THE KILLING LOOK

by J. D. Rhodes

“Pretty story,” Cade said. “But you’re not going to pull that trigger.”

  Hamrick sneered. “You seem very sure of that.”

  “As sure as I am about anything. You know why?” Without waiting for an answer, he went on. “It’s like I told you when we first had that lunch together. I don’t kill a man who don’t have the killing look.” He cast a quick glance at the woman on the bed, then looked back and steadied his pistol on Hamrick. “Oh, you can hire a murder out, or have that snake of a lawyer of yours do it. You can slip poison into someone’s food or drink. But you don’t have what it takes to look a man in the eye and pull the trigger. You don’t have the balls to take a life face to face. And that’s why I’m not going to kill you, either.”

  The gun in Hamrick’s fist trembled a little, but he didn’t lower it. “You’re a fool.”

  Cade chuckled, the bitter laugh sounding like a man being strangled. “Oh, no doubt. No doubt about that at all. But this much I know. You won’t die at my hand without that killing look. You’ll die at the end of a rope after I let the law know you tried to kill your wife. Twice. I’m lookin’ forward to being there for it. To watching you swing. And you know what I’m going to do then?”

  Hamrick’s voice was hoarse with fear. “What?”

  Cade leaned forward, his voice a harsh whisper. “I’m going to go home and make love to your wife.”

  Cade’s words struck Hamrick like a slap. The look of fear was suddenly gone, replaced by a consuming rage. His face turned crimson and he raised the pistol.

  “There it is,” Cade said as he saw the look. He shot Hamrick three times, twice in the chest, and, as Hamrick collapsed, the third bullet between his eyes.

  “Sorry you had to hear that, sweetheart,” he said to the unconscious woman on the bed, and holstered the pistol. He bent to sling her over his shoulder. “Let’s go.”

  A scream from the doorway made him leap up, pistol in hand. Bridget was standing there, her face as white as a ghost’s, her hand over her mouth. She was staring at Hamrick’s body.

  “What the hell are you doing up here?” Cade snapped. “You’re supposed to be getting the little girl.”

  Bridget never took her eyes off the body. “I got her down there. She’s with Samuel. I came back to see if Missus needed help. What…what’s wrong with her?”

  “The bastard tried to poison her. Laudanum, I think. Come on, help me carry her.”

  “Wait a second.” Bridget went to the dressing table and opened a drawer. She came out with a glass bottle and pulled the stopper. “Hold her up.”

  Cade pulled Marjorie to a sitting position, her head lolling against his shoulder. Gently, Bridget raised up her chin with one hand and thrust the opened bottle up under her nose. There was no reaction at first, then Marjorie coughed explosively, her whole body seeming to convulse. She thrashed so violently that Cade nearly dropped her.

  “Hold her tighter!” Bridget snapped, and shoved the smelling salts beneath Marjorie’s nose again. This time, her eyes snapped open, wild and unseeing. She gagged and choked, and Bridget barely had time to step back before Marjorie leaned over and vomited on the floor. Cade nearly let go, but he held tight, steadying her with a strong arm around her shoulders as her stomach emptied. When she was finished, she groaned and raised her head. Her hair hung lank about her sweat-slicked face. She turned her head to look at him uncomprehendingly.

  “Levi?” she whispered.

  Before he could answer, Bridget was there with a water-soaked cloth. “Here now,” she said in a gentle voice, as if soothing a sick child. “It’s goin’ ta be all right, pet. Let’s get ye cleaned up.” Still dazed, Marjorie let Bridget wipe her face clean and tidy her hair. Bridget patted her hand. “There ya go. We’ll get ye changed into some clean clothes when we get where we’re going.” She looked down. “Cade,” she said, her gentle tone vanished. “Ye’ll clean yer own boots.”

  “Fine,” Cade said.

  “John?” Marjorie said, her voice rising. Cade saw her staring at the body on the floor. She turned to Cade, looking sick again. “Did you do this, Levi?”

  He nodded grimly. “Yeah. He tried to kill you. Again. Then he—”

  “Good,” she interrupted.

  “We need to go,” Bridget spoke up.

  Marjorie blinked. “Go? Why? This is my house.”

  “Tremblay,” Cade said. “He helped John arrange the attack on the house. On you and Violet.”

  “Violet.” Marjorie tried to stand, tottered unsteadily on her feet, then sat back down.

  Bridget patted her shoulder. “She’s fine, Missus. With Samuel. And we’re going to go lay up on your nice big ship until Mr. Tremblay’s…taken care of.”

  Marjorie’s face twisted in disgust. “I’m not afraid of that snake.”

  “Afraid’s not the point,” Cade said. “He’s got some bad people workin’ for him. And he’s still running around loose. I need to run him to ground. But I need to get you all somewhere safe.”

  Marjorie stared at him. “The Marjorie Ann.”

  Cade nodded.

  She stood up again, more steadily this time. “Well. Let’s get going, then.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  It was a wild, bumpy ride, with Samuel driving the team as hard as he dared. Cade sat up front with Samuel, the loaded coach gun across his lap. The women and the girl were in the back, Marjorie slumped against Bridget with an arm around her daughter on the other side. Violet clung to her mother as if she was drowning, whimpering with fear. Every now and then, Marjorie’s head would droop and Bridget would give her a shake. “Missus,” she said, “Missus.” That would get her to raise her head and give Violet a reassuring squeeze.

  “She needs a doctor,” Bridget said to Cade.

  “We’ll get her one. When we get where we’re going.”

  “Ya eejit,” Bridget’s voice rose. “She may be…” She stopped and put her hand to her mouth as Violet let out a sob.

  “Cade,” Samuel said in a low voice. “This may be a bad time to ask, but I’m pretty sure I heard shots from up there.”

  “Yeah. He drew on me. I did what I had to do.”

  Bridget crossed herself, then seemed to shrink back into the seat, looking away as the situation began to truly sink in.

  The traffic was picking up, slowing the progress of the carriage. Samuel stood up behind the reins. “Make way!” he called out. “Emergency! Make way!” Some of the carts and carriages gave them the road. Others stubbornly maintained their paths, the drivers turning back to shake a fist or hurl a curse until they saw Cade raise the stubby coach gun. Then they wasted no time getting out of the way. Samuel weaved through the traffic, handling the carriage like a steamboat man navigating a treacherous stretch of river.

  Finally, Cade spotted the forest of masts above the buildings. “Almost there,” he told Samuel. “Right on East Street, then down about a quarter mile until you reach Gold’s Wharf.”

  They made their way along the waterfront streets until Cade spotted the Marjorie Ann. But it was Marjorie who raised her hand to point it out. “That’s the one.”

  Samuel pulled the carriage to a stop. Bridget craned her neck to see, then whistled as she regarded the ship. “She’s a beauty.”

  “Yes,” Marjorie said with obvious pride. “She is.” Cade turned to look at her. She was deathly pale, but she had her head up, her chin raised defiantly in that way that captivated him all over again.

  Cade spotted Sorokin, the huge Russian, standing his usual guard at the top of the gangplank. “Hey!” Cade jumped down ran toward the gangplank, one arm waving. “Sorokin!”

  The big man didn’t answer, just stood there with his massive arms across his chest, looking down impassively.

  “Let us on board,” Cade called up. “Mrs. Hamrick needs a doctor. She’s been poisoned.”

  The big man didn’t move. He just stood there looking at Cade as if he were a noisy drunk asking for a
boat ride.

  “Get the captain,” Cade said. “Come on, man.”

  Marjorie stepped up beside him. The huge Russian blinked in surprise. He moved for the first time, but toward them, the wood of the gangplank creaking under his weight.

  “Cade,” Samuel said nervously as he walked up beside Marjorie, “what is he going to do?”

  “I don’t know.” Cade could tell nothing from the look on the big man’s face.

  “Well, ask him.”

  “Won’t do any good. He can’t talk. But it’s okay. He’s on our side. I think.”

  Bridget had come up to stand behind them, a wide-eyed Violet clasping her hand. “Lord above,” Bridget said in an awed voice. “That’s a big’un.”

  Sorokin had reached them by now. He regarded the group expressionlessly.

  Finally, it was Marjorie who spoke up. “Mr…Sorokin, is it? We haven’t met yet. I’m Marjorie Hamrick. Marjorie Townsend Hamrick. I’m the owner of this vessel.” She held out a hand.

  Sorokin looked at the outstretched hand for a moment, then, before anyone could stop him, he took it in his own hand and bowed over it. When he straightened up, he stood to attention, clicked his heels together like a soldier, then executed a perfect military heel turn and headed for the ship. Marjorie followed behind, head held high. Samuel and Cade looked at each other and shrugged before falling in behind him.

  “Wait,” Bridget said. “Ye mean to go on board?” She shook her head. “Oh, no. I don’t know what kind of ruffians are on board that scow. I could end up carried off. Sold to the Arabs. Or even the Chinese.”

  Cade stopped and looked back. “Suit yourself. But you’ll be alone in all that.” He gestured back toward the crowded and dirty streets of the waterfront.

  She looked back, then at Cade. “Out of the frying pan, into the bleedin’ fire,” she muttered as she passed him.

  On board, Sorokin was leading Marjorie toward the cabins at the stern of the ship when Alton appeared at the doorway. “Mrs. Hamrick,” he said. “We didn’t know…” He stopped as she stumbled, almost fell. Only Sorokin’s arm around her shoulder kept her up. “Dear God!” Alton cried out. He rushed to her. “What happened?”

  Cade walked up. “Her husband poisoned her. Laudanum, I think. Tried to make it look like she did herself in.”

  Alton shook his head, his face darkening with anger. “Sorokin. Please guide Mrs. Hamrick to my cabin,” he ordered. “Keep an eye on her.”

  “I’m fine, Captain,” Marjorie said, but her pale face and quavering voice were unconvincing.

  “I’ll send for a doctor, ma’am,” Alton said. “Please let me know if there’s anything we can do to make you more comfortable.” He nodded to Sorokin, who nodded back and resumed his heavy tread toward the stern cabins, Marjorie held and protected by his huge arm.

  “She needs that doctor,” Cade said. “Pronto.”

  Alton nodded. “I said I’d send for one. But tell me what happened.”

  Cade decided on an abbreviated version. “I found her unconscious. Hamrick was trying to pour more laudanum down her throat. I objected. He pulled on me.”

  Alton’s eyes bored into his. “And?”

  Cade looked around to make sure Violet wasn’t nearby. “And I killed the bastard.”

  Alton nodded in satisfaction. “Good.” He looked at Samuel and Bridget. “And who are these folks?”

  “I guess you know the little girl. The other two work…I guess you can say they worked for Hamrick. They’re with us now.”

  Alton looked them up and down. “Is this true?”

  Samuel nodded. Bridget hesitated a moment, then nodded as well. Alton’s answering nod seemed to seal the deal.

  “How many crew on board?” Cade asked.

  Alton looked at him quizzically. “Four. Myself, Sorokin, Scarface Henry, and Mr. Peters.”

  Cade thought of the men he’d seen on his last visit. “I can figure which one is Henry. And the black fellow is Mr. Peters?”

  Alton nodded. “Not his real name, of course. Mr. Peters is the common nickname for a black sailor in San Francisco. No one really knows why.”

  “Huh. Where’s he hail from?”

  Alton shrugged. “He hired on in Indonesia. Not sure where he’s from originally. I assume somewhere in Africa. I can’t wrap my tongue around his given name, so Peters it is.”

  “Still. Only four?”

  Alton grimaced. “When a ship comes into port, the crimps descend. Plying the men with liquor and dirty pictures, luring them off to the boardinghouses and brothels. I’ll be lucky to get a quarter of my last crew back when we sail again. Have to hire and probably train up a whole new one.” He nodded at the men watching them carefully. “These three are the core, though. Good men. Absolutely loyal to me.”

  Cade looked around. The dark-skinned man he’d seen on his previous visit was standing a few feet away, arms crossed across his chest, a hostile expression on his face. Cade looked up. The scar-faced man was seated on the crosstree of the nearest mast, looking down with an expression even less friendly.

  “Meaning no disrespect to your fine crew, Captain,” Cade said, his voice carefully neutral, “but can we count on them to be on our side once the ball opens?”

  Alton’s eyes narrowed. “You’re expecting trouble?”

  “Tremblay has a knack for getting other people to do his dirty work for him.” Cade looked out over the waterfront. “We may get some trouble from him. I want to know if your boys will stick.”

  Alton smiled grimly. “They’ll follow orders.”

  “But they don’t seem happy about it.”

  Alton grimaced. “There’s an old sailor’s superstition that a woman on board brings bad luck. And now we have two, not to mention a child. But don’t worry, Mr. Cade. These men are loyal.” He smiled. “Have you noticed the lack of Pinkertons on the wharf?”

  Cade had been too rattled to think about it. “Yeah. What happened to those two?”

  “They went for a swim. And didn’t come back.” Alton looked back toward where Sorokin was coming out of the raised cabin area at the stern. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to tend to Marjorie.”

  “I thought you were calling a doctor,” Cade said, alarmed.

  “I’ll send Henry for one,” Alton said. “But in the meantime, I’d be a poor captain indeed if I didn’t have some physic for crew and passengers.” He gestured to the man in the rigging, who clambered down, agile as a monkey. The two conferred for a moment, then Henry headed down the gangplank and Alton disappeared into the cabins at the stern.

  Cade looked around at the crew who remained on the Marjorie Ann, at Sorokin and Mr. Peters. He’d caught a glimpse of the killing look in each of their eyes. He just didn’t know who the look was going to be for.

  Sorokin, the huge Russian, strode over to where Violet was pressed against Bridget. As Bridget pulled her closer, he knelt down to bring his ugly face closer to the little girl, who looked at him with wide eyes. He held out one hand, palm open and upward.

  Violet stared in fascination. “Are you a giant?” she said.

  Sorokin’s face split in a crooked grin and he nodded. Slowly, as if approaching a strange dog, Violet extended her own small hand and placed it in Sorokin’s. The hand seemed to disappear as the Russian closed his fingers gently over hers and gave a light squeeze before opening his hand again. He winked, and Violet giggled.

  Peters beckoned. “You come,” he said. “We get you cabin. Safe place.”

  Bridget looked dubious. She opened her mouth as if to say something, then looked over at Samuel and shut it. She turned back to Peters. “Thank you, sir, for the hospitality.” Taking Violet’s hand again, she followed the dark-skinned man toward the stern.

  Cade followed. “There’s a place down the way, one of Townsend’s warehouses,” he said over his shoulder to Samuel. “Put the horses up there.”

  Samuel nodded. “You want your scatte
r gun?”

  “Yeah. Take the rifle. Get back as quick as you can. And look sharp. I have a feeling this ain’t over yet.”

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  Tremblay rode up to the Hamrick mansion in his one-horse buggy. He frowned as he saw the gate open to the rear courtyard. Carefully, he turned and steered down the narrow alley. In the back, the stable door was also open. There was no sign of anyone else around. His frown deepened. He needed to tell John that Cade had found them out and the two of them needed to decide what to do about the pesky saddle bum who’d caused them so much trouble. He’d warned Hamrick that it was a bad idea to bring someone else into the house at this delicate juncture, but John had laughed off his concerns. “The man’s a buffoon. He’ll never twig to what’s going on. And what better way to establish that I was concerned about the Chinese than hiring a bodyguard to protect me from them?” Well, this Cade had more brains than Hamrick had given him credit for. And now, he was in the employ of the very Chinese they’d hoped to blame. He was going to have to be dealt with. Maybe by the Pinkertons, maybe by his own people, but dealt with by any means necessary. And soon.

  Tremblay dismounted and looked around, his unease growing. He walked to the back door and tried the knob. The door swung open at his touch. He entered the silent kitchen, eyes and ears attuned for any sound. Suddenly, he heard a loud thump, then another, as if someone or something was being hurled against a door, over and over. He followed the noise into the narrow hallway that led from the kitchen to the dining room. There was another loud thud, coming from a door down the hall. Tremblay inched down the hall and listened at the door. He heard muffled rustling, as if something was moving inside. Heart pounding, he slowly opened the door.

  It was clearly a servant’s room, tiny and haphazardly furnished. A man lay on the floor next to the bed, bound hand and foot, a gag thrust into his mouth and held there by a strip of cloth. He glared up at Tremblay, the rage and frustration in his eyes causing the lawyer to step back. Then he recovered his composure. This must be one of the Pinkertons Hamrick had hired to guard the house after Cade’s departure. He bent down, untied the cloth, and pulled the gag from the bound man’s mouth. The man coughed and spit for a moment, working his jaw in circles as if to get it working again, then looked up at Tremblay. “Who the hell are you?”