Tucson leaped through the doorway, rolled on the plush carpeting and came up on one knee. Ah Ting, seated on the far side of an ornate teakwood desk, stared at him in surprise. John Ryan, seated on the near side of the desk with his back toward Tucson, twisted in his chair to see what was happening. On opposite sides of the room, two Tong members stood against the walls with their arms crossed over their chests.
For a split-second, the whole tableau was frozen into immobility.
Then everyone moved at the same time.
As the Tong members reached for their guns, Tucson raised his Colts straight out from his shoulders, pulled the triggers simultaneously and fired in opposite directions. The bullets tore into both men’s chests at the same time; they dropped to their knees, blood spurting all over the carpet, then fell forward onto their faces.
Clawing for the gun beneath his coat, Riley was coming up out of his chair and spinning around to face Tucson. At the same time, Ah Ting was reaching inside a drawer of the desk, apparently going for a gun he had stashed there. A .32 slug hit Riley in the jaw, ripped it off and hurled him back against the desk. Tucson pulled the trigger twice on the .45, and the bullets hit Ah Ting in the chest, stopping his grab for his gun.
In spite of his injury, John Riley was trying to bring his gun into line - although he was moving in slow motion. Tucson emptied the last of the .32’s into his chest and stomach, and the saloon owner crashed forward onto the chair, taking it with him in broken fragments to the carpet.
Ah Ting had been paralyzed by his wounds, and the blood coursing down his chest dyed his robe a deeper shade of scarlet. He stared unblinkingly at Tucson as the gunman raised the .45, took aim then emptied it as fast as he could into the head of the Chinese boss. Like a huge cantaloupe, Ah Ting’s shaved skull exploded, and a grisly wash of blood, brains and bone fragments splattered across the tapestry behind his chair. The headless body slumped down in the seat then slid to the floor beneath the desk.
After the rolling thunder of gunfire, Tucson experienced the following silence as a ringing in his ears. In spite of the gun-smoke searing his eyes and the cordite biting at his nostrils, he wasted no time in ejecting the spent shells and punching fresh cartridges into his guns. He estimated that he had only seconds before the other Tong members, who he assumed lived in rooms on the second floor, would be swarming all over him.
Taking the gun from John Riley’s cold fingers, Tucson spun it across the carpet to the door. Then he ran to the two Tong members and did the same thing with their guns. Going behind the desk, he stepped into the pool of blood flowing from Ah Ting’s crumpled body and took the gun from the drawer. Finally, he rushed to the open door, positioned the guns on the carpet around the entrance so he could get at them quickly, then waited.
And he didn’t have to wait long...
Lying flat on his stomach, Tucson lifted the bottom corner of the tapestry covering the doorway and peered into the conference room. Just then, the outer door flew open and a group of black-clad Tong members, armed with knives, hatchets and guns, burst into the chamber. Catching them while they were still bunched up around the door, Tucson began firing his weapons. He didn’t depend on a spray of bullets this time; rather he picked his shots, taking out those men first who were armed with guns. As one gun was emptied, he dropped it, picked up another and kept firing. Lying on the carpet behind the tapestry, the Tong members couldn’t see him, and even those who fired into the curtain shot blind, and the slugs popped harmlessly over his head.
Pandemonium broke out among the Chinese as heads exploded, chests were ripped open, and arms and legs were shot off—all by an unseen foe. Slipping and sliding in a gruesome bog of blood, brains and entrails, they stumbled over each other as they tried to escape back through the door. But as they turned to run, Tucson came up onto one knee and pumped lead into their backs.
As the last Chinese fled in panic through the door, Tucson was already re-loading his guns. Luckily, the guns belonging to the dead Tong members and John Riley were .45’s, and Ah Ting’s weapon was a .32.
His .32 stashed in the shoulder rig, the other guns lining his belt and his .45 gripped in his fist, Tucson pushed past the tapestry, entered the conference room and approached the outer door. His eyes blazed with the fires of hell and his harsh features had set into a dreadful mask of death. He had been transformed into a merciless engine of destruction, and his only goal was to kill and keep killing until there were no Tong members left.
The door was clogged with torn and broken bodies. Like a Demon from the Pit, Tucson waded through the spreading pool of blood and gore then climbed to the top of the pile of corpses and looked through the doorway. A small group of Tong members was clustered at the far end of the hall, staring back at the conference room, quivering with fear. At a quick glance, Tucson couldn’t see a gun among them. Still, he knew that a knife or a hatchet could kill him just as dead.
He climbed down the pile of bodies and stalked down the hallway, a gun in each hand, firing from the waist as he went. Muzzle flashes lit up the darkness as he moved, and with each pull of the trigger, a black-clad criminal went down. Knives and axes spun down the passageway at him, but terror was affecting their aim, and Tucson avoided them with ease.
The flames from his guns lit up a ghastly scene of carnage: faces twisted and eyes rolled in horror; a crimson wash dripped from the walls and ceiling; heads evaporating in sprays of blood; chests and stomachs were ripped open, while shattered bodies, glistening entrails and severed limbs floated or lay half-submerged in a deepening pool of blood. In the enclosed space of the corridor, the thunder of gunfire reverberated off the walls like the roar of cannon.
Then it was over...
In the ensuing silence, Tucson approached two lone survivors who were kneeling in the gruesome swamp with their hands uplifted in a mute plea for mercy. He automatically ejected the spent shells from his guns and thumbed fresh bullets into the chambers.
“How many more of you are behind that door?” he demanded, in a voice that still throbbed with battle lust.
They shook their heads. “No one...!”
He jerked his thumb at the stairwell. “Get out—and don’t ever come back.”
Tucson watched them scramble down the stairs, then he stepped over the corpses, opened the door and looked inside. The room was lined with row upon row of cots, but otherwise it was empty. As he turned back and started down the stairs, the pre-dawn stillness was shattered by the scream of police whistles, the screech of iron-rimmed wheels on brick pavement and the blare of sirens. Alerted by the sounds of the battle, the police were on their way, and Tucson had to move fast.
He reached the floor of the restaurant and rushed toward the booth where he had left Cathy Harrison. She saw him coming, slid off her seat and ran toward him.
“Oh, Tucson,” she cried, throwing her arms around him. “There was so much gunfire—are you hurt?”
“I’m fine...” he replied shortly. Pulling her arms away, he pushed her back. “You need to listen to me,” he said. “There’s something else I have to do before I can stop.”
She stared up at him in amazement. “What more could there possibly be?”
“There’s a young woman,” Tucson explained, begrudging the seconds it took. “She’s the daughter of old friends of mine...John Riley has been holding her prisoner...I have to go get her. Now listen,” he gripped her arms, “you can hear that the police are on their way. Go outside and wait for them—let them take you home. When I’ve rescued the girl, I’ll bring her to your house.” His eyes became fierce. “In the meantime, you don’t know anything about what happened here. You escaped your bonds during the gun battle. And above all don’t mention my name—except to your father once you’re safe.”
Without waiting for a reply, Tucson spun on his heel and ran to the rear of the Golden Dragon.
* * * *
Tucson burst through the back door of the restaurant and leaped into the alley running along the rear. The alley ran north to south behind a row of buildings, and Tucson headed north toward the Barbary Coast. The way was narrow and cluttered with trash cans, wooden crates and piles of garbage. Occasionally, there were lanes cutting between the buildings, and as he rushed past, Tucson could see crowds of Chinese swarming over Dupont Street moving in the direction of the Golden Dragon, curious to see what was going on.
Finally, he reached the point where the alley opened out into Pacific Street. His chest heaved like a bellows as he stopped at the corner and looked around. The sun's rays were just peeking over the skyline, and Pacific Street was deserted. Everyone’s probably down at the Golden Dragon, he thought. Forcing himself to walk casually, he crossed the street and ambled down the sidewalk until he reached The Whale Saloon.
The front door was open and he went inside. Chairs were upended on tables, Chinese coolies were swabbing the wooden floor, and a bartender he didn’t recognize was behind the bar polishing glasses. Tucson had left the guns of the Tong members back at the Golden Dragon, and he was now armed with only the .45 in the shoulder rig and the .32 stuck in his belt beneath his jacket.
He stepped up to the bar and nodded familiarly to the bartender. “Howdy...” he said, leaning his elbows on the counter. “Are any of the boys around?”
“Mornin’ Kid,” the bartender answered with a smile. He jerked his head toward the rear of the saloon. “A few o’ the boys are sleepin’ in the back—some ran down Dupont Street to see what was goin’ on. There was a lot o’ gunfire comin’ from down there a while ago.” His brow furrowed quizzically. “I thought you went over to Chinatown last night with the boss.”
“That's right...” Tucson responded. Then, “Where does Lily Jordan sleep?”
“Oh, wait a minute, Kid,” the bartender grunted, dropping the towel on the bar. “Nobody’s allowed to see her but the boss.”
“Keep your hands on the counter where I can see them,” Tucson barked at him. When the bartender complied, he went on. “I’m going to give you a choice: you can tell me now where the girl sleeps, or I’ll come back there and pistol-whip you until you tell me. Which will it be?”
The bartender licked lips suddenly gone dry. “I seen you in action, Kid—I don’t want no trouble.” He pointed with his chin to the rear. “Lily sleeps in the last room down on the right—but it’s kept locked.”
“Just keep polishing glasses, friend, and you won’t get hurt,” Tucson said; then he turned and walked down the bar, cut left at the end and moved toward the rear of the saloon.
Passing the stairwell leading up to John Riley’s office, Tucson walked along a row of rooms lining the right-hand wall until he came to the end. He tried the knob but, like the bartender had told him, it was locked.
He pressed his ear to the panel. “Lily...” he called softly.
The creak of bed springs sounded from inside, then he heard footsteps running to the door. “Tucson...?” Lily called back.
“Step back from the door,” Tucson told her. “I’m going to kick it in.”
He waited a second then raised his foot and with all of his weight behind it, kicked the door on the panel above the knob. The cheap wood splintered under his boot-heel and the door crashed inward. As he stepped through the opening, Lily rushed forward and threw herself into his arms.
“Oh, Tucson,” she cried, looking up at him, smiling through her tears. “I knew you would come—I just knew it!”
“Of course...” Tucson replied, squeezing her shoulders. “I said I would. But come on,” he turned back to the door and pulled her with him, “we have to get out of here.”
Lily threw a coat over her nightgown and they moved back toward the main section of the saloon. Suddenly, four of John Riley’s henchmen rounded the corner of the bar and confronted them.
“Just where do ya think you two are goin’?” one of them demanded belligerently. He pointed at Lily with a dirty finger. “That’s the boss’s girl. She ain’t goin’ nowhere with you.”
Tucson moved Lily behind him so that his body shielded her, but she continued to peek fearfully over his shoulder. “John Riley’s dead,” he hissed through clenched teeth. Lily gasped behind him; then he went on, “You men can turn aside and let us pass, or you can take the risk of dying for a boss who won’t be paying you for it.”
At that, the men rocked back on their heels and glanced nervously at each other. Then, by mutual consent, they split apart and left a space for Tucson and Lily to pass through. When they paused, Tucson had taken the opportunity to pull his .45. He held it in his hand, cocked and hanging at his side as he and Lily walked through the group and down along the bar toward the front door. Tucson walked backward so that he could keep his eyes on the men, while he kept the bartender in sight with his peripheral vision. He didn’t fail to note the Chinese coolies who had stopped mopping the floor and were watching them curiously as they passed.
Out on the sidewalk, Tucson looked around. The sun was well up by then; a few early risers were moving around, and the employees of the cigar factory at the eastern end of the street were on their way to work. A lone cab sat at the curb down the block. The cabbie was asleep on the high seat and his bony nag was dozing in the traces with its head drooping.
Tucson slapped the side of the cab with his palm to wake up the driver then opened the door for Lily.
“Yes, sir...” the cabbie called out groggily, sitting up straight on the seat and grabbing the reins. “Where to...?”
“Nob Hill...” Tucson responded, then climbed in behind Lily and closed the door.
As the driver cracked his whip over the nag and the cab lurched into motion, Tucson settled back in the seat beside Lily. Her blonde hair was tangled, and there were dark circles beneath her blue eyes and hollows in her cheeks, but there was a new look of hope dawning on her face as she gazed at him thankfully.
“Now why don’t you tell me how you got into this mess with John Riley and your brother getting killed in the first place,” he said.
Lily sighed and shook her head sadly. “Eddie and I were visiting relatives in Oakland when we decided that it would be fun to come over to San Francisco and see the sights. We were with an adult friend of our relatives, and we took a cab tour of the city. We had passed through Chinatown and had turned onto Pacific Street, when the cab broke down on a corner a little ways from The Whale Saloon. There was an alley right there, and as Eddie and I stood on the curb, watching the cabbie, a group of men came out of the alley and grabbed us.”
Tucson took off his sombrero and ran his fingers through his black hair. It was easy for him to visualize the scene. It sounded like a put-up job from the start. He suspected the adult friend lured them to the alley outside the Whale, and John Riley’s henchmen did the rest. “How did your brother get murdered?” he asked.
“Well,” she frowned at the memory, “I didn’t actually see Eddie get killed. He tried to fight the men off when they were dragging us through the alley; they knocked him out with blackjacks and I never saw him after that. When I asked John later where my brother was, he said that he'd been taken care of and that I wouldn’t be seeing him again.” She gazed at Tucson with wide eyes. “I assumed that meant that Eddie was dead.”
Tucson felt a wave of relief wash over him. “While you shouldn’t get your hopes up about seeing him again anytime soon,” he said, “I don’t think Riley had your brother killed.”
“Why not...?”
“Because it would’ve been a waste of money and man-power,” Tucson replied. “If I remember correctly, Eddie was always big for his age, and strong.”
“Yes,” Lily agreed excitedly. “He was good at sports, and he usually got the better of the other boys at rough and tumble.”
Tucson nodded. “My guess is that Riley had him shanghaied. While he was still unconscious, your brother was sold to the captain of a clipper ship bound for parts unknown.”
“Then Eddie can still be alive?” Lily cried, tears of joy spurting into her eyes.
“I imagine so...” Tucson blew a gust of air out between his teeth. “But don’t expect to see him for a while.” Then another thought occurred to him. “Why didn’t you send your message to your father? You would have been guaranteed a quicker response.”
“I couldn’t take the chance,” she said. “You know Dad—he'd have gone bursting into the Whale looking for me and would have ended up getting himself killed.” She shook her head. “I’d rather spend the rest of my life a slave to John Riley than let that happen.” Slipping her hand through his arm, she added, “You were the only man I could think of who had even a ghost of a chance of rescuing me.”
Tucson patted her hand; then he saw the street coming up and stuck his head out the window. “Turn to the left, driver, and go on up to the top of the hill—if you think your horse can make it.”
“Right you are, sir,” the cabbie called back cheerfully. “And don’t worry about Betsy, sir - she ain’t seen the hill she can’t climb.”
Tucson halted the cab at the crest of the hill, got out and helped Lily step down. After paying the driver, and giving him a generous tip, he turned around then stopped. Standing in the front door of the mansion were Cathy Harrison and her father. Cathy had bathed and changed into a dress, and Harrison was in his usual business suit. As he and Lily moved up the cement walkway, Cathy came down the steps and ran to them.
“You must be the girl Tucson went to rescue,” she exclaimed.
“Yes,” Lily replied, somewhat baffled. “I’m Lily...”
“I’m Cathy...” She put her arm through Lily’s, glancing up at Tucson as she did. “Come inside, Lily...we have food ready, and you can take a bath and sleep in a comfortable bed...and I think you’ll fit into my clothes.”
As the women walked into the house, William Harrison extended his hand to Tucson. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am for all you’ve done, Kid. I was out of my mind with worry when Cathy got kidnapped.”
Up close, Tucson could see that Harrison’s face, usually so strong and hearty, was drawn and pale. “Well, it’s almost over now, Bill,” he said quietly; then he followed the older man inside.