hope so.”
“The old witch didn’t make you promise your firstborn in return for her help?”
Conrad managed not to wince. Nash didn’t know anything about the reason he was in San Francisco, he reminded himself. The reporter didn’t mean anything by the comment about Conrad’s firstborn.
“We reached an equitable arrangement. And I’d hardly call Francis Carlyle an old witch.”
Nash shrugged. “I’m probably being unfair to her. But watch yourself when you’re dealing with her, Conrad. She’ll steal a story right out from under you if you’re not careful.”
“But I’m not a reporter,” Conrad pointed out.
“She can be a little predatory when it comes to young men she finds attractive. At least so I’ve heard,” Nash added. “I don’t seem to be her type, thank God.”
Conrad shook hands with his old friend. “I’ll be in touch.”
When he reached the lobby, he spotted Patrick Dugan sitting in a chair next to a potted palm. Dugan was reading a newspaper, or at least pretending to. His gaze roved around the lobby constantly as he kept a lookout for trouble, the way a good bodyguard should.
He spotted Conrad and stood up, leaving the paper in the chair. “Get your business taken care of ?” he asked as he walked over.
Conrad nodded. “Yes, we’re going back to the hotel now.”
He wasn’t sure how he was going to fill up the time during the next four days as he waited for the ball at the Kimball mansion. Maybe he could actually force himself to rest and relax, as Claudius Turnbuckle had suggested, although if he was being honest with himself, he considered that possibility rather remote. After everything that had happened, he didn’t think he was capable of going back to a life of leisure.
A thought occurred to him as he and Dugan walked back toward the Palace. “Were you ever a policeman, Patrick?”
“Because I’m a big, redheaded Irishman, you mean?”
“Because you seem to know what you’re doing.”
“Oh. Well, in that case, yeah, I was on the force for ten years. Did right well for myself, too. Worked my way up to bein’ a detective. But then Mr. Turnbuckle offered me more money to work for him, and well, I had hungry mouths to feed. I couldn’t turn down the job.”
“What do you do for Claudius besides bodyguard work?”
“Whatever needs doin’. I’ve handled quite a few investigations for him, workin’ on one case or another.”
“When you were with the police, did you ever have anything to do with the tongs?”
Dugan bristled. “What do you mean? Are you askin’ if any of those heathen Chinamen ever paid me off to look the other way while they went about their mischief ?”
“Good Lord, no,” Conrad said without hesitation. “I just wondered if you handled any cases involving them.”
“Oh. Sorry,” Dugan muttered. “Reckon I jumped to a conclusion there. Yeah, some of the cases I worked on took me to Chinatown, and you can’t turn around in Chinatown without bumpin’ into somebody from one of the tongs.”
“Are they still at war with each other?”
“There’s still some trouble now and then, but it’s not like it used to be. Diamond Jack took care of that.”
“Diamond Jack?”
“Yeah. His real name is Wong Duck, but he calls himself Diamond Jack because he’s got a little diamond mounted right here.” Dugan tapped a blunt fingertip against one of his two front teeth. “He came up through the Woo Sing tong and finally took it over. That wasn’t enough for him, though. He managed to talk the other tongs into callin’ a truce. He said they could all make more money if they weren’t fightin’ each other all the time. That makes sense, of course, but I didn’t figure he’d ever talk all those other Chinamen into goin’ along with the idea. Somehow he did.”
“So they don’t have hatchet men anymore?”
Dugan laughed. “Oh, the tongs still have their hatchet men, all right. The leaders don’t trust each other all that
“The old witch didn’t make you promise your firstborn in return for her help?”
Conrad managed not to wince. Nash didn’t know anything about the reason he was in San Francisco, he reminded himself. The reporter didn’t mean anything by the comment about Conrad’s firstborn.
“We reached an equitable arrangement. And I’d hardly call Francis Carlyle an old witch.”
Nash shrugged. “I’m probably being unfair to her. But watch yourself when you’re dealing with her, Conrad. She’ll steal a story right out from under you if you’re not careful.”
“But I’m not a reporter,” Conrad pointed out.
“She can be a little predatory when it comes to young men she finds attractive. At least so I’ve heard,” Nash added. “I don’t seem to be her type, thank God.”
Conrad shook hands with his old friend. “I’ll be in touch.”
When he reached the lobby, he spotted Patrick Dugan sitting in a chair next to a potted palm. Dugan was reading a newspaper, or at least pretending to. His gaze roved around the lobby constantly as he kept a lookout for trouble, the way a good bodyguard should.
He spotted Conrad and stood up, leaving the paper in the chair. “Get your business taken care of ?” he asked as he walked over.
Conrad nodded. “Yes, we’re going back to the hotel now.”
He wasn’t sure how he was going to fill up the time during the next four days as he waited for the ball at the Kimball mansion. Maybe he could actually force himself to rest and relax, as Claudius Turnbuckle had suggested, although if he was being honest with himself, he considered that possibility rather remote. After everything that had happened, he didn’t think he was capable of going back to a life of leisure.
A thought occurred to him as he and Dugan walked back toward the Palace. “Were you ever a policeman, Patrick?”
“Because I’m a big, redheaded Irishman, you mean?”
“Because you seem to know what you’re doing.”
“Oh. Well, in that case, yeah, I was on the force for ten years. Did right well for myself, too. Worked my way up to bein’ a detective. But then Mr. Turnbuckle offered me more money to work for him, and well, I had hungry mouths to feed. I couldn’t turn down the job.”
“What do you do for Claudius besides bodyguard work?”
“Whatever needs doin’. I’ve handled quite a few investigations for him, workin’ on one case or another.”
“When you were with the police, did you ever have anything to do with the tongs?”
Dugan bristled. “What do you mean? Are you askin’ if any of those heathen Chinamen ever paid me off to look the other way while they went about their mischief ?”
“Good Lord, no,” Conrad said without hesitation. “I just wondered if you handled any cases involving them.”
“Oh. Sorry,” Dugan muttered. “Reckon I jumped to a conclusion there. Yeah, some of the cases I worked on took me to Chinatown, and you can’t turn around in Chinatown without bumpin’ into somebody from one of the tongs.”
“Are they still at war with each other?”
“There’s still some trouble now and then, but it’s not like it used to be. Diamond Jack took care of that.”
“Diamond Jack?”
“Yeah. His real name is Wong Duck, but he calls himself Diamond Jack because he’s got a little diamond mounted right here.” Dugan tapped a blunt fingertip against one of his two front teeth. “He came up through the Woo Sing tong and finally took it over. That wasn’t enough for him, though. He managed to talk the other tongs into callin’ a truce. He said they could all make more money if they weren’t fightin’ each other all the time. That makes sense, of course, but I didn’t figure he’d ever talk all those other Chinamen into goin’ along with the idea. Somehow he did.”
“So they don’t have hatchet men anymore?”
Dugan laughed. “Oh, the tongs still have their hatchet men, all right. The leaders don’t trust each other all that
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