Ralph Compton - Bounty Hunter

“I can’t go back to the waterfront,” Tone protested. “As you said, Hooper knows who I am and his men will be on the lookout. I won’t get near him, or the others.”

Penman nodded. “Not in your present . . . ah, persona. But you can go back as a Chinese coolie.”

The lawyer’s words were so shocking, so unexpected, that Tone laughed. “Damn it, man, I’m six foot four inches tall and weigh about two hundred and fifty pounds!”

“Then you’ll be a rather large Chinaman, that’s all.” Penman shook his head irritably. “Mr. Tone, nobody notices Celestials. To the toughs along the waterfront they’re just little brown, harmless people who come and go. Despite your imposing stature, you will be invisible, trust me.”

Tone opened his mouth to protest again, but Penman’s upraised hand stopped him. “You will not be alone. You’ll have someone else by your side, a person of the same profession, a bounty hunter.”

“Who is he?”

“He is a she.”

“A woman!” Tone was scandalized. “Hell, there are no women bounty hunters. That’s—that’s an abomination.”

“Maybe so. But nonetheless, that’s exactly what she is. She was one of the first lady Pinkerton detectives and later a successful outlaw hunter. That is, until I lured her away from her wild frontier ways by pointing out that she could make more money working for Mr. Sprague than she could gunning badmen.”

Now Tone was angry. “Penman, I’m not going to put my life on the line and depend on a . . . a . . . petticoat to help me out in a shooting scrape.”

“You might change your mind when you see her.”

“Yeah, I bet I love her mustache.”

Penman consulted his watch. “She’ll be here shortly. I put her up at a hotel nearby and asked her to step round to be briefed. Of course, her first task would have been to find you.”

“What’s her name?” Tone asked stiffly.

“Miss Chastity Christian.”

“Oh my God,” Tone said with a groan.

“Names, like appearances, can be deceiving, Mr. Tone,” Penman said dryly.

Chapter 14

Barnabas Dale scratched on Penman’s door.

“Enter,” the lawyer said.

“Miss Christian is here, sir.”

“Send her in.”

Chastity Christian was a pretty brunette, dressed in the latest New York fashion, the bustle of her gray silk morning dress huge, the hat perched on top of her mane of dark, upswept hair tiny. She had large, expressive brown eyes and a wide, full-lipped mouth, little arcs at the corners revealing a quickness to smile. Her waist was tiny, her bust large, firm and high.

She was, Tone admitted to himself reluctantly, a very desirable woman. But she was not what she claimed to be—of that he was equally sure.

Penman made the introductions, then said, “I briefed Miss Christian earlier on what she must do at the waterfront, Mr. Tone. She will disguise herself as a Chinese woman and assist you in any way you require. Of course, her task has been made easier since she no longer has to find you first.”

“It will be an honor, Mr. Tone,” the woman said, her small white teeth flashing. “I’ve heard of you, of course. You are much talked of in Texas.” Her smile grew wider. “And other places. Oh, and please call me Chastity.”

Horrified, Tone looked past the woman to Penman. “Get rid of her,” he said. “She’ll be nothing but trouble, and totally useless besides. Maybe at one time she did some nice ladylike detective work, but she’s never hunted a dangerous outlaw in her life.”

He didn’t expect what happened next, although it did serve to confirm his suspicions about the woman.

Looking like she’d just been slapped, Chastity’s eyes misted and she opened her drawstring purse and pulled out a lacy white handkerchief. Tone didn’t see the derringer wrapped inside until the muzzle was jammed hard between his eyes.

“Mister,” she said, her voice suddenly cold and flat, “even a woman can scatter your goddamned brains at this distance.” The sound of the hammer being pulled back was loud in the office. “In the past eighteen months I’ve killed three men and wounded two others. I don’t know where you’ve stashed your hogleg, but go for it and see what happens next.”

Penman seemed amused. “Now, now, Miss Christian, no unpleasantness, please. Mr. Tone is a little overwrought and didn’t mean what he said. Did you, Mr. Tone?”

Tone kept his head very still, but dropped his eyes to Chastity’s. “You’re sudden,” he said.

“Yes, Mr. Tone, and really quite good with a gun.” She thumbed down the hammer and let the derringer drop to her side. “Now, you were saying something about me being useless? I’ll let the trouble part go, because for some men that’s exactly what I am.”

Tone nodded, iron in him. “I’m impressed, and I see how you work. Get a man to believe that he has nothing to fear and everything to gain by getting close to a pretty, harmless young lady. Then blow his damfool head off.” Tone had been smiling, but now his face was stiff. “But a word of warning: You ever pull a gun on me again and I’ll put a hole in you, woman or no woman.”

“Don’t count on it, Mr. Tone,” Chastity said. “You’ll live longer that way.”

Tone and the woman were standing as close as lovers, but both knew that something had come aborning between them that was far from love, a dangerous thing that could one day demand a reckoning.

Penman, a perceptive man, knew he had to end it. “This is getting us nowhere,” he snapped. “Your fight is with the enemies of Mr. Sprague, not each other. Mr. Tone, Miss Christian is now your partner in this endeavor and that’s my final word on the matter.”

He looked at the woman. “You remember my instructions?”

Chastity stepped back from Tone and nodded. “We get to the house of Chang in Murder Alley. He will supply us with suitable clothing and tell us the whereabouts of our targets.”

“Mr. Chang is in my employ and he has spies all over the waterfront,” Penman said. “You will be safe and well informed in his hands.” He lifted his eyes to Tone. “It would be excellent, Mr. Tone, and good for your future well-being, if you can greet Mr. Sprague’s arrival with news of at least one kill.”

“I’ll do my best,” Tone said. “In the meantime I need money and”—he pulled the Enfield from his pocket and laid it on the desk—“a handier piece than this.”

Penman’s eyes dropped to the big revolver and then went back to Tone’s face. “Money is tight right now, but I’ll tell Barnabas to give you a hundred from the strongbox. As to guns, since you so carelessly lost yours, the cost of their replacements will be deducted from your first fee.”

Penman opened a drawer, rummaged around among papers for a while, then pulled out a card. “This is the name and address of a gunsmith. He and I do business regularly, so tell him I sent you and that he should send me the bill.”

The lawyer looked from Tone to Chastity. “Are there any questions?” Neither of the two answered and Penman said, “Excellent. Well, good luck. I’ll see you both at the dock when Mr. Sprague arrives.”

He rested suddenly hostile eyes on Tone. “One thing, Mr. Tone: please don’t disappoint me again.”

Penman picked up the Enfield and dropped it into his desk drawer.

Tone and Chastity Christian rode in the rain-lashed cab, close together but separated by a frosty silence. The woman kept her eyes to the front, ignoring Tone, while he, conscious of her warm, shapely body next to his, battled a tangle of emotions.

She was undeniably beautiful, but she had the cool ruthlessness of a born killer that Tone had encountered before only in men of a certain breed. Men like himself, perhaps.