"Tim will see to your bonus," Riot said. "But I don't want to lose track of him."
"I hired some nosy runts to wire me if Freddy leaves."
Riot nodded. If he didn't know the other half of the story, it could easily be excused as a visit to family. "Have either of you seen a token like this before?" He handed it to Tim, who flipped it to Monty.
"It's a Faro token from The Palm," Monty said.
"Like he don't know that," Tim said. Monty flicked the token at the old man, but Riot reached out and caught it midair before it hit.
"Do you know that for a fact, Monty?" Riot asked, genuinely curious.
"Well, it says so on the token."
"Have either of you ever played faro at The Palm?" Riot looked from Monty to Tim. Both shook their head.
"It's not really our type of place," Tim said.
"More for toffs like you."
"I haven't spent much time there, but I found that token on Jim Parks. Lee Walker had one too, as well as Andrew Ross and Freddy."
Monty frowned at the token. "So what does it mean?"
"I think it's an affiliation marker."
"For a tong?" Tim asked.
Monty breathed an oath. "I am sick of getting involved in their business."
"We're detectives; what the hell do you think we do? Pick flowers?" Tim shot back.
Monty's only answer was a grumble.
Riot looked to Tim. "Have you discovered anything more about Lee Walker?"
"Not much. Aside from the circus and fraudulent accidents, he appears to have gotten his second cousin with child. He took off when the family pressured him to make good and marry the girl."
"Her own fault," Monty said. "Girl shoulda kept her knees together."
Tim's beard twitched. "Wipe that smirk off your face and git out of his chair." Tim swatted Monty's head with a folded up newspaper. Monty jumped up, but while he was always keen to challenge Riot, he knew better than to cross Tim. The old man had a devious mind. He hadn't survived the Gold Rush by fighting fair.
Riot sat down, and as he began sorting through his stack of telegrams, Tim continued his report.
"There's not much on that brick house in Ocean Beach. Parker Gray is listed as the owner. I got in with a farrier who does occasional work there. The stable hand is deaf and dumb, just like you thought. Couldn't get a word out of him. I've been doing my best to tail Parker Gray. He mostly keeps to prize fights, the brick house, and his gymnasium at the Pavilion. But he did go to The Palm last week."
"It keeps coming back to that saloon," Riot murmured.
"Don't look at me to go in there. I'd stand out like a rotted tooth," Monty said.
"Nor Smith," Riot agreed. "He's too wet behind the ears."
"Do you know anyone we can send in?" Tim asked.
"I'll think on it." Lotario came instantly to mind, but Isobel's face was known to Gray. On the other hand, Lotario was a gifted actor and makeup artist. It took nerve to live a life of lies.
"What about your new favorite boy, Mr. Morgan? He can work there as a dishwasher. Far as I can tell the boy doesn't do a thing." Monty took out his tobacco, and started rolling a cigarette.
Again, Riot said nothing. Given Isobel's precarious situation, it was best to keep Monty in the dark about Mr. Morgan's abilities.
"The thing seems cut and dry, A.J.," Monty said. "Parker Gray conned Walker into taking a bad bet so they could cash in on a silver baron. Why are we still investigating this shit?"
Tim glanced at Riot. The question was in his own eyes as well.
"Because Jim Parks claimed he was paid by someone else to kill Ravenwood."
Monty grunted. "We suspected a tong killed him years ago, but you found out different. Chinks aren't the issue. You killed Parks. It's done."
"Don't you want those people to answer for his death?"
"I blame the railroads and government for bringing chinks into America in the first place—doesn't mean I'm going to shoot the president."
"Good to know." Riot paused, reading over the telegram in his hand. He looked up at both gentlemen. "Would you two excuse me?"
Monty stomped towards the door, and then stopped. "What the hell should I do now?"
"I'll have a job for you soon as I talk it over with A.J.," Tim said.
"You could talk it over with me."
"I could, but I won't." Tim waited until Monty left. "You should read page four." He tossed a newspaper down. "I took care of it."
Riot looked at him, puzzled. But he was distracted by the telegram. He picked up the receiver and requested 920 Sacramento. As he waited, he unfolded the newspaper and nearly dropped the receiver.
Woman Dressed As Vagrant Caught
Call reporter Charlotte Bonnie was arrested while on assignment for the paper. The lively young woman was disguised as a vagrant in order to investigate life on the street for the hopelessly destitute. Assaulted by a saloon patron, she was forced to defend herself by smashing a bottle on his head. Adding insult to injury, a trio of policemen roughed her up as she was fleeing her assailant. 'Bring me your poor and destitute' so says the good book. San Francisco, it seems, has other ideas.
"Hello? Hello, there?" a voice asked over the line.
"Here." Riot cleared his throat. "I apologize, Dolly."
"Is everything all right?"
He coughed, and set the newspaper aside. "I only just arrived in my office and received your missive about Jin."
"I'm sorry to bother you. What with your inquest only yesterday. I was relieved to read that there were no further charges placed."
"As was I," he said with feeling. "When did Jin disappear?"
"Yesterday. She's been in a mood. I'm surprised she's stayed this long. That girl is as fierce and bull-headed as they come. Mei is the only one who can get through to her, but not this time. Jin climbed out of a third-story window, and darted off. Another girl tried to follow, and…um, didn't fare as well."
"Is she all right?"
"The girl broke both her ankles when she fell."
Riot winced. "Sounds like you have your hands full."
"When don't I? As troublesome as she is, I am worried."
"Jin is likely holed up in Tobias' fort in my backyard. And if she isn't there, I believe I know where she is."
"I had hoped you would. She seemed taken with Mr. Morgan and his boat. Is he a reputable gentleman?"
"You don't have to worry about Mr. Morgan with the girl. He has my full trust."
"High praise, then."
"Though I can't speak for his reckless streak."
Donaldina laughed over the line—a crackle of amusement. "Well, I wouldn't speak for yours either, or mine, for that matter. Thank you, Atticus. Let me know the moment you find her, but please take your time in returning that girl."
"That bad?"
"One of my worst."
That was saying quite a bit. Donaldina Cameron was not one to exaggerate. But Jin was the last thing on his mind as he rang off. Riot picked up the newspaper again. "Tim!" he called.
15
No Rest for the Weary
While bent on destroying the tong headquarters, gambling dens, and brothels, Atticus has forgotten the ultimate goal—to discover the heart of this multi-headed beast.
—Z.R. Journal Excerpt
ISOBEL DRAGGED HER FEET along the wharf, sorely regretting her choice to not eat breakfast with Riot the day before. The city jail hadn't provided any food. As she walked towards her boat, her mind reeled with possibilities. All of them grim.
Alex Kingston had seen her. There was no doubt. Would he connect the dots? Her husband was no fool.
To add salt to the wound, her assumed name was now plastered all over the newspapers. Disguised as a vagrant. If William Punt had half a brain, he'd put two and two together. The implications threatened to drown her. Her precarious world was spiraling out of control. Only now, she had others to worry about—a whole heap of people connected to her name.
Frus
trated, she turned her mind to the night before. To facts, and the cool comfort of logic. Had Punt disappeared inside The Drifter? The side door seemed more likely. But who was that other man (or woman) in the alleyway? And the smoke. At first she'd thought it was a stick of dynamite or a firecracker. But there hadn't been a bang.
Seagulls circled overhead, screeching down at her. She could have sworn they were laughing. Exhausted, she ran her hands over her face, and picked up her pace. Her thoughts turned to a soft berth and a warm blanket.
Her feet were moving of their own accord when she reached the ladder to the Pagan Lady's berth. And stopped. The berth was empty. Only drifting rubbish rose and fell with the shifting water.
Her boat was gone.
The realization snapped her awake. She searched the jam of fishing boats, trawlers, and moored yachts, as if the Lady had simply decided to float away and call on her neighbors.
A tomcat hopped on a nearby pylon, and calmly began licking his paw. "Where is my boat?" she asked. Watson looked at her. He didn't even have the decency to look ashamed of himself.
"Let me guess, the boat thief bribed you with shrimp?" Surely Riot or Lotario wouldn't have taken her cutter?
Watson flicked his tail.
With a growl of frustration, Isobel raced towards the watchman's tower. She applied her fist to its door, the hinges shuddering under her barrage.
"Mr. Covel!"
A soft snore answered. She swore. The watchman was deep in his cups again—his perpetual state, and the reason the docking fees were so low.
Isobel dragged a rotting crate next to a storage shed, and used it to climb up onto the roof. A gust of wind snatched at her clothes, nearly knocking her off her flimsy perch. Belatedly, she realized she was still wearing the itchy dress from her night in jail. Hoping she wouldn't be committed for hysteria, she stood on the rickety shack and put a hand over her eyes to search the horizon. There. Over an expanse of choppy gray waves, her boat bobbed in the bay. It was adrift. The mainsail was fluttering dangerously, not even half raised. She narrowed her eyes. A small figure moved on deck.
Isobel climbed down, and made for the nearest rowboat. The oars were missing. This day, she thought, could get no worse. So why not? Not caring if anyone saw her, Isobel pulled the dress up and over her ears, tossed it on the wharf, and climbed down the last ladder in nothing but her bloomers.
A frisson of shock traveled through her body. She embraced the cold, let go of the ladder, and began swimming towards her ship. Garbage and clinging rats gave way to fresh sea and white-capped waves that pushed her from all sides. She only cared about her boat, and the miscreant who had dared steal it.
Aided by the current, she reached the Lady, gripped a dragging line, and hauled herself over the rail. Soaking wet and fuming, she hopped to her feet to confront the would-be thief.
A slip of a girl struggled with the mainsail, practically hanging from the halyards in an attempt to raise it. Sao Jin let out a scream of frustration.
"I should throw you overboard!" Isobel bellowed into the wind.
The girl turned. Physically she was around the age of ten, but mentally she was somewhere between a wildcat and a shark. A scar ran across her cheek, and another slashed across a jaw that was currently set in abject defiance. Her almond eyes blazed with fury. "Go ahead, Faan Tung! Sharks will devour my soul, and the next time you enter the water, I will eat you!"
"That's a mighty big plan for a girl who can't even hoist a sail. Were you planning on bobbing away?"
A string of Cantonese cuss words punctuated each tug on the halyard. "Yiu!" Jin let go of the line, and the gaff dropped with a thud. "I hate you, Faan Tung!"
"That's Captain Faan Tung, to you. You've tangled the lines." Isobel pointed to the top of the mast.
Jin turned red with fury.
"Why are you trying to steal my boat, and why aren't you at the mission?"
"Sock nika tow!" Jin snarled, and stomped below deck. Definitely a wildcat.
The padlock to the hatch had been unlocked. That girl and her lock picks. Sounds of fury beat from the cabin. Something shattered against the hull, and Isobel looked heavenward. Things had gotten worse.
A book flew through the open hatch, smacking against the tiller. "I hate this country! I hate the mission! I hate the girls!" A drawer of pots and utensils crashed on the cabin floor.
Isobel secured the mainsail, and checked the horizon. Assured that they weren't in imminent danger of running into something, she climbed into the wildcat's lair. A fork flew at her face.
Isobel ducked under the missile, and glared at the girl. Sao Jin had the decency to pause, a knife poised in her trembling hand. Instead of throwing it, she dropped it.
"What's gotten you in a rage?" Isobel asked. She tried to keep her voice calm, but she was one step away from tying the girl to the bowsprit.
"You!" Jin growled, and went back to her carnage.
Isobel watched the girl rage back and forth across the saloon, wreaking havoc on her belongings. Anger turned to puzzlement. Jin was trying to provoke her on purpose. Why? She eyed the scars that crisscrossed the girl's face. The only attention Jin had ever known was cruelty. She wanted to be heard, to be noticed—she just didn't know how else to go about it.
Resigned to let the girl rage herself into exhaustion, Isobel quickly shed her bloomers, and pulled on a pair of trousers. A sweater followed, but as she reached for her peacoat Sao Jin screeched an unforgivable insult. "I hate this stupid boat!"
The echo rang in Isobel's ears. Calmly, she shrugged on her coat, and climbed the companionway ladder. She shut the hatch.
Footsteps marched up the ladder, and then angry knocking. "Let me out, Faan Tung!"
"Sorry, Jin. I'm worthless. I can't figure out how to open it!" Isobel called pleasantly back.
A loud kick shuddered on wood.
Isobel took a deep breath of sea and wind, and turned her gaze to the choppy gray horizon. She ran a hand over the Pagan Lady's cabin top. "I apologize for her rudeness."
As the wildcat raged below, Isobel scurried up the mast loops. She clung to the top, unwinding the tangled lines as the Lady swayed and rocked beneath her. The horizon heaved, but she paid it little mind. Even exhausted, it was second nature to her.
Satisfied, she climbed down, and moved forward to unfurl the jib. Wind filled the voluminous sail, pushing the cutter farther into the chop.
The noise below stopped. Only the wind touched her ears now. Isobel unlocked the padlock, and opened the hatch. Sao Jin stomped on deck fuming. But whatever insult she was about to hurl died on her lips. The wind knocked her back a step, and her eyes widened.
Isobel cinched the tiller, and moved to the mainsail. She braced herself and pulled on the halyards, hoisting the sail. Her leg gave protest and she channeled the pain, heaving with every inch of her five-foot frame. "You can insult me, Jin." Heave and pull. "You can ruin my cabin, but you will never disrespect the Lady."
"Go to hell!" Jin spat.
Red sail filled the sky. Isobel dropped into the cockpit, tightening the mainsheet. The sail snapped taut, the Lady heeled sharply, and Jin scrambled to grab a railing as the deck tilted.
"I plan on taking you there!" Isobel yelled over the wind. "And I guarantee you will never say another ill word about my Lady." The cutter dipped, and the bowsprit crashed through a white-capped wave. Icy water drenched Jin, and all her fury washed away as she looked to the cold gray sea. The sea was in a mood, and so was Isobel.
16
An Average Man
My required use of a walking stick is an irritation more acute than the pain itself. With every limping step, I am reminded that my body—this shell—is deteriorating around my mind.
—Z.R. Journal Excerpt
HULLS KNOCKED TOGETHER, AND the wind picked up, bringing scents of rubbish and dead fish with an underlying seasoning of salt. Sarah wrinkled her nose at the water.
"The ocean is much prettier by Ocean Beach," she noted.
Riot didn't answer. His gaze was on the empty berth and its absent boat. He clutched his walking stick, swallowing down an irrational thought: Isobel had bolted. Her arrest was worrisome in more ways than one. Beaten. Although the newspapers were prone to exaggeration, that word stuck in his mind. He well knew how stubborn she could be. Isobel could have a knife in her gut and insist that she was fine.
San Francisco Bay was rough, and farther out a strong wind whipped up crests of white. This was no day for a casual sail on the bay. No, something had driven her out to sea.
"Doesn't look like much of a day for sailing," Sarah said, with a tremulous note in her voice.
"For the captain of this particular vessel it might be. It's Mister Morgan's boat."
"Oh." No more needed saying. Sarah knew more about Mr. Morgan and Charlotte Bonnie than was good for her. "Which boat is it?"
"The boat is gone." He consulted his watch.
"Did Jin go with he—him?" Sarah stumbled over the pronoun, but got it right in the end.
"That is an excellent question." Something caught his eye at the end of the wharf.
Riot hurried over to an orange lump atop a bed of wool. "Watson." There was an accusatory tone in his voice. As if it were the cat's fault that Isobel was missing.
The cat cracked an eye open, flicked his tail, and went back to sleep.
"Is that Mr. Morgan's cat?"
"Yes." Riot crouched, and scratched the cat between the ears. A purr rumbled from the big tom.
"I suppose that means Mr. Morgan is coming back?"
"I hope so." He tried to pick Watson up, but a low growl, a swipe of claws, and a warning hiss made Riot snatch away his hand. "Oh, come now, Watson. I just want a look at your bed."
Luminous eyes narrowed. Riot tried to get back in Watson's good graces with another head scratch, but was stopped short by a fresh rake of claws.
Conspiracy of Silence (Ravenwood Mysteries #4) Page 9