The Loner: Crossfire

by J. A. Johnstone

  He started up the ladder. Sooner or later he would reach the ship’s deck and the open air. Even filled with the stench of rotten fish, it was going to smell good.

  Rotten fish ... and powdersmoke, because somewhere above him guns continued to roar.

  Ling Yuan motioned for Frank to fall behind as they charged toward the gangplank leading to the deck of the Nimbus. The other hatchet men would take the lead and run interference. Frank and Ling Yuan had the important job of finding Conrad.

  Shouts and curses echoed over the deck as sailors battled the men who had boarded the ship on the water side. Unfortunately, the lookout near the gangplank on the dock side of the ship didn’t abandon his post to see what the commotion was. He yelled a warning and pulled a pistol from his belt as the first of the hatchet men charged up the gangplank.

  The lookout didn’t get off a shot. Staggering back, he dropped his gun to paw at the handle of the hatchet lodged in his chest. The Diamond Jack man who had thrown the razor-sharp weapon with deadly accuracy paused just long enough to jerk the hatchet free as he leaped past the fallen lookout.

  The hatchet men scattered across the deck to meet the threat of the ship’s crew. Some of the sailors were armed with revolvers, and shots began to roar. The hatchet men were blindingly quick, and avoided most of the bullets as they rushed in, chopping and slashing. Blood flew in the air.

  Ling Yuan and Frank ran up the gangplank, reaching the deck. Frank’s Colt snapped up as he spotted a man standing on the bridge drawing a bead on them with a rifle. The Colt blasted first, sending a slug deep into the sailor’s chest, driving him backward. The rifle went off, but it was pointed at the sky by then and the bullet sailed harmlessly into the night.

  “The captain!” Ling Yuan barked as he waved his hatchet toward a short, burly man wearing a blue jacket and a cap. “He can tell us where your son is!”

  That sounded like a good idea to Frank. He headed for the captain with Ling Yuan at his side.

  The man saw them coming and jerked a gun from under his jacket. Before he could fire, Ling Yuan sent his hatchet spinning through the air. Slicing cleanly through jacket and shirt sleeves, it lodged in the captain’s right forearm. The man screeched in pain and dropped the pistol. Falling to his knees, he cradled his injured arm against his body.

  But he was tough, and still in the fight. Pulling the hatchet free with his left hand, he surged to his feet and slashed at Ling Yuan, who jerked back, barely avoiding the swipe.

  Wanting the man alive so he could tell them where Conrad was being held prisoner, Frank jammed the Colt back in its holster and dived at the captain, going under the flailing hatchet. He rammed his shoulder into the man’s thick but solid gut and drove him backward off his feet.

  They crashed to the deck. The captain chopped at Frank with the hatchet, but Frank got his right hand on the man’s wrist and kept the blow from falling. A second later, he hammered a punch with his left into the captain’s face. The blow didn’t faze the man. Squirming and twisting he tried to pull his left hand free to use the hatchet.

  Frank hit him again, but the captain heaved his body up and toppled Frank to the side. A quick roll took Frank out of reach just as the hatchet came sweeping down at him. The blade hit the deck so hard it got stuck. The captain tugged on the handle but couldn’t get the weapon free.

  Frank kicked the captain in the chest, knocking him to the deck, away from the hatchet. Blood still poured from the deep gash on the man’s arm. Years of a hard life at sea had toughened him to the point that he kept fighting, in spite of his weakened state.

  Ling Yuan reached for the man, but the captain got a leg up and kicked the hatchet man in the stomach. Ling Yuan doubled over and took a step back, giving the captain time to scramble to his feet. He reached into a pocket with his left hand and brought out a derringer. The little weapon had two barrels, one on top of the other. At close range, it would be lethal.

  From several yards away on the deck, Frank saw the range was practically point-blank. He was too far away to tackle the man before the derringer went off, but couldn’t let the captain shoot Ling Yuan in the head. He palmed out his Colt again and tilted the barrel up as he squeezed the trigger. No time to be fancy, he aimed for the man’s body.

  Another shot sounded just as the Colt roared and bucked in Frank’s hand. The captain reeled backward as two slugs ripped into him. He struggled to raise the derringer again, so Frank shot him a second time. The captain went down, landing heavily on his back. The derringer slipped out of his fingers and slid across the deck.

  Frank turned his head to see who had fired the other shot and was shocked to see Conrad with a smoking pistol in his hand, halfway through a hatch leading belowdecks.

  “Frank?” the younger man exclaimed in obvious surprise. He hadn’t been aware his father was anywhere within a thousand miles of San Francisco.

  Frank hurried over to the hatch and extended his left hand to Conrad, who gripped it and let Frank help him out on deck. Conrad was battered and bruised and had dried blood on his face.

  Frank looked him over. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” Conrad said, “and I’m a lot better now. How in the world—”

  “No time for that,” Ling Yuan interrupted. His face was a little gray from the vicious kick the captain had landed in his belly, but he was able to straighten up. “We should go.”

  Scattered fights between the hatchet men and the crew of the Nimbus were still taking place around the deck. Bodies sprawled here and there. Diamond Jack had been right. Some of his men had lost their lives in the rescue.

  Frank gripped Conrad’s arm and steered him toward the gangplank. Ling Yuan recovered his hatchet and flanked Conrad on the other side. The three of them clattered down to the wharf. Ling Yuan shouted something in Chinese. Probably an order to retreat, Frank thought. They didn’t wait to see if the other hatchet men got away. Ling Yuan hustled them toward the safety of the dark alleys along the Embarcadero.

  “I never expected to see you here, Frank,” Conrad said as Ling Yuan led them through the maze and the sounds of battle fell behind them. “How did you—”

  “Claudius and that friend of yours, Arturo, decided you needed a hand whether you wanted one or not,” Frank said. “Not sure you did, though. You’d already gotten loose somehow.”

  “Yeah, but I might not have made it off that ship without your help. Thanks, Frank.”

  “You can thank Diamond Jack, this big fella’s boss. He’s the one who decided to step in and get you away from whatever Lannigan has planned for you.”

  “You know about Lannigan?” Conrad asked.

  “I know about all of it,” Frank replied grimly. “About the kids and what Pamela did and Lannigan’s part in it. I hope you’ll let me play out the hand with you, now that I’m here.”

  “Damn right I will,” Conrad said. “And unless I was locked up down in that hold longer than I thought I was, I know where Lannigan is tonight. I think it’s time we go and introduce ourselves to him.”

  Chapter 25

  Ling Yuan insisted they accompany him back to Diamond Jack’s stronghold in Chinatown. Since it was unlikely Conrad would have escaped without the tong leader’s help, he supposed he could take the time to do that. The ball at the Kimball mansion would be going on for several hours yet.

  “What will happen back on the ship?” He asked as they made their way through the streets.

  “The police will arrive, yet again too late to do anything but clean up the mess left behind and blame the violence on the tongs.”

  “Well, you fellas did have something to do with it,” Frank pointed out.

  “Because we were helping your son.”

  “True enough,” Frank admitted.

  Conrad said, “If they search the ship, they’ll find something interesting. There are several crates hidden down in the hold where I was locked up that I’m pretty sure are full of brand-new Winchesters bound for China.”

&nb
sp; “As a power in the criminal underworld, Lannigan has numerous connections with smugglers. No doubt those rifles were intended for one of the warlords who controls China.” Ling Yuan paused. “If I had known about the guns, I might have burned the ship.”

  Conrad looked over at Frank, who said, “Ling Yuan has some old grudges against the warlords. I’ll tell you about it later.”

  Conrad nodded. “The ship won’t be sailing tonight, not after everything that’s happened. I’ll talk to Claudius and he can make sure the authorities get tipped off about that cargo.”

  “We need to let Claudius and Arturo know you’re safe,” Frank said.

  “Wong Duck can telephone Mr. Turnbuckle and inform him,” Ling Yuan said. He added dryly, “We have some modern conveniences in Chinatown.”

  “You don’t call him Diamond Jack?” Conrad asked.

  “I prefer the more traditional customs.”

  “Like hatchets.”

  One of those rumbling laughs came from Ling Yuan. “Sometimes the old ways are still the best.”

  He took them through yet another old abandoned building and into the opulent headquarters of the Woo Sing tong.

  Frank said, “This place is honeycombed with tunnels and secret passages, isn’t it?”

  “Our people have many enemies,” Ling Yuan explained. “Deception and subterfuge are valuable weapons in our ongoing battle with those who would destroy us.”

  He ushered them into Diamond Jack’s sanctum. The slender, well-dressed tong leader stood up to greet them.

  “I was already informed you had been rescued successfully from the Nimbus, Mr. Browning.” He smiled as he held out his hand to Conrad. “Welcome to my home.”

  Conrad shook hands with him. “I understand I have you to thank for what happened tonight.”

  Diamond Jack shrugged. “Don’t think me too altruistic. If Dex Lannigan wants something, I want to deny it to him. Clearly he wanted your death, or at least your exile.”

  Conrad smiled. “He’s going to be mighty surprised in a little while when I walk into that party at the Kimball mansion.”

  Diamond Jack arched his narrow eyebrows. “You’re going to a society ball? Not looking like that, I hope.”

  “I guess I could clean up a little.”

  Diamond Jack spoke to Ling Yuan in Chinese. The big man nodded and said to Conrad, “Come with me.”

  Conrad frowned. “Where?”

  “By now you must trust us.”

  Conrad didn’t, not completely, and he was all too aware he was in the middle of another place where escape would be very difficult. But Ling Yuan had a point. So far no one connected with the tong had done anything except be helpful to Conrad.

  “What about you, Frank?” Conrad asked.

  Before Frank could answer, Diamond Jack said, “Your father will stay here with me while your needs are attended to. He can tell me more about the quest that brought you here.”

  “I reckon it’ll be all right,” Frank put in. “If Jack wanted us dead, his men could have seen to it before now.”

  That was true enough, Conrad supposed. He nodded to Ling Yuan and allowed the big hatchet man to lead him out of the room.

  They took just a few twists and turns in the corridors, but it was all that was necessary to get Conrad lost. It was just another indication of how much he and Frank were at the mercy of their “hosts.”

  They hadn’t taken away the revolver he had brought with him from the ship, so as long as he was armed, he was willing to play along with the Chinese criminals.

  Ling Yuan took him to a room where a young woman in a red silk dress waited on a divan. At first glance Conrad thought she was Chinese, because she had dark hair and eyes, but then he took a closer look and saw that she was white. She was short and slender but well-curved. The skimpy dress she wore looked like something you’d find on a saloon girl.

  Her eyes were big with fear, especially when she glanced at Ling Yuan.

  “Who are you?” she demanded of Conrad. “When am I going to get out of here?”

  “I can’t answer the second part of that, but my name is Conrad Browning.”

  Her eyes widened with recognition. “You’re Mr. Morgan’s son! The one he was looking for.”

  “You know Frank?” The girl’s words had taken Conrad by surprise.

  “We met earlier today. It’s because of him that I’m being held prisoner by these ... these ...” She glanced at Ling Yuan again, obviously too scared to go on.

  The big hatchet man’s face remained impassive. “You have not been harmed, have you?”

  “Well ... no. But I want to get out of here.”

  “At the moment, that is impossible. But no harm will come to you. You have Wong Duck’s word on that, and mine as well. Wong Duck has suggested that while you are here, perhaps your time could be spent productively by tending to Mr. Browning’s injuries.”

  “What? I’m no nurse. I’m a ... Well, it’s pretty obvious what I am, isn’t it?”

  Ling Yuan ignored that question. He gestured toward a door at the side of the room. “Through that door is a place where you can get a basin of water, as you have no doubt already discovered. There are cloths in there as well. Please help Mr. Browning clean his injuries while I bring fresh garments for him to wear.”

  Conrad said, “Not, uh—”

  Ling Yuan laughed. “You do not want to wear the garb of a hatchet man, my friend? Do not worry. As you have seen, Wong Duck prefers Western-style clothing to go with the Western name he has adopted. I will bring you something suitable.”

  With that, he inclined his head in what Conrad recognized as a gesture of farewell and left the room, closing the door firmly behind him.

  Conrad was alone with the frightened girl. “You know who I am. What’s your name?”

  “Connie,” she told him. “You’re really Conrad Browning?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Well, I guess it won’t hurt anything if I help out, like that big monster said.”

  Conrad wasn’t sure he would describe Ling Yuan as a monster, but the man might look like that to her.

  She went into the other room and came back with a basin of water and several clean white cloths. “Sit down on the divan. I’ll see if I can get that dried blood off your face. What did they do, beat you?”

  “Yes. Not Ling Yuan and his friends, though, if that’s what you’re thinking. They’re the ones who rescued me.”

  She caught her bottom lip between her teeth for a second as she sat down next to him and dipped a cloth in the water. “Our names are sort of alike, aren’t they? Conrad and Connie?”

  “I noticed that.”

  She started dabbing at the blood on his face. “My real name is Constance, but I like Connie better. Some of the girls who work at the Golden Gate don’t use their real names. They make up something instead. But I never saw any point in trying to pretend I’m somebody I’m not, did you?”

  He could tell she was talking mostly to keep her jagged nerves under control. Thinking about the time he had spent as Kid Morgan, he said, “I can understand why somebody would feel that way. Maybe they want to forget the lives they left behind.”

  “Or maybe they’re just ashamed to admit they work in a saloon.” She gave a defiant little toss of her head. “If anybody doesn’t like who I am or what I do, they can just go—”

  Conrad winced a little as she wiped the wet cloth over one of the scrapes on his forehead.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” she exclaimed. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  “It’s all right,” he assured her. “It just stings a little.”

  “I wish we had some whiskey. I’d use it to clean all these scrapes and scratches.” She giggled. “Of course, that would sting even more.”

  He was glad to see she was relaxing a little. “So you work at the Golden Gate.”

  “That’s right. I was there earlier today when your father came in, then a bunch of those Chinamen busted in and all h
ell broke loose. I got knocked down in the rush to get away from the trouble, and I probably would have been trampled if it hadn’t been for Mr. Morgan. He grabbed me and got me to safety.” She paused and made a face. “Of course, then the Chinamen grabbed him and took him out of there, and they brought me along, too. But it could have been worse.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, as if she was afraid someone was listening in on their conversation. “I think that big one they call Ling Yuan wanted to kill me, right then and there.”

  “Probably not.” Although in all honesty Conrad had to admit he didn’t really know what Ling Yuan was capable of. The men were criminals, after all. He figured they could be pretty ruthless.

  When she had finished cleaning the blood off his face, Connie said, “You’ve got blood on that shirt, too, and Ling Yuan said he was bringing you some clean clothes. Why don’t you go ahead and take it off? You may have some other wounds that need attention.”

  “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

  She smiled. “There’s no reason for you to be shy, Mr. Browning. It’s not like I’d see anything I haven’t seen before. In fact, you could take all your clothes off and I wouldn’t see anything I haven’t—”

  He held up a hand to stop her. “It’s not that. I just don’t think it’s necessary.”

  “Maybe not ... but we don’t have to have a good reason for everything we do in this life, do we?”

  For a long time after Rebel’s death, Conrad had had no interest in women, not like that, anyway. He was in mourning, and even after a suitable period of time had passed, he still felt like he would be disloyal to her if he took up with another woman.

  He had let his guard down with the redheaded bounty hunter, Lace McCall, and almost without realizing what was happening, he had developed genuine feelings for her. Then she had been wounded because of another scheme tracing back to Pamela Tarleton, and shortly afterward Conrad had found out about his missing children. He had been busy since then, but Claudius Turnbuckle was keeping tabs on Lace while she recuperated from her injuries. Conrad intended to get back in touch with her ... someday.