DELIBERATE JUSTICE: The American Way

by Thomas Holladay

  MOTHER NATURE HAD TAKEN control, quickly extinguishing fires all around.

  Mikhail shivered and bit down against his chattering teeth, looking for what else might need to be done.

  Barely visible through falling snow, the three lawmen who'd attacked Mikhail in his hotel room stood under lamplight on the porch of the hotel across the road. The tall, skinny deputy wore Mikhail's new Levi Strauss canvas trousers and wool shirt, his wool jacket, and his new riding boots. The big man in the middle wore Mikhail's sable coat and cap. All three watched down the road past the laundry.

  The large pine tree near the pharmacy had proved a good screen. Perhaps they had not seen Mikhail. A good thing. He wasn't yet ready for confrontation. He needed weapons.

  The three watched Chiang Po carry a woman up the frozen road past the laundry, struggling under her weight. She'd been blackened by soot. Another Chinaman carrying a small child followed Chiang Po.

  Winston Bray rushed out of the laundry and took the woman, easy for him to carry. Bray, Chiang Po, and their victims disappeared up the hill, past the brewery.

  Both deputies hurried down the steps of Hocker House and followed.

  The big man wearing Mikhail's coat and cap turned back went into the hotel.

  A small figure stood at a window on the second floor. Maybe a woman; there was too much snow to be sure.

  Mikhail picked his way down the tree, walked down the circular stair in front of the pharmacy, and followed the deputies uphill past the brewery.

  The deputies entered the forest toward Winston Bray's house.

  Mikhail followed.

  Bray's door stood wide open. He was a law-abiding citizen with nothing to hide.

  Both deputies climbed onto the porch in front of the open door.

  Mikhail snuck up behind them, quiet in fresh snow, close enough to hear.

  The tall deputy said, "We're looking for that foreigner, the one you all brung up here."

  Mikhail knelt to look between the tall deputy's legs.

  Winston and Wanda Bray knelt inside with Chiang Po, all looking back at the deputies. They did not see Mikhail.

  The victim on the floor had been charred worse than anybody Mikhail had seen, even in war. The other Chinaman held a small child in a burned and tattered dress, who was writhing and whimpering in pain.

  Bray said, "What foreigner? There's nobody else here. You're welcome to search."

  Logs for Bray's fireplace had been cut and neatly stacked near the steps. A separate pile of smaller branches looked more useful.

  Both deputies stepped inside.

  Mikhail found a trimmed branch, easy to grip. He stepped quietly onto the stone porch and eased into the doorway. "I am here."

  Both deputies spun to face him.

  Mikhail jammed the end of the branch into the tall deputy's face like a spear.

  The solid jab struck below the deputy's nose and teeth crunched. His head snapped back and he flopped onto the floor. He howled and rolled into a ball, grabbing his face with both hands.

  Mikhail moved quickly toward Deputy Preston Dawes.

  Wild-eyed, Dawes backed into Winston Bray.

  Mikhail stepped closer with his branch.

  Dawes struggled with Mikhail's shoulder holster, unfamiliar with it. He waddled sideways away from Bray and looked down at Mikhail's holstered Colt, fiddling with the hammer. The gun went off and Dawes yelped. He fell to the floor, grabbed his bleeding boot in both hands, and scooted toward his writhing friend. He sat, watched bright red blood pulse from his boot, and howled.

  The tall deputy let go of his bleeding mouth to look at his friend's foot. He looked at Mikhail, rolled onto his knees, reached behind his back, and stood with Mikhail's knife.

  Mikhail stepped in and slammed the branch across the side of the tall deputy's head.

  The tall deputy fell onto Dawes in an unconscious heap.

  Dawes pushed him aside, held up his hand, and shook his head. No more.

  Mikhail said, "I will have my clothes and weapons." He nodded at Wanda. "What about the woman and child?"

  "Both dead. The wee baby, just now."

  Chiang Po stood near the kitchen, talking Chinese to the dazed and confused Chinaman, probably the husband and father of the dead.

  Wanda spread a blanket over their bodies.

  Mikhail spotted his bowl of soup and picked it up. He sipped. It was cold, but tasty. He drank it down and handed the empty bowl to Wanda. "You might want to leave the room. I need to get dressed."

  She started to laugh, but didn't. "You want to hide your long underwear?" She smiled. She'd already seen them.

  Keeping an eye on Deputy Preston Dawes, Mikhail undressed the tall, unconscious deputy and changed clothes.

  Dawes barely noticed, rocking up and down with both hands wrapped around his blood-pumping left boot.

  Winston stepped over Dawes with Mikhail's knife. "Preston, you know we need to cut that boot off."

  Dawes hissed and nodded, letting go of his boot. He stretched out his leg and wiped blood on his pants.

  Winston slit down the side of the bloody boot and looked across at his wife. "Wanda, go in and boil some water. Put in some Epsom salt."

  She went into the kitchen.

  "That's my knife." Mikhail opened the lapel of his wool jacket. His California Ranger badge was still there.

  Bray handed him the knife and Mikhail sheathed it behind his back. He unbuckled his belt, slid the scabbard off, repositioned it at his left side, and re-buckled the belt. He took off his jacket and tapped Preston's shoulder. "Give me that." He picked up his Colt.

  Dawes took off the shoulder holster and handed it over.

  Mikhail adjusted the harness and refitted the holster. He checked the spare cylinder on his belt, holstered the Colt, and put on his wool jacket. Everything was now in its proper place.

  The dazed Chinaman moved slowly into the room and sat on the floor near his dead wife and daughter. His shoulders slumped and he quietly wept.

  Wanda returned with a pail of steaming water.

  Chiang Po stopped her, reached into his burlap bag, found the appropriate herbs, and poured them in. There was a bitter odor. He hadn't yet asked about SuLin—maybe because he couldn't speak English; maybe because he'd been busy helping others.

  Mikhail and Bray carried Deputy Dawes into a chair and Wanda set the hot water in front of him.

  Dawes gripped both hands behind his knee and eased his bleeding foot toward the water. When his toes touched water, he pulled back.

  Bray said, "The fool shot off his middle toe."

  Dawes looked. "Yeeow!"

  Mikhail stood in front of Dawes, looking into his blinking eyes. "Deputy Preston Dawes, the State of California, under the direction of Supreme Court Justice Solomon Heydenfeldt, has granted me certain discretions with my application of the law. Do you understand this?"

  The tall deputy grumbled and moved a little, coming around.

  Mikhail decided to wait and speak with both deputies.

  Dawes held his bleeding foot above the water. "You gonna shoot us or what?"

  SAM CARSON WALKED BACK into the saloon, feeling good about having helped block the spread of the fire. They'd saved the town. He'd worked as a member of a team.

  Randy Bartow stood alone at the bar and watched them come in. He walked behind the bar and filled pitchers with beer. He raked off suds with a wood scraper and topped them off before lining them up on the bar. He set several clean mugs near the full pitchers. "Men, the beer's on the house tonight. You've done a fine piece of work."

  Men bellied up to the bar, pouring and thirstily slurping beers.

  Randy set out more mugs. Men were still coming in. He told Sam, "Go clean up and bring some girls down. We might do some business."

  Covered in soot, Jimmy Dawes, Preston's older brother, marched in with the flood of volunteer firefighters. He worked at the brewery.

  Sam thought he should be happy about putting out the fire, but h
e wasn't. Sam had never seen him smile about anything.

  Jimmy grabbed a free beer and faced Randy. "Where's Preston? I heard some foreigner roughed him up." He acted like he held Randy responsible.

  Randy didn't mind. "I wasn't there, but don't worry yourself. He'll be okay. He's got two shiners and a broken nose, is all. The foreigner interrupted his happy night; caught him off guard."

  "Thought you wasn't there."

  "Just going by what Preston said. I sent him and Talpin after the man. We almost nabbed him earlier; took his clothes and weapons. There shouldn't be any trouble." Randy looked up and down the bar and leaned close, speaking privately to Jimmy, Sam close enough to hear. "He's a ranger, an officer of the damn Supreme Court, for Christ's sake."

  Randy noticed Sam listening and poked his head toward the stair. Get going.

  NEARLY AN HOUR LATER, bathed, shaved, and changed, Sam replaced Randy behind the bar.

  Randy's brows drew together in a scowl. He hadn't liked waiting an hour for Sam. He grabbed a fresh mug of beer, pushed between the Chinese serving girls, and joined Jimmy Dawes at a table in the corner farthest from the hotel lobby, another good location from which to watch the whole room.

  Dusty Acres and Justin Kelly stood at the bar, swilling down free beers, getting drunk, and talking about their glory hole again. They'd been two of only a few miners in the area when Sam had first reached the Trinity River and staked his claim.

  Their glory hole had been a swirl of gravel and rock, filled with hazelnut-sized nuggets. They'd barely scratched out a living since, but never stopped talking about that glory hole.

  Sam had tired of hearing about it.

  Horace Talpin snuck into the saloon from the hotel lobby wearing nothing but dirty long johns and sporting a nasty, purple knot in the center of his forehead. Dried blood clung to his left ear and upper lip. He snuck up to the bar, obviously looking for Randy.

  Sam poked his thumb toward the corner table.

  Randy stood and walked toward the bar, motioning Horace to come closer. They met near the center of the bar.

  "What the hell happened to you?"

  Jimmy Dawes stood and joined them. "Where's Preston?"

  Horace grabbed a full beer, took a drink, and whistled through broken teeth. "That damn foreigner shot Preston in his foot. Shot his middle toe clean off. They're all up at the Bray place with that Chinese doctor. Got Preston's foot soaking in a tub of water."

  Jimmy's eyes trimmed to mean slits, thinking about it. He pushed away from the bar and turned toward the hotel lobby.

  Horace said, "No need to go up there." He looked at Randy. "That fella said he's coming down to talk to you. He'll be along quick enough."

  "That'll do." Jimmy pulled a muzzle loader from his front-mounted holster and checked the percussion cap, making sure the weapon was loaded and dry before setting it on the bar.

  Randy said, "What's he want to talk to me about?"

  "That Chinese girl. That doctor's daughter. I told him you bought her fair and square, that the doctor signed her over."

  "That's it?"

  "Well . . ." Horace looked at Sam for guidance over something he hesitated to tell Randy.

  Sam sipped beer. No advice tonight.

  Horace spit blood on the floor and braced against the bar. He wouldn't look at Randy. "When he asked how you paid for her, I acted like I didn't know."

  "And?" Randy wanted all of it.

  "Was Preston told him the rest."

  "The rest?"

  "You know, how you bought her with that license for her daddy to practice medicine. How you never even give that over."

  Randy scowled into his beer. "Anything else?"

  Everybody in the room had witnessed Randy's rage.

  Horace blinked and backed up a step. He took a long pull of beer, set the empty mug on the bar, and looked to Sam while talking to Randy. "Well, there was that sheriff down in Redding."

  "What about him?"

  "Preston told all about what happened there, how I was rolling that drunk and the sheriff showed up."

  "And?"

  Horace swallowed hard and stared at shifting socks. He'd choke before he'd say more.

  "How in hell did Preston find out about Redding?"

  "The foreigner told the others he'd be down to arrest you for extortion, that there are no laws in California requiring a license to practice medicine."

  "Others? What others?"

  "Henry Hocker showed up. Him and Dr. Davison. And the Brays, of course."

  "Anybody else?" Randy's pursed lips turned red.

  "Only a Chinese family. A dead woman and her baby burned up in the fire. The Chinaman—you know, the woman's husband—he just sat on the floor kind of stunned, like. Crying, of course. His wife and kid, you know . . ." Horace looked away from Randy, begging not to say more. He looked into his empty beer and slid down the bar a foot farther away from Randy Bartow.

  Randy stared at Horace's bloody ear for a long minute. "Well, we'd best get ready."

  MIKHAIL FOLLOWED HENRY Hocker and Dr. Davison down the trail through the forest. It was still snowing hard.

  Hocker said, "Randy Bartow's a sneaky snake. He'd rather back shoot a man than to face him up, like Dawes said."

  "He always keeps his new girls in his private rooms," said Davison. "He takes the first few pokes for himself; some longer than others."

  Mikhail understood. This sheriff would be the first to rape Chiang SuLin.

  Davison said, "He hasn't called me over to examine her, yet, make sure she's a healthy virgin."

  "He does this?"

  "I've examined nine of these girls, all healthy virgins; his personal concubines until he tires of them."

  Nearing the clearing behind the brewery, Mikhail stopped the others under the trees, protection against falling snow. "Then what?"

  "Then he puts them to work on the third floor," said Hocker, angry.

  Dawes had told them how Bartow used marked decks of cards; had a whole case of marked decks in his desk. This evidence of cheating had pleased Henry Hocker. He might get his hotel back.

  Mikhail had promised to examine these cards, which were more evidence to bring to Sacramento for Sheriff Bartow's trial. That and the sworn testimony of his deputies would be enough to convict him.

  Davison said, "He calls me over once a month to check the health of all of his girls; look for pox and lesions. Some were going to the Chinese doctor before Bartow put a stop to it. I check them for pregnancy, sometimes, if they think they might be. When they start to showing, Bartow puts them to work as maids. When they have their babies, he puts them on the second floor, shaving and bathing hotel guests. There are things he does that I can agree with. Other slave owners might keep them working on the third floor and never check their health."

  "How decent of him." Mikhail spit into the snow, uncomfortable with having taken a bath himself. Girls at the Palace had always been well-treated, all free to come and go.

  They walked slowly downhill past the brewery in heavy snow.

  Hocker said, "Preston Dawes has a brother named Jimmy, who's a little older and a lot meaner. He arrived sometime last year. He works at this here brewery." He nodded to the building between the pharmacy and stable. "You might have to keep an eye out for that one. He backs up Preston whenever he's got trouble with Bartow. I don't think it much bothers Bartow."

  "Jimmy won't mess with Randy Bartow," said Davison.

  "No." Hocker agreed. "Say, what do we call you, anyway? You're a count or something?"

  Mikhail took only a moment to think about this, his changing life. "Call me Mike, Mike Zabel. I am American citizen."

  Davison said, "What about that other part? What about the State Supreme Court?"

  "I am a California Ranger, sworn in by a supreme court justice. If I find cause, I am to deliver these men to Sacramento for trial. Deputy Preston Dawes, Deputy Horace Talpin, you and some others may be called as witnesses."

  "Witnesses?" Henr
y Hocker didn't like this one.

  "Yes, Henry." Davison seemed willing to travel to Sacramento.

  "What then?" Hocker liked being pressured even less.

  They stopped under the shelter of the tree near Mikhail's room, out of the snow. Mikhail said, "California entered the union as a free state. Some slaves are brought here from slave states, but they cannot be bought or sold here. The Chinese are different. They are brought here as indentured slaves for seven years and sold only within the Chinese community.

  "The state calls these the un-free and chooses not to interfere. Judge Heydenfeldt has strong feelings about this. He believes many young girls are kidnapped from their homes in China, brought here against their will, and sold into prostitution. He wants to bring a test case before the State Supreme Court.

  "Since this is happening here with a white man buying slaves through extortion, the judge feels it will be easy for the court to rule in favor of the Chinese. This will become a precedent for future jurisprudence."

  "A what?" Hocker had no idea.

  "The court will use this case as a foundation for future judicial actions, and the state legislature can use it to establish future laws."

  "Oh." Hocker nodded, blank. He still did not understand.

  Davison said, "Let us go in first. We'll see the layout; give you a warning, if need be."

  Mikhail nodded, Okay. They walked around the corner and up the front steps of Hocker House. Davison and Hocker gave Mikhail a curt nod and entered the hotel.

  Mikhail crossed to the high front windows of the saloon and looked inside. He stepped back and to one side, not wanting to be seen.

  Sheriff Randy Bartow, the man wearing Mikhail's sable coat and cap, stood at the end of the bar near the main stair. The coat did not fit this man. It was too small for him. The sheriff spoke with the tall deputy, dressed now in his own clothes and boots. A third man stood with them.

  Henry Hocker and Dr. Davison entered from the hotel lobby.

  All three men at the bar turned toward them with guns drawn, ready to shoot Mikhail on sight. Seeing it was Davison and Hocker, they put their guns away, bent back over the bar, and continued their private conversation.