This wasn’t the sort of place where Clint would expect Madeline to be, but he wasn’t about to turn around after riding all this way. If he’d trusted Lylah’s directions to bring him this far, he might as well follow them a few more steps. After he took those steps, the door to the opium den slammed shut behind him.
TWENTY-ONE
When the door banged against its frame, none of the people inside the single room took much notice. The Chinese workers who tended to the customers and handed out the pipes were used to the clatter. As for the customers themselves, they probably wouldn’t have noticed if the entire building caught fire.
Only one of the three workers approached the front door. The other two were making their rounds among the bunks, cots, and chairs scattered throughout the room. All three were dressed in bright red silk shirts and had towels draped over both shoulders. The worker who came to greet Clint was a woman with a round face, long hair tied into a braid, and a wide, friendly smile.
“I can help you?” she asked.
Clint felt as if he were bowing, simply because he had to bend down so far to talk to the little woman without shouting. “I’m looking for someone and was told she might be here.”
“I’m sure we have someone here for you to like,” the old woman assured him.
“No, not that kind of someone.”
Before Clint could say any more, he noticed that the Chinese woman was no longer looking at him. Her mouth hung open and her eyes grew wide as she finally acknowledged the woman that Clint had brought with him. Until then, Lylah had been treated as just another companion that a customer had bought and paid for as company for when he started puffing from his pipe.
The Chinese woman spoke in her native tongue, but in a slower, more deliberate manner that reminded Clint of the way he spoke to Lylah. This time, however, there was no huffing or eye rolling on Lylah’s behalf. She merely smiled and nodded while answering in a few choppy syllables that Clint knew was a simple Chinese greeting.
“Why did you bring her here?” the Chinese woman asked.
Clint had been smiling at the two women’s reunion, but that grin faded when he saw the intensity in the Chinese lady’s eyes. “It’s like I told you before. We’re looking for someone.”
The Chinese woman grabbed both Clint’s and Lylah’s arms so she could drag the two farther into the opium den like they were children to be punished. “There are men looking for her. Didn’t you know that?”
“How was I to know?” Clint asked. “She barely speaks any English. You were talking to her. Maybe you could translate so I can get some more out of her.”
“I can hardly say hello and good-bye to her. She knows Chinese as much as she knows English. I can tell you not to be here, though. The men who brought her here want her back. They come looking every day! If they know she here, they will burn my place down. That will start a war.”
“Wait. A war? Did I hear you right?”
Gritting her teeth, the Chinese woman dragged Clint and Lylah all the way to the back corner of the room. There was a tapestry hanging from the wall, which Clint thought was probably covering another window. When she pulled it aside, the Chinese woman revealed a narrow door. She unlocked it with a key that hung from a chain around her neck and shoved the other two inside.
“You hear me just fine,” the Chinese woman said. “I say war and that’s what I mean.”
“War with who?” Clint asked.
By this time, Lylah stepped in between the other two as if she were breaking up a fight. Placing one hand upon Clint’s chest, she said, “Clint Adams.” Touching the Chinese woman’s shoulder, she looked at Clint and said, “Ah Chum.”
Although those two words sounded like more gibberish, Clint made a guess and asked, “Is that your name? Ah Chum?”
The Chinese woman nodded. “People here call me China Mary.”
Now that name did strike a chord with Clint. “China Mary? I’ve heard of you. I’ve heard that you call the shots around this part of town.”
Mary nodded sagely. The room was a small office. Although it only had enough space for a little rolltop desk, two chairs, and several piles of papers, she settled into her seat as if she were perched upon a throne. “I keep whores in line and opium dens running. Many men work for me and they want to start a war with the men who ride into town with their prisoners and slaves.”
“What prisoners and slaves?” Clint asked.
“You look tired,” Mary said. “I get you drink? Smoke?”
“No, thanks.”
“Then sit. Please.”
Since he was too anxious to relax, Clint offered the only other chair to Lylah. It seemed she was just as anxious, because she refused the seat with a quick shake of her head.
Mary may have seemed gentle at first, but that was clearly an act. Now that he’d spent more than a few seconds in her presence, Clint could detect a hardness in her eyes and features that made her face seem more like a visage that had been carefully carved to put folks off their guard. She took a cigar from the box she’d offered to Clint and took her time lighting it. He got the distinct impression that it wouldn’t have done one bit of good to try and hurry her.
“I think I hear talk about you, Clint Adams,” Mary said as the tip of her cigar flared up. “I hear things from lawmen and hired guns as well. All kinds of things.”
“I bet you do. Tell me what you’ve heard about prisoners and slaves.”
Nodding toward Lylah, she muttered, “Why you not ask her?”
“Because she wouldn’t understand. I’m asking you now, so why don’t you tell me.”
Leaning forward with one elbow propped against her knee, Mary waved her cigar at Clint until it got close enough for him to feel the heat from its tip. “You don’t tell me what to do. I can call in enough men to cut the Gunsmith down to size before you get to that fancy gun of yours!”
Surprised by the fire in the older woman’s eyes, Clint held up his hands to assure her they were nowhere near his holster. “No offense meant.”
She looked Clint up and down as if she were fitting him for a coffin. “Maybe you hear of a man named Kyle Morrow.”
“Maybe I have.”
“Then you know he kidnap women and sell them off after robbing from their men. He also works with slavers who bring girls like that one there into this country.”
Clint looked over to Lylah and saw the sorrowful look in her eyes. Even if she didn’t know all that was being said, she’d obviously caught enough to get the gist of the conversation.
“You’re expecting trouble from Kyle Morrow?” Clint asked.
“I been getting trouble from him for months. It get worse when his merchandise disappear without being paid for. That one there,” she added while waving at Lylah, “she run away after I refuse to buy her, so Morrow think I stole her to work in one of my whorehouse. Since then, nothing but trouble from him.”
“How did she get away?”
“Help from white lady.”
“Madeline Gentry?” Clint asked.
Mary nodded. When she spoke again, there was no longer the edge in her voice that had been there a few moments ago. “Maddy help a lot of girls get away from here. Usually, she take them after they been here for a while so people think they run away on their own. This time, she took that one while Morrow was still in town. Too soon.”
“Her name’s Lylah.”
“What?” Mary snapped.
“That one there. Her name’s Lylah.”
“They all have name, Mister Adams. I don’t remember them until they’ve been here long enough. That one was supposed to work for me, but she only eat my food, drink my water, and hide in my place of business. I was glad to be rid of her, but you bring her back.”
“Funny. You two seemed happy to see each other at first.”
Mary flinched as if she’d been caught in a bluff. After a heavy sigh, she slipped right back into her prickly demeanor. “I hoped she could get away before she was killed. I
thought she would know to stay away.”
“Maddy is the one in trouble. Is she still here?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know where I can find her?” Clint asked.
Grudgingly, Mary got up and worked the lock on the door. “Probably best if I take you to her.”
TWENTY-TWO
Clint stood in the cemetery, looking down at the unmarked pile of freshly turned soil, and still couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Actually, he didn’t want to believe the sight in front of him. Lylah had started crying the moment she realized where Mary was taking them. Clint had waited until the last possible moment, hoping that he might find Maddy huddled in a shack somewhere on the property.
“What happened?” he asked.
Still working on the last bit of her cigar, Mary replied, “Kyle Morrow. He killed her, along with some of my people, when he couldn’t find that one over there and a few others. My people didn’t know where that one went, but Maddy knew. Still, she no say anything.”
When he tried to get a read on Mary, Clint came up empty. Sometimes the other woman spoke about Maddy as if she was an enemy, and other times she seemed to truly miss her. Looking down upon the grave, however, Clint had to admit it was too late to worry over what Mary thought about the subject.
From what Clint had heard about China Mary, damn near anything was possible. Just about everyone in Tombstone knew that she was the one to talk to if you had to satisfy any need in Hop Town. Mary ran the whores, the gambling, and the drug trade in that part of town. If you needed anything else after walking past Third and Toughnut streets, Mary could get it for you.
Opinions differed on how Mary ran her businesses. Some said she was as hard as she needed to be, while others called her a small-time dictator. Like anyone else who worked in those kinds of trades, she had gunmen and leg breakers on her payroll right along with the working girls and attendants at her opium den. Some said those gunmen were merely for protection, while others claimed that China Mary had ordered the deaths of anyone who stood in her way.
Having been on the receiving end of plenty of nasty rumors, Clint knew to take them all with a grain of salt. Looking into Mary’s eyes and hearing the razor edge in her voice, Clint found it easy to see where some of the nastier rumors about the little woman had come from.
“How’d she die?” Clint asked.
Mary looked at him with one subtly raised eyebrow.
Tired of going back and forth with the Chinese woman, Clint snapped, “Tell me!”
“Kyle Morrow killed her. That’s all you need to know. That’s all you want to know.”
“When did this happen?”
“The night after that one—” Seeing the fire in Clint’s eyes, Mary started again. “The night after Lylah disappear. He came looking for her, but I didn’t know what to tell him. Madeline was there as well. She came to help Lylah and some of the others. I. . . I let some of the youngest ones go with her.” When saying that last part, Mary sounded as if she were confessing a sin.
“I get enough girls that work for me who want to be there,” Mary continued. “Sometimes, I pay to bring them on. But I don’t need slaves. That’s messy business. Too messy. But I used to be like some of these younger ones. If I get the chance, I let them go with Maddy. There’s not much else I can do for them. If they come back to me, though, it’s not good. Make me look bad!”
So it seemed Maddy hadn’t been a pariah in just her own town. It was also clear she wasn’t the only one in Tombstone. “Are there any others still here?”
“What others?”
“Others like her,” he said while pointing at Lylah. “Others who need somewhere else to go.”
Mary shook her head. “Maddy had been here not too long ago to get a few. I wasn’t expecting her to come again so quick. Lylah was the only one who wanted to go, and it cost Maddy’s life. I get enough girls who want to work for me. I pay good and keep them fed. Too risky to use the girls that Kyle Morrow sells.”
Considering the law in Tombstone included the Earp brothers, who had occasional help from the likes of Bat Masterson, Mary was dead-on with her assessment. “All right, then,” he said. “Where can I find Kyle Morrow?”
Mary turned away from the grave and said, “I don’t know and I don’t care. The less I know about him, the better.”
“I want to find him. What can you do for me?”
“Why do you want to find him?” Mary asked. “Because of what he did to Maddy?”
“Isn’t that a good enough reason?”
“Kyle Morrow has done worse, and when he is gone, there will be plenty others to step in and keep doing those same things. Perhaps they think of some new things to do to some new people. Even if half the stories about the Gunsmith are true, you cannot find all the men like Kyle Morrow. Nobody can.”
“If I didn’t know better, I might think you’re trying to keep someone else from being hurt.”
Mary grunted something in Chinese that Clint recognized as not too flattering. Then she told him, “I don’t know you. I do know Kyle Morrow. I can deal with him or keep him away if I want. If someone else take his place, I have to start all over again.”
“What if there is no one to take his place?”
“You really believe that?” she asked with a worldly grin.
Grudgingly, Clint admitted, “Maybe not, but this one will only get worse if he thinks he can get away with killing an innocent woman. There might be a protege, but they should be taught that same lesson by watching what happens to Morrow.”
Mary crossed her arms and nodded as if she’d finally decided on what color rug to put in her opium den. “That make sense. I still don’t know where to find him, but she does.”
Clint looked over to where Mary had nodded and found Lylah silently staring down at Maddy’s grave. “Can you help me figure out what she’s saying?”
“I don’t think I could make her understand your question, but I do know someone who can.” She shook her head slowly. “You might want to ask around for someone else, though. Mongolians not as friendly as me.”
TWENTY-THREE
Apart from what he’d read in a few ancient history books, Clint wasn’t too familiar with Mongolians. He could have met a few here and there while traveling from one spot to another, but he didn’t keep track of where they lived or who might be able to translate their language. Since Maddy’s killer was probably still not too far away, Clint wanted to act fast before the trail got any colder.
According to Mary, the translator he should talk to lived in a camp up in the Whetstone Mountains. That wasn’t more than fifteen or twenty miles away, so he figured he could take a bit of time and do some more asking around Tombstone. He was on good terms with the Earp brothers, but they weren’t the law in town any longer. There was one man who might just be a bigger help to Clint than any lawman. If anyone was to know the whereabouts of an outlaw like Kyle Morrow, it was a bounty hunter. And in Cochise County, there weren’t many bounty hunters who knew their trade better than Eddie Sanchez.
If he was in Tombstone, Eddie could be found in a rented room on the second floor of a rat trap on Fifth Street. When Clint arrived at the run-down little boardinghouse, he asked the redheaded man behind the front desk if Eddie was available.
“Yeah,” the redhead told him as he plastered his eyes onto Lylah. “He’s here.”
Before the redhead could drool or reach out to grab her, Clint pulled Lylah closer to him and asked, “Which room is he in?”
“Same as always. If you want yer own room, I got one open.”
“No, thanks.”
As Clint walked toward the stairs, the redhead asked, “You wanna send her my way when you’re through?”
Clint stopped and glared at the redhead in a way that made it clear just how far he’d stepped in the wrong direction. Without saying another word, the redhead looked away and found something else to do.
“Don’t mind that,” Clint said as he took Lylah with him. Sh
e might not have understood what he muttered, but he could tell that she knew what the redhead was after without being told.
Eddie’s usual room was at the end of the hall on the second floor, overlooking the street. Before Clint could knock upon the door, it was opened. A full-figured woman with stringy brown hair emerged from the room while adjusting her large breasts within her partially buttoned blouse. She smirked at Clint, sneered at Lylah, and headed for the stairs.
“Hello, Eddie,” Clint said as he stepped inside.
The bounty hunter was a big man with enough hair on his chest and back to create a natural rug. “That you, Adams? You should’a been here earlier. Missed one hell of a performance.”
“From you or the woman who’s paid to pretend enjoying being with you?” Clint asked.
“Real damn funny.” Standing up without making a move to retrieve his shirt or even adjust his britches so he wasn’t exposing himself to everyone within eyeshot, Eddie asked, “Who’s that you got with ya?”
“Nobody you need to worry about, so keep it in your pants.”
“All right, all right. I comprende.”
“You heard me, Eddie. Keep it in your pants.”
Smirking as he reached between his legs, Eddie fitted himself back within his trousers and hitched them up a bit. “What brings you to town? You wanna lose some more money to me by betting on a gut-shot straight draw?”
“Nothing like that. I’ve got a few questions for you. Have you ever heard of Kyle Morrow?”
“The slaver and kidnapper who sells sweet little ladies to everyone in the Arizona Territories?”
“That’s the one.”
“Never heard of him,” Eddie said with a grin that showed a collection of yellowed, crooked teeth that had plenty of gaping holes.
“I want to track him down.”
Pariah Page 8
