“Don’t take me for a fool! You’ll try to kill me in six months! Listen, this is your last night on earth. I’ve got cards, women, and booze. Do you want to spend your last night trying to sell me some bullshit or would you like to taste one of our southern belles and have some real fun?”
“You’re a cold bastard,” Marco observed. “You say you’re going to kill me and then you offer me some cheap-ass prostitutes!”
“I’ve been called worse,” Corlis said lighting a cigar. He offered his cigar box to Marco, who declined with a shake of his head. Once he got his cigar puffing, Corlis said, “If you’re talking about those women on the porch, they’re just to keep the guards alert. The real, special poontang is upstairs. I’ve even got some coontang up there. Any one of those nice girls will suck anything you want to expose.”
As they left the office a hulking blond-haired man joined them. Corlis turned to Marco. “Meet Albert Cox. You may be seeing him later. Of course, it will be under different circumstances.”
“I want to leave now!” Marco said.
“Don’t be a spoilsport,” Corlis chided. “This is a free evening. The sky’s the limit! Don’t you want to be caressed by beautiful women before you die? I’m giving you a choice most men can’t make on the eve of their death.”
“I don’t want what you’re offering! I don’t want—” Albert hit Marco in the kidneys from behind. Marco wilted like a plant left in the sun without water. It took an extreme effort not to fall to the floor. His eyes watered, but he stayed on his feet.
“Are you ready for the tour now?” Corlis asked cheerfully. Marco barely nodded his head. Corlis smiled. “Good! Good! Let’s go to the card room. I want to introduce you to some of my business companions. Some of them need to see how I manage my business operations.” Corlis led the way up the staircase, clumping with his crutch along the hallway to the last door.
The card room was significantly brighter than the hall or the office. It was a large room with electric lightbulbs in ornate wall sconces. There was a small chandelier directly over the card table, its cut-glass edges gleaming through the cigar smoke that sifted and curled up through it. Four men were sitting at a green felt-covered card table talking loudly about the cards that had been played. Three more men stood around the table adding their perspective to the actions on the felt.
One of the men sitting at the table asked, “Where is the ace of spades? I’ve been counting. I know it’s out there.”
“Gentlemen! Gentlemen!” Corlis called out in a loud voice. Once he had their attention, he introduced Marco. “Gentlemen, I want you to meet our messenger, our Diogenes, who will not twist or misinterpret our message, but who will relay it faithfully to our associates in Chicago. Here is Marco Volante, a man who is still wanted in New York City by certain friends of ours.” Corlis turned to Marco with a smile and winked, “Surprised you, huh? We’re not as country as you think! We know about you. You would never be the one picked to bring us an honest deal.”
Corlis turned and faced his guests and said, “I think it’s only fair that Mr. Volante see that he’s not just dying for a bunch of bindle stiffs. I want to introduce you to him.” Corlis turned to Marco and pointed out different men to him. “That’s Fred, the mayor of New Orleans; that’s Harry, the next governor of Louisiana. The only man that can beat Long’s machine. That’s Orwell, the president of Merchant’s Insured Bank; here’s Barney, the new assessor. I think’s that’s enough. He’s got the idea now. Thank you, gents. Let’s go up to the top floor now.”
A tremendous explosion went off in front of the house and everyone but Albert, Marco, and Corlis rushed to the window and pulled the curtains all the way back. “Isn’t that your car that’s burning, Fred?” one of the men asked.
“Goddamn it! What’s going on out there, Corlis?” Fred exclaimed. “I can’t replace that car!”
Corlis ordered, “Sergeant Dietrich, go out and get me a report!”
Felix stood up and saluted. “Will do, sir. Hold the deal until I return.” Felix went and strapped on his holster and went out the door.
“Good thing that car was a campaign donation, isn’t it?” Orwell asked.
“How do you know that?” Fred challenged.
“I gave it to you, you fool!” Orwell snapped in return and all the men at the window laughed.
They were milling back toward the table when the second explosion went off, followed shortly by a third.
Everyone was facing the window but Marco and Albert, when King walked in the door dragging Felix’s body. He wore a light-colored Stetson with a broad brim and a long oilskin coat. Albert was the first to react. He attempted to pull his gun from its holster, but King’s bullets hit him before he cleared leather. King’s silencer muffled his shots. Albert’s body crashing to floor was what drew everyone’s attention from the window.
Harry demanded, “Who the hell are you?”
King smiled and answered. “I’m the ace of spades and I ain’t been played!”
Corlis’s face turned white as the blood drained from it. The door at the end of the room opened and Claude Duryea walked in carrying a double-barreled shotgun. Outside the window came the sound of strafing fire from a big machine gun.
Orwell asked, “What’s going on, Corlis? Who are these men?”
“Tell him, Corlis!” King urged. “Tell him who I am and that tonight all yo’ asses is mine! You boys have done yo’ deeds on this here earth!”
“You’re alive?” Corlis was aghast. His face revealed his shock.
King laughed easily. “You put a kink in my step, but you didn’t break my stride.”
“How can you be alive?” Corlis choked out, his anger swelling his throat.
“Black magic!” King replied with a smile. “Black magic strong tonight! You feel it, Claude?”
“I feel it,” answered the man with the shotgun.
Suddenly, Marco realized who was standing in front of him. The machine-gun fire outside the window brought it all together. The same sounds had predominated during the hits on both Don Vitorio and Don Pascarella. “You’re King Tremain!” he exclaimed with surprise.
“Corlis, who the smart white boy in the plantation suit?”
“A greaser from New York who’s going to die the same way you are!” Corlis twisted to pull the magnum from the waistband of his trousers. King’s first shots were intended for Marco, but Corlis staggered into their path, trying to pull the big gun clear. The bullets hit Corlis in the chest and shoulder, knocking him off balance, and when he hit the floor the big revolver discharged. Corlis screamed as his remaining good leg was shattered. Claude opened fire at the same time, discharging both barrels. Corlis’s guests threw themselves on the floor to avoid getting shot. King motioned for Claude to leave and threw two hand grenades into the room, shouting, “You run with the devil, you die with the devil!” He turned and walked out the door. The concussive blasts of the grenades shook the walls and pieces of plaster fell from the ceiling as King walked down the stairs toward the front door.
There was a bunch of women in the foyer cowering on the floor. When they saw King they shrieked and huddled together. One of them kicked a bag toward King and said, “There’s the money. Take it!”
“Give him all of it, Mary Jo!” another woman urged.
“Alright! Take it all!” Mary Jo said, pushing a larger bag toward him.
“This from Corlis’s safe?” he asked. She nodded. “How much is it?” King asked, pointing at the larger bag with his pistol.
“About twenty-five thousand dollars,” the woman answered. “There’s ten thousand in the smaller one,” she said as he pointed to the smaller bag.
“Open it up!” King directed, pointing at the larger bag. She obeyed and pushed the bag closer to him. He looked inside and assured himself that it was filled with paper money. “I’ll take the larger one. You girls can have the ten thousand dollars. But if you wants to stay alive, you best hit the back door now, cause I’m gon’ blow this place up! And once you hit the back door keep goin’ straight, ’cause if’en you show up around the front of the house, I’m gon’ take it that you means to fight!” Then King took the bundle of dynamite out of his coat pocket and lit the fuse. He set the bundle by the interior pillars of the hallway. Bag in hand, he walked out the front door like he owned the place.
When King had first started firing, Marco had thrown himself backward toward the doorway through which he had entered. He landed near the door and scrambled to his feet. He got out of the room just as bullets splintered the doorjamb behind him. A few of the buckshot pellets from the shotgun blasts had embedded themselves in his shoulders and chest. Blood was seeping through his clothes. The only other door in the room opened out onto the hall. There was no other way out. Outside the window there was a young evergreen tree growing close to the house. The explosion of the first grenade made up his mind. He ran through the window with as much power and speed as he could muster. He hit one of the wooden supports with his shoulder and the window shattered, raking his bare skin with slivers of glass. He fell down into the tree, branches snapping beneath his weight. He grasped futilely for solid hold until a branch swung up and smacked him hard in the face. He was able to grab the branch and significantly slow his fall. The branch broke once it had to bear his weight and he fell eight feet to earth. He landed off balance and a warning pain shot up his leg as his ankle twisted.
Marco lay for a minute on his back under the tree, trying to gather his senses. Using branches of the tree, he pulled himself erect. He could not put weight on his right foot. He put his hand to his face and discovered that he was bleeding from several different places. The blood was dripping onto his clothes. He saw big red splotches on his jacket and pants. He had nothing to stanch the blood with so he couldn’t give it a great deal of attention. Leaning against the tree he quickly surveyed his surroundings. Four cars were still burning, the flames leaping high above their metal frames. The lights on the front porch were out and he could see no one moving. Further down the drive were several cars that had escaped the explosions. He dropped to his knees and crawled to one of the three cars that had not been destroyed. Fear was heavy upon him. He did not feel the chafing and abrasions on his hands and knees as he pushed himself as fast as he could go. Once he was beyond the burning vehicles the darkness covered him. The first car was locked, so was the second, but the third was open. He saw there was no key in the ignition and pulled himself through the back passenger door into the backseat and lay on the floor. He had his derringer in his hand. As he lay there in the darkness he heard a tremendous deafening explosion. The ground beneath the car shook with its force.
Marco heard a heavy truck drive up from the gate, its brakes squeaking as it pulled to a stop. He heard muffled voices and the sound of heavy equipment being loaded into the truck. Another car arrived shortly thereafter. He listened as the man from the car greeted the men loading the truck.
“Looks like you boys been busy.” The voice had a slightly nasal southern drawl.
“We done got rid of somebody who didn’t like you! How do, Anthony.”
“I’m doin’ alright, LeRoi. So, you heard that, huh? Must’ve been from Cap’n Mack ’cause he’s the one who told me you got hitched.”
“Sho’ did! Tied the knot and jumped the broom! Listen, Anthony, everybody call me King now. I appreciate you do the same.”
“Didn’t mean no offense. I guess I was thinkin’ about all the huntin’ and fishin’ we did out on the bayous with our uncles when we was mere boys.”
“I hear you made sergeant, huh? So it’s Sergeant Pointdexter now?”
“Yep, yo’ little war with Corlis done left a lot of vacancies for promotion. I expect to move up even more.”
“Cap’n Mack told me you might even be in line for the appointment to sheriff until they organizes the election. That right?”
“Can’t count yo’ chickens befo’ they hatch,” Pointdexter answered with a chuckle.
“You’s a fair man, Anthony, and a good man. You always was. I hopes you get it. I knows everybody includin’ colored folks will get a fair shake from you. Now, ’bout this situation here, I figgers them Italians bootleggers done hit the city of New Orleans hard, killin’ the mayor and the sheriff and all. Y’all folks best come down hard on ’em! Meanwhiles you should try to catch that one that Corlis was plannin’ to kill. He maybe got some information that will help you.”
“I’ll use that Italian bootlegger idea, but I ain’t arrestin’ nobody to be tortured. That’s Corlis. That ain’t me. Them days is over long as I have any say in it. We gon’ try livin’ by the letter of the law.”
“As I said, you’s a good man and a fair man. I wish you luck! We gots to hit it befo’ yo’ troops arrive.”
“Yep, you got about ten minutes befo’ the first ones get here, Le—King. You best take the back road past the Duelin’ Oak and come around that way.”
“Thanks, Anthony, we’ll follow yo’ advice!” The truck door squeaked open and Marco heard it slam shut as King climbed aboard.
“One more thing, King. I know you got a bootleg business too. I appreciate if you’d stay out of New Orleans with it. You can go around and take it where you want, just don’t bring it in the city. That way, I won’t have to see you in no official capacity.”
King answered, “Fair enough! Fair enough! Best to yo’ family!” The truck’s engine rumbled to life and, with the growl of gears, chugged down the road.
Marco was shaking his head. So that’s how King Tremain was able to breach Corlis’s security. A Sergeant Pointdexter had given him the key and that same sergeant was going to give the newspapers a false report. That report would marshal the forces against the Don’s bootleg operations and business would be severely hampered, if not choked off. All Marco’s strategies and plans had ended up in ruins. Back in Chicago, his enemies would be saying that Marco had blown another critical assignment. Some might even compare it to New York. Once again, King had been instrumental in the destruction of Marco’s dreams, aspirations, and reputation.
Another explosion shook the ground. Marco peeped out of the rear window and saw the side wall of the mansion collapse and the second story cave in on top of it. He heard the sound of running feet. Marco ducked down again and gripped his derringer firmly.