Bounty Hunter

Chapter 28

The next two nights passed without a Ripper murder and there were no more attempts made on Tone’s life. But there was a strange tension along the waterfront, as though it were holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

On the afternoon of the third day, Tone was wakened by the murmur of voices in Langford’s kitchen. He rose, slipped into his pants and shirt and padded to his bedroom door, listening.

Someone, a man, was talking earnestly to the sergeant, but Tone couldn’t make out the words. For a moment he thought about returning to bed for another hour’s sleep. It was Langford’s house and he was entitled to entertain visitors in privacy.

But he decided against it. Some instinct told him that this was no ordinary visitor. Perhaps he was a man with information to impart.

Tone walked to the kitchen and Langford turned when he stepped inside. “Take a seat, Tone,” the cop said. “Now you’re awake, you should hear this.”

After Tone pulled up a chair to the table, Langford waved a hand at the tiny, shabby man sitting opposite him. “This unprepossessing character is Willie Sullivan, alias Wee Willie Winkie, for a reason that will soon become apparent to you.”

The sergeant sat back in his chair and glared at Sullivan. “Now speak, thou apparition.”

Willie winked. “Is there money in it, Mr. Langford?” He winked again. “I’m getting married, y’see.”

“Willie,” Langford said, “you’ve got maybe three teeth, no hair and you smell like a sewer. What woman in her right mind would marry a nasty little rodent like you?”

A wink. Then, “You’ll never guess.”

“No, I would never guess.”

“Dago May.”

“Willie, she’s a whore, and a looker. Hell, man, she won’t marry you.”

“Yes, she’s a whore, and yes, she’s a looker, and yes, she’s agreed to marry me. Well, as soon as I’ve got a hundred dollars.” Willie winked, winked again, the second slower and more meaningful. “Dago May knows bed stuff, Mr. Langford, if you catch my drift. There ain’t nothing she won’t do to make me feel reeeal good.”

The man winked. “She says after we get hitched, she’ll only charge me half price for every item on the menu an’ for some I ain’t even sampled yet.”

“A hundred dollars is a lot of money to pay for information, Willie.”

“I don’t need the whole hundred, Mr. Langford.”

“How much have you got?”

The man dug into the pocket of his ragged coat and spread some crumpled bills and a few coins on the table. He winked. “I’ll count it.”

It took some time, and Tone and Langford exchanged amused glances as Willie poked at his coins and muttered.

“There, it’s done,” he said finally. “Eight dollars and fourteen cents.”

“You’ve got a long ways to go, Willie,” the sergeant said.

Willie closed a muddy brown eye and tapped the side of his nose with an unwashed finger. “I’ve got two pieces of information, Mr. Langford. It’s valuable stuff.”

The sergeant got to his feet. “Stay there, Willie.” He looked at Tone. “There’s coffee in the pot.”

“What about him?” Tone asked, nodding to Willie.

“Hell, no, he’s not drinking from one of my cups. You want to catch a disease?”

Tone poured himself coffee and sat at the table again.

“Mr. Langford likes me,” Willie said. “I tell him stuff.” He winked. “Last year, I was the cove who told him it was Fat Freddie Ferguson who stuck a chiv in that Swedish preacher gal and robbed her. Fat Freddie got topped a month later.”

Tone smiled. “Very commendable of you, Willie.”

The man winked. “Me, I know a lot of good stuff that happens along the waterfront. I’ve got all kinds of stories to tell.”

Langford returned carrying a small tin box. He opened it with a key hanging from his watch chain, lifted the lid and took out a double eagle.

Placing the coin on the table in front of him, the sergeant said, “This for your information, Willie. If I think it’s worth it.”

“For half, Mr. Langford, beggin’ your pardon,” Willie said. He winked. “I have two stories to tell.”

The big cop shook his head. “You really are a disagreeable little shit, Willie. I’m only a police sergeant and you know I don’t make much money.”

“Times are hard all over, Mr. Langford. Information doesn’t come cheap no more along the Barbary Coast.”

Langford sighed. “Let’s hear it, Willie.”

The little man winked. “I know where the peace meeting is to be held, the big one, atween them as runs the waterfront. And I know the time.” Willie looked at the gleaming gold coin and touched his top lip with the tip of his tongue. “Six men, Mr. Langford, one of them Captain High-and-Mighty Lambert Sprague, who never gave a poor cove like me a nickel in his life.”

“How do you know about the meeting, Willie?” Tone asked.

“Dago May is one of the whores Captain Sprague has hired to provide the entertainment after the business is done.” He winked. “A baker’s dozen whores for six men. That’s a lot of ass.”

“Where and when, Willie?” Langford asked.

“Not tonight at seven. The night after that. At Captain Sprague’s house.”

Langford put a forefinger on the double eagle and pushed it toward Willie. When the little man reached for it, he pulled it back. “Now, your other information.”

“Cost you one more o’ them eagles.”

“This is all you get, Willie. I’m a poor man.”

Willie Sullivan rubbed his scaly mouth, then said, “Have you a bait o’ whiskey? To wet me voice pipe, like.”

Langford looked hard at the man, then rose to his feet. He opened a cupboard door and found an unopened pint of bourbon.

Tone smiled as the sergeant looked around frantically, sick with the notion that he’d have to give Willie a glass. Finally he set the bottle in front of the man and said, “Keep it.”

“And a cigar. I’m partial to a good cigar.” He winked. “An’ I know you only smoke the best.”

“Willie,” the big cop said, his strained patience thinning his voice, “I don’t think you’re going to walk out of here with your balls intact. You’ll be no good to Dago May then.”

“Ah, Mr. Langford, you’re a hard man, an unbending, stark officer of the law, an’ no mistake.” Willie winked. “The cigar?”

Grinning, Tone played peacekeeper and gave him a cigar.

“Light?” the little man asked.

Langford growled as he watched Tone thumb match into flame. Willie sat back, luxuriously wreathed in smoke, and opened the bottle. He drank deep, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, burped loudly, then said, “It’s sailor talk.”

“Let’s hear it,” the sergeant grunted.

“Push the coin closer to me, Mr. Langford, if you please.”

Cursing under his breath, the cop did as he was told.

“There’s been talk among the seafaring men in the grog shops that Captain Sprague and his pirate rogues sank a ship with all hands off the Golden Gate. I heard that the good cap’n gave her a broadside, then boarded an’ cut the throat of every jack on board.”

Tone couldn’t remember seeing cannons on Sprague’s steam yacht, unless they were covered up somehow. He looked at Langford, but the big cop was sitting forward on his chair, interested.

“There were no survivors, Willie,” he said.

“Ah, so you say. But maybe there was. Could it be that a certain whaling barque found a man floating in the water on a spar, more dead than alive? Could it be that the barque then lost the wind and was becalmed for three days and the jacks wanted to throw the man back into the sea for a Jonah?”

Willie drank again. “But could it be that the wind finally picked up and they brought the matelot into the port o’ San Francisco and that he now lies at death’s door in St. Mary’s Hospital, raving about pirates and”—Willie hurriedly crossed himself—“being tended day and night by the holy Sisters of Mercy?”

Langford shoved the double eagle toward Willie and he quickly scooped it up.

“I know his name,” Willie said slyly, winking. “Cost you, though.”

“Willie, you’re stinking up my kitchen, drinking my whiskey and smoking my cigars and I’m seriously thinking of killing you.” Langford smiled. “If I were you, I’d give me his name.”

“Bandy Evans, Mr. Langford, and be damned to ye fer a hard case.”

The sergeant rose to his feet. “Get out of here, Willie.” The little man shuffled to the door in his laceless shoes, the dirty old army greatcoat he wore trailing on the floor as he walked.

“Give my regards to the future Mrs. Sullivan,” Tone said after him.

Willie winked and nodded. “Thank’ee kindly, sir.” He glared at Langford. “It’s nice to know that at least somebody in this house is a proper gent.”

“Get dressed, Tone,” Langford said after Willie was gone. “We have to get to the hospital right away.”

“The whaler has been in port for days,” Tone said. “Strange we didn’t hear about the survivor until now.”

“No, it’s not strange. The only law that isn’t broken along the waterfront is don’t tell the coppers anything. I’m surprised a known snoop like Willie Sullivan has lived this long.”

He looked at Tone, a worried expression in his eyes. “If Willie’s right, and there’s been sailor talk, then Sprague might already know about Bandy Evans, unless he’s been too busy setting up his peace meeting. Let’s hope that’s the case and we’re not too late.”