Free Utah Terror : Utah Terror (9781101606971) by Jon Sharpe Page A

all that,” Han was saying while stroking his mustache. “In Hunan anyone who is Chinese need not fear for their life. In Hunan they will find only respect, and safety.” Han looked at him. “Noble goals, are they not?”
    â€œWhat about the House of Pleasure?”
    â€œWhat about it?” Han rejoined. “It is open to all.”
    â€œI’ve heard tell you force girls to work in it against their will.”
    â€œNot so,” Han said. “It would be most unwise. The girls would be unhappy and not perform as they should. You were there today. Did any of the female flowers you saw look unhappy to you?”
    Fargo had to admit they didn’t.
    By now they were halfway around the chamber and near the double doors.
    Han stopped and tapped a finger against his chin. “Have I answered most of the questions that have been bothering you?”
    â€œSome,” Fargo allowed. “But you haven’t explained
them
.” He nodded at the Tong.
    â€œWhat is there to explain?” Han said. “They are in my employ and do the things I cannot due to my age.”
    â€œAnd the hatchets?”
    Han grinned and nodded at the holster on Fargo’s hip. “As you Americans like to say, you are a fine one to talk. Many of your countrymen go around with a firearm of one kind or another.”
    â€œNot back east,” Fargo said.
    â€œBut we are not back in the East,” Han replied, “and we need protection as much as you do.” He nodded at the nearest Tong. “In China we do not have many guns. We have swords. And bows. And knives. And, yes, hatchets. My Tong carry them to protect themselves as you carry your revolver for protection. Surely that makes perfect sense to you?”
    Again, Fargo had to admit it did.
    â€œIn time, perhaps, I will have them carry guns, as well,” Han remarked. “But for now their hatchets suffice.”
    Fargo was tempted to point out that hatchets were no match for six-shooters, but didn’t.
    Suddenly Han wheeled and made for the dais. “Follow me, if you would. I have taken up too much of your time as it is and there is a matter to settle yet.”
    Fargo trailed after him. The meeting hadn’t turned out like he thought it would. Maybe, just maybe, Han wasn’t the ogre that the O’Briens and Bannon painted him as.
    Climbing the dais, the old man sat in the oversized chair and adopted a regal mien. He addressed his underlings in Chinese.
    â€œI am to tell you,” Lo Ping whispered, “that my master has asked me to translate what comes next.”
    Han clapped his hands and a pair of Tong left the chamber. They weren’t gone more than a minute. When they returned, Nan Kua was between them, his wrists bound in front of him.
    â€œWhat’s this?” Fargo asked.
    Nan Kua was marched to the dais. He, too, bowed his head.
    Han went on at some length in Chinese. Several times Nan Kua winced and once he visibly shook. Finally Han looked at Fargo. “This man is in my employ. That he attacked you without permission has brought great shame. I cannot apologize enough.”
    â€œNo need,” Fargo said. “It’s over.”
    â€œIn your eyes, perhaps. But the Tong live by a code, you might call it. When that code is broken there are consequences. I must impose those consequences or be seen as weak.”
    Fargo wondered what Han was leading up to. He didn’t wonder long.
    The venerable master of Hunan nodded at a hatchet man on Nan Kua’s right. And just like that, the man buried a hatchet in Nan Kua’s head.

11
    It happened so fast, Fargo was caught flat-footed. Not that he would have intervened on Nan Kua’s behalf.
    For a few seconds Nan Kua stood still, the ax handle jutting from above his ear and blood spraying in a fine mist. Then his eyes rolled up and he collapsed. His body erupted in violent convulsions that ended with a last great exhale.
    No one, not