Lone Star 02

by Ellis, Wesley

  Then he sprang up, not like the falcon, but like the locust taking wing. At the apex of his jump, many feet above the ground, his fingers locked about the cord as the soles of his bare feet soundlessly braced themselves against the side of the building.

  Ki scuttled up the cord. He covered the remaining few feet to the level of the second floor’s windows in an instant. He could have climbed the entire four stories in less than ten seconds. Early in his apprenticeship, he had learned to move vertically up walls and across ceilings, like a human fly.

  Ki now began to leap from window ledge to window ledge. Once, the rotted wood gave way beneath his feet, but Ki did not fall. He darted onward to the next ledge, the way a bee darts to the next flower, and then the next. His trained eyes only needed a split second to penetrate the darkness of each room’s interior.

  The resemblance of Ki’s movements to those of the locust, fly, and bee showed his good form, for the ancients had long ago devised this climbing technique by studying the ways of the insects. The technique’s secret was a simple one: if a man moved fast enough, there was no time to fall.

  Ki hopped from the third window ledge, cartwheeling sideways through the void, his arms and legs extended straight like the points of a shuriken star spinning through the air on its deadly journey. He did not come to light at the fourth window, but only glanced through it—

  There! Jessie, lying on the bed!

  He touched down briefly on the fifth ledge, using that impact to hurtle himself back to the fourth window. He hooked his fingers and toes through the wrought-iron grating, and hung like a spider in the center of its web as he peered through the metal and glass at Jessie’s sleeping form.

  The samurai congratulated himself on his good fortune. It had turned out to be very easy, indeed!

  Ki tapped upon the windowpane. Jessie, lying on her back, did not stir. He tapped louder, finally resorting to scratching one of his shuriken blades against the window.

  Something was wrong. Ki had never known her to sleep so deeply.

  He had a file that would make short work of these iron bars, and breaking the window itself was no problem, but then Jessie would have to explain the damage to the bordello’s proprietors. No, it looked as though he was going to have to do this the hard way. He was going to have to make his way into the bordello after all.

  The windows above the second floor were not barred. It would have saved a bit of time to have gone directly up the side of the building, but Ki did not trust the bordello’s exterior walls. The hand and footholds available were simply too pitted with rot to support his weight. He made his way back to the cord dangling down from the roof, and scurried up to the third floor. Several of the rooms were occupied by women and their clients. In some, the lamps were lit, in others, only the shadowy forms of the figures entwined in copulation could be viewed. Ki finally came upon an empty room. He slid open the window and went in.

  It took him a moment to get his bearings in the hallway. Moore’s diagram showed a stairway at the far end of the corridor. It would take him down to the second floor.

  Ki hurried along. He was not worried about being discovered at this point. There were no guards posted on the third floor, and the couples behind the closed doors on both sides of him were all making too much noise on their own to hear his swiftly passing bare feet upon the carpet.

  Raucous laughter, and tinny strains banged out upon an out-of-tune piano floated up the stairwell as Ki made his way to the second floor. Just one flight below was the front parlor of the bordello, according to Moore’s drawing. Curiosity impelled Ki to stick his head around the comer of the landing and catch a glimpse of the goings-on down there.

  He had the chance to see several women dancing, and wearing some very interesting—and exciting—costumes, before another woman, leading a gentleman up the stairs by the front of his trousers, forced Ki to duck back around the comer. The woman’s silvery giggle faded as he went through, and then slid shut behind him, the set of unlocked double doors that led to the second-floor hallway. Ki went to Jessie’s closed door and swung it open, hurrying to her side. She was still sound asleep. Ki had not realized that she was so naked; the slip of clothing she was wearing covered nothing.

  “Jessie!” he whispered, trying his best not to gaze at her lush, lovely form. It was not proper to stare. “Jessie! Come now! Wake up!” Ki said as loudly as he dared, more than a note of pleading in his voice.

  Jessie stirred, but did not wake. She spread her legs lan guorously, while stretching her arms above her head, so that her breasts rose and tightened. Every inch of her was exposed...

  “Jessie!” Ki fairly begged. It was awfully warm inside the bordello. Perhaps that explained the perspiration suddenly coursing down his body...

  “Jessie...” Why wouldn’t she wake up? Was she ill? Ki bent over her. He pressed his lips against her forehead, only, of course, to see if he could detect any trace of fever...

  Jessie’s eyes sprang open. “Ki!” she murmured through lips still thick with sleep. Her fingers brushed against his thigh, and then feathered along his groin in an instinctive movement. She’d only wanted to prove to herself that he was real, that he was truly here, and not just a remnant of a dream brought on by the opium.

  Ki leapt back, quite flustered, and positively on fire where Jessie had touched him. He wished that his jeans were several sizes larger, and mourned the fact that there were some parts of the body over which even a samurai had no control...

  “Uh, Jessica,” Ki stuttered, blushing bright red, and looking everywhere in the room but at her. “You’re... nude!”

  Jessie laughed richly. “Well! This is no dream. That’s you all right. And am I glad to see you! I’ve got a lot to tell...”

  “You make it sound as if Jessie had been expecting you!” Moore laughed in astonishment. He poured Ki a large measure of brandy and set it down before the samurai, who was sitting by the hearth, warming his hands before the fire. Ever since Ki had arrived back at his apartment, the detective had been positively giddy with relief over the news that Jessie was alive and well. “Wasn’t she surprised to see you?”

  “Why should she have been?” Ki took a moment to savor the brandy’s bouquet, and then took a sip, letting the mellow fire of the liquor warm his innards. “She knew I would find a way to get to her. And when I did,” Ki added ruefully, “It was I who got the surprise. Should you come to know her for any length of time, my friend, you will find that it is usually Jessica Starbuck Who does the surprising.”

  “I still don’t understand why you didn’t take her out of there,” Moore grumbled. Ki had already filled him in on what Jessie had learned. “We can’t strike against the cartel if their cargo hold is going to be filled with coolie slaves. Attacking the clipper would cost the slaves their lives. Burning a ship loaded with opium is one thing, but—”

  “It can be done,” Ki interrupted.

  Moore looked at him questioningly, and Ki went on, “Tonight we can still strike against the cartel. That is why I did not bring Jessie with me. She agrees with my plan.” Ki raised his hand to ward off Moore’s objections. “Hear me out,” he demanded. “The slaves—meant for you, my friend, or supposedly for your father’s lumber yards in Oregon—are worth much more to the cartel and the Tong than just another shipment of opium. If we can intercept their slave ship, rescue the poor souls locked within it, and then destroy the vessel, we will throw our enemies into turmoil.”

  “Without hurting the slaves?” Moore asked.

  “Without hurting them,” Ki promised. “Indeed, we shall give them back their freedom.”

  “Just the two of us?” Moore asked dubiously. Then he smiled. “Are you that good?”

  Ki took another sip of brandy. “Are you?” he asked.

  “You bet!” Moore laughed. “What the hell! Let’s do it!” He raised his glass for a toast.

  Ki did the same with his brandy snifter. “As you so aptly put it, my friend, ‘What the hell!’”
/>
  “But why did you leave Jessie there?”

  “Divide and conquer,” Ki smiled. “Jessie told me that the bordello’s madam blames Smith for babbling about the slave shipment while he was under the influence of opium. Now, since nobody saw me enter the bordello and speak with Jessie—”

  “I get it!” Moore exclaimed. “As it stands, if something should happen to disrupt the shipment, Foxy Muscat is going to blame it all on Smith. She’ll figure that he spilled the beans somewhere else, as well. That’s beautiful,” the detective said admiringly. “As long as Jessie stays in the bordello, nobody can suspect her.”

  “As far as they know, she’s talked to no one,” Ki agreed. “They will have to blame Smith for their misfortune.”

  “Greta Kahr and Chang will fight over who gets to slit Smith’s throat.”

  The samurai nodded. “You’d better get ready to go,” he said.

  Moore went into his bedroom to change his clothes, leaving Ki alone with his thoughts. He stared into the fire, wishing he could see his future in the flames. Neither Jessie nor Moore had guessed at his ulterior motive for fostering the daring plan. What Ki had kept to himself was the fact that he intended to take the rescued coolies to Chinatown, to present them to Su-ling’s family, and in that way prove himself worthy of her. Surely her family could no longer forbid Ki to see her, once he’ d rescued so many of their fellow countrymen from a life in shackles?

  And if her parents are won over? Ki asked himself. Then what? Could he possibly break the vow he’d so long ago made to Jessica’s father? Could he possibly leave Jessie to fend for herself?

  But perhaps he would not have to choose between his own happiness and his sworn duty. He could take a bride and still serve the Starbuck cause. But would he be as willing to risk his life in that cause, knowing that a wife—and perhaps a child—were waiting for him?

  The swirling misery of his conflicting emotions was enough to make Ki think that either his heart or his brain was going to explode. Here was a chance for happiness, but how was he to seize it, while still maintaining his honor?

  Moore had quickly changed into a dark wool sweater, dark pants, and india-rubber-soled shoes. He carried a canvas jacket, and his gun and shoulder holster, but set them down on a chair as he stared at Ki, who was still sitting, seemingly oblivious to everything.

  “What’s wrong?” the detective demanded.

  Ki stood up, shaking his head. “Nothing. We should go...”

  “Don’t give me that ‘nothing’ business,” Moore scolded. “We’re probably going to get killed tonight. The least you can do is tell me what’s eating you!”

  Ki stared down at the smaller man who was so brazenly confronting him. Then he smiled. “A fellow named Longarm, a federal lawman, has a saying: ‘A man ought to eat an apple one bite at a time.’ If all goes well tonight, I may ask your advice about something. If all does not go well...” Ki shrugged.

  “Have it your own way,” Moore sighed. He slipped on his shoulder holster, checked his Colt to see that it was fully loaded, and then put on his jacket. “But I’ll tell you this. If you don’t find somebody to open up to, one of these days you’re going to explode.”

  “Jordan,” Ki said earnestly. “One thing you should know. You will not die tonight. I will see to it.”

  “I’d better not, friend,” Moore slipped extra ammunition, cigars, and matches into the pockets of his jacket. “If I do get killed, Jessie Starbuck is going to get one hell of a bill.”

  Chapter 13

  The lightly rigged, ten-foot-long mosquito board that Moore had earlier secured for the mission skimmed across the inky waters of the bay. What little moon there was this night was suddenly hidden by a cloud. The four-man craft had no running lights, and was therefore invisible in the darkness.

  “Damn!” Moore seethed through his chattering teeth. He wedged the tiller beneath his arm in order to more tightly pull his spray-drenched jacket around him. “Aren’t you cold?” he glared at Ki, who appeared to be quite comfortable in just his shirtsleeves and vest.

  “Cold is a state of mind,” Ki remarked amiably. He pointed to their left. “There it is. The cartel’s clipper.”

  The three-masted, square-rigged cargo ship loomed before them like an island. Glowing lanterns speckled the long craft. The sea winds roared and wailed in its billowing sails as the clipper cut a swath through the black chop and swell of the bay.

  Moore glanced over his shoulder at the distant, twinkling lights of the waterfront. “We’ve got to do it before they get much closer,” he announced quietly. “Hey! It just occurred to me. Getting all those coolies to shore is going to be a problem.”

  “We’ll use the clipper’s lifeboats,” Ki cut him off. “When we’re done, the crew will no longer have need of them.”

  “All right, then,” Moore whispered. “The crew will number between twenty and thirty. There won’t be a lot of guns about, but every man will have a knife, and know how to use it.”

  Ki nodded. “Do you have a knife?” he asked as the clipper’s black silhouette grew before them.

  “Ugh!” Moore shuddered. “Not me! I hate knives!”

  “Odd,” Ki remarked. “A knife is usually a skinny man’s weapon...”

  “Hey!” Moore laughed. “You’re already going to be up against thirty men. In a minute it’s going to be thirty-one!”

  Ki reached into the satchel strapped across his shoulder, and removed several egg-sized objects painted different colors. “Here,” he said, handing them to Moore.

  “What’s this? Food?”

  Ki laughed. “Not unless you have a very strong stomach, my friend. They are called nage teppo,” he explained. “They are bombs. The red ones create smoke. The yellow ones explode in a flash of light which is harmless but temporarily blinding. The green ones explode like dynamite.”

  “What about this white one?” Moore asked, examining the grenades.

  “The white are filled with a substance that, upon contact with the air, erupts into flame,” Ki told him. “All of the bombs need only to be tossed. Upon landing, their outer shells will shatter and the explosions will occur.”

  “Not bad,” Moore chuckled as he slipped the deadly eggs into his pocket. “Hey! What if I should fall down and these things should crack?”

  “Do not worry,” Ki assured him. “It would be over so quickly you would never feel a thing.”

  Moore nodded. “That’s a load off my mind. I’ve got my gun and these little toys of yours, but where are your weapons?”

  “In this satchel I have many more ‘toys,’ as you call them,” Ki replied. “I have shuriken throwing blades, and I have these.” From his belt he extracted two eighteen-inch-long swordlike weapons. A pair of prongs, curved like the horns of a steer, sprouted from the hilt of each sword. “These are called sai,” Ki explained.

  “I wish you had something else in that bag of tricks,” Moore sighed.

  “What?”

  “About ten more men!” He swung the tiller sharply to heave the mosquito boat around. Now they were running parallel to the clipper. “Get ready!” he hissed, as he angled their boat ever closer to the big hull of the cargo ship.

  Ki took from his pocket the same spool of cord and multi-barbed hook that he’d used to aid him in his climb at the bordello. As the distance between the two craft was narrowed, he began to swing the cord above his head the way a cowboy twirls a lariat.

  Less than a yard now separated the tiny boat from the high, curved hull of the clipper, and they were being buffeted by the three-master’s wake. “I can’t hold us here much longer!” Moore warned as he clenched the tiller with both hands. “I’ll either ram them or capsize—”

  Ki stood with his legs braced against the bench seat of the bouncing mosquito boat. It was like trying to stand on the saddle of a galloping horse. He let the cord fly. The hook caught the clipper’s gunwale.

  “Done!” he called, while tying his end of the cord to one of the cleats moun
ted on the mosquito boat’s prow. The clipper was now towing them along.

  Groaning with relief, the detective levered the rudder out of the churning water. He collapsed their two small sails, and scrambled into the prow along with Ki. ,

  The clipper’s railing was fifteen feet above them. Ki hurled another hooked cord up to catch the gunwale. He made sure it was securely lodged, then offered the cord to Moore.

  “What’s that for?” the detective asked. “And how are we going to get up there?” He gestured toward the clipper’s decks.

  Ki pushed the cord at him. “Climb this, of course!”

  Moore’s eyes widened in disbelief. “That piece of thread? You’ve got to be kidding?”

  Ki shook his head in exasperation. “Jordan,” he hissed. “You cannot climb a rope?”

  “I don’t see a rope,” Moore replied adamantly. “I see a thread! I can climb a rope... although I’d prefer a rope ladder ...” he trailed off.

  “Lock your arms around my neck,” Ki ordered. “I will carry you up on my back.”

  “You can’t carry me—” Moore began, but then he shrugged. “Sure you can...”

  With the detective holding on for dear life, Ki hauled himself out of the mosquito boat and up the side of the clipper. “Stop kicking!” he ordered his squirming passenger.

  “This is humiliating!” Moore complained.

  “Stealth, and the element of surprise is everything,” Ki warned. “Do not fire your gun unless absolutely necessary.”

  “Hey! What’s going on?” A sailor, strolling along the middle deck, was staring at them in astonishment. “Where’d you two come from?”

  Ki chinned himself up past the deck rail, to let Moore scramble off his back, and then hauled himself over, landing lightly on his feet. As he began to move toward the sailor, the man pulled a pistol from his belt. A second later, a shot drove the samurai down to the wooden planking.

  “Help!” the sailor shouted. “Intruders on the port side!”