Bounty Hunter, page 11
“Penman, I didn’t kill Mickey Kerr,” Tone said. “Miss Christian did. The money should go to her.”
“Perhaps, but Miss Christian has no contract with Mr. Sprague to cover that exigency. The fee is yours, Mr. Tone. You are free to pass it on to a second party as you see fit.”
When Tone handed Chastity the bundle of notes, she looked at it for long moments, a triumphant little smile on her lips. She then handed the money to Penman. “Invest this for me,” she said. “Opium, whores, slaves, whatever . . . I trust you to make the right decisions on my behalf.”
The lawyer nodded and shoved the money into his briefcase. “I declare, Miss Christian, you’ll be the richest woman in America one day.”
Chastity nodded. “That is my intention.”
Penman shifted his attention to Tone. His hard eyes searched the younger man’s face but slid away, baffled, as though he’d tried to read a message carved in stone and had failed.
“I have left a man at the dock,” the lawyer said. “He will tell us when Mr. Sprague’s longboat is in sight. He will have fighting men with him and the war against his five surviving enemies will begin in earnest.”
Again Penman sought Tone’s eyes, and again he turned away, seeing something in their blue depths that disturbed him. “Mr. Tone, you’re not having second thoughts, are you? You know what will happen if you break your sacred oath.”
“Don’t try to railroad me, Penman,” Tone said evenly. “I signed on with the brand to fight, and that’s what I’ll do.”
“Despite your rather colorful frontier language, I’m glad to hear that,” the lawyer said. “When the shooting starts, Mr. Sprague will expect you to be at his side.”
Tone nodded, his talking done.
“What now, Mr. Penman?” Chastity asked, filling in the silence.
“Now, my dear, we await Mr. Sprague’s arrival. In the meantime I suggest that you discard the Chinese garb and dress in your normal fashion. I fear that the time for disguises is past.”
The woman nodded. “It served its purpose. This little Chinese girl got close enough to Mickey Kerr to kill him.”
“And there’s more killing to be done, Miss Christian.”
“I’m ready,” Chastity said. Her eyes were glittering, like sun-splashed ripples in a brook.
The sun was nudging noon when a man scratched at the door and told Penman that Sprague’s longboat was in the bay. The lawyer passed the man a coin, dismissed him, then said, “We will make our way to the dock.” He glanced at Chastity. “You look lovely, Miss Christian. The green color of your afternoon dress becomes you.”
The woman smiled and dropped a graceful little curtsy.
“You are armed, of course?” Penman asked.
“Of course.”
“Then if you are also ready, Mr. Tone, shall we proceed?”
At that time of the day, most of the people in the streets and alleys along the waterfront were Chinese, though a few sightseers from the city were in evidence, elegantly dressed men and women shivering with delight as they passed drinking dives, whorehouses and opium dens, chattering in high, excited voices.
As Tone and the others arrived at the dock, Sprague’s longboat was just tying up. Tone did a quick count. Including Sprague and his shadow, the giant Blind Jack, there were thirteen men crammed into the small craft.
Superstitions of childhood coming back to him, he felt like crossing himself. Thirteen, the number at the Last Supper, was an unlucky omen.
But Tone was reassured by the swaggering confidence of Sprague’s men. Each one of his tough, weather-beaten sailors wore a brace of Colt revolvers and had a wicked-looking cutlass tucked into his belt. They looked like men to be reckoned with, and Tone had a sudden premonition that before this war was over, Sprague would need every one of them.
Sprague himself looked as hale and hearty as ever, short, stocky and indestructible. He had not dressed himself from the slop chest, but wore an expensive pearl gray suit, a top hat of the same color and a huge diamond stickpin sparkling in his cravat. He did not appear to be armed, perhaps trusting to the Colts of his men for his protection.
As soon as he set foot on the dock, he beckoned Penman to one side and the two had an animated, heads-bent conversation. When it was done, Sprague stepped to Tone, his hand extended.
“One down, five to go, Mr. Tone,” he said. “But there is still much work to be done.”
Tone made the appropriate response, and Sprague’s attention was drawn to Chastity. His eyes moved over her body from shoes to hat. Then he said, smiling, “And who is this divine creature?” He looked at Tone. “Yours?”
Tone shook his head, then nodded in Penman’s direction. “His.”
Sprague was surprised. “Luther, you’ve been holding out on me. I didn’t know you’d given up boys, you old rogue.”
The lawyer was quick to explain. “I hired Miss Christian to be Mr. Tone’s assistant,” he said. “To aid him in any way he deems necessary.”
“You mean as a private secretary or something?” Sprague asked, puzzled.
“He means as a bounty hunter,” Tone said. “I didn’t kill Mickey Kerr. She did.”
Sprague was silent for a moment as he took the mental step from puzzled to completely bewildered. Finally he said, “I’ve never heard of such a thing. There are no lady bounty hunters in the West.”
Chastity smiled. “There are now, Mr. Sprague. Well, one at least.”
“She’s good at her job,” Penman said. “Men who underestimate her have a habit of ending up dead.”
“In Boot Hill. Isn’t that the term, Miss Christian?” Sprague grinned.
“That’s the term. And I’ve put a few there.”
“And are you as pure as your name implies?” Sprague asked.
“I’m sure you will very soon endeavor to answer that question for yourself,” Chastity said.
Sprague laughed. “Damn my eyes if that wasn’t well said! Come alongside o’ me, lass, and take my arm. We’ll walk together. I keep a fine establishment on Kearney Street befitting a lady like yourself.”
“Mr. Sprague, we’ve got trouble,” Penman said, his voice low and urgent.
Tone looked ahead of them and saw two dozen policemen shaking out in a loose skirmish line, guns drawn. At their head, stern as ever, was the broad and determined form of Sergeant Thomas Langford.
Chapter 19
“Langford,” Sprague said, “what the hell are you doing out of your scratcher at this time o’ the day? I always thought you were a nocturnal son of a bitch, like a bat.”
“Ah, Captain Sprague, as pleasant as ever,” the cop said, his huge arms crossed over his chest. “What brings you on land? Is the piracy business slow?”
“Is that an accusation, Langford?” Penman said, taking a threatening step toward the sergeant. “I warn you, be respectful now. I could have your badge.”
“Respectful, to a well-known pirate rogue”—Langford’s eyes roamed over Sprague’s toughs—“and as scurvy a group of cutthroats as I ever clapped eyes on.”
“I warn you—” the lawyer began.
Sprague talked over him. “Langford, we go back a ways, you and me. You know that the last brave pirate lads hauled down their colors and found berths on the beach twoscore years ago. If you have come to arrest me, then get it done and be damned to ye.” He thrust out his hands in a dramatic gesture. “Where are the shackles?”
Langford shook his head. “I’m not here to arrest you, Cap’n Sprague—”
“Then, damn your soul, why did you bring an army?”
“Call it a bait o’ insurance, Cap’n. Force is the only thing a blackhearted pirate rascal like you understands.”
“Be circumspect, Sergeant Langford,” Penman warned. “You’re treading on extremely dangerous ground here.”
If the big cop was intimidated, he hid it well. “Cap’n Sprague—”
“Mr. Sprague,” the lawyer snapped.
“Cap’n Sprague, the three-masted clipper ship Bonny Leslie arrived in port yesterday, Captain Oliver McCoy commanding,” Langford said. “He reported that the day before, he sailed through the wreckage of a ship seventeen miles south of the Golden Gate. Her logbook was found floating among the debris and identified her as the steam freighter Benton, bound for the port of London with a cargo of silver coin and gold bullion.”
“And what’s all that to me, Langford?” Sprague asked. “Two days ago I was thirty miles nor’west of the Golden Gate strait. Hell roast your guts, man, what are you implying?”
“What am I implying, Cap’n Sprague? Piracy, man! Piracy on the high seas! The Benton went down with all hands, but I believe every man jack of them was murdered before the ship was sent to the bottom.”
“I’ve heard enough, Langford,” Penman said. “The only place Mr. Sprague will answer your vile accusations will be in a court of law.” He looked beyond the officer. “Now, call off your dogs and give us the road.”
Langford ignored the man. “Cap’n Sprague, my jurisdiction does not extend to the high seas, but through my superiors I can raise the matter in Washington. I suspect that a naval court of inquiry into the sinking of the Benton could go badly for you.”
Sprague was taken aback. “Damn you, there’s a whiff of blackmail in the wind. Are you trying to shake me down, Langford?”
The cop stared at Sprague, and even from where he stood Tone could feel the force of his anger. Seagulls quarreled noisily over kitchen waste dumped overboard from a ship and a key clanked as a bartender unlocked the door of an early-opening saloon.
“I want no truck with your blood money, Sprague,” Langford said finally. “But aye, ‘blackmail’ is the right word for what I have in mind. The sea is not my jurisdiction, but the waterfront is, and if you start a war, damn you, I’ll go to my superiors and demand an immediate inquiry into the sinking of the steamship Benton.”
Penman yelled, “Blackmail by an officer of the law!” He looked around him. “All here present heard it, my client being threatened with lies and perjury. I will demand—”
“Luther, shut the hell up,” Sprague said. He looked at Langford, who was apparently unmoved by the lawyer’s rant. “Certain elements along the Barbary Coast are attempting to take over my business interests, and they will use force if necessary. What am I to do if I, or my men, are attacked?”
“You will come to me, Cap’n Sprague. My officers will give you all the protection you need.”
Langford’s eyes moved to Tone, dismissed him, then settled on Chastity. “Young lady, I fear you are in the wrong company,” he said.
The woman shook her head. “No, Sergeant, I’m in the right company.”
“I think you may soon change your mind.”
Without another word, the cop turned on his heel and waved to his men to follow him. Holstering their guns, the officers did so, and none of them looked back.
Sprague turned to Tone. “That man will have to go, and soon. A two-thousand-dollar bonus for his head, Mr. Tone.”
Penman was flustered. “Mr. Sprague, it’s no small thing to kill a San Francisco police sergeant. There will be repercussions all along the waterfront.”
Chastity smiled. “A police sergeant can die like any other man and it is a small thing.”
Tone looked at Sprague. “A full-scale police investigation could be bad for business.”
“Then what do you suggest, Mr. Tone?”
“Kill your five enemies quickly enough and there will be no time for a war.”
Sprague thought that through, then said, “What you say makes sense. But at least for now, the death of Langford must remain an option.” He smiled at Chastity and put his arm around her slender waist. “I like the cut of your jib, young lady. I think you and I are going to be the best of friends—lay to that.”
The expression on Penman’s face shocked Tone. The man was looking after the woman, his lips peeled back from his long yellow teeth in what was almost a feral snarl.
Was he jealous of Chastity? Hardly that. Penman was a known pedophile who had no sexual interest in women.
Damn it, Tone thought to himself, why does he look at her like that?
The question troubled him and he wished he had an answer.
The man was spread-eagled on the wood floor, his wrists and ankles lashed to iron rings that had been bolted to the thick timber. A fire burned in the room, several iron pokers glowing cherry red in the coals.
There was a single chair, set near the terrified prisoner, and it was currently occupied by Chastity Christian, Sprague standing at her elbow.
When Tone had stepped into the room, Sprague had smiled at him and said, “I wanted you to witness this, Mr. Tone. The information we get from this sniveling wretch could be useful to you.”
Now Tone glanced at the man, who was naked, his skin gleaming with sweat.
“That poor excuse for a human being on the floor is Five Ace Johnny Kemp, sometime gambler, sometime pimp and full-time weasel. He works for Joseph Carpenter, one of the five, and he knows where we can find him.”
Tone searched his brain, then remembered. Carpenter owned a waterfront saloon and kept a steam yacht at the docks. He was said to be good with a gun.
“Mr. Sprague, I don’t know where Joe is. I swear I don’t.” Kemp groaned, his eyes bulging.
The man was beyond fear, teetering on the verge of hysterical terror. Tone figured Kemp must know his chances of leaving Sprague’s house alive were slim. But it was the manner of his dying that was scaring him.
“I’ll ask you again, Johnny,” Sprague said. “Where is Carpenter?”
Kemp shook his head. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen him in days.”
“Jack, let him kiss the hot iron,” Sprague said.
The blind giant stepped to the fireplace, pawed his way among the pokers and pulled one from the flames. It glowed ruby red in the semidarkness of the room.
“Let me,” Chastity said, jumping to her feet. “I’ll make him talk.”
“Let her have the poker, Jack,” Sprague said, smiling. “Damn my eyes, but she’s a woman after my own heart.”
Chastity kneeled by Kemp, the smoking iron in her hand. Her breath was coming in short, sharp gasps and she had a look of ecstasy on her face, her lips wet and parted.
“Johnny, where is Carpenter?” she whispered.
“Mr. Sprague,” Tone said quickly, “I think the man’s telling the truth. I don’t think he knows where Carpenter is.”
Sprague shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. Chastity will find out with her woman’s wiles.”
“Where is he, Johnny?” Chastity purred. “You can tell li’l ol’ me, can’t you?”
“I don’t know,” Kemp gasped. The dull scarlet glow of the poker gleamed in his eyes. “Oh, God help me, I don’t know.”
“Too bad, Johnny boy,” the woman said, “because now I’m going to hurt you real bad.”
“No . . . please . . . no. . . .”
The red-hot iron moved down Kemp’s sweating body, an inch from his skin, then came to rest on his naked testicles. Flesh seared and bubbled and Kemp’s shriek was a living thing that ripped its way around the room with claws of sound.
“Well, use my guts for garters, she gelded the son of a bitch,” Sprague roared, slapping his thigh. “There’s a woman for you!”
Chastity’s entire body shuddered convulsively and her head rolled on her shoulders. After a few moments, panting, she said, “Jack, bring me another one.”
“No!” Tone yelled. “The man’s had enough.”
“Keep out of this,” Sprague snapped. “I’ll say when he’s had enough, and that won’t be until he talks.”
“I can’t stand back and watch any more of this,” Tone said, stepping toward the shackled man. “He doesn’t know where Carpenter is.”
“Jack,” Sprague said quietly.
The blind man walked quickly across the room and enveloped Tone in his huge arms. Jack’s strength was enormous and no matter how he struggled Tone was trapped like a small child in the grasp of a bedroom monster.
“Amazing, isn’t it, Mr. Tone,” Sprague said, “how he can close with a man. I don’t know if it’s his sense of smell, if he detects body heat or if he has some kind of third eye. He can ram a cutlass dead center into a man’s belly, and I’ve yet to see him miss.”
“What do you want done with him, Cap’n?” Jack asked.
“Hold him. I’ll tell you when to let him loose.” Sprague turned to Chastity. “I’ll get you another iron,” he said.
“I’ll do it,” the woman said. She stepped to the fire and tested the handles of the pokers. Finally she bunched the skirt of her gown in her hand to protect against the heat and slid a poker from the flames.
She walked back to Kemp, who was mouthing whispered pleas for mercy.
“Where is Joe Carpenter, Johnny?” she asked.
“I don’t know. If I knew I’d tell you. I haven’t—”
Chastity kicked the man in the ribs. “You dirty son of a bitch,” she screeched. “You goddamned whore’s bastard!”
The crimson poker plunged downward, into Kemp’s right eye. Then Chastity pushed hard.
Kemp arched his back in agony and the echoes of his shrieks chased each other around the walls.
Tone struggled, using his elbows as he tried to break Jack’s hold on him, but it was impossible, like striking out at an oak tree.
“Jack, let him go,” Sprague said. Then: “Is Johnny boy still alive?”
The blind man threw Tone from him and kneeled beside the gambler, who was now silent. “The lady burned his brains out, Cap’n. Five Ace Johnny ain’t with us no more.”
“Too bad,” Sprague said. “I guess he told the truth. He really didn’t know where Joe Carpenter is holed up.”
Chastity let the poker thud to the floor. She looked at Sprague, her hair wild, her eyes wilder. “Now, Lambert,” she gasped. “Take me now!”
Sprague jumped to his feet and grabbed the woman’s arm, pushing her roughly toward the door. “Get rid of that mess, Jack,” he threw over his shoulder. Then he and Chastity were gone.
