Cade looked at Samuel, who nodded. “I got these.”
Cade followed Mrs. Hamrick down the hallway, wondering what was up now. He was surprised to see her turn left at the foot of the stairs and go into the study. He’d thought that was Mr. Hamrick’s preserve. Maybe she was trying to make a point as well.
She took a seat in one of the leather chairs. He stood there, a little uncomfortably, until she motioned him to another chair nearby. She studied him a moment before speaking. “What does L.D. stand for?”
He wasn’t sure he’d heard right. “Pardon?”
“Your initials. What do they stand for?”
“Um. Well, my daddy was a preacher. Part time, at least. So he named me out of the Good Book.” He took a deep breath. “My full name is Leviticus Deuteronomy Cade.”
Some people greeted that news with amusement, which was why Cade didn’t share it often. Mrs. Hamrick didn’t laugh. She did say, “A rather unusual name.”
He smiled. “You should meet my older brother Genesis.”
At that, she did chuckle. “I can see why you go by the initials.”
“Yes, ma’am. Or folks just call me Levi.”
Her face grew serious. “So, tell me, Levi, what did you think of our visitor today?”
He rubbed his chin. “The little Chinese girl? Frankly, ma’am, I don’t know what to think.”
“My husband didn’t seem to believe her. He’s obsessed with the idea that the Chinese are behind the attempt to kidnap me and my daughter.”
“Yes, ma’am. But why? Why would the Chinese have such a mad on for Mr. Hamrick?”
“Or for me.”
“For…” He stopped. “Ma’am, have you yourself done anything in particular to get on the wrong side of the Chinese?” Something occurred to him. “You said your daddy was a sea captain. Did he maybe offend someone over there? I hear those folks hold long grudges.”
She shook her head. “Nothing that I know of.”
“Then, ma’am, I confess, I am purely baffled.” He grimaced. “I admire your suggestion of taking the fight to our enemy, but I got no idea who our enemy actually is.”
She stood up. He did the same. “I have faith, Mr. Cade,” she said. “I believe you will find out.”
As she breezed past him, he caught a whiff of her perfume. His body’s reaction had him sitting back down for a moment after she left.
CHAPTER THIRTY
The rest of the day passed uneventfully. Cade decided to prepare for the night ahead with a nap. He awoke to Bridget tapping impatiently on his door to call him down to dinner, which he and Samuel ate in the kitchen. When he was done, Cade stood up from the long table and put his napkin down. “You get some shut-eye. I’ll take the first shift.”
Samuel nodded, then frowned. “What if Mister wants to go out?”
Cade shrugged. “We’ll deal with that as it comes.”
Shotgun in hand, Cade patrolled the darkened grounds, eyes and ears open. The night was clear, but the air was damp and chilly. It always seemed to be chilly here. From time to time, he looked up at the lighted windows. He could see Mrs. Hamrick moving about on the second floor. From the little he could tell from his vantage point on the ground, she seemed as cheerful as he’d ever seen her, so he assumed she was tending to her daughter. He couldn’t see where Mr. Hamrick was. He tore his eyes away and went back to treading through the darkness. All he could hear was the call of the night birds and what sounded like a piano, somewhere in a house nearby, playing a sedate melody. He thought of the noise and tumult he knew was going on down in the Barbary Coast and felt a sudden absurd surge of nostalgia. As crazy as the place was, it was easier for Cade to find his way there than it was in this unhappy household, with its push and pull of competing powers and secrets. He clenched his jaw in frustration. There was an enemy out there he couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, couldn’t get his hands on, and the knowledge was a like an itch he couldn’t scratch. He knew there was something one or both of the Hamricks weren’t telling him.
Eventually, the lights went out, save for one dim lamp in the upper story, where he knew the Hamricks’ private rooms were. After a short pause, even that went out, leaving the house in darkness. The moon had finally risen above the trees and houses surrounding the property, and Cade pulled out his watch to check the time. As he did, the back door opened and Samuel came out, carrying his own shotgun.
“You’re a mite early,” Cade said.
Samuel nodded. “Couldn’t sleep.”
“Well, you’ll learn soon enough to grab sleep when you can. But thanks. Nothin’ goin’ on down here. Looks like everyone’s bedded down inside.”
“Looks like.”
Back in his room, Cade found himself unable to take his own advice. He tossed and turned, sleep eluding him. He couldn’t get the image of Marjorie Hamrick out of his mind. That cool gaze. The way she’d looked with her hair down. The sound of his name in her mouth.
Finally, he got up and took a fresh bottle of whiskey out of the dresser. He sat on the edge of the bed and took a swig, and shook his head. He’d done some damn fool things in his life, but making any kind of advance to his employer’s wife would be the dumbest. There was no way a lady like that would take a broke saddle tramp into her bed, and even if she did, there was no way that could end well. After a couple more swigs, he felt the whiskey take hold. He’d probably regret that when Samuel came to wake him up, but that couldn’t be helped. He blew out the lamp, lay back down, and fell into a restless sleep.
He awoke suddenly to see a figure standing in the darkness by his bed. “Samuel?” he said groggily.
“Shhhh…” The figure moved toward him and he saw it was the wrong shape and size to be Samuel. It was an unmistakably female body, dressed in what looked like black pajamas.
“Marjorie?” he said, dumbfounded. Was he dreaming?
“Shhhh…”
Cade started to sit up, and suddenly the figure was on him, pouncing with the speed and brutal grace of a big cat. The impact caught Cade by surprise and knocked him back flat on the bed. She threw a leg over him until she was straddling his chest. Well, that’s bold, Cade thought, then he looked up into the face of the woman pinning him down. It was a beautiful face, with deep brown eyes and perfect features, but it wasn’t Marjorie Hamrick. With a shock, Cade recognized the Chinese woman who’d been driving the coach that brought Mei earlier.
“What the…?” he began, and struggled to throw her off. The woman whipped a black cloth out and held it over Cade’s nose and mouth. The cloth was damp, soaked with some sort of liquid with a cloyingly sweet smell. Cade gagged on the scent and clawed at the cloth.
“Shhhh…” The woman’s smile was pure delight as she pressed the cloth harder over Cade’s face. “Shhhh…”
It was the last thing Cade heard before darkness boiled up and swallowed him.
***
He came to slowly, the world coming into focus, then receding again into blackness. The moments of focus came closer together, then blended into one, finally snapping into clarity.
He was in a dimly lit room, candles in sconces on the wall and one on the desk in front of him providing the only illumination. His mouth felt as dry as if he’d taken a long ride in the desert, and his head was pounding. Cade tried to get out of the chair in which he was sitting, then realized he was tied down, thick hemp rope binding his wrists and ankles to the arms and legs of the chair. He pulled against the ropes to test them, but whoever had tied him down had done a more than competent job. He settled back down into the chair and regarded the man behind the desk.
He was Chinese, middle-aged judging from the gray streaks in his black hair. He was dressed in what looked like a black silk jacket with long sleeves loose at the wrist. He was regarding Cade with a curious expression, as if he’d never seen the likes of Cade before. He was seated in a high-backed chair with some kind of fancy carving on it. The girl, Mei, was sitting in a plai
ner wooden chair beside him. Cade nodded at her, wincing as the motion started the pain in his head throbbing even harder.
“Howdy, Miss,” he said, his voice a dry croak. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
The man behind the desk rattled off a string of Chinese to the girl. She replied to him deferentially. He replied with something peremptory. She nodded, then turned back to Cade.
“Mr. Kwan would like to apologize for the inconvenience of bringing you here this way. He feels it was necessary.”
“Uh-huh.” Cade licked his lips. “Well, he could start makin’ it up to me by lettin’ me have a drink of water. I seem to be a little parched.”
Mei spoke to the man, who nodded. Cade heard a rustling behind him and turned his head. The woman who’d bushwhacked him in his own bedroom was standing there, dressed in a white robe decorated with delicately embroidered flowers. She was holding a ceramic tumbler of water. Cade was struck all over again by how beautiful she was. She bent to put the tumbler to his lips, smiling. She wore no perfume that he could detect, but the fresh scent of her filled his senses. He drank the water gratefully, feeling the heat of her slender body against his. By all rights, he should have been randy as a goat, but there was something about her that quashed any lust he might have felt. Maybe it was the way she looked at him. The man behind the desk looked at him as if he was a new species of bug, but her smile made him think she’d take great pleasure in pulling the wings off that bug. Or maybe it was the long, wicked-looking knife he saw in the belt of her robe that put him off.
“Thanks.” His voice was a lot less rusty-sounding now. “So. Mind tellin’ me why all this,” he nodded down at the ropes, “is necessary?”
The man said something to the girl, a long string of Chinese that Cade couldn’t begin to try to decipher, so Cade watched his mood. He seemed brusque and commanding, but not angry. The girl nodded and spoke to Cade. “Mr. Kwan wished to deliver information for you to give to Mr. Hamrick. And to send a message.”
“Well, shit,” Cade muttered under his breath, “couldn’t you have just used Western Union?”
The girl inclined her head quizzically. “I beg your pardon?”
“Nothing,” Cade said. “I think I understand the message.” He sighed. “That if Mr. Kwan was the one that wanted the Hamricks hurt, there’s no way to stop him. Even me. Maybe especially me.” He shook his head sadly, then looked across the table at Kwan. “Okay. You made your point.”
Kwan spoke to Mei, who nodded. “Mr. Kwan wishes there was some way to accomplish this without causing you to lose face.”
Cade felt a cold bolt go through him. “Lose my face? What?” He was beginning to sweat. He thought of the knife in the woman’s belt. His mind raced, filled with the stories he’d heard and read about the Chinese and their ingenuity when it came to torture. “Look. Sir. Just tell me what you want me to say. There’s no need to get ugly here.”
Kwan raised his eyebrows. He said something quizzical to Mei, who answered before turning back to Cade. “No, sir, please don’t misunderstand. When a Chinese person talks about ‘face,’ it does not mean the actual face.” She thought a moment, then ventured, “In English, the closest word, I think, is ‘respect.’ Or perhaps ‘reputation.’ It means all that in Chinese. And much more.”
Cade relaxed a bit. “Oh. Okay, then. I get it.” He looked at Kwan. “Tell him no offense taken. Only respect I have to worry about is my own. And I’m fine.”
Mei seemed to hesitate, then translated to Kwan. Whatever she said seemed to amaze him. There was a brief back and forth, with Kwan seemingly incredulous and Mei answering diffidently. Finally, Kwan shook his head and muttered something. Mei spoke again to Cade.
“The information I have to give is this. A few weeks ago, a man came to my grandparents’ fish shop. He wished to pay to use the back room as a meeting place. Someone was coming there to Chinatown to discuss a matter of great importance. But the man was not Chinese.”
“Okay,” Cade said. “Was the other fella a China—a Chinese man?”
Mei shook her head. “That was the odd thing. Neither man was Chinese. But the man who made the arrangements wanted the other to think that he was.”
“And how’d he do that?”
Mei grimaced at the memory. “He sat behind a screen. He talked in what he thought was a Chinese accent.” She snorted. “Only a fool would have thought him Chinese.”
“But apparently this other party did.”
“Yes. He wished to pay the man behind the screen to…to kidnap the wife and daughter of Mr. Hamrick. To hold them for ransom. He seemed to feel that Mr. Hamrick owed him a great debt.”
Cade nodded. “This is what you were saying at Hamrick’s house. That some enemy of his was trying to get the Chinese to do Hamrick dirty.”
“That is right. But again, the man he wanted to pay was not Chinese.”
Cade whistled. “This man behind the screen wanted to take the money, pull off this kidnapping, and pin the whole thing on,” he nodded at the man behind the desk, “Mr. Kwan here.”
Kwan may not have understood the words, but he caught the gist. He nodded back.
Cade went on. “And Mr. Kwan ain’t happy about it.”
Mei smiled wryly. “That would be a mild way of putting it.”
“I reckon. So, who were these two?”
Mei shook her head and sighed. “I don’t know the man who came to me first. But the other man, the man who was trying to pay to hurt the Hamricks, his name was McMurphy.”
“McMurphy. You get a first name by any chance?”
“No. But he has a place to live in what you white d—what white men call the Barbary Coast. He lives there with his father.” Mei looked troubled. “The father is old, and his mind is…his mind is not good.”
“What does that mean?”
“The father sometimes wanders the streets. He says crazy things.”
Cade’s eyebrows went up. “Wait…this father of his isn’t some kind of parson, is he?”
Mei looked puzzled. “Parson?”
“Yeah. Minister. Preacher.” Cade wished his hands were free to gesture. “Stands in church and makes sermons.”
Mei nodded. “Yes, yes, he dresses like one of those. And walks around shouting about God in the streets.”
Cade shook his head in amazement. “Well, I’ll be damned.”
“Pardon?” Comprehension dawned on Mei’s face. “You know this McMurphy?”
“No,” Cade said grimly, “but I’ve met the daddy. Twice. And now I know why he seems so interested in me.”
Kwan interrupted, impatiently questioning Mei. Her answer rocked Kwan back in his chair. He stared at Cade for a long moment, then shook his head in wonder.
Cade decided to address him directly. “Mr. Kwan, I thank you kindly for this information. I expect it’ll be a great help to me in getting to the bottom of this situation.”
Mei waited till he was finished, then translated. Kwan listened, then acknowledged the thanks with a curt nod.
“Now,” Cade said, “if you folks would be kind enough to turn me loose, I’ll be on my way.”
“I’m sorry.” Mei looked as if she meant it. “But we are not finished here.” She looked distinctly uncomfortable. “Mr. Kwan would like to employ you to, as you say, get to the bottom of this.”
“Thanks,” Cade said, “but I already have a job. And I believe it already includes what Mr. Kwan is asking for.”
Mei still looked embarrassed. She had trouble meeting Cade’s eyes. “So sorry. But he is not asking.”
Cade started to get his back up, then swiftly remembered the position he was in. “Look. Tell your boss I’m not turning him down, exactly. I’m just saying it’s not necessary.”
Mei spoke to Kwan, who replied at length, finishing with a nod in Cade’s direction.
“I am afraid Mr. Kwan must insist,” Mei said. “It would make him feel more comfortable if you w
ere, how do you say it, on his roll.”
Cade was willing to do whatever it took to get out of there, within reason. “All right. Sure. I’m on the payroll. Now, if you could just turn me loose.”
Mei looked away, still clearly unhappy. “So sorry,” she said again. “Mr. Kwan does not wish anyone to know where he lives. So, you will need to go back the same way you came here.”
“What does that me—” He was interrupted by that sweet-smelling black cloth descending over his head from behind and pulled against his nose and mouth.
God damn it, he thought before he passed out again.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
“You owe us more money.”
The hoodlum was slouched in a chair across from where the man sat, a pugnacious expression on his unshaven face. He was a broad-shouldered man of about two hundred pounds, handsome in a coarse way, with his thick black hair slicked back. His family name was Shaughnessy, but he was known on the street as Butt due to his signature move in any fight, which was to slam his considerably broad forehead into his opponent’s face. It never failed to stun the unlucky opponent into immobility, and Shaughnessy never seemed to take any damage of his own from the technique. Butt Shaughnessy was said to accomplish housebreakings by smashing front doors open with his head, also without noticeable harm to himself. The man behind the desk wondered if that was because of some unnatural thickness of skull or because Butt Shaughnessy had no brains in his head to damage. Brains or not, he’d somehow managed to raise himself at the tender age of twenty-one to become the closest thing to a king as could be found among the loosely affiliated hoodlums of San Francisco. For whatever reason, he was both feared and admired, and he could raise a squad or an army upon request. That made him valuable to the man behind the desk. But that value had its limits.
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