“I’m not leaving the game, damn it—”
The house man said, “I think a break is a good idea. You won’t lose your seat, Quentin.”
Ross took a deep breath, then jerked his head in a curt nod.
“All right. Fine. We’ll take a break.”
He shoved his chair back and stood up.
One of the young women sitting near the fireplace stood up and came over to Ross. She had a thick mane of curly blond hair and sported a tiny beauty mark near her mouth. She asked, “Would you like me to come with you, Quentin?”
“Go back and sit down, Penelope,” Ross told her.
She didn’t seem offended by his sharp tone. She went back to her chair like he had told her to.
John Henry stood up as well, leaving his glass of champagne on the table. He had taken only small sips from it all evening, making it look like he was drinking more than he really was. He wasn’t going to take a chance on anything muddling his mind.
Except for one twenty-dollar bill that he surreptitiously slipped in his pocket, he left his winnings on the table, too, knowing that they would be safe. Matteo Campos couldn’t afford to allow any thievery in his place, because of the damage that would do to its reputation.
John Henry and Ross stepped out onto the balcony. The fragrance of honeysuckle and flowering blossoms filled the night air, along with the sounds coming from the gambling layouts in the courtyard below. John Henry had a couple of cigars in his coat pocket. He took them out and offered one to Ross.
“Thanks,” the man said, not sounding too sincere about it. John Henry struck a lucifer and lit both cheroots.
“Your name strikes me as familiar, Ross,” John Henry said, making it sound like he was just making small talk. “Your family owns a big ranch, isn’t that right?”
“Yeah.”
“I reckon that explains how you can afford a high-stakes game like this one.”
“I don’t take any money from my family,” Ross said, not bothering to conceal the irritation he felt. “I make my own way.”
“Oh? What do you do?”
“That’s my business.”
“Sure,” John Henry said easily. “Didn’t mean to pry. I don’t talk much about my business, either.”
“It must be crooked, or else you wouldn’t be thick as thieves with Wing Ko. He wouldn’t allow you to squire his daughter around unless he trusted you.”
“That’s true,” John Henry agreed. “Wing Ko’s got some other things on his mind these days, though. Trouble with another fella, named Ling Yuan.”
“Really?” For the first time, Ross sounded like he was actually interested in something John Henry had to say. “I hadn’t heard about that.”
“Yeah, there was some sort of trouble at Wing Ko’s restaurant tonight. Twice, from what I understand.”
John Henry didn’t mention that he had been right in the middle of both of those incidents.
Ross puffed on his cigar and mused, “I enjoy going to Chinatown.”
“And I’ll bet the folks there are glad to see you. American bills spend just fine, don’t they? Even some of the bogus ones.”
Ross glanced over sharply at him.
“What are you talking about? What bogus bills?”
John Henry shrugged and said, “I don’t know. I just heard some rumors about counterfeit money showing up in Chinatown and other places around Los Angeles recently.” He took the twenty from his pocket and held it up, rubbing the bill between his thumb and forefinger. “Like this one, maybe.”
Among the thick stack of documents that Judge Parker had given him to read on the train had been one that explained how to spot the false bills produced by Ignatius O’Reilly. It wasn’t easy. The paper was infinitesimally thinner, the ink lines broken almost invisibly here and there. If a person didn’t know what to look for, it would be almost impossible to notice that the money was fake.
The printing was slightly off-register in this current batch, which had led the officials in Washington to conclude that O’Reilly was getting a little sloppy in his work. Even that flaw was difficult for a layman to detect.
During the poker game, John Henry had been making an unobtrusive study of the bills that came his way from Ross. Although he was far from an expert, he was convinced there was at least a good chance some of the bills were counterfeit, including the one he had brought out to the balcony.
As John Henry held that twenty up now, Ross said angrily, “What the hell are you talking about? What’s your game, Sixkiller?”
“Poker,” John Henry said. “I thought you knew.”
Ross threw the cigar onto the balcony and crushed it out with his heel. He said, “That’s not all you’re up to, and you damned well know it. What’s all this talk about counterfeit money?”
“I’m always on the lookout for . . . let’s call it a good business opportunity. I can probably help you, Ross. I have contacts in several of the banks here in Los Angeles. Put me in touch with your supplier, and I can make both of us rich men.”
A harsh laugh came from Ross.
“You’re trying to butt in on things you don’t know anything about. I’ve seen your type before. You waltz in and try to take over—”
“Quentin.”
The soft voice belonged to a woman. John Henry looked over his shoulder and saw that the blonde called Penelope had come onto the balcony.
“What is it?” Ross asked impatiently.
“Señor Campos wants to see you.”
“Can’t it wait?”
“He said it was urgent.”
“Oh, all right.” Ross cast a withering look toward John Henry. “We’re done out here, anyway.”
He stalked back into the room where the private game had been going on. John Henry tried not to sigh in disappointment. He had tried the subtle approach, and it hadn’t worked at all.
Now he would have to consider getting Ross somewhere alone, putting a gun to the man’s head, and forcing him to reveal the source of the fake money he’d been passing. The simple ways were usually the best, and nothing convinced a man to talk faster than the feel of a gun muzzle digging into his ear.
John Henry was going to follow Ross back into the room, but Penelope slid over gracefully to intercept him. She stopped him with a hand on his arm.
“Mr. Sixkiller, isn’t that right?” she said.
“That’s right,” he said as he tried to move around her. He didn’t really have time right now to deal with Ross’s mistress, whatever she wanted from him.
“That’s a fascinating name,” Penelope went on, gracefully moving to the side so that she was still in his way. “Are you an Indian? You don’t look like an Indian.”
“Half Cherokee. No offense, miss—”
“Smith,” she supplied, even though he hadn’t really asked. “Penelope Smith.”
“No offense, Miss Smith, but—”
She threw back her head and screamed.
Chapter Fifteen
John Henry liked to think that he didn’t surprise easily, but he was so taken aback by the blonde’s sudden outburst that for a moment all he could do was stand there and stare at her.
Then she yelled, “Rape! Oh, my God, somebody stop him! Help me! Rape!”
She still had hold of John Henry’s arm. She gave him a hard shove and staggered away from him as if he had been holding her and she had broken free. Reaching quickly to the neckline of her gown, she grasped it and ripped the fabric so that it hung down, revealing a considerable expanse of her creamy breasts.
“What the devil’s wrong with you?” John Henry finally asked.
For a split second, she gave him a sly smile, then lunged to the balcony railing and hung over it, a position that revealed even more of her lush figure to the people in the courtyard who were looking up to see what all the commotion was about.
“Help me!” she cried again. “He’s attacking me!”
John Henry had no idea what the motivation was for this farce, but h
e knew what the outcome was likely to be. Angry shouts rose from the men in the courtyard, and several figures ran onto the balcony from the private gaming room, led by Quentin Ross.
“Sixkiller!” Ross yelled. “Get away from her, you bastard!”
John Henry lifted his left hand toward Ross as the man closed in on him. He said, “Now, hold on just a min—”
Ross didn’t let him finish. Instead he swung a punch at John Henry’s head with all the power of his charge behind it.
John Henry twisted aside. Ross was fast, and even with John Henry’s quick reaction, Ross’s fist scraped along the side of his head and sent his hat flying off. John Henry grappled with the man, swung him around, and shoved him toward the balcony railing.
Ross caught himself and was ready to attack again, but this time John Henry had time to say, “Wait just a blasted minute! I didn’t do anything. The girl’s lying.”
Penelope started to sob. Big tears ran down her smooth cheeks. She covered her face with her hands and wailed, “Don’t listen to him, Quentin! He attacked me! He tried to rape me!”
Everybody in the place was watching the scene on the balcony now. They had forgotten about the games. The group from the poker room, including Matteo Campos and Nick Prentice, stood to one side. Wing Sun was just behind them, and John Henry felt her coolly speculative gaze on him. He could tell that she was wondering if there was any truth to Penelope’s lurid accusations.
She should have known better, John Henry thought . . . but how could she be sure of anything where he was concerned? They had met only a few hours earlier and were practically strangers themselves.
Ross started to claw under his coat as he snarled, “I ought to kill you!”
John Henry knew the man was reaching for a gun. This was quickly going from bad to worse. He didn’t want to be forced to kill Ross before he even learned anything. He couldn’t just stand there and let Ross shoot him, though.
“Enough!”
The powerful, commanding voice belonged to Matteo Campos. He strode forward, putting himself between John Henry and Ross, who stopped trying to drag a pistol from a shoulder holster.
“This is my home, and you people are my guests,” Campos went on. “I will not allow a gunfight in the house my great-grandfather built!”
“Sixkiller attacked me,” Penelope insisted. “Somebody’s got to do something about it!”
Ross said, “A man like you ought to know something about honor, Campos.”
“Because of my Spanish heritage, you mean?” Campos looked back and forth between John Henry, Ross, and Penelope. Clearly he was torn about how to proceed. After a moment he said, “Señor Sixkiller, is there any truth to this?”
“Not a bit,” John Henry answered without hesitation.
Penelope gasped and said, “Now he’s calling me a liar!”
“I demand satisfaction for my fiancée’s honor,” Ross said.
John Henry hadn’t realized the two of them were engaged to be married, not that that had any relevance to anything. Maybe the best thing to do was just back off, he told himself. He could confront Ross again later, somewhere else.
“Let me understand,” Campos said to Ross. “You are challenging Señor Sixkiller to a duel?”
“That’s exactly what I’m doing!” Ross declared.
John Henry bit back a groan. The complications were just piling up deeper and deeper. The evening had already been packed with violence, and he had no desire to finish it off with some stupid duel.
“Forget it,” he snapped. “I didn’t do anything wrong, and I’m not going to fight a duel.”
“Traditionally, this is the way such things are settled,” Campos said. He made a small gesture, and several of his armed guards moved closer. “Refusal to fight could be taken by some as an admission of guilt, Señor Sixkiller.”
“Take it for anything you want,” John Henry said. “Wing Sun and I are leaving.”
Again he was surprised. Wing Sun said, “Don’t be so sure about that, John Henry. I believe you, but I think there’s only one way for you to prove you’re telling the truth. Honor demands it.”
Somehow the whole world had gone loco when he wasn’t looking, John Henry thought.
Ross sneered and said, “I’m gonna take great pleasure in shooting you, Sixkiller.”
“No shooting!” Campos said. “There is a better way. The traditional way of my people. The test of the lash! Duel by bullwhip!”
Everyone in the courtyard heard him. A cheer went up. To the gamblers who had come here to the old villa, such a duel would be something new and exciting to bet on.
Campos snapped his fingers at one of his men, who turned and hurried away.
“Jorge will bring the whips,” Campos said. “You will fight in the back, near the stables.”
John Henry said, “I haven’t agreed to fight anybody.”
Campos inclined his head and said, “In that case I would have no choice but to allow Señor Ross to shoot you. Honor must be satisfied.”
And as the owner of the place, Campos would probably insist on taking a cut from all the bets placed on the outcome of such a battle, John Henry thought cynically.
“Fine,” he heard himself saying. “If that’s what it’s going to take to settle this madness.”
More cheers came from the people in the courtyard. Campos smiled and gestured for John Henry and Ross to precede him down the stairs.
John Henry glanced again at Wing Sun but couldn’t read her expression. Her face was a smooth mask.
He picked up his hat and started down the stairs.
Excited babble rose around John Henry and Ross as they descended to the courtyard. Men called bets back and forth. A lot of money would change hands tonight, and Matteo Campos probably would find his fingers clutching a significant chunk of it, John Henry thought.
Campos came down the stairs behind them and then took the lead, heading out the rear of the villa with the large crowd trailing him. The man he had sent after the bullwhips hurried after them and caught up, carrying a pair of the coiled, sinister-looking whips. He handed them to Campos.
They stopped at a large stretch of open ground next to the stables, which appeared to be empty in the light cast by torches carried by several of Campos’s men. The vast hacienda had shrunk to just this villa, so there was no longer a need for a big remuda of horses.
“Have either of you ever used a bullwhip before?” Campos asked John Henry and Ross.
“I have,” Ross answered immediately. “I used one on the ranch all the time.”
“So have I,” John Henry said, although in truth his experience with a whip was very limited. There was a good chance Ross was more skilled with the thing than he was.
But Ross had been drinking heavily all evening, so it was possible the liquor had slowed his reflexes considerably. John Henry would have to put his faith in his own speed and strength, which he already did every time he entered a fight.
“These whips are identical,” Campos said, “so there’s no point in letting either of you choose your weapon. However, tradition demands that practice in a duel, so as the challenged, Señor Sixkiller, you have the right to pick whichever one you want.”
John Henry could see that the whips were the same. He reached out and took the one that was in Campos’s right hand, since that was the one closest to him. Ross snatched the one from Campos’s left hand.
“You will remove your guns,” Campos continued.
John Henry didn’t like that idea very much, but he didn’t see any way to avoid it. He unbuckled his gunbelt and handed it over to one of Campos’s men, who stepped forward to take it. Ross took off his coat and peeled out of the shoulder rig.
John Henry looked around and found Wing Sun in the crowd. He took off his hat and handed it to her.
“Hang on to that for me,” he said. “If you don’t mind.”
“I don’t,” she said. She didn’t look quite so expressionless now. In fact, he saw a few worr
ied lines on her face. “Are you sure this is a good idea, John Henry?”
He wasn’t sure of it at all, but events had snowballed beyond his control. He still had no idea why Penelope Smith had set him up this way, but she had and now he had to deal with it.
“I’ll be all right,” he told Wing Sun.
Behind him, a sharp crack brought admiring exclamations from the crowd. John Henry looked over his shoulder as Quentin Ross cracked the bullwhip again. A cocky grin spread across Ross’s face. He was playing to the crowd.
“Anybody who bets on that redskin is a damned fool,” he said.
John Henry ignored that. He knew Ross was just trying to get a rise out of him.
He walked into the center of the big ring formed by the crowd. Ross continued showing off, but John Henry took the time to study his whip, to get used to the feel of the leather-wrapped wooden handle, to gauge the weight and balance of the weapon. He let the long, braided strips of leather fall free. The slightest motion of the handle made them writhe sinuously like a serpent at his feet.
John Henry cracked the whip once, popping the weighted tip, then nodded to Campos, who strolled into the center of the impromptu ring and held up his hands for quiet.
“You will fight until one man can no longer continue, or until one of you begs for mercy. You may use your fists or your feet, but the whip is the only weapon which you are allowed.”
“This isn’t a fight to the death?” Ross asked.
Campos spread his hands and said, “I suppose that depends on how stubborn the two of you are. Now, are you both ready?”
“I’m ready,” Ross said. “I’m ready to cut this bastard’s hide off him in bloody strips.”
“I’m ready,” John Henry said simply.
“Very well,” Campos said.
With his hands still raised, he backed off until he was out of reach of the whips. Then with a sudden motion he dropped his arms.
“Fight!”
Chapter Sixteen
Quentin Ross didn’t waste any time. He lunged at John Henry when the command was barely out of Campos’s mouth. The whip leaped toward John Henry’s face like a striking snake.
Dead Man Walking Page 8