Arrival
It
has been said that man's greatest addiction is a woman. For some men
this addiction is so strong that like any addiction it destroys them,
then there are those that this addiction barely registers. I once
knew a man who would be in the latter category. Some might even say
he was celibate, no one ever said he was gay, not even a murmur.
Unlike most men he was not very good when talking to the opposite
gender, sometimes he talked a little to much to the point of just
rambling and would smoke like a factory's stack. Most generally he
was a quiet man seeking solitude inside himself which made him one of
the best in his line of work. You see, Martin was one of the best
private investigators to be found in the North West. The folk told
stories that Martin had been hired by the U.S. Marshals and the Royal
Mounties in Canada to help investigate a multitude of crimes that
baffled them.
When
I first met Martin I was just a young prospector who had come out to
Montana Territory to make my lot. I had arrived in the Territory
Capital of Virginia City on June 12th 1866, barely
twenty-five of age I stumbled into a saloon. It was near
mid-afternoon and the saloon was mostly empty except the bar-maid, a
bulging red-headed man chatting it up with the bar-maid and a average
sized man in a long brown duster with his hat pulled over his brow,
this man I had nearly missed if it had not been for the unique smell
of the tobacco he smoked. He sat in the corner of the saloon penning
something in a notebook. I set my pack by a stool and took a seat at
the bar, ordered a pint of beer. As I sat there enjoying the taste of
a lukewarm ale two dusty men with rifles slung over their shoulders
that I take to be some form of law enforcement here in the territory
enter the saloon. One of them is an older gent, in his mid-fifties
with a whitening mustache looks around until he finds the man sitting
in the corner, writing in a note-book. Both riflemen walk over to the
man and sat across from him after the younger man, a tall, skinny
blond and blue eyed fellow around my age, order a bottle of whiskey
to be brought over. Between me a the man in the corner is only a span
of nearly thirty paces, just close enough where I can pick up the
conversation but far enough not to draw attention. What I heard would
change my life from that day on and in more ways than I could have
ever imagine.
“We
found another body up on Antelope Bluff, it looks the same as the
last.” The older man tries to whisper to the man across from him
but can't manage such a hushed tone.
“You
and your boy thought it was one of the Crow trappers that came in. If
I remember you even hung the half blood Crow two months ago. Stating
that you have solved the crime of the murder on Antelope Bluff. Now
you have a fresh kill, exact type to the first you say? So that means
you hung the wrong man. What will you tell Mrs. Lewis now?” The man
in the corner says in a voice barely audible tone but as cold as
icicles pressed through one's heart.
“Who
is Mrs. Lewis?” The younger man speaks up looking back and forth
between the two men.
Once
again the man in the corner speaks, raising his head a bit, “The
half blood Crow's wife. Guess that detail never came up in you
investigation, nor the fact that she is with child. So what do you
want from me Mason.” He says turning to the older man.
“I
would like you to look into this matter.”
“Why
should I. I can't think of any reason for me to help with this. I am
not a lawman.”
“Look
Trigger. You are the only one that knows about these chinks. Hell you
lived among them for years in their country. You understand them.”
The older man states, which has drawn the most curious, quizzical
glance from his younger partner. “Hell you were married to what two
of them.”
“First
of all Mason they are not chicks the are Chinese. Second I have
little knowledge of the Chinese, I lived in Japan. Japanese and
Chinese are very different in many ways. This I can assure you.
Lastly who I was married to is none of your business.” The man in
the corner snarls. “Anyways, why are you concerned about the
Chinese? Do you think they have something to do with these murders
now?”
“Yes,
I believe so. It is something we found carved onto the body and
this.” Mason says handing a small green pendant to the man in the
corner.
The
man in the corner exams the piece for a couple of minutes then raises
his head so that he is eye to eye with Mason. “Okay. I will take
it. On a couple of conditions.”
“What
are they?”
“No
one is to be arrested until I say. I want to be sure. Second I will
need to receive some form of payment, half up front. I believe fifty
dollars will be fine.”
“I
can arrange the half of fifty to be sent to you this evening.”
“You
misunderstand Mason. Fifty is half, the full amount is a hun.”
“Why
so much? That is nearly double of what we paid you last year for the
event with the stagecoach.” Says the young blond who's face has
flushed red with anger.
“Calm
down Wallace, I am sorry to create a stir but I thought you heard
that I have taken on an assistant.” Says the man in the corner.
“Okay.
I will make the arrangements for you to receive half payment of fifty
dollar this evening. Thank you Trigger.” States Mason.
“Mason,
have the body sent over with the payment.” Trigger says as the two
visitors stand up and start for the door. “Oh and Mason. The
pendant's writing is not Chinese but rather Arabic. The murder is not
one of ours Chinese friends.”
At
the mention of Arabic, Mason falters a step, turns towards Trigger
and tips his hat as he leaves.
Nearly
finished with my beer I start thinking about where I will stay
tonight or if I would rather stay here and enjoy my first night in
the real wild west. When I turn back to my beer I find a folded
paper. Looking back to where the man they called Trigger was sitting,
the chair was empty. Looking around the saloon, like a ghost he was
gone. Unfolding the paper, this is what it reads.
Early
morning tomorrow. Go to the inn at the end of the street, your room.
Miss Lim Cleaner, Sunrise.
Folding
up the piece of paper and stuffing it into my pocket, I place two
coins on the bar when I notice the bar-maid give me an odd look
before she speaks. “Your boss paid everything. You must be new in
town.”
“Yes,
ma'am.” Suspecting that the man she is referring to is the man
called Trigger, “Where may I find Mr. Trigger?”
“You
mean Mr. Martin. No not really, I don't think he has a home around
here, but the rumor is that he lives with the Chinese types on the
north-eastern side of town.” Says the bar-maid.
I
thank her as I pick up my pack and head out the door toward the inn
that I am supposing that my new enigmatic employer has arranged. It
seems as if the world is in a spin, here I am in the frontier and
instead of trying to pan out my riches I am now employed by some man
name Trigger Martin. Investigating a murder? What have I stepped
into? What kind of name is Trigger? Maybe I should have stayed in
Boston.
