The Loner: Crossfire

WINE AND SPIRITS—GAMES OF CHANCE—ENTERTAINMENT—EVERYONE WELCOME!

“This was taken not long after the place opened,” Turnbuckle explained. “One of my men dug it out of the morgue at the Chronicle.”

Conrad nodded. He should have thought of that idea himself. He was sure Jessup Nash would have helped him. But at least he had an idea what Lannigan looked like, although he suspected the man’s appearance would be somewhat different in evening wear, at a fancy Nob Hill party.

Conrad would know Lannigan when he saw him, though. He was certain of that.

“You’re going to have to be careful if you confront him there,” Turnbuckle cautioned. “Lannigan has a reputation as a bad man to cross.”

Conrad thought about the short-barreled S&W .38 he was already wearing in the shoulder rig so he could get used to it. “I intend to be.”

“What we need now is something we can hold over Lannigan’s head in order to make him talk,” Turnbuckle mused. “That won’t be easy. Criminals like that can be very closemouthed.” “Maybe what I should do is pretend not to know him. That way I can introduce myself and act like I’m not suspicious of him at all. He might let something slip.”

Turnbuckle rubbed his chin and frowned in thought. “Perhaps. I think it’s more likely we’re going to have to have him followed and maybe send undercover agents into that saloon of his to find out anything that’s really useful.”

“Whatever you say,” Conrad replied with a nod.

“Really?” Turnbuckle looked surprised. “That’s not like you, Conrad. No offense, but you always want to be right in the middle of things.”

“That hasn’t worked too well so far,” Conrad said, although in reality it had worked better than Turnbuckle had any idea about. “Maybe it’s time to give your way a try.”

Turnbuckle nodded emphatically. “I won’t let you down, you have my word on that. But do try to find out whatever you can by talking to Lannigan at the Kimballs’ ball. It can’t hurt.”

“I will.”

Turnbuckle bustled out excitedly, leaving Conrad to smile, shake his head, and pour brandy into a snifter. He was sitting in one of the armchairs, sipping the drink, when a commotion suddenly broke out in the hallway. Frowning, Conrad set the brandy aside and got to his feet.

A woman screamed in the corridor.

Conrad jerked the door open to see Morelli struggling with a small, shapely female. Scratches on his face oozed blood where she had scratched him. As Conrad stood looking on in surprise, Morelli succeeded in getting his arms around the girl in a bear hug and lifted her off her feet from behind.

“I told you, girl, no little trollop like you is gonna be botherin’ Mr. Browning!” Morelli panted.

“Let me go!” she cried. “I must talk to him—”

“Morelli!” Conrad said sharply. “What’s going on here?” He hadn’t gotten a good look at the woman. She and Morelli were turned partially away from him, and her dark hair hung in front of her face. As Morelli turned toward the door, his captive gave a defiant toss of her head, throwing her hair back. A shock went through Conrad as he recognized her as Carmen, the young prostitute from Spanish Charley’s.

“Please, senor,” she begged. “You must help me! No one else can, and if you don’t ... they will kill me!”

Chapter 16

“Let her go, Morelli,” Conrad ordered.

The bodyguard’s bushy eyebrows rose. “But, sir, a girl like this ain’t for the likes of you! I’m not sure how she even got into the hotel. Usually the staff don’t let such tramps get anywhere near the guests.”

“I know her,” Conrad said, not caring whether he shocked Morelli. “Now let her go.” The flat, hard tone of his voice left no room for argument.

Morelli lowered Carmen until her feet were on the floor, then released her, stepping back with a frown of deep disapproval on his face.

“What you do in your personal life is none o’ my concern, sir—” he began.

“That’s right, it’s not,” Conrad cut in. He took hold of Carmen’s arm. She looked like a terrified doe about to bolt. In a steady, calming voice, he went on. “Come with me. You’ll be safe here. I give you my word on that.”

Her dark eyes were big with fear. “Hans and Ulrich may have followed me. I tried to get away from them, but I don’t know if I did.”

“I’m not afraid of Hans and Ulrich, and I’ll wager that Morelli here isn’t, either.”

“No, sir,” Morelli chimed in without hesitation. “I don’t know who those lads are, but I ain’t afraid of anybody that draws breath.”

Conrad managed to steer Carmen toward the door of the suite without making it seem like he was forcing her. As they went inside, Morelli started to follow, but a hard look from Conrad made him stop. Conrad closed the door behind them, leaving the bodyguard in the hallway.

“All right, Carmen,” he said gently. “Can I get you anything?”

“Maybe a drink, senor?”

Conrad hesitated, unsure whether he should be giving liquor to someone as young as she was, but considering where she worked and what she did for a living, he supposed it was a little late to be worrying about things like that. He poured a little brandy into a glass and handed it to her. She clutched it with both hands, which were trembling slightly, and drank down the brandy.

That seemed to steady her nerves. She took a deep breath. “Gracias, Senor Browning.”

“How do you know my name? How did you know you could find me here?”

“After the big fight at Spanish Charley’s ... after Ling Yuan came in to help you get away ... I followed you. It was Dutchy’s idea.”

Conrad hadn’t realized anyone had followed him away from the dive that night, but he supposed a slender young girl like Carmen could have slipped through the shadows behind him without him noticing.

“Why did Dutchy want you to follow me?”

“I think he wanted to take revenge on you for starting trouble. He would have sent Hans and Ulrich to kill you later. But when I told him I followed you all the way here to the Palace ... he seemed to change his mind about that.”

Conrad wasn’t surprised. Dutchy must have realized there was more to his troublesome visitor than met the eye.

“I thought you must work here, maybe as a bellboy. I-I have a cousin who works in the hotel as a maid. Dutchy told me to talk to her, to tell her what you look like, and find out if she knew you. She told me there was no one working here who looks like you, Senor Browning. Then she told me about one of the guests ... about you.”

“And you told Dutchy,” Conrad guessed.

“I had to! He would have killed me if I tried to lie to him.”

Conrad didn’t know if that was true or not, but Carmen believed it was.

“When you told him, he was even more interested than he was before, right?”

Carmen’s head bobbed up and down. “Si.”

Dutchy probably sensed a possibility for blackmail. A man wealthy enough to stay in one of the Palace Hotel’s finest suites who prowled around squalid saloons and taverns like Spanish Charley’s ... usually had secrets he would be willing to pay to keep quiet.

“I know you didn’t have any choice in what you did,” Conrad told Carmen as she looked down at the richly carpeted floor in shame. “I’m not upset with you.”

“Truly, senor?” she murmured.

“Truly.”

She moved closer and reached up to throw her arms around his neck before he could stop her. “Oh,