Bounty Hunter

Chapter 25

“Before you make any wild accusations, Sergeant Langford, I have not left the tavern since late afternoon,” Penman said. “Is that not so, Miss Cord?”

“You’ve been sitting in the nook over there all night,” the woman said. “Aye, I can vouch for that, Mr. Penman.”

“I do enjoy the Jolly Jack,” the lawyer said. “It’s a quieter spot than most and I can sit and drink tea and pore over my lawbooks without being unduly disturbed.”

His eyes moved to Tone, who had expected to read hostility in them. Instead the man’s gaze was mild, without judgment. “How pleasant it is to see you again, Mr. Tone. We’ve all been quite worried about you.”

“I no longer work for Sprague,” Tone said.

“Yes, so I heard. What a pity.”

Tone struggled to get a read on that last sentence. He decided Penman hadn’t spoken out of sympathy. It had been an implied threat.

Langford had been studying the little lawyer closely, his probing eyes ranging over the man’s clothes from his shoes to his shirt collar.

Penman had noticed and was smiling almost imperceptibly. “Can I interest you gentlemen in a dish of tea?” he asked.

Tone was about to refuse, but Langford said, “Yes. I’d like to talk with you.”

“About this evening?”

“And other things.”

Penman gave a little bow. “I’m at your service, Sergeant. And I have some news to impart that might be of interest to you.”

The lawyer led the way to a dark inglenook to one side of the fireplace. The space had been enlarged to accept a small table and bench seats and was enclosed by high timber panels on three sides, providing a measure of privacy.

A candle burned on the table, beside a mutton roast, a dish of boiled potatoes and a gravy boat.

After Langford and Tone were settled, Penman beckoned to Melody Cord. “Tea for three, Miss Cord, if you please.”

He smiled at Tone and the cop in turn. “Now, if you will excuse me, I’ll finish my dinner as we talk.” The smile grew into a death’s head grin. “I assure you, gentlemen, I don’t speak with my mouth full.”

The lawyer picked up a knife and deftly carved slices of greasy mutton, handling the gleaming blade with practiced assurance.

Both Tone and Langford watched with fascinated attention, their eyes fixed on the fat-smeared knife.

Then Tone noticed something that would trouble him later.

Penman was a fastidious little man who was always immaculately groomed, yet the fingernails of his right hand were rimmed with half-moons of what looked like dirt.

For a moment Tone puzzled over that, but Langford’s voice pushed it from his mind.

“What time did you arrive at the Jolly Jack, Penman?” he asked.

The lawyer chewed on mutton, swallowed, then answered, “Around four this afternoon, and I’ve been here ever since.”

“Poring over lawbooks and drinking tea?”

“Yes, just that, Sergeant.”

“I don’t see any books on the table.”

“No, you don’t.” Penman reached beside him and held up a thick tome. “I moved them when dinner arrived. This volume is Mr. Thomas M. Cooley’s The General Principles of Constitutional Law in the United States. Would you like to quiz me on it, Sergeant Langford?”

The big cop drew back and tried a different tack. “Are you still working for Lambert Sprague?”

“I am still retained by Mr. Sprague as his attorney and business manager, yes.”

“Last night Tone here saw him throw a bomb through the window of Joe Carpenter’s saloon. What does your client say about that?”

Penman deftly cut a few more slices of mutton, spooned potatoes onto his plate, then covered everything with steaming gravy that pooled thickly on the meat.

“Mr. Tone is mistaken. Mr. Sprague was at home all night, entertaining a young lady. A dozen witnesses who were in his house at the time will testify to that fact.”

“Tone is willing to testify that he watched Sprague toss the bomb.”

For a moment Penman chewed thoughtfully, his jaw muscles bunching. Finally he looked at Tone and said, “Be circumspect, Mr. Tone. The accusations you hurl at my client could come back to haunt you in the witness stand. The jury would soon realize that you possess neither honesty nor integrity. How can a man who makes his living as a bounty hunter, a frontier gunman and murderous thug convince eight stalwart citizens of his honesty?

“As for integrity, well, we all know by now that you tried to convince Mr. Sprague to bomb a rival’s place of business. As a result, he threw you out on the street. Enraged, filled with an insane desire for vengeance, you bombed Mr. Carpenter’s saloon, then tried to pin the blame on your former employer. Where is the integrity in that? I wonder.

“Mr. Tone, if I got you on the stand I would chop you up into little pieces and feed you to the wolves.”

Penman beamed. “Ah, here is Miss Cord with the tea at last.”

Melody set the tray on the table, moving aside the mutton roast platter to make room.

“Miss Cord, do you still say I was in this fine establishment the whole evening?” Penman asked.

“Aye, I do,” the woman answered. “You spend so much time here, I’m thinking of calling you Jolly Jack.”

“Ah, Jack. Yes, Miss Cord, it would be an honor. For some reason, it’s a name I’ve always liked.” He looked at Tone. “Milk and sugar? No? Then I’ll just pour tea for you and you can make a trial of it. Sergeant Langford?”

“As it comes.”

Tone glanced at his steaming cup, fighting down the urge to reach across and wring Penman’s scrawny neck. But he admitted to himself the man was right. A jury would never convict Sprague on his testimony.

He decided to take a small measure of revenge by needling the man. “Penman, you hate women, all women, don’t you? Especially whores.”

The lawyer shrugged. “ ‘Hate’ is a strong word, Mr. Tone. Please be circumspect of speech. I don’t like women very much, that is true. I consider them dirty. Any creature that bleeds once a month is an unclean thing.”

“Did you know Annie Forbes?” Tone asked.

“No, I never met the lady.”

Langford said, “She was the whore who was murdered tonight.”

“Yes, I know. Hasn’t Miss Cord already alluded to the state of the young lady’s health? She had the pox. Such a woman would not be allowed to frequent the Jolly Jack.”

The cop pushed away his untouched tea. “You said you had news for us, Penman.” He sounded tired, the candlelight casting blue shadows under his eyes and in the hollows of his cheeks.

“Good news, if I may say so.” He wiped grease off his lips with a napkin. “Ah, that was an excellent loin of mutton.”

“Let’s hear your news,” Tone said impatiently.

“Sergeant Langford,” Penman said, pointedly ignoring Tone, “there will be no war along the Barbary Coast, if such was ever seriously contemplated.” He paused dramatically, then added, “Mr. Sprague is extending the hand of friendship to his fellow businessmen and hopes that they will accept it most warmly.”

“And what brought this miracle about?” the cop said with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm.

“Miracle indeed, sir!” Penman exclaimed. “My client is an intelligent man and he realizes just how destructive a trade war would be for the waterfront. After the bomb blast at Mr. Carpenter’s establishment where so many were killed and injured, Mr. Sprague decided that rather than imperil more lives, he would seek a peace with his five competitors.”

The lawyer smiled. “After all, on any given night you just have to look around Pacific Street and realize that there’s plenty of business for all. As he said to me only this morning, ‘One doesn’t have to resort to violence to extract money from another man’s pocket.’ ”

“How does he figure to pull this off, Penman?”

“Through intermediaries, he is sending invitations to his colleagues, asking that they meet at his house on a given date. The exact whereabouts of the five men are not known to Mr. Sprague at this time, but his ambassadors will find them.”

“When will this meeting take place?” Langford asked.

“Well, of course, I can’t give you an exact date, but it will be soon. Within a few days, I would say.”

“Keep me informed, Penman. I’ll have a police presence at Sprague’s house.”

“Not necessary, Sergeant. This is a peace conference. I assure you, there will be no violence.”

“Still, I’d like to keep an eye on things.”

“As you wish, Sergeant. Your officers will be most welcome.”

Langford slid out of the booth and got to his feet. Tone did the same and stood beside him.

Penman’s dead eyes lifted to the cop. “The bombing of the Bucket of Blood was a great tragedy.” His eyes shifted to Tone, then back to Langford. “I hope you deal with the person responsible very soon.”

“I plan to,” Langford said. “Very soon.”

He said no more, letting that statement lie between him and the lawyer like a duelist’s glove.

As they turned to leave, Tone stopped and turned back to the table. “Women aren’t unclean, Penman,” he said. “It’s men who think of them the way you do who are dirty.”

He didn’t stop to hear the lawyer’s response but followed Langford to the door and out into the foggy street.