The White Orchid had come.
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
For years afterward, Cade tried and failed to describe what he saw next. The black-clad figure moved through the crowd of hoodlums as if they were made of smoke, bobbing and weaving, sliding between and around the larger figures on the wharf, the blades in constant graceful motion. Sometimes it looked almost like a ballet, other times like a snake’s mating dance. But wherever the dancer went, blood arced from slashed arteries and opened throats. Men screamed in agony or sprayed their life’s blood from windpipes severed by one or another of those wicked blades.
At first, the crowd of hoodlums was shocked into immobility by the storm of bloodletting that had descended on them. Then they began to react. One raised his rifle to fire at the killer wraith moving among them. Cade staggered him with a double-barreled blast from the coach gun, then the man went down as the black-clad figure thrust a blade home into his throat. Another who’d heard Cade’s shot turned his gun back toward the ship. A sudden leap forward, the flash of crossed blades, and that man fell to the planking of the wharf, his head rolling free of his body. At that terrible sight, the few hoodlums remaining broke and ran. The black figure stood for a moment, watching them run, as if deciding whether to give chase. They didn’t see the wounded man behind them rising to one knee, a pistol held in one shaking hand. As he raised his hand to fire at the back of the figure in black, Cade called out a warning, the cry merging with the roar of a shotgun from beside him. The figure whirled and leaped, blades flashing, and took the man’s pistol arm off at the elbow, but he was already falling, chest shattered by the shells from the coach gun in Marjorie’s hand.
The figure pulled her hood back, shaking out her long hair from beneath it. She looked up at Cade, then at Marjorie standing beside him. Flicking the blades clean again, she re-sheathed them in a hidden scabbard on her back. The White Orchid’s face was as lovely as Cade remembered as she stared up at the ship, her face illuminated by the glow of the fires that burned behind Cade. But there was none of the mischievousness or playfulness she’d seen before. She was as pale and lovely as a marble statue, and as cold.
More than anyone Cade had ever met, she had the killing look.
As Cade watched in amazement, The White Orchid stepped backward, crouched, then began running at full speed toward the side of the ship. As she reached the edge of the wharf, she gave a huge leap. Just as it looked to Cade as if she was about to fall into the water, she grabbed at one of the lines holding the ship to the wharf. She caught it with one hand, then the other, and began making her way hand over hand toward the rear deck.
“Who in the world is that?” Marjorie said from beside him.
“She works for Kwan,” Cade said. “They call her The White Orchid.” He ran to the spot where the line joined the vessel to lend a hand of his own, but she’d already swung aboard. They stared at each other, then Cade said, “Ah, thanks.”
She didn’t smile back. She was looking at Marjorie. She gave a quick bow. “Thank you. Good shot.”
Marjorie nodded back. “You’re welcome.”
“So,” Cade said, “you can talk English.”
She didn’t smile. “How many?” she said. “On ship.”
“Five.” He held up five fingers to illustrate. She nodded and strode past him. Cade followed. When she reached Samuel, she knelt down and examined his arm intently. Samuel’s face was sweaty, his skin looking grayish. “Who…?” he croaked. “Where…?”
“Shhhh.” The woman gently tried to lift the arm. Samuel cried out. She just as gently set it back and stood up. “He needs doctor.”
“You got one handy?” Cade said. He gestured at the flames, then began coughing as a slight shift in the wind blew a choking cloud of smoke over them. “I think this is our biggest worry.” The heat was so close, Cade was feeling as if his skin would blister at any second.
She shook her head. “No worry. You go soon.” She went to the rail, stuck two fingers in her mouth, and gave a piercing whistle. Someone answered from the water, shouting in Chinese. She called back in a commanding voice. Cade walked to the rail and stood beside her.
On the waters of the bay, coming toward the Marjorie Ann, was a flotilla of small, flat-bottomed boats, each piloted by a Chinese man at the rear with a long sweep. At the front of the lead boat sat a familiar figure, a slender girl in a long gray skirt and a white blouse. Mei waved at Cade. Her face was illuminated by the flames, and Cade could make out her usual grave expression.
He waved back, then turned to say something to The White Orchid, but the woman was gone.
“That,” Marjorie said, “is a very unusual young woman.”
Cade nodded. “Honey, you don’t know the half of it.”
“I think I like her.”
“Good to know. But we’ve got to get out of here.” Cade bent over Samuel. “Come on, partner. Time to go.” Samuel just groaned in pain. Cade was squatting down to try and get under him to lift him up, but he was stopped by Bridget’s scream.
“Highbinders!”
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
Cade turned to look at where she was pointing. A half dozen grapnels had caught on the railing, and men in black were clambering over the rail, like pirates bent on plunder. There were seven of them, and they were as rough-looking a crew as Cade had ever seen, many with scarred faces and one with a missing eye. Cade could see hatchets and short clubs dangling from their belts, but no one drew. If Mei was with them, they must be Kwan’s men. The Boo How Doy began shouting to each other in Chinese and quickly organized themselves into an impromptu fire brigade with buckets hauled up from the boats. Bucket after bucket was poured onto the flaming longboats, but all they could accomplish was to hold the line for the moment.
“Mr. Cade?” Mei had come aboard, hauled up by one of the Boo How Doy. She was breathing hard and a little damp from her crossing, but her eyes were bright with excitement.
“Little Sister,” Cade said fervently, “you are a sight for sore eyes.”
She nodded. “Mr. Kwan sends his regards.”
“I hope to thank him personally,” Cade said. “Right now, though, we need to get off this damn ship.” He gestured to the group huddled on the port side of the stern house. “But we’ve got a child with us. And a sick woman and a man with a broken arm, and both of ’em need a doctor pronto.”
Mei frowned. “What is ‘pronto’?”
“Now. Right away.”
“Ah.” Mei raised her voice and called out to the group of Boo How Doy fighting the fire. A pair of them detached themselves from the bucket brigade and ran over. One was a hulking brute with a nasty scar above his brows and the other a smaller man with an eyepatch. She spoke to them quickly, gesturing at Cade and his people. There was a brief, querulous exchange which ended with Mei speaking a few sharp words. Cade thought he heard the name Kwan mentioned. Eyepatch shrugged, went to the rail, and hauled up a rope. In a twinkling, he’d fastened a makeshift lasso. He gestured at Cade.
“They will lower you down,” Mei explained. “One by one.”
Cade grimaced. He didn’t like the idea of trusting his life and the lives of the others to this crew, but there wasn’t much choice. “Okay. But get the women and the child off first.”
Mei nodded and spoke to the man with the lasso. He looked surprised, but shrugged.
The operation didn’t take as long as Cade had imagined. Marjorie went down first, followed by Violet. Bridget went down to another one of the boats, then Samuel, limp and unconscious but still breathing, was lowered gently into the boat with her. Cade looked over the rail to make sure everyone was situated, then turned to Mei. “Okay, Little Sister. Your turn.”
As Eyepatch was fitting the lasso under her arms, the young Chinese girl regarded Cade gravely. “Mr. Cade, I must ask that you not call me that.”
Cade blinked, taken aback by the request. “What? Little Sister?” He shrugged. “Okay. I don’t me
an anything by it.”
“I know,” she said. “That is why I’m asking you not to use it.”
Cade shook his head. “Jesus. Okay.”
When Mei was lowered down, Eyepatch hauled up the lasso and held it out. Cade shook his head. “No thanks. I’ll let myself down.”
The man looked puzzled, then held the lasso out again. Cade shook his head again. “I got it.”
As he put one leg over the rail, reaching for one of the lines that dangled from the grapnels, Cade began to reconsider. But the amused look in the highbinder’s one eye made up his mind. Awkwardly, he got into position, both hands on the rope, his feet braced against the hull. As soon as he tried to let go with one hand, he began to slide down, losing his footing and slamming against the hull. The rope began to slide between his hands, burning his palms. Cade grunted in pain and let go, falling ten feet to crash into the front of the boat just below him. The boatman looked down at him without expression as he lay stunned by the fall.
“Well?” Cade said, the words coming out as a groan of pain. “Let’s get goin’.”
***
Tremblay looked around the crowded, noisy saloon and sipped at his whiskey. It was a fine single-malt Scotch, and very expensive, but he barely tasted it. He took out his pocket watch and looked at it, frowning. He’d expected to hear something back from Shaughnessy and his people by now. He didn’t know how much longer he could stand here alone in this crowd, among the noise, the smoke, and the stink, for the sole purpose of establishing his alibi.
A buxom whore sidled up to him, breasts straining at the laces of her too-tight bodice. Her face was heavily painted, but he could still see the lines beneath. “Buy me a drink, honey?” she whispered in a voice which he supposed was meant to be alluring, but whiskey and tobacco had turned her voice into a mannish rasp.
He briefly indulged himself by imagining her as a player in one of his escapades, his hands around her throat, her eyes bulging in panic, then the knives… Something in his look made her smile fray a bit and she stepped back.
“Some other time,” he said pleasantly.
“Sure, hon,” she said, and moved off quickly.
Tremblay sighed. He’d done what he came here to do. A couple of rounds for the house had ensured that the bartender would remember him. He stepped out into the cool of the evening. The street here was broad and well-lit. Groups of men and a few couples strolled her and there. He spotted a cab and raised his hand. The horse plodded slowly over to him. “Take me to 128 Montgomery,” he barked up to the driver without looking as he opened the door and entered. The driver, hooded and cloaked against the evening chill, just nodded. As the carriage pulled away, the driver threw back the hood, revealing the face of a strikingly beautiful Chinese woman.
The White Orchid twitched the reins to speed the horses up to a canter, shook out her long black hair, and smiled. The night was young, and it was going to be very, very long for a particular gwai loh.
***
“Well,” Cade said, “here we are again.”
Mei didn’t translate. She sat off to one side of Kwan’s desk, hands folded in her lap, looking down.
“Thank you kindly for all the help,” Cade went on. “But I’d like to know where my friends are.”
Mei didn’t translate that, either. She answered on her own. “The black man—”
“Mr. Clayborne,” Cade interrupted.
She looked annoyed, but corrected herself. “Mr. Clayborne is having his arm set and the rifle bullet removed.”
“By a Chinese doctor?” Cade said.
Mei raised her chin and looked at him. “Does that matter?”
Cade sighed. “I guess not.”
Kwan said something in Chinese. There was a brief exchange before Mei spoke to Cade again. “The doctor says it will not be necessary to amputate the arm.” She smiled thinly. “Which is more than an American doctor might say.”
“You ain’t wrong,” Cade admitted. He grimaced as he recalled a pile of severed arms and legs piled behind a house commandeered for a field hospital after Cold Harbor. “What about Marjorie?”
“She is resting,” Mei said. “She will be fine. Her daughter is with her. Everything is being done to make her comfortable, and soon Mr. Kwan will arrange for her to return home.”
“Home.” Cade shook his head. “That might be a problem.”
Another brief conversation between Kwan and Mei ensued. “Not for very much longer.”
“What do you mean? There’s a dead body upstairs. I know because I killed him.”
Kwan spoke. Mei listened. Then she said, “Mr. Kwan does not know what you mean. Mr. Hamrick was shot dead tonight in a brothel in the Barbary Coast.”
“A…what?”
Mei went on. “Mr. Kwan extends his deepest condolences to the widow and child. As a gesture of sympathy, he has arranged for the house to be cleaned, top to bottom, knowing Mrs. Hamrick and the household would need the rest and the time to comfort one another in this difficult period of bereavement.”
Cade stared across the desk at Kwan. “You son of a bitch,” he said with grudging admiration.
Mei frowned. “I do not think you want me to translate that.”
“No.” Cade shook his head. He thought for a moment, then turned to Mei. “Tell Mr. Kwan I will be forever in his debt.”
They spoke back and forth, then Mei nodded. “He says, this is true. But perhaps not forever.”
“Only until he wants something from me.”
She didn’t speak to Kwan. “Mr. Kwan is happy to work for better relations between our people.”
“I’ll bet.” Cade stood up. “Okay. I get it.” He looked at Kwan. “But I just want you to know one thing. I won’t kill for you.”
Mei hesitated, then spoke. Kwan looked amused. “That will not be necessary.”
“Right. He’s already got someone for that.”
Mei smiled. “As you say.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
They stood side by side on the sidewalk in front of a building that had once housed a bakery. The sign painter was putting the last touches on the new sign: CADE AND CLAYBORNE. INVESTIGATIONS. PERSONAL PROTECTION.
“Sure you don’t want your name first?” Cade asked. “I kinda think Clayborne and Cade rolls off the tongue a little better.”
“Little late for that now,” Samuel said. He grimaced as he adjusted his arm in the sling that cradled it.
“Arm still paining you?” Cade asked.
“Some. But I’m trying to stay off the laudanum.”
“Good plan,” Marjorie spoke up from behind them. She walked up to stand beside them as the painter began putting the brushes away. She was veiled, dressed head to toe in black. “It looks prosperous already.”
“Well, we can hope,” Cade said. He wanted more than anything in the world to lift that veil, see her face, kiss those lips. But she was in mourning. Officially. She’d do nothing but observe the proprieties.
“I’m not saying never, Levi,” she’d told him. “But just…not right now. Not so soon after all that’s happened.”
And that’s how they’d left it. Cade sometimes wondered if she’d been playing him, if she’d just come to him to seal his allegiance and make sure he was fully committed to her protection. But he couldn’t be sure either way.
“Thanks for the loan, Missus.” Samuel was saying.
“I think Mrs. Hamrick will do in future, Mr. Clayborne,” she said lightly. “You’re a man of business now, not a servant.”
He smiled. “Then thank you, Mrs. Hamrick.”
“You’re quite welcome. I needed to diversify my holdings after…the recent setback. And I have a feeling about you two.” She turned toward where a small black one-horse buggy waited by the curb. “By the way, Mr. Cade, I have a gift for you.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” he said, “but you’ve already done a lot for us.”
She returned wi
th a large wooden box and handed it to him. It felt heavy. “Open it.”
Cade fumbled a moment with the latch, then opened the box. He stared for a moment in surprise. “This looks like…”
“It’s the same make and model as your revolver. But chambered for the new cartridges. Mr. Simonson says if you drop your pistol by his establishment, he can have it converted to use the same ammunition.” She smiled. “You never know when you’re going to need to reload quickly.”
He closed the box. “Thank you, ma’am. But hopefully, that day won’t be soon.”
“Yes. Hopefully. You gentlemen have a pleasant day.”
Cade tipped his hat. “You too, ma’am.” As she drove off, Cade turned to his partner. “Well, let’s get to work.”
THE END
About the Author
Born and raised in North Carolina, J.D. Rhoades has worked as a radio news reporter, club DJ, television cameraman, ad salesman, waiter, attorney, and newspaper columnist. His weekly column in North Carolina’s The Pilot was twice named best column of the year in its division. He is the author of six novels in his acclaimed Jack Keller series: The Devil’s Right Hand, Good Day in Hell, Safe and Sound, Devils and Dust, Hellhound on My Trail, and Won’t Back Down, as well as Ice Chest, Breaking Cover, Broken Shield, and Fortunate Son. He lives, writes, and practices law in Carthage, NC.
Acknowledgements:
The Killing Look Page 27
