The Case of the Deadly Desperados (14 page)

Ledger Sheet 32

WITHOUT EVEN BIDDING
the artist good-bye, I started running down the mountain.

I soon found myself near the place where they were dumping rubble. I skidded to a stop at the edge of a steep place where the earth fell sharply away. The ground was still damp from the thawing snow & I almost plunged over. Looking down, I saw dirt & chunks of rock & rotten spars of wood all jumbled together. This was not tailings. Tailings were all smooth & pointy, like anthills, because they were made of the fine dust that came out of the Quartz Stamp Mills.

This was a Dump: all bumpy & unstable. This was where that car dumped the rubbish from shafts and tunnels.

I should have gone around it, but I was impatient to get down to the Notary Public on the east side of B Street behind the International Hotel. The howling wind had given me a new sense of urgency. It was like an omen of something bad about to happen.

I leapt down onto the top of the dump and began to descend from boulder to spar. Once or twice I almost fell as a piece of rock shifted beneath my feet or a timber seesawed. But I did not tumble.

As I reached the bottom, a pale-eyed boy rose up suddenly from a crouching position & put out his hand to check my progress. I was going too fast to stop & so we collided & both fell down. I scrambled to my feet & was going to continue down the mountain. But now I saw two other boys had stood up to block my way & a fourth was coming up behind them.

The first boy was on his feet & his icy blue eyes were narrowed into Expression No. 5: Suspicion.

“What are you doing on our dump?” he said. “Are you one of the Savage Gang?”

“He ain't no member of the Savage Gang,” said a redheaded boy. He held a splinter of wood about the size of my forearm & was brandishing it like a spear. “He is one of the tony bunch. Look how he is dressed.”

“Let me by,” I said. Two of the other boys had rocks in their hands. They were no more than ten or eleven but they had a feral look of cornered weasels. I remembered today was Saturday so they were not in school.

They were dressed in old shirts & pants.

I was dressed in a starched white shirt, serge trousers, waistcoat, jacket & plug hat. And also my sturdy brogans.

Two of them were barefoot.

A fifth boy came down the rubble behind me & grabbed my right arm just above the elbow.

“We can't let you by,” said the first boy. “We are the Mexican Gang and you are on our territory. You are now our prisoner.”

It was like Olaf & his bully friends all over again.

I did not have time for this today.

I wrenched my right arm free & pulled my seven-shooter out of my pocket & pulled back the hammer & fired it in the air. It did not make a very big bang outdoors & with the wind moaning around us, but it did the trick: they all jumped back. For an instant I smelled gunpowder, then the wind snatched the smoke away. I cocked my pistol again & leveled it at them & swiveled so it pointed at each of them in turn.

Then I said, “Let me by.”

They let me by.

Once I was safely past them, I released the hammer of my seven-shooter & slipped it back into my pocket & ran. I felt bad that I had aimed a loaded revolver at kids my own age. What would Pa Emmet & Ma Evangeline say? What would my original pa say? But I had a mission. I had to get to the Notary Public.

I glanced back over my shoulder. As I feared, the boys of the Mexican Gang were following me. One of them had got a bow & arrow from somewhere. I pulled out my revolver, but they all jumped back behind a privy. I put away my gun & turned & ran down, dodging between outhouses, sheds and rubbish piles until at last I found myself on A Street.

I was back where I had started.

I did not linger to see whether Walt and his pals were still staking out the Recorder's Office. Instead, I hurriedly crossed the muddy street and found an alley between two buildings. I reckoned it would lead me down to B Street.

I reached a kind of T where the alley went left and right.

I was trying to figure out which way would be the best way to go when a thrumming arrow buried itself in the wooden planks of the building in front of me. That decided me quick. I ran left & then right & emerged onto B Street, near a blacksmith's shop. Across the street was a livery stable and next to it the Fashion Saloon. Over to my right I could see the flag that marked the site of the International Hotel. The Notary Public was between me & it. I was almost there.

I felt that familiar prickly feeling on the back of my neck. I turned & looked behind me. Sure enough, a few members of the Mexican Gang were still in pursuit. When I stuck my hand in my pocket, they all hid behind the back of the smithy.

The sooner I got to the Notary Public, the better.

The wind was howling and making shutters bang.

As I started to cross B to get to the other side, part of a tin roof flew past me, at neck level. A foot to the left and it would have chopped off my head.

It seemed that Virginia City itself was out to get me.

The flying piece of tin caused a pair of horses to rear up and that made a break in the traffic. Taking advantage of it, I dashed across the muddy street. This part of B Street had no boardwalk and I had to do some fancy footwork to avoid horse manure outside the livery stable.

“Only a little further,” I thought, “and I will be safe.”

As I began to run, the wind blew some grit in my eyes. That was why I did not see the man in black.

He had just come out of the Fashion Saloon & he was standing outside the swinging doors counting his money when I slammed into him. Some gold coins fell on the muddy ground around us. I heard him curse & felt him clutch at me, but I was up & running again.

However, I did not get far. I ran smack dab into a pair of rock-hard legs clad in gray and yellow checked trousers. The black-clad torso above the legs was solid as a block of quartz. Worst of all was the face. It was one of the ugliest faces I had ever seen. The man had a big black mustache & bulging eyes that stared in two different directions.

“Let me by,” I said.

“You ain't going nowhere, boy,” he said, and I found myself looking down the twin barrels of a fearsome weapon. “Make one move and I'll blow your brains out.”

The ugly man held one of those big Le Mats that some Confederate officers favor. It was a combined revolver and shotgun. The top barrel dispensed nine big .40 caliber balls and the bottom barrel had a single load of shot that could take off my entire head.

“Give them back,” said the man with the Le Mat. I could barely hear his deep voice above the moaning of the wind.

“What?” I said. “Give what back?”

“Those gold coins you stole off Jace.”

“I did not steal any coins,” I said.

“Then where are you going in such a rush?” he said in his bear growl.

“I am going to the Notary Public,” I said. “It is right behind you, just across the street. Please let me by.”

The man was aiming right between my eyes.

“Are you stupid, boy?” he said.

“No,” I said. “I am smart.”

“Then why ain't you scared?”

“I
am
scared,” I said. “I am scared and also angry.”

“You don't look it,” he said.

“That is because I am a Freak of Nature,” I said.

The man's bulging eyes widened & he said, “Hey, Jace. Lookee here. This boy has a better poker face than you do.”

The man I had jostled appeared beside us. I did not want to turn my head but I could see him out of the corner of my eye. He was tall & slim & dressed all in black, as far as I could see. He was counting his gold coins.

“This here is Poker Face Jace,” said the walleyed man. “And they call me Stonewall. Maybe you have heard of us.”

“No, sir. I have not heard of you.” I said this without moving.

He pressed the cold barrel of the gun right between my eyes.

“If Jace gives the word,” said Stonewall, “I will blow your brains all over the thoroughfare. Do you believe me?”

“Yes, sir,” I said, “I believe you.”

Poker Face Jace spoke. “Ain't you scared?” he asked in a pleasant Southern drawl.

“Yes, sir.”

“You don't look it.”

Poker Face Jace moved round so he could see my face better. As he did so, I saw his eyes. They were dark and expressionless & I suddenly realized that I had seen him before. He was the gambler who had caught me when I leapt from the gallery of the saloon. At the time I had been wearing a pink calico dress and bonnet. I wondered how long it would take him to recognize me.

“There is no evidence of trepidation about you,” he said. His skin was pale & he had gray hair above his ears, but all the other parts of him were black: his mustache, his eyes, his eyebrows. He was even dressed all in black, from his hat to his boots. The wind whipped his black linen duster against his legs, and then blew it open, giving me a glimpse of the walnut butt of a small pistol in his right-hand pants pocket.

He took a cigar from his coat pocket & examined it. “Where are you going in such a hurry?” he asked.

“Some kids from the Mexican Gang are after me,” I said. It was not the whole Truth but when I rolled my eyes to the right I could still see a couple of them lurking on the other side of the street. One held an arrow notched and ready, the other clutched a sharp rock in each hand. When they saw Jace and Stonewall look at them, they turned tail and ran.

“Nasty bullies, indeed,” said Jace. “And yet your face betrayed no fear then, nor does it now with cold metal pressed against your forehead.” He struck a match on the wall & shielded the flame with his hand & got his cigar going. “You are right, Stonewall,” he said at last. “He's got a better poker face than I do. Put up your gun.”

Stonewall uncocked his Le Mat & pointed it up towards the overhang. “You missing any coins, Jace?” he growled.

Jace sucked at his cigar a few times to get it going. “Nope,” he said at last. “My money is all present and accounted for.”

Stonewall grunted & holstered his pistol. I noticed it was blue steel with a walnut grip.

A crowd of interested passersby had stopped to gawp at us even though the wind was whipping up their coattails & skirts.

Jace took out his cigar & examined the glowing tip. “Now that your pursuers have abandoned the chase,” he said, “will you come inside and talk with me for a moment?”

I looked at his face, but I could not read it.

“Do I have a choice?” I said.

He tipped his head back & blew some smoke up in the air. “No.”

“Then I will come with you.”

Ledger Sheet 33

THE FASHION SALOON HAD
slatted wooden half doors that swung each way. Jace held open the right-hand door & Stonewall the left. I took a deep breath & stepped inside. It was dim in there and it took my eyes a few moments to adjust after the brightness of the day outside. There was sawdust on the floor, but the strong wind had already blown it into a little drift against the end of a long bar along the right-hand wall.

There were plain pinewood tables opposite the bar & also at the back of the room. Some of the tables were round & some were square. It smelled of stale beer & cigar smoke & sweat. A fat woman had a hurdy-gurdy on her lap & she was cranking out a version of “Camptown Races.” Three miners were dancing with some Hurdy Girls who had hardly any clothes on.

“Come on,” said Jace, who was halfway across the room. The sawdust was thicker here. It muffled the sound of my heavy shoes as I followed him.

Jace gestured towards a table near the back of the saloon, near a window with a 100-mile view. I could see the air outside was full of dust & a man's hat flew by.

Jace saw it, too. “Danged Washoe Zephyr,” he said. He pulled out a chair for me.

I hesitated.

My Indian ma had taught me always to sit with my back against the wall so nobody could sneak up on me. But I did not think I had a choice this time, so I sat without protest. Jace sat opposite me. I observed that he had
his
back to the wall, and that he kept his hat on.

I heard a noise behind me and turned to see that the barkeeper was closing a set of full-length inner doors. Once closed, those doors made the saloon quieter and calmer, but darker, too.

It made me feel trapped.

I reckoned Poker Face Jace had read the article in the newspaper & worked out who I was. Like everyone else, he wanted my
document of great value
.

“What'll you drink?” he said, taking the cigar from his mouth & tapping ash into a brass ashtray.

“Water,” I said.

Jace said, “Nobody drinks the water here in Virginia. It is a mixture of arsenic, plumbago and copperas. It is only good for washing.”

“Coffee, then,” I said. “Black coffee.”

“Stonewall?” said Jace. “Bring us a pot of coffee and two cups and keep watch at the bar.”

“Yes, boss,” said the big man.

Jace looked at me & I looked back. Everything about him was straight. His nose was straight & his mouth was straight. Even his black eyebrows were straight.

I thought, “What does he mean to do to me?”

He sucked his cigar & blew some smoke up towards the ceiling. “You look familiar to me somehow. Have we met before?”

I did not know what to say, so I said nothing.

“You are inscrutable,” he said. “I cannot tell what you are thinking.”

“That is my Thorn,” I said. My hands were cold & now that I was sitting down my knees were trembling.

“Beg pardon?”

“A Thorn in my side. I cannot understand what other people are feeling or thinking.”

Jace gave a small nod. “I suppose that means you have trouble showing your own emotions.”

“Yes, sir. Also, sometimes I cannot recognize people I have met before. If they have grown a beard or their hair is different I get confused. Once, in Dayton, I walked right by my foster ma. She was wearing a brand-new store-bought bonnet & I did not recognize her. Luckily she understood and was not too mad at me. It is a Thorn. A Thorn & a Curse.”

Jace tapped some more ash into the ashtray. “What is your name?”

“P.K. Pinkerton,” I said. I figured he would find out anyway.

Jace's eyebrows went up. “Related to Doc Pinkerton?”

“No. I am related to the famous Pinkerton Detectives of Chicago. Allan Pinkerton is my uncle. My pa was his brother Robert. I am going to Chicago to work for the Pinkerton National Detective Agency.”

“We never sleep,” said Jace.

It was my turn to say, “Beg pardon?”

“That is their motto,” said Jace. “On their signs and letterheads. The words ‘We Never Sleep' underneath an eye. They call themselves ‘Private Eyes.'”

“I know they call themselves ‘Private Eyes,'” I said. “But I did not know about the motto.”

“Thank you, Stonewall,” said Jace as the big man put a tin pot of coffee & two china mugs on the table. Stonewall filled both mugs, pushed one towards Jace, one towards me & then went to resume his position at the end of the bar.

My hands were still cold. I put them around the mug to warm them.

Jace rested his cigar in the ashtray & took a sip of coffee. “P.K.,” he said. “I believe what you call a Thorn & a Curse is really a Blessing. Furthermore, I think I can help you.”

“What do you mean you can help me?” My hands around the coffee mug were a little warmer, but my knees were still trembling.

Jace picked up his cigar & took another suck. “Have you ever heard of a card game called poker?”

“Yes, sir,” I said. “I played it once or twice on the wagon train coming west.”

Jace nodded & exhaled smoke up into the air. “How about faro and monte?”

“I have heard of them but I do not know the rules.”

“No matter. If you understand poker you can play those other games. Have you heard of a ‘poker face'?”

“Yes,” I said. “It means not letting your face betray the cards in your hand.”

Jace sat forward & tapped the ash from his cigar into the ashtray. “You are exactly right. A poker face means a face that expresses no emotion. No pleasure at getting a royal flush. Nor disappointment at getting a passel of small worthless cards. I have only once met a poker player with a face as inscrutable as yours and he was an Indian.”

“I am half Sioux.”

“I suspected as much.” He sat back in his chair. “You know, P.K., it has taken me years of training to achieve what you naturally have.”

I said, “But a poker face is only useful if you can tell what other people are thinking. I know, because I played with those men once or twice and they always won.”

“Bravo,” said Jace. “You are a very smart boy.”

“Yes, sir,” I said. “I am smart. You show me something once, I never forget it. Also, I can do large sums in my head.”

Jace raised an eyebrow. “What is nine times nine?” he said.

I said, “Eighty-one.”

“What is thirty times twenty-two, with ten subtracted and then divided by five?”

I said, “One hundred and thirty.”

“What is one hundred and thirty-eight times three thousand five hundred and sixty-seven?”

I thought for a minute, seeing the numbers in my head. Then I said, “Four hundred ninety-two thousand two hundred forty-six.”

He said, “D-mn.” He glanced over at Stonewall and then looked at me for a moment. Then he reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a pack of playing cards. He shuffled them, dealt himself seven & fanned them out in his hand. He swiveled his wrist, showed me the hand for about the count of three & then put the cards face down on the table. “What cards did I hold?” he said.

I said, “Queen of Spades, Three Hearts, Five Diamonds, Queen of Diamonds, Jack of Clubs, Ten Spades and Ace of Spades.” As I named each card in order, he flipped it over to show I was right.

“D-mn,” said Jace again. “You are an unmined vein, P.K. If I could train you to read what people are thinking, you would be the best cardsharp west of the Mississippi.”

I shook my head. “I promised my dying ma that I would never kill a man or drink hard liquor or gamble.”

Jace stared at me for a while. I could not read his expression.

“And do you always keep your promises?” he said at last.

“I try.”

Jace looked over at Stonewall & shook his head. “An honest genius, Stonewall. What a discouraging combination.” Stonewall grunted & took a sip of beer. Jace put his cigar in his mouth & narrowed his eyes at me. “Are you going to drink your coffee?” he said in his drawl. “Or are you going to hug it all day?”

“I like it cold.”

Jace took the cigar out of his mouth. “P.K.?” he said. “What do you think is the most honest part of a man's body?”

“Beg pardon?”

“When you are trying to understand how a person is feeling, where do you look?”

“At their face.”

“A man's face is the most
dishonest
part of the body,” he said. “Whereas the most honest part of a man's body is in fact the part furthest from his face.”

I said, “His feet?”

Jace nodded. “His feet.”