Pariah (10 page)

Just to be certain, Clint looked back at her and asked, “Here? Madeline is here?”

Lylah nodded and pointed toward the bustling town as if afraid it might catch her doing so. Grudgingly, she whispered a few words to him and wrapped her arms tightly around his midsection.

At first, Clint thought she was saying something in her own language. Lylah's accent was thick enough to make the few English words she knew a bit difficult to understand. In the short amount of time he'd spent with her, Clint had gotten fairly good at sifting through her accent to find whatever words he could make any sense of. After mulling over the words a few times in his head, Clint asked, “Did you say Hop Town?”

“Hop Town. Yes.”

While Clint had been to Tombstone plenty of times, he rarely had occasion to visit the Chinese settlement known to locals as Hop Town. He might have strolled through that area on his way to somewhere else or to see about getting some good food, but most of his business was conducted in Tombstone's saloons or with any number of friends who might be in town while he was there. Having already paid his respects the last time he was in town, Clint avoided his usual haunts and rode down Third Street.

Keeping his head down as he passed Fremont and Allen streets, Clint felt like he was ducking the law or on the run from somebody. The simple fact of the matter was that he didn't know what to expect when dealing with Madeline's situation. He didn't even know what her situation was, but he did know she wasn't too popular with a few lawmen. While he doubted that she had many enemies outside of her own town, Clint didn't want to risk complicating things at this stage of the game.

Then there were all the possibilities that came along with Lylah. Clint had only just started talking to her on a basic level, which meant there was a whole lot of information that was left to his imagination. For all he knew, she was in some sort of trouble. Perhaps she'd been taken under Maddy's wing after running afoul of the law. Maybe that was why she didn't seem too keen on being in Tombstone now.

Perhaps, perhaps, and perhaps some more. The longer Clint thought about all the different ifs and maybes, the more his head ached. It was just easier to keep his hat pulled down, keep his head hung low, and stay out of everyone's notice. In a town like Tombstone, there was never any shortage of distractions.

The closer Clint got to Toughnut Street, the tighter Lylah's arms cinched in around him. When he finally got close enough to see the signs on the buildings change from English to Chinese, he had to fight to draw a breath.

“Easy,” he said while patting the little hands that were locked across his stomach. “Where to now?”

Lylah leaned over to get a look at something, but didn't let go of Clint. When she pointed to a stretch of storefronts on the right side of the street, she nearly fell from the saddle and took Clint right along with her. “Madeline . . . in there,” she said.

Hearing Lylah form a mostly complete sentence made Clint wonder if she'd been pretending to understand less than she truly did. “Madeline's in there?” he asked, while pointing to a place that looked like a butcher shop.

She shook her head and pointed repeatedly at the store next to the butcher. “Madeline in there!”

“All right, all right. I understand.” Lowering his voice, Clint took her hand and eased it down. “No need to tell everyone why we're here.”

Lylah looked at him with a mix of confusion and anxiousness on her face. Clint answered that by touching the side of his finger to his lips. That gesture proved to stretch across more than one language, since she nodded and quieted down.

After riding over to the butcher shop, Clint and Lylah dismounted so he could tie the stallion to the closest hitching post. He tipped his hat to a few locals, who barely acknowledged him with a nod. The people who passed him on the street didn't seem rude, but they were all Chinese. Because of that, they were probably accustomed to much ruder greetings from visitors.

Clint spotted a white man in a rumpled suit staggering from the door of the storefront that Lylah had indicated. Judging by the man's stagger and the cloudiness in his eyes, he was either under the influence of something or had gotten a knock to the head while he was inside. Whichever it was didn't strike Clint as very promising. Looking down at Lylah, he asked, “You sure about this? Madeline is in there?”

She nodded vehemently, pointed at the storefront, and kept her mouth shut.

Clint and Lylah walked past the butcher shop and to the door of the store beside it. There was a large window next to the front door, but it was covered by a thick, dark red curtain. The scent of opium hung in the air and trickled out from under the door. When Clint opened that door, he was nearly dropped by a larger dose of the smoke that washed directly over his face.

This wasn't the sort of place where Clint would expect Madeline to be, but he wasn't about to turn around after riding all this way. If he'd trusted Lylah's directions to bring him this far, he might as well follow them a few more steps. After he took those steps, the door to the opium den slammed shut behind him.

When the door banged against its frame, none of the people inside the single room took much notice. The Chinese workers who tended to the customers and handed out the pipes were used to the clatter. As for the customers themselves, they probably wouldn't have noticed if the entire building caught fire.

Only one of the three workers approached the front door. The other two were making their rounds among the bunks, cots, and chairs scattered throughout the room. All three were dressed in bright red silk shirts and had towels draped over both shoulders. The worker who came to greet Clint was a woman with a round face, long hair tied into a braid, and a wide, friendly smile.

“I can help you?” she asked.

Clint felt as if he were bowing, simply because he had to bend down so far to talk to the little woman without shouting. “I'm looking for someone and was told she might be here.”

“I'm sure we have someone here for you to like,” the old woman assured him.

“No, not that kind of someone.”

Before Clint could say any more, he noticed that the Chinese woman was no longer looking at him. Her mouth hung open and her eyes grew wide as she finally acknowledged the woman that Clint had brought with him. Until then, Lylah had been treated as just another companion that a customer had bought and paid for as company for when he started puffing from his pipe.

The Chinese woman spoke in her native tongue, but in a slower, more deliberate manner that reminded Clint of the way he spoke to Lylah. This time, however, there was no huffing or eye rolling on Lylah's behalf. She merely smiled and nodded while answering in a few choppy syllables that Clint knew was a simple Chinese greeting.

“Why did you bring her here?” the Chinese woman asked.

Clint had been smiling at the two women's reunion, but that grin faded when he saw the intensity in the Chinese lady's eyes. “It's like I told you before. We're looking for someone.”

The Chinese woman grabbed both Clint's and Lylah's arms so she could drag the two farther into the opium den like they were children to be punished. “There are men looking for
her
. Didn't you know that?”

“How was I to know?” Clint asked. “She barely speaks any English. You were talking to her. Maybe you could translate so I can get some more out of her.”

“I can hardly say hello and good-bye to her. She knows Chinese as much as she knows English. I can tell you not to be here, though. The men who brought her here want her back. They come looking every day! If they know she here, they will burn my place down. That will start a war.”

“Wait. A war? Did I hear you right?”

Gritting her teeth, the Chinese woman dragged Clint and Lylah all the way to the back corner of the room. There was a tapestry hanging from the wall, which Clint thought was probably covering another window. When she pulled it aside, the Chinese woman revealed a narrow door. She unlocked it with a key that hung from a chain around her neck and shoved the other two inside.

“You hear me just fine,” the Chinese woman said. “I say war and that's what I mean.”

“War with who?” Clint asked.

By this time, Lylah stepped in between the other two as if she were breaking up a fight. Placing one hand upon Clint's chest, she said, “Clint Adams.” Touching the Chinese woman's shoulder, she looked at Clint and said, “Ah Chum.”

Although those two words sounded like more gibberish, Clint made a guess and asked, “Is that your name? Ah Chum?”

The Chinese woman nodded. “People here call me China Mary.”

Now that name did strike a chord with Clint. “China Mary? I've heard of you. I've heard that you call the shots around this part of town.”

Mary nodded sagely. The room was a small office. Although it only had enough space for a little rolltop desk, two chairs, and several piles of papers, she settled into her seat as if she were perched upon a throne. “I keep whores in line and opium dens running. Many men work for me and they want to start a war with the men who ride into town with their prisoners and slaves.”

“What prisoners and slaves?” Clint asked.

“You look tired,” Mary said. “I get you drink? Smoke?”

“No, thanks.”

“Then sit. Please.”

Since he was too anxious to relax, Clint offered the only other chair to Lylah. It seemed she was just as anxious, because she refused the seat with a quick shake of her head.

Mary may have seemed gentle at first, but that was clearly an act. Now that he'd spent more than a few seconds in her presence, Clint could detect a hardness in her eyes and features that made her face seem more like a visage that had been carefully carved to put folks off their guard. She took a cigar from the box she'd offered to Clint and took her time lighting it. He got the distinct impression that it wouldn't have done one bit of good to try and hurry her.

“I think I hear talk about you, Clint Adams,” Mary said as the tip of her cigar flared up. “I hear things from lawmen and hired guns as well. All kinds of things.”

“I bet you do. Tell me what you've heard about prisoners and slaves.”

Nodding toward Lylah, she muttered, “Why you not ask her?”

“Because she wouldn't understand. I'm asking you now, so why don't you tell me.”

Leaning forward with one elbow propped against her knee, Mary waved her cigar at Clint until it got close enough for him to feel the heat from its tip. “You don't tell me what to do. I can call in enough men to cut the Gunsmith down to size before you get to that fancy gun of yours!”

Surprised by the fire in the older woman's eyes, Clint held up his hands to assure her they were nowhere near his holster. “No offense meant.”

She looked Clint up and down as if she were fitting him for a coffin. “Maybe you hear of a man named Kyle Morrow.”

“Maybe I have.”

“Then you know he kidnap women and sell them off after robbing from their men. He also works with slavers who bring girls like that one there into this country.”

Clint looked over to Lylah and saw the sorrowful look in her eyes. Even if she didn't know all that was being said, she'd obviously caught enough to get the gist of the conversation.

“You're expecting trouble from Kyle Morrow?” Clint asked.

“I been getting trouble from him for months. It get worse when his merchandise disappear without being paid for. That one there,” she added while waving at Lylah, “she run away after I refuse to buy her, so Morrow think I stole her to work in one of my whorehouse. Since then, nothing but trouble from him.”

“How did she get away?”

“Help from white lady.”

“Madeline Gentry?” Clint asked.

Mary nodded. When she spoke again, there was no longer the edge in her voice that had been there a few moments ago. “Maddy help a lot of girls get away from here. Usually, she take them after they been here for a while so people think they run away on their own. This time, she took that one while Morrow was still in town. Too soon.”

“Her name's Lylah.”

“What?” Mary snapped.

“That one there. Her name's Lylah.”

“They all have name, Mister Adams. I don't remember them until they've been here long enough. That one was supposed to work for me, but she only eat my food, drink my water, and hide in my place of business. I was glad to be rid of her, but you bring her back.”

“Funny. You two seemed happy to see each other at first.”

Mary flinched as if she'd been caught in a bluff. After a heavy sigh, she slipped right back into her prickly demeanor. “I hoped she could get away before she was killed. I thought she would know to stay away.”

“Maddy is the one in trouble. Is she still here?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know where I can find her?” Clint asked.

Grudgingly, Mary got up and worked the lock on the door. “Probably best if I take you to her.”

Clint stood in the cemetery, looking down at the unmarked pile of freshly turned soil, and still couldn't believe what he was seeing. Actually, he didn't want to believe the sight in front of him. Lylah had started crying the moment she realized where Mary was taking them. Clint had waited until the last possible moment, hoping that he might find Maddy huddled in a shack somewhere on the property.

“What happened?” he asked.

Still working on the last bit of her cigar, Mary replied, “Kyle Morrow. He killed her, along with some of my people, when he couldn't find that one over there and a few others. My people didn't know where that one went, but Maddy knew. Still, she no say anything.”