Deadly Force
Cosmopolitan Hotel
July 13, 1893
MICHAEL was still drinking his last cup of coffee, newspaper in hand, when he heard footsteps approach in the hall outside his suite. A fist pounded on the door of the sitting room where he took his breakfast each morning, a jarring intrusion in the peace and quiet of his routine. He frowned; his men knew better than to interrupt him at this hour.
Ever since he’d pulled himself out of the gutters of New York City, he’d made a point of taking time each day to appreciate the luxuries he was now able to afford. As part of the renovation he’d undertaken after purchasing the Cosmopolitan, he’d converted his sitting room into the style of the Turkish smoking room. Rich, golden, inlaid mahogany panels lined the walls, topped by warm white friezes sculpted in a Middle Eastern motif. Heavy maroon brocade curtains hung from the tall windows, gathered with twisted cords at frequent intervals and puddling on the hardwood floor, framed lace sheers hand-sewn in intricate patterns. Eastern rugs in swirls of dark colors graced the floor. When he relaxed in this room, he was able to temporarily push away the harsher realities of his workdays, and sometimes even the lingering grief.
The knock came again, this time more insistent. He folded the paper and laid it beside the remains of his breakfast, impatiently commanding, “Enter.”
Sam Garrett opened the door, dressed in soiled work clothes and boots, a heavy canvas sailor’s sea bag slung over his shoulder. He waited, his expression sardonic, for Remy to let him pass on Michael’s nod, then walked over and dumped the sea bag on the dining table, causing the fine china dishes to clatter. He tossed the key to the bag’s brass bar lock to Michael.
“Delivered as promised.” His tone was insolent. Without waiting for an invitation, he took a seat across the table, his soiled clothes probably leaving stains on the fine silk fabric.
After calmly pressing a napkin to his lips, Michael stood and fitted the key into the padlock, then removed the bar, opening the bag to peer inside. Watertight tins filled the sea bag to overflowing. He broke the wax seal on one to open it and examine the individual balls of brown-colored opium within.
“I trust that you made certain the quality meets my usual high standards,” he said.
“Of course,” Garrett scoffed. “I can lay my hands on as much as you can sell to your wealthy clients.”
Satisfied, Michael closed the bag and motioned to Remy. “The usual amount to Jesse Canby,” he told his bodyguard. “And prepare the rest of the deliveries, making certain you exercise the appropriate amount of caution, arriving at the servants’ entrances.”
“Sure, Boss.”
Michael returned to his seat, unhurriedly taking a sip of coffee. “I assume you weren’t foolish enough to rely on smuggling Chinese immigrants to fund this purchase,” he said to Garrett.
“What do you care?” Garrett challenged. “You got your shipment. It should be of no concern to you how I acquired it.”
“On the contrary,” Michael replied, keeping his tone mild. “The authorities are quite vigilant with respect to human trafficking.”
Garrett shrugged. “You worry too much, old man. I can easily elude the Customs agents. I was able to do so the other night, and will continue to do so in the future.”
Michael had to work to unclench his jaw. He found Garrett overly confident; such smugness in a business associate was a harbinger of unacceptably reckless behavior. “When Inspector Yardley sees fit to question me about the drowning of several Chinese, whose bodies were found just off North Beach, your activities are of the greatest concern to me. I’m not interested in attracting that kind of scrutiny. I fear you have knowledge of this incident?”
Garrett shrugged. “Yardley and his men came a little too close the other night—I did what I had to do. The Chinese were a liability.”
Michael stiffened. “Good Christ, man! Have you lost your senses? You’ve just admitted to murder.”
“Bull. I dumped them off the boat within sight of the beach. It’s not my fault that some of ’em didn’t know how to swim.”
“So you tossed the Chinese overboard, then stashed the opium on the beach, which resulted in its theft? Then you attempted to hang Lok. I can hardly comprehend the stupidity of your actions.”
Garrett’s eyes went flat. “Lok was on the beach. He either stole the drugs or saw who did. I was within my rights to question him.”
“By doing so, you’ve brought the authorities down on your head. Lok took his story to the police, implicating both of us. Yardley has already questioned me about the incident. I can’t rely on a business partner who is constantly in danger of being arrested for his ill-conceived actions.”
Garrett reached across the table to pick up a half-eaten piece of toast from Michael’s breakfast plate, biting into it. “You whine like a little boy, Seavey.”
From the corner of his eye, Michael saw Remy start forward. He gave him a slight hand signal to remain where he was for now. “No doubt Lok was on the beach because he was trying to help his countrymen come ashore. And he would have been a fool to admit as much to the authorities. But he could achieve a similar end by claiming that you attempted to kill him, could he not? The greater the scrutiny by Yardley, the greater the chance that we will be put out of business.”
Garrett swallowed the rest of the toast, then said, “Yardley is harmless. He can be controlled. After all, he doesn’t want his own secrets to come out.”
“Think, man! Do you really believe the operation Yardley has going, selling small amounts of confiscated contraband on the side, is valuable enough to bribe him to keep his mouth shut about murder?”
“Of course not,” Garrett retorted. “But he’s expanded far beyond the simple failure to report a few pounds of opium to the evidence locker. My sources in Victoria say Yardley’s been setting up his own suppliers, making plans to go into business for himself. With his fleet of revenue cutters, and with no one monitoring his agents’ trips in and out of Canada, he’s in the perfect position to import large quantities of opium without being detected.”
Michael leaned back in his chair, surprised. His men had heard nothing of these rumors. Yet if Garrett was correct, this was bad news indeed. Yardley stood to become a major competitor in the opium trade, driving the price so low that the risk to import the stuff would no longer be worth the rewards gained.
Even Michael had to admit, Yardley had put together a deucedly clever scheme. The Customs inspector had the authority to stop any vessel and confiscate whatever contraband he found. While at the same time, his revenue agents could move their own shipments without fear of detection.
“I see you have fully comprehended the situation.” Garrett looked satisfied with Michael’s reaction. “I now suspect Yardley is behind the theft of the shipment two nights ago. The man needs to be stopped before he puts us all out of business.”
“No,” Michael said abruptly. “This situation calls for finesse. And I refuse to be a party to any violence perpetrated against an officer of the law. I have no wish to hang for a capital offense.” Garrett didn’t reply, merely watching him with a slight smile, which Michael ignored. “I will have a quiet word with Mayor Payton, suggesting that he might wish to investigate possible corruption in the Customs Service.”
He took a moment to drink more coffee before changing the subject. “I understand you’ve been spending a goodly amount of time lately at the Green Light.”
Garrett gave Michael a wolfish grin. “Now why would that news be of interest to you, Seavey?”