Oddments Read Online Free Page A

worn long but unqueued, western-style, his body encased in a robe of red brocaded silk that didn't quite conceal the shirt and string tie underneath. On one corner of the desk lay a black slouch hat with a red topknot. Quincannon said, "You're not Mock Don Yuen."
    "No, I am Mock Quan, his son."
    "I asked for an audience with your father."
    "My father is not here, Mr. Quincannon." Mock Quan's English was unaccented and precise. "I have been expecting you."
    "Have you now."
    "Your reputation is such that I knew you would come to ask questions about the unfortunate occurrence last night."

    "Questions which you'll answer truthfully, of course."
    "Truth is supreme in the house of Hip Sing."
    "And what is the truth of James Scarlett's death?"
    "It was arranged by the Kwong Dock and their cowardly leader, Fong Ching. You must know this."
    Quincannon shrugged. "For what purpose?"
    "Fong is vicious and unscrupulous and his hunger for power has never been sated. He hates and fears the Hip Sing, for we are stronger than any of the tongs under his yoke. He wishes to destroy the Hip Sing so he may reign as king of Chinatown."
    "He's the king now, isn't he?"
    "No!" Mock Quan's anger came like the sudden flare of a match. Almost as quickly it was extinguished, but not before Quincannon had a glimpse beneath the erudite mask. "He is a fat jackal in lion's skin, the son of a turtle."
    That last revealed the depth of Mock Quan's loathing for Little Pete; it was the bitterest of Chinese insults. Quincannon said, "Jackals feed on the dead. The dead such as Bing Ah Kee?"
    "Oh yes, it is beyond question Fong Ching is responsible for that outrage as well."
    "What do you suppose was done with the body?"
    Mock Quan made a slicing gesture with one slim hand. "Should the vessel of the honorable Bing Ah Kee have been destroyed, may Fong Ching suffer the death of a thousand cuts ten thousand times through eternity."
    "If the Hip Sing is so sure he's responsible, why has nothing been done to retaliate?"
    "Without proof of Fong Ching's treachery, the decision of the council of elders was that the wisest course was to withhold a declaration of war."
    "Even after what happened to James Scarlett? His murder could be termed an act of open aggression."
    "Mr. Scarlett was neither Chinese nor a member of the Hip Sing Company, merely an employee." Mock Quan took a pre-rolled cigarette from a box on his desk, fitted it into a carved ivory holder. "The council met again this morning. It was decided then to permit the American Terror, Lieutenant Price, and his raiders to punish Fong Ching and the Kwong Dock, thus to avoid the shedding of Hip Sing blood. This will be done soon."
    "What makes you so sure?"
    "The police now have evidence of Fong Ching's guilt."
    "Evidence?" Quincannon scowled. "What evidence?"
    "The Kwong Dock highbinder who shot Mr. Scarlett was himself shot and killed early this morning, during a police raid on Fong Ching's shoe factory. A letter was found on the kwei chan bearing the letterhead and signature of the esteemed attorney."
    "What kind of letter?"
    "I do not know," Mock Quan said. "I know only that the American Terror is preparing to lead other raids which will crush the life from the turtle's offspring."
    Quincannon was silent for a time, while he digested this new information. If anything, it deepened the piscine odor of things. At length he asked, "Whose idea was it to leave the job to the police? Yours or your father's?"
    The question discomfited Mock Quan. His eyes narrowed; he exhaled smoke in a thin jet. "I am not privileged to sit on the council of elders."
    "No, but your father is. And I'll wager you have his confidence as well as his ear, and that your powers of persuasion are considerable."
    "Such matters are of no concern to you."
    "They're of great concern to me. I was nearly shot, too, in Ross Alley. And I'm not as convinced as the police that Little Pete is behind the death of James Scarlett or the disappearance of Bing Ah