Beyond the Pale

by Sabrina Flynn

  The cowboy muttered something in Spanish.

  “Likely not a brain between them,” Riot agreed.

  The man looked down in surprise. “You speak Spanish like a gringo.”

  “I’m rusty,” Riot said, climbing to his feet.

  “What did they drag you in here for?”

  “Murder.”

  The cowboy passed back the matchbook. “Is that why those orientals are looking at you sideways?”

  “That’s another affair.”

  “I’m Jorge.”

  “Most call me A.J.”

  Given the bounty on his head, it was best not to toss his name around, although it seemed several highbinders across the way had recognized him. Riot was almost glad he couldn’t see anything.

  Jorge didn’t offer his hand.

  “What about you?” Riot asked.

  “Gambling,” Jorge said, with a flick of ash. “I come to the city to enjoy myself a little, and where do I end up?”

  “Can’t you pay your fine and be done with it?”

  “I’m not much of a gambler.”

  Riot chuckled.

  The cage door with the police guards opened on the far side of the bullpen. The shouting prisoners turned their insults on the guards, as a small blur was shoved into the yard. Either a child or a very little person.

  “Pobre chico,” Jorge muttered, then spat. A little boy, then.

  The blur charged the gate, spitting curses in Cantonese, until a guard prodded the prisoner back with a billy club.

  Riot went still. He knew that voice. And he knew that was no boy. With a curse, he darted across the yard.

  Sao Jin glared at everyone in the yard. White men wandered forward, snickering and jeering, while a group of Chinese men watched from across the way. She stood in a clearing, in a break between racial groups.

  “He’s full of spitfire, ain’t he?” a man crooned. “Git over there, chink. Git with your kind.” The man kicked at her, but she skipped to the side.

  When he tried again, Jin screamed with fury and charged, latching onto his leg like a cat. He tried to shake her loose, but she punched upwards between his legs. The man dropped like a howling brick, and the yard burst with laughter.

  Prisoners gathered around to watch the fight.

  “What’s this little chink think he is?” someone shouted.

  Another bruiser rushed forward to teach the ‘boy’ a lesson, but a hatchet man connected a kick to the man’s jaw, sending him reeling backwards.

  Then a dark-haired man rushed into the fray. Her bahba. Riot drove a fist into the first man’s chest, knocking the wind out of him. A fist came flying, and he ducked under the blow, but an unidentified kick to the back of his knee dropped him.

  All hell broke loose after that, and Jin was swallowed by a clash of prisoners.

  Riot was lost in a mob of shouts, kicking feet, and men slamming into each other. He stayed low, frantically searching for Jin in the chaos. There. A small form was crawling on all fours between the fighting prisoners’ legs. Riot lunged after her, and the two broke free of the mob.

  Riot scrambled to his feet to snatch the girl off her own. She screamed with rage, lashing out every which way and trying to claw out his eyes like a cat.

  Riot fought off his frenzied daughter and tightened his hold. When he reached the far side of the yard, he dropped her to the ground.

  She bounced up like a spring, ready to attack.

  “Jin,” he said, calmly.

  She froze at the sound of his voice. Riot watched as blind rage cleared and she focused once again. Keeping an eye on the frenzied brawl, he crouched in front of her. Though she was on her feet, they were at eye level. His younger daughter was a pint-sized ball of fury of the likes he had never seen. He imagined Isobel had been much the same.

  A dozen questions buzzed in his mind. He voiced the most important. “Are you hurt?”

  Jin glared at the brawling men.

  “You’re not going back over there,” he said.

  Jin seethed, thrusting her finger towards the mob. “That man kicked me.”

  “Know when to back down.”

  “You have not learned that yet,” she shot back.

  He reached for her arm, but she jumped back, fear flashing across her eyes. Riot raised his hands. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said. Although he and Isobel had made progress, Jin was still skittish.

  She relaxed a little and glanced at the fighting men. He held out a hand, and when she took it, he led her farther away from the brawl.

  Riot glanced up at the guards. Their blurred shapes were leaning over a wooden railing, watching the fight. What did they care if prisoners killed each other?

  “What on earth are you doing here?”

  Jin reached inside her coat for a newspaper. “I brought you this. So you can escape.”

  Riot stared at the newspaper like it was a snake. A nagging worry itched at the back of his neck. He unrolled the newspaper, and stared at her ‘gift.’

  “Dynamite.” Pride shone in her eyes.

  Riot quickly folded the stick back into the paper. “That’s mighty thoughtful of you, Jin. But I was wondering how you got in here.”

  “Sarah went into the station to check on you. She planned to cry and fuss, and maybe faint until they let her see you, but she never came back out.”

  “So you came to check on her?”

  Jin dipped her head. “As soon as I asked about you and Sarah, the policeman told us we needed to give statements. I refused, so they threw me in here and charged me with disorderly conduct.”

  In her oversized cap, with her scarred face, and quilted coat, it was easy to mistake her for a boy. Her long braid just looked like a queue. “Didn’t you tell them you were my daughter?”

  “The policeman did not care that I was a girl. He said they only have one place for ‘my kind.’”

  A muscle in Riot’s jaw twitched.

  “I volunteered my knife, so they did not bother searching the rest of me.”

  A distinct sound of cracking bone came from the shouting mob, and a man screamed from the pack. The guards up top gave a whoop of encouragement.

  Riot frowned at the brawl. Eventually the guards would step in with batons or rifles. Someone was sure to get killed, and he wasn’t going to take chances with his daughter in the yard.

  “Stay here.”

  “Why?”

  “Stay,” he ordered. Then caught Jorge’s eye, who was leaning against a wall watching the fight. “Can you watch him?”

  Jorge touched the brim of his hat.

  As Riot walked around the perimeter of the yard, he took out a match to drag it along a brick. Fire flared, and he touched it to the wick hidden in a newspaper. He tucked the paper under his arm, then blocked the burning wick from prying eyes with his body until the time was right. When it was, he turned and tossed the stick into the mob.

  Men screamed in panic, scattered, and leapt for cover. A split second later, the fog exploded with crackling bangs and a dazzling display of soaring lights. While everyone dropped to the ground, including the guards, Riot made his way back to Jin, who was gawking at the fireworks display.

  He pulled her down, putting his back to the wall. After the echos of popping died, the guards shouted orders, and a stream of them finally rushed into the yard.

  Jin narrowed her eyes. “Did you know it was a firecracker?”

  “You didn’t know?” Riot asked.

  He could hear her teeth grinding. “Why would smugglers have firecrackers?”

  “Do you really think I’d let you pinch a stick of dynamite?”

  Shots were fired, and a stream of shouting policemen poured into the yard. “On the ground! Hands on your heads!”

  Everyone dropped.

  Riot folded his hands behind his head, and nodded for Jin to do the same. She mirrored his pose, but glared at an approaching blur.

  Doyle swam into view, a baton in hand that he slapped against his palm.
“What did you start now, A.J.?”

  “You know me,” Riot said. “They put my daughter in here.”

  Doyle focused on Jin, who glared back. He gave a curse. “I thought she was a boy when I saw them tossing her in. Didn’t know she was your kin.”

  “Can you get her out of here?”

  “The guards wouldn’t even let me in to break up the fight. I’m outnumbered here.” Doyle glanced over his shoulder at a man groaning on the ground. “But I got to say, it’s a real shame you both got injured in the fight.”

  The edge of Riot’s lip quirked. “A real shame, isn’t it, Jin?”

  She stared, confused. Then it clicked. Jin fell over like a puppet without strings.

  Soon enough, Riot was carrying a limp child in his arms, with Doyle pushing his way through the guards shouting about injuries. In the confusion, they let them through.

  Doyle checked them into a holding cell, with an excuse of needing a physician. Then posted himself as a guard.

  Jin lay on the cot, feigning injury, while Riot sat on the floor, reading the newspaper she’d brought him. Three brief sentences. That was all. Killed during a robbery.

  Riot wasn’t surprised.

  “How long do I have to play dead?” Jin whispered in his ear.

  “Until Bel brings an attorney.”

  “We wired Mr. Farnon.”

  “Then he should be along shortly,” Riot murmured. A sudden thought occurred to him. “You said Tobias was with you?”

  “Yes.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “He is a traitor,” Jin bit out with a snap of teeth.

  “How so?”

  “He offered to tell them everything.”

  “Everything?”

  Jin gave a curt nod that made Riot shake with laughter.

  “Why are you laughing?” she demanded.

  “Have you ever tried to get a straight story from Tobias?”

  “Oh.”

  “You say you went camping at Willow Creek?”

  “I did. The Riots took me. Real nice of them, isn’t it? Me not being their family and all, but we’re great friends. And I saw the redwoods, and the ocean, and the railway car. And Mr. A.J. showed me how to pitch a tent and start a fire—”

  “Mr. A.J.?” the policeman cut Tobias’s narrative short. As soon as he and Jin had gone up to the front desk to ask about Sarah, a nice policeman came out and escorted Tobias to a room.

  Tobias smiled at the nice man. They’d taken Jin off somewhere else. Something about a Chinese statement not mattering. Then they handed him a paper bag full of candy and asked about his trip. He was currently sucking away at a piece of rock candy while he talked.

  Tobias was talented like that.

  “Sure, Mr. A.J. I guess you got him here. We came to see him.”

  “Was he with you at Willow Camp?”

  “I just said he taught me how to pitch a tent. You got any more candy?”

  The policeman glanced up from his notepad. “You have an entire bag of candy.”

  “You ever been to the redwoods?” Tobias asked.

  “What day did you leave?”

  “I don’t know. What day is today? I mean, does it matter what the day is? It’s always today, and tomorrow is tomorrow, and yesterday is always the day before.” Tobias popped another piece of candy in his mouth as the policeman scribbled in his notebook.

  Tobias leaned forward. “Whatcha writing? How d’you become a policeman? Is there a school for it? Can you show me around the station?”

  The officer closed his eyes for a brief second. “Quiet,” he growled.

  Tobias cocked his head. “I thought you wanted to get my statement?”

  “I do. But only answer my questions.”

  “I did. I don’t know what day we left. Then you didn’t answer my question about what today is.”

  “Look, boy, you give me the runaround anymore and I’ll lock you up.”

  “You said I can’t lie for this thing. I’d be lying if I told you the day, wouldn’t I? Cause I don’t know.”

  “Today is Wednesday.”

  “Is it? Already? We left on a Saturday. I know that because it was the day before church. Only we don’t go to church. My ma just has us sing the hymns then reads from the bible. Do you go to church?”

  “Yes.” The policeman caught himself, then narrowed his eyes. “You’re not allowed to ask questions.”

  “You got something against your church?”

  “Did you take a ferry?”

  “We took Miss Isobel’s cutter. She’s teaching us how to sail. Jin is the first mate. I’m a crewman, and so is Sarah, and Mr. A.J. is the galley cook. You ever been sailing on the bay?”

  “Was Mr. A.J. with you?”

  “Well, we can’t sail without a cook. You don’t want to taste Miss Isobel’s grub. Now, my ma, she can cook. Does your ma cook?”

  The policeman’s shoulders deflated, and Tobias White kept on talking.

  14

  Bail

  “You have no proof. It’s all circumstantial,” Nathan Farnon insisted. Blond and balding, he wore a pince-nez that had a habit of falling off his nose. He adjusted the little glasses.

  “The judge who issued the warrant disagreed with you,” Inspector Geary argued. “I have numerous witnesses who state that Montgomery Johnson and Atticus Riot had words that ended in an all-out brawl. Riot got his ass handed to him.” He paused to sneer at Isobel, who was standing off to the side as the men faced off over a counter in a waiting area full of people. Along with a reporter, whom she’d invited. Young Cameron Fry was busily scratching in his notepad with glee.

  “And Riot told us himself that he believes Monty tried to kill him. That’s motive!” Geary thrust his finger at the reporter, who also wrote that down.

  Isobel was tired. Tired of the politics and the grudges and the justice department being more criminal than savior. Unless you were flush with cash, that is.

  She kept a tight rein on her tongue, while she studied another man who was standing off to the side, observing the attorney versus inspector confrontation. He was the tall, graying man from the docks. With his squinting eyes and long drooping mustache, it was hard to read his expression.

  “What judge issued the warrant?” Farnon asked. “My client was with his family at the time of death. He was seen on the Mount Tamalpais Railway.”

  “So she says. Her word is hardly trustworthy,” Geary said.

  “Mrs. Riot has the tickets,” Farnon retorted.

  “He could’ve hiked back and taken a ferry.”

  “So what you’re saying, Inspector, is you arrested a man on the word of a few ruffians at a boxing club,” Isobel said.

  “We have more proof.”

  “Have you verified my husband’s whereabouts and alibis on the third of November?” she asked.

  Geary looked down his nose at her. “Monty was killed on the sixth.”

  Last Tuesday. She noted Geary’s use of ‘Monty’ instead of ‘victim’ or Mr. Johnson.

  “I’m sure the reporters of this fine city will verify Riot’s whereabouts quicker than your detectives, Inspector.” She paused to make sure Mr. Fry had caught her hint. “Now I’d like to speak with my husband.”

  “That’s not allowed. I can hold him for four days while we look into this matter.”

  Isobel ground her teeth together. She wanted to strangle Inspector Geary and his sneer. But before thought gave way to action, a strong hand wrapped around her arm.

  “Cool it, girl,” a familiar voice whispered. She turned in surprise. It was Tim, his bald head gleaming under the lights and his white beard as bushy as ever. He flashed the inspector his gold teeth, making her think of a maniacal leprechaun.

  Since Tim was here, it meant the children were safe at home. At least there was that, she thought.

  Farnon led them off to the side. “They can’t legally deny access to an attorney. I’ll see that Mr. Riot is comfortable.”

 
; “You haven’t spoken with him yet?” Isobel asked.

  Farnon glanced at the officers. “No, they claimed there was a disturbance in the yard.”

  A lump formed in her throat.

  “Mrs. Riot, as your attorney, I urge you to stay out of this. You can’t investigate this matter. Do not interfere.”

  “I can’t just stand by,” she snapped.

  “If you don’t, then you risk doing more harm than good. The inspector is right. Legally, they can hold him up to four days when there’s a suspicion of murder.”

  “I know the law, Mr. Farnon.”

  The man adjusted his pince-nez, unfazed and well used to her sharp tongue. He had seen her at her lowest, during her own court case and incarceration.

  She took a breath. “I apologize.”

  “I know. You’re worried. It’s understandable. But if this goes to trial, any evidence you uncover to support his innocence will be tainted. The prosecution will accuse you of tampering with evidence and concocting alibis.”

  Farnon focused on Tim, who had his hands in his pockets and was rocking back and forth on his feet. “And that goes for you too, Mr. Tim.”

  “I have complete faith in the powers that be.”

  The old man looked far too innocent. Isobel wondered what he was planning.

  “I can pass on a message,” Farnon said.

  “Tell him…” Isobel hesitated. “Tell him we’ll manage.”

  A throat cleared, and the three turned back to Inspector Geary, who was looking as smug as ever. “There’s another matter.”

  Ice trickled down her spine. “Yes?”

  “Are you the mother of…” Geary held up a sheet of paper, and read. “… Sarah Byrne Riot and Sao Jin Riot?”

  Cameron’s head whipped up.

  Isobel stepped back to the counter. “What has happened?”

  “Miss Sarah has been charged with obstructing a police investigation. She refused to give a statement. And your Chinese child threatened us with violence.”

  “Where are my daughters?” Isobel asked through clenched teeth.