Slocum and the Celestial Bones

by Jake Logan

  Slocum walked to the edge of the dock and peered over. The water lapped endlessly at the rotting pilings. A small rowboat bobbed on the waves, empty for the moment. When it got darker and the saloon at the end of the pier began drawing more customers, the shanghaiers would work overtime. Slocum strained and poked his head out even more, then caught his breath.

  Slowly to avoid being seen, he drew back slowly.

  “What is it?” demanded Sir William. “Did you catch sight of him?”

  “Little Pete,” he answered. “I saw the Sum Yop leader down there.”

  “Why—” Sir William cut off his question. A look of vexation caused him to look years older. “The tong found him. He escaped but the tong found him before we could.”

  “Little Pete might not have many of his hatchet men with him,” Slocum said, thinking fast. “A lot of them were killed or wounded this afternoon by the marines.”

  “Oh, yes, a bloody lot of them were. The fight was a good one. Hardly any of the marines were injured.”

  “Little Pete knows Stark well enough to risk going after him by himself.”

  “Then we should go stick a pistol into this Little Pete’s back and take Stark from him!”

  “That might be easier said than done.” Slocum went to the far side of the pier and studied it. He thought he saw faint rays of light sneaking out from between a boarded-up section of the pilings. That was the sort of place a man like Jason Stark would live. Hidden, affording him easy access up through the trapdoor or out by water, he could prey on the unsuspecting and have a hidey-hole to retreat to if things got too hot.

  Slocum vaulted the railing and dropped ten feet to the rocky beach. He stayed in a crouch as he motioned Sir William to silence and to stay where he was. Duckwalking forward, he pressed his eye to the boards nailed up against the pilings. The coal oil lamp a few feet away on a low stool provided more than enough light for him to see everything in the room.

  Stark cowered at the far corner of the tiny room. Little Pete had his back to Slocum but, from Stark’s fright, pointed a gun at him. The waves breaking against the shore and the increasing din from the saloon above drowned out anything the men might be saying. It took little imagination to guess that Little Pete wanted the jade crown, and Stark was dickering frantically with him to stay alive.

  If he rushed in, he might kill Little Pete. Slocum knew the complications arising from that act would outweigh anything else. Little Pete’s successor as leader of the Sum Yops might not want to trade the crown for Ah Ming’s father’s bones. New leaders meant new deals. Better to let Little Pete wrest the jade crown from Stark.

  Then Slocum could decide how to proceed. He might steal it away from the tong leader without him knowing who the thief was. That would be the best of all solutions. Slocum could give Little Pete back the crown, get the body and satisfy everyone.

  Everyone except Sir William.

  Slocum jerked erect, hand going to his six-shooter when the far wall of the tiny room exploded inward.

  “No,” Slocum cried. He grabbed a loose plank and pulled with all his might. It came free. He thrust his six-gun through and fired. He missed Little Pete but hit the coal oil lamp. It exploded in a welter of glass and flames, adding to the confusion.

  Slocum yanked free several more boards and forced his way into the room.

  “Come on,” he said to Sir William, who lay stunned on the plank floor. The explorer had been struck on the side of the head as Little Pete left by the most expedient route—over the fallen man. Slocum saw a muddy footprint in the middle of Sir William’s back.

  “Where’s Stark?”

  “I don’t know. I heard them. I didn’t know what you were waiting for, so I came in.” Sir William looked confused from the blow to his head.

  “Stark didn’t go past you?”

  “Only the Chinaman,” Sir William said.

  Slocum looked up. A knotted rope dangled from above. He shoved his six-shooter into its holster, jumped, grabbed the highest knot he could and quickly climbed until he banged his head against the trapdoor leading into the saloon. Doubled over, pressing his shoulders against it, he shoved with all his might. The splintery trapdoor flew open. Slocum tumbled down to the floor, got his feet under him and made his way down the narrow corridor into the main room of the saloon.

  Dozens of sailors had already begun their binge. Slocum jumped to the bar and looked out over the room.

  “Get yer dirty feet offa my bar!” The barkeep reached under the bar and pulled out a club. He swung it, but Slocum lithely jumped and avoided the bone-breakingly hard blow. Landing hard, he pushed his way through the bar patrons and out the door to stand on the pier. He looked hard but did not see Jason Stark. If Sir William had remained where Slocum had told him, the explorer could have nabbed the thief.

  Slocum grunted in disgust and went to get Sir William. He had to find some other way of ferreting out Stark if he wanted to get the jade crown back.

  23

  Sir William Macadams lay on his face, unmoving. Slocum stepped carefully over the burned boards and knelt beside the explorer. He shook him gently and the man’s eyes popped open.

  “Good God, man, you frightened me,” Sir William said.

  “I thought you were dead.” Slocum looked around Stark’s hiding place and saw nothing but cinders and charred boards. Sir William had been in the middle, his clothing black with soot and burned in many places. “The fire didn’t spread enough to burn the pier down, but…” Slocum looked around and saw the reason it had not spread. Sir William had sacrificed his coat to smother the flames.

  Sir William coughed as he sat up. He motioned Slocum away.

  “I’ll be fine, not to worry, not to worry,” he said. “Pray give a moment’s silence for my dearly departed jacket, however.”

  “Why were you flopped out like that?”

  Sir William grinned sheepishly. He let Slocum help him stand and took a few tentative steps before regaining some of his strength. Then he brushed himself off before he answered.

  “The fumes overwhelmed me. It is not like me to forget such things.” He looked around. “This is an enclosed space. I hunted for the jade crown without noting how the timbers still smoldered. A foolish mistake.”

  “Yeah, foolish,” Slocum said, disappointed. He doubted Sir William would have missed the crown if it had been here. Stark was a fool, but he was not so stupid that he would hide the Chinese Emperor’s crown where he lived.

  “Let’s get back to the museum. I have to see if Miss Lawrence is feeling better. She did look a mite peaked, don’t you think?”

  Slocum saw concern in the man’s expression and heard it in his words. He cared for Tess, even if he did not show it usually. Together, they slid through the hole in the wall and dropped onto the rocky beach. Slocum saw men hanging on the railing above and decided it was best if they walked a ways before returning to the street. Even after they worked their way into the crowds, Slocum walked with an eye peeled for trouble. To have gone back to the pier where Stark had lived would have invited trouble. Even here, surrounded by sailors and gangs of policemen, Slocum had the feeling of impending trouble.

  He hailed a carriage and helped Sir William into it.

  “What? You’re not coming along, Mr. Slocum?” the explorer asked when Slocum gave the driver instructions to go to the museum but did not enter the carriage himself.

  “Stark is still out there somewhere. This is the best time to find him, before he burrows down into a permanent hiding place.”

  “We burned that,” Sir William said.

  “A rat like Stark would have several hiding places. This was the most convenient.” Slocum did not add that, since the jade crown had not been found, Stark had it somewhere else, somewhere he considered more secure. He had only gone to ground here because of Little Pete’s hatchet men being hot on his trail.

  “You know what you’re doing, Mr. Slocum. I appreciate that. Be a good chap now, don’t get yourself in a tigh
t fix. I might not hear of it in time to come and get you out.”

  Slocum grinned crookedly and motioned for the driver to take Sir William back to the museum. As the carriage rattled off, Slocum felt the presence of someone behind him.

  “I wanted to talk to you, Ah Ming,” he said without looking. “Thanks for saving me the trouble of hunting for you.”

  “The whole town is aflame,” she said. Slocum turned to face her. She looked small and helpless. He knew she was anything but that. If anything, she and Lai Choi San shared two traits above all others. They were deadly and determined.

  “I kept Little Pete from getting the crown,” he said. “That ought to keep things warm for a spell.”

  “You have only one day. Tomorrow. Sundown,” Ah Ming said.

  “I have to find Jason Stark. Little Pete almost beat me to him.”

  “If Little Pete gets the jade crown, there is no reason to return my father’s bones to me.”

  “What have you heard?”

  “His flesh has been consumed by rats.”

  Slocum shuddered involuntarily. That fate seemed peculiar to San Francisco.

  “You will get his bones or you will die, John Slocum.”

  “I’m trying. What can you tell me about Stark?” He watched her expression closely for any hint that she might lie. When she answered, he saw nothing but her impassive face.

  “I have never heard of this man.”

  “Ask around. He hangs out at dockside. That means he works for someone, maybe as a shanghaier.” Slocum remembered the room under the saloon. It was the perfect setup for someone engaged in shanghaiing drunk or doped patrons of the bar and getting them into a skiff so that they could be sold to ships’ captains hungry for crewmen.

  “He has the crown?”

  “He knows where it is,” Slocum said.

  “I will see what others have to say, though they might not be willing to talk freely.”

  “The tong war,” Slocum said. He frowned as an unpleasant thought came to him. “If the Sum Yops and On Leongs are fighting so openly, what good’s getting the jade crown? Little Pete would only kill whoever tried to make the exchange.”

  “That is why you must do it,” Ah Ming said. “You are not On Leong. And Little Pete is greedy. He has some use for the crown.”

  Slocum looked past Ah Ming toward the harbor. The only one who wanted the jade crown so badly she would kill for it was Lai Choi San. What sort of a deal had Lai Choi San and Little Pete come up with?

  “Do you know what cargo ships are due to port here in the next week or so?”

  Ah Ming shook her head.

  “That might give some clue as to why Little Pete wants the crown and would give up a hated enemy’s bones for it.”

  “You have until tomorrow at sundown,” Ah Ming said.

  “Find out what I need to know!” Slocum called after the slowly retreating woman. Ah Ming did not show that she heard.

  Slocum slumped, then regained some of his composure. Ah Ming might take days to find what Slocum needed to know right now. All he knew of Stark came from Tess’s biased view of the man. He had been a charmer, she said. He had swept her off her feet and convinced her to steal the jade from her employer. Hearing how valuable the crown was, Stark had added a little something to the larceny he had already connived to involve Tess in.

  Slocum had met men like Stark before. They could charm an angry rattlesnake and make the flowers bloom with their bright smiles. Appearance mattered less than manner, and their manners were always perfectly on target. They read people like a newspaper and ingratiated themselves with whatever their marks wanted to hear. In Tess’s case, it had been more than ingratiation. She was a lonely woman whose love for her employer went unrequited. That made her doubly easy for Stark to take advantage of.

  “Maybe a shanghaier and certainly a snake oil salesman,” Slocum said. “He won’t be far from his usual haunts.”

  Hitching up his gun belt, he went back down to the docks. He steered clear of the crowds of sailors pouring into the watering holes and tried to keep a sharp eye out for Stark. The depth of the shadows and lack of lighting made it difficult, but Slocum kept moving. Twice he had to avoid being attacked by roving gangs of thugs, the last one obviously shanghaiers intent on filling a quota.

  As Slocum watched them surge past where he had taken refuge in the mouth of an alley, an idea came to him. Stark was likely in cahoots with shanghaiers. If not these, then another gang. Slocum hurried from the alley and trailed the gang as they made their way along the docks, waiting outside saloons and occasionally going in. When this happened, they never came out. Slocum chanced a look over the side of a pier and saw that many of the saloons had trapdoors for the shanghaiers to get their victims out without being seen.

  When the gang was down to a handful, Slocum singled out one, came up behind him and quickly muffled any outcry with a hand over the mouth. Bending him backward, Slocum dragged the man into an alley and swung him around so hard he crashed into a brick wall.

  “Don’t turn around,” Slocum said coldly. “If you do, I’ll blow your spine into powder.” He shoved the muzzle of his Colt Navy into the man’s back to prove he had the means to carry out his threat.

  “Take what I got, mate, jist leave ma a nickel for a beer.”

  “Jason Stark. Where is he?”

  “Who?”

  Slocum slugged the man and drove him to his knees. This time he pressed the cold metal muzzle against the man’s temple.

  “You’re within five seconds of having your brains blown out.”

  “I…I seen him earlier. He was at the Pole Star. It’s a dive down a ways along the Embark!”

  “How much earlier?”

  “Twenty minutes, maybe more.”

  Slocum slugged him. When the man stirred he hit him again. Considering his occupation, Slocum considered shooting him but decided he might need the ammo later. Cramming his six-gun into his holster, he set out for the saloon where the shanghaier claimed to have seen Stark.

  Barely had he stepped into the smoky, crowded saloon when he spotted Stark. The man hunkered down in the corner of the room, trying not to be seen. The act of trying to be invisible set him apart from everyone else in the room. Slocum dodged two sailors as he started across the room for Stark when another crashed full tilt into him, sending him staggering back.

  “Where ya goin’ in such a hurry, little man?”

  Slocum looked up into the giant sailor’s eyes and saw only bubbling hatred there. The man was ashore and looking for someone to fight—or kill.

  Without hesitating, Slocum drew his six-shooter and swung with all his might. He grazed the sailor and opened a gash just above his eye. The sudden spurt of blood blinded the sailor, but this was obviously nothing new for the man. He let out a bull roar and charged, arms wide to scoop Slocum up and crush him in a powerful embrace. Slocum ducked, swung for the man’s belly with both hands on his Colt and then stepped away.

  By now half a dozen fights had started. Slocum wanted no part of them. The sailors fought for the sheer joy of it. He wanted Stark.

  Jason Stark had vanished.

  Slocum glanced over his shoulder. Wherever Stark had gone, he had not gotten past and back out onto the dock. Kicking and punching, Slocum made his way to the table where Stark had been. The sawdust on the floor was liberally speckled with fresh blood leading toward a back room. Slocum started for the room, only to have the barkeep step in front of him.

  “Sorry, mister. You can’t go back there.”

  Slocum never broke stride as he buffaloed the bartender and knocked him to the floor. Kicking in the door to the back room revealed to Slocum what he feared most. A trapdoor in the floor stood open. He went to it and saw two men grabbing oars. Jason Stark lay unconscious in the boat behind them.

  Slocum aimed and fired. One bullet drove through the bottom of the rowboat but did not put a big enough hole in the wood to cause any real damage. The way the boat leaked, another
hole would hardly be noticed.

  He fired a second time, but the bullet plinked! harmlessly into the water. Slocum dropped down the ladder, not bothering to use the rungs. He hit the small landing hard, ready to fire again. The two men rowed with a vengeance and were only dark lumps amid the choppy waves. In frustration Slocum fired until his six-shooter came up empty. He took the time to reload, then looked around.

  Another rowboat banged restlessly against the small dock, tossed on the waves. He jumped in and cast off. Grabbing both oars, he started rowing. All the aches from his earlier trip into the bay returned, but Slocum felt victory was close at hand. Stark was being shanghaied. If he could rescue the sneak thief, he would be grateful enough to turn over the jade crown. And if he wasn’t grateful, Slocum considered all the ways Ah Ming might have of making him tell her where the crown was. Little Pete’s tortures might be cruel but Slocum had no doubt Ah Ming could surpass the Sum Yop leader’s worst.

  After a few minutes’ rowing took him away from the docks and out into the bay, he looked around for a likely ship. The dark hull of a clipper ship a quarter mile off looked like his best chance. He rested a few seconds, chanced standing and sighted what he thought was the boat with Stark making for the cargo ship. Slocum put his back into rowing again, the effort paying off. Although two rowed the other boat, he narrowed the distance between them.

  Then he noticed he was shipping water. Rowing became harder and harder as the bottom of the boat filled. Cursing, he grabbed a small bucket and began bailing. By the time he had enough water removed, the other boat had disappeared. Determined, Slocum rowed for the three-master ship and bumped gently against the towering schooner’s hull. He saw lines dangling down, and, using one to fasten his boat, he clambered up another, ready for anything when he got to the deck.

  The captain and two seamen looked up in surprise when he dropped onto the deck, his six-shooter drawn and pointed at them.

  “You got a friend of mine there,” Slocum said. “I want him back.” Stark moaned and thrashed about weakly on the deck. “Those two shanghaied him back at the saloon—the Pole Star, it was.”