by Sharpe, Jon
Her melodious voice stirred Fargo where he had no intention of being stirred. “How about you?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Is it ever too early for you?”
Madame Lotus’s eyes widened slightly, and she laughed. “Oh. That can never be. I do not offer myself. I must reserve my affections for someone special.”
Fargo could guess whom. “That’s a shame,” he said with forced regret. “I’d give you a poke here and now.”
She was pleased by his flattery but tried to hide it. “I am most sorry that I am not available. We have dozens of other ladies for you to choose from.”
The hallway was as elegant as the parlor. Everywhere a feast for the eyes. A turn took them into another corridor where the walls were made of rice paper.
Fargo stopped and touched the wall on the right. The paper was smooth to the touch, and thinner than he would have thought.
“Beautiful, is it not?” Madame Lotus said proudly. “My master spared no expense in building the House of Pleasure.”
“It’s different,” Fargo said.
“Would you like to see one of the rooms?” Madame Lotus moved to a section of wall that was actually a partition. She slid it aside, revealing a middling-sized room bare of furniture save for a mat and pillows and a small table with a teapot and accessories.
“Kind of plain,” Fargo said.
Madame Lotus entered and motioned. “But functional. One can focus on the pleasure of the senses and not be distracted.”
“Is that so?” Fargo said. Boldly walking up to her, he cupped her bottom and drew her against him. “Why don’t you show me?”
Madame Lotus smiled and calmly said, “I told you before. I am not to be paid for.”
“That’s too bad,” Fargo said, and kissed her. “You’d likely curl a man’s toes.”
Her mouth formed a delightful oval and she gently pushed him away. “I must ask you to behave.”
“I’ll try,” Fargo said.
She led him back out and closed the partition. “Now that you have seen what we have to offer, may I expect you this evening?”
“You never know.”
Suddenly, from the bowels of the building, a faint, fluttering scream wavered. Fargo heard it clearly, and glanced in the direction it came from. “What was that?”
“What was what?”
“You didn’t hear it? It sounded like a woman in pain.”
Madame Lotus smiled. “This is the House of Pleasure. Some of our customers derive their pleasure from pain.”
“Whips and rope?” Fargo said.
“Whatever our customer requires,” Madame Lotus said. “Their happiness is our paramount duty.”
Fargo suspected there was more to it than that. He had half a mind to go find the screamer. But he let Madame Lotus usher him along the hall to the parlor. “I’m obliged for the tour.”
“It was my delight,” Madame Lotus said.
Fargo turned to go, and stopped.
Nan Kua and the two Tong with bruised faces had just walked in. Nan Kua gave a start and said something to the others. All three glared.
Madame Lotus smiled and addressed them in Chinese. Whatever Nan Kua snarled in reply brought a look of dismay.
“Oh my,” she said.
“What is it?” Fargo asked, casually resting his right hand on his Colt.
“It appears that these three have been looking for you,” Madame Lotus said.
“Some jackasses never learn,” Fargo said.
Nan Kua spat more Chinese at Madame Lotus. Her dismay deepened.
“I am to tell you that you have been invited to Master Han’s Pagoda. Nan Kua and his friends are to escort you there.”
“No,” Fargo said.
“You do not understand,” Madame Lotus said. “You must go with them. An invitation from Master Han is the same as a command.”
“For you, maybe,” Fargo said. “I couldn’t give a good damn.”
Nan Kua evidently asked what they were saying and Madame Lotus translated. Fury crackled on the tall Tong’s brow, and he barked at her.
“I am afraid you have no choice. Nan Kua says you are to go with them whether you want to or not.”
“And if I don’t want to?”
“Please. Why are you being so unreasonable?”
“Unreasonable, hell. I’m free to do as I damn well please.”
“I am most sorry,” Madame Lotus said, “but he says that if you refuse to go of your own free will, they will force you.”
“Let them try,” Fargo said.
8
Nan Kua snarled at Madame Lotus, apparently asking her what Fargo had said. Wringing her slender hands, she translated.
Fargo thought he was ready. His fingers were curled around the Colt and he was poised to draw. He figured Nan Kua would say something to the other two and all three would come at him at once.
He was wrong.
Without another word, without any forewarning, Nan Kua sprang. He took a step and leaped into the air, his left foot extended.
Instinctively, Fargo swept his right arm up to block the kick. He succeeded, but the impact knocked him back.
Before he could set himself, Nan Kua spun, his other leg sweeping out.
Fargo ducked, and lost his hat.
Since Nan Kua hadn’t resorted to a weapon, Fargo didn’t either. Cocking his fists, he waded into the tall Tong. Nan Kua chopped at his neck and he sidestepped and let fly with a solid cross that rocked Nan Kua onto his heels.
The other two rushed in.
Fargo backpedaled into the parlor, where there was more room to move.
The women jumped to their feet, several crying out in alarm, and moved to get out of the way.
The other two Tong came after him. They didn’t rely on weapons, either; they rushed in with a flurry of hands and feet.
A sandal arced at Fargo’s face. Twisting, he buried his knuckles in the man’s ribs. The Tong grunted and sagged. The other one slipped in and thrust the tips of his fingers at Fargo’s throat but Fargo dodged and smashed him in the mouth.
The Chinese doubled over. The other one was sinking to the floor.
Fargo drew back his leg to kick—and glimpsed movement out of the corner of his eye.
Nan Kua was coming at him again, and this time he had his hatchet.
Barely avoiding a slash at his chest, Fargo gripped Nan Kua’s wrist to prevent him from swinging again.
Nan Kua whipped around, seeking to throw him off, but he held on and brought his bootheel down as hard he could on Nan Kua’s left sandal—onto his toes.
A shriek ripped from Nan Kua’s throat and he staggered.
Quickly, Fargo swept his foot under Nan Kua’s other leg, the leg shot out from under, and Fargo slammed him to the floor. The ax went skittering. Nan Kua lunged at Fargo’s throat, his fingers rigid, and Fargo punched him. Not once, but four times, as hard as he could on the point of Nan Kua’s chin.
The other two were getting back to their feet.
In a twinkling Fargo had the Colt out and brought the barrel crashing down on the head of the first. Swiveling, he delivered a bone-jarring blow to the last man’s jaw.
In the abrupt stillness, Fargo heard one of the China dolls gasp.
Holstering the Colt, Fargo rubbed his knuckles.
“You defeated them,” Madame Lotus said, sounding amazed that he had.
“They’re not so tough,” Fargo said, when, in fact, they were.
“Three Tong, by yourself,” Madame Lotus said. “I have never seen that done.”
Fargo turned toward the entrance. Where there were three Tong there may be more.
“Wait, please,” Madame Lotus said, and reac
hing out, she cupped his chin. She turned his head to one side and then the other, studying him as if he were a mystery. “How is it you prevailed? What manner of man are you?”
“A hungry one,” Fargo said. But it would be hours yet before he sat down at the supper table with the O’Briens. His stomach rumbled at the prospect.
“You are remarkable,” Madame Lotus said. “The Tong are formidable fighters.”
Some of the girls were whispering. Fargo smiled at them and stepped over the last man he’d felled. “Might see you again,” he mentioned.
“I sincerely hope so,” Madame Lotus said. “I have not met a man in a very long time who interests me as much as you do.”
“I’ll interest you more with my clothes off,” Fargo said.
Madame Lotus laughed. “I do so look forward to your next visit. You are highly entertaining.”
Nan Kua groaned.
Fargo touched his hat brim and got out of there. The harsh glare of the sun made him squint as he climbed on the Ovaro and reined to the west. He rode clear to the end of the canyon and on out into the forest beyond. When he had gone far enough that he was sure not to be disturbed, he stopped at the first clearing he came to, gathered firewood, and put coffee on to brew.
Fargo had a decision to make. He could ride on, forget about Han and the O’Briens and Mai Wing and go on about his own business. That was the thing to do if he had a shred of common sense.
But then there was Flanna and her ripe body, Madame Lotus and her carnal delights, maybe even Mai Wing if he played his cards right.
“Hell,” Fargo said. It wouldn’t surprise him if his pecker got him killed someday. A woman once called him a buck in perpetual rut, and that was as good a description as any.
When the coffee was hot enough he filled his cup and sat back. He had to remind himself that Han wasn’t breaking any laws. Whorehouses weren’t illegal, not in Utah Territory, anyway. Nor were opium dens.
He should skedaddle. He should finish his coffee and climb on the Ovaro and go wherever the wind took him. He should forget everything that had happened and leave the gold camp to Han and the Tong.
Instead, he sat and drank and relaxed as the sun crawled across the vault of blue. When it was about to disappear below the horizon he was on his way back to Hunan.
A lot fewer people were abroad. The nightlife wasn’t as lusty and rowdy as most gold camps.
During their walk Flanna had pointed out where her family lived, and as the gray of twilight spread along the canyon floor, Fargo drew rein in front of their house. A simple frame affair, it boasted a small fenced yard with a few flowers and a porch with the inevitable rocking chair.
Fargo tied the Ovaro and went to the door and knocked. He didn’t know what sort of reception he’d receive. Flanna might have told her parents his antics and they could well refuse to let him in.
Flanna herself opened the door.
Fargo braced for a tongue-lashing but she smiled and held out her hand and touched his arm.
“So you made it? Good. We were worried you might not. Come on in.”
“You’re looking as gorgeous as always,” Fargo remarked. She had on a different dress that fit so snugly, it accented every contour in her delectable body. It also, to his surprise, showed some cleavage. Either her folks were more open-minded than a lot of parents or she was being brazen.
The house was simply but comfortably furnished. Flanna escorted him to the parlor and bid him take a seat on a settee. He barely sank down when Terrence and Noirin O’Brien entered. Both wore smiles and greeted him warmly.
“We were worried for your safety, boyo,” the storekeeper said. “There’s a rumor sweeping the camp that you tangled with the Tong.”
“I did,” Fargo confirmed.
The parents swapped looks.
“That’s not good,” Terrence said. “No one ever stands up to them and gets away with it. They’re vengeful bastards.”
“Terry,” Noirin said. “Your language, if you please.”
“Sorry, love,” Terry responded. “But you know how the Tong make my blood boil.”
“Let’s save that for later, shall we?” Noirin suggested. “After we’ve eaten.”
Terry grumbled but let it drop.
Over the next half an hour Fargo was treated to small talk about life in the gold camp and in Ireland before the family came to America. Flanna was strangely subdued and sat quietly with her hands in her lap.
The meal, as Mrs. O’Brien had said it would be, was pure Irish. Her stew was delicious. Fargo had never had colcannon before, and liked it. For dessert there was a dish called apple duff. Fargo wasn’t much for sweets but had a second helping.
Afterward, Terry O’Brien patted his belly in contentment. “Was I right about my one true love being the best cook this side of the Emerald Isle?”
“I’ve never tasted better,” Fargo said.
“You flatter me,” Noirin said, clearly pleased.
Terry produced a cigar. He offered one to Fargo but Fargo declined. Terry used a lucifer to light it and puffed until the tip gave off plumes of smoke. Sitting back, he said to his wife, “I suppose we should get to it, then.”
Noirin nodded and turned to Fargo. “I hope you won’t hold it against us, but we had a secret motive for inviting you here.”
“It wasn’t for my company?”
Noirin blushed and said quickly, “There was that, too. But—” She stopped. “You’re teasing me, aren’t you?”
“Get on with it, dear,” Terry said. “Or would you rather I do the honors?”
“You,” Noirin said. “He might be more open, hearing it man to man, as they say.”
Terry blew a smoke ring at the ceiling, and frowned. “I don’t need to go into detail about the situation here. You’re well aware of it. Han holds this camp in a fist of iron, and rules through the Tong. Dare defy him and he sets his hatchet men on you.” He paused. “Han has made it clear whites aren’t welcome. Tom Bannon and us are about the last. Tom leaves tonight.”
Noirin chimed in with, “We would very much like to go with him. But there’s our store, you see. All our stock. We plan to stop ordering merchandise and sell off most of what we have and then slip away in the dead of night as Tom is doing. But that will take weeks if not months.”
Terry nodded. “We don’t mind risking our own lives but it would ease our minds considerably if our daughter was safe. So I’d like to ask you, man to man, as my wife put it, if you’d be willing to do us a favor?”
Fargo looked at Flanna. At her cleavage. “Let me guess,” he said.
“When you leave,” Terrence O’Brien said, “we would very much like for you to take her with you.”
9
Fargo half expected Flanna to object. She didn’t. She sat in her chair with her head bowed and a faint pink blush to her cheeks.
“We realize we hardly know you,” Terry went on, “but with you she has a chance of making it out of the mountains alive.”
Fargo brought up the obvious. “Why not have her go with Bannon?”
Noirin said, “We had that very idea when he first confided in us that he was leaving.” She gave her daughter a troubled glance. “But Flanna refuses to go with him and won’t say why.”
“Contrariness, if you ask me,” Terry declared. “She thinks her proper place is at our side.”
“It is,” Flanna broke her silence.
“We appreciate that, girl,” Terry said. “We truly do. It’s a fine lass you are, to hold your parents in such high regard.”
“But every day we live in fear for your safety,” Noirin said. “With you gone, we could breathe easier.”
“Who are you trying to fool, Mother?” Flanna responded. “It will make Han mad. He’s liable to do anything.”
; “Posh,” Noirin said. “He won’t harm us. He relies on our store for things he needs.”
“Only until he opens a store of his own,” Flanna said. “Word is he’s sent for a Chinese merchant who will run a store controlled by Han.”
“Be that as it may,” Terry said, “we want you out of this infernal camp, and that’s final.” He turned to Fargo. “So will you or won’t you?”
“You could leave this very night,” Noirin said. “The same as Tom Bannon. Let him go his way and you go yours. Han might think that you went with him and send the Tong after him. It would gain you the time to get clean away.”
“Mother,” Flanna said. “That’s a terrible thing to say. It’s using Mr. Bannon as bait.”
“I like him,” Noirin said, “but you’re our daughter. Your welfare comes before all else.”
Fargo nipped their argument in the bud by saying, “I don’t figure to leave for a couple of days yet.”
Terry sat up straighter. “What? Why not, in God’s name? Why stick around?”
“I’m a prickly cuss.”
“What does that mean?” Noirin asked. “It’s our daughter’s life we’re talking about. Whatever reason you have for staying, it can’t be more important than she is.”
“It doesn’t have to be tonight,” Terry sought to compromise. “It could be tomorrow night or the next.”
“Terrence,” Noirin said.
Terry reached over and placed his hand on hers. “The important thing is that he takes her.”
“Tonight is best, I tell you,” Noirin insisted. Pulling her hand free, she bent across the table toward Fargo. “Would money change your mind?”
“Noirin,” Terry said.
She ignored him. “We don’t have a lot but what we do have is yours if you’ll take Flanna away from here this very night. Two thousand dollars, every penny we’ve saved, and it’s yours.”
“Noirin,” Terry said again.
Noirin motioned in annoyance. “Hush. I’m trying to strike a bargain with our guest.”
“If I take her,” Fargo said, “it will be because I want to.”
“Now you’ve done it, woman,” Terry said to his wife. “You’ve gone and insulted him.”