Utah Terror : Utah Terror (9781101606971) (9 page)

16

Fargo wasn't holding back any longer. The pair who entered was as good as dead and didn't know it.

The one with a hatchet motioned for him to move farther away, and he did. Then the Tong with the tray moved to one side to set it down.

The Tong with the hatchet glanced at Tong setting the tray down.

It was all the opening Fargo needed. He sprang and rammed the Arkansas toothpick up under the man's sternum, piercing the heart. The Tong opened his mouth to cry out but died before he could utter a sound.

Wrenching the toothpick out, Fargo charged the tray bearer. The man was unfurling. His eyes registered shock in the instant before Fargo slit his throat from ear to ear.

Fargo stepped back to avoid the scarlet spray. It was over surprisingly fast, after some gurgling and thrashing.

“God in heaven,” Tom Bannon breathed.

Fargo wiped the toothpick on the man's clothes, slid it into its sheath, and helped himself to a hatchet. Different from those sold in America, it was lighter and the handle curved slightly. The edge was sharp as a razor. “Grab the other one.”

Bannon nodded and bent. “What next?”

Fargo found the keys. He went out and over to the next cell and had to try three keys before he found the right one.

The prisoner who emerged was a walking skeleton, his clothes so many rags. He was missing an ear and several fingers and had deep cuts on his face and neck. He was also white.

“Good God!” Bannon blurted. “I know this man.”

“Hello, Tom,” the apparition rasped.

“This is Chester Arnold,” Bannon introduced him. “He had a claim on the creek. One of the biggest and best. One day the word went through camp that he'd been off chopping firewood and been attacked and killed by a grizzly.”

“Han's doing,” Arnold said, and his eyes blazed with hate.

“You'll help us?” Fargo asked.

“If it involves killing Han, I sure as hell will,” Arnold declared.

Fargo moved to the next cell. He didn't know how long it would be before the pair he had slain were missed.

This time it was the second key, and again it was a white man, in so sorry a state it was a wonder he was alive.

“God,” Bannon exclaimed yet again. “Webber, is that you?”

“It's me, blacksmith,” the man said. He wore a crude eye patch and his left arm was permanently bent at an unnatural angle.

“They said you left your claim and went back east,” Bannon told him. “What, two months ago?”

“They lied.”

“Are you with us too?” Fargo asked.

“Damn right I am,” Webber said.

The rest of the cells contained Chinese. They were in the same pitiable shape, and didn't speak English. But when Fargo said the word “Han” and pantomimed slitting his own throat, they understood.

Putting a finger to his lips, Fargo started up the stairs. Just below the ground floor, he stopped. Slowly raising his head, he counted seven Tong loitering near the main entrance.

Fargo swore. They couldn't go out that way. In the weakened state the prisoners were in, they couldn't have put up much of a fight.

Motioning to the others, he slipped up and around and down a narrow hall that would take them to the rear of the Pagoda.

That early, the building was quiet, and not many people were about.

They passed several chambers and nooks. At the next, the doorway glowed with lamplight.

Fargo signaled for the others to stop and risked a peek. It was a kitchen. Cooks were busily preparing the morning meal for the Tong and their master.

Quickly, Fargo went on by. No outcry was raised. He could only hope the others were as careful.

The corridor ended at a door that wasn't locked and didn't have a bolt. It opened to reveal the rising sun.

Fargo held it for the others and shut it behind them.

Arnold and Webber and the Chinese gazed about them as if they'd never seen the world before. Webber, in particular, was so overcome with joy, a tear trickled from his remaining eye.

“Where to?” Arnold asked. “I'll follow your lead. You've done right fine so far.”

“Bannon's place,” Fargo said.

“Why there?” the blacksmith asked. “That's the first place the Tong will look.”

“I left my horse there,” Fargo said. And his Henry was in the saddle scabbard.

“After that?” Webber wanted to know.

“We stay alive.”

They hugged the backs of the buildings. Only once were they seen, by an old woman who came out of a shack with a basin of dirty water and upended it. She regarded them with no more interest than if they were squirrels, and went back in.

Fargo was in luck. The stallion was where he'd left it. While the men filed into the shop, he wedged the hatchet he'd taken under his gun belt, shucked the Henry, and jacked the lever to feed a cartridge into the chamber.

The main street was still largely deserted. An older Chinese pushed a cart. A woman was getting an early start on her wash.

Inside, the former prisoners were tearing like a pack of starved wolves into bread and biscuits and whatever else the blacksmith had handy.

“We don't have much time to spare,” Fargo reminded them.

Arnold grunted. “Give us a couple of minutes. I'm so weak from not having enough to eat, I'm downright puny.”

Webber nodded in concurrence, his cheeks bulging.

“Do you have a plan?” Bannon asked.

No, Fargo didn't. He was making it up as he went along. “We head off into the woods and lie low the rest of the day.”

“Why not go after Han now?” Webber demanded between chews.

“You just said you're in no shape for it,” Fargo replied. “We'll hit them after dark. It will give us an edge.” Not much of one but he would take what he could get.

“I suppose that's best,” Arnold conceded. “All I want is to get my hands on that runt.”

In a few minutes they were ready. They took what food they could carry, along with a few other things.

Fargo rode, the rest walked. They made it to the end of the canyon undetected. Even after the forest closed around them he didn't feel safe until they had gone more than half a mile.

“I don't believe it,” Arnold happily exclaimed. “We're out of there!”

“I thought I was a goner for sure,” Webber said.

They and the Chinese were so exhausted, they lay right down and went to sleep.

Fargo heated coffee. He needed it for what he had in mind. Bannon stayed up, too, sitting across the fire, his big hands on his knees.

“So far, so good,” the blacksmith said.

“Don't jinx it.”

Bannon stared at the sleepers. “We don't stand much of a chance with this bunch, do we?”

“It's better than just the two of us.”

“How come you're not resting?” Bannon asked, and answered his own question. “As if I can't guess. You're going after her, aren't you?”

Fargo nodded.

“Is that smart? What if you don't make it back? What do the rest of us do?”

“Light a shuck for Salt Lake City or anywhere else.”

“In the shape they're in, how far would we get without your help?”

“I'm going,” Fargo said, “and that's final.”

By now the sun was well up and the wilds were alive with the warbles and chirps of birds. Somewhere, a raven cawed. A jay screeched from a treetop.

Fargo filled his tin cup to the brim a second time.

Staring into the flames, Bannon remarked, “Terry O'Brien might have a pistol you can borrow, if that would help.”

Fargo hadn't thought of that. “It will.” He intended to check on the O'Briens anyway.

“In fact,” Bannon continued, “you might ask if he's got other guns he can spare. Our little army can sure as hell use them.”

It wasn't much past eight by Fargo's reckoning when he climbed back on the Ovaro.

Bannon didn't hide his worry. “I wish there was some other way. If we lose you, we don't stand a prayer.”

“If I don't make it back,” Fargo said, “get hold of a federal marshal.”

“It will take a company of soldiers to root those damnable Tong out.”

Fargo raised the reins.

“By now they must know we escaped,” the blacksmith tried a last time. “Likely as not, they'll be waiting for you.”

“I'm still going.”

“Damn, you're stubborn,” Bannon said, but he smiled as he said it.

Hunan was in the full bustle of its daily routine. Fargo skirted to the south and followed the canyon wall until he came to the same stand of trees he had hid in with the women the day before. He tied the Ovaro where it wouldn't be seen and continued on foot.

The House of Pleasure was quiet at that hour. Few people paid for lovemaking so early in the day.

Fargo crept to the front but didn't show himself.

Four Tong were standing guard. Across the way, eight more were lounging in front of the Pagoda. Han wasn't taking any chances.

Fargo was debating how best to go about rescuing Mai Wing when who should come out of the Pagoda than the mistress of the House of Pleasure.

Madame Lotus exchanged pleasantries with the Tong. Whatever she said made them laugh. She turned and walked to the bridge, taking small steps, her hips swaying under her too-tight dress; she was a living, breathing, exquisite doll. She stopped in the middle, apparently to admire the sparkling water flowing underneath. Then, her hands folded in front of her, she crossed over.

Fargo smiled. Under his breath he said, “Never look a gift horse in the mouth.” Raising the Henry, he centered the sights on her chest.

17

Madame Lotus smiled at an old woman and she smiled at two children and she smiled at a man carrying a rake and shovel. She smiled at the Tong in front of the House of Pleasure as she approached, and then Fargo took a step out of the shadows so she could see him—but the Tong couldn't—and her smile faded.

Keeping the Henry trained, Fargo pointed at her and crooked a finger.

Madame Lotus hesitated. She glanced at the hatchet men in front of her place. She was weighing whether she could reach them before he shot her, and made the right decision. She came over to the corner.

Fargo backed up and beckoned.

Frowning, Madame Lotus followed.

“Far enough,” Fargo said. He had to get this over with quick before the Tong wondered why she had gone around the side of the building.

“We meet again,” Madame Lotus said gaily, forcing a smile. “To what do I owe this unexpected honor?”

“Mai Wing,” Fargo said.

“The stubborn one. The child who does not know when she is well off. What about her?”

“Have the Tong bring her out.”

“She's not in my place,” Madame Lotus said. “I don't know where—”

Fargo took a quick step and gouged the muzzle against a thin eyebrow. “One more lie and I splatter your brains all over the ground.”

“You would shoot a woman?” Madame Lotus asked with a smirk.

“Look in my eyes.”

Madame Lotus looked. Her smirk died and she coughed and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “You are no gentleman.”

“And the Tong are?” Fargo snapped. He gestured. “Move back far enough for them to see you and order them to bring Mai Wing out.”

“They will wonder why.”

“Say you want to talk to her.”

“They will think it strange. I can talk to her inside.”

“Give them any excuse you want.”

“It will not be enough.”

“Explain,” Fargo said.

Madame Lotus had regained some of her composure. Folding her small hands, she said, “You appear to misunderstand my position. Yes, I run the House of Pleasure. I do so for Master Han. So long as I do so efficiently, he permits me to retain my position.”

“You're stalling,” Fargo said.

“Please. Hear me out. My life is in your hands, after all.”

Fargo frowned. “What else?”

“I am Master Han's servant. I have no say over anything else. I certainly have no say over the Tong. I cannot tell them what to do. Only Master Han can do that.”

“Then ask them to bring her out.”

“And if they refuse?”

Fargo thumbed back the hammer. At the click, she stiffened. “One step at a time, lady.”

Madame Lotus swallowed. She took a few steps back and turned toward the entrance.

Fargo moved so his rifle was inches from her head. She could see it but the Tong couldn't. “Ask them, damn it.”

“As you wish,” Madame Lotus said. She was genuinely frightened. Clearing her throat, she called out in Chinese. A Tong answered. Madame Lotus said more and the Tong responded.

“Well?” Fargo growled.

Out of the corner of her ruby mouth, Madame Lotus said, “I asked that they please bring Mai Wing out to me. I told them Master Han said the girl could have some air. That if we show her we can be nice, she might be more receptive. A man has gone to bring her.”

“Good lie,” Fargo said.

“You have put me in a terrible position,” Madame Lotus said. “Master Han is already upset with me because you took her and the sisters away.”

That reminded Fargo. “Where are the Pous?”

“After half an hour with Master Han, they changed their minds and start work as pleasure maidens as soon as they heal.”

“Pleasure maidens,” Fargo said, and snorted.

“There is a subtlety to life that eludes you, I think,” Madame Lotus said.

“I know a bastard when I meet one,” Fargo said. “And a bitch.”

Suddenly Madame Lotus tensed and squeezed her hands so tight, her knuckles were white.

“What?” Fargo whispered.

“Another Tong has just come out and is coming over to me. His name is Zhin. He is in charge of those who guard the House of Pleasure.”

Fargo heard footsteps, and a man addressed her. It sounded to him as if Zhin asked a question, and she responded. For all he knew, she was telling Zhin about him. He couldn't take the chance. He stepped out behind her with the Henry pointed at the back of her head.

Zhin started to reach for a hatchet at his waist, and froze. He hissed in Chinese at Madame Lotus.

“What did he say?” Fargo asked.

“Master Han has given orders to all the Tong that you are to be killed on sight.”

“Has he, now?”

Zhin hissed more Chinese, and Madame Lotus wrung her hands. “He says that I am to tell you they are doing as you want and bringing the girl out. But really I am to drop flat when he tells me to and he will attack you.”

“Not much for brains,” Fargo said.

“He reminded me it is my duty to die for my master if need be.”

“Why are you telling me all this?”

“To be honest,” Madame Lotus said, “I very much want to live.”

“Ask him if he wants to be shot.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Fargo said. “Ask the son of a bitch if he wants to take a slug.”

Madame Lotus spoke in Chinese. Zhin's answer was another sibilant hiss.

“He says he would be happy to die for Master Han.”

“I never said anything about killing him,” Fargo said. “Ask him if he would like to be shot in the balls.”

Madame Lotus looked at him, her mouth agape.

“Do it, damn it.”

Coughing, Madame Lotus quietly relayed the question.

Zhin's eyes widened and he looked down at himself and gruffly replied.

“He wants to know why you ask such a thing.”

“No brains at all,” Fargo amended. “Say that if he so much as twitches, that's where I'll shoot him.”

“You would shoot his manhood?”

“Clean off.”

“Am I to deduce that you believe he values his private parts more than his duty to Master Han?”

“He's male.”

“The distinction eludes me.”

“If you had balls it wouldn't.” Fargo wagged the Henry. “Tell him.”

Madame Lotus complied. Zhin looked fit to breathe fire and spat a couple of words.

“He says that he hates you.”

“I'll try not to lose sleep over it.” Fargo shifted and fixed a bead on Zhin's crotch. “His men better fetch Mai Wing out pronto or he can forget ever dipping his wick again.”

Zhin's throat bobbed. Fargo had been right about him. Zhin growled something more to Madame Lotus.

“He says that he will do as you request. He asks that you not deprive him of his glorious staff.”

“His what?”

“That is what he calls it.”

Fargo almost laughed. He was keeping an eye on the Tong across the stream; so far none had noticed him. People passing by had but they minded their own business and walked on without raising an outcry.

Zhin growled again.

“What now?” Fargo said. “He doesn't want me to shoot his glorious walnuts either?”

“He says you are a fool to defy Master Han. He says you will never escape, that your doom is sealed.”

“Tell him to give it a rest.” Fargo gazed past Zhin at the Tong at the entrance. They were all looking at him, and his rifle. One started forward but stopped at a word from another.

“One thing I would like to know,” Madame Lotus said, “is why you have put your life at risk for a girl you have only just met.”

“She has a nice ass,” Fargo said.

Madame Lotus gave him another incredulous look. “I begin to wonder if you are sane.”

Fargo chafed at the delay. He couldn't hold the Tong at bay forever. His every instinct was to get out of there before he was in hatchet men up to his armpits.

“Tell me something,” Madame Lotus said. “How far do you expect to get? The Tong have horses. They do not ride often but they can when they have to, and they will come after you.”

“Let them.” Fargo would pit the Ovaro against any horse in creation any day of the week.

“Should you succeed, where does that leave Mai Wing? She has no family in this country other than her grandfather. She has no American friends. She will be a stranger in a strange land.”

“She'll do better than at the House of Pleasure.”

“Will she, indeed?” Madam Lotus said indignantly. “For your information, my girls are paid well. Master Han lets them keep fifteen percent of all they earn.”

“That much, huh?”

“If a girl applies herself it can be a large sum of money by Chinese standards.”

Across the stream in front of the Pagoda, a Tong pointed in their direction.

“Where's my Colt?” Fargo asked.

“Your sidearm? I am sure I don't know.”

“Ask Zhin,” Fargo directed. “The Tong took it from me so he might know.”

Madame Lotus translated.

The hatchet men over at the Pagoda were all staring and talking excitedly.

“Zhin says that it would have been turned over to Master Han to do with as he deems fit.”

“Figures.”

Moving in a body and unlimbering their hatchets as they came, the men at the Pagoda made for the bridge. In less than a minute they would be on this side.

“Damn it to hell,” Fargo said.

“What is wrong? Are you mad about your Colt?”

“Get ready to duck.”

“Whatever for?”

“A lot of coyotes are about to die.”