by Matt Braun
A gentle rain was falling as the carriage turned off O’Farrell Street. Starbuck wasn’t at all surprised that their destination was located in the Uptown Tenderloin. His theory regarding the boss of San Francisco’s underworld was now confirmed.
All the way uptown he had tried in vain to learn the identity of Mr. Frisco. His questions finally provoked Denny O‘Brien, and he was told to drop the subject. Still, with or without a name, it was clear O’Brien and Fung answered to one man. A man who rubbed elbows with the city’s social elite, the rich and the powerful. A mastermind who had created a brilliant cover, disassociating himself completely from Chinatown and the Barbary Coast. And therefore a man who was exceedingly dangerous.
The thought was foremost in Starbuck’s mind as the carriage rolled to a halt in the alleyway. He knew the next few minutes would determine whether he lived or died. Mr. Frisco had gone to great lengths to conceal his identity. Yet he apparently had no qualms about exposing himself to a Colorado whoremaster. The conclusion was obvious, and the hazard involved was beyond question. Unless Mr. Frisco got all the right answers, the end result was chillingly simple to predict. One whoremaster, more or less, would never be missed.
The alley door opened and Knuckles Jackson waved them inside. Starbuck was treated to yet another search, but took scant comfort from the fact that his hideout gun once again went undetected.; McQueen and Jackson, who belonged to the same brotherhood of gorillas, remained on guard in the storeroom. O’Brien escorted him up the stairs, which meant he was covered front and rear. The chances of shooting his way out weren’t even worth calculating. His wits were now his only hope for survival.
The light in the office was dim, and the man behind the desk sat immobile. Starbuck had the fleeting impression of a store-window dummy propped up in a chair. Then O’Brien closed the door, removing his hat, and walked forward. Starbuck followed suit, quickly inspecting the office. The door to the storeroom stairs was the only exit.
“Here he is,” O’Brien said, halting in front of the desk. “Harry Lovett.”
“Thank you, Denny.” Buckley made a small gesture of dismissal. “Wait downstairs. I’ll call if I need you.”
O’Brien seemed on the verge of questioning the order. Then he bobbed his head, turning away, and crossed the office. A moment later the door closed. Starbuck grinned and stuck out his hand.
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Frisco.”
Starbuck was rocked by a sudden jolt of awareness. His arm extended, leaning over the desk, he got his first good look at the man. The face was a living waxwork, and behind the dark tinted glasses, the eyes were marble-like. He had the eerie sensation of gazing into the eyes of a stuffed animal, glassy and unmoving. Nell’s word’s flitted through his head, and abruptly it all made sense. The blind man! She’d almost blurted it out, and now he saw it for himself. The boss of San Francisco’s underworld was blind. His mouth popped open and he slowly withdrew his hand. He stood there, too stunned to speak.
“Have a seat, Mr. Lovett.” Buckley motioned him to a chair. “I presume it was Denny who referred to me as Mr. Frisco?”
“Yeah.” Starbuck took a seat, rapidly collected his wits. “He said it was all the name I needed to know.”
“By no means,” Buckley said with a frosty smile. “My name is Buckley. Christopher Buckley.”
“Well, Mr. Buckley, maybe you can explain something to me. What’s all this strongarm business about? I came out here to buy myself some whores, and now I’ve got people sticking guns in my face.”
“I’m afraid Denny overreacts at times. You see, Mr. Lovett, we have a difference of opinion with respect to the girls you wish to purchase. I’ve been asked to arbitrate the matter.”
“You’re talking about Fung trying to welch on our deal?”
“Exactly.” Buckley inclined his head in a faint nod. “In Fung’s words, you are not what you represent yourself to be, Mr. Lovett.”
“So Denny told me.” Starbuck switched to a light and mocking tone. “Dumb goddamn Chinaman! Somebody ought to tell him he’s got his head screwed on backward.”
“Perhaps you wouldn’t mind answering a question?”
“Fire away,” Starbuck said cheerfully. “I’ve got no secrets.”
“Are you familiar with Lou Blomger?”
“Why, hell, yes! Everybody in Denver knows Lou Blomger. You name it, he runs it! The rackets, politics—the whole ball of wax.”
“I wired him this morning.” Buckley indicated a telegram lying open on the desk. “If you care to read his reply, he says in no uncertain terms he never heard of Harry Lovett.”
“What’s that prove?” Starbuck protested. “Blomger’s out of my league. I work the mining camps, not Denver. He wouldn’t know me from Adam’s off ox.”
“Come now, Mr. Lovett. A man with your connections—Mattie Silks, no less—and Blomger never heard of you. I find that difficult to believe.”
Starbuck took a chance. “Tell you what, Mr. Buckley. You’re so fond of sending wires, send one to Bailey Youngston in Leadville. He owns the Texas House Saloon and half the town to boot. Ask him if I didn’t knock down the biggest score of my life, not two months ago, sitting right in his joint. Hell, for the right price, he’ll even tell you the sucker’s name!”
There was a long silence. “Very well, Mr. Lovett,” Buckley said at length. “I will defer my decision for the moment—but only on three conditions. One, we will await replies from Mattie Silks and your friend, Youngston. Next, as a gesture of good faith, you will deposit one hundred thousand dollars in the bank of my choice by closing time tomorrow. Will that present any problem?”
“No problem at all,” Starbuck assured him earnestly. “I came prepared to pay in cash, so you just name your bank and I’ll be there johnny-on-the-spot.”
“Fine,” Buckley said with dungeon calm. “I feel quite certain that will go a long way toward dispelling Fung’s apprehension.”
“You said there were three conditions?”
“Indeed, I did.” A cold smile touched the corner of Buckley’s mouth. “Until the matter is resolved to my satisfaction, you will make no attempt to leave San Francisco. Need I elaborate on that condition further?”
“No, sir, no need. I get your drift completely.”
Starbuck knew he’d been given a reprieve, nothing more. Bailey Youngston was the owner of the Texas House Saloon, but nobody in Leadville had ever heard of Harry Lovett. Youngston might answer a wire from a stranger, and he might not. That was a toss-up, and could go either way. The money, on the other hand, was a surefire certainty. And tomorrow at closing time was less than twenty-four hours away.
All of a sudden Starbuck felt like a juggler with one too many balls in the air. Yet there was no question which one he had to grab first, and fastest.
He wondered where the hell he could lay his hands on $100,000!
CHAPTER 11
Nell was waiting in the theater box. The Bella Union was already packed, but she easily spotted them as they moved through the crowd in the barroom. O’Brien paused near the staircase, talking with Starbuck a moment. Then, accompanied by High Spade McQueen, he mounted the stairs and disappeared into his office.
Starbuck looked toward the box and saw her. Doffing his hat, he waved, smiling broadly. She waved back, watching as he crossed the theater and went up the short flight of stairs leading to the loge. Earlier, one of the bartenders had told her he’d left the Bella Union with O’Brien and McQueen. She had no idea where they had gone or why. Nor was she about to ask. Their business dealings were none of her concern, and she preferred to keep it that way. Experience had taught her that inquisitive women often learned too much for their own good. In her view, she was paid to entertain, not ask questions.
“Sorry I’m late.”
Entering the box, Starbuck tossed his hat on the sofa and took a chair beside her. Nell gave him a dazzling smile, and leaned forward to kiss him lightly on the mouth.
“No need to apologiz
e, lover. You’re here now, and that’s what counts.”
“We still set to have supper in your room?”
“Of course.” She removed a bottle of champagne from an ice bucket and filled two glasses. “What’s an hour more or less? The night’s young.”
“That’s my girl!” Starbuck winked and lifted his glass in a toast. “Here’s mud in your eye.”
Nell laughed, clinking glasses. “Yours, too, honeybun.”
Starbuck appraised her as she sipped champagne. He detected a false note in her voice and saw the guarded look in her eyes. He seriously doubted that O’Brien had confided in her, or told her that a meeting had been arranged with Buckley. Yet she was curious, and clearly biting her tongue not to ask questions. He thought to himself that it was a good sign. Her curiosity made her vulnerable.
Handled properly, tonight’s development could accomplish two essential goals. She might easily be beguiled into revealing more about Buckley, and his place in the scheme of things. With time at a premium, any scrap of information was vital, and she represented the only dependable source. Further, the more she revealed, the simpler it would be to enlist her as an ally. By playing on her curiosity, and her fear of O’Brien, she might be forced into a conspiracy from which there was no return. A certain risk was attached, but he really had no choice. Tonight would determine whether or not he could trust her, and exactly how far she would go in the event push came to shove. All that remained was to sound her out.
Tossing off his champagne, he refilled their glasses. Then, a thumb hooked in his vest, he sat back and grinned expansively.
“So far it’s been some night.”
“Oh?”
“Yessir, it has for a fact. Denny introduced me to the big boy himself, in the flesh.”
“The big boy?”
“The blind man.” Starbuck watched her out of the corner of his eye. “Christopher Buckley.”
Surprise washed over Nell’s face. “Denny took you to see Buckley?”
“Sure did,” Starbuck said carelessly. “Had ourselves a pretty nice chat, too.”
Nell nodded, then smiled a little. “You’re going up in the world. Not many people get to meet Mr. Buckley.”
“You mean to say you’ve never met him?”
“Nooo,” she said slowly. “He’s out of my league.”
“Then how’d you know he was blind?”
“Blind?”
“Yeah.” Starbuck idly gestured with his champagne glass. “Last night you started to say something about the blind somebody or other, but you never finished it.”
“I was talking out of turn. I didn’t know Denny had arranged a meeting.”
“Tell you the truth, I don’t think Denny arranged anything.”
Nell gave him a glance full of curiosity. “I’m not sure I understand.”
“Well—” Starbuck took a sip of champagne, pondered a moment. “Unless I read it wrong, when Buckley say frog, Denny squats. Am I right or not?”
“You’re close enough.”
“Thought so.” Starbuck bobbed his head sagely. “Buckley ordered him to bring me around all because of that damn fool Chinaman.”
“Fung?”
“Nothing serious.” Starbuck rocked his hand, fingers splayed. “Fung evidently got cold feet about our deal. Had some asinine notion that Denny and me were out to gaff him somehow.”
Nell looked upset. “You mean Buckley thought you weren’t on the level?”
“The way he put it, he’d been asked to arbitrate the matter. That’s fancy lingo for saying it’s up to him whether or not the deal goes through.”
“What happened?”
“Won’t know for a couple of days,” Starbuck observed casually. “He wants to check out my references before he decides, and I told him that was fine by me. Harry Lovett’s got nothing to hide.”
“You’re sure of that?” Nell asked anxiously. “Buckley’s one man you don’t want for an enemy.”
Starbuck uttered a low chuckle. “I got the same impression myself. Denny acted like he was in the presence of Jesus Christ and the Lord God Jehovah all rolled into one.”
“You’re getting warm, lover. So far as this town’s concerned, anyway.”
“Now that you mention it,” Starbuck appeared thoughtful, “on the way uptown, Denny called him ‘Mr. Frisco.’ I reckon the name fits, or else Denny and Fung wouldn’t report to him like good little soldiers.”
“Denny told you that?”
“Told me what?”
“About reporting to Buckley?”
“Nope,” Starbuck readily admitted. “But it’s plain enough to see. Denny and Fung are like lieutenants; one runs the Coast and the other runs Chinatown. Buckley cracks the whip, and whatever hoop he holds up, that’s the one they jump through.”
“I wouldn’t say that out loud too often if I were you.”
“Why?” Starbuck looked at her directly. “It’s the truth, isn’t it?”
Nell averted her gaze. A troupe of acrobats went tumbling across the stage, and she watched them in silence for a time. Finally, with a furtive shrug, she spoke in a low voice.
“Harry, the truth can get you hurt. Take some good advice, and don’t let anybody know you’ve figured out how things work in Frisco.”
“Yeah, I suppose you’re right.”
“I know I’m right.”
“All the same, there’s one thing that damn sure doesn’t figure.”
“You’ll ask anyway,” Nell said reluctantly, “so go ahead.”
“How the hell’s a blind man put the fear of God in someone like Denny O’Brien?”
“I’ll give you three guesses, and the first two don’t count.”
“You make it sound awful simple.”
“Nothing simpler, if you have the stomach for it.”
Starbuck smiled. “How about a clue?”
“Oh, suppose we call it the second oldest profession in the world?”
The curtain at the door opened and O’Brien stepped into the box. He nodded to Nell, his mouth split in a wide smile. Then he moved around the sofa and genially clapped Starbuck on the shoulder.
“Enjoying the show?”
“Which one?”
“Which one?” O’Brien parroted, gesturing toward the stage. “I only see one.”
“Oh, that?” Starbuck rolled his eyes at Nell. “Just between you and me, Denny, I’m waiting for the finale.”
“Harry, you’re a sport! Goddamn me if you aren’t.”
“Let’s just say there are other things I prefer to acrobats.”
“You’ll be spending the night with us, then?”
Starback looked at him, unable to guess what might be going through his mind. The question was phrased in the manner of an invitation, but there was an undertone of command in O’Brien’s voice. Whether the message was meant for Starbuck or Nell seemed a moot point. The owner of the Bella Union hadn’t popped into the box to make small talk. He was there for a purpose.
“Nell’s the one to ask.” Starbuck let go a hoot of laughter. “I can go all night and then some, but a girl needs her beauty sleep.”
“Don’t worry about Nell,” O’Brien advised with heavy good humor. “She’s lots tougher than she looks.”
“I’ll let you know in the morning.”
“You do that, Harry.”
O’Brien grinned, as if at some private joke. Then he glanced at Nell and turned away. The curtain parted and they were once more alone in the box.
Starbuck poured champagne, seemingly unperturbed by the interruption. He noted that Nell’s manner was pensive and oddly taut. Her gaze was fixed on the stage. He gave her leg a squeeze and chortled softly to himself.
“That Denny’s a card, isn’t he? Always funning around—”
“You lied to me!”
“Lied?” Starbuck feigned astonishment. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Stop it!” Nell said in a shaky voice. “You’re trying to con me, and
I don’t appreciate it one damn bit.”
“You got a crystal ball, or did you figure that out all by yourself?”
“I don’t need a crystal ball. I know Denny like the back of my hand, and he wasn’t playing patty-cake and roses. He came up here to give you a warning.”
Starbuck smiled lamely and lifted his hands in a shrug. “You’ve got me dead to rights. I needed help and I wasn’t exactly sure how to go about asking.”
“What kind of help?”
“I’m caught in the middle,” Starbuck lied, straightfaced. “Denny and Fung are out to axe one another, and they’re using me as a stalking horse. That’s what brought Buckley into it. He doesn’t want any trouble, and he’s willing to sacrifice me to keep the peace.”
Nell looked skeptical. “Is that the truth or some more of your malarkey?”
“Buckley ordered me not to leave town, and Denny just got through warning me to stick close to the Bella Union. That pretty well tells the tale, doesn’t it?”
Starbuck was improvising now. By threading a strand of truth into the web of fabrication, he hoped to draw her over to his side. She was silent for a time, her face blank, her eyes opaque. Then, finally, she sighed and her expression softened.
“Okay, lover, I’m a sucker for a sob story and you’ve got me hooked. How can I help?”
“First off,” Starbuck said quickly, “show me how to slip out of here without being seen—maybe later, sometime after we’ve gone to your room. That way Denny will think I’m tucked in for the night.”
“Are you planning to skip Frisco?”
“No,” Starbuck said without guile. “Buckley ordered me to come up with the hundred thousand by tomorrow. I’ve got it stashed somewhere safe, and I want to deliver it on my own. That’ll show good faith, and go a long way toward getting me out of the middle.”
“All right,” Nell agreed. “Denny had a dumbwaiter installed to bring meals up to the third floor. Once the kitchen closes, we’ll use that to get you downstairs and then you can slip out the alley door. What’s next?”
“I want the story on Buckley, the whole ball of wax. If he decides to play rough, I’ll need something to trade, something he’d consider worth a standoff.”