Lone Star 02 (18 page)

“It's much too dangerous—” Moore began.

Jessie cut him off, pressing her finger to his lips. “Jordan, I've never let danger stop me. Our lovemaking is wonderful, but you mustn't let it put any silly ideas in your head. I can handle
myself
too, you know.”

“But Jessie—”

“Hush now, don't argue with me. You have to admit that my being on the inside will help us. Why, just think about all the useful information you got by just spending a few
hours
in the bordello as a paying customer. If I can spend a few days in there, I'm sure to hear something about that shipment you want to intercept—”

“All right!” Moore laughed, shaking his head. “You've convinced me. Besides, there really isn't anything I could do to talk you out of it, is there?”

Jessie said nothing, but arched her back to stretch and yawn. Then, grinning like a cat, she began to plant kisses across Moore's chest.

“You‘ll—you'll take your gun?”

“Uh-huh.” Jessie slipped off the couch to get down on her knees between Moore's spread legs.

“We'll inform Arthur Lewis of what you're planning—”

“Um-hmmmm ... mmmmmm ...” Jessie delicately lifted Moore's tender, swollen, sensitized member, and slipped it into her mouth.

Moore felt his spine turn to jelly as Jessie's lips locked around him. His head rolled on his shoulders, so that his wide eyes fell upon the netsuke that had fallen from Jessie's neck during their first bout of lovemaking. The ornament had lodged itself into the comer of the couch. Moore's trembling hand found it, to lift it to view. In delight, he looked first at the carved image of the kneeling woman playing the flute, and then at the real-life version, playing his flute ...

And, as it turned out, Jessie knew how to play it for a very long time, indeed. Before she was finished, sometime toward dawn, she had managed to coax out of Moore some very flutelike songs.

Chapter 10

Jessie and Moore managed to snatch a few hours' sleep bundled together in Moore's big double bed, but it was still very early in the morning when they sat down to eat the bacon-and-eggs breakfast the detective had prepared. Now that he'd been won over to Jessie's scheme, Moore turned out to be very knowledgeable concerning the way she had to go about landing her “job” at the bordello. He'd explained that Jessie couldn't just waltz up to the front door and present herself for hire. Foxy Muscat, the madam of the bordello, had her own method of recruiting what she considered the right sort of girls. Any overt, brazen approach on Jessie's part, and Foxy would smell a rat. Jessie had to be like all the other girls, which meant that she had to make the bordello's madam think that she had been swept up in her trawling net ...

Jessie returned to the Palace Hotel in order to bathe, change her clothes, and gather up the props Moore had said she would need to put her ruse into effect. She asked Ki to fetch her several threadbare dresses from a secondhand clothing store Moore had told her about, and to purchase for her a shabby valise at a nearby pawn shop.

She donned one of the cotton dresses, pulled her hair back into a braid, and kept her face free of makeup. She packed the rest of the dresses into her “new” valise, along with her hair-brush, comb, and a few other odds and ends. Buried deep in the bottom of the bag was her Colt revolver, with extra ammunition. Jessie hefted her valise and examined herself in the mirror. With her clean-scrubbed face, girlish hairstyle, and modest dress, she looked to be no older than a girl in her teens.

Ki knocked on the door to her suite, and then came in. He stared at her for a moment, and then his face broke into one of his rare smiles.

“You are very beautiful,” he said, “but appear to be unaware of it. Like a diamond in the rough.”

“Let's hope so,” Jessie replied in uncertain tones. “According to Jordan, I've got to look good enough to attract attention from the most exclusive house of ill repute in San Francisco, but not so good that I might turn and shout for the police at the recruiter's approach.”

“Do you have your gun packed?” Ki asked.

“Yes.” Jessie shrugged. “I almost decided not to take it.”

“Jessie, you must have it!” Ki exclaimed. “I will watch over you for a time, but once you go into that place, you will be on your own.”

“I know that.” Jessie gave herself a final once-over, and then turned from the mirror. “The danger is that they might decide to go through my belongings, looking for something of value to steal. If they find my revolver, my goose will be cooked.”

“What you must do,” Ki advised, “is find a place to hide the weapon.”

“Somewhere in the bordello where they won't find it, but where I can easily get to it, should I need it,” Jessie muttered. “Well! That sounds easy enough.”

“Jessie, deciding to do this was your own idea,” Ki gently chided.

Jessie smiled at him. “Yes, I know. And I think I'd better get started. I find that carrying out these crazy schemes of mine are never as scary as
thinking
about them.”

“Shall we, then?” Ki laughed.

Jessie scrutinized her friend. “Ki, you seem
different
somehow ...”

“Really? How so?” Ki winked at her.

“You seem ...” Jessie hesitated, suddenly not at all sure whether it would be appropriate to tell Ki that he seemed different because he seemed
happy...
“Oh, never mind. Time for me to take my fall into the gutter.”

“To
pretend
to take your fall,” Ki sternly warned.

“Now you sound like the
old
Ki,” Jessie chuckled.

They left the hotel, and made their way by cable car to the Ferry Building, down by the waterfront. They'd timed their arrival to coincide with the docking of one of the Oakland ferries.

Jessie merged with the passengers disembarking. Ki kept well away from her, watching as she wandered uncertainly. She did indeed look like a girl fresh off the farm, and lost, now that she'd finally arrived in the big city. Ki smiled to himself. He watched with satisfaction as Jessie began to be stalked by a well-dressed, respectable-looking matron. As the gray-haired, middle-aged woman approached her, Ki turned to make his way back to the hotel. He had preparations of his own to make. Jessie had informed him of Jordan Moore's plans.

Ki was a man of action. He relished the idea of going up against the cartel under the cover of darkness, of disrupting their schemes and perhaps even destroying their clipper ship's cargo of damned opium.

And yet, striking at the cartel was only a part of it. Ki hoped that combat would take his mind off Su-ling; it was quite remarkable how she had conquered his warrior's heart. Jessie had even noticed it, but then, that was not so unusual, the samurai thought. After all, Jessie was his closest friend, his soul-mate, in a way ...

But so was Su-ling his soul-mate, and, unlike Jessie, she might one day truly be his mate.

Ki felt his heart lighten with a kind of joy that had been unknown to him for too long. He rejoiced in this odd sensation of pleasure that seemed to arise upon contemplating the face and form of a loved one.

Ki rejoiced in this feeling but did not totally give himself over to it. He still had his duty to consider. Jessie had asked him to assist Jordan Moore, and honor demanded that he acquiesce to her wishes. He knew that she had spent the night with the detective, but for once the jealousy that usually clawed at his insides now seemed bearable. It was Su-ling who had blunted his savage emotions, who turned his thoughts away from Jessie, replacing her as the object of his shameful jealousy. Woe to the man who should dare to touch Su-ling!

Grinning savagely, Ki hurried to where the hacks waited to be hired. He would return to the hotel and wait until Jordan Moore summoned him.

The joy of love was a strong joy indeed, but there were other kinds. The good, clean joy of combat was what he now needed, Ki realized. When a samurai's mind became befuddled, only the blood of his enemy could wash it clean ...

 

 

Jessie's sixth sense had told her she was being watched. She did her best to remain relaxed, and wandered about the swiftly deserted exit ramp of the docked ferry. She'd noticed the middle-aged matron who was noticing
her,
and, most likely, hesitating in her approach in order to make sure that Jessie was not waiting for some tardy beau or parent to come fetch her. Sure of her audience, Jessie now went into her performance. She headed slowly toward the cable cars, but then stopped to open the valise and extract a small, beaded change purse. She opened the little purse, peered at what was inside, and then clicked it shut, shaking her head and daubing at her eyes with a worn linen handkerchief she'd had balled in the pocket of her dingy dress.

“Pardon me, young lady.”

Jessie turned, startled, to face the kindly visage of the gray-haired matron who had been watching her all this time.

“Y-yes?” Jessie said timidly.

“I couldn't help noticing that you seem a bit lost, child,” the woman smiled. “Are you new to our city?”

“Yes, ma‘am.”

“And have you no one to meet you?” the woman asked.

“No, ma‘am.”

“No one at all?” the woman persisted. “No family or friends in these parts?”

“I'm not from these parts, you see, ma‘am,” Jessie explained. “All of my family is in the Midwest. I'm from Chicago, you see ...” Jessie stopped. She turned slightly away from the woman and began to cry, wiping her eyes with her hankie.

“Come, come now, child,” the matron murmured comfort ingly. “It can't be as bad as all that.” The woman paused. “What did you say your name was, child?”

“Annabelle,” Jessie sniffed. “Annabelle Willis. But you can call me Annie,” she blurted, a trifle more brightly. “Everybody does. I mean, everybody
used
to ...” Once more she began to sob quietly.

“Here now, Annie! No more tears,” the woman chided her gently. “My name is Mrs. Fitzroy. I happen to have a few spare moments. You come along with me over to the café, and we'll have a nice, hot cup of tea.”

“That would be lovely, Mrs. Fitzroy,” Jessie gushed, “But—”

“But what?” Mrs. Fitzroy asked. “Come now, child, surely you're not afraid of an old woman like me, are you?”

“Oh, no, ma‘am!” Jessie giggled. “I mean—” She put her fingers to her lips and opened her eyes wide.

“What lovely hazel eyes you have, Annie,” the matron said admiringly. “And lovely hair.” She paused. “Well, if you're not afraid of me, why won't you share a cup of tea?”

Jessie averted her eyes. “It is so embarrassing to admit,” she whispered. “But—”

“Could it be that you don't have any money, child?” Mrs. Fitzroy coaxed gently.

Jessie nodded quickly, still not looking at the woman.

“Then you shall be my guest!” Mrs. Fitzroy said cheerfully. “What do you think of that?”

Jessie's hands flew to her breast. “I couldn‘t—” She glanced hopefully at Mrs. Fitzroy. “Could I?”

The matron's steely eyes had followed Jessie's hands. “You have a lovely figure, child,” she mused aloud. “Tell you what. You have a cup of tea at my expense, and next time it'll be your turn to pay.”

“Next time,” Jessie said doubtfully. “That can't be until I find myself a job, you realize ...”

Mrs. Fitzroy took her arm, steering Jessie along toward the cafe. “You're looking for a job, are you? Tell you what—a big, healthy girl like you could do with a nice blueberry muffin or two. Am I right? They make lovely muffins here.” They entered the café and took a table for two. “Young girls do have hearty appetites, I've found,” she prattled on. “By the way, how old did you say you were?”

“Why, I'm twenty-y-y-y ...” Jessie purposely spun the figure out. “... three!” She ended adamantly, but with a slight uncertainness to her tone.

“Oh, really?” Mrs. Fitzroy appeared amused. “Then quickly! What year were you born?”

“1862!” Jessie blurted. “Oh, my!” she sighed.

“Just as I thought!” the matron chortled triumphantly. Jessie stared down into her lap as the waiter approached their table..

“Two cups of tea, please,” Mrs. Fitzroy ordered. “And a plate of your blueberry muffins.” After he'd left, she said, “So! You are really eighteen. I'd thought as much.”

“I'm sorry I fibbed,” Jessie said. “It's just that I'd heard that young girls have trouble finding work.”

The waiter arrived with their tea and muffins. Jessie hurriedly snatched one up and bit into it.