“I most humbly apologize.” Fung rose and bowed slightly from the waist. “I wish only to maintain the peace and prosperity we enjoy under your guidance.”
“Good night, Fung. I'll let you know what happens.”
Buckley sat perfectly still until the door closed. Then he removed his glasses and massaged his eyes. He was tired and his head ached, and at times like tonight, he felt very much like a rooster atop a dung heap. The footing somehow never seemed all that firm. Nor had he yet accustomed himself to the smell.
Â
Â
Denny O'Brien was summoned late the next morning. The Snug Café wasn't yet open for business, but he, too, entered through the alley door. Upstairs, he kept his greeting short and polite, and dropped into a chair before the desk. Buckley went straight to the point.
“Fung paid me a visit last night. He's jumpy about a deal you arranged with some fellow named Lovett.”
“What d'you mean?” O'Brien said with an annoyed squint. “What's there to be jumpy about?”
“He wants out,” Buckley said flatly. “He seems to think your friend Lovett isn't on the up and up.”
“That's crazy!” O'Brien burst out. “Harry Lovett's as square as they come!”
“What makes you think so?”
“Mattie Silks herself sent him to see me. She's the biggest madam in Denver, and anyone she recommends is ace-high in my book.”
Buckley looked somber. “Have you checked him out? Wired Mattie Silks or some of our friends in Denver?”
“No.” O'Brien shook his head in exasperation. “Why would I check him out? Jesus H. Christ, the man's loaded! He's ready to hand Fung a hundred thousandâfor virgins, no less!”
“And I take it you've cut yourself in for a piece of the action?”
“Why not?” O'Brien bridled. “I made the introduction, didn't I?”
“Perhaps that's the problem.” Buckley's tone was
severe. “I got the distinct impression Fung suspects you slipped a ringer in on him. He's convinced Lovett is a setup of some sort.”
“Goddamn him!” O'Brien roared vindictively. “That slant-eyed little son-of-a-bitch never stops! He won't be satisfied till I'm six feet under and turned into worm meat.”
“Have you given him reason?”
“Hell, no! You laid out the rules and I've stayed on my side of the street. Chinatown don't mean beans to me.”
“Then why would he turn leery so quickly? From what he told me, it sounds like a fairly routine deal.”
“It's spite, plain and simple.” O'Brien face congealed into a scowl. “He's willing to queer the deal just to give everybody a laugh at my expense. That makes him look like a big man to all his Chink pals.”
“I think not.” Buckley's headshake was slow and emphatic. “His concern was genuine. He believes there's something fishy, and he would sooner be safe than sorry.”
“By Jesus!” O'Brien said stubbornly. “I won't hold still for it. I stood to make a cool ten thousand on this deal, and I mean to have it.”
“You're wrong.” Buckley's voice was suddenly edged. “You'll do exactly what I tell you to do, Denny. I won't allow you or anyone else to upset my applecart. Do I make myself clear?”
“I hear you,” O'Brien said grudgingly. “But it goes down hard, you taking that slope-head's side against me.”
“Wrong again,” Buckley replied with weary tolerance. “I haven't ruled one way or the other, not yet.”
“I don't get you.”
“It occurs to me that Mr. Lovett and I should have a talk. You bring him around late this evening. I'll make my judgment then, and it won't have anything to do with you or Fung. All very impartial, based strictly on my impression of Lovett.”
“Little risky, isn't it?” O'Brien looked worried. “He's no dummy, and you're not exactly somebody he'd forget real quick.”
Buckley's laugh was strange and somehow cryptic. “Our talk might prove risky for Mr. Lovett. Only time and the tea leaves will tell.”
O'Brien felt a tingle along his backbone. He'd heard that laugh before, and he knew precisely what it meant. Tonight there would be no quibbling, no questions left unanswered. Nor would there be anything remotely resembling a second chance.
Harry Lovett was a dead man unless he passed muster.
It was half-past eight when Starbuck arrived at the Bella Union. He reeked of rosewood lotion and was attired in yet another of his spiffy outfits. He walked through the barroom and paused in the doorway of the theater. Thumbs hooked in his vest, he slowly scanned the crowd.
His appointment with Nell was for somewhere around nine. Their plans, with one exception, were much, the same as last night. A theater box was reserved, chilled champagne was on order, and the first part of their evening would be devoted to the early show. Afterward, a late supper would be served in the privacy of Nell's room. The balance of the night, something of a return engagement, would be spent in bed. There would be lovemaking and talk, lots of talk. Tonight, he expected to learn considerably more about San Francisco's underworld. Perhaps all he needed to know.
Standing in the doorway, he thought it strange
that Nell was nowhere in sight. He glanced at the curtained box and saw that it was empty. Then, checking his watch, it occurred to him that she might still be in her room. He was about to turn when High Spade McQueen laid a hand on his shoulder. He looked around.
“The boss wants to see you.” McQueen jerked his chin toward the staircase. “Now.”
“Why sure thing, High Spade. Lead the way.”
Something in McQueen's attitude alerted him. When they reached the staircase, any lingering doubt was dispelled. McQueen casually lagged behind and followed him, rather than leading him up the stairs. He knew then he was in trouble. He warned himself to go slow and keep a sharp lookout.
On the balcony, McQueen opened the office door and motioned him through. Denny O'Brien was seated behind the desk, his expression grim. Starbuck heard the door close, and realized he was sandwiched between them. With a jaunty air, he flipped O'Brien a salute and approached the desk.
“Evening, Denny,” he said with a jocular smile. “How's tricks?”
O'Brien's hand appeared from beneath the desk, holding a pistol. “Don't make any sudden moves.”
“Judas Priest!” Starbuck croaked. “What the hell's the idea?”
“Shut your trap.” O'Brien looked past him. “Mac, pat him down.”
McQueen expertly went over him. The Colt Lightning was discovered almost immediately, and
removed from its shoulder holster. His arms were checked for a sleeve gun; then his waistband and all his pockets were thoroughly searched. He waited, certain the hideout gun in his boot top was next; but his legs weren't touched. Finally, McQueen shoved him into a chair and looked across at O'Brien.
“He's clean.”
“You're sure he hasn't got a hideout?”
“One peashooter.” McQueen palmed the Colt and stuck it inside his belt. “That's it, boss.”
O'Brien laid his pistol on the desk. Then, with a venomous glare, his gaze shifted to Starbuck. “I oughta bust your goddamn skull wide open.”
“For Chrissake!” Starbuck said, squirming around in his chair. “What's the matter? What'd I do?”
“I'll ask the questions!” O'Brien's first slammed onto the desk. “You just gimme some straight answers, or else I'll let Mac and his sailor pals feed you to the sharks.”
“Anything at all, Denny. Go ahead, ask away.”
“How come you told me you're in thick with the sporting crowd in Denver?”
“I never said that,” Starbuck corrected him. “I told you I mostly worked the mining camps. All I said about Denver was that me and Mattie Silks are on good terms.”
“You're a liar!” O'Brien shouted. “I wired Mattie and she said she never heard of you.”
“That's a crock,” Starbuck said stoutly. “No way on God's green earth Mattie wouldn't vouch for me.”
He saw he'd guessed right. O'Brien's eyes gave , him away, and he quickly backed off from the bluff. “All right, so I wired her and just haven't got the answer yet. It amounts to the same thing. If she don't give you a clean bill of health, you'll get deep-sixed so fast you won't know what hit you.”
“Denny, I'll give you odds on what her wire says.”
“Don't get too cocky,” O'Brien warned him. “You've still got your balls in a nutcracker.”
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“Suppose you tell me about your talk with Fung.”
“Fung?” Starbuck looked bewildered. “Hell, there wasn't much talk to it. He set a price, and we dickered for a while, then I finally agreed. That's the way we left it.”
“You had a deal, then? You're sure of that?”
“I'm plumb sure. No two ways about it.”
“When did he say he'd make delivery?”
“Well ⦔ Starbuck stopped, thoughtful a moment. “He didn't say, not exactly. He allowed it would take a while to get that many virgins together, and told me he'd be in touch.”
“How long? A week, two weeks?”
“He never spelled it out, and I never asked. I'd already agreed to pay top dollar, so I figured he'd hop right to it.”
“Didn't it ever occur to you that you might be getting the runaround?”
“Why would he do a thing like that?”
“Forget it,” O'Brien muttered. “What did he ask you about me?”
“Nothing.” Starbuck shrugged, shook his head. “Near as I recollect, your name wasn't even mentioned.”
O'Brien gave him a swift, intense look. “Think back on it, real hard. Maybe he asked you how long we've known each other? Whether or not we've done business before? Anything along that line?”
“Not a word,” Starbuck said without hesitation. “Course, he seemed to know all about me and what it was I wanted. I just naturally assumed you'd managed to fill him in before I got there.”
“You assumed right.” O'Brien mulled it over briefly, then glanced up. “What about the girl, May Ling? She mention me, try to draw you out somehow?”
“Same story,” Starbuck observed. “She never said boo about anything except Chinatown and the slave-girl trade.”
“Yeah, that's right. She took you to the auction, didn't she? Cooked you a Chink meal and screwed your ears offâand never asked one question about me! Is that what you're saying?”
“That's the works, Denny. Start to finish.”
O'Brien's voice suddenly turned querulous. “You stupid son-of-a-bitch! Do you think I'm gonna sit here and let you con me like some snot-nosed hayseed?”
“Con you?” Starbuck was genuinely surprised. “I'm telling it to you straight. Honest to Christ!”
“Bullshit!” O'Brien glowered back at him. “I happen to know you asked Nell how come I never tried to take over Chinatown.”
“So?”
“So where'd you dream up that idea? I'll tell you where! Fung and that little Chinee bitch put the bee in your ear. The whole time you were with 'em, they pumped you dry about me, didn't they?”
“No, goddamnit, they didn't!” Starbuck sounded indignant. “I told it to you just the way it happened.”
“Then why'd you ask Nell what you did?”
“Because any fool could see you and Fung hate each other's guts. Nobody has to say anything! It's plain as a diamond in a goat's ass.”
“And you figured it out all by yourself?”
“Hell, yes!” Starbuck blustered. “Fung and his hatchet men wouldn't be any match for you and your boys. That's plain to see, too. I guess it just got my curiosity working overtime.”
“Curiosity about what?”
“Well, I don't mean to insult you, Denny. But, Jesus Christ, nobody's got your arms tied, have they? The way it looks to me, you could've gobbled up Chinatown anytime you took a notion. It's like I told Nellâif it was me, there wouldn't be no way I could resist giving it a try.”
O'Brien's silence was all the answer Starbuck needed. He sensed Nell had lied. She hadn't told O'Brien about his greater curiosity, the vague questions he'd asked about an underworld kingpin. Nor had she mentioned her own slip of the tongue, her
unfinished statement that ended abruptly with “the blind.” Quite clearly, she had lied to protect him. Whether she realized it or not, she had nudged herself a step closer to his side of the line. He now had something approaching an ally in the enemy camp. A little softsoap, with a dash of blackmail added, would soon bring her around.
O'Brien, who seemed to have recovered his humor, finally broke the silence. “Harry, I'll have to hand it to you. You're a pretty smooth article.”
“Why, thank you, Denny. I'm sort of sweet on you, too.”
“Don't misunderstand me,” O'Brien countered. “You're not out of the woods yet.”
“Oh, how so?”
“Well, as it happens, we've got a helluva problem with Fung. He wants to back out on the deal. Somehow or other, he's turned leery toward you.”
“Why?” Starbuck demanded. “What's his reason?”
“I'm not altogether sure,” O'Brien said, frowning. “From what I gather, he's got it in his head you're working with meâa swindle of some sortâor else you're a government agent.”
“He's nuts!” Starbuck scoffed. “I don't work for you or anyone else. And that goddamned sure includes the government!”
“All the same, that's what we're up against.”
“Then we'll just wait till you get Mattie's wire. Once you show him that, he'll know I'm on the level and we're back in business.”
“Harry, if it was up to me, I wouldn't hesitate a minute. But it's out of my hands now.”
Starbuck's pulse quickened. “I don't get your meaning.”
“You've got an appointment.” O'Brien rose and stuffed his pistol in the waistband of his trousers. “Tonight you're to talk with the big man himself, Mr. Frisco.”
“Mr. Frisco?”
“Let's get a move on. You're expected, and I wouldn't care to keep him waiting.”
With O'Brien in the lead, and McQueen bringing up the rear, they went through the door and crossed the balcony. On the way down the stairs, Starbuck was acutely aware that his gun had not been returned. He also understood, though it was left unspoken, that he had passed only Denny O'Brien's test.
Mr. Frisco, and a sterner test, was yet to come.
Â
A gentle rain was falling as the carriage turned off O'Farrell Street. Starbuck wasn't at all surprised that their destination was located in the Uptown Tenderloin. His theory regarding the boss of San Francisco's underworld was now confirmed.
All the way uptown he had tried in vain to learn the identity of Mr. Frisco. His questions finally provoked Denny O'Brien, and he was told to drop the subject. Still, with or without a name, it was clear O'Brien and Fung answered to one man. A man who rubbed elbows with the city's social elite, the rich
and the powerful. A mastermind who had created a brilliant cover, disassociating himself completely from Chinatown and the Barbary Coast. And therefore a man who was exceedingly dangerous.
The thought was foremost in Starbuck's mind as the carriage rolled to a halt in the alleyway. He knew the next few minutes would determine whether he lived or died. Mr. Frisco had gone to great lengths to conceal his identity. Yet he apparently had no qualms about exposing himself to a Colorado whoremaster. The conclusion was obvious, and the hazard involved was beyond question. Unless Mr. Frisco got all the right answers, the end result was chillingly simple to predict. One whoremaster, more or less, would never be missed.
The alley door opened and Knuckles Jackson waved them inside. Starbuck was treated to yet another search, but took scant comfort from the fact that his hideout gun once again went undetected. McQueen and Jackson, who belonged to the same brotherhood of gorillas, remained on guard in the storeroom. O'Brien escorted him up the stairs, which meant he was covered front and rear. The chances of shooting his way out weren't even worth calculating. His wits were now his only hope for survival.
The light in the office was dim, and the man behind the desk sat immobile. Starbuck had the fleeting impression of a store-window dummy propped up in a chair. Then O'Brien closed the door, removing his hat, and walked forward. Starbuck followed suit,
quickly inspecting the office. The door to the storeroom stairs was the only exit.
“Here he is,” O'Brien said, halting in front of the desk. “Harry Lovett.”
“Thank you, Denny.” Buckley made a small gesture of dismissal. “Wait downstairs. I'll call if I need you.”
O'Brien seemed on the verge of questioning the order. Then he bobbed his head, turning away, and crossed the office. A moment later the door closed. Starbuck grinned and stuck out his hand.