THE KILLING LOOK

by J. D. Rhodes

  The man behind the desk answered mildly but firmly. “You were paid the agreed price. And Mrs. Hamrick and her daughter don’t seem to be in your custody. Perhaps I should ask for a refund.”

  Shaughnessy scowled. “How the hell were my people to know the bitch had a shotgun in her damn dressing table? Or that the nigger servant would be heeled, too? Add in that bastard of a cowboy he took on, and I’ve got one of my boys dead and another who’ll be out of action for a month at least.”

  “If you’d moved a little more quickly, and shot a little straighter…” The man behind the desk shrugged. “Maybe I misjudged you. Maybe the task was too much for you and you should go back to harassing the Chinese instead of impersonating them.”

  Shaughnessy rose, fists clenched. “Now you look here, you son of a bitch…” He stopped dead at the sight of the sawed-off shotgun the man had produced from beneath the desk.

  “Sit down,” the man said, his voice still mild.

  Shaughnessy didn’t flinch. He actually seemed to be trying to judge the distance across the desk, seeing if he could beat the speed of a trigger finger to deploy his singular talent. They remained frozen there for a full twenty seconds before Shaughnessy could complete the calculation. He sat back down, his thick arms folded across his chest, his face sullen. “You ain’t always gonna have that scattergun,” he muttered.

  “Probably not,” the man behind the desk said agreeably. “But if you take me out of the picture, that would be the end of the work I throw your way.”

  Shaughnessy looked away, his jaw tightening. “We’ll be fine.”

  “Of course you will. But not as fine as you could be.” The man behind the desk smiled thinly. “Most of what I throw your way is easy work. But it could be made much harder, if you take my meaning.”

  Shaughnessy didn’t answer, just gazed stonily at the wall. The man behind the desk judged he’d had enough putting in his place. Now was the time to offer him a concession. “I’ll tell you what. The next job I have for you will bring you in more than enough money to make up for your extra trouble on this last one.”

  Shaughnessy glared at him. “What makes you think we’ll work for you again?”

  “Because, like everyone else in this town, you love money.” He stood up. “I’ll send word for you when I need you.”

  “Okay, then.” Shaughnessy got up again. “Till we meet again.” He leaned across the desk to shake hands, but the man behind the desk didn’t move.

  “What,” the hoodlum growled, “you’re too good to shake hands with me?”

  “No,” the man behind the desk said, still smiling. “Too smart to give you a chance to yank me across the desk and smash my head in. Besides, you won’t do the job because we shake hands. You’ll do it because it’ll pay you well.”

  Shaughnessy pulled the hand back. “Fine, then.” He turned to leave.

  “One more thing,” the man behind the desk said. Shaughnessy turned. “Don’t ever come to this office again. I’ll let you know when I need to speak with you, and you know how to let me know if you need to do the same, and we can arrange a place to meet.”

  Shaughnessy grinned. “Too dangerous to be seen with the likes of me, eh?”

  “Yes. For both of us.”

  The grin left the hoodlum’s face. He turned and left without another word.

  The man behind the desk leaned back and let out the breath he’d been holding. Dealing with Shaughnessy was always a tense affair, like trying to train a Bengal tiger. But he knew how to keep the man under control. He hoped.

  He stood and stretched. The past few days had been a tense time all around. He needed some release. And he’d gotten the word just this morning that there was a new acquisition at his favorite house. It was a lesser-known house, and one that catered to men of more exotic tastes. For a price, a man could purchase a girl outright, not just for an hour or a night. And once a girl was his property, a man of his proclivities could rent one of the cellar rooms—for an extra fee, of course. Once down there, he was like God. No, not like God. He was God. He could do literally anything.

  Cleanup was another extra fee, but he was a man of means, and it was well worth it.

  Yes, it was time for some rest and relaxation.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  “Cade,” he heard a familiar voice saying. “Cade.” Someone was shaking him, and he was trying to wake up, but it was like he was caught in a bad dream. He moaned, shaking his head to try and clear the darkness from it.

  “Is he drunk, then?” a female voice said.

  “I don’t know. Help me get him inside.” He felt a pair of hands on his lapels, trying to drag him upward.

  “Get him in yourself. I don’t need him gettin’ sick on me.”

  Cade opened his eyes. He was in the front of the Hamrick house, sitting on the ground and leaning against the gate at the foot of the steps. Samuel was leaning over him, his face full of concern and his hands tugging at Cade’s coat. Cade put a hand on Samuel’s and tried to tell him it was all right, he just needed a moment, but finding the words was causing him trouble. He felt a brief moment of panic, wondering if whatever the Chinese woman had drugged him with had permanently scrambled his brains. Then the world came back into focus.

  “I’m…okay…” His voice felt and sounded like a rusty gate.

  “I won’t stand a drunkard in the house,” the female voice said, and Cade looked past Samuel to see Bridget standing on the sidewalk, her arms folded across her chest and a scowl of disapproval on her face.

  “Not…drunk.” He leaned forward and got his feet under him. Samuel moved to his side and helped him up.

  Bridget snorted. “Not drunk, he says. Passed out like a common tramp in the streets. And this a respectable—”

  “Bridget,” Samuel said, “please shut up.”

  The woman’s pale face reddened. “You mind your tongue, Samuel Clayborne! I’ll not be spoken to like—”

  “I’m not drunk,” Cade insisted. “Smell my breath if you doubt it. I’ve been drugged.”

  “A likely story,” she muttered, but drew near and took a delicate sniff. Her nose wrinkled, then her brow did the same. “You smell, all right, but not of whiskey. And on your clothes, not your breath.” She stepped back. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear ye’d been to the dentist.”

  “The dentist?” Samuel said.

  “Aye. He reeks of ether.”

  “Ether,” Cade said. He’d wondered if the woman had used some sort of mysterious oriental herb or potion on him, but plain ether would explain it. He’d been leaning against the iron fence to steady himself, but he felt ready to straighten up. “Let’s get inside,” he said. “I need water. And I need to talk to Mr. Hamrick.”

  ***

  “Let me make sure I understand you, Mr. Cade.” Hamrick’s face was red with anger. He stood beside the chair in the library in which his wife was seated, one hand on the back of the chair, the other hand resting on his hip. Cade was seated in the same chair he’d spoken to Mrs. Hamrick in earlier. Samuel sat a few feet away on a small couch, with Bridget perched uncomfortably on its arm.

  Hamrick went on. “You, whom I’ve hired for the express purpose of protecting myself and my family against the incursions by the Chinese, were taken unaware from this house by those very Chinese and spirited away to some unknown place where you met with this…Mr. Kwan, is it? Head of the Green Dragon Tong.”

  Cade nodded glumly. “Yes, sir.” When Hamrick put it like that, it did make him seem foolish. “I think he was trying to make a point. If he wanted you, or me, or anyone in this house dead or kidnapped, he’d have done it.”

  “I see.” Hamrick nodded as if in understanding, but he was still clearly furious. “And how many men did it take to overcome your resistance?”

  “Ummm, one sir. And…” he took a deep breath, “it was a woman that did it.”

  Hamrick’s eyebrows went skyward in exaggerated am
azement. “A woman, you say? And how did she manage to defeat you? Did she have some sort of mystical Chinese spell? Did she entice you with some erotic secret of the Orient?”

  Cade was ready to be chastened, but Hamrick’s sarcastic tone was starting to get his back up. He kept his voice as even as he could. “No, sir. She jumped me and knocked me out with what we think is ether.”

  “What an incredible story,” Hamrick said. “By which I mean I don’t find it in any way credible.”

  “John,” his wife said.

  Hamrick ignored her. He leaned forward. “Here’s what I think happened. You decided to slip off on some drunken ramble, had a bit too much, and staggered home to collapse on the doorstep of my house, in full view of my neighbors.”

  Cade could see the way this was going. Oh well, he thought, I knew it was too good to last. He decided to play his final card. “Sir. Do you remember anything about a man named McMurphy?”

  The tirade that Hamrick was building up to end in Cade’s dismissal got derailed. He stopped, one accusing finger raised in the air, as if he’d been turned to stone. “McMurphy?” he said.

  Cade stole a glance at Mrs. Hamrick. Her hand had gone to her mouth, and her eyes were wide with shock. Looks like the arrow struck home, Cade thought. “Yes, sir. It was the name Mr. Kwan gave me. He said McMurphy was the one trying to hire the Chinese to attack you. But the whole thing was a frame-up. A trick to stir up trouble against the Chinese.” He looked at Mrs. Hamrick. She’d clearly recognized the name as well. “McMurphy’s traveling with his father. An old preacher who’s a little wandered in the head. And I was approached by just such an older fella right after you hired me. And then we saw him. Down in Chinatown.”

  “John,” Mrs. Hamrick said, but he’d gotten over his shock and was clearly determined to get command back of the situation.

  “McMurphy was an old business associate. We had a falling out. A very public one that anyone could have learned about. Even you.” He shook his head. “If you’re trying to bolster this absurd tale of Chinese abduction by dropping McMurphy’s name, you’ve made a serious miscalculation.” He smiled without humor or warmth. “Patrick McMurphy, Mr. Cade, is dead. He took his own life three years ago. And his father currently resides in a madhouse in Sacramento.” He drew himself up to his full height. “Mr. Cade, your services are no longer required. You are dismissed from my employment.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Everyone sat in awkward silence for a moment, until Cade stood up. “Thank you for the opportunity, sir.” He left with what dignity he could muster, stifling the urge to cross the room and lay the stuff-shirted bastard on the floor with one punch. As he trudged up the stairs, the door to the library opened again. Cade heard the tumult of raised voices. It sounded like the Hamricks were at it again.

  Bridget exited first, scurrying down the hallway toward the kitchen in the back.

  Samuel followed, stopping at the bottom of the stairs, one hand on the rail. “Cade,” he called up softly.

  Cade paused. He turned back down to look at Samuel. “Well, partner,” he said, “it was fun while it lasted.”

  Samuel gave him a sad smile. “Odd kind of fun,” he said, “but yes.”

  Cade resumed his climb. He encountered the little girl, Violet. She was seated on the floor in the hallway outside the nursery. Her feet were splayed out on the floor and she had one of her dolls seated between them, facing her. The little girl’s face was stern, as if she was giving the doll a lecture. She looked up as Cade mounted the stairs.

  “Hey, Little Bit,” he greeted her.

  She regarded him with the grave expression he’d gotten used to from her. “Hello.”

  He paused before going on to his room. “I guess this is goodbye.”

  Her expression didn’t change. “Why?”

  “I’m…” He didn’t think the little girl needed to hear all the details. “I’m just moving on, is all.”

  “Are you going back to herding cows?”

  He had to smile at that. “Don’t rightly know. But I’ll find something. It was nice meeting you.”

  “It was nice meeting you, too,” Violet said, and went back to her doll. She didn’t speak. It was as if she and the doll were having a stare down.

  Strange little thing, Cade thought as he went on to his room. He pulled out his trunk and sighed as he began packing his few belongings. At least I got some decent meals. And a couple of fancy new suits. Not that I have any place to wear them. It occurred to him that Hamrick might demand the new clothing back. Well, he could ask. Cade might or might not comply. But he’d taken about all he was going to from John C. Hamrick.

  “Mr. Cade,” a voice said from the door.

  He turned.

  Marjorie Hamrick was standing there, regarding him with a direct look that reminded him uncannily of her daughter’s. “May I come in?”

  “It’s your house,” he said, then immediately regretted how ungracious that sounded. “Sorry. Come on in.”

  He was surprised and more than a little unsettled when she closed the door behind her. “I’m sorry things have come to this,” she said.

  He threw a pair of new socks into the trunk. “Thanks.” He stopped and turned to her. “I wanted to protect you. And your little girl. But Mr. Hamrick makes it hard.”

  “Yes.” She looked at the trunk. “Where will you go?”

  He shrugged. “Don’t know. Haven’t been paid yet for the work I did do.”

  She nodded, her jaw setting firmly in the way he’d come to like. “You will be. I promise you that. And…” she took a deep breath and produced a card from her sleeve, “…you can find lodging here.”

  He took the card and read it. The words printed on it made him laugh. “The Royal? Ma’am, I couldn’t even afford this place if I’d been paid in full. Not for long, at least.”

  She fixed his gaze with a level one of her own. “Tell them you’re the guest of Violet Townsend. Your needs will be met. And once you’re settled, I have business to discuss with you.”

  “Violet…?” He shook his head in confusion.

  “Townsend,” she said firmly.

  He picked up his hat at put it on. “Mind if I ask what kind of business?”

  Her gaze never wavered. “Not the sort of business you are probably thinking of. And don’t attempt to deny that you’re thinking of it. I mean to offer you employment, Mr. Cade. On my own account.” She looked back at the closed door. “I am beginning to wonder if my husband truly has my protection in mind. So I want you to look into the matter of this McMurphy.”

  “Your husband said he’s dead.”

  “So we were told. And so we both believed. But neither of us have seen the body.”

  Cade pushed his hat back on his head. “You think he might be still alive? And gunning for your husband?”

  “Or for me.” She went to the door. “I can explain everything later. For now, Samuel is bringing the carriage around. He will take you where you ask. But I suggest you accept my suggestion.”

  “I don’t know how much Mr. Hamrick is going to like me using the carriage. I suspect he’s relishing the idea of me leaving on shank’s mare.”

  She smiled a tight, bitter smile. “I doubt he will like it at all.” It was clear she didn’t give a damn. In fact, she liked that idea better.

  As she left, Cade shook his head and went back to packing. There was a part of him insisting that he needed to get out of here and get as far away from this mess as he could. That was the part that had the good sense, the part he too often ignored and regretted it later. But there was the look in Marjorie Hamrick’s brown eyes, the set of her jaw, the subtle smell of her perfume. Those were the things his mind kept going to. He knew she and her daughter were in danger. And he had a powerful desire to find out from whom.

  He found Samuel waiting out front in the carriage. He was dressed the way he was when cade first met him, in a black suit and top
hat. “Mr. Clayborne,” Cade greeted him as he slung his trunk into the carriage and climbed in behind it.

  “Mr. Cade,” Samuel said formally. “Where to?”

  “You know a place called The Royal Hotel?”

  Samuel nodded. “Yes, sir. I know it quite well.”

  “Well, let’s get goin’, then.”

  “Very good, sir.” Samuel twitched the reins and the horses began a slow walk. As they sped up, Cade looked into the window where he’d seen Marjorie Hamrick before. This time, she wasn’t there.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  “So,” Cade said as they made their way down the paved streets toward the downtown area, “Mrs. Hamrick keeps a place at this Royal Hotel?”

  There was a moment’s hesitation, then Samuel answered without looking back. “Yes, sir.”

  Cade frowned. “What’s this ‘sir’ stuff, partner?”

  This time, Samuel did look back. “We’re not working at the same place, Mr. Cade. I would say that renders our partnership moot.”

  “Moot? What in the hell does that mean?”

  Samuel turned back to the road. “It means that it’s over, sir. Null and void.”

  “Well, shit, that doesn’t mean you have to treat me like we never met.”

  “If you say so, sir.”

  Cade sat back, fuming. Getting chucked out of the job was bad enough, but he’d thought he and Clayborne had at least become friends.

  They made the rest of the drive in silence until they pulled up in front of a six-story building that took up the best part of a city block. The place had an ornate frontage, with dozens of curtained windows facing the street. A sign out front proclaimed in gold letters that this was the ROYAL HOTEL. Tall, white Corinthian columns held up the roof of a broad front porch behind a set of white marble steps. As Samuel pulled to a stop at the curb, he turned to Cade with a softer expression on his face.