The Loner: Crossfire (13 page)

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Authors: J.A. Johnstone

BOOK: The Loner: Crossfire
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Chapter 24
 
Using the nail and his boot, Conrad worked at the other two hinges until he had the pins out. But the door still sat squarely in its frame, and the lock on the other side held it shut.
The gap between door and jamb on the hinged side was too narrow for him to get his fingers in it and pull the door loose. He tried prying it out with the nails and made a little progress, but the door was well-fitted and stubborn.
An idea occurred to him as he stepped back into his boot. He felt his way over to the crate with the broken lid and stuck his hand through the small opening he had made.
His hand delved through a layer of excelsior, then touched canvas shrouding. He pressed against the canvas to see if he could tell what was underneath it. He felt a long, narrow shape.
It took a moment for Conrad to realize he was touching what felt like a rifle barrel.
Excitement leaped through him. He grabbed the piece of board that had broken off and pried up the remaining section still nailed to the crate. With that bigger opening created, he was able to remove another board. He pulled out handfuls of excelsior and threw it behind him until he had uncovered more of the cargo.
Using the nails in the broken board, he poked a hole in the canvas, then ripped it larger. He cut through the next layer of protection—oilcloth—then plunged his hands into the grease coating the rifles in the crate. He pulled out one of the weapons.
Of course it was empty, and he had no ammunition. But even so, the feel of a gun in his hands made his heart leap. He set it on the crate, tore off a piece of canvas, and starting wiping the grease off the rifle, as well as from his hands. He had to tear off more canvas, but eventually he had the rifle fairly clean. It felt like a Winchester repeater. He checked the action, and it worked smoothly and easily. The rifle was probably new.
Conrad wondered if all the crates in the hold contained rifles. He had a hunch they did, and he suspected there was something shady about shipping them to China.
That wasn’t any of his business, though. He just wished he had a boxful of cartridges.
That could make all the difference in the world.
Maybe he could use the rifle to bluff his way past some of the sailors once he got out, he thought. They wouldn’t have any way of knowing for sure the weapon was unloaded.
He took the rifle with him and leaned it against the wall beside the door as he went back to work trying to pry it loose with the nails in the piece of board he held. The nails were small enough to go in the gap around the door, but when he used them to lever the door out of its frame, they bent. Biting back a curse, he tried to straighten them. He still needed that blasted crowbar ...
His muscles suddenly stiffened and his head came up as somewhere above him, gunshots sounded. The reports were muffled by decks and bulkheads between him and them, but they were unmistakable.
A ruckus was going on, and he couldn’t help but think it had something to do with him. Maybe Turnbuckle had figured out where he was and sent in the police.
Or maybe that big Chinese hatchet man, his guardian angel from Spanish Charley’s, had shown up unexpectedly again. If that was the case, Conrad hoped the man had brought some friends with him. Not even the formidable Ling Yuan—that was what Carmen had called him, wasn’t it?—would be a match for the entire crew of the ship.
Conrad wanted to be in the middle of it, not locked up, hidden belowdecks. He pried harder at the door, but still to no avail.
He heard the slap of footsteps hurrying toward the door and backed away, holding the broken board in his right hand and using his left to pick up the Winchester.
A man called, “Bring a light! Plant yourselves in front of that door! Nobody gets to Browning!”
The sailors were going to stand guard out there. Realizing that wouldn’t help him, Conrad focused on getting them to open the door. He lifted the rifle and slammed the butt of its stock against the panel. He hit the door hard, twice, and let out a yell.
“What the hell!” a sailor cried. “The Chinks already got in there somehow!”
That told Conrad who was behind his rescue attempt.
“Get your guns ready!” another man ordered. “Malley, unlock the door and get out of the way!”
Conrad backed off again, having a pretty good idea what was about to happen. A key rattled in the lock, then one of the men shoved hard on the door, thinking it would swing open.
It fell into the room, landing with a crash on the deck.
The racket hadn’t even had a chance to echo in the companionway when Conrad hurdled over the fallen door, slashing right and left with the piece of board in his hand.
The protruding nails made it a vicious weapon. They tore across the face of a startled sailor, causing blood to spurt and drawing a howl of pain from him. The flat side of the board thudded into a second man’s head, staggering him.
After being locked up in the dark room for so long, Conrad’s eyes were almost useless to him in the lanternlight. But he could make out some dim shapes and had the advantage of knowing nobody was his friend. He tore into them, pressing his surprise.
“Look out, he’s got a gun!” That was enough to make them forget the captain had ordered them to keep Conrad alive. A pistol roared deafeningly in the narrow confines of the corridor.
Conrad dropped the board and used both hands on the Winchester. He rammed the barrel into a man’s belly, then slashed the stock across the sailor’s face when he bent over in pain. He saw three men down, and only two still on their feet, making him realize his vision had improved.
One man held a pistol, and fired again. Conrad felt the hot breath of the slug as he leaped forward and crashed the rifle butt in the middle of the man’s face. Bone gave way under the impact. The man slumped against the wall with blood pouring from his ruined nose and mouth and slid to the deck. The pistol slipped from his fingers.
Conrad snatched it up and turned toward the last sailor, only to see him fleeing for his life. The lantern he carried bobbed and weaved as he ran toward a ladder at the far end of the corridor. Conrad could have shot him in the back, but he held his fire. More interested in getting out of there, he headed for the ladder, too. The sailor scrambled up it with the dexterity of an ape and disappeared through a hatch. Enough light spilled down through the opening that Conrad was able to see where he was going.
When he reached the ladder, he dropped the empty Winchester and tucked the pistol into the waistband of his trousers. He hated to abandon the rifle, but needed both hands to climb. Looking up he saw the sailor with the lantern already climbing another ladder on the next level. His prison really had been buried in the bowels of the ship, Conrad thought.
He started up the ladder. Sooner or later he would reach the ship’s deck and the open air. Even filled with the stench of rotten fish, it was going to smell good.
Rotten fish ... and powdersmoke, because somewhere above him guns continued to roar.
 
 
Ling Yuan motioned for Frank to fall behind as they charged toward the gangplank leading to the deck of the
Nimbus
. The other hatchet men would take the lead and run interference. Frank and Ling Yuan had the important job of finding Conrad.
Shouts and curses echoed over the deck as sailors battled the men who had boarded the ship on the water side. Unfortunately, the lookout near the gangplank on the dock side of the ship didn’t abandon his post to see what the commotion was. He yelled a warning and pulled a pistol from his belt as the first of the hatchet men charged up the gangplank.
The lookout didn’t get off a shot. Staggering back, he dropped his gun to paw at the handle of the hatchet lodged in his chest. The Diamond Jack man who had thrown the razor-sharp weapon with deadly accuracy paused just long enough to jerk the hatchet free as he leaped past the fallen lookout.
The hatchet men scattered across the deck to meet the threat of the ship’s crew. Some of the sailors were armed with revolvers, and shots began to roar. The hatchet men were blindingly quick, and avoided most of the bullets as they rushed in, chopping and slashing. Blood flew in the air.
Ling Yuan and Frank ran up the gangplank, reaching the deck. Frank’s Colt snapped up as he spotted a man standing on the bridge drawing a bead on them with a rifle. The Colt blasted first, sending a slug deep into the sailor’s chest, driving him backward. The rifle went off, but it was pointed at the sky by then and the bullet sailed harmlessly into the night.
“The captain!” Ling Yuan barked as he waved his hatchet toward a short, burly man wearing a blue jacket and a cap. “He can tell us where your son is!”
That sounded like a good idea to Frank. He headed for the captain with Ling Yuan at his side.
The man saw them coming and jerked a gun from under his jacket. Before he could fire, Ling Yuan sent his hatchet spinning through the air. Slicing cleanly through jacket and shirt sleeves, it lodged in the captain’s right forearm. The man screeched in pain and dropped the pistol. Falling to his knees, he cradled his injured arm against his body.
But he was tough, and still in the fight. Pulling the hatchet free with his left hand, he surged to his feet and slashed at Ling Yuan, who jerked back, barely avoiding the swipe.
Wanting the man alive so he could tell them where Conrad was being held prisoner, Frank jammed the Colt back in its holster and dived at the captain, going under the flailing hatchet. He rammed his shoulder into the man’s thick but solid gut and drove him backward off his feet.
They crashed to the deck. The captain chopped at Frank with the hatchet, but Frank got his right hand on the man’s wrist and kept the blow from falling. A second later, he hammered a punch with his left into the captain’s face. The blow didn’t faze the man. Squirming and twisting he tried to pull his left hand free to use the hatchet.
Frank hit him again, but the captain heaved his body up and toppled Frank to the side. A quick roll took Frank out of reach just as the hatchet came sweeping down at him. The blade hit the deck so hard it got stuck. The captain tugged on the handle but couldn’t get the weapon free.
Frank kicked the captain in the chest, knocking him to the deck, away from the hatchet. Blood still poured from the deep gash on the man’s arm. Years of a hard life at sea had toughened him to the point that he kept fighting, in spite of his weakened state.
Ling Yuan reached for the man, but the captain got a leg up and kicked the hatchet man in the stomach. Ling Yuan doubled over and took a step back, giving the captain time to scramble to his feet. He reached into a pocket with his left hand and brought out a derringer. The little weapon had two barrels, one on top of the other. At close range, it would be lethal.
From several yards away on the deck, Frank saw the range was practically point-blank. He was too far away to tackle the man before the derringer went off, but couldn’t let the captain shoot Ling Yuan in the head. He palmed out his Colt again and tilted the barrel up as he squeezed the trigger. No time to be fancy, he aimed for the man’s body.
Another shot sounded just as the Colt roared and bucked in Frank’s hand. The captain reeled backward as two slugs ripped into him. He struggled to raise the derringer again, so Frank shot him a second time. The captain went down, landing heavily on his back. The derringer slipped out of his fingers and slid across the deck.
Frank turned his head to see who had fired the other shot and was shocked to see Conrad with a smoking pistol in his hand, halfway through a hatch leading belowdecks.
“Frank?” the younger man exclaimed in obvious surprise. He hadn’t been aware his father was anywhere within a thousand miles of San Francisco.
Frank hurried over to the hatch and extended his left hand to Conrad, who gripped it and let Frank help him out on deck. Conrad was battered and bruised and had dried blood on his face.
Frank looked him over. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” Conrad said, “and I’m a lot better now. How in the world—”
“No time for that,” Ling Yuan interrupted. His face was a little gray from the vicious kick the captain had landed in his belly, but he was able to straighten up. “We should go.”
Scattered fights between the hatchet men and the crew of the
Nimbus
were still taking place around the deck. Bodies sprawled here and there. Diamond Jack had been right. Some of his men had lost their lives in the rescue.
Frank gripped Conrad’s arm and steered him toward the gangplank. Ling Yuan recovered his hatchet and flanked Conrad on the other side. The three of them clattered down to the wharf. Ling Yuan shouted something in Chinese. Probably an order to retreat, Frank thought. They didn’t wait to see if the other hatchet men got away. Ling Yuan hustled them toward the safety of the dark alleys along the Embarcadero.
“I never expected to see you here, Frank,” Conrad said as Ling Yuan led them through the maze and the sounds of battle fell behind them. “How did you—”

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