The Case of the Deadly Desperados (12 page)

Ledger Sheet 27

THE NEXT MORNING I WOKE
to the sound of a tinkling bell & the smell of fresh coffee.

I opened my eyes.

I was in a room with a partly glass roof that showed blue sky.

For a moment I could not think where I was.

Then it all came flooding back.

I had spent half the night in an Opium Den down in Chinatown and now I was protecting a Soiled Dove named Belle from desperados who wanted to torture and kill us both.

I heard the door close and from underneath the couch I could see a pair of shiny black shoes and the cuffs of a pair of gray trousers.

Then a man's voice exclaimed, “Sacray blur! Who are you?”

“Oh, hello, sir,” came Belle's sleepy voice. I heard the couch above me creak. “My name is Belle Donne. Who are you?”

“I am Isaiah Coffin, the owner of this establishment. I demand to know what you are doing on my couch.” He had an accent like Ma Evangeline's and I deduced from this that he was English.

Belle said, “I am sheltering here from three desperados who want to kill me. P.K.?” she said. “Are you here?”

“Yes, ma'am,” I said, and stood up.

“Zounds!” said Isaiah Coffin as he saw me rising up from behind the couch. “What is going on here?”

Brilliant sunlight from the east-facing window illuminated the man standing in the open doorway. Isaiah Coffin wore a black stovepipe hat & a blue frock coat & a red cravat. He had symmetrical features. His hair was light brown & his eyes were gray. He had a feathery blond mustache & billy goat beard. In one hand he held a key & in the other a pot of coffee. He also had a folded newspaper under one arm.

“I am a friend of Ping's,” I said. “He gave me a key to your shop.”

“Ping!” said the man, putting down the coffeepot and paper and replacing the key in his vest pocket. “When I get my hands on him!”

“I am sorry!” cried Ping, squeezing past Isaiah Coffin and into the room. “I am sorry! I told him not to touch anything.” Ping's eyes opened wide when he saw Belle. Then he narrowed them again & looked at me & mouthed something I could not understand.

Isaiah Coffin ignored Ping and removed his stovepipe hat and placed it on the hat rack. Then he frowned. “Is that one of my costumes?” he said to me. Then he looked at Belle. “And is that my buffalo skin?”

“Yes, sir,” she replied. “I am sorry.” She shrugged it off to reveal her torn dress.

Isaiah Coffin's eyes grew wide when he saw her state of disarray. So did Ping's.

“Sacray blur!” said Isaiah Coffin, shielding his eyes as if from the blazing sun. “Please cover yourself, madame.”

“But I have nothing else to wear.”

Isaiah Coffin gestured towards the costume closet. “Find yourself something in there,” he said. “But leave that dress of yours as collateral. And you!” Here he turned to address me. “You say you are a friend of Ping's?”

“He's not my friend,” said Ping. “But he will soon be rich. He will pay me five hundred dollar cash and he will pay you for wearing clothes.” Ping looked at me. “Won't you?”

“Yes, sir,” I said, putting the plug hat on my head. “Yes, I will. In about an hour or so I will be a millionaire.”

“What did you say your name was?” asked Isaiah Coffin. He had a way of standing very straight but with his shoulders slightly back.

“My name is P.K. Pinkerton,” I said in an English accent like his.

“P.K. Pinkerton,” he said. “Unusual name.”

“Isaiah Coffin,” I said. “Unusual name.”

“Tooshay,” he said. His eyes had a kind of twinkle in them.

I said, “Beg pardon?”

He said, “Tooshay is French for ‘you got me there.'”

He took a mug from a shelf near the hat rack and poured himself a cup of black coffee.

I said, “I am partial to coffee, too. Black, no sugar.”

“Are you indeed?”

He found a china teacup from a decorative tea set on a table & poured me a cup.

“Ping?” said Isaiah Coffin. “Would you like some coffee, too?”

“No, boss,” said Ping. “I like tea.” He was still scowling at me.

“I like coffee,” came a female voice from the clothes cupboard. “Cream and three sugars.”

“Ping,” said Isaiah Coffin. “Go fill this jug with cream from the Colombo Restaurant.” He handed Ping a small jug decorated with rosebuds.

Ping shot me a final scowl and left the shop.

I sat on Isaiah Coffin's couch. It was still faintly warm from Belle's body. I blew on the surface of my coffee and took a sip. I remembered to lift my little finger as Ma Evangeline had taught me. I was beginning to realize that wearing different clothes made me feel different. This getup made me feel high-toned and confident.

“Make yourself at home,” said Isaiah Coffin, raising one eyebrow.

“Thank you,” I replied.

He rolled his eyes and came to sit next to me. “Tell me,” he said. “Who are these ‘desperados' after that young woman?”

“Actually, they are after me,” I said. My English accent made me use bigger words. “They are called Whittlin Walt, Extra Dub and Boz Burton. They killed my foster parents down in Temperance and then scalped them to make it look as if Indians did it.”

His smile vanished & I saw the blood drain from his face.

“Whittlin Walt?” he said.

I said, “Yes. They call him that because he likes to whittle pieces off his victims while quoting Walt Whitman.” I removed the folded wanted poster from my medicine pouch & handed it to him.

He opened it and his gray eyes widened.

“D-mn me!” said Isaiah Coffin & then added, “Pardon my French.”

I knew he did not really mean pardon his French. He meant pardon him saying a word that would send him straight to that Fiery Place. I was coming to realize that everybody in Virginia cussed like drunken mule-drivers.

I was putting the folded wanted poster back in my medicine bag when the door opened with a tinkle and Ping put his head in. “Colombo Restaurant closed,” he said.

Still using my English accent, I said, “That is probably because Titus Jepson lost the tip of his pinkie last night and wants to preserve his remaining digits.”

“D-mn me!” said Isaiah Coffin. He forgot to ask me to pardon his French. To Ping he said, “Well, go somewhere else then.” To me he said, “Why is he after you?”

I said, “I have a document he wants. Mr. Dan De Quille of the Territorial Enterprise said it was the Holy Grail of the Comstock and that it could make ‘The Bearer' a millionaire.”

He took a sip of coffee & stared into his cup. “P.K., old chap, you should be careful whom you trust. Don't go around telling everybody you have a valuable letter that could make the bearer a millionaire.”

“That is good advice,” I said, also taking a sip of coffee. “I can never tell whom to trust and whom not to trust.”

“May I give you some more good advice?” said Isaiah Coffin. “In this town, don't trust anybody. There's only one reason people come to Virginia, and that is Mammon. Everyone who comes here wants gold or silver or money of some sort.”

“Even you?” I said.

“Even me.” He finished his coffee & put the cup on the floor. “I might suggest that you could trust Mr. S.B. Rooney—the pastor here in Virginia—but I have never darkened the door of his church so I cannot be sure.”

I saw his eyes widen as he looked over my shoulder. It was Expression No. 4: Surprise.

I turned to see that Belle Donne had reappeared from the clothing cupboard. She was wearing a starched white bonnet and a black dress that buttoned all the way up to her chin. She was warming her hands in a fur muff.

“Why, you are quite transformed, Miss Donne,” said Isaiah Coffin, rising to his feet. “You look just like a schoolmarm.”

“I know,” said Belle. “Hideous, ain't it?”

“Not at all,” said Isaiah Coffin. “I find it quite charming.”

“P.K.,” said Belle. “Did I hear you say you had recovered that Letter?”

“Yes,” I said. “And I intend to take it to the Recorder's Office up on A Street right now.”

She said, “I am afraid that is not going to happen.”

She let her muff drop to the ground and lifted a Colt's Baby Dragoon and pointed it at us.

“Hands up,” said Belle. “Both of you. Give me that Letter, P.K. And no funny business.”

I thought, “That Belle has tricked me once again.”

I also thought, “I cannot even tell when someone is about to draw down on me.”

And finally, “How can I ever be a Detective?”

Ledger Sheet 28

MY THORN HAD BETRAYED ME,
but my Gift—my keen observational skills—might save me yet.

Belle Donne was aiming a cocked Colt's Baby Dragoon Revolver at my chest. It had an ivory grip. I recognized it from the clothing cupboard.

“Give me that Letter,” she said. “Then no harm will come to you.”

“That is unfair,” I said. “I risked my life to save you.”

“It is true,” said Belle, “that you have been kind to me. I do not want to shoot you. But I will if I have to. Now give me that Letter.”

“Very well,” I said.

I stood up.

“What are you doing?” she said.

I told a lie. “The Letter is in my pocket,” I said. I put my hand in my pocket and pulled out my Smith & Wesson's seven-shooter & drew down on her.

She quickly aimed her Colt at my leg and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened.

“What the hell?” she said.

I cocked my piece. “I recognized that Colt from the clothing cupboard,” I said. “It is unloaded and busted. Now get
your
hands up.”

“You will not shoot me,” she said with Expression No. 3: Disgust.

I fired into the ceiling, just missing the sky-window. My shot brought down a satisfying shower of dust & plaster. I cocked my gun again.

Belle cursed in language unfit for publication but she lifted her hands.

Isaiah Coffin chuckled and started to lower his.

“Both of you,” I said. “Keep your hands up.” I pointed my gun at Belle. “You,” I said. “Sit on the couch with your back to him.”

“D-mn you,” said Belle. But she did as I asked.

“Mr. Coffin,” I said. “Would you please remove your cravat and bind her hands behind her?”

“Which is it to be?” Isaiah Coffin asked me. “Do you want me to keep my hands up or bind her hands?”

“Bind her hands. I am going to tie you up to her.”

Isaiah Coffin removed his cravat and began to bind Belle's wrists.

“I do not understand why you are doing this to me,” he said.

“You told me not to trust anybody,” I said. “And I think that is good advice.”

“Tooshay,” he said, and then, “Vwa la!” as he finished tying her wrists. “Now what?”

“Take off your shoes,” I said, “and pull out the laces.”

Isaiah Coffin bent over and began to take off his shoes.

“Untie me, P.K.,” said Belle. “And I will split the proceeds with you fifty-fifty.”

“I already have a partner,” I said. “And he will be back any minute with the cream. Mr. Coffin, would you please slide your shoes over to me? And use one of the laces to tie your ankles together.”

Isaiah Coffin sighed deeply but did as I asked.

The next bit was tricky. I had to tie his wrists with my right hand while keeping my revolver trained on them with my left. But I managed to do it. Then I tied Isaiah Coffin's wrists to Belle's.

They were now sitting back to back, perched on the edge of the couch with their wrists tied tightly in as many knots as I could manage.

“Now close your eyes, both of you,” I said, “and count to one hundred aloud.”

As the two of them started to count out loud, I went to the front door and flipped the sign inside the window of the door so that it read
CLOSED.
Then I went out & locked it from the outside. I peeped back through the window to make sure their eyes were still closed.

Belle had opened one eye but quickly closed it again when she saw me looking in.

I released the hammer of my seven-shooter & slipped it into my pocket. Then I patted the medicine bag, which I had tucked safely under my shirt & jacket. I felt the Letter crinkle reassuringly.

As I turned to go towards the Recorder's Office, I saw Ping coming towards me along the boardwalk. He had a brimming jug of cream in his hand and was concentrating on not spilling any. I did not want to go into long explanations about why I had tied up his boss, so before he could look up and spot me I quickly went into the tobacconist's shop next door to wait for him to pass by.

Bloomfield's Tobacco Emporium was a narrow shop—more like a long corridor—but there were shelves on the wall & every inch was taken up with colored tins & pouches of tobacco. There were pipes & cigars, too. And there was a six-foot-tall painted wooden Indian standing just inside the front door.

It smelled like Pa Emmet in there & for a moment my vision grew blurry. Then I blinked & it cleared.

“Hello,” said a girl's voice. “May I help you?”

I turned to see the girl from the other day coming towards me.

“I am just browsing,” I said.

“You remind me of my cousin Moshee.” She held out her hand. “My name is Becky Bloomfield,” she said. “What's yours?”

I shook her moist, warm hand.

“My name is P.K.,” I said.

She had pale skin & the longest eyelashes I had ever seen. Without letting go of my hand, she said, “This is my father's shop. His name is Solomon but everyone calls him Smiley. My friends call me Bee because I am sweet as honey. We are moving everything down to our C Street shop soon. Until we sell this place he lets me watch it after school and on the weekends. Do you go to school? I am at the First Ward School with Miss Feather.”

I removed my hand from her grip & said, “I go to school down in Dayton.”

“Do you live in Dayton?” she said, fluttering her eyelashes.

She was standing too close for my liking, so I took a step back.

She took a step closer. “How old are you?” she said. “I am eleven but everyone says I am tall for my age.”

“I am twelve,” I said, taking another step back. I felt something bumpy pressing into my shoulder blades & realized she had me backed up against the wooden Indian.

Bee Bloomfield took a step closer. I could smell minty Sozodont tooth powder on her breath. It was what Ma Evangeline used on special occasions to make her teeth white. Bee Bloomfield said, “Would you kiss me, P.K.?”

I said, “Beg pardon?”

She said, “Adelicia says she has been kissed and she's younger than I am. So have Hannah and Susan. I'm the only girl in my classroom who's never kissed a boy.”

She had closed her eyes & was aiming her puckered lips right at me.

I said, “I do not like to be touched. Good-bye!”

I writhed out from under her just in time. She kissed that wooden statue, I bet.

I hurried out of the Tobacco Shop & pulled my plug hat down lower & turned right & crossed muddy Taylor Street, heading in the direction of the Recorder's Office.

I thought, “What is it about Virginia City? The people here either want to kill you or kiss you.”