Dead Leprechauns & Devil Cats: Strange Tales of the White Street Society by Grady Hendrix

Author:Grady Hendrix [Hendrix, Grady]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: humor, Fiction, Steampunk, Horror
Publisher: Grady Hendrix Himself
Published: 2012-12-12T06:00:00+00:00

Fifteen minutes later we emerged, blinking, into the crazed carnival of Chinatown and for a moment I felt as if we had been transported into the pages of an enormous book that was being slammed shut. The absurdly narrow street was hemmed in by vertiginously rising buildings that hid all but a thin slice of sky, and all around us streamed Chinese letters. Black characters marched down every surface, pasted to walls, pasted to windows, pasted to the green, gold, and red wooden balconies hanging off the fronts of buildings like flowering vines. The cobblestones were carpeted with discarded Chinese newspapers and the awnings, the gables, the dormers, the goods piled outside shops, the door jambs, and the doors themselves were covered with layer after layer of writing. We were afloat in a sea of Chinese.

On all sides we were buffeted and spun about by their bodies. An endless ocean of black felt hats and half-shaved heads shoved past us, hawked gobs, clustered around Chinese Bulletin Boards, read Chinese proclamations, stood by doors shouting “Fan tan, fan tan,” pulled patrons inside darkened storefronts, dropped bundles, lifted baskets, hustled thrill seekers, greeted friends, lit cigars, and generally acted as if they were in their own country.

“Too...many...Chinese...” I stammered as my vision swam.

“Get ahold of yourself, William,” Augustus snapped, slapping me sharply across my face. “I have a plan.”

I struggled to maintain a semblance self-control.

“What do we do?“ I managed.

“We need to find the leader of the Hip Sings,” he said.

“What?“ I gasped in disbelief.

“If they stole this Heavenly Pearl then it’s likely they have it hidden in their den. Ah, that’s what I was looking for.”

He pushed off through the crowd towards a towering Irishman with a blue police coat buttoned up to his chin. I followed as best I could.

“Officer, my name is Augustus Mortimer,” Augustus said.

“And I’m policeman John Young, and the exit from Chinatown is that way,” he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. “If you want a tour of the gambling hells and opium joints you’re going to have to hire your own lobbygow because I’m an officer of the peace not your personal servant.”

“I wish to know the location of the worst Hip Sing gambling hell,” Augustus said. “The most sinister ulcer of Oriental iniquity.”

“No you don’t,” John Young said, in his thick brogue.

“Yes, I do.”

“Sir, I plunge into this boiling pot of Celestial vice to keep the peace and make sure none of our white lasses are molested by these coolie bastards. I keep them penned by betwixt Bayard, Baxter, and the Bowery and I have no time to babysit slumming swells like yourself. I recommend you find a nice white lobbygow like Chuck Connors and have him show you one of his good, clean tourist joints where you can puff a pipe of his adulterated tar and look at Opium Annie’s bubbies. Now please, piss off because I have better things to do than change yer nappies and mop yer chin.”

“Sir, you misunderstand me.

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