by Steve Lee
The Chinese girl was small and slender.
"No, thanks," said Scarlett, "I like to give my men somethin' to hang onto." With her hands on her buttocks, she shook her body to demonstrate. There was plenty to hang on to.
"Kathie, you like the new costume I made for Scarlett?" Jenny asked.
Kathie stepped further into the room, nodding appreciatively. The costume was satin, as red as Scarlett's hair and adorned with lace and pink ostritch feathers.
"Why, Jenny, it's lovely!"
Jenny's face filled with pleasure. For a brief moment the sadness in her dainty features was gone.
"Thank you," she said and meant it.
On high heels, Scarlett tapped over to a full-length mirror and posed before it. She liked what she saw.
"I always say it ain't the fancy wrappin' that counts, it's the goods inside."
"I'm sure your secret admirer will approve," said Kathie. Scarlett turned to her.
"My admirers don't usually make much secret from it. This a new one?"
"That's right, rode into town yesterday."
"What's he like?" Scarlett asked vaguely. She was busy passing a comb through her long hair.
"Oh, young… good-looking… looks like he's been around." Kathie's voice was wistful.
"Say rich and you'll get me interested," said Scarlett.
"He's out front tonight so you can see him for yourself."
Scarlett shot Kathie a look of alarm. "I hope he ain't the only one out there," she said.
Kathie laughed. "No, it's a full house. But he's easy to see. He's wearing a white suit — you can't miss him!"
Scarlett put the comb down slowly.
"I won't," she said.
"Well, I better leave you to get ready," said Kathie, moving towards the door.
"O.K., thanks for the tip, Kathie."
When Kathie had gone, Scarlett went straight to her dressing table and quickly wrote out a note. She put it in an envelope, sealed it and handed it to Jenny.
"Jenny, have one of the boys take this over to the Silver Slipper and give it to Mr. Fish. He'll be playin' cards in the back room. Hurry, it's urgent!"
Jenny looked doubtfully at the envelope in her hand.
"But your costume…"
"Don't you worry, I'll take care of that," said Scarlett. "This is one show I'm not gonna miss."
* * *
"…the sensational Blades!"
Prescott left the stage clapping along with the audience. Sloane felt cold anger when Scarlett and Jack ran on and went straight into their wiping-out-the-dirty-redskins number. It was an historic performance but only Sloane knew it. Because only Sloane knew that before the next evening both brother and sister would be dead.
Their act was exactly the same as he had seen the previous night — smooth, fast paced, professional. No one could throw knives like the Blades. They were lightning fast, their aim deadly accurate. They were going to be tough to kill, thought Sloane.
Then suddenly the act wasn't the same anymore. Jack walked out to the front of the stage, raising a hand to silence the applause.
"Tonight we've got something special for you ladies and gentlemen and we'd like a volunteer to come up on stage."
A drunk in the front row leapt to his feet. "I'll do it… I'm yer man!"
Leering at Scarlett, he started to climb up onto the stage toward her. With the pointed tip of her shoe, Scarlett helped him into the orchestra pit.
Jack's gaze swept slowly over the crowd and settled on Sloane. He pointed.
"How about you, sir? You look like a man without fear."
Sloane tensed. For one breathless moment he thought he'd been recognized, that Jack knew who he was. Then he dismissed the thought. Neither Bull nor Luke had remembered him and there was no reason why Jack should. It must be a coincidence, he decided. Some ironic twist of fate to spice his revenge.
Cries of encouragement were aimed at Sloane from all sides. The hands of his neighbors pushed him to his feet, urged him toward the stage. He knew he had a choice. He could go up on stage or he could leave.
Sloane mounted the stage.
Scarlett took him by the arm and guided him toward the revolving wheel.
"If you'll kindly step over to this here wheel," said Jack, "We promise you an experience you'll remember as long as you live."
The way he said it, Sloane got the feeling that might not be very long.
Jack held out his hand. "Your hat," he said.
Ignoring the outstretched hand, Sloane took off his hat and threw it neatly over the head of one of the wooden Indians.
Scarlett pushed Sloane back against the wheel with the flat of her hand. She and Jack strapped his feet and arms to the wheel. They seemed to get a lot of pleasure from doing it.
Jack took hold of the lever that operated the wheel.
"Hold tight," he said, smiling like he knew something Sloane didn't.
Something's wrong, thought Sloane. They were enjoying this too much. Maybe they did know who he was, after all. Or why he was in Hades. Maybe…
Suddenly the world was a crazy mess, a whirlpool of colors and sounds and he was right in the middle of it, sinking fast and looking for a way out. His thoughts were chasing his head and his stomach was chasing the rest of him. Around him light and dark fought like a pair of angry dogs. Every time he spun round the sun rose and set. Out in the whirlpool shapes danced and, before his mind could catch them, fled. He was trapped in the center of a tornado.
Something sliced through the air and thudded into the wheel by his ear. He knew what it was. Others followed. Every time a knife was thrown, cymbals crashed together. To Sloane it was the echo of his heartbeat.
He had no doubts now. They knew. They'd played with him and now they were going to finish him. Tonight the audience wouldn't go home disappointed. That small slip they'd all been waiting for was finally due. An unfortunate accident — for the clown and his friends, a very fortunate accident.
Sloane closed his eyes, listened to the knives thudding into the wood around him, getting closer. He waited for pain. He waited to die…
The audience was hollering and stamping. Sloane opened his eyes. The world was slowing down. Soon, it stopped altogether.
Scarlett and Jack unstrapped him and helped him down from the wheel. Sloane felt dazed. Dazed but alive. He retrieved his hat from the Indian's wooden head.
"A big hand for our brave volunteer," Jack told the audience. The audience obliged. The cheers and clapping followed him up the aisle.
At the back of the theater stood Kathie.
"See you around," she said with a wicked smile.
Sloane's expression took the smile off her face. He needed a drink. He pushed past her and out of the theater.
The air tasted good. Sloane stepped off the sidewalk heading across the street to the Silver Slipper. He couldn't figure it out. Maybe it was just a coincidence after all. Or maybe they were smarter than he'd given them credit for. Maybe they'd never meant to kill him in a theater full of witnesses…
Sloane stopped dead, suddenly alert. The street was empty. He looked up, flicking his gaze over the roof tops, dark roof tops that should have been lifeless. He turned and ran, diving for the sidewalk. The slug hit him in midair, smashed him to the ground. Pain shocked through him when he struck the dirt but he knew he had to move fast. He rolled and a second bullet smacked the ground where he'd been lying. As he rolled, he felt darkness pressing in on him. It smothered him like a thick blanket.
He stopped moving.
8
Kathie was one of the first to reach Sloane. Kneeling down, she examined him. Blood had soaked his jacket and muddied the road. His breath was shallow but it meant he was alive. Anxiously, she searched the gathering crowd for a familiar face. She saw her father pushing his way to the front, followed by Jenny. She called to them, her voice sounding so calm it surprised her.
"Jenny, go get Doc Webb… Dad, help me get him inside!"
The Pre
scotts put Sloane in a bed in the spare room of their apartment above the theater. Doc Webb arrived soon after, muttering into his grey whiskers about a winning hand of poker he'd been forced to abandon. When he saw Sloane, he stopped complaining, stripped off his jacket, rolled up his shirt sleeves and got to work with the forceps.
The bullet had flattened itself out, smashing a couple of ribs. Doc removed it, cleaned the wound and patched it up.
"There, that oughta take care of it," he said when he'd finished wrapping a bandage round Sloane's chest. Doc looked at his hands. They were red gloves. He washed them in the bowl of water Kathie had fetched.
Kathie looked down at Sloane. His face was pale.
"Is he going to be alright?"
"Sure, long as he takes it easy for a while," said Doc, wiping his hands on a towel.
"That means no strong drink, no strenuous exercise, and no women!" To emphasise the last point he gave Kathie's rear end a tweak.
Kathie stepped back fast. "Do you get many women patients, Doc?" she asked.
Doc Webb chuckled as he slipped his jacket back on. "I got plenty of women patients… but no patience with women!" He picked his black bag off the table. "I'll call by tomorrow, see how he's doin'."
"Thank you, Doc."
"This way," said Jenny.
Doc Webb followed Jenny out of the room.
Kathie turned her attention back to Sloane. Now that she was alone with him, her pretty face was crafty. He was unconscious, at her tender mercy. She could do with him as she pleased. She reached out and touched his hair, stroked it.
Leaning over, she put her lips to his and gently, longingly, kissed him.
Sloane opened first one eye, then the other. He looked at her sternly.
"Didn't you hear what the Doc said?" he accused. "Don't you have no consideration for a sick man?"
Jenny accompanied Doc Webb as far as Black Jack's saloon then carried on alone toward the lodging house she called home. Walking down the empty street, silent except for the hollow beat of her steps on the sidewalk, she relived once more the events which had brought her to Hades. She remembered how her father had wanted her to marry a man in San Francisco, a Chinese merchant, rich but elderly. Instead, she had run off with a white boy, as poor as the merchant was rich but full of passion and youthful excitement. Two months later, he'd grown tired of her. He began to share her with his friends, rough violent men with the smell of dead animals. One day he argued with them over money. They shot him dead and left her, alone and friendless in a country where life was cheap and cheaper if your skin happened to be yellow.
She accepted her fate. She knew it to be a punishment from the gods. For showing disrespect to her father and turning her back on her people. She sold her body and she survived, drifting from town to town where women's bodies were in need. She had come to Hades because it was that kind of town. Then she met Kathie and Kathie had trusted her, given her a job where she could feel like a human being again.
These memories were never far from her mind. But tonight, the shooting, the blood and the man with the red hole in his back had brought them back to vivid life.
She stopped outside the lodging house, reaching for the door handle. A hand clamped down on her mouth, stifling her cry of fear. Someone wrestled her into the alley beside the house. The alley was dark but there was light enough to make out the face of her attacker. It was someone she had never seen before — a young Chinaman, his handsome face fiercely intent on their struggle.
"Don't be afraid," he urgently whispered. "I do not wish to hurt you, only speak with you."
Jenny stared at him. The youth looked self-assured, even arrogant. He did not look as if he was lying.
"If I take my hand away, do you promise not to shout for help?"
Jenny motioned her agreement. Ching Lei removed his hand from her mouth. She took a deep breath.
"You have a funny way of getting to meet people, she said.
"Forgive me," said Ching Lei. "I did not want anyone to see us together."
"Now that we've met, what do you want with me."
Eagerness showed itself in the young Chinaman's face. "The man who got shot tonight — is he dead?"
Jenny shook her head. Ching Lei smiled. His rebel was great.
"Good," he said.
"Is he a friend of yours?"
Ching Lei laughed scornfully. "No friend of mine or anybody else's!" He looked at her with sudden harshness.
"If one of your own people asked you for help, would you give it? Or do you help only the white devils?"
Jenny lowered her eyes. "If one of my people needed my help I would do what I could." Ching Lei nodded his head, satisfied.
He said: "I want you to help me kill the man called Sloane."
* * *
Swinging a pink parasol, Scarlett stepped out of her dressing room and advanced down the backstage corridor. At the bottom of a flight of stairs, she paused and looked up. She knew behind the door at the top of the stairs lay Sloane.
Hidden inside the pink parasol was a long-bladed knife.
Scarlett took her first step up the stairs…
Above her, the door suddenly-opened. Scarlett froze. Kathie came down the stairs carrying a trayful of empty dishes.
"Hello, Kathie," said Scarlett cheerfully. "How's the patient today?"
"Oh, he'll live. Matter of fact, it's all I can do to keep him in bed."
"I'm sure you'll find a way of doing that alright, a pretty girl like you."
Kathie stepped by, hiding her blushes as best she could.
"You take good care of him, y'hear," said Scarlett. "I ain't got so many secret admirers I can afford to lose any."
Scarlett watched Kathie heading towards the kitchen. She looked back up the staircase, her cordial smile dying on her lips. It was too risky, she thought, now that she'd been seen.
But tonight…
* * *
"I can take care of the rest myself," Scarlett told Jenny when they'd struggled her into her costume. "Why don't you go out front and enjoy the show?"
Jenny hesitated. "Are you sure?"
"Sure, I'm sure. You put as much into this damn show as the rest of us. Why shouldn't you get some fun out of it too!"
"I'd like that, Scarlett. Thank you."
"Off you go now…"
Scarlett put her arm round the Chinese girl's slim waist and guided her out of the door. "See you later, honey…"
As soon as Jenny had gone, Scarlett hurriedly finished dressing. Behind her, Jack entered, closing the door silently behind him.
"You get rid of her?" he asked.
"She's out front, watching the show."
Jack held up a fan of knives, holding them by the points. "Let's go pay Mr. Sloane a friendly visit," he said.
Slipping the knives into his belt, Jack moved to the window. He opened it and climbed out. Scarlett followed.
On the balcony, she helped him up onto her shoulders. Jack stretched out his arms and caught hold of the balcony above. He hauled himself up and swung onto the balcony.
Reaching down, he gripped Scarlett's hand and pulled her up after him.
The window onto the balcony was open. Cautiously, they peered into the room. Sloane was propped up in bed, his eyes closed. Asleep.
Jack slid the knives from his belt. He threw one at the man on the bed. The knife sank deep into Sloane's chest.
Jack threw four more knives fast as rain, scored four more hits. Sloane's head sagged onto his chest.
* * *
Jenny Ling did not stay to watch the show. Instead, throwing a cape over her shoulders, she slipped unnoticed out the stage door.
An hour later, she was approaching the railroad workers' camp to the north of Hades. Campfires glowed in the night and masculine laughter clawed the air. The sound of a mournful mouth-organ reached out toward her.
Summoning her courage, Jenny walked toward the nearest fire. Seated in its glare was a group of Chinese workers, joking and playing
cards. They fell silent when Jenny approached.
One of them, a big broad-shouldered man with the face and long arms of a monkey, grinned at her.
"Looking for Fang?" he asked. "Here I am, ready and waiting!"
Fang's cronies laughed along with him.
Jenny walked quickly past the circle of jeering men toward the next campfire.
A hand closed on her arm. Her scream died in her throat when she recognized Ching Lei beside her. She hugged him with relief.
Ching Lei steered her away from the watchful eyes of the other Chinese. Coarse laughter followed them as they retreated behind the cover of the trees.
When they were out of sight, Ching Lei turned impatiently to her, gripping Jenny by the shoulders.
"Does he still live?" he demanded.
"He lives… he is not badly hurt."
Ching Lei was content. Jenny looked at him without understanding.
"You are glad that he's alive so that now you may kill him. Why?"
Going Lei's face grew taut with anger. "Every moment of time he lives is like a slap in my face — don't you see that?"
"I see that Kathie likes this Sloane… and that… I like you…"
Ching Lei shook his head irritably. "You're a woman," he said. "You don't understand these things."
Jenny lowered her head.
"Would you prefer me if I was a man?" She asked demurely. Looking at her, Ching Lei relaxed, his hatred of Sloane ebbing away for the moment. With his hand, he raised her face to his.
"Yes," he said, "tracing a finger gently over her lips, "with a big black mustache…"
Their mouths met. Together, they sank down. Beneath them the ground was cold.
They did not feel the cold.
* * *
Jack stepped through the open window into Sloane's room, followed by Scarlett.
Sloane lay lifeless on the bed, the hilts of Jack's knives protruding from his chest.
Jack smiled thinly. "That takes care of the troublesome Mr. Sloane," he said. He motioned Scarlett towards Sloane's jacket hanging on a chair. "See if there's anything says who he is…"
