “I know just the thing,” Flanna said, and whisked away. She was gone a couple of minutes and came back holding two pink tote bags with long straps. “Will these do?”

  “They are very pretty ammunition holders,” Mai Wing said.

  “Any whiskey in this store?” Fargo asked.

  “No,” Flanna said. “It’s not a saloon. Why would you even want whiskey at a time like this?”

  “Beats the hell out of me.”

  “Has anyone ever told you that you swear a lot?”

  Fargo sighed.

  “When I was little if I used foul language my mother washed my mouth out with soap.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “I just think you could be nicer.”

  “I’m a lot nicer than Han.”

  “I’ve never heard him swear,” Flanna said. “He’s been to our store a few times and he always talked like a perfect gentleman.”

  Fargo began mentally counting to ten.

  “Are you two ready?” Mai Wing asked. “We should start soon.”

  “I’m ready,” Flanna said. “I want my parents safe and sound.”

  Fargo tried one last time. “There’s nothing I can say or do that will change your minds?”

  “Not mine,” Flanna said.

  “You have done so much for me,” Mai Wing said. “I will do what I can for you.”

  Fargo balled his fists. He had half a mind to tie them up but they would likely fight him and where would that leave them?

  “Well?” Flanna said. “Why are you just standing there?”

  “Lead the way,” Mai Wing said, smiling sweetly, “and we will follow.”

  “You have your very own little army,” Flanna said.

  “Yes,” Mai Wing said. “Han has the Tong and you have us.”

  “God, I need a drink.”

  “There are times,” Flanna said, “when I don’t understand you.”

  “Yes,” Mai Wing said. “Let us, as you Americans might say, go stomp Tong.”

  “God help us,” Fargo said.

  24

  Fargo and his “little army” snuck out the back of the store and made their cautious way toward the Pagoda. Fargo made no more sound than the breeze. Flanna and Mai Wing did their best but their shoes scraped and their clothes rustled and once Flanna coughed and another time Mai Wing stumbled and almost fell.

  Both women had their pink bags slung over their shoulders with the bag under an arm to steady the two bottles each carried. Their revolvers were tucked under belts taken from a store shelf and strapped tight around their waists.

  Fargo was a bundle of raw nerves. The women didn’t seem to realize that all it would take was the slightest of mistakes to see them in Han’s clutches, or worse. Or maybe they did, and he should give them credit for more courage than most.

  An unnatural quiet pervaded the camp. The Tong were out in force, searching and patrolling.

  Once again the Pagoda loomed large.

  From behind an outhouse Fargo studied the situation. A lantern had been lit and set near the back door. There were four guards now and one held a rifle.

  “Pewwww,” Flanna whispered. “Can’t we hide somewhere else? I can’t stand the stink.”

  “Hush up, damn it,” Fargo said.

  “W
e could go over by that cabin,” Mai Wing whispered, indicating the one the outhouse was behind.

  Fargo debated. To reach it they must cross forty feet of open space. “On your bellies,” he said. “Hold the bottles in front of you and take it nice and easy.”

  Flanna dropped flat and crawled, whispering, “I’m part tomcat. Don’t you worry about me.”

  Mai Wing eased down. “I like her,” she whispered. “She has what you Americans call spunk.”

  “Too bad she doesn’t have what we Americans call brains,” Fargo muttered.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Crawl, damn it.” Fargo followed, never once taking his eyes off the guards. They were alert, no doubt because they didn’t care to share the fate of the ones he had stabbed.

  The cabin was dark. Fargo took that to mean the occupants weren’t home. He rose to his knees as the women had already done. “We made it.”

  “Did you think we wouldn’t?” Flanna asked.

  “We are good at sneaky,” Mai Wing said.

  Fargo promised himself, then and there, that when this was over, he was going to get drunk and stay drunk for a month.

  “Skye?” Flanna prompted.

  “Just thinking,” Fargo said. “We can’t go barging in with those guards there. We need a distraction.”

  “I could show myself to them and run off,” Flanna suggested. “I bet they’d chase me.”

  “Not all of them,” Mai Wing said.

  “We have to lure the Tong from the Pagoda,” Fargo clarified. “Not just those four.”

  “How in the world can we do that?” Flanna asked. “Set some of the buildings on fire?”

  “Close,” Fargo said. “Hand over one of your bottles.”

  “Be careful with it,” Flanna said. “It’s filled with black powder.”

  “Give me strength,” Fargo said.

  “They’re not that heavy. See? I can hold it as easy as anything. You should know. You filled them.”

  “Flanna?”

  “Yes?”

  “Shut the hell up.”

  “Must you be so mean to her?” Mai Wing asked.

  “You can shut the hell up, too.”

  “You are a strange man,” Mai Wing said.

  “Don’t go anywhere,” Fargo commanded. “No matter what you hear or see.”

  “What will we hear?” Flanna asked.

  “Thunder,” Fargo said. He crept to the front of the cabin. It was set back about twenty feet from the street.

  People were passing by. Men, mostly. Few women and no children were abroad at that hour.

  Across the stream at the House of Pleasure it was business as usual.

  A pair of Tong had been posted at both ends of the bridge.

  Fargo hadn’t counted on that. He’d intended to slip across and place the bottle along the side of the House of Pleasure and light it. But he’d never reach the other side without being seen.

  Hefting the bottle a few times, Fargo gauged the distance. He couldn’t throw it far enough. It would fall short and kill passersby.

  The creak and rattle of a wagon drew his gaze. A big wagon hauled by two plodding horses was coming up the street. The wagon was driven by an old Chinese; its bed was piled high with crates and covered with a canvas.

  Inspiration struck. Fargo took a few steps, and froze.

  Six Tong were out in front of the Pagoda. At the moment several were talking to a young woman and the others were listening.

  Staying in the darkest patches, Fargo glided to the street.

  The wagon’s driver looked to be half-asleep. His chin was on his chest and his head bobbed with the rolling motion of the wheels.

  Fargo fished the lucifers out of his pocket. He must time it just right.

  At the Pagoda the young woman laughed. She was enjoying the attention.

  The wagon rumbled abreast of Fargo. He waited until it was almost past, then darted over and around the rear to the other side. The driver didn’t notice. Nor did the Tong at the bridge. Pacing the wagon, the bed between him and the Pagoda, he struck the lucifer and lit the end of the makeshift fuse. The strip crackled into flame and the fire ate toward the bottle.

  The wagon neared the bridge.

  Fargo held the bottle close to his chest so the Tong wouldn’t see the glow, and when the flame was barely a whisker’s width from burning into the bottle, he threw it high, praying his aim was true.

  Trailing a fiery tail like a miniature falling star, the bottle crashed down onto the roof of the House of Pleasure.

  For a few moments nothing happened and Fargo feared the flame had been extinguished.

  Then, with a tremendous blast, the black powder exploded. Sheets of flame erupted skyward and a huge cloud of smoke roiled and billowed. Parts of the roof rained down as fire spread across a jagged, gaping hole.

  Literally everyone stopped and gaped.

  The old driver jerked upright and hauled on the reins.

  The Tong on the bridge and the Tong in front of the Pagoda ran toward the House of Pleasure. The people in front of it ran the other way. Within moments a panicked melee filled the street.

  Fargo raced around the tail end of the wagon and over to the cabin.

  The four Tong who had been at the back of the Pagoda came running to the front. They saw the flames and the smoke and sprinted toward the bridge to help their brother Tong.

  From within the House of Pleasure rose screams and yells.

  Fargo flew to where he had left the women. “Come on,” he growled, hardly slowing.

  “What did you do?” Flanna asked as she caught up.

  “Spoiled a lot of lovemaking.”

  Fargo yanked the rear door of the Pagoda wide and sped along the narrow hall. He figured that Terrence and Noirin O’Brien had been taken to the dungeon and he was halfway to the stairs when Mai Wing surprised him by urgently calling his name.

  Mai Wing had parted a curtain of beads. She nodded at something beyond. “Here,” she said.

  Fargo and Flanna ran back.

  “I heard one of them try to call out to us,” Mai Wing explained.

  Trussed hand and foot and gagged, Terrence and Noirin O’Brien had been dumped on their sides in an alcove. Both struggled at their ropes and uttered muffled pleas for help.

  “Mother! Father!” Flanna cried, and sprang to free them.

  “Help her,” Fargo said to Mai Wing as he took a bottle from her pink bag. Whirling, he ran to the front of the hallway. At the moment no Tong were in sight but he could hear feet pounding on the stairs that led down from Han’s audience chamber.

  Quickly, Fargo lit the cloth. This time he didn’t wait. He stepped out and hurled the bottle at the stairs. The glass smashed with the same explosive results. Buffeted by a gust of hot air, Fargo ducked back as slivers of wood peppered the floor and the walls.

  Both parents were free and Flanna was hugging her mother.

  “You came for us,” Terry said, rubbing his thick wrists.

  “Did you think we wouldn’t?” Fargo gestured. “Get them moving. I’ll cover you.”

  “Boyo,” Terry said, grasping his arm, “I can’t tell you how grateful I am.”

  “Later,” Fargo said.

  The Irishman nodded and ushered the women toward the rear.

  Smoke was pouring into the hall. A ruckus had broken out: angry shouts and cries of fear and what must have been oaths in Chinese.

  The fire would spread rapidly; pine burned fast and hot.

  Fargo backpedaled, watching for Tong, but none came after them. The hatchet men had their hands full with the fire in the stairs and the fire across the street.

  Terry and the others were waiting. Fargo shut the door and led them to the west,
saying, “Stay close and stay down.”

  Absolute bedlam reigned out in the street. Flames and smoke rose from both the Pagoda and the House of Pleasure.

  “All that is your doing?” Terry marveled. “Remind me to never make you mad.”

  “It’s Han I want,” Fargo said grimly.

  “And he wants you,” Terry said, puffing as they ran. “You should have heard him. He practically flew into a rage at the mention of your name.”

  “Why didn’t they put you in the dungeon?”

  Terry chuckled again. “That’s your doing, too. Lo Ping was going to take us there but Han said what good would it do since you’d escaped from it and returned for Bannon and killed more Tong and slipped away again. So they threw us in that cubbyhole.”

  “We were lucky to find you.”

  “I saw you and Flanna go past and tried to yell and that’s when the Chinese girl heard me.” Terry puffed as he ran. “Han will be madder than ever. He hates you, that one. I shudder to think what he would do if he got his hands on you.”

  “I’m going to give him his chance,” Fargo said.

  25

  First, Fargo had to get the O’Briens and Mai Wing to safety. There wasn’t room for all four of them in the hidey-hole in the general store. The Tong would go over every square foot of their house. The blacksmith shop, too, would be searched from top to bottom. So that left . . . “Grab enough food and blankets and whatever else you need to last a couple of days and I’ll take you off into the woods.”

  “What if that damnable Han should get the better of you?” Terry bluntly asked.

  “Head anywhere,” was Fargo’s advice.

  The west end of the camp was largely deserted. Everyone had rushed to witness the conflagrations. Flames thirty to forty feet high licked at the night sky as they devoured the House of Pleasure and the Pagoda.

  “I have to say,” Terry remarked, “I don’t like the idea of you doing my fighting for me.”

  “One of us should stay with the women,” Fargo said, “and it’s your wife and daughter.”

  They made a circuit of the house to be sure no Tong were lurking.

  “In you go,” Fargo said to the O’Briens. “And don’t dawdle.”

  “In and out,” Terry promised.