The Devils Punchbowl

Dad nods.

“This girl’s name was Ming….” Walt trails off.

“So what happened in the room?” Kelly prompts.

“I don'’t know, exactly. I just wanted to talk to her, which was stupid, because of the language problem, but when we got in there, she took off her dress and started to get in the bed. I told her I just wanted to talk. And then…then

I

started to talk. I told her about Kaeko, about my R and R in Japan, that stuff. She was listening, but she was taking off my jacket and shirt too. She got real quiet when she saw my derringer hanging around my neck, but then she smiled and took that off like it was no big deal. She pushed me down on the bed and started to get on top of me…and that’s when it happened.”

“What?” Dad asks.

“She stood up straight and started talking in a different voice. She went from sounding like a Hong Kong streetwalker to Greer Garson in about half a second. Told me to go back home to Texas if I wanted to stay alive.”

With a chill of foreboding, I get up and go to the counter, then shuffle through the pages in the FedEx package Lutjens sent.

“She took my derringer,” Walt says. “She held it on me as she backed out of the room.”

“What exactly did she say?” Kelly asks.

“She said, ‘You’re a long way from home, old man. Go back to Texas, if you want to live.’”

“Ming the Merciless,” Dad says softly.

“Ming the Merci

ful,

” Kelly corrects him.

Walt watches curiously as I cross the room and hand him a five-by-seven photo of Jiao Po. Then he looks down, stares for a couple of seconds, and says, “That'’s her. Son of a bitch. Who is she?”

“Jonathan Sands’s girlfriend. The niece of Edward Po.”

Walt’s head snaps up, his weathered cheeks flushed.

“She was supposed to kill you,” Kelly says. “Or to set you up for it, anyway. But something made her stop at the last minute.”

Walt blinks at Kelly.

“I bet the hotel maid would have found you dead tomorrow morning, probably from an apparent heart attack. A little Viagra by the bed…end of story.”

“Why didn't she do it?” I muse.

Walt snorts and shakes his head. “Because she saw I was a broke-dick old bastard in way over his head.

Damn,

that’s hard to bear.”

“Would you rather be dead?” Kelly asks.

“Maybe,” Walt mutters. “What a way to finish up.” He looks over at my father, then me. “I haven'’t helped you boys one damn bit. All I did was lose a bunch of your money. And I still don'’t know how they copped to me.”

“They could have followed you here yesterday,” I point out.

“No. I'm sure about that.”

“Were you doing anything with the white hooker?” Kelly asks. “Sexual stuff, I mean?”

“Naw. Told her I was too old to get it up anymore, and she was fine with that. Less work for the same money.”

Kelly rubs his thumb and forefinger together with a sandpaper sound. “Still, if she told any of the other girls that, it might have drawn some interest. I doubt many johns pay good money without wanting something at the end of the night. At least a little strip show, if not a blow job.”

“Maybe,” allows Walt. “But I don'’t think she would have told. She wanted me to herself. Why share an easy mark?”

“It doesn’'t matter now,” I tell him. “You did what you could. Sands is a smart son of a bitch. You probably just pushed too far too fast.”

“I am getting impatient in my old age.”

Kelly gives Walt a “buck-up” smile. “No, you’re getting too decent for the work. If you’d screwed that first whore silly, they’d never have caught onto you.”

Walt’s face remains wrinkled with concentration. “It was the girl. Ming, or Jiao, whatever. Sands sent her to try and read me, and she did. Just like a book. To tell you the truth, I feel a little shaky now. Kelly’s right. I came close to buying it tonight, without even knowing it.”

Dad gets up slowly and gives his old friend a consoling pat on the shoulder. “That means your luck’s holding, Walt. That'’s something to celebrate.”

The old Ranger shakes his head, his sense of failure palpable in the room. “No. I’d say that’s about as clear a message as a man gets that it’s time to hang up his spurs.”

“You’re not serious about driving back tonight, are you?”

“Yep. I never want to see that hotel room again, and I couldn'’t sleep now anyway. Too much to think about. And Carmelita’s been patient with me. I need to get on back to Texas.”

Dad doesn’'t waste time trying to persuade his friend to stay. He knows Walt’s mind is made up. “What can we do for you?”

“Walk me to the door, partner. That'’s it.”

We all rise and follow him into the foyer. “A pretty poor showing for me,” Walt says, shaking hands all around. “But don'’t lose heart. Kelly, you quoted that old ‘One riot, one Ranger’ saw to me on the night we first met. I'’ll leave you with the real one we used to live by.”

The foyer falls silent, and Walt Garrity speaks with quiet conviction.

“‘No man in the wrong can stand up against a fellow that’s in the right and keeps on a’comin’.’ Cap’n Bill McDonald said that. Don’t you boys forget it, either, just ’cause things look black.” The old Ranger nods once for emphasis. “I'’ll catch you on the turnaround.”

Kelly opens the door, checks the street, then leads Walt out to his Roadtrek. Dad and I follow, my hand on the pistol in my pocket. As Walt reaches his door, I hear the whine of a small engine being driven hard, then headlights flash over us. A Volkswagen runs the stop sign at Union Street, races up to where we stand, and skids to a stop.

Kelly has his pistol out a full second before I do, the weapon light mounted beneath its barrel illuminating the face of Kim Hunter, the reporter for the

Examiner.

The guy holds up both hands and shouts, “Penn, it’s me! Kim!”

“He’s okay!” I tell Kelly. “What are you doing here?”

“Are we safe out here?”

“Safe as anywhere.”

“I'm getting out.” Hunter climbs out of the Volkswagen, then walks to the rear of the vehicle and pops open his trunk. “Come here.” He bends out of our sight. “Hurry.”

Kelly lifts his gun again, but as we get to the back of the car, I'm stunned to find Caitlin staring up out of the small trunk. Her face is gaunt and her feet are a bloody mess, but her eyes are filled with tears of relief.

“She wouldn'’t let me call the police,” Hunter says. “Or take her to the hospital. I’'ve been driving around the block trying to see if it was safe to stop. When I saw you come out, I decided to go for it. She’s scared to death, and she can barely walk. What the hell’s going on?”

“We’'ve got her,” I say, lifting Caitlin bodily from the trunk and holding her shivering body. “Thanks, Kim. Go home, before somebody sees you. Don’t talk about this to anybody, and don'’t let anybody at the paper print one word.”

“Okay. Are you sure she’s going to be all right?”

“We’'ve got her,” Kelly says. “We owe you, buddy.”

“No, you don'’t. I love that lady, man.”

Kelly grins and pushes Hunter toward the open driver’s door. “Get going.”

As the Volkswagen pulls away, Kelly ushers Caitlin and me back toward my porch, his back to us as he turns left and right, covering the street behind us with his pistol. As we move through the door, I see Dad wave at Walt in the driver’s seat of the Roadtrek. Then the long, silver RV rolls up the street after the Volkswagen.

“Linda Church is dead,” Caitlin says, her bruised hands wrapped around a mug of coffee. “She hanged herself. I saw it. I mean, I found her right afterward. She was being held next to me. In a dog kennel.”