To the accompaniment of the stares of everyone in the saloon, Tucson followed John Riley to the rear of the room where they went through a door on the right, climbed a narrow stairwell and entered an office at the top of the stairs. The office was spacious, with a glass-topped, wooden desk on the left, chairs scattered over the floor, with a couch and several filing cabinets against the wall. A huge window was set into the right-hand wall through which Riley could keep an eye on the action in the saloon below.
Riley went behind his desk and gestured to Tucson. “Pull up a chair, Kid, an’ sit down.”
Tucson dragged a wooden chair over with the toe of his boot and dropped into it. As Riley reached into a drawer of his desk and brought out a bottle of whiskey and a glass, Tucson took another swallow of beer. Riley took his time uncorking the bottle and filling his glass with the amber liquid, all the while studying Tucson from beneath heavy black brows.
Then he lifted his glass with a smile - revealing a gold tooth on the right side of his mouth - and said, “Here’s to smart business decisions.”
Tucson lifted his glass in salute and the two men drank.
Riley swiveled to the side and threw his feet up onto the desktop, legs crossed at the ankles. With his left hand, he continued to toy with his whiskey glass. It was obvious the saloon owner had something on his mind, so Tucson drank his beer and waited.
“I know your rep, Kid,” Riley began, eying Tucson as he sipped his whiskey. “You’re a good man with a gun, and you ain’t got no problem steppin’ outside the law.”
“You’re right so far,” Tucson replied.
Riley reached behind him, grabbed a brocade cord and gave it a jerk. Immediately, feet could be heard pounding up the stairs. Tucson kept his seat but his hand shot beneath his jacket. Then the bartender ran through the door and came to a sliding halt in front of the desk.
“Bring the Kid another beer, Joe,” Riley said, and the bartender spun around and ran back down the stairs. “Now, where were we...?” he mused.
“You were telling me about myself,” Tucson responded.
Joe returned carrying a mug of beer on a tray, and as he placed it on the desktop and took away the empty, Riley poured himself another glass of whiskey. He watched the door as it closed behind the bartender for a few seconds then took his feet off the desk, spun around and faced Tucson squarely.
Tucson was struck with the full force of the saloon owner - the impression of raw animal power radiated from the man like the blazing heat of the noon-day sun. It wasn't difficult to see why Riley had been able to claw his way to the top of the heap and then dominate the criminal element on the Barbary Coast. Tucson was under no illusions about the danger of crossing such a man.
“Listen to me, Kid...” Riley leaned forward and hunched his broad shoulders. “I know enough about you to know that I could use a man with your skills in my operation.”
Tucson jerked a thumb back over his shoulder at the window. “It seems to me that you have plenty of gunmen right now. What could I bring to the table?”
“A brain...!” Riley shot back; then he grinned. “You’re right, I do have plenty of men, but they’re soldiers. I pay ‘em to take orders, not to think.” He leaned back in his chair, spun the whiskey glass in his fingers and watched the way the rich fluid caught the light. When he spoke again, it was almost as if he were speaking to himself. “Things—big things—are happenin’ on the Coast right now... we’re gettin’ organized and expandin’ our power.”
“We...?”
Riley hesitated, then said, “I may be top dog around here, but there’s other boss’s on the Coast, and on into Chinatown. Plans are bein’ laid down now that’re gonna change the whole face o' the underworld, and the balance o’ power in Frisco.”
Tucson’s brows went up. “You’ve captured my interest.”
“I hope so,” Riley replied shortly, “’cause that’s all I’m gonna tell you.” His eyes sharpened to dagger-points as he stared at Tucson. “I’m offerin’ you a job...”
“I’m not looking for a job,” Tucson cut in coldly. “Either I get a percentage or I’m not interested.”
Riley chuckled, a sound like a file scraping over rusty metal. “That’s just what I’d expect to hear from the Tucson Kid.” He thought it over for a minute, then said, “Look, Kid, I know of you, but I don’t know you—understand what I mean?”
“I haven’t been tested,” Tucson answered. “You can’t really trust me.”
“Right...” Riley reached into a side drawer, pulled out a thick sheaf of bills and dropped it on the desk between them. “What d’you say to a retainer of a grand, with the understandin’ that if you pan out some kind o’ percentage’ll be worked out later?”
Tucson made a pretense of thinking it over. It felt like he was on the edge of something important. Whether or not the big plans the saloon owner was hinting at bled into the job he had agreed to do for William Harrison and Jack Morris he couldn’t yet say, but the reference to Chinatown sounded promising. For some reason, Tucson’s instincts told him that John Riley wasn’t the real leader of what was going on, but he would have to be close, and sticking to him could take Tucson to the top. At the very least, accepting Riley’s offer would put him into position to rescue Lily Jordan and exact justice for the murder of her brother.
With a hard smile, he leaned forward, scooped up the bills and stuffed them into an inside pocket of his jacket. “I only have one condition,” he said, as he gulped down the last of his beer.
“What’s that...?”
“Since you know my reputation, you know I’m not a murderer,” Tucson said. “I’ll watch your back and be there for you in the tight spots, but don’t ask me to kill anyone in cold blood.”
Riley laughed expansively. “Don’t worry...I have plenty o’ men who can do that kind o’ work.”
Tucson made as if to rise, then he sat back. “One more thing...”
Riley cocked his head quizzically.
Tucson raised his hands, palms out. “I get it that Lily Jordan is yours, and I have no problem with that. But,” he grinned, “would it be all right with you if I stopped by and spoke to her for a second before I leave? It would seem strange if I just walked out without saying good-by.”
“No problem,” Riley replied easily.
* * * *
Tucson crossed the floor to the piano where Lily Jordan stood, talking to the musicians. “Step over here with me,” he said, leading her to the side.
“What is it?” she asked anxiously.
On the assumption that John Riley was watching them from his window, Tucson took a position so that he and Lily were facing away from it, then glanced around to make sure they couldn’t be overheard. “Listen to me carefully,” he whispered, “because we don’t have much time.” Lily stared intently into his face, and he went on, “To get you out of here I have to play a double game.” He shook his head and added, “If I tried to just pick you up and carry you out of here, we’d both be dead before we reached the door.”
“I understand...” she murmured.
“Tell me now - was it John Riley who killed your brother and is keeping you prisoner here?”
She nodded her head mutely.
Tucson nodded in turn, then said, “I’ve agreed to work for Riley. That’ll give me an excuse to come here to the Whale until I can figure out how to get you out of here. You’re going to have to be strong until I can make that happen.”
“Oh, Tucson!” she cried. “Just knowing that you’re here has already made such a difference. I can hold on a while longer.”
“Alright...” Tucson smiled reassuringly. “When you see me come in again I won’t do any more than say ‘hello’ and ‘good-by’ to you so that neither Riley nor his men will get suspicious. I need you to understand why that’s necessary.”
“Of course...”
He squeezed her arm, then, without another word, he turned and walked away. Evidently the bartender had put the word out that he was the Tucson Kid, because as he passed along the bar the patrons stopped talking, turned around and stared at him in fascination; even the tourists stopped laughing long enough to gape at him. But even more dramatic was the change in the hard cases sitting at the tables. As he walked by, they watched him silently, their faces studies in fear and awe.
* * * *
Tucson stepped to the curb outside The Whale Saloon and hailed a cab. As he climbed inside, he said, “Get me out of here.”
“Right you are, sir,” the driver responded, and cracked his whip over his horse.
They had gone a block when Tucson put his head out the window and called, “Now take me over to California Street.”
“Right you are...”
A block short of California Street, Tucson leaned out again. “This is good...”
The driver pulled the cab over to the curb. Tucson climbed out and flipped him up a silver dollar.
“Keep the change,” he said, and turned down the sidewalk.
The man plucked the coin nimbly out of the air. “Right you are, sir...”
It was well past midnight, and when Tucson reached California Street the shops and restaurants were closed and the sidewalks were deserted. By luck, a cable car was just passing by, and Tucson leaped aboard without making it stop. He handed a dime to the sleepy driver, then walked to the rear and sat down. By the glow of the gaslights, the silent city had an almost dream-like quality. Tucson watched the gingerbread buildings float by as if it were a fairytale. But memories of Chinatown and the Barbary Coast dropped back into his mind and shattered the image. He felt contaminated, as if he had spent the evening swimming through a cesspool. He wasn’t happy with the idea that he was going to be spending a fair amount of time in that pool until he finished this job.
Seeing his street coming up, he rose to his feet and walked to the edge of the car. He leaped to the pavement without having the cable car stop then waited for it to pass by. Crossing the road, he paused at the corner under a streetlight and looked around. He had been cautious since he left the Whale just in case John Riley decided to have him followed. It would blow Tucson’s cover if the saloon owner discovered that he was staying on Nob Hill. He detected no one on the street, so he continued up the hill.
The house was dark, and he walked down the gravel drive, turned across the grass and entered by the back door. It was warm inside, and the kitchen was still redolent with the aromas of dinner. He passed through the dining room and down the hall then turned to mount the stairs. He stopped in his tracks and his hand moved toward his jacket as he spotted a shadowy form sitting on the top step of the second floor.
“You were out late,” Cathy Harrison said accusingly.
Tucson’s hand dropped away from his jacket and with a grin he continued up the stairs. She was dressed in a robe and slippers. The frilly collar of her nightgown was a pale glow across her slim shoulders.
“Have you been waiting up for me?” he asked teasingly.
“Hardly,” she retorted sourly. “I was in my room when I heard you come in the back door.”
Tucson stopped on the stairs when his eyes were level with hers. Her long hair poured in soft, fluid waves over her shoulders and down her back. In the dim light of the landing, her face, scrubbed clean of makeup, had an almost ethereal quality. A faint scent of perfume wafted from her, and in the intimacy of the moment, Tucson felt himself respond to her feminine allure.
Cathy stood up and gestured with her hand down the hallway. “Don’t let me keep you from your sleep,” she said. “I imagine you must be quite tired.”
Tucson came up to the landing and moved past her along the carpet. “Your concern for me is touching,” he called softly back over his shoulder. Stopping at the door to his bedroom, he turned the knob and pushed it open. He left the door ajar behind him as he entered and crossed to the dresser, paused and lit the lamp. Then he turned back around and rested his hips against the cabinet.
Cathy was leaning against the door frame, her arms crossed over her breasts, watching him curiously. “What could you possibly be doing out so late in a city you know nothing about?” she asked.
“Are you my mother?” Tucson demanded with a lopsided grin. “Or is your concern rather with whom I may have spent the evening?”
Cathy’s green eyes flashed with anger. “Don’t flatter yourself!”
Tucson pushed away from the dresser, dropped his sombrero on a chair and began unlacing his jacket. Draping it over the back of the chair, he shrugged out of the shoulder rig, removed the .32 and put the harness on the cabinet. Then he moved to the bed, threw back the covers and slid the Colt under the pillow.
Through it all, Cathy stood at the door, watching him.
He walked across the room toward her, and as he got closer, Cathy’s eyes got wider. When he reached her, he grabbed her by the belt of her robe and pulled her into the room while with the other hand he pushed the door closed. Dropping his hands to the knot securing the belt, he untied it and flipped the robe open.
“What are you doing?” she gasped.
Instead of answering, Tucson jerked the shoulders of her robe down over her arms so she couldn’t move them then pulled her roughly against him and crushed his mouth against hers. Her whole body went rigid with shock; then she began to struggle and tried to pull away. Disregarding her efforts, Tucson continued to hold her against him while his lips moved brutally on hers. Slowly, Cathy’s struggles diminished until, in a final capitulation, she moaned deep in her throat and pressed her body fiercely against his.
He stopped kissing her, and as she hung there with her eyes closed, he lifted his hands to the frilly collar of her nightgown and ripped downward. The sound of tearing cloth was matched by her ragged breathing. After he tossed the rag aside, she stood naked before him with her arms at her sides and her body bathed in the soft glow of moonlight filtering in through the curtains.
Her body was utter perfection. Slender shoulders sloped to breasts that would fit into the palms of Tucson’s hands, with round pink tips that were erect and quivering. The light shimmered over the soft slope of her stomach, reflected off gently curving hips until it finally lost itself in the deep shadows between her full thighs. So lost in admiration was Tucson that he almost missed his timing. Catching himself, he stooped and lifted Cathy off her feet, carried her to the bed then threw her down on top of it.
She opened her eyes to watch him kick his boots away, pull his shirt off and throw it aside then unbuckle his belt and drop his trousers. Disdaining foreplay, he knelt on the bed, stuck his knee between her thighs and forced her legs apart. Dropping down on top of her, he thrust himself into her with a long, brutal stroke, then began pounding into her with a cold, cruel rhythm. She was more than ready, and her hips lifted and beat against his with demanding urgency. Her nails raked his shoulders as his mouth found hers and their tongues intertwined.
Like a storm-tossed sea they rose higher and higher on waves of pleasure. Then, like breakers crashing against the sand, they exploded together in a torrent of ecstasy that swept them both away. Cathy’s scream echoed dimly through Tucson’s mind as he felt himself descend into am ocean of exploding light. It was several moments before he returned gasping to normal consciousness and found Cathy gazing up at him with fierce intensity.
He kissed her lightly on the lips then slid off onto the sheet beside her. Her chest was still heaving and her breasts, stomach and thighs glistened with sweat. Putting his palm on her soft, smooth stomach, he caressed it with a slow, circular movement.
She continued to stare at the ceiling. “How did you know that I didn’t want to be asked?” she demanded, her voice husky.
“Maybe I didn’t want to ask you,” Tucson replied.
She turned her head and looked at him; her green eyes were glistening, and the tension that usually sparked in their depths was gone. “I credit you with more sensitivity than that.”
“Whoa...whoa...!” Tucson almost shouted in alarm, glaring at her sternly. “Never use a word like that in reference to me...if something like that got around it could get me killed!”
She rolled over onto her side and threw her leg over his hips. “You mean the great Tucson Kid can’t be sensitive?” she teased, digging her fist into his ribs. Then, more seriously, she said, “All the way through the act, I felt that you were in rapport with what I wanted—with what I needed. At any point, if you had stopped to ask me for direction, it would have ruined the whole experience.”
At a loss for words, Tucson leaned over and kissed her nose.
“I’ve never reacted to a man like this before,” Cathy went on musingly. “I go into some kind of mesmeric trance when I’m around you. I experience you as a fire in my blood.”
Holding her leg so that it stayed over his hip, Tucson turned onto his side and faced her. She was still relaxed in afterglow, and the ethereal quality had returned to her face. Cupping her breast in his hand, Tucson kissed her long and feelingly. She twined her fingers in his black hair and returned the kiss with slow, sweet sensuality. They lay there for a long time, kissing and caressing, and Tucson felt the fire of passion building up in her again as a warm, radiant glow beneath her skin. By the time he rolled her onto her back, Cathy’s breathing was coming in short gasps.
As he slid between her thighs, he murmured, “Let’s take this one slow and easy.”
* * * *
Cathy left Tucson’s room just before dawn, and he dropped into a sleep of exhaustion. By the time he woke up, got out of bed, shaved, bathed and dressed it was early afternoon. As he came down the stairs, he noticed that the door to William Harrison’s study was open. He paused at the entrance and peered inside. Harrison, dressed in a brown business suit and a blue tie, was at his desk looking over a stack of papers.
Tucson stepped into the room. “Howdy, Bill,” he said.
Harrison looked up then smiled in welcome. “So you’ve come back to the land of the living, eh, Kid?” He gestured to a chair in front of the desk. “Come in...take a seat...tell me how things are going.”
As Tucson seated himself, Harrison picked up the cuspidor and leaned across the desk. Tucson selected a cigar, picked up the cutter and sliced off the end, then stuck the tip into the flame of the match that Harrison held out for him. Sighing with satisfaction, he sat back and blew smoke rings at the ceiling.
“I know you were out late last night,” Harrison observed, as he put the lid back on the cuspidor and returned it to its place on the desktop. “Were you able to find out anything pertinent?”
“Like I told you yesterday when I agreed to take this job,” Tucson replied, between puffs on his cigar, “for a white man and a stranger to San Francisco to find a way into Chinatown is going to be close to impossible.” His eyes sparked with excitement. “Well, I may have found just the way in that I needed.”
“Really...!” Harrison leaned his elbows on the desk and hunched forward. “Tell me about it.”
Rather than answering directly, Tucson asked, “What do you know about a man called, John Riley—he owns The Whale Saloon down on the Barbary Coast?”
Harrison glanced away as he thought it over. “John Riley is just about the toughest, meanest, most ruthless criminal on the Coast,” he said at last. “He has a finger in almost all the criminal activity in San Francisco. Some say he even has connections over at City Hall. Why are you interested in him?”
Tucson studied the tip of his cigar. “I went to work for Riley last night.”
“You what...?”
“Riley said something interesting last night,” Tucson said, leaning forward and flicking ash into the ashtray. “He told me that big plans are underway in the city; the underworld is becoming organized, and the balance of power in San Francisco is about to shift. Then he said something else—he said that what he was referring to reached into Chinatown.”
“Good god...!” Harrison cried. “How did you learn so much in such a short time?”
Tucson shrugged. “I had to take out a couple of Riley’s strong-arm boys to get his attention. Then my reputation did the rest.”
Harrison swiveled sideways in his chair and blew a gust of air out between his teeth. Tucson sat smoking quietly while the older man thought it over. After a couple of minutes, he glanced over at Tucson. “You know, Kid, what you’re saying fits in with what Jack Morris and I have been seeing around the city. It’s what we meant yesterday when we said that we were coming to the conclusion that there was a singe brain behind what’s been going on.” His eyes sharpened. “Do you think that brain is John Riley?”
Tucson drew meditatively on his cigar. “It’s possible that Riley’s the man,” he replied slowly. “But the way he phrased things, and my gut, both make me doubt it. Still,” he jabbed his cigar at Harrison, “what I do think is that Riley’s close to the top. After all, Riley is top dog on the Barbary Coast and it would be impossible for who ever’s running things not to include him in the decision-making.”
Harrison nodded; then, “What’s the next move?”
“We’re talking a little bit ahead of ourselves,” Tucson replied. “I still have to gain Riley’s trust. I can’t say right now how long that’ll take—maybe tomorrow, maybe next week. The hand has to be played out until I can see which way the cards fall.”
“But you think that John Riley can lead you to Chinatown and the Tongs,” Harrison said.
Tucson nodded. “Riley’s my way in...”