Rebecca Hagan Lee

by A Wanted Man

  Madam Harpy giggled.

  The sound grated on Will’s nerves. “Payments?” He struggled to make the one word sound more like an invitation to impart knowledge.

  Li Toy listed a dozen payments to police, city council members, and judges, several bribes paid to Chinese merchants, and a number of payments to tongs who provided protection for ships’ cargoes—legitimate cargoes. Will recorded the amounts in the ledger. What he didn’t record were the names of any of the people she had added to the payroll in the past month, because Li Toy didn’t name names of policemen or city officials. Or ship captains. She referred to them as numbers. Policeman Number Twenty-eight. Councilman Number Four. Businessman Number Fifty-three. Judge Number Eight, Captain Number Five, Port Authority Number Seven, etc.

  Will was happy to note that the number of policemen on Madam Harpy’s payroll had increased by only three since the previous month. But he was disappointed to learn that the only people she named were the tong members she despised, because the tongs demanded payment for every girl she owned, although they bore no part of the expense of purchasing or importing them. The money the tongs extracted from Li Toy was pure profit for them, and Madam Harpy hated them for it.

  Hiding his dissatisfaction, Will carefully wrote down all the details Li Toy gave him before moving on to the next association member.

  After listing the payouts, Will turned to the first page of the ledger and tallied the amounts from each of the association members. When he finished recording the entries, Will had filled three ledger pages.

  He was making the final notations in the ledger when Li Toy made her announcement. “New shipment of girls coming in. Auction at nine o’clock at the Nightingale Song on Saturday night.”

  A round of groans and several protests went up from the association members. Saturday night was the busiest night of the week. Most of the businessmen spent their evenings at their places of business greeting customers and overseeing their employees. Saloons and houses of prostitution were packed with customers on Saturday nights, because Sunday was the Sabbath for most of the white barbarian devils, and a day of rest. The brothel owners and madams were glad that a good many of the white men woke up considerably poorer on Sunday mornings. No one wanted to leave a manager or a head bartender or a most trusted girl alone with the till or with an office safe filled with cash on Saturday nights. It was bad business.

  While most everyone looked forward to the auction and the influx of new blood in the brothels and upstairs businesses, few owners looked forward to making the arrangements required in order have the houses run smoothly on the busiest night of the week. New girls were always popular. That simple fact often caused friction among the girls and clients alike. Clients believed the myth that new girls were less likely to suffer from disease, and variety, being the spice of life, added to the new girls’ cachet.

  All that meant money to the owners. Big money. And big headaches.

  “Cannot be helped,” she said. “Storms over ocean cause late shipment.”

  It wasn’t much of an explanation, but like her apology for her tardiness, it was more of an explanation than Will had ever heard Madam Harpy make. And it was enough to mollify the majority of the association members, all of whom appreciated the uncontrollable nature of delayed shipments by sea, by rail, or by mule train. Theirs was a difficult city to reach overland, and the seven-thousand-mile voyage across the Pacific from the coast of China was long and equally hazardous, especially when nature made matters worse. The major storm season was still a few weeks away, but the ship captains delivering goods across the Pacific had already reported strong storms and early typhoons.

  With the meeting adjourned, Will gathered up his ledgers, pens, and ink bottle and returned them to his leather satchel. He bade the other association members good-bye as they made their way to the door, then buckled his satchel and stood up to leave.

  Madam Harpy halted him. “Wait, Keegan.” She moved closer to him. “You remember to hire more protection for the Nightingale Song on Saturday night?”

  “How much more?” he asked, wondering whether she wanted additional protection from the missionaries or the tongs.

  “Enough for tongs,” she told him. “I no need protection from the missionaries now that I get rid of nosy ‘Bringing in the Sheaves’ girl for you.”

  He gave her a sharp look. “For me?”

  “Yes, for you,” Li Toy confirmed, giving him a coy smile.

  “What did you do?” Pretending ignorance of the deed, Will dropped his leather bag onto the seat of his chair.

  “I hear she break front window at the Silken Angel,” she explained. “I look out for you. I tell my man to take care of her so she not make more trouble and more expenses for my special friend, Will Keegan.”

  “I don’t know what to say,” he told her. “I would like to express my appreciation to your man for taking care of that, but I don’t know who he is.”

  “Better to say nothing,” she advised.

  Will raked his fingers through his hair in a show of frustration. He knew it was a long shot, but he had to try to get the man’s name out of her. “I can’t believe you would do murder for me. . . .”

  “I do many things for you, Keegan.” Li Toy said his name in a singsong voice, pronouncing it with the accent on the second syllable. “But I not do murder for you. Other man do murder.” She held up her hands to show him there was no blood on them. “Girl gone. My hands clean.”

  Will gritted his teeth to keep from shuddering at the idea that a woman old enough to be his grandmother was flirting with him. It made his skin crawl with revulsion, but he couldn’t show it. “Madam, in the eyes of the law, there’s no difference between hiring someone to commit a murder and doing it yourself,” he explained, to see how much she would admit.

  “Keegan.” Reaching over, Li Toy placed her palm against his shirtfront. “Not to worry about the law. The law not hurt Li Toy, but you nice to worry about your special friend.”

  “You’re certain the law won’t hurt you?” He put as much concern as he could possibly muster into his tone of voice, marveling at how much better he was as an actor than he would have thought possible. If the Silken Angel Saloon venture failed and he decided not to return to Craig Capital, Ltd., he could always call upon Sir Humphrey Osborne and ask to join the theater troupe.

  At the moment, Will needed to figure out a way to extricate himself from Madam Harpy’s unwanted attentions.

  “The law not bother with Li Toy.” She smiled at Will, showing her betel nut–stained teeth. “Li Toy has law in her sleeve.”

  Will met her smile with one of his own. If she noticed his smile was forced, she didn’t show it. “I am relieved to hear it.”

  “You be at auction, Keegan,” she instructed. “You buy new girls.”

  “I bought seven at the last auction,” he protested.

  Madam Harpy giggled. “You buy more. Make Li Toy rich.”

  “You’re already rich.”

  She giggled again. “Make Li Toy richer.”

  * * *

  IT TOOK A FEW MORE MINUTES TO EXCUSE HIMSELF, BUT Will finally managed to leave the Lotus Blossom. He had originally planned to go directly to Craig Capital, Ltd., but observing Li Toy had given him an idea. He had an errand to run before he made his weekly meeting with Pete Malcolm at the company’s San Francisco office a day later than usual.

  Will wound his way through the narrow streets to his destination, completed his task in good fashion, then walked two blocks to Montgomery Street, hired a closed cab, and instructed the driver to take a roundabout route to Craig Capital, where he made it to his office in time for a meeting he’d requested with Peter Malcolm.

  Peter Malcolm met him in the foyer and the two men shook hands. “Good morning, Mr. Keegan. I received Jack’s message and got started right away.”

  “Were you able to locate the documents I requested?” Will asked without preamble. He’d been away from the Silken Angel for close to
three hours, and he was eager to conclude his business and get back to check on Julia Jane. He wanted to be there for Dr. Stone’s visit.

  “I have them ready for you to review,” Malcolm told him as they walked down the marble hall toward Will’s office. “They’re on your desk.”

  “Did you review them?”

  “Briefly,” Malcolm said. “I went over the financial statements. But I thought we would go over them together.” He opened the door to Will’s office and ushered his boss inside.

  “How many times have we extended the loan?” Will picked up the stack of papers on his desk, then walked around behind it and pulled out his chair. He hadn’t been in the office in over a week and Will was struck by how different it felt to be there. Everything ran smoothly at Craig Capital. After the hustle and bustle of the Silken Angel, it was hard to imagine that he’d once thrived in the quiet, serene atmosphere of this office, where the excitement of the day was the routine accumulation of money and assets.

  “Six.”

  Sitting down on his comfortable desk chair, Will began to read, searching the documents for the particulars of the agreement. It was there in section three, paragraph four. Will breathed a sigh of relief. He wanted to right a wrong, but it had to be done legally.

  “Did you send word to Phillip Iverson that he was in arrears with his payments?” Will asked.

  Malcolm nodded. “We’ve sent notices for the past three months warning him that the note would not be renewed for a sixth time without a payment or partial payment from him.”

  “Did you inform him that we are calling the note as of today?”

  “Yes. I sent a copy of Mr. O’Brien’s suggestions to Mr. Iverson and the manager, and I wired notice to Iverson two days ago.”

  “Have we received payment?” Will looked up from the documents he was reading and over at Malcolm.

  “No.”

  “Have we received any communication from Iverson? Any effort to enact Jack’s suggestions or to meet his obligations?”

  Malcolm shook his head. “I’m afraid not, sir.”

  Will frowned. “According to his financial statement, the business is turning a handsome profit, yet he’s made no attempt to pay us what he owes. It doesn’t make sense. Unless . . .” He flipped through several pages to the investigator’s report. “Ahh, here it is.” He looked over at Malcolm. “Mr. Iverson is low on cash. It seems he’s been speculating on Wall Street and he’s suffered a reversal of fortune. There’s a recommendation that we not renew the note, because Mr. Iverson is no longer a good risk.” The written recommendation was signed by Jack O’Brien and dated six months earlier. Will handed the pages over to Malcolm to review and witness. “Draw up the necessary documents transferring ownership, Pete. Post the notices in the Chronicle. I’ll call a meeting of the employees for the end of the week so we can evaluate the staff and decide whom to keep and whom to release.”

  Malcolm nodded in agreement. “Do you want me to wire Mr. Craig?”

  “No,” Will told him. “I’ll do it.”

  “Have you a buyer in mind?” Malcolm inquired.

  “Me,” Will explained. “I’m the buyer.”

  Will’s announcement surprised him. “You?”

  “Yes,” Will confirmed. “Unless Jamie decides to take it off my hands and keep it as a Craig Capital asset. Meanwhile, I’m buying it for personal reasons, and I’m paying the fair market value, plus another ten percent. Calculate the amount and pay Craig Capital from my personal account.”

  “But, Will—I mean, Mr. Keegan,” Malcolm protested, “you’re a partner. The property can be yours for the payoff of the note, plus the Craig Capital commission. If you do it the way you suggested, you’ll be paying more than necessary.”

  “I know, Pete.” Will appreciated Malcolm’s concern and his honest assessment of the transaction. “But I want it this way. Send word to me at this address when the paperwork is done.” He handed Malcolm a slip of paper with his mailing address written on it. “I’ll come in and sign it.”

  “All right, Mr. Keegan.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Malcolm, for your expertise in this matter, and for your diligent stewardship of Craig Capital, Ltd.” He offered his hand to Pete, and Malcolm took it in a firm handshake.

  “You’re welcome, Mr. Keegan. Thanks for the opportunity.”

  After bidding farewell to his manager at Craig Capital’s San Francisco operation, Will hailed a cab. He had more errands to run and business calls to make before he would be free to return to the Silken Angel and the girl who waited upstairs in his bed.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  “Pray that you will never have to bear all that you are able to endure.”

  —JEWISH PROVERB

  Jack O’Brien delivered Julie’s breakfast tray Wednesday morning. She looked up when he opened the door to Will’s bedroom and was clearly disappointed to see him instead of Will.

  Pushing herself up against the headboard, Julie ran her left hand through her hair, combing the tangles in a self-conscious gesture. “Where’s Will?”

  Jack smiled. “Good morning to you, too.”

  Julie had the grace to blush, the color more visible now that the worst of her bruises had gone from crimson red to a lighter shade of bluish purple. “Good morning, Jack,” she said. “I apologize for my rudeness.” She smoothed the wrinkles from the covers at her side. “But Will usually brings my breakfast.”

  “Apology accepted.” Jack brought the tray to the bed and set it on Julie’s lap. He took the cover off the plate of food, then handed her a napkin and arranged her cutlery, placing it within her reach, along with a mug of tea.

  The smell of fluffy scrambled eggs, bacon, pan-fried potatoes, and a light-as-air biscuits made her mouth water.

  “I brought your tea in a mug,” Jack told her. “I imagine you prefer a teacup and saucer, but I thought this would be easier for you to manage. One lump or two?”

  Julie saw that Jack had placed a small container of cream on the tray and several lumps of sugar on a saucer. “One, please,” she replied. “And a bit of cream.” She was thankful for the tea. Yesterday Will had brought a rather strong mug of coffee with her breakfast.

  He added cream and sugar to her tea and handed her the mug.

  She took a grateful sip. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

  Jack nodded. “You’re welcome.” He watched Julie enjoying her tea and added, “Will left for a couple of early morning meetings—one of which is at the Russ House. If you would like, I can send your key over to him so he can retrieve some of your personal belongings.”

  She brightened. “That would be wonderful.” Reaching up, she took the key to room six from around her neck and handed it to Jack. “The key to the other room is in the pocket of my trousers.” She looked up at Jack, then took a deep breath. “Tell him I hid money in the pole of the headboard in room eight.”

  Jack nodded. “Will would have asked you for the keys to both rooms himself, but you were sleeping and he didn’t want to wake you. He asked me to see to your breakfast tray and take care of anything you might need.”

  Julie was able to make it to the washroom and the water closet on her own to tend to her urgent needs, but dressing in anything other than one of Will’s dress shirts and his robe was impossible. She couldn’t manage her bandages, bind her breasts, or don her corset on her own, and Julie couldn’t bring herself to ask Will or Jack to help her. And she was in desperate need of a bath, but without help that was beyond her capabilities as well. She was bored, and sick of her own company. Embarrassed, she glanced up at Jack from beneath her lashes. “I could use a bath and something to wear, if you can spare someone to help me.”

  Jack frowned. “I don’t have anyone here who can help you. I’ll be happy to draw you a bath, but . . .” He shrugged his shoulders. “Well, I . . .” He sputtered to a stop. He and Will had taken care of her while she was unconscious, but she was awake now, and the situation was different.

  Julie blu
shed again. “I understand.”

  “The doctor is coming to check on you this morning,” Jack told her. “Maybe he can . . .”

  “I would rather he didn’t,” Julie replied. She didn’t remember the doctor. To her, he was a stranger. Will Keegan and Jack O’Brien might consider him trustworthy and a friend, but Julie intended to reserve judgment until she met him. “I would prefer to bathe before he gets here.”

  “After you eat your breakfast, I’ll set a basin with warm water, soap, and a face flannel out for you to take a sponge bath,” Jack offered, knowing it wasn’t as satisfying as taking a real bath, but it was the best he could offer.

  “I would be grateful.” Julie gave him a genuine smile and began to eat her breakfast. A sponge bath was better than nothing, but she longed for the real thing. “If only Zhing were here . . .” She didn’t realize she’d given voice to the thought until Jack repeated the name.

  “Zhing?” He was curious.

  “Zhing Wu,” Julie clarified. “She works at Wu’s Gum Saan Laundry. We became friends when she came to collect laundry at the mission. She helped me with my laundry girl disguise.”

  Jack was thoughtful. “Would she come here if I sent someone to get her?”

  “Who does your laundry?” Julie finished her bacon and eggs and drank more of her tea.

  “The Market Street Laundry,” Jack replied. “Why?”

  “Zhing works for her father-in-law,” Julie explained. “He wouldn’t allow her to come unless it’s worth his while.”

  “So she’d need to be paid for her time,” Jack concluded.

  “Either in cash or laundry to wash.”

  “We can manage that.” Jack refilled her mug from the small teapot on the tray, added a lump of sugar and a splash of cream to it, then collected her dirty plate and cutlery. “You and Will have gone through his shirts at an alarming rate.” He smiled at Julie. “Do you think your friend would be interested in doing Will’s laundry?”