Authors: David B. Riley
I decided to find less extravagant lodgings, so I checked out of the hotel, and paid them with Mabel's counterfeit coins, which they were more than happy to accept. She'd left me a pile of them. They really liked the twenty dollar ones. Still, the place was incredibly expensive. I had little left over. I came up with a rooming house on the Pacific Ocean side of town. They had a small barn for Paul, so it seemed like a good deal for us.
On the next day, I secured employment at a local barbershop. The fellow running it was a retired sea captain. He was of average stature, with graying hair, bushy sideburns and a handlebar moustache. Everybody called him Captain. Fortunately, I managed to get by my first week without drawing blood or getting any complaints of any kind.
My second week was not as fortunate. It started out all right, but fairly early on Thursday morning a wagon stopped outside. I'd had one customer and was sweeping up the shop so I hadn't paid much attention to the wagon. My boss was more concerned. “What are they after you for, lad?” he asked.
"What?” was all I could say as two men in suits entered.
Each wore a silver badge that read “bailiff.” The taller of the two announced “I am looking for Miles Edward O'Malley.” He held up a paper in his right hand.
"That would be me,” I admitted.
"Mr. O'Malley, I am a deputy bailiff. Judge Hastings has issued a bench warrant for your arrest. You will have to come with us."
"What am I charged with?” I asked.
"Contempt of court, failure to obey a court order."
I looked over a very official document. It was printed on very fine paper, and my name had been filled into a blank spot. It bore a signature and an official seal. “I don't know what this is about, but let's get it over with."
"Very good, sir,” the deputy said. He pointed toward the wagon.
I followed meekly along. They took me downtown to the courthouse.
We entered through a side door. I was placed on a rather uncomfortable wooden bench and told to wait.
After about a half hour, a man came out and told me he was Judge Hastings’ clerk and told me to come with him. I was taken inside the judge's chambers and told to wait.
A few more minutes went by, then a balding, portly man with a graying beard came in.
"Mr. O'Malley.” He sat himself behind a shiny, well-polished redwood desk. “So good of you to come."
"Didn't have much choice,” I pointed out.
He grinned. “True.” He fished around in his desk, then produced a file. He opened it and showed me a drawing. It was an odd drawing of a man in strange robes, who had the head of an owl.
It was incredible. “What the...?"
"You've heard of the Mayan? We don't really know a lot about them, I am afraid. They're supposed to be an extinct Indian civilization from Mexico,” the judge explained.
"I kind of recall reading the name. As I remember, nobody can read their language or something,” I said. “What has this to do with me? I'm a barber, your honor."
"Mr. O'Malley, this is most difficult for me. I ... I owe someone certain favors. That certain someone suggested I contact you. I don't precisely know the nature of your arrangement with him, but he speaks very highly of you,” the judge explained. “At least his representative does."
"Someone?” I asked. “You can't do better than someone?"
"Mr. O'Malley, I owe certain favors to a man who goes by many names. I know him as—” he hesitated as if it would hurt him to actually say it “—Mr. Mephistopheles.” He seemed to relax after saying it. “That is one of the nicer names he has."
I shrugged. “What of it? You know Nick and you've got a drawing of some bird man? What has this to do with me?"
"His representative said to contact you. So, I did,” Hastings explained.
"Was his representative a woman?” I asked.
He nodded. “You know, I can't remember. I can't remember anything about this person. Isn't that odd?"
"Indeed,” I agreed.
"Well, this bird man is going around recruiting native people to kill political leaders,” the judge said. “Another judge was murdered last week."
"Native people?"
"Indians,” he said. “The bird man is somehow getting Indians to come and kill political leaders here in California."
"How did Nick get involved in this?"
"I asked for protection. They recommended you, Mr. O'Malley."
Judge Hastings tapped nervously on his desk. “I don't know what to do. There are twelve officials killed in California in the past two months. All the assassins are dead. All of them killed some official first. Yesterday, it was the mayor of Oakland. Whomever is training them is doing a good job."
"How can I do anything?” I asked. “I'm a barber."
"I am told that, amongst all of these officials, you are also targeted,” the judge said. “Some Indian from Arizona stalks you as we speak."
Until that moment, I had not connected the woman from the cave with the judge's story. “Yes, that's true. Her name is Lame Elk. She failed in her last attempt."
"Where is she now?” the judge asked.
"I don't know.” I was starting to wish I knew more about Mabel's claim of shipping her to Hawaii. I also knew that clipper ships ran weekly from San Francisco to Hawaii—both ways.
"Mr. O'Malley ... uh ... you are not exactly a public figure?"
"I know that."
The judge put his file away. “I am invited to dine at the Officer's Club at the Presidio tonight. I hope I am not assassinated. That would really cut my career short."
"Am I supposed to come along?” I asked. “Linger around outside?"
"Well, you were recommended,” the judge said.
So, instead of hiring a detective from Pinkerton's who might have some training in this sort of thing, the judge got some barber he didn't know to go with him that evening.
I drove his wagon with Paul tied to the back. I liked the idea of having Paul around, if I had to wait outside.
There were a few other drivers mulling about the club, which was a large two-story yellow house. No one seemed very talkative. So, I just occupied myself by wandering around the grounds.
At some point, I glanced inside. My so-called client was still alive, sitting by the fireplace and talking to some people in Army uniforms. But, it was someone he was not talking to that caught my eye. A familiar major sat at a small table in the corner, reading the
Examiner
. I found this both comforting and alarming, at the same time. I was so distracted I almost didn't catch a shadow creeping along near the delivery entrance—almost. A man in buckskin was trying to sneak inside.
I ran around to the window that was just outside where the major was sitting. I started tapping on the glass. He seemed annoyed, but the major came over. “Major, there's an Indian fellow who's just gone inside the back door."
The major nodded. He quickly ran off to the back of the house. One of the waiters took off running, as well. There was some yelling, then I heard two gunshots. Moments later, the Indian man came staggering out of the building. I stood directly in his path. I pointed my revolver at him.
"Halt!"
He pointed a badly shaking finger at me. “Ah Puch will rule over you this evening.” Another shot ripped through the night. It also ripped through the Indian. I noticed the waiter was standing behind him, holding a revolver. The major then ran up to the scene.
"Mr. O'Malley, you keep turning up every time General Creed is up to something. Are you sure you're not on our payroll?” the major asked.
Until that moment, I had not made any connection between the bony man and his little horse-stealing army with this so-called bird man. I just holstered my gun and shrugged.
No one seemed to have any further use for me, so I got on Paul and headed for home. It was some distance to my rooming house, and I think we may have made a few wrong turns along the way. When we finally arrived on our street, Paul started acting funny.
Then, two houses down, he stopped outright and would not budge. I finally noticed a pinto horse tied up in our neighbor's back yard. “Let's get out of here,” I whispered. We headed out the short distance to the beach that ran north and south for quite some distance. I felt better out away from the buildings where we had some open space. That was a huge mistake.
There was a sudden noise right behind us. I turned to see Lame Elk, or whatever else her name was, climbing out of the sand. She had her rifle—a Winchester repeater—trained on me. She was only fifteen feet away and there was absolutely nowhere to go for cover.
My brain figured out what was happening. “Damn! You knew I'd see your horse and head out here."
"Yes."
"Damn."
"I do not know how you had me kidnapped and taken to Hawaii, Miles O'Malley. You are a worthy opponent, but tonight Ah Puch will rule over you."
"You have a lot of faith in a god who does not exist,” I said.
"Die now!” And she started pulling the trigger. Her rifle just clicked and clicked and clicked. Then, she angrily threw it to the ground.
I jumped off my horse and pointed my revolver at her. “Your gun does not seem to be working. Mine, I assure you, works perfectly."
She sat down on the ground and starting pounding her fists into the sand.
"Lame Elk, or Green Flower, you really aren't very good at this sort of thing,” I said. “Why not find some other line of work?"
"How do you know my name?” she demanded. “I never have spoken it to you."
"I just know."
Some riders came up on the scene. One of them was the major. I didn't know who the other ones were.
"We'll take her from here, Mr. O'Malley."
"Fine,” I said. I was relieved she might not be popping up trying to kill me for a while.
"We were watching your rooming house. Then you rode out here,” the major explained.
They took her and rode off. Being nearly killed gets the blood pumping. I needed time to wind down before going home. I had some matches and twine kindling in Paul's saddlebag. In no time at all, I had a nice driftwood fire going. I stretched out by the fire. Paul sort of wandered around. There wasn't anything for him to graze on out on the beach.
After about five minutes, he started jumping up and down. Then I noticed someone was approaching. Mabel was wearing a simple white robe, like the kind they wear in heaven. She looked radiant. She handed Paul something, which he ate. I was not sure what it was, but he seemed to like it. Then she came over and stood right in front of me.
She dropped a cartridge on my lap, then another and another until she'd dropped eight of them. Then, she sat next to me and put her head on my shoulder. “Funny thing about rifles. They don't shoot very well without ammunition in them."
I held up one of the bullets and looked at it near the fire. “You took her bullets?"
"I told you I wouldn't let her hurt you,” Mabel said. Then she kissed me and started unbuttoning my shirt. “Remember what I said about not wanting to do it in the dirt?"
"Yes."
"I changed my mind."
Mabel said she was going to seduce some young boys, then go back to hell. I think she was joking about the boys, but I was not really certain. She kissed me goodbye, then snapped her fingers and vanished in a shower of sparks.
I returned home just after dawn. She really made my head swim, plus there was the other excitement. I was able to sleep for a half hour before Mrs. Wilson, the proprietor of Mrs. Wilson's Rooming House, woke me for breakfast. Even though I was tired, she made about the best buttermilk flapjacks I'd ever had. I lost track of how many I devoured, but she kept them coming and did not seem to mind how many I ate.
The barbershop was only a few blocks away, so I walked to work. The Captain was already there. We had no customers yet. “Was none-too-sure if you were going to make it or not."
"Why's that?” I asked.
"Well, they took you away yesterday. Figured they had you locked up in the hoosegow."
"Was that yesterday? Seems longer, somehow. It's all settled. It was just a misunderstanding,” I said.
"Glad to hear it, lad.” He looked out in front of the shop. “Got one coming in, lad. You take him."
"All righty."
The fellow removed his hat and climbed up in the chair. He explained how much he wanted cut and I proceeded to chop away. As I cut some, I found things were not going well. I gradually became aware that the gentleman's head was misshapen. Being a barber of modest skill, this became quite a challenge for me. I snipped and tucked and finally came up with a presentation that was not too ridiculous. I brushed off his shirt and handed him a mirror. I figured, at least he wasn't bleeding.
My customer looked at himself from a number of angles. Then he handed me back the mirror. “My good man,” he said. “I do believe that is positively the best haircut I have ever received.” He climbed out of the chair and looked at himself in another mirror. “Splendid, simply splendid.” He paid the Captain and left.
I swept up, then started to read the
Examiner
. The fellow soon returned.
"Miles,” he fished around in his pocket, then handed me a certificate.
"I would like you to have this.” He looked at himself in the mirror, then he left again.
I unfolded the certificate. It was for a free two-night's stay at the Hotel Venus, in a deluxe room. I showed it to the Captain. “Where is Venus?"
"I think it's up near Napa,” he said. He opened a drawer and fished around for a map. “Yep, there it is.” He pointed at a small dot “Things are slow. Take an extra day off and ride up there. It's pretty country."
I didn't see any reason to argue. That evening, I told Mrs. Wilson I'd be gone a few days. She had to confirm that Venus was, indeed, where I said it was. It was not on her map. However, she decided it must exist after I showed her the map the Captain had leant me. “You must be a right fine barber, Mr. O'Malley."
I had never before heard ‘right fine barber’ in the same sentence with my name.
We headed out early. Our first stop was to Pier 21, on the Bay. We had to take the ferry over to Richmond. It was not all that expensive, though I did have to pay extra for Paul. The steam-powered boat chugged and sputtered its way across the bay and deposited us at a pier in Richmond. We headed northeast.