Chapter Forty-two
“You came back, Mr. Latimer,” Mr. Chang said. “I am so happy that you were not made a prisoner.”
Latimer gave the Chinese a wan smile. “Nobody wants me, Mr. Chang. I have no one to surrender to, and that includes Captain Pickering.”
“What will you do now?” Mr. Chang said.
“I don’t know. Find a job of some kind. All I know is soldiering. Maybe I’ll join the United States Army under an assumed name. My own is tainted, and it seems that it will remain that way.”
Latimer was busy with his thoughts as he and Mr. Chang left the dock area and wandered more or less aimlessly. On Mr. Chang’s suggestion, they finally decided to stop at a café on Canal Street. Their waiter told them they were close to the business and warehouse district, but the place would not get busy until later when the offices closed for lunch. The café was shady and offered relief from the growing heat of the day, and Latimer and Mr. Chang were the only customers.
After their coffee was served, Mr. Chang leaned across the table and said, “Growing up in the lawless streets of Shanghai gave me eyes in the back of my head, so trust me when I say that we’re being followed.”
“Followed? By whom?” Latimer said.
“Man I saw in Fort Concho. Big man and rough. Maybe gunman.”
Latimer looked around him at the people passing by in the street but saw no one fitting that description. He shook his head. “I don’t see him.”
“No, not now. But he will be somewhere. Could be he is watching us right now.”
“A robber, you think?” Latimer said. “He’ll find slim pickings if he tries to rob me. Are you sure it was the man you saw in Fort Concho?”
“Not sure, Mr. Latimer. But pretty damn sure. He been following us since we left dock.”
“We’ll finish our coffee and head back to the coaching inn, that is, if we don’t get lost,” Latimer said. “If he continues to follow us, then we’ll be on our guard. No matter how desperate a character he is, there’s not much he can do in broad daylight.”
The Chinese nodded. “Maybe so, but Mr. Chang uneasy. On tenterhooks, as Miss Huckabee say.”
Latimer smiled. “Hannah always had a way with words.”
“Could be that you and Miss Huckabee will get together again, now that captain of big iron ship doesn’t want you,” Mr. Chang said.
“I don’t think Hannah wants me, either,” Latimer said.
“Then that very sad.”
“Yes, you’re right, Mr. Chang. It is indeed very sad. Drink up your coffee. Let’s see if the robber follows us.”
“Ah, then you think he is robber?”
“No, I don’t. But you do, and that’s good enough for me.”
* * *
They were being followed. Even as Latimer and Mr. Chang weaved their way along the busy sidewalks, the big man shadowed them closely but always staying back, waiting for an opportunity to do what? Rob them?
Latimer discounted that notion and the sudden thought formed in his mind that the man was somehow connected with Rupert Bentley-Foulkes. What was a career army officer doing in New Orleans at the same time as the gunman Mr. Chang was sure he’d seen in Fort Concho? Then the wild suspicion entered Latimer’s head that Bentley-Foulkes was there for one reason . . . revenge. Did he blame him for the death of his brother? Family ties were strong among the British aristocracy, and the retribution motive was not out of the question.
John Latimer was now certain that he was the target of an assassination plot.
Brack Cooley’s opportunity came when Latimer and Mr. Chang approached a narrow, paved alley hemmed in by balconied, three-story buildings on either side, the tallest with a dramatically angled fire escape.
Cooley hurried his pace, drew alongside Latimer, and pushed him into the deserted alley. The Englishman threw a punch that the gunman easily brushed aside, pinned him against a wall with his muscular right arm and pulled his coat aside, showing the Colt in his waistband.
“Quit struggling or I’ll kill you,” Cooley said.
Mr. Chang came to Latimer’s aid, but Cooley drew his gun and slammed it into the little man’s head. Mr. Chang’s skullcap flew off and he hit the ground hard, groaned, and lay still.
“You damned rogue!” Latimer said.
He tried to struggle free of Cooley’s grasp, but the big man’s strength was relentless. His face close to Latimer’s, the muzzle of his revolver rammed into the Englishman’s belly, he said through gritted teeth, “You come with me, Latimer, or I’ll blow your damned guts out.”
“Shoot me here and you’ll bring the law down on you,” Latimer said. “Or are you too stupid to realize that?”
Cooley smiled. “Latimer, you’ve had too much to drink,” he said.
Before the Englishman could react, Cooley swung his revolver and slammed it into the side of Latimer’s head.
Cooley grabbed the unconscious man and half-carried, half-dragged him out of the alley. He hailed a passing cab and gave the top-hatted driver an address in the business district. “My friend’s had too much to drink,” he said. “I’ll take him back to work until he sobers up.”
Falling-down drunks were not rare in New Orleans and the cabbie didn’t as much as raise an eyebrow as Cooley bundled the groaning Latimer into the hansom.
* * *
“Oh, you poor man, are you all right?”
Mr. Chang woke to a pounding headache and the sound of a woman’s voice in his ears. He opened his eyes and saw the blurred face of a middle-aged New Orleans matron who was both comely and sympathetic.
“Thank you, dear lady, I will be fine now,” Mr. Chang said.
“It looks like you took a nasty bump on the head,” the woman said. “Did you fall?”
“Yes. I tripped on paving stone and fell. Chinese men seldom fall but sometimes miss their footing.”
“You poor thing, then you’re one of the unlucky ones. Let me help you to your feet,” the woman said. “Oh, here is your little hat.”
Still groggy, Mr. Chang bowed. “Lady is most kind.”
“Can I help you get a cab?” the woman said. “Do you live nearby?”
“My name Mr. Chang. And I currently reside at old coaching inn on Broad Street. And yes, help in hailing cab would be most appreciated.”
“You poor dear,” the woman said. “Take my arm, and I’ll help you to the street.”
It took a couple of minutes to stop a vacant cab, and in that time the woman told Mr. Chang that her name was Mrs. Bell and that she was widowed, had two daughters, one a secretary, the other a domestic, and that she suffered from rheumatisms and a wandering womb, but the doctor said neither was very serious, and how glad she was to have met a Chinese gentleman because she’d never had the pleasure before.
For his part, though he was profuse in his thanks, Mr. Chang was glad to climb into the cab and leave the charming but loquacious Mrs. Bell behind.