The girl on Frank’s shoulder began to stir. He stopped and let her slide down onto her feet. She was unsteady and pressed both hands against his broad chest to steady herself. As her wits returned to her, she lifted her head, stared wildly around her, and opened her mouth to scream.
“That wouldn’t be a good idea,” Frank told her before she could make a sound. He put his hands on her shoulders, which the low-cut dress left bare. “You don’t want to annoy these fellas.”
He felt her trembling like a bird as he took his first good look at her. She was on the small side, only a couple inches over five feet, and slender although her body had the sort of mature curves that made the red silk dress look good on her. Thick, dark brown hair fell to her shoulders. Her gray eyes were wide with fear.
“Your name’s Connie, right?” Frank asked, remembering what the bartender had yelled as they were going out.
She bobbed her head in a shaky nod.
“Well, listen to me, Connie. You’re gonna be all right. I give you my word on that.” Frank gave the big hatchet man a hard look as he said that, so the hombre would know he meant it. “I don’t know exactly what these fellas want with me, but their only interest in you is making sure you don’t tell anybody they came into the Golden Gate to get me.”
He was making a guess there, but even in the dim light of the alley he saw the big hatchet man and his smaller companion stiffen momentarily in surprise. Their reaction told Frank he was right.
“Once they’re through with me, they’ll let you go,” he continued. “And they’ll keep you safe the whole time, or else they’ll have a lot of trouble on their hands.”
Again he was making an assumption, that his cooperation was important to the men and to whoever they worked for. The two hatchet men didn’t say or do anything to contradict what he’d said.
“Do you understand?” He squeezed Connie’s shoulders. “You’re going to be all right.”
She didn’t look quite so terrified, although she was still plenty scared. She managed to swallow hard and nod. “I ... I won’t cause any trouble. I’ll do whatever you tell me.”
“Good.” Frank kept one hand on her shoulder as he turned to face the big hatchet man. “All right, you can go ahead and take us to your boss now.”
He heard a rumbling sound from under the hood and realized after a second it was what passed for laughter in the big man. The man said some swift words in Chinese to his companion, and they started off again.
For a while Frank tried to keep up with all the twists and turns they took through the maze of alleys and narrow streets, but finally gave it up as hopeless. He had no idea where they were or how to get back to the Barbary Coast. His frontiersman’s instincts were all but useless there. Even though it was midday, the spaces between the buildings were so small and clogged with laundry hanging from lines strung across them that nothing got through except a dim, dusk-like half light. Frank’s nerves crawled. He was used to wide-open spaces and didn’t like being closed in.
At last the big hatchet man opened a door and motioned for Frank and Connie to go up a dark, steep, narrow flight of stairs. Connie shrank back against Frank, who turned to the man and said, “How about one of you go first so we know we’re not walking into an ambush?”
The man gave that rumble of laughter again. He gestured toward the smaller hatchet man, who reached through the doorway and brought out a candle from somewhere. He lit it with a match he produced from a pocket in his quilted jacket, then started up the stairs in the lead with the candle held high. Its flickering glow revealed the stairs were covered with a dirty, threadbare carpet runner. The grimy walls seemed to close in on each side.
Frank prodded Connie into going next. His guts were tight with the impulse to draw his gun as he followed her, but he left the Colt in its holster. Not only did he have the big hatchet man right behind him, but he also felt like eyes might be watching them through hidden portals. He didn’t want to spook anybody.
When they reached the top of the stairs, the man with the candle led them along a dingy hallway. From the looks of it, the building was abandoned, but Frank didn’t fully believe that. The corridor made several turns, then they came to another staircase, leading down.
“Where are we going?” Connie asked in a trembling voice. “Where are they taking us?”
“I don’t know,” Frank said, “but I hope we’ll be there soon.”
They reached a landing, turned, and kept going down. Frank figured they were below street level. At the bottom of the stairs was a door, and when the man with the candle opened it, the light revealed a tunnel with earthen walls and thick beams shoring up the ceiling, like in a mine.
Connie stopped short and shook her head. “No, I can’t. I can’t go in there. They ... they have earthquakes here sometimes. The tunnel could collapse. I can’t go in there!”
She turned with panic in her eyes and tried to run, but Frank caught her. “It won’t take us long to get through it. We’ll be all right.”
He wished he could be as sure of that as he sounded.
The big hatchet man motioned impatiently for them to go on. The tunnel was wide enough for Frank and Connie to walk side by side. He kept an arm around her waist to steady her as they followed the man with the candle.
Even though Frank had had no way of knowing how long the tunnel was, it turned out that what he had told Connie was right. They were in it only for a hundred yards or so, then came to another door with stairs behind it leading up. Obviously glad to be out of the tunnel, Connie climbed them without any prodding.
They emerged into another hallway where the walls were covered with colorful, intricately embroidered tapestries. The hardwood floor was polished to a high sheen, and light shone from ornate brass fixtures that held gas lamps. Frank figured they were in a completely different building. The tunnel they had used probably passed underneath one of Chinatown’s streets.
The hall ended in a small, square room with a fine rug on the floor, a couple of impressively ugly chairs that didn’t look all that comfortable, and some small but exquisitely detailed paintings on the walls. A pair of doors on the opposite wall were closed. The big hatchet man, who had put away his blood-stained weapon, went to those doors and opened them. “Please, Mr. Morgan.”
“The girl stays with me,” Frank said.
The hatchet man inclined his hooded head in agreement.
Frank led Connie into the room on the other side of the doors. It was as large and opulent as he expected it to be. This was where he would meet the boss, he sensed, the man who had sent those hatchet men into the Golden Gate to fetch him. Maybe now he would get some answers.
There were no windows. The walls were covered with more tapestries. The room was furnished with a divan and several well-upholstered armchairs, but the large desk in its center dominated it. It was the sort of desk you’d find in the office of a successful banker or lawyer, like Claudius Turnbuckle, Frank realized.
The man who stood behind it was dressed like an American businessman, in a sober gray suit, white shirt, and black cravat. He was young, probably around thirty, and had sleek dark hair and a mustache. At first glance you might not even take him for Chinese, although the golden skin and dark, almond-shaped eyes testified to his heritage. He regarded Frank and Connie solemnly. “Mr. Morgan? Mr. Frank Morgan?”
Frank nodded. “That’s right.”
The man’s eyes cut toward the big hatchet man. “Ling Yuan, I did not tell you to bring any ... entertainment. . . with you.”
The man finally pulled the hood off, revealing a stolid face that bore the marks of many battles in the past. “She heard me speak Mr. Morgan’s name, and I thought it best not to leave her behind to tell Lannigan of our interest in him.”
“Then you should have—”
“A thousand pardons, illustrious one, but Mr. Morgan insisted we bring her along.”
Anger had flared in the man’s eyes at the interruption, but he suppressed it. “Very
well. You adapted to the situation and performed your task admirably as always, Ling Yuan. Since we’re going to be working closely with Mr. Morgan, cooperating with him in this matter should convince him of our good faith.”
“I’d be more convinced,” Frank said, “if you’d tell me what you know about my son.”
“Of course.” The man came out from behind the desk and extended his hand to Frank. “But first, introductions are in order. My name is Wong Duck.” He smiled for the first time since Frank had come into the room, and the light from the gas lamps winked on the tiny jewel embedded in one of his front teeth. “But you can call me Diamond Jack.”
Chapter 22
Frank took the man’s hand and shook it. “You know who I am.”
“Indeed I do,” Diamond Jack replied. “Frank Morgan. Sometimes known as The Drifter. You are a famous fighting man who hires out his gun.”
“You’re wrong about that,” Frank said bluntly as he let go of Diamond Jack’s hand. “I’ve been in plenty of fights, but never for money, only for causes I believed in or to protect folks who needed my help.”
“Then your reputation does not do you justice.”
Frank shrugged. “I stopped worrying about things like that a long time ago.”
“It takes a man with a great deal of serenity not to worry about what others think of him.”
“Just never seemed like it was worth the time and trouble to me.”
Diamond Jack turned to the big man he had called Ling Yuan. “Escort the young lady to one of the other rooms so Mr. Morgan and I can speak privately.”
Frank held up a hand as Ling Yuan started toward Connie, who flinched away from him. “She stays with me. I promised her I’d take care of her.”
“Your concern is touching but unnecessary,” Diamond Jack snapped. “She works for my enemy. Things must be said that she cannot hear.”
Frank needed to find out what the man knew about Conrad, so he said, “Do I have your word she won’t be harmed?”
“Of course,” Diamond Jack answered without hesitation. “I’ll go farther than that. Ling Yuan, defend this woman to your last breath until I release you from the task.”
The big hatchet man bowed to show his obedience.
Diamond Jack turned back to Frank. “Satisfied, Mr. Morgan?”
“I reckon I’ll have to be.”
Connie shook her head and backed away. “No, I ... I don’t trust these men!”
“They’re men of honor,” Frank told her, hoping he was right about that. “They’ll keep their word.”
Diamond Jack smiled at Connie. “I’ll have tea brought to you. You’ll soon see that I’m not the monster Dex Lannigan makes me out to be.”
Maybe not a monster, Frank thought, but utterly ruthless when he needed to be. Frank hadn’t forgotten how ready Ling Yuan had been to kill Connie in order to silence her, and Diamond Jack had hinted at the same thing.
Ling Yuan escorted a pale, trembling Connie out of the room, leaving Frank and Diamond Jack alone. The younger man held out a hand to indicate Frank should take the comfortable red leather armchair in front of the desk.
Frank took off his hat and sat down. Diamond Jack went behind the desk and settled himself in the big swivel chair. He steepled his fingers together and said, “I hope you’ll forgive me for the somewhat unorthodox manner in which I arranged this meeting between us, Mr. Morgan.”
Frank grunted. “I’ve got a hunch most things about you are a mite unorthodox, Mr. Wong.”
“Please, call me Diamond Jack, or just Jack. I suppose you’ve noticed that while I honor my ancestors, I don’t dress or speak like them.”
“No way for me to know about the honoring part, but yeah, you don’t exactly look like what I’d think of as a tong leader.”
“You believe I lead one of the tongs here in Chinatown ?”
“Don’t you?”
Diamond Jack smiled, revealing that jewel again. “Actually, yes. I am the leader of the Woo Sing tong, and some of the leaders of the other tongs look to me for advice and counsel since we have banded together to deal with the threat of a common enemy.”
“Dex Lannigan,” Frank said. The name was a statement, not a question.
“Indeed,” Diamond Jack murmured. “Lannigan has attempted on several occasions to expand his power and influence from the Barbary Coast into Chinatown. That is one more indication of how much things have changed. In previous decades, no white man, even the most arrogant and ambitious, would have dared to do such a thing. But a new century will soon be upon us. We face new challenges and must use new methods to combat them.” He gestured to indicate his suit and the desk. “I intend to run the tongs as a business ... a profitable business.”
“Of course, some of the old ways are still effective,” Frank commented. “Like using hatchet men to chop your enemies into little pieces.”
Diamond Jack threw his head back and laughed. “Well, some things never get old. Yes, our enemies still fear the hatchet men. They shall learn to fear even more.”
Frank leaned forward. “What about my son? I don’t see how he figures in this war of yours against Lannigan.”
“To be honest, I don’t, either. But clearly, Conrad Browning is very important to Lannigan. Otherwise he wouldn’t have attempted to have your son and the lawyer Turnbuckle killed as soon as Browning reached San Francisco. Lannigan knew he was coming and wanted to get rid of him.”
Frank could have told Diamond Jack what Lannigan’s interest in Conrad was, but first he wanted to find out what else the tong leader knew. “I reckon you keep pretty close tabs on what Lannigan does. That made you curious about Conrad.”
Diamond Jack nodded. “Indeed. My thinking was that if your son is so important to Lannigan, perhaps there is some way I could use him against my enemy.”
“So you started watching Conrad, too,” Frank guessed.
“Yes.” Diamond Jack chuckled. “San Francisco is a city of spies, Mr. Morgan. There are eyes and ears everywhere belonging to people who work for the various factions. The normal citizens go on about their business without any idea of the undercurrents actually guiding their lives. Some of my men, including Ling Yuan, whom you met earlier today, have been watching Conrad Browning for the past few days. In fact, Ling Yuan quite possibly saved his life several nights ago when Browning was involved in a fight at a tavern called Spanish Charley’s. The owner of the tavern, although your son probably didn’t know this at the time, is Dex Lannigan. This situation ultimately led to the perilous circumstances in which Browning currently finds himself.”
Frank leaned forward and asked tensely, “What perilous circumstances?”
“Last night, Lannigan set a trap for your son. My men did not become aware of it in time to prevent it. Browning was captured, and the man with him, a bodyguard hired by Claudius Turnbuckle, was killed.”
Frank nodded. He knew what had happened to Morelli. After talking to Turnbuckle, he had strongly suspected that Lannigan was involved. Diamond Jack had confirmed it. But the most important question was still waiting for an answer. “Where is Conrad now?”
“Being held prisoner on a ship called the Nimbus. It sails tonight, and Browning will be forced to become a member of the crew during its voyage to China and back. He’s been shanghaied, as the Americans call it.” The tong leader shrugged. “Either that, or the captain of the Nimbus has orders to kill Browning and dump his body at sea. It’s impossible to know which fate Lannigan has in mind for your son.”
“Why haven’t you sent your men in to rescue him?”
Diamond Jack’s expression hardened. “Taking over a ship is a different proposition from intervening in a tavern brawl or making an incursion into Lannigan’s saloon. I knew only a few bouncers would be working in the Golden Gate at this time of day. On board the Nimbus there’s an entire crew of extremely tough sailors. It’s almost certain I would lose some of my men, and they’re valuable to me. I refuse to run that risk simply to frustrate Lann
igan’s plans and annoy him.” The tong leader leaned forward and placed his hands flat on the desk. “I want to know what’s going on here, Morgan. I want to know why your son is so important to Dex Lannigan. Perhaps then I can decide if he is that important to me.”
“So you brought me here to answer that question.”
Diamond Jack’s narrow shoulders rose and fell in another eloquent shrug. “Who better to know the affairs of the son than the father?”
Frank didn’t answer that. “How did you know I’m Conrad’s father?”
“I have my sources of information. There are spies everywhere, remember?”
Frank sensed he wasn’t going to get a straight answer out of the man. Diamond Jack wanted to protect his sources. Frank couldn’t blame him for that. The Woo Sing tong was locked in a war with Lannigan, and its leader would use every weapon at his disposal.
“What happens if I tell you what’s going on?”
“Then I decide whether or not to rescue your son,” Diamond Jack said.
“Based on how much of a blow that’ll deal to Lannigan.”
“Precisely.”
Frank nodded. The tong leader represented his best chance of getting Conrad off that ship before it sailed, so he was going to have to put his cards on the table.
“Three years ago, Lannigan made a deal with a woman named Pamela Tarleton. At least that’s what Claudius Turnbuckle and I believe.”
“Turnbuckle has a reputation as an astute lawyer,” Diamond Jack admitted. “But I have never heard of this Tarleton woman.”
“Consider yourself lucky. At one time she was supposed to marry my son, but all she wound up ever giving him was grief.”
For the next few minutes, Frank sketched in the details of Conrad’s relationship with Pamela and how she had set out to have her vengeance on him. When he reached the part about the hidden children, Diamond Jack arched an eyebrow.
The Loner: Crossfire Page 13
