The Killing Look Page 2

  “Other than in battle, you mean? I’ve had to shoot a man. Once. But I want to be clear, Mr. Hamrick. I don’t kill for money.” He looked up into Hamrick’s pale blue eyes. “If an assassin is what you’re lookin’ to hire, well, I’ll be glad to pay you back for the meal.”

  Hamrick nodded. “I’m not seeking to hire a killer, Mr. Cade.” He sighed. “Sadly, such men are easy to find in this city. You’ll soon see what I mean if you stay here.”

  “I already have.” Cade was not a cowardly man, but there were men—and a woman or two—to whom he’d instinctively given a wide berth, people who seemed to carry a cloud of menace about them. Real menace, not the drunken bluster of the young man who’d run into him.

  Hamrick nodded. “As I said, what I need is a man who knows when to pull the trigger and when not to. Such men are exceedingly rare.” He looked at Cade intently. “So tell me, Mr. Cade, why didn’t you kill that young man who threatened you? What was it about him that made you spare his life?”

  Cade suddenly wanted another beer, and was surprised to see that one had materialized at his left hand while he’d been talking with Hamrick. He resolved to ask the waiter the secret of his stealth. He was as quiet as an Apache. After a moment’s hesitation, he took a sip. He thought the question over, then spoke.

  “He didn’t have the killin’ look.”

  Hamrick looked puzzled. “Yet he still could have killed you.”

  “Yep. I mean, yes, sir. He was so addled, he might’ve killed me by accident. Truth be told, that’s how a lot of shootings happen.”

  “But you spared his life,” Hamrick insisted. He shook his head. “He didn’t have the killing look, but he could have killed you, but you spared him anyway. You see my confusion.”

  When he put it that way, it did sound confusing. Or maybe it was the beer. Cade shrugged. “Sometimes you just kinda have to figure it out as you go along.”

  Hamrick nodded, his smile returning. “And that’s why I would like to employ you.”

  “Which brings me back to the question, sir. As what?”

  “Bodyguard,” Hamrick said. He leaned forward, looking at Cade intently. “You may have discerned, Mr. Cade, I am a man of some means.”

  “I’d noticed, yes, sir.”

  “Well, in this time and place, a man who’s achieved a certain amount of success can’t help but collect some enemies.”

  “Yes, sir.” Cade took a sip, a small one, from his beer, collecting his thoughts. Hamrick spoke before he could respond. “I know what you’re thinking. What kind of businessman needs a bodyguard? What kind of legitimate businessman, that is.”

  Cade nodded. “The thought crossed my mind.”

  “Mr. Cade, when I came to San Francisco, I quickly noticed that the men who speculated in silver and gold stocks made fortunes very quickly. Then they lost them just as quickly.”

  “I’d heard that myself.”

  Hamrick went on as if he hadn’t heard. “But some investments remained sound. They never stopped increasing in value. Do you know what those were?”

  Cade thought back to the richest men he’d met in his travels across the country. All of them had one thing in common. “Land.”

  “YES!” Hamrick slammed his hand down on the table so hard that the report had Cade reaching for the derringer in his pocket. “Real property. They call it that for a reason, you know.” He settled down a little. “I have property interests all over the city. And quite a few of them are in the Barbary Coast. I’m also acquiring properties in Chinatown. There are certain elements who object to me moving in those markets. The tongs, in particular, have made threats on my life. And the life of my family, which I find particularly upsetting.”

  “Tongs,” Cade said. He’d heard the term mentioned, but didn’t know much about it.

  “Chinese secret societies,” Hamrick said. “They claim to be aid organizations for the poor immigrants, but they’re nothing but common criminals with fancy oaths and fearsome reputations.”

  “And they’ve threatened you and your family.”

  “More than once. Then there are the Italians. They’ve brought their own brand of criminality to these shores. And that is to say nothing of the hoodlums.”

  “Hoodlums?”

  “Gangs of young toughs. Roaming the streets. They’ve taken the name given to them by the press and wear it as a badge of honor. Why, they actually parade openly, brandishing clubs and brass knuckles, and chanting, ‘Look out for the hoodlums.’” Hamrick shook his head and looked sorrowfully at Cade. “The police…well, they’re better than the rabble that used to pass for law enforcement in this town. They try to keep order. But they’re outnumbered. Sometimes even outgunned.” He smiled sadly. “That’s why the prohibition on going armed in public was lifted here last year. You’re fortunate, really. Not so long ago, you might have been at least fined and had that beautiful pistol of yours taken from you.”

  “Looks like I came here at the right time,” Cade said. He still felt uneasy.

  “I can offer you ten dollars a week,” Hamrick said. “And room. And board.” He appeared to notice Cade’s ragtag clothing for the first time. “And a reasonable clothing allowance.”

  Cade was staggered. “Ten…” it was more than he’d ever made in his life. More than most people he’d known had made in their lives. He still had some misgivings. But ten a week…

  “Mr. Hamrick,” he said, and extended his hand, “I think I’m your man.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Hamrick beamed. “Splendid. I’ve taken the liberty of having some papers drawn up. When you finish your meal, we can go straight to my attorney’s office and seal the deal.”

  Cade’s fork stopped halfway to his mouth. “Papers?”

  “Your contract of employment,” Hamrick said, still smiling. “I find it best to put things in writing. It helps to make sure everyone understands their rights and obligations. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “I guess.” Cade had been used to deals made and honored on handshakes. If a man was going to go back on his word, no piece of paper was going to stop him. But what the hell, he thought, this was the city. Things were done differently here.

  The law office of Lionel M. Tremblay, Esq. took up the entire second floor of a stone building a block away from the Stock Exchange. The offices were richly appointed, with dark paneling and gold fixtures. A junior clerk looked Cade up and down suspiciously, but when Hamrick announced that they were there to see Mr. Tremblay, he became the picture of obsequiousness. Cade took an instant dislike to the oily little bastard. The clerk guided them to a large corner office overlooking the busy streets and inquired if they would like any refreshment while they waited. Cade declined, suppressing a belch. Hamrick shook his head as well.

  It wasn’t more than a couple of minutes before the lawyer came in. Tremblay was a tall drink of water, with a craggy face and a grave demeanor that reminded Cade somewhat of photographs he’d seen of Mr. Lincoln. He even had the chin whiskers. His voice, when he spoke, was deep and sonorous. Cade could well imagine him filling a courtroom with it. He turned first to Hamrick. “John.”

  Hamrick smiled, but he didn’t get up. “Lionel.”

  Tremblay turned to Cade. “So. This is the new man.”

  Cade stood up and extended a hand. “Yes, sir. L.D. Cade.”

  The lawyer took it. His grip was firm and strong, but he didn’t pull the trick some big men liked of trying to crush his hand. “Lionel A. Tremblay.” He released the hand and sat down behind a massive oak desk, empty of everything but lamp, blotter, and a pair of leather-bound books. As if by some unheard signal, the clerk bustled in with a sheaf of papers and laid them on the table in front of Cade. He set an expensive-looking fountain pen next to the papers and withdrew. Cade picked them up and began reading.

  “I think you’ll find everything in order.” Tremblay’s voice held a note of impatience.

  “I’m sure,” Cade mur
mured, and continued to examine the document anyway. He’d learned to read and write and cipher at an early age, but a lot of the words in the document eluded him. He could figure out the ten dollars a week, though. He was reaching for the fountain pen when a paragraph near the bottom caught his eye. He looked up at Tremblay. “Can you explain one part to me?”

  Tremblay smiled indulgently. “Of course.”

  “What’s the duty of confident…confident…”

  “Confidentiality,” Tremblay said. He looked at Hamrick. “John here is a man of business, Mr. Cade. Sometimes his business requires him to keep his intentions and capabilities to himself. I’m sure you understand.”

  Cade nodded. “Can’t let everyone know what cards you’re holdin’. I get it.”

  Tremblay nodded. “Just so.”

  “And sometimes, you can’t let it be known just exactly what you’ve done,” Hamrick added.

  Tremblay broke in hastily. “Not that anyone is doing anything unlawful that would need to be concealed.”

  Hamrick nodded. “Of course not.” He fixed Cade with a look. “I may from time to time engage in what some people consider sharp practices.” He shrugged. “And in any business, there are winners and there are losers. The losers are often quick to complain that they’ve been cheated. That’s part of the reason I need your services, as I said.” He leaned toward Cade. “But I can assure you, Mr. Cade, that everything I do, I do within the bounds of the law.”

  The intensity of the statement made Cade feel a little uncomfortable. It was as if Hamrick was trying a little too hard to be convincing. But what was he going to do, call the man a liar to his face? He wasn’t giving up ten dollars a week because of a vaguely itchy feeling between his shoulder blades.

  “Okay, then.” Cade picked up the pen.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  After his visit to the lawyer, Cade returned to his boarding house to collect his belongings. It didn’t take long. It felt better to have his own clothes on, including his holstered revolver and his battered Stetson. He returned the traps he’d borrowed to the “aristocrat,” giving him one of the gold dollars Hamrick had advanced him at Tremblay’s office. The man looked at the coin goggle-eyed for a moment before bursting into tears, throwing his arms around Cade, and babbling thanks in what Cade supposed was his native tongue. After a few moments disentangling himself from the blubbering Frenchman, Cade used another portion of his advance to settle up his outstanding bill with the sharp-tongued landlady. The middle-aged widow was as amazed as the Frenchman, but a good deal less teary, and she didn’t embrace him, which suited Cade fine. He picked up his small trunk and carried it to the street to await the arrival of the carriage Hamrick had promised. The ride hadn’t yet arrived, so Cade set the trunk down and settled in to wait.

  The street was busy and passersby glared at him in annoyance for obstructing the sidewalk, but no one was bold enough to say anything to a heeled man, so he ignored them. He took his last cigar from the trunk. He’d been saving it for a special occasion, and he figured now was as good a time as any. He was flush with cash, with the prospect of a lot more on the near horizon. Hamrick had described threats to him and to his family, but Cade had seen some pretty bad characters in his travels. He didn’t put much stock in the fears of some rich city dude. He chuckled at the image of young “toughs,” as Hamrick described them, marching in the streets chanting, “Look out for the hoodlums.” In his experience, the more some blowhard liked to jaw about how rugged he was, the more pigeon-livered he was likely to be.

  “Mr. Cade?” a voice said behind him.

  Cade stood up, his hand moving toward the pistol he’d strapped back on. He relaxed slightly when he saw who was addressing him.

  The man was tall and thin, dressed in the black high-collared suit and flat-brimmed hat of a country preacher. He looked as out of place on this street in the Barbary Coast as Cade had felt at The Poodle Dog.

  “What can I do for you, parson?” Cade said politely. His own father had been a preacher, failing at that profession when he wasn’t failing at farming, and while Cade hadn’t darkened the door of a church in as long as he could remember, he still had that reflexive respect.

  The man drew closer, and Cade saw the slightly unfocused and off-kilter look in his eyes. Respect or not, Cade’s hand inched closer to his pistol.

  “I understand you’ll be working for Mr. Hamrick,” the parson said.

  Cade blinked in surprise. “Word travels fast. Must be a smaller town than I thought.”

  The parson smiled. He had squarish gray teeth that reminded Cade uncomfortably of tombstones. “I don’t recommend accepting that offer.”

  Cade’s eyes narrowed. “And what exactly is your interest here, sir?”

  The smile never wavered. “Why, nothing less than your immortal soul, Mr. Cade. Many have lost their way here over the glitter of gold. I would hate to see you become one of them.”

  “Mister,” Cade said, “I don’t know who you are, or what you claim to know, but…”

  The man broke in. “Hamrick is not a good man, Mr. Cade. He is not who he pretends to be.”

  Well, who the hell is these days? Cade thought, but before he could say it, the parson had turned away and was walking down the street. Cade started after him, but then he caught sight of a familiar carriage approaching. The black servant, Samuel, was driving, dressed in his tail coat and top hat. He pulled the carriage to a stop in front of Cade. He had the look of a man on an errand he’d rather not be carrying out.

  “Afternoon,” Cade called out. He figured he’d be working around, if not actually with, this fellow, so he might as well be friendly.

  Samuel didn’t seem to agree. He barely gave Cade a glance before facing back forward. “You ready to go?”

  “I guess.” He threw his trunk in the back of the carriage and climbed aboard. Samuel twitched the reins. “Gee-YUP.” Those were the only words he spoke for the rest of the journey.

  The carriage wound its way through narrow streets that gradually widened, climbing as they did, the bustling crowd and the traffic jam of wagons and buckboards thinning to a more sedate parade of carriages and two-person buggies. From time to time, he glanced back, watching the city and the broad glittering reach of the San Francisco Bay spread out behind him as they ascended the hills. A forest of masts rose from the waterfront, and a haze of smoke hung over the place. But the air where they were going seemed fresher.

  Finally, they pulled to a stop in front of a huge house set a ways back from the sidewalk, behind an iron fence topped with wicked-looking pointed spikes. A faceted multi-story turret with a dozen high windows protruded from one side of the house, like a tower protecting the long wooden staircase that rose from the street.

  “I guess this is it,” Cade said. Samuel made no reply. Cade swung himself down from the carriage and looked the place over, then looked back at Samuel. The man didn’t move. Sighing, Cade hauled his trunk from the back of the carriage and dragged it to the gate. He heard Samuel start up the horses as he fumbled with the latch. The door opened. A woman stood in the doorway, looking down at him impassively.

  Cade let go of the latch and touched the brim of his hat. “Afternoon, ma’am. Would this be the Hamrick residence?”

  She didn’t smile or change expression. “It would.” They looked at each other awkwardly for a moment. “You must be the new man,” she said finally. She didn’t seem happy at the prospect.

  Cade didn’t quite know how to answer that. “I must be.”

  She sighed. “Well, you might as well come in.” She turned and walked back inside, leaving Cade by himself on the sidewalk. Well, it ain’t like I expected a brass band, he thought, but this is a little cold. He hauled the trunk up the steps and through the ornate double doors. The woman was standing just inside, waiting. Cade removed his hat. “Are you the lady of the house?”

  “Yes.” In the ensuing silence, Cade looked her over. She was on the ta
ll side for a woman. Her chin was a bit too strong and her nose too prominent to be considered pretty, but they gave her features a strength Cade found appealing. Her eyes were wide and dark brown, and the hair piled up in a fashionably curled coiffure on top of her head was a golden blond. She looked a good bit younger than her husband, but that wasn’t unusual in Cade’s experience. The first thing a newly successful man looked for was a young and pretty wife. Still, Cade was more than a little disconcerted at the way she stood and stared at him.

  “Ma’am?” he finally said. “I was given to understand I’d have a room here. Can I ask where that might be?”

  “You can ask,” she said curtly, and turned away to march away down the hall.

  Well, hell, Cade said to himself. What do I do now? It was then that he noticed the little girl.

  She was peeking around the doorway halfway down the hall. She appeared to be eight or nine years old, but her blond hair was done up in an elaborate hairstyle that mirrored the one of the woman who’d just left. Her eyes were the same dark brown, and they regarded him gravely.

  “Well, hey there, Little Bit,” Cade said.

  The girl didn’t respond to the friendly tone. “My name is Violet. Not Little Bit.”

  He bowed. “My apologies. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Violet.”

  “Are you a cowboy?” she asked.

  Cade put his hat back on, hoping to make the girl feel a little more comfortable. “Well, ma’am,” he began, “I have wrangled some cattle in my time…”

  “Is that why you have that big gun?” the girl asked. “If the cattle don’t behave, do you shoot them?”

  Cade was struck dumb for a moment. Before he could answer, the front door opened and Samuel walked in. He looked at Cade’s trunk lying in the foyer. “You haven’t been shown your room?”

  “No.”

  Samuel grimaced, then raised his voice. “BRIDGET!”

  There was no response. Samuel called out again. “BRIDGET!”