Holt's Gamble (44 page)

Matthew pulled himself up straighter to appear taller. "Sarsaparilla."

"Make that two," Clay added, not wanting to muddle his foggy brain with alcohol.

When the barkeep set the drinks before them, Clay pushed a ten-dollar gold piece toward him.

The man's eyebrow went up. "That the smallest you got?"

"If you've got the information I want, you won't have to change it for me," Clay replied.

"What kinda information?"

"I'm looking for a man by the name of Asa McKendry. I was told he spent a lot of time here. Do you know him?"

"I might," the man answered, stroking his beard. "As you can see, we stay pretty busy here. Lotta folks drift in... drift out. McKendry, you say? Had a fella used to come in here regular until a few months ago by that handle. Reddish hair, not too tall, bit of a brogue..."

"That's him," said Matthew.

"Like I said," the man repeated, going for the coin, "I haven't seen him for months now."

Clay flattened his hand over the gold piece. "What can you tell me about him? Where was he living? Did he meet anyone here regularly?"

The bearded man frowned. "Nope. In a place like this, nobody knows too much about nobody else. Folks like it that way."

Clay cursed under his breath.

"Why are you looking for him anyway?"

Clay sent him a chilling look. "He took my wife."

"
Shee-it
. You don't say?" The barkeep picked up the coin and fingered it absently in his hand. "Ya know, come to think of it, you ain't the first to come looking for this McKendry fella."

Clay's head shot up. "We're not?"

"Nope. About the time McKendry disappeared, a fella come askin' for him just like you. I knew right off he was the kinda hombre you don't wanna tangle with. Mean as sin, but smooth as Kentucky bourbon. Wore a black patch over his eye and had a nasty-looking scar on his cheek. Had him a couple of big fellas with—"

Clay straightened abruptly. A sick feeling twisted his gut. "Did you say a
patch?"

"Yeah—black patch."

Clay swallowed hard. "What did he look like?"

The other man shrugged. "Tall, good-looking—except for the eye—sandy hair..."

"Oh, Christ—"
It couldn't be.
His skin broke out in a cold sweat. "Did he tell you his name?"

The bartender scratched his head thoughtfully. "He's been comin' in here pretty regular since then. It's Talbin... or Tolbert... something like that."

Clay's voice was flat, emotionless. "Talbot? John Talbot?"

The barkeep's face flattened with surprise. "That's it."

"Oh, no," Matthew moaned. "Is that the same—?"

Clay nodded. He'd told Matthew all about Talbot and now imagined the boy's pale expression was a perfect mirror of his own. Clay turned back to the man. "Any idea where he lives?"

"I heard he lives somewhere around here, in Portsmouth Square."

"That's
it?"

"Yup. That's all I know."

Clay shoved away from the bar. "Thanks..."

"Hey, good luck," the man called after them.

Clay barely heard him as he pushed through the saloon doors again. Once outside, he took deep gulps of air to try to combat the ragged fear inside him.
Talbot here in San Francisco? It doesn't seem possible. He must have come through Panama, the bastard. What if he has Kierin already? How will we find her?

"W-what does it mean, Clay?" In spite of the boy's outward calm, his voice trembled.

Clay rested a hand on the boy's shoulder. "If Talbot's involved... we've got to find your sister. Fast."

"First, we've got to find Talbot," Matthew returned, staring out into the crowded street.

"Right." Clay glanced back into the saloon at the women dealing cards. It was a long shot, but maybe one of those woman had made Talbot's acquaintance. "I'll be right back, son-"

Matthew's hand on his arm stopped him. "Clay..."

Clay turned around. "What is it?"

Matthew was staring at a drunk old man stumbling up the street. The boy swallowed hard. "It's... it's my father."

Matthew was already off the boarded walkway and into the street before Clay realized what the boy had said. A quick scan of the area told him Kierin wasn't with her father. With his heart pounding in his chest like a fist, Clay was off the portico in one long stride and right behind Matthew.

Asa's lurching run kept him close to the wall of the building beside him and his hand was stretched out at arm's length to keep from careening into it.

"Pa!" Matthew called from a few feet away. "Pa—stop!"

Asa's head came up in bewilderment and he stumbled to a stop. His eyes blinked in confusion as his gaze fell upon his son, but Asa hardly had time to speak before Clay seized his sweat-soaked shirtfront and slammed him up against the wall.

"Where is she, you sonofabitch?"

Asa grunted as he connected with the bricks behind him.

"Where's Kierin, you bastard?
Tell me!"

"Clay," Matthew interceded, wrestling with the steely muscles of Clay's arm. "Stop it! He'll never tell you anything if you kill him."

Asa's eyes were wide open and panicked. Clay noticed that the old man's skin was the color of dried mud and wondered dispassionately if he'd already hurt him.

Clay took a deep breath and reluctantly released his hold on the trembling man. He
wanted
to kill him. But not before he got some answers.

Asa's knees gave way and he slid partway down the wall before Clay swore and caught him, easing him to the ground.

"I don't think he's drunk," Matthew said, unfastening his father's collar, "I think he's sick."

Looking at him, Clay had to agree.

Asa blinked at the beads of sweat rolling into his eyes.

"Matthew?"

"Yeah, Pa, it's me."

"You're alive... Sweet Jesus... I don't... believe it..."

"Pa—where's Kiery? What have you done with her?"

Asa grimaced and rubbed his chest. "Got to help her... can't let them—"

"Where is she, Asa?" Clay demanded. "Tell us."

"Talbot... Talbot's got her." He licked his dry lips. "I was such a fool... I thought he wanted to... marry her."

"Marry her."
Clay stared at the man, incredulous. "What's he done with her? Is she hurt?"

"Don't know..." Disoriented, he struggled to get up. "I have to get help... need a gun. I had nothing..."

Clay pushed him back down again. "You're in no shape to help anyone, McKendry. Tell me where she is."

"Not far down Kearny. Tall brick townhouse... picket fence... number forty-seven..."

Clay was already on his feet, sprinting toward his horse.

"There's two men with him," Asa called after him. "They're armed—"

Matthew watched Clay go, torn between helping him and staying with his father.

"Matthew."

Asa's voice brought the boy's gaze around to his father's face. The older man started to reach up to touch Matthew's face, but stopped short of doing it when the boy flinched. "I looked for ye. I swear I did, but... couldn't find ye anywhere. Thought they'd kilt ye. Sorry, boy. I've... made such a mess of things."

Was his father actually asking him for forgiveness? Matthew wondered. As he looked into Asa's eyes, all the pain of those first few months returned like a wave of frigid water. He wasn't sure he'd ever be up to forgiving him. And certainly not now, with Kierin in so much trouble. "I know, Pa. I have to go help Kiery. You stay here, you hear me? You're sick."

"I've got to help her," Asa argued. "She's got to know I didn't mean the things I said. Only said them so I could get out to help her. Give me a hand up, boy."

Matthew shook his head. "Pa, I'm going now. You stay. You only slow us down. When we find her, I'll bring her back to you. That's a promise." He walked backward a few steps then turned and ran to his pinto.

Asa watched him spur the horse down the street, with the certain knowledge that later would be too late for him. Bracing his hand on the wall behind him, he edged up from the ground and headed for the sorrel horse tied not far away on a hitching rail.
Add horse stealing to my crimes,
he thought grimly, checking the old Sharps rifle cradled in the scabbard. Hauling himself into the saddle, he set his sights for Talbot's house. He'd find the man and kill him if it was the last thing he did. With a grimace of pain, he reflected that it very likely would be.

* * *

Clay flattened himself against the rear door of the townhouse, listening to the unexpected sound of a woman humming in the kitchen. His Colt hovered near his cheek, his finger poised over the trigger. He heard the heavy footsteps of a man enter the room and then the woman's enticing giggle.

"Cain. You scared me," the woman's sultry voice scolded. "Now, stop that, you devil—oohhh..."

"That was some stunt you pulled with that girl," the man growled, his voice muffled against her skin. "You're somethin' else, Suzanne. It made me all... hot... and bothered."

She laughed throatily. "What would your boss say if he saw you with me like this?"

"Like to kill us both, I reckon. Mm-mm... he's got other things on his mind right now," the man answered.

"El Dragón, for instance?"

"That pimp's been waiting two weeks for Talbot's shipment to arrive. From the looks of her, he ought to turn a pretty profit on her, top."

"Is... Belson there with him? Waiting?"

"Mm-mm, yeah, honey. We're all alone h—"

An ominous click beside the man's ear silenced his words. "Not anymore, you're not," Clay told him, pressing the barrel of his gun against the man's cheek.

"Shit."

"Move real slow, both of you, back against the wall." Clay eased his gun away from the man's ear and nudged it against his throat. The brown-haired woman named Suzanne inched away from her lover and flattened herself up against the wall, her brown eyes wide with fear.

Cain stood a good four inches taller than Clay's considerable height and peered down his nose at Clay through slitted eyes. "What do ya want?"

"First, your gun. Hand it to me. Read slow."

Cain two-fingered the stock of his pistol and dangled it in front of Clay.

He took it and slipped it into the wide leather belt at his waist. His voice was low, unmistakably dangerous. "Now... tell me where she is."

The barrel of Clay's gun rippled with the movement of Cain's Adam's apple. "She?"

He nudged the gun harder, cutting into Cain's flesh. "I'd like nothing better than to blow your goddamned brains out, you bastard, and you've got exactly five seconds to change my mind."

Sweat trickled down Cain's cheek.

"One..."

"I—I don't know who you mean, mister."

"Two..."

"Three..."

"If you mean that girl—"

"Four... sometimes I miss five altogether—"

"Wait. I'll tell you. The McKendry girl. Is that who you mean?"

"Keep talking."

"Talbot's took her down to a warehouse—by the docks."

"Who's this El Dragón?" Clay demanded.

Cain's tongue flicked over his lips. "He's a whoremonger from Sonora, Mexico, up here buyin' women for his brothels."

Clay's jaw tightened. "Are you telling me Talbot's planning on selling Kierin to him?"

The big man swallowed painfully. "Uh-huh. Got some kind of personal grudge against her, I think. He don't talk about it, but I think it has something to do with the scar on his face."

Clay took a deep breath. His eyes glittered like blue ice. "How far is it?"

"Huh?"

"The warehouse."

Cain hesitated. Clay shoved the gun tighter.

"Only a b-block or two from here, on Commercial Street. The Long Wharf," Cain answered.

Peripherally, Clay caught the subtle movement of Suzanne's arm as she eased a drawer open behind her. Before he could react, Matthew was beside him with a knife blade at her throat. Suzanne gasped and pressed her head back against the white cupboards, taking in the sight of the savage-looking boy threatening her. "My God, it's an
Indian."

"Put it down," Matthew ordered. When she made no move to comply—only widened her eyes—he said, "I may be young, but don't doubt that I know how to use this." He pressed his blade harder against the white skin of her throat. The sharp knife she'd managed to pilfer from the drawer fell to the floor with a clatter.

"Boy," Clay said admiringly, "you move like a Cheyenne."

Matthew's drawn expression softened slightly at the praise. "Is she here?" he asked, not taking his eyes off his prisoner.

"No," Clay answered. "But this gentleman is going to take us to her. Aren't you, Cain?"

Cain's eyes widened in response.

"Matthew, lock our troublemaking lady in the pantry over there," he said, indicating the small room off the kitchen. "I don't want her getting into any mischief while we're gone."