Free The Taylor County War by Ford Fargo

blushed as she
pulled the cords of her purse-string bag closed. “Ah, Dr. Munro, I
am coming to see you later. I have need of your professional
services.”
    “I’ll be consulting from ten
o’clock, Mrs. Pettigrew. I will look forward to our meeting.”
    Logan smiled as he walked on, well
aware that the widow had just obtained a supply of opium from one
of Tsu Chiao’s “nephews.” And he was ready to bet money that the
reason for her planned consultation with him would be to obtain a
good laxative. The extent of her addiction to the drug was manifest
by her chronic constipation and the pinpoint pupils of her eyes,
which gave her such an unattractive mien.
    He made for a plain fronted
building with steamed up windows. A large sign above the door
proclaimed it to be LI’S LAUNDRY. Beneath it in red calligraphic
painting the same thing was more mysteriously and more impressively
written in Chinese:

    中国洗衣店

    Beside the door
hung a gong, a very public sign of the Li family’s grief. For weeks
it had been rung every day in memory of Li Ch ang, the youngest son of the family, who had been
trampled to death by an outlaw’s horse when the Danby gang had
attacked the town.
    Underneath the gong there was a
bowl on a tripod. It was full of ash from the paper clothes and
paper toys that the family had burned for young Li Chang to enjoy
in the spirit world.
    A bell jangled as Logan pushed open
the door and found himself in the steamy atmosphere. Through the
steam he could see Jing Jing, the Li couple’s pretty daughter,
standing behind a counter and going through a wad of laundry
orders. She was dressed in a blue tunic with a bereavement ribbon
around her arm. At one end of the counter a statue of a family god
was covered in a red cloth. At the other end sat a small basket
cage full of straw, which contained the two white mice that had
belonged to young Chang, and which were adoringly looked after by
his three older brothers. Logan knew only too well how important
such links were to bereaved children. He had made a point of
keeping a regular check on the family ever since the tragedy.
    “Good morning, Doctor Munro,” Jing
Jing began, her mouth curling into a delightful smile. Then she
hesitated and looked past him as the door opened and Tsu Dong
stepped in. Her expression registered first pleasure, then
embarrassment. She dropped her eyes demurely.
    Young love, Logan mused to himself.
He understood both her attraction to the young man, whom he
reckoned to be about twenty-one or twenty-two, just five or six
years older than her. He was a good looking fellow, had impeccable
manners and dressed well, as did all of Tsu Chiao’s “nephews.” Yet,
whether he was actually related to the owner of the Red Chamber or
not, Logan was not sure. What he did know was that Tsu Chiao
expected absolute loyalty and total obedience from his family. The
fact that all of his nephews had the same family name did not
necessarily mean that there was a blood tie, but possibly indicated
that a binding contract or pledge had been made, of fealty to a
master.
    Logan had, on several occasions,
had to treat people who had been on the wrong side of the Wolf
Creek opium den’s owner and one or other of his nephews.
Recollecting that brought a suspicion to his mind. Could Tsu Dong
or one of the other nephews have been responsible for the mortal
wound and the protracted death of his unnamed patient?
    “Please do not think that I am
following you, Doctor Munro,” Tsu Dong said. “I was hoping to have
a word with Jing Jing.”
    The curtain that hung over the
doorway leading into the laundry itself was swept abruptly aside
and Mrs. Li stepped through. She glared at the young man.
    “Jing Jing, your father needs you,”
she snapped, without taking her eyes off Tsu Dong.
    He looked flustered for a moment,
but quickly recovered and gave a short bow. “Good morning, Mrs Li.
I was just…”
    “Quickly, Jing Jing,” Mrs. Li said,
clapping her