"The Chinee gal snatched by the tongs?"
"Not quite," Gillan replied.
"You don't mean... Christ! She's been here all this time?"
"No time for questions now. We need to—"
As he spoke, the office door swung open for two uninvited visitors. Kate Blaze was first inside, pistol in hand, her husband close behind.
"Well, now," she said. And asked of no one in particular, "What have we here?"
* * *
"You're not allowed in here," Gillan declared, a tremor in his voice. "This is trespassing."
"Want to run us in, Captain?" J.D. asked Brogan. "If we get past all the Chinamen downstairs, I'd love to hear you tell the chief what you and Kevin think you're doing with the lady, here."
Kate chimed in, saying, "One of you correct me if I'm wrong. Is this not Soong Mai-ling, reported kidnapped out of Chinatown? The girl who's got the tongs at one another's throats?"
"I didn't know a goddamn thing about this!" Brogan told her.
"That's a likely story," Kate replied.
"Shut up, Brogan!" snapped Gillan. "We're both finished if they leave this room alive."
"You've got a couple problems, then," J.D. declared. "First is, we've got the drop on you. Second, the tongs are knocking on your door, and they aren't singing Christmas carols."
"Damn it, I'm a lawman!" Brogan blustered. "Do you think I'd take part in a kidnappin'?"
"I think you'd do most anything that lines your pockets, Captain," Kate replied. "Again, correct me if I'm wrong."
"Not this," said Brogan. Turning toward the man in white, he said, "Gillan, I have no choice but to arrest you for—"
"You idiot," spat Gillan. "Take me in for trial, and what do you suppose becomes of you? You're in on every deal I've made with ... you know."
"Gavin Farrell," Kate supplied the name for him. "Don't be afraid to say it."
"How in hell—?"
"We saw you having breakfast with him at Delmonico's," J.D. explained. "Real cozy."
Gillan coughed an almost-laugh. "What's that supposed to prove? We're businessmen. Of course we meet and talk things over when we have a common interest."
"Like eliminating Chinatown," Kate said, "while you corner the opium and whatever goes with it?"
"You're insane. Brogan, will you—"
"Just leave me outa this," the captain said, showing them empty hands.
"You useless, fat-assed bastard!" Gillan snarled. "I oughta—"
"Careful, Gillan," J.D. warned him, covering the frantic man in white.
"To hell with you! To hell with all of you!"
The pocket pistol seemed to come from nowhere, maybe up the sleeve of Gillan's white jacket. It looked to be a Smith & Wesson Model 1, the single-action, tip-up style chambered in .22 Short. The first Kate saw of it was when he shoved the captive Chinese girl in her direction, blocking any clear shot she might have at the proprietor of Beauregard's Emporium. Instead of aiming at herself or J.D., though, Gillan first turned on Brogan, who was scrambling for his own six-gun but getting there too late.
The shot's flat crack was muted in the office, but its impact was apparent. Barely accurate beyond ten feet, the bullet only traveled half that far before it punctured Brogan's forehead, just above his bushy left eyebrow. The captain staggered, sat down on the floor, then toppled over slowly, dead eyes staring at the dandy who had killed him.
That left six rounds in the Model 1, its muzzle swinging back to find J.D. and Kate. No gunfighter himself, Gillan had used his one clean shot on Brogan, and he never got a second chance as twin Colts thundered in the death room, .44-caliber slugs ripping into his chest side by side.
Gillan went down, a vaguely dazed expression on his face, the pocket pistol bouncing over carpet as his dead fingers released it. Soong Mai-ling stumbled past Kate, as if she had forgotten how to run in her captivity, angling directly toward the office door. Kate had a hand out, to restrain her, when that door burst open and a gang of armed Chinese rushed in to join the party.
* * *
Huo Xiang heard the gunfire as he led his raiders up the stairs. Behind them, all was silence in the main barroom of Beauregard's Emporium, no more resistance from the white men they'd cut down. He had no idea who was shooting on the second floor, or why, with no defenders visible, but now he raised a hand and warned his men, "Dāngxīn!"
Be careful!
On the landing, Huo Xiang moved directly to the nearest door, marked "PRIVATE." With the barest hesitation, pistol clutched so tightly that his knuckles ached, he gripped the doorknob, felt it turn, and barged into a room reeking of gunsmoke.
The first shock came when he collided with a running woman, knocked her to the floor, then recognized the missing Soong Mai-ling. The next: two men lay dead before him, several feet apart, both shot. And over them, now facing toward the door and Huo Xiang's men, stood the two round-eyes who'd pursued him on the night he blundered into Beauregard's Emporium with Chee Kong killers on his heels. The same whites he'd seen meeting with his master, Chen Jinguang, not long ago.
Their guns were aimed at him; his pistol, and the weapons of his fellow soldiers, were prepared to take them down. Before another shot was fired, Huo shouted out, "Méiyǒu pāishè!" And then, in English, for the two round-eyes: "No shooting!"
The moment froze, and then the blond woman asked Huo, "What brings you here?"
"My master's order," he replied. "We came for that one." Nodding toward the corpse dressed all in bloodstained white.
"And what about the girl?" asked J.D. Blaze.
Huo spent a second thinking that one through. "She comes with us to Chinatown," he said, at last. "It answers much to know the round-eye stole her."
Man and wife exchanged a glance, then shrugged in unison. "Suits us," the woman said, making no move to sheath her pistol. "You're a little late for Gillan, though."
Frowning, Huo said, "I need proof of his death." He slipped his pistol down into the waistband of his trousers, then reached underneath his jacket for a heavy cleaver slung beneath his left armpit. A pocket of the coat gave up a burlap sack, unfolding with a flick of Huo's left wrist.
"Oh, boy," the woman said, retreating as Huo passed her, standing over Gillan's corpse, then kneeling to its right. He turned the lifeless face away from him, so that the dead man's spirit would not fasten onto him as he performed his bloody work.
It took three mighty swings to sever Gillan's head, then Huo Xiang dropped it in the sack, gave it a spin to seal the open top, and wiped his cleaver on the once-white coat that had become a crimson shroud. Rising to his feet, Huo nodded toward the office doorway and his men began withdrawing, some of them reluctant to leave two round-eyes alive.
"You live because my master wills it," he informed J.D. and Kate. "Do not come back to Chinatown unless he summons you."
"We won't be here that long," J.D. replied. Then added, to confuse the Chinaman, "The honeymoon's over, anyway."
Chapter 15
J.D. and Kate got out of Beauregard's Emporium before the first wave of police arrived. By then, the tong raiders had all evaporated, carrying their dead and wounded from the battlefield and back to Chinatown. Leaving the Barbary Coast for the last time, Kate and J.D. passed the sprawled bodies of white men who had gone down fighting, running for their lives, whatever.
All in vain.
"There'll be hell to pay over this," Kate said, once they had cleared the red-light district.
"Just so long as no one sends the bill to us," J.D. replied.
"That thing with Gillan's head. Jesus!"
"You heard the man. He needed proof for Chen."
"And Kot Bocheng, I'm betting. You did notice that the Chinamen were wearing black and navy blue?"
"I saw that, yeah," J.D. agreed. "Maybe this thing united them, somehow."
"They'll have a hard time of it, with the law," Kate said.
"They're criminals," J.D. reminded her.
"I know. But still..."
"Wh
at?"
"Coming halfway round the world to a new country, and before they're even off the boat, they've got our people treating them like trash."
"You can't change human nature, Babe," he said. "Most folks need someone to look down on, and the lowest need it most of all. What are they worth, and what's the point of living, if they're stuck down at the bottom of the heap?"
"It shouldn't be that way."
"Agreed. But it's beyond me. Beyond us."
"One thing we can do," Kate suggested.
"Oh? What's that?"
"Take time to ruin Gavin Farrell's day."
* * *
They tried the fat man's bank first, where a prissy little manager regarded them with thinly veiled disdain, informing them that Mr. Farrell always spent Thursdays dealing with business at his shipping office. They could find it—and presumably the man himself—where Lombard Street met Van Ness Avenue.
The office wasn't much to look at, for a rich man's place, but J.D. figured Farrell likely spent more on his home, wherever that was, on the custom suits that clothed his massive frame, and filling his titanic belly at mealtimes. Why waste an extra dollar on commercial property, when you could spend it on yourself and carnal pleasures?
A receptionist who could have been the bank manager's younger brother asked them whether they had an appointment to see Mr. Farrell. J.D. ducked that one. Said, "Tell him his partner sent us."
"Partner?" The receptionist looked skeptical. "I don't believe that Mr. Farrell has a—"
"Kevin Gillan," Kate said. "Tell him."
He was back a moment later, frowning as he led them past his own desk, to an office better suited for a King. The swanky furnishings were oversized, which had the dual effect of making Farrell's bulk seem normal, while his visitors were physically diminished.
Farrell was standing tall and broad behind his desk when Kate and J.D. entered. Noticing their guns, he puckered pudgy lips and said, "Oh, my. Is there some difficulty?"
"You're safe here," J.D. told him. "Not so much on the Barbary Coast."
Farrell sat down without inviting them to do the same. "The Coast?" he said. "What has that got to do with me?"
Kate countered with a question of her own. "Why haven't you asked who we are?"
The fat man blinked at that. "A simple oversight. And you are...?"
"Kate and J.D. Blaze."
"That rings a distant bell."
"Maybe from breakfast yesterday," J.D. suggested. "At Delmonico's?"
"I dine there regularly," Farrell said. "I don't recall seeing the two of you among its patrons."
"We were thinking that your partner might have mentioned us," said Kate.
"This partner you refer to: who might that be?"
"It was Kevin Gillan," J.D. said. "You'll need a new one, though."
"He lost his head for business," Kate put in.
"Sorry, but I don't understand."
"No problem," J.D. said. "The tongs will likely send someone around to fill you in, after the smoke clears from this morning on the Coast."
Farrell was sweating now, a fat man's common malady, as he replied, "The tongs? You're speaking riddles now."
"We don't have time to lay it all out for you," Kate said, "but you know the details better than we do."
"Except the last bit," J.D. added.
"Right," she said. "There's that."
"Mr. and Mrs. Blaze, I am a busy man. If you are simply here to puzzle me with nonsense—"
"Soong Mai-ling," Kate said. "Your buddy Gillan kidnapped her from Chinatown to start a war between the two main tongs, hoping their violence would draw more members to the Native Sons. Are you one of them, by the way?"
"I am," Farrell replied. "Not that it's any of your business."
"Just a point of curiosity," Kate said, "to tie things up. Speaking of which, you may or may not know that Gillan murdered Emile Beauregard, trying to pin it on the tongs. Likely believing he could wipe out Chinatown, or most of it, while Captain Brogan and his coppers blamed the riots on 'celestials'."
"Too bad he underestimated his opponents," J.D. said. "That's how he lost his head today."
"Own mama wouldn't know him," Kate remarked.
"That's twice you've mentioned that he 'lost his head'. I'm not sure that I—"
"Literally," J.D. said. "Chop-chop. The hatchet men."
The fat man's florid face went pale. "Good lord! I don't...I can't...I mean..."
"Hang on to that confusion," Kate advised him. "It could help you with the coppers. That, and all the money that you're sitting on."
"I doubt the tongs will be impressed, though," J.D. said.
"What could they want from me?" Farrell demanded. Was that guilt behind his eyes?
"Maybe some justice," Kate suggested. "Something tells me they've found out that you were cooking all this up with Gillan in the first place, leaving him to do the dirty work with Brogan, while you count the money rolling in. Just out of curiosity, what is the monthly take from opium and Chinese whores?"
"You can't believe that I—"
"It doesn't matter spit what we believe," J.D. informed him. "Your worry is what the tongs believe."
"How would they even—?" Farrell caught himself and lumbered to his feet, molding his round face into an expression of outrage. "How dare you barge in here and make these groundless accusations? I should sue for defamation, have you both arrested for—"
"Passing the time of day?" Kate said. "Good luck with that."
"Call it a friendly warning," J.D. said. "I hope you're not too fond of dining out in Chinatown."
"From what I hear," Kate said, "that chop suey can kill you."
"You will leave now," Farrell ordered, "or I shall summon police."
"We're going," Kate conceded. "But I think you'll find the cops are busy, mopping up along the Coast."
* * *
"Well, that was fun," she said, as they approached the Grand Hotel.
"You think he bought it?" J.D. asked her.
"Bought what? Most of it was true. The parts we filled in, call it educated guesswork."
"But the tongs connecting Gillan and the rest of it to Farrell?"
"They're smarter than most folks give them credit for. But just in case, I thought I might drop Chen a line before we leave."
"Anonymously," J.D. said.
"What else?"
They had their suite booked for another night, and after that, J.D. had no idea of where they would wind up next. One thing was sure: he'd had his fill of crowded cities for a good, long while.
He sounded wistful as he said, "I guess that's it for honeymoons."
"Why do you say that?"'
"Think about it, Kate. Last time, we tried in Colorado and—"
"That would have worked out fine, without your old flame dropping in."
"She wasn't my old flame."
"Oh, right. Your hooker, then. That's so much better."
"Kate." He didn't want to fight that war again. Enough time had been wasted, lives lost, on the first go-round.
Kate stopped and turned to face him. "I know what you're saying, though," she said, voice softening. "You think we're cursed, J.D.?"
"I wouldn't go that far," he said. "But where the honeymoon's concerned, maybe we just waited too long to pull it off."
"Maybe you're right."
"There's good news, though," he said.
"What's that?"
"Each time we get together, it feels like the first to me."
"Silver-tongued devil."
"They don't call me suave for nothing," J.D. said.
"Who calls you suave?"
"Somebody must've, one time or another."
"Keep believing that one, Lover."
"I was wondering. You want to take off early?"
"What, like after breakfast?"
"No, I mean today."
Kate took his hand and said, "Forget it, Mr. Suave. We've still got one night left in that four-poster bed."
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"If you're not sick and tired of me."
"When that happens," she said, "I'll let you know."
"Okay. Where were you wanting to try next?"
She thought about it as they walked on toward the Grand Hotel. "I don't have anyplace in mind," she said, at last. "But somewhere east of here."
"How far east?" J.D. asked her.
"Just until it feels more like the West," Kate said.
BLAZE!
The All-New Adult Western Series
BLAZE! by Stephen Mertz
J.D. and Kate Blaze are two of the deadliest gunfighters the Old West has ever seen. They also happen to be husband and wife, as passionate in their love for each other as they are in their quest for justice on the violent frontier!
BLAZE! is the first novel in a thrill-packed, all-new Adult Western series created by bestselling action/adventure author Stephen Mertz. J.D. and Kate find themselves facing a deadly ambush by Apaches, then they're hired to track down a gang of ruthless outlaws led by the beautiful, savage bandit queen Rosa Diablo. It's gun-swift excitement all the way in this gritty tale from Stephen Mertz.
BLAZE! #2: THE DEADLY GUNS by Robert J. Randisi
Husband and wife gunfighters Kate and J.D. Blaze are hired to track down a gang of rustlers, but what they don't know is that they're going to find themselves in the middle of a three-cornered war, playing each side against the others. If they're lucky they'll collect three payoffs instead of one...but will those payoffs be in gold—or hot lead?!
Legendary Western author Robert J. Randisi, creator of The Gunsmith, joins the Blaze! team with this fast-action novel of treachery, revenge, passion, and blistering gunplay. From the finest hotels in Denver to a savage showdown in a ghost town, The Deadly Guns is adventure all the way!
BLAZE! #3: BITTER VALLEY by Wayne D. Dundee
J.D. and Kate Blaze, the Old West's only pair of husband-and-wife gunfighters, just want to enjoy their vacation in a beautiful Colorado valley, calling it the honeymoon they never had. But a runaway buggy draws them into a deadly vendetta that threatens the life of one of J.D.'s old friends. Belle Braeden, once a San Francisco soiled dove, is now the wife of one of Colorado's richest ranchers, a fact that the man's spoiled children don't appreciate. When murder strikes, Kate and J.D. have to track down a killer and fight for their own lives against a gang of deadly bushwhackers!
Blaze! Hatchet Men Page 10