The Loner: Crossfire

Conrad nodded. “That’s right.”

The man extended a square envelope with a fancy seal pressed into the wax holding it closed. “With the compliments of Mr. and Mrs. Madison Kimball, sir.”

Mrs. Carlyle had kept her promise, Conrad thought as he took the envelope and broke the seal. Sure enough, a fancy, gold-printed invitation to the ball at the Kimball mansion was inside on a heavy, giltedged card.

Conrad knew the man in the black suit—probably the Kimballs’ butler—was waiting for a response to take back to his employers. “Please tell Mr. and Mrs. Kimball I’ll be honored to attend.”

The man inclined his head. “Thank you, sir. I certainly shall. Good evening.”

When the butler was gone, Morelli asked, “Goin’ somewhere, sir?”

“Not tonight. But four nights from now I’ll be attending a party at the Kimball mansion.”

Morelli let out a low whistle. “I’ve heard of the place. Never been there.” He frowned. “Mr. Turnbuckle’s gonna want me to come along with you, and I ain’t sure they’ll let me in.”

“If they think you’re my driver, they’ll let you wait outside with the other drivers.”

Morelli shook his head. “I don’t know if that’ll be good enough to suit Mr. Turnbuckle.”

“I’ll speak to him,” Conrad promised. “I’m sure we can work something out. You’ll be close by, even if you aren’t in the mansion itself.”

“Sometimes close is still too far away.”

Conrad knew the truth of that perhaps better than anyone. He had been close enough to see Rebel in Black Rock Canyon ... just not close enough to save her from being killed.

He forced that thought out of his head and closed the door. Tossing the invitation onto a side table, he went back to the chair where he’d been sitting. A newspaper and a copy of Harper’s Weekly were on the table next to the chair. He had already been having trouble concentrating as he tried to read, and now that he knew he was going to the Kimballs’ ball, he was even more distracted. He began thinking about how he would approach Dex Lannigan. If Lannigan was behind the attempts on his life, the man probably knew what he looked like and would recognize him. It was highly unlikely Lannigan would pull a gun and start blazing away at him in the middle of the party, but Conrad couldn’t rule out the possibility entirely.

He needed a smaller gun, something he could carry without anyone noticing it. Tomorrow he would look for such a weapon, he decided.

Something small, but with stopping power at short range. If there was a gunfight at the Kimballs’ ball, all of San Francisco society would be scandalized, but Conrad didn’t care about that.

If there was a gunfight, he intended to win.

Chapter 15

Accompanied by Patrick Dugan, Conrad visited a gunsmith’s shop the next day and picked out a Smith & Wesson .38 caliber double-action revolver with a five-shot cylinder and a barrel that wasn’t much more than two inches long.

“The barrel was three and a quarter inches starting out,” the gunsmith explained, “but I took some off that to make it easier to carry in the inside pocket of a coat or in a shoulder holster. You can get a smaller gun, Mr. Browning, but the .38 will put a man down where a .32 won’t always.”

Conrad nodded as he checked the heft and balance of the weapon and liked what he felt. “With such a short barrel, you can’t expect much accuracy, can you?” he commented.

“Only at close range,” the gunsmith admitted. “But that’s where you’re most likely to need a gun such as this, isn’t it?”

Conrad couldn’t argue with that. He bought the gun and a shoulder holster the gunsmith was only too happy to sell him.

Conrad had told Dugan about attending the ball at the Kimball mansion. He figured Morelli had already reported to Turnbuckle about the butler delivering the invitation the night before, so there was no point in trying to keep it a secret. As they walked back to the hotel with Conrad carrying the case containing the revolver and the holster, Dugan said, “You bought that gun to wear to the party, didn’t you, sir?”

“With everything that’s happened, I think it’s probably a good idea to be armed at all times.” Conrad was carrying his Colt at the moment, in the black holster and gunbelt strapped around his hips. While it was a little unusual to see someone who was openly armed walking around San Francisco, it wasn’t unheard of. Conrad smiled and added, “Even though I have a fine bodyguard with me.”

Dugan grunted. “Considerin’ what I know about you, Mr. Browning, I reckon if trouble broke out it’d be more likely for you to save my life than the other way around.”

“Let’s just try to avoid trouble,” Conrad suggested.

“But be ready for it if it comes.”

Conrad nodded. “Always.”

Time dragged by. Jessup Nash paid a visit to Conrad’s suite at the Palace Hotel the next day, clearly hoping he could get his old friend to reveal more details about that big story he’d been promised, but Conrad remained tight-lipped. He did the same when Francis Carlyle called on him later that same day. She made it fairly obvious she would be willing to spend some time with him in his bedroom whether he told her any more about the story or not, but he eased her out of the suite discreetly and without hurting her feelings.

That evening, with twenty-four hours to go until the Kimballs’ ball, Claudius Turnbuckle arrived at the suite with an excited expression on his face. “Good news,” he said when Conrad led him into the sitting room. “I think my men have finally found D.L. and the Golden Gate.”

Conrad didn’t have the heart to tell his old friend he had known the probable identity of D.L. for several days. “Tell me about it.”

“There’s a saloon on Grant Street in the Barbary Coast called the Golden Gate,” Turnbuckle said, “and it’s owned by a man named Dex Lannigan !”

“And you think he’s the one who sent those killers after us?”

“I’m certain of it. The initials match, and my investigators report that the men who work for Lannigan carry a token like the one you found in the street to identify themselves. I’m sorry it’s taken so long, Conrad, but I’m convinced this is the answer we’ve been looking for!”

Conrad nodded. “I think you’re right. Excellent work, Claudius, as always.”

Turnbuckle went on. “Lannigan has a reputation as a power in the criminal underworld along the bay, but he came out of nowhere about three years ago. About the same time he could have struck a deal with Pamela, in other words.”

“It all makes sense,” Conrad agreed.

They continued to discuss the situation for several minutes, and if Turnbuckle noticed Conrad wasn’t quite as excited as he might have been if all the information were new to him, he didn’t mention it. After telling Conrad more about Lannigan’s background, the lawyer said, “Here’s the really interesting part. Acting probably at his wife’s behest, Lannigan has bullied his way into society, and as a matter of fact, they’re both supposed to be in attendance at a party given by Madison Kimball and his wife tomorrow night.”

Conrad raised his eyebrows. “The ball at the Kimball mansion? I’m going to that affair, Claudius!”

“I thought you might be. I had one of my men dig up a picture of Lannigan, so you’ll recognize him if you see him there.” Turnbuckle held out a folded newspaper.

Conrad didn’t have to feign eagerness as he took the paper. He didn’t know what Dex Lannigan looked like, so as he studied the photograph printed on the front page of the newspaper, his interest was genuine.

The picture showed a man standing beside a carriage parked in front of a large building that appeared to run the length of an entire city block. The man was tall and seemed to be well built, wearing an expensive suit and a derby. The hair under the hat was fair. His face was rugged and a little angular, and although the photographer hadn’t been close enough for Conrad to get a good look at Lannigan’s eyes, there was something hawkish about the saloon owner. Maybe it was just his imagination, Conrad told himself, but Lannigan looked dangerous.

The building behind him had large, fancy windows, and a large sign on it read THE GOLDEN GATE—FINE