by Wesley Ellis
“What will you tell him?”
Jessie smiled. “That you’re filthy rich and have money to deposit in the bank tomorrow.”
“Good,” Ki said. “That means that they’ll try to rob or even kill me tonight. With any luck, maybe we can wrap this up early.”
“You’re going to have to be damn careful,” Bonaday warned. “These people don’t play to lose.”
“Neither do I,” Ki said quietly.
Bonaday nodded. “We better get on over to my office and see what kind of mess Billy is creating today. I swear that man is more trouble than he’s worth sometimes.”
“Billy might not be in this afternoon,” Jessie said.
“Where the hell else would he be! Someone has to be in charge when I’m not there.”
Jessie shrugged. It would do no good at all to tell Bonaday that his son’s attentions had been distracted by a hired prostitute and that he was up in Room 205 of the Pine Tree Hotel. That would only serve to make the stage-line operator all the more disgusted and angry. Angry enough, perhaps, to say or do something about it. And that would cast a suspicious finger right at her.
Jessie reach out and touched Ki on the arm. “I’m going to try to find out what I can from Orin Grayson this evening. And I will have to tell him you’re rich enough to get the Bonaday line on its feet and keep it there for a long, long time. I’ve even set up a line of credit at the bank for you to use.”
Ki nodded with a smile. “We might have to use it today just to get enough money to have dinner, right, Dan?”
“Damn right,” the older man grunted. “You saw the empty bottoms of my pants pockets. My wallet ain’t in any better shape.”
“Well, it’s a ten-thousand-dollar line. That can buy a lot of steak.”
Bonaday whistled. “Is it ours to spend? I’m about two months behind on the payroll and if I don’t return with money, the few men I got left will quit today.”
“Pay them all,” Jessie said. “We can’t win if we aren’t in the game. Pay all your bills and tell everyone in town that Mr. Ling here is your rich partner. There is nothing that will force the Sierra Stage Line into action faster.”
“Starting with me tonight, I hope,” Ki said.
Jessie nodded, but she was worried. She did not want to make any promises, but if it was humanly possible, she intended to be around when they came to pay Ki a visit.
Orin Grayson opened the door the moment she knocked. He was freshly shaven and smelled of bay rum. Once again, Jessie was struck by how attractive he was. It was her experience that men with a few years on them often made the best lovers. They were more experienced, slower to reach a climax, often possessing a little more tenderness and consideration than a man in his twenties.
“Come in, Vickie,” he said, closing the door behind her quickly and escorting her into his office, where Lee Ford sat sipping a bottle of whiskey. “We were very disappointed to learn that Dan Bonaday returned, accompanied by a Chinese friend of some means.”
Jessie replied with some annoyance, “I thought it was my job to find that out.”
“Oh, it is,” Grayson said quickly, as he poured two glasses of brandy from a crystal decanter and handed her one. It was a very expensive brand that her father had once loved and that Jessie enjoyed as well.
She raised her glass. “To success.”
They toasted as well.
“Now,” Jessie said. “The hundred dollars, please.”
Grayson shook his head and winked “Later. After you tell us the things we still don’t know. You left in a surrey with Bonaday and his rich Chinaman friend. Then what happened?”
“They were hungry and stopped for something to eat. We talked privately.”
“And?”
Jessie feigned anger. “My uncle didn’t appreciate my asking for money any more than Billy did. He explained to me how things were, but then five seconds later he was bragging about how Mr. Chen Ling was a very smart man to invest in his company.”
“Then the decision has already been made?”
Jessie hesitated. She decided to say no, for that would mean these men might only try to discourage rather than kill outright. “Not necessarily. I mean, I could tell that Chen Ling was the man with all the money. He even paid for the lunch!”
“I told you, Orin,” Ford said. “Dan Bonaday is flat broke. He couldn’t have lasted another day in Reno without losing everything. And now that his creditors know that he has some stupid Chinaman backing him up, they’ll come flocking. I’ll bet Bonaday owes five or ten grand to the merchants and his own employees.”
Grayson’s eyes were flint-hard. “Who cares if we almost had the man! He’s got a sucker on his hook and one so rich we might never break him. A few of those San Francisco Chinamen are filthy rich! It’s just our luck that Bonaday found one.”
“Then we’ll just have to show the Chink that not only is the Bonaday operation failing, but it’s also very unhealthy.”
“You didn’t hear that Vickie.” The state assemblyman finished his brandy and refilled their glasses. “How old are you?”
She looked him right in the eye. “Old enough to ask you again for that one hundred dollars I was promised. Old enough to take what I want from life when I get the chance.”
He laughed and opened his desk drawer to pull out a miniature strongbox. From his watch chain, he produced a little gold key and opened the box. Then he extracted a hundred dollars and gave it to Jessie. “Do you have anything else to tell us?”
“Not tonight.”
Grayson glanced sideways at Lee Ford. “Good night, Lee. Lock the front door on your way out.”
Lee blinked. Jessie suddenly realized he was a little drunk, but not so much that he didn’t quickly catch the meaning. “Sure, boss,” he said, lurching his bulk out of the chair and grinning obscenely. “You lucky bastard you.”
“Good night,” Grayson repeated coldly. “Vickie and I still have a few details to work out before she comes to work here tomorrow.”
“Yeah, sure. When she shows up in the morning, Bakemore ain’t going to know up from down for about a week.”
“I’ll explain things to her about Bakemore. Now, get lost.”
Ford licked his lips and headed for the door. When it had been closed and locked, Grayson pulled another hundred dollars out of his strongbox and laid it on the desktop. “You are a very lovely woman, Vickie. But somehow, I am still not convinced you are exactly who you say.”
Jessie took a deep breath and stared at the money. “Are you trying to buy the truth with that hundred-dollar bill?”
“Of course not. Even if you were lying you’d be smart enough not to admit it at this point in the game. No, what has me puzzled is that you don’t look hungry enough. You’re staying in a nice hotel, not the kind of flophouse one would expect a girl who had no money would choose.”
“I have a little money,” Jessie said tightly. “But not much. I came to make some real money.”
“Good,” he said softly. “And now, I’m going to put those words to the test and give you the chance to prove what you say. If you’re really hungry and out to use and destroy your uncle, you’ll gladly undress right here and we’ll have a good time on that big leather couch you’re sitting on right now. But if you’re not, then you’ll refuse.”
Jessie stood up. “I have never done it for money before, and I won’t start now!”
He chuckled softly and put the hundred-dollar bill away. He locked the strongbox up and replaced it in his drawer. Then he came around to her, placed his hands on her shoulders, and drew her body to his own. Kissing her neck, he whispered, “I knew that you’d say that, Vickie. You’re too ambitious to sell out for a lousy hundred dollars. But if you let me make love to you here and now, I promise you’ll get more than you ever dreamed.”
She felt herself shiver with anticipation. He smelled and felt good. It had been weeks since she had had a man and much longer since she’d had one like this. “Why don’t you ta
ke me out to dinner and we can talk about it then?”
“I can‘t,” he whispered. “You see, someone would tell Miss Bonaday and, until this is over, I need her to tell me how her father’s day-to-day operation is running. She is very . . . very possessive.”
Grayson stepped back and began to unbutton Jessie’s dress. When he had it about halfway done, he reached inside under her thin chemise and smiled as he cupped one of her full breasts in his hand. Then he slipped the chemise off and lowered his head. Jessie gasped to feel his tongue begin to lick her swelling nipple. She arched her breasts forward and slipped her fingers into his hair to press him closer. “Why don’t you tell me exactly what I stand to gain before we go any farther.”
“A stage line. A monopoly, Vickie. It’s going to be very, very lucrative for us all.”
She felt his hands begin to work at the rest of the buttons on her dress. When it slipped to the floor, he stepped back to admire her. “My God,” he said, “you’re beautiful! A goddess in the flesh.”
He unbuttoned his pants and kicked off his boots. Jessie saw that he was large and erect. She pulled him to her, not giving a damn right now that he probably was going to be her enemy. “How many of us are there in this?” she panted. “I mean . . . how much money are we talking about?”
Grayson eased her down on the huge leather sofa and stripped off her pantalettes. He swallowed loudly and tore off his shirt and tie. “Vickie, baby,” he breathed hoarsely, “you treat me right and do what I tell you, and you’ll be as rich as you already are beautiful. Not only are we going to sew up the passenger business, but we are going to win ourselves a new government mail contract worth eighty thousand dollars a year.”
She reached up and grabbed his manhood and squeezed it, then pulled him down to her. Jessie spread her legs, staring up at his muscular body. It was a body so sculptured with layers of hard muscle that she knew he had to be a physical-fitness fanatic. His body was that of a twenty-year-old laborer, except that his thick chest hair was silver. “You look very good for your age, Orin.”
He laughed, gripped her thighs, and spread her open even farther. “Vickie, you are about to find out the best part of me.”
Grayson drove his shaft deep inside her and Jessie moaned with the hard feel of him. He was big and stiff, and now, as he began to move his hips in a slow ellipsis, he lowered his head and went back to work on her nipples with his mouth.
Jessie reached down and gripped his powerful buttocks and began to work them to her own motion. She closed her eyes and let the pleasure of their lovemaking overcome her completely. It wasn’t easy playing a hard, money-grasping girl like Vickie Wilson, a girl who would do anything to make a lot of money. No, it wasn’t easy at all. But she was going to do the best that she could.
He had been on her for almost half an hour and his body had lifted her up almost to a climax again and again before he had slowed his thrusting and brought her back down to a pleasure plane that was nothing short of ecstasy. But now he was again beginning to quicken his rhythm and his thrusting was becoming jerky and ragged.
His breath was coming fast in her ear and Jessie felt her own body losing control, and her long, tapered legs lifted to lock over his hips and drive him faster and faster.
“Oh, Vickie,” he choked. “Now! Now!”
Jessie didn’t have to be told. She felt his body pounding at her own and then felt his huge manhood spewing hot seed deep into her own hungry cavern of desire. They lifted into a frenzied tower of pleasure and then fell back exhausted, bodies jerking spasmodically for delicious seconds after the act was finally consummated.
“I’ll never let you want for anything again, Vickie,” Grayson whispered. “You’re my woman now. Stay with me and I might even make you my wife. And someday we’ll go to Washington, D.C., where you will be a United States Senator’s wife. And maybe even a United States President‘s!”
Jessie nodded, not trusting her voice to speak.
If this man was as good at politics as he was in pleasing a woman, maybe he wasn’t exaggerating a bit.
Chapter 6
The four men stood outside Ki’s hotel room. It was well after midnight and the hallway was empty and dark because they had snuffed the wall lamps. Their leader struck a match and peered at the room number. Satisfied, he blew out the match and whispered, “Remember, the boss said this time it’s just a warning. We don’t want to kill the slant-eyed bastard. If he don’t learn from the lesson we give him tonight, then we’ll finish him off next time.”
They grunted their understanding. One of them, a coarse-featured man with a face scarred by the pox, bounced lightly on his feet with anticipation. Satisfied, the leader produced a passkey and carefully inserted it into the door’s lock. He felt the lock move and knew it was opening. He did not like Chinamen. Ten years earlier he had been part of a gang of men who had tarred and feathered a bunch of the yellow heathens and driven them out of Reno. Sent them packing into the mountains, howling like the dogs of hell. The leader remembered how much fun that had been and hoped this would be just as unforgettable.
Ki heard the lock turn. He had heard their whispers, too. Only now did he finally select the nunchaku sticks. The sticks were a favored samurai weapon. The ones he preferred were shorter than those most commonly used in Japan and were called han-kei, which roughly translated in English to mean “half-sized version.” The two sticks were halves that fit together neatly and were connected at one end by a few inches of braided horsehair. Instead of them reaching from his palm to his elbow, the han-kei were only seven inches long, but incredibly fast in the hands of a martial-arts master. They were easy to conceal and so effectively could Ki make use of them that he could perform every te block and strike with the extra power brought to the techniques by the hard wooden nunchaku handles. When Ki held one of the handles and whipped the other around in a circular motion it became so dangerous a weapon that the centrifugal force it exerted could crush a skull. In close fighting, the two handles could also be used to break a man’s fingers as easily as a walnut caught between the jaws of a nutcracker. But even more than all those things, the nunchaku were awesome when used to parry an opponent’s blow before stabbing for the soft places of his throat and face.
Ki would also have liked to have used a bo, or wooden fighting staff, in this close fighting, for he was considered one of the best to ever master that weapon. But he would not have been able to bring one on the train without having to answer some questions. So the nunchaku would be his choice tonight.
The door pushed open and Ki moved behind it so that the men who entered his room passed by him. When they were all inside, he silently closed the door so that the four men were trapped.
“Hey!” one yelled. “The door just closed! He‘s—” The man never finished his warning. The rest of the sentence rattled incoherently in his throat as the tips of the nunchaku handles found his larynx. He choked. His eyes bulged as he grasped for air that would not immediately come. A horrible sound emanated from him as he fought wildly to breathe. Ki dropped him with a sweeping kick to the knees.
The leader shouted and jumped back as he heard the ominous whirring sound of the hard wooden blades. He clawed for his gun. Suddenly he saw a fire exploding in the darkness and then he was falling with blood cascading down his face from a lacerated and broken nose.
The other two men were faster with their sixguns. Both of them cleared leather and fired, but Ki was suddenly gone. Angry bullets chewed the walls of Ki’s expensive hotel room and ripped the beautiful wallpaper apart. A porcelain statue of a horse shattered and smoke lay heavy in the air.
Ki waited until the guns were empty and then he touched a match to the wick of a kerosene lamp that rested on his bedside table. The room filled with flickering light and when the two gunmen saw the slender samurai standing beside the door, they blinked with amazement.
The leader, his ruined face cradled in the palms of his bloodied hands, screamed, “Kill the Chinese bastard. Get h
im!”
The two gunmen glanced over at the first man, who still lay twitching and clutching his battered throat. Only now was he finally able to get some air to his tortured lungs. Because of the gunsmoke, his terrorstruck face seemed an even more bluish color than it actually was. The two men retreated toward the window and tried to reload their guns.
Ki did not give them the opportunity. He moved swiftly and then he brought his foot up in a sweep-lotus kick. It connected with so much force that one of the men was sent crashing through the window. His high-pitched scream ended suddenly when he hit the street below.
The last man dropped his gun and raised his hands in fear. “Don’t kill me, please! I want no more of this. I just want outa here, Mr. Ling!”
Ki, fingers still, body tensed to strike with the speed and the devastation of a diamondback rattler, suddenly relaxed.
“Who hired you?” he asked.
The man opened his mouth, then clamped it shut. Ki stepped forward and the man backed to the wall and held his hands up to protect his face.
“I asked you a question,” Ki said. “Who hired you?”
“I did!” the leader screamed, grabbing his gun and cocking it to fire.
Ki swung around and saw that there was not time to reach the man before he pulled the trigger. Ki threw himself sideways and over the bed. The bullet that should have had his name on it ate into the dresser and a second bullet exploded into the kerosene lantern. A shower of fuel and fire covered the bedspread.
“Come on. The place is on fire!” the leader bellowed.
Ki jumped for the small pitcher of water on his wash-stand. He used the contents on the flames, but it was not enough. He grabbed the bedspread and the flames bit into the flesh of his hand. He balled the bedspread up and raced to the window, where he hurled the flaming mass outside.
It hit the street and men shouted in surprise, then anger as horses tied along the nearest hitching rail bolted in panic and broke their reins to stampede wildly down the street. Ki saw another small knot of men look up at him in shock.