The Doc Justice Files - Three Card Monty part 1
by Direwolf

San Francisco, February 1932

Chapter 1- The Mysterious Crate

Fog crept in from the San Francisco Bay. The thick gray streamers wound through the waterfront buildings, turning the light cast by the streetlights into hazy yellow cones in a sea of pale gray. Sounds were muffled. Odd echoes deceived the ear as to source and position. A mournful hooting could be the foghorn on Alcatraz or just a passing truck. Pedestrians swam briefly out of the fog only to vanish again, their forms lost to the mist. And while the fog spread inland lapping up the Petrero Hills and edging in to the southern city, it was heaviest along the water front. Like Hunter's Point, where a small brick warehouse stood by Pier 8.

The warehouse was occupied by a small shipping firm called West Coast Freight. They moved cargo up and down California with occasional shipments to Hawaii or 'points west'. A bit player in the city economy, no one paid much attention to the activities of this small shipping company and a few wads of bills in the right hands at certain times made select cargos even less noticeable. So West Coast Freight managed quite nicely and kept its owner, Lorenzo Costanza, in decent comfort, even if it didn't make him rich. But Lorenzo was a man who very much wanted to be rich.

"I told youze, it'll be a few more days," Lorenzo said into the telephone in his office. Beads of sweat rolled down his heavily jowled face despite the damp chill in the air. "China Star was delayed. Rough passage around Formosa. A couple days more, that's it."

He was silent while the voice on the other end of the phone line spoke sharply. Lorenzo started to say something but was abruptly cut off. He mopped his brow and fiddled with the phone cord while the voice continued.

"Yes, sir," he interjected at last. "I know youze paid top dollar for on time delivery. But money can't buy off a tropical storm. The captain radioed in so we knows the ship's intact, just delayed... yes, sir, soon as it's in, I'll call and you can pick up. No problems with customs."

Lorenzo winced as the voice said something decisive. A click sounded and he set the phone back on its cradle with a sigh of relief. He looked over to the shelves by the office door. These shelves were made of steel, shuttered and carefully numbered to keep track of 'special shipments', shipments that never showed up on the official company books. He knew that behind one of those shutters was a sturdy wooden crate about five feet long and two foot square. Writing on the side of the crate identified it as property of the Empire of Japan, while shipping labels gave the point of origin as Seoul in the province of Chosen. The crate came off the China Star two nights ago when she docked in San Francisco. Lorenzo knew he was playing a dangerous game, but if he was right, the stakes were worth it. But time was running out. He needed a buyer and quickly. And there was only one with the cash he wanted and the willingness to buy something this hot and esoteric. The problem was, they were at least as dangerous as the man who ordered the box.

Lorenzo chewed an unlit cigar and looked at the locked cabinet. This might be his only chance for a really big score.

"Have you got the stones for this?" He asked himself. Then he picked up the phone and dialed quickly, lest he loose his nerve. The phone range four times.

"Wu San Benevolent Society," a voice answered in Cantonese.

"I say, you should get your nose out of those plan things and come out for a night on the town with me," Lord Gawaine Paget, or Go-on to his friends, insisted the moment he charged though the door into Justin Collin's office.

The office occupied much of the penthouse level of Number One, Post Street in downtown San Francisco. The upper four floors of the eighteen story high rise were occupied by a number of companies that all were collected under Collins Industries, of which Justin Collins was the majority stockholder and chairman of the board. Justin kept his apartment along with his electromagnetics laboratory on the rest of the 12th floor. Go-on was one of the few people that had unlimited access.

"I've got to finish up this bid on wiring for the new bridge they are building between San Francisco and the Marin Headlands. They started mechanical construction last month but the electrical contract is still up for grabs. Quite an opportunity."

"Oh, go on!" the lanky Englishman exclaimed as he settled gracefully into one of the overstuffed leather chairs by Justin's desk. As always, Lord Gawaine was dressed impeccably and managed to make his sprawled posture somehow elegant. "They'd have to be mad to go with any one else. Granted all you colonials are mad, always going on about freedom and liberty. You should be sensible like we are and have a good old monarchy so you can poke fun at a king or queen and malign your own aristocrats. It's quite a lot of fun, you know."

Justin grinned. "We tried that for a while, didn't like it, so booted the lot of you tea swillers out."

Go-on nodded solemnly. "And just look how things have gone downhill since then. In any case, you need to come with me. I've got theater tickets for this evening; something called "What the Butler Saw", and promised my sister you'd be there. Your bid proposal can wait, they haven't even got pilings driven yet for this bridge of yours."

Justin flushed slightly, his tanned, reddish skin taking on an almost copper hue. Go-on had been trying to get his younger sister, Lady Britamart Paget marred off for years and Justin seemed to still be the prime candidate. While Justin didn't consider himself a prude, Britt was a little too frivolous and wild for his tastes. Besides, with his companies to run, international job offers coming in, and his own taste for adventure, who had time for a wife? Justin was sure it wouldn't be fair to any woman to marry the likes of him.

"Not bad for an orphan kid, " he thought as he looked out the office window at the fog encroaching from the bay. Granted, he'd started out with a decent inheritance from his parents who died in the great San Francisco earthquake, but he had handled it well. The five-year-old boy orphaned by the quake had been given into the care of his elderly uncle Randolph Collins, an irascible old man who despised convention and loved exploring the hidden corners of the globe. Rather then leave his young charge in a boarding school as convention would dictate, old Randolph decided to take the child with him and let him 'be schooled by the world, no better education to be had'.

So young Justin joined his uncle on a wandering path, from the steaming jungles of the Far East, the ancient cities of Europe, to the dry plains of central Africa. Along the way, Justin discovered he had a flair for languages, picking them up with amazing speed as well as love of distant horizons. And the boy grew up. He thrived under the rigors of travel becoming a remarkable physical specimen, graced with phenomenal strength, endurance and agility. And he acquired his Uncle's out-look as well. Under the gruff exterior, Randolph Collins was a deeply caring man, a true citizen of the world. He showed Justin there was just as much dignity in a Zulu cattleman sharing his meager food around a dung fire as would be found in the Spanish Court.

"We are all the same under our skins, boy," the old man would state with complete conviction. "There's good and bad in all of us. Always encourage the good but don't forget the bad."

When Justin turned sixteen, his uncle insisted that he be enrolled in a 'proper school'. He long suspected that his uncle had taken this step so he'd be out of the way while the Great War came to Europe. Justin had long since realized his uncle had connections to the various intelligence agencies and not just American. Uncle Randolph sent Justin to a top-notch boarding school in England where he met the young Lord Gawaine Paget. Later, both men attended Stanford University in California where Justin took twin doctorates, one in electrical engineering and the other in linguistics. Gawaine was satisfied with a degree in Mathematics with a minor in surveying and a self-awarded doctorate in high living.

Out of school, Justin took his carefully preserved trust fund and invested in his own inventions, turning it into a sizable fortune and several thriving companies. Go-on split his time between squandering the allowance provided by his elder brother, Galahad, on good times and expensive cloths, and following Justin around as his chief surveyor on construction projects. Despite their differences, the two were dedicated friends, closer then most brothers and partners in countless scrapes, near disasters and adventures.

"You've got that far-away look in your eyes again," Go-on observed. "We jaunting off to Borneo or going somewhere dreadfully uncivilized like Manchester? I wonder if they have forgotten about that painted sheep incident of ours..."

Justin burst out laughing. "I would have sworn your Bobbies never lost their tempers before that night! All right, not Borneo and not Manchester, they may still have warrants out for us, but the theater sounds safe enough."

"Right-o, lets go then. And we need to take your car. My cousin, the governor of Hong Kong, sent me a special package that is supposed to have arrived day before yesterday. I need to go pick it up from some little place called, hang on..."

Go-on dug a letter from his coat pocket. "Ah, West Coast Freight."

"Fine, "Justin said, collecting his leather coat from the coat rack by the door. "But that means I won't get to change into something more fitting for the theater."

Go-on smiled brightly as he unfolded from his chair. "With me along, who'll notice that you aren't exactly stylish? Besides, my sister won't mind anyway."

"Why do I think I'm going to regret this?"

"Because you are a dour old businessman, I'd say."

Justin knew better than to try for the last word with Go-on. They rode down to the lobby in companionable silence. As the doors opened, a huge black man in a chauffeur's uniform set aside a copy of the San Francisco Chronicle and stood up. Towering over six and a half feet tall, Lucas Jefferson was Justin's driver and an old friend as well as one of the few people he'd ever met who was stronger then he was. And standing next to Lucas made even the six feet, one inch tall Justin look small.

"What's new in the world?" Justin asked as the three of them headed out of the building.

"Nothing too much. Mostly just our Mr. Hearst doing whatever it takes to sell his papers. Europe is a bit hot. I'll tell you what's up while we drive, sir." Lucas opened the back door of a nondescript black sedan. Though Justin had tried on several occasions to make Lucas a professional advisor since the huge black man possessed near perfect recall of anything he read, Lucas insisted on keeping his job as chauffeur. And Justin valued his friendship too much to push.

"Thank you, my good man, here's a coin for your efforts!" Go-on flipped a penny in the air as he slid in. Lucas deftly caught the penny, holding it between his thumb and first finger. He squeezed down, folding the coin in half and tossed it back.

"Talk about a cheap tipper, I'll remember next time you asks for a cup of tea."

"I think you had best talk to your staff, Justin, they are getting uppity."

"I'll show you uppity, right uppity side of your empty head!"

The good-natured jibs between Go-on and Lucas continued as they pulled away from the curb into the early evening traffic. Justin ignored the sniping; Gawaine and Lucas had been squabbling like a couple of wet roosters for years and to date neither had thrown a blow. They seemed to somehow keep track of who scored the best verbal hit on each other and paid off in drinks at a local bar named Specs.

Justin sat back and watched the city flow past. In his mind, he could still see the devastated landscape left by the earthquake like a ghost of the past hidden at the edge of perception behind the present. He could still smell the dust, smoke and burning flesh.

"Is the past like that for everyone?" he wondered. "Are we all haunted by memories?"

Then he noticed a wicker basket emitting far more enticing aromas from the front seat. He leaned forward "Unless I've been breathing ink fumes and ozone too long, there are Fu Lees steamed buns in there! How did he know to send down a basket for dinner?"

"Right-o," Go-on exclaimed, making a reach for the basket, "we can ask him later! Right now let's see what he packed!"

Lucas' shoulder blocked his grab. "No you don't. If you get in there first, Justin and I will be lucky for crumbs. Never seen anyone eat like you and stay rail thin. Must be that you are too plumb mean for fat to take to!"

That set them off again. Justin got hold of the basket and shared it out. Fu Lee was his Chinese housekeeper, valet and instructor, teaching him both oriental languages and some of their exotic fighting arts as well. In addition, Fu Lee was a remarkable cook. The basket held a dozen fresh steamed buns, oranges and cups of cold tea. Justin made sure everyone got his share; despite Go-on claiming he was famished since he missed lunch. At the bottom of the hamper, Justin found a heavy bundle wrapped in oiled cloth. A note on the outside read 'You forget this yet again, sir', in Fu Lee's elegant hand. Justin unwrapped it, knowing what he'd find. The smell of gun oil mixed with the scent of the food.

"That what I think it is?" Lucas asked, glancing in the review mirror.

Justin held the gun where Lucas could see it. The worn grip of the forty-five-caliber army automatic fit comfortably in his hand.

"Now, you told him you would keep it with you, ever since that trouble with those would-be kidnappers," Go-on chided.

"Yes I did, I just think it's the police's job to deal with criminals, not ours." Justin slipped the heavy gun into the pocket of his leather coat. "Do you have yours?"

In answer, Go-on held open his tailored jacket. There was a snub-nosed revolver tucked under his arm. "Here in the wild west, a man has to keep his shooting iron near by."

"Fu's good people," Lucas said. "He just worries about you."

"Like a mother would, you mean," Justin complained. "Now if you are all finished ordering my life, let's hear what's up in Europe."

The rest of the drive passed quickly as Lucas started a synopsis of what he had read in the papers. He stopped the car in front of a run down brick building by pier 8 with a barely illuminated sign that read West Coast Freight. Coils of fog streamed around the building as if the sea were trying to pull it back into the bay.

"Right-o, let's see what Cousin Spiffy sent from the Far East. Hope it's something to make this beastly Prohibition nonsense easier to bear."

"Spiffy?" Lucas asked.

"I have no idea," Justin answered. They followed the rapidly moving Englishman, catching up as he reached a desk just inside the rolling doors to the warehouse. There, a startled man in workman's coveralls stared at the dapper Go-on who began speaking quickly while gesturing with his black walking stick.

"Right-o, my good chap. I'm Lord Gawaine Paget, this stalwart lad with poor taste in both friends and cloths is the esteemed Doctor Justin Collins, PhD., who I am sure you have heard of since he's one of this cities most famous citizens, And lest I be accused of bad manners, the walking hill is our associate Mr. Lucas Jefferson. I see by the nametag on your well-used overalls that you are Jeff. Well, Mr. Jeff, I am sure you are wondering what brought three gentlemen of such fine quality to your humble establishment. Oh, go on! I know you want to ask."

Jeff was about to say they were closed for the night when Gawaine contained.

"It is easy enough to understand, my good Jeff, we are here to pick up a parcel that was posted from the Far East on the China Star. It's most urgent that we get it quickly since we have tickets to "What the Butler Saw" and as we all know, time, tide and opening night curtain wait for no man. So do fetch it for us, master Jeffery and we shall be on our way." Gawaine took out a five-dollar bill from a long wallet and set it on the desk.

Jeff never thought of himself as stupid. He knew the boss had a crate from the China Star that was in the 'special section" and had been on pins and needles ever since it got here. He figured it was hot and the boss didn't want it sitting around too long. And here was this fast talking brit who came for the case and was willing to tip him a five spot to get it. How could it get any better?

"Just a minute, I'll get it for you," Jeff said. The boss kept the office locked but Jeff knew where the spare key was. Mr. Costanza had left about an hour ago in a hurry without leaving any instructions. This was Jeff's chance to get rid of the troublesome box and make an extra five bucks on the deal. He pulled the spare key from the can near the door and stepped into the office. The shelves were locked but Jeff had learned a trick with he old locks. One sharp blow from the heel of his hand popped up the center most cabinet. The long box was right there on the shelf. He didn't notice the smaller box two shelves down addressed to Lord Gawaine Paget in San Francisco. The large crate was heavy enough that Jeff struggled to get back to his desk. "Here you go, sir!"

"Right-o, do you need me to sign a receipt or anything like that?" Go-on set another five-dollar bill atop the first. He looked at the box. It was larger then he expected.

"Oh, no need!" Jeff insisted, pocketing the green backs. With a bit of luck and inside information at the track, he could turn this into a real bankroll. "Gentlemen of your quality has to be trustworthy."

"Oh, go on! You see Justin, I was wrong. There are folks who understand quality in this wilderness. Off we go. Um. Lucas, can you give me a hand?"

With a grin, Lucas set the crate on his broad shoulder. As they left, Justin glanced at the box.

"That's odd," he thought, reading the Japanese writing on the side, "Why would Go-on's cousin have a box addressed to the Japanese Science Ministry?"

Lucas set the box in the trunk of the car. Justin and Gawaine got into the back seat and Lucas took his familiar position behind the wheel.

"To the Crest Theater, my good man," Go-on said, taking a cigarette out of a monogrammed silver case. "My sister awaits."

As the car pulled away, Justin looked back to the warehouse as it rapidly vanished into the gathering dusk and fog. That crate puzzled him. After the show, he'd have to ask Go-on if he could have a look inside. There was little that Justin liked more then a good mystery.

To be continued...