The Loner: Crossfire tl-11 Page 9

  Conrad nodded. “That’s right.”

  The man extended a square envelope with a fancy seal pressed into the wax holding it closed. “With the compliments of Mr. and Mrs. Madison Kimball, sir.”

  Mrs. Carlyle had kept her promise, Conrad thought as he took the envelope and broke the seal. Sure enough, a fancy, gold-printed invitation to the ball at the Kimball mansion was inside on a heavy, giltedged card.

  Conrad knew the man in the black suit—probably the Kimballs’ butler—was waiting for a response to take back to his employers. “Please tell Mr. and Mrs. Kimball I’ll be honored to attend.”

  The man inclined his head. “Thank you, sir. I certainly shall. Good evening.”

  When the butler was gone, Morelli asked, “Goin’ somewhere, sir?”

  “Not tonight. But four nights from now I’ll be attending a party at the Kimball mansion.”

  Morelli let out a low whistle. “I’ve heard of the place. Never been there.” He frowned. “Mr. Turnbuckle’s gonna want me to come along with you, and I ain’t sure they’ll let me in.”

  “If they think you’re my driver, they’ll let you wait outside with the other drivers.”

  Morelli shook his head. “I don’t know if that’ll be good enough to suit Mr. Turnbuckle.”

  “I’ll speak to him,” Conrad promised. “I’m sure we can work something out. You’ll be close by, even if you aren’t in the mansion itself.”

  “Sometimes close is still too far away.”

  Conrad knew the truth of that perhaps better than anyone. He had been close enough to see Rebel in Black Rock Canyon ... just not close enough to save her from being killed.

  He forced that thought out of his head and closed the door. Tossing the invitation onto a side table, he went back to the chair where he’d been sitting. A newspaper and a copy of Harper’s Weekly were on the table next to the chair. He had already been having trouble concentrating as he tried to read, and now that he knew he was going to the Kimballs’ ball, he was even more distracted. He began thinking about how he would approach Dex Lannigan. If Lannigan was behind the attempts on his life, the man probably knew what he looked like and would recognize him. It was highly unlikely Lannigan would pull a gun and start blazing away at him in the middle of the party, but Conrad couldn’t rule out the possibility entirely.

  He needed a smaller gun, something he could carry without anyone noticing it. Tomorrow he would look for such a weapon, he decided.

  Something small, but with stopping power at short range. If there was a gunfight at the Kimballs’ ball, all of San Francisco society would be scandalized, but Conrad didn’t care about that.

  If there was a gunfight, he intended to win.

  Chapter 15

  Accompanied by Patrick Dugan, Conrad visited a gunsmith’s shop the next day and picked out a Smith & Wesson .38 caliber double-action revolver with a five-shot cylinder and a barrel that wasn’t much more than two inches long.

  “The barrel was three and a quarter inches starting out,” the gunsmith explained, “but I took some off that to make it easier to carry in the inside pocket of a coat or in a shoulder holster. You can get a smaller gun, Mr. Browning, but the .38 will put a man down where a .32 won’t always.”

  Conrad nodded as he checked the heft and balance of the weapon and liked what he felt. “With such a short barrel, you can’t expect much accuracy, can you?” he commented.

  “Only at close range,” the gunsmith admitted. “But that’s where you’re most likely to need a gun such as this, isn’t it?”

  Conrad couldn’t argue with that. He bought the gun and a shoulder holster the gunsmith was only too happy to sell him.

  Conrad had told Dugan about attending the ball at the Kimball mansion. He figured Morelli had already reported to Turnbuckle about the butler delivering the invitation the night before, so there was no point in trying to keep it a secret. As they walked back to the hotel with Conrad carrying the case containing the revolver and the holster, Dugan said, “You bought that gun to wear to the party, didn’t you, sir?”

  “With everything that’s happened, I think it’s probably a good idea to be armed at all times.” Conrad was carrying his Colt at the moment, in the black holster and gunbelt strapped around his hips. While it was a little unusual to see someone who was openly armed walking around San Francisco, it wasn’t unheard of. Conrad smiled and added, “Even though I have a fine bodyguard with me.”

  Dugan grunted. “Considerin’ what I know about you, Mr. Browning, I reckon if trouble broke out it’d be more likely for you to save my life than the other way around.”

  “Let’s just try to avoid trouble,” Conrad suggested.

  “But be ready for it if it comes.”

  Conrad nodded. “Always.”

  Time dragged by. Jessup Nash paid a visit to Conrad’s suite at the Palace Hotel the next day, clearly hoping he could get his old friend to reveal more details about that big story he’d been promised, but Conrad remained tight-lipped. He did the same when Francis Carlyle called on him later that same day. She made it fairly obvious she would be willing to spend some time with him in his bedroom whether he told her any more about the story or not, but he eased her out of the suite discreetly and without hurting her feelings.

  That evening, with twenty-four hours to go until the Kimballs’ ball, Claudius Turnbuckle arrived at the suite with an excited expression on his face. “Good news,” he said when Conrad led him into the sitting room. “I think my men have finally found D.L. and the Golden Gate.”

  Conrad didn’t have the heart to tell his old friend he had known the probable identity of D.L. for several days. “Tell me about it.”

  “There’s a saloon on Grant Street in the Barbary Coast called the Golden Gate,” Turnbuckle said, “and it’s owned by a man named Dex Lannigan !”

  “And you think he’s the one who sent those killers after us?”

  “I’m certain of it. The initials match, and my investigators report that the men who work for Lannigan carry a token like the one you found in the street to identify themselves. I’m sorry it’s taken so long, Conrad, but I’m convinced this is the answer we’ve been looking for!”

  Conrad nodded. “I think you’re right. Excellent work, Claudius, as always.”

  Turnbuckle went on. “Lannigan has a reputation as a power in the criminal underworld along the bay, but he came out of nowhere about three years ago. About the same time he could have struck a deal with Pamela, in other words.”

  “It all makes sense,” Conrad agreed.

  They continued to discuss the situation for several minutes, and if Turnbuckle noticed Conrad wasn’t quite as excited as he might have been if all the information were new to him, he didn’t mention it. After telling Conrad more about Lannigan’s background, the lawyer said, “Here’s the really interesting part. Acting probably at his wife’s behest, Lannigan has bullied his way into society, and as a matter of fact, they’re both supposed to be in attendance at a party given by Madison Kimball and his wife tomorrow night.”

  Conrad raised his eyebrows. “The ball at the Kimball mansion? I’m going to that affair, Claudius!”

  “I thought you might be. I had one of my men dig up a picture of Lannigan, so you’ll recognize him if you see him there.” Turnbuckle held out a folded newspaper.

  Conrad didn’t have to feign eagerness as he took the paper. He didn’t know what Dex Lannigan looked like, so as he studied the photograph printed on the front page of the newspaper, his interest was genuine.

  The picture showed a man standing beside a carriage parked in front of a large building that appeared to run the length of an entire city block. The man was tall and seemed to be well built, wearing an expensive suit and a derby. The hair under the hat was fair. His face was rugged and a little angular, and although the photographer hadn’t been close enough for Conrad to get a good look at Lannigan’s eyes, there was something hawkish about the saloon owner. Maybe it was just his imagination
, Conrad told himself, but Lannigan looked dangerous.

  The building behind him had large, fancy windows, and a large sign on it read THE GOLDEN GATE—FINE WINE AND SPIRITS—GAMES OF CHANCE—ENTERTAINMENT—EVERYONE WELCOME!

  “This was taken not long after the place opened,” Turnbuckle explained. “One of my men dug it out of the morgue at the Chronicle.”

  Conrad nodded. He should have thought of that idea himself. He was sure Jessup Nash would have helped him. But at least he had an idea what Lannigan looked like, although he suspected the man’s appearance would be somewhat different in evening wear, at a fancy Nob Hill party.

  Conrad would know Lannigan when he saw him, though. He was certain of that.

  “You’re going to have to be careful if you confront him there,” Turnbuckle cautioned. “Lannigan has a reputation as a bad man to cross.”

  Conrad thought about the short-barreled S&W .38 he was already wearing in the shoulder rig so he could get used to it. “I intend to be.”

  “What we need now is something we can hold over Lannigan’s head in order to make him talk,” Turnbuckle mused. “That won’t be easy. Criminals like that can be very closemouthed.” “Maybe what I should do is pretend not to know him. That way I can introduce myself and act like I’m not suspicious of him at all. He might let something slip.”

  Turnbuckle rubbed his chin and frowned in thought. “Perhaps. I think it’s more likely we’re going to have to have him followed and maybe send undercover agents into that saloon of his to find out anything that’s really useful.”

  “Whatever you say,” Conrad replied with a nod.

  “Really?” Turnbuckle looked surprised. “That’s not like you, Conrad. No offense, but you always want to be right in the middle of things.”

  “That hasn’t worked too well so far,” Conrad said, although in reality it had worked better than Turnbuckle had any idea about. “Maybe it’s time to give your way a try.”

  Turnbuckle nodded emphatically. “I won’t let you down, you have my word on that. But do try to find out whatever you can by talking to Lannigan at the Kimballs’ ball. It can’t hurt.”

  “I will.”

  Turnbuckle bustled out excitedly, leaving Conrad to smile, shake his head, and pour brandy into a snifter. He was sitting in one of the armchairs, sipping the drink, when a commotion suddenly broke out in the hallway. Frowning, Conrad set the brandy aside and got to his feet.

  A woman screamed in the corridor.

  Conrad jerked the door open to see Morelli struggling with a small, shapely female. Scratches on his face oozed blood where she had scratched him. As Conrad stood looking on in surprise, Morelli succeeded in getting his arms around the girl in a bear hug and lifted her off her feet from behind.

  “I told you, girl, no little trollop like you is gonna be botherin’ Mr. Browning!” Morelli panted.

  “Let me go!” she cried. “I must talk to him—”

  “Morelli!” Conrad said sharply. “What’s going on here?” He hadn’t gotten a good look at the woman. She and Morelli were turned partially away from him, and her dark hair hung in front of her face. As Morelli turned toward the door, his captive gave a defiant toss of her head, throwing her hair back. A shock went through Conrad as he recognized her as Carmen, the young prostitute from Spanish Charley’s.

  “Please, señor,” she begged. “You must help me! No one else can, and if you don’t ... they will kill me!”

  Chapter 16

  “Let her go, Morelli,” Conrad ordered.

  The bodyguard’s bushy eyebrows rose. “But, sir, a girl like this ain’t for the likes of you! I’m not sure how she even got into the hotel. Usually the staff don’t let such tramps get anywhere near the guests.”

  “I know her,” Conrad said, not caring whether he shocked Morelli. “Now let her go.” The flat, hard tone of his voice left no room for argument.

  Morelli lowered Carmen until her feet were on the floor, then released her, stepping back with a frown of deep disapproval on his face.

  “What you do in your personal life is none o’ my concern, sir—” he began.

  “That’s right, it’s not,” Conrad cut in. He took hold of Carmen’s arm. She looked like a terrified doe about to bolt. In a steady, calming voice, he went on. “Come with me. You’ll be safe here. I give you my word on that.”

  Her dark eyes were big with fear. “Hans and Ulrich may have followed me. I tried to get away from them, but I don’t know if I did.”

  “I’m not afraid of Hans and Ulrich, and I’ll wager that Morelli here isn’t, either.”

  “No, sir,” Morelli chimed in without hesitation. “I don’t know who those lads are, but I ain’t afraid of anybody that draws breath.”

  Conrad managed to steer Carmen toward the door of the suite without making it seem like he was forcing her. As they went inside, Morelli started to follow, but a hard look from Conrad made him stop. Conrad closed the door behind them, leaving the bodyguard in the hallway.

  “All right, Carmen,” he said gently. “Can I get you anything?”

  “Maybe a drink, señor?”

  Conrad hesitated, unsure whether he should be giving liquor to someone as young as she was, but considering where she worked and what she did for a living, he supposed it was a little late to be worrying about things like that. He poured a little brandy into a glass and handed it to her. She clutched it with both hands, which were trembling slightly, and drank down the brandy.

  That seemed to steady her nerves. She took a deep breath. “Gracias, Señor Browning.”

  “How do you know my name? How did you know you could find me here?”

  “After the big fight at Spanish Charley’s ... after Ling Yuan came in to help you get away ... I followed you. It was Dutchy’s idea.”

  Conrad hadn’t realized anyone had followed him away from the dive that night, but he supposed a slender young girl like Carmen could have slipped through the shadows behind him without him noticing.

  “Why did Dutchy want you to follow me?”

  “I think he wanted to take revenge on you for starting trouble. He would have sent Hans and Ulrich to kill you later. But when I told him I followed you all the way here to the Palace ... he seemed to change his mind about that.”

  Conrad wasn’t surprised. Dutchy must have realized there was more to his troublesome visitor than met the eye.

  “I thought you must work here, maybe as a bellboy. I-I have a cousin who works in the hotel as a maid. Dutchy told me to talk to her, to tell her what you look like, and find out if she knew you. She told me there was no one working here who looks like you, Señor Browning. Then she told me about one of the guests ... about you.”

  “And you told Dutchy,” Conrad guessed.

  “I had to! He would have killed me if I tried to lie to him.”

  Conrad didn’t know if that was true or not, but Carmen believed it was.

  “When you told him, he was even more interested than he was before, right?”

  Carmen’s head bobbed up and down. “Sí.”

  Dutchy probably sensed a possibility for blackmail. A man wealthy enough to stay in one of the Palace Hotel’s finest suites who prowled around squalid saloons and taverns like Spanish Charley’s ... usually had secrets he would be willing to pay to keep quiet.

  “I know you didn’t have any choice in what you did,” Conrad told Carmen as she looked down at the richly carpeted floor in shame. “I’m not upset with you.”

  “Truly, señor?” she murmured.

  “Truly.”

  She moved closer and reached up to throw her arms around his neck before he could stop her. “Oh, gracias, señor, gracias! I thought you would be angry with me for betraying your secret. I-I will do anything to earn your forgiveness.”

  “There’s nothing to forgive”—Conrad untangled her arms from his neck—“and even if there was, all you’d have to do to earn it is ask. But there’s not, so you don’t have to worry.” He held her hands to
keep her from grabbing him again. “Now what’s all this about Hans and Ulrich threatening to kill you?”

  “Dutchy said he knew someone who would pay him a great deal of money if he told them about you. But he and I were the only ones who knew, and I think he was worried I might try to reach this person, whoever it is, and sell the information first. So he decided to get rid of me, even though I work for him and killing me would cost him money.” She pouted. “I am only a cheap Mex whore. Dutchy can make more by selling the truth about you than he can from me.”

  Conrad had a hunch he knew who Dutchy intended to sell that information to: Dex Lannigan. Lannigan must have put out the word that he was interested in anything he could learn about Conrad Browning, and Dutchy would know what a powerful, important man Lannigan was in San Francisco’s underworld and would be eager to curry favor with him.

  “How do you know Hans and Ulrich intended to kill you?”

  Carmen made a face like she wanted to spit. “I overheard them talking in their mongrel tongue. They think I do not know what they say, but I understand a little. Enough to know Dutchy told them to kill me and dump my body in the bay. I slipped out and ran away, but I ... I didn’t know where to go. Then I thought of you.”

  “You already sold me out to Dutchy, remember? What makes you think I’d be willing to help you?”

  “Because I remembered how kind you were to me at Spanish Charley’s. You could have done what you paid for and then asked me your questions, but you did not.” A shrewd look appeared on her face. “And I remembered as well how you asked about the Golden Gate. Dex Lannigan owns that place, and I think Dutchy plans on telling him about you. But maybe I could get to Señor Lannigan first... .”

  “So you’re not above a little blackmail of your own, eh?” Conrad asked with a faint smile.

  “My life has been a hard one, señor.”

  Conrad didn’t doubt that for a second.

  “I have learned to do what I must to survive,” Carmen went on.

  “How much do you want?” Conrad asked.

  Carmen shook her head. “Nothing. No money.”