Lone Star 02 (22 page)

“Commissioner!” Foxy Muscat impatiently nudged the man with the toe of her slipper. “Commissioner Smith, open your eyes!”

Commissioner Smith?
Jessie thought, startled out of her own stupor.
The waterfront commissioner himself?

The man opened his bleary, bloodshot eyes. “A woman?” he slurred. “Don't want a woman ...”

Foxy scowled. “Come on! Snap out of it for a moment, you—” She stopped, catching herself in time. “Lucky for me he's too out of it to hear,” she confided to Jessie. “Kneel down before him.”

“Commissioner?” Foxy tried again. “What do you think of the girl?”

Smith shook his head adamantly. “Don't want a girt—”

“Not for
you!”
Foxy warbled. “Not for
you—”

The commissioner stopped his spastic movements and peered first at the madam, and then at Jessie. He squinted his red eyes, doing his best to bring them into focus.
“Who,
then?”

Before Foxy could reply, the answer evidently dawned on him. He threw back his head and let loose a high, wheezing laugh. “Wonderful, Foxy. Wonderful!” He stared at Jessie, and stretched out his hand to chuck her under the chin, but he underestimated the distance and ended up tickling the thin air six inches in front of Jessie's nose. “Does this one know yet?”

Foxy shook her head gleefully. “Nope! And not a word from you about it, understand?”

Smith nodded, still laughing to himself. “Wonderful! Lots of money. For you, for me ...” His eyes fell upon Jessie. “Poor little thing ...” Once again his loon laugh echoed off the cellar walls.

Jessie fought to suppress her anger. No
wonder
this waterfront official who was making things so difficult for the Starbuck concern was accepting bribes to let opium enter the city. He himself was an addict!

Smith, meanwhile, was fumbling at his tray. He came up holding his empty pipe.

“Very well, this one here will bring you more,” Foxy chuckled. “More and more, as much as you want, my dear Commissioner.” To Jessie she hissed, “Get to your feet!”

“Yes, ma‘am.” Jessie did as she was told.

“This little fellow happens to be very important,” Foxy whispered. “Never you mind why, for the time being. You'll see a lot of bigwigs in my house, but if you should ever blab to anyone about what you see, I promise to cut your tongue out! Understand, girl?”

“Yes, ma‘am.” Jessie couldn't believe her good fortune. She was being ordered to serve the one man who could supply her with the information Jordan Moore and Ki would need to intercept and destroy the expected opium shipment.

“I'll come back for you in a bit,” Foxy was saying. “Nobody but these damn smokers can stand it down here for long,” she wheezed, rubbing at her eyes. “Bring him what he wants. I'll clear it with Lee.”

“More opium!” Smith muttered as Jessie knelt before him.

“Are you sure you don't want to rest a bit, Commissioner?” Jessie suggested as soon as Foxy was out of earshot. It wouldn't do for Smith to pass out before Jessie got the information out of him.

“I want it
now!”
Smith demanded.

“Yes, sir!” Jessie rose and hurried through the front dens to Lee, the Chinese man in charge of the drug supply. Several other smokers were patiently waiting for their ration, but Lee waved them aside to let Jessie come to the front.

“Lucky that Smith is an important fellow,” Lee said, his sunken eyes greedily gazing at Jessie's proud, jutting breasts, naked beneath the sheer gauze of the chemise. He had the waxy yellow complexion and the brown-stained, rotting teeth of a long-time opium user. “You smoke with me later, okay?” the Chinese leered.

Jessie merely snatched up the penny-sized chunk of opium on its little plate, and hurried back toward Smith. Lee's lewd chortles followed her. Jessie thought the opium smoke must be getting to her. She could actully feel the man's eyes hotly devouring her body. Never had she felt so helpless!

“What took so long?” Smith whined when she'd reached him. “Hurry up!” His hand went into a tremor, tapping a staccato rhythm upon the lacquered tray.

Jessie did as she'd been taught the previous night. She squeezed the opium between her fingers in order to warm and soften it, and then pinched off a bit and packed it into the thimble-sized bowl of the pipe.

She held the pipe to his lips, the bowl pointing downward. He sucked at it the way an infant sucks at its mother's nipple. She took up one of the wooden tapers, held it to a glowing charcoal ember, and then held the flame beneath the bowl.

There was a wet, gurgling sound as the opium melted and began to bubble. Smith sucked in a lungful of smoke and held it until Jessie thought his eyes were going to pop out of his head. Then he exhaled, the smoke coming out of him in a hissing billow.

“Good!” the commissioner babbled, his red eyes half closed, his blissful smile stretching from ear to ear. He reached out tentatively, even a trifle shyly, to fondle one of Jessie's breasts.

No!
she thought, as her spirit rebelled. It was too much! She was a person, she was not some pet to be slapped and fondled at any man's whim. Let Smith squawk to Foxy, or even Mrs. Fitzroy! Jessie no longer cared. She was fed up with being manhandled. She was not a whore! She was not! If necessary, she would go upstairs, tear out the gun she'd hidden in the mattress, and show them who she was: Jessica Starbuck!

She deflected Smith's hand, and then waited for the roof to cave in on her. But nothing happened. Smith was so deeply under the influence of the opium that he literally couldn't remember what he was doing from one moment to the next.

The realization calmed Jessie. It allowed her to regain control of her outraged sensibilities. She was locked into this demeaning role for a reason, and would only be here for a little while longer. Right now she had a chance to ferret out what she was seeking. Smith couldn't remember what he was doing. Maybe he wouldn't be able to remember what he said, either.

Jessie filled the pipe. “You do like this stuff, don't you, Commissioner?”

“Need it,” the man replied. “Makes me happy, makes me dream...”

Once again he sucked greedily at the stem of the pipe as Jessie lit it. While he was inhaling, another tremor overcame him. Sparks flew from the bowl, to rain down upon the bare skin of his chest, where his shirt gaped open. Jessie quickly brushed away the burning ashes, marvelling at the man's obliv iousness to pain. He'd felt nothing.

“Commissioner, the opium comes on ships, doesn't it?” Jessie asked quietly,-at the same time glancing over her shoulder to make sure that she wasn't being overheard.

“Big ships!” Smith slurred dreamily. “I sign in every one. Nobody questions
me!”
he boasted happily. He started suddenly, giving an involuntary shiver. Slapping at himself, he muttered, “Bugs on me. Bugs down here.”

“There are no bugs, Commissioner,” Jessie promised. Her time was growing short. Smith could lapse into unconsciousness at any moment, and Foxy might return to fetch her.

“More!” the commissioner demanded.

“More opium is coming,” Jessie whispered into his ear.
“When
is it coming?”

“More!” Smith moaned.

“There isn't any more here,” Jessie told him. “When's the next shipment due in?”

“Week, maybe...” he mumbled, his head sinking down to his chest.

Jessie slapped him across the face. Then she slapped him twice again. They were short, light blows; she wanted to wake him up, not knock him out.

“Sooner,” Jessie corrected Smith as his eyes fluttered open.

“More opium—” he began.

“Tell me when it's coming,” Jessie hissed. “There's a shipment due any night. When?”

Smith stared stupidly into her eyes. “Tonight? But that's not opium, coming
tonight...”

Jessie had the pipe loaded and ready. She jammed it between his teeth and held the burning taper to the bowl. Smith sucked in reflex.

“Not opium,” he said as he exhaled the smoke. “Slaves! Ol' Chang's bringin' in coolie slaves! Fella wants ‘em for his daddy's lumber business, in Oregon—”

“Smith!”

Jessie almost jumped out of her skin. The pipe fell from her fingers. She looked up to see the rage-flushed, garishly made-up face of Foxy Muscat. The fat woman was literally quivering with anger.

Foxy Muscat's glowering eyes were fixed not on Jessie, but on Smith. “Damn fool!” she spat. “What'd you babble about? Answer me, you damned addict!”

A loud, rasping snore escaped from Smith. The waterfront commissioner slowly slid down the wall, to end up with his chin coming to rest on his chest.

“Bah!” Foxy grumbled. “He'll be out for hours. First come the sweet dreams, then the nightmares.” That last thought seemed to bring her some pleasure. The tension went out of her as she fixed her gaze on Jessie. “There's always the nightmares,” she remarked jovially. “Terrible things, opium nightmares.”

“Horrible!” Jessie gasped.

“Yeah, yeah...” the madam sighed wearily. “You'll see worse,” she promised. “Now, on your feet with you!”

Jessie rose, only to begin to black out. “Got up too fast, I guess...” she mumbled as Foxy supported her.

“Too much of this damned opium smoke is what it is,” the madam said. “Let's go upstairs.”

They were out of the dens and halfway up the stairs when Foxy paused to give Jessie a shake. “What else did that fool babble to you about?” she demanded.

“He kept talking about slaves, and he did mention that he was in charge of getting you opium.” Jessie innocently widened her eyes, and then shrugged. “Or something like that... it was awfully hard to understand him, ma‘am,” she finished.

“He's in charge of the opium!” Foxy laughed. “Oh, that's rich! That fool may just have hung himself this time. Wait until—” She stopped, realizing who she was talking to. “Well, you never mind, Annie.”

“Yes, ma‘am,” Jessie replied with genuine relief.

“You can go upstairs to your room,” the madam said. “Sleep off the effects of the opium for a bit.”

As Jessie hurried past the madam, Foxy clamped her strong fingers about Jessie's wrist, jolting her around and almost yanking her back down the steps.

“And if you're smart,” Foxy threatened, “you'll forget everything you heard. Understand?”

“I promise!” Jessie exclaimed.

“Go on, then.” Satisfied, Foxy waved her off. As Jessie scooted upstairs, the gargantuan madam gruntingly made her own lumbering journey up to the first floor.

Once Jessie had reached the relative safety of her little bedroom, she breathed an exhausted sigh of relief. She flopped down on the narrow bed. Right now it felt ten times more comfortable than the big, soft, expensive bed that the Palace Hotel had so recently supplied her.

Well,
she thought to herself.
She had the information she'd wanted. Now all she had to do was figure out a way to get it to Jordan and Ki.

But first she had to sleep. Her eyelids felt as though somebody had attached lead weights to them.

She prodded the mattress until she felt the reassuring bump of her revolver, and then began to drift off.
Need clothes,
she mused.
Can't go dashing about San Francisco with nothing but a gun and a swatch of sheer gauze wrapped about me
...

The thought made her giggle. She nestled her head into the pillow, thinking that her wisp of a chemise was as insubstantial and useless as the wisps of purple opium smoke fogging the basement air...

She sank swiftly into a deep slumber. The residue of the opium swirled through her system, pulling her deeper, ever deeper, into darkness.

Chapter 12

It was just a bit after nine at night when Ki arrived at the bordello. He gave its front and side entrances a wide berth, jumping the high board fence that separated the house's back-yard from a neighbor's property, then flitting like a phantom from tree to tree and shrub to shrub, until he'd reached the rear of the house.

Ki peered up through the darkness at the bordello's exterior. The architect who'd designed the place must have done his work while high on opium. The style was an ill-conceived mess of gingerbread: there were ornamental eaves, scroll-sawn window frames, and what appeared to be half-rotted-away, Ital ianate neo-classic balusters.

Ki shook his head, muttering in disgust. He'd take clean, tidy, clapboard anytime. It was true that the building's excesses offended his Japanese-born sense of simplicity, but his objections were more practical than esthetic.