Vendetta Trail (14 page)

“You son of…” Farley said. He tried to raise his pistol but
before he could do so, his eyes rolled back in his head and he fell back onto the body of his brother.

So taken aback was everyone by what they had just seen that, for a long moment, no one said a word. It was Tangeleno who broke the silence.

“I told you, I didn’t want to use that gun,” Tangeleno said.

Tangeleno put his pistol back in the shoulder holster, then turned to the bartender.

“I’ll have that beer now,” he said.

“Yes, sir!” the bartender replied, as awestruck as everyone else by what he had just seen.

When the little bell in Smalley’s Mercantile called Louise to the front again, she saw Maggie coming into the store. Maggie, who was one of the whores who worked out of the Brown Dirt Saloon, knew about Louise’s background and the two women had become friends.

“Hello, Maggie,” Louise said, greeting her warmly.

“Louise,” Maggie said, eager to share her news. “Did you hear what happened in the saloon while ago?”

“No.”

“Deekus and Farley Carter got themselves killed.”

“Both of them got killed?”

“Yes.”

“That’s a shame,” Louise said. “But, from what people say about Deekus, it doesn’t come as that big of a surprise. He was always trying to provoke someone into doing something. You say both of them were killed? Good heavens, they didn’t kill each other, did they?”

“No,” Maggie said. “Like you said, Deekus was always provoking someone. Only today, I guess he provoked the wrong one.”

“Was it murder?”

“No, the sheriff has already come over and talked to
everyone, and they all agree on what happened. Deekus got himself killed, then Farley stepped in, and the little Italian fella killed him too.”

Louise gasped. “You say it was an Italian man who did it?”

“Yes. That’s what surprised everyone. I mean, who would’ve thought a little fella like that could handle both Deekus and Farley?”

“Oh, Maggie,” Louise said, the expression on her face one of fear. “Please don’t tell anyone that I told you, but I know that man. His name is Tangeleno.”

“Tangeleno, yes, that’s what he said. How do you know him?”

“I knew him in New Orleans. He is more dangerous than a rattlesnake. Don’t cross him—ever.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t.”

LATE IN THE AFTERNOON OF THE THIRD DAY AFTER
the incident with Apolloni, the Delta Mist put in at Leclede’s Landing in St. Louis. Unlike all their stops at the small towns downriver where they were the only boat tied up, here in St. Louis it was difficult to find a berthing place. That was because there were at least ten other passenger-carrying boats and an even greater number of barges and cargo boats crowded against the bank. In addition, several boats were parked just offshore, the strong, six mile per hour current causing them to pull hard against their anchors.

Fully half the boats were Missouri River boats, easily identified because they had much shallower drafts and smaller superstructures. The riverbank was crowded, not by the curious, but by those people whose commerce required their presence. It was also a noisy place, with whistles, bells, chugging steam engines, the slap of paddles against the water and the clatter of horse, mule, and oxen hooves, as well as iron-rimmed wheels rolling over cobblestone as the large wagons took on or offloaded the cargoes carried by the boats.

Hawke was in his cabin, preparing to disembark. Although
there was a small red line on his side, the result of his encounter with Apolloni, the cut was so light that it had already closed and required no attention.

“Mason, are you ready?”

Hawke had left the door to his cabin open and, looking around, he saw Rachel standing there. Her suitcase was beside her.

“Yes,” Hawke said, putting on his hat. Going to the door, he picked up her suitcase so that he was carrying both of them.

There were several passengers getting off in St. Louis, and Hawke and Rachel stood patiently in line as they waited for the crowd to dissipate. That was when the purser came up to them.

“I’m asking everyone onboard the same question,” he said. “Have either of you seen Mr. Apolloni?”

“Apolloni?” Hawke replied. He shook his head. “I don’t think I know him.”

“Well, there’s no reason you should,” the purser said. “But he did seem interested in your music—and quite intrigued with you, Miss Smith.”

“With me?”

“Yes, he found you very attractive. Of course, that’s not all that surprising. I can’t imagine anyone not finding you attractive.”

“Why, thank you,” Rachel said.

“Where is Mr. Apolloni now?” Hawke asked. “I would be glad to meet him.”

“Well, that’s just it,” the purser said. “I don’t know where he is. I haven’t seen him in a couple of days and he is supposed to disembark here. When I sent a steward to check his cabin, the steward reports that it was not slept in last night.”

“Maybe he got off before we reached St. Louis,” Hawke suggested.

“Yes, there is that possibility, of course,” the purser said.
“There is also the possibility that he may have fallen overboard during the night.”

“Oh, let’s hope not,” Hawke said.

“Indeed,” the purser agreed. He reached out to shake Hawke’s hand. “I must say, Mr. Hawke, it has been a pleasure having you aboard. I shall miss all the beautiful music.”

“Thank you very much. Playing for your passengers has been quite a pleasant experience,” Hawke said.

As the purser moved on to ask others about Apolloni, the line ahead of them cleared, and the two of them walked down the gangplank and to set foot on the riverbank in St. Louis, Missouri.

Two men were standing in the crowd, watching the passengers as they left the boat. They were close enough to the gangplank to hear the purser exchange a few words with everyone who debarked. Their interest perked when they heard the reference to the music.

“That’s him, Ned,” one of the men said. He pointed to Hawke. “That’s the piano player.”

“Luby, get your hand down,” Ned said, slapping the hand away. “You want him to see you pointing at him?”

“No, I reckon not,” Luby said sheepishly. “So what do we do now?”

“We follow them,” Ned said.

In addition to Ned and Luby, there was yet another person in the crowd who had watched, with interest, as the passengers disembarked. Dominico Dallipiccola was too far away from the boat to hear the purser or to hear the conversation between Ned and Luby. But when he saw their interest in a man and woman who seemed to be traveling together, he smiled and twirled his mustache. That had to be the two people Tangeleno was interested in.

If this works, he would become Don Dallipiccola, head of the St. Louis Family. Don Dallipiccola, my respects to you, Godfather, he thought. Then he said the words aloud.
“Don Dallipiccola I miei rispetti a Lei, Padrinoa.”

Six months ago, with the blessings of Joseph Tangeleno, Dallipiccola had come upriver from New Orleans. His purpose in coming to St. Louis was to find Sicilian and Italian immigrants who would be interested in forming a Family. The problem was that, while there were many Italians and Sicilians in St. Louis, they were more interested in hard work and honest enterprise than they were in any organized criminal activity.

Frustrated by his inability to rally his own countrymen to his cause, Dallipiccola had to enlist outsiders. Ned and Luby were two of his more recent recruits.

But if they took care of this little assignment he had given them, he was certain that Tangeleno would be very generous, not only with money, but in recognizing the existence of the St. Louis Family with Dominico Dallipiccola as its head.

There were several hacks drawn up along North Wharf Street, and as Hawke and Rachel approached them, Hawke called out to one of the drivers. Responding to Hawke’s hail, the driver snapped the reins over his horse and pulled out of line, driving up to stop in front of Hawke and Rachel.

“Take us to the railroad station,” Hawke said as he put the two bags in the hack, then helped Rachel climb in.

“Yes, sir, that would be Union Station,” the driver replied as he pulled out of the line.

It had recently rained in St. Louis and the horse’s hooves made a staccato beat on the glistening wet pavement as the driver turned west on to Market Street, then maneuvered the hack through the traffic before bringing it to a stop under the Union Station porte cochere.

Paying the fare, Hawke and Rachel stepped down from the hack. They took no notice of the private carriage that stopped about twenty-five yards behind them.

“They will be buying tickets to Bellefont, Kansas,” Dallapiccola said. “Find out which train.”

“It don’t make no difference which train,” Ned said. “They won’t never get on it.”

“Nevertheless, find out which train,” Dallapiccola said.

As Hawke and Rachel went inside the depot, they passed through a golden entry arch, under the mosaic-glass window, then climbed the great staircase to the Grand Hall from whose sixty-five-foot-high vaulted ceiling hung an enormous chandelier.

The floor of the Grand Hall teemed with humanity: men and women moving to or from trains, children laughing or crying. As the trains entered or departed from the great domed train shed, Hawke could feel the floor rumbling under his feet.

“Get us tickets to Bellefont on the Palace Car,” Rachel said as she handed him some money. “Oh, and if you don’t mind sharing a roomette with me, it will save money.”

Hawke smiled. “In the interest of saving money, I will make the sacrifice.”

Hawke stood in line until it was his turn at the ticket window.

“The train will depart from Track Number 8 at nine-thirty this evening,” the ticket agent said as he slid the long multi-sectioned tickets across the counter.

As he walked away from the counter, he looked toward the huge clock that hung on the wall just beside the sign that read:
TO TRAINS
. It was nearly seven.

“What do you say we put our suitcases in a locker, then have our dinner?” Hawke suggested after he told Rachel what time the train would be leaving.

“Why, Mr. Hawke, are you engaging me for dinner?” Rachel asked coquettishly.

“I am.”

“I accept.”

They ate at a French restaurant on Olive, just a few blocks north of Union Station.

“How is the ham?” Rachel asked.

“It is quite good, madam.”

“Then I think I will have
jambon et champignons,
” Rachel said when the waiter approached their table.

“Excellent choice, madam,” the waiter said. “The mushrooms are also particularly good. And you, sir?”

“Is your salmon fresh?” Hawke asked after examining the menu.

“
Oui, monsieur.
It comes by train, daily, packed in ice,” the waiter replied.

“Very good. I’ll have
les rillettes de saumon.
”

Rachel laughed as the waiter withdrew.

“What is so funny?”

“I had the thought that I would be able to impress you with my New Orleans French,” she said. “But I should have known better. As I recall now, you went to France, didn’t you? Just before the war?”

“Yes. I must confess, though, that my French is only barely passable.”

Ned and Luby were in the same restaurant, sitting on the opposite side of the room keeping a close eye on Hawke and Rachel.

“I tell you what, Ned, I hope we aren’t wasting our time with these two,” one of them said. “What if they ain’t the right ones?” Luby said.

“You heard what Dallapiccola said, didn’t you? One was a whore, and the other was a piano player.”

“Yeah, I heard him say that.”

“You was there when the boat landed, same as me,” Ned said. “And you heard the purser call this fella a piano player, right?”

“Yeah,” Luby agreed.

“So we know he’s a piano player. And if what we are lookin’ for is a piano player and a whore travelin’ together, then the woman sittin’ there with him has to be the whore.”

“What’s the name of that fella down in New Orleans that wants ’em dead? Tangeleno or somethin’ like that?” Luby asked.

“Hell, I don’t know. Who can pronounce them names anyway?”

“How come, you reckon, the Italians want ’em dead?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t care, as long as Dallipiccola pays us the thousand dollars apiece he promised,” Ned said.

“Hey, Ned, you think he’ll really pay us?” Luby asked.

“Yeah, I’ve done things for him before. He’ll pay. For some reason, them Italians is big on honor,” Ned answered.

Across the room, Hawke and Rachel got up from their table.

“They’re leaving,” Luby said.

“Let’s go,” Ned replied.

IT WAS QUITE DARK WHEN HAWKE AND RACHEL
left the restaurant and a heavy fog had moved in off the river, making it very difficult to see more than just a few feet.

“Are you sure we are going the right way to get back to the depot?” Rachel asked.

“We can’t get lost,” Hawke said. “We came out on Twelfth Street. All we have to do is follow it right back to the depot.”

“If you say so,” Rachel said.

As they walked through the dark, foggy night, pedestrians would pop out of the fog in front of them, appearing and disappearing almost as if summoned and dispatched by some great wizard. Carriages drove by on the street, their presence acknowledged only by hoof falls and rolling wheels and the feathery glow of disembodied lanterns that seemed—somehow—to float by.

Rachel put both hands on Hawke’s arm and held it tight.

“I don’t mind admitting that I find this entire evening rather spooky,” she said. “If I weren’t with you, I would be frightened to death.”

Almost as if in answer to her fear, two men suddenly
jumped out from an alley in front of them. Both men were brandishing knives and they stood in front of Hawke and Rachel.

“Well now, Luby, lookie here what we’ve got. Could it be the whore and the piano player?”

Luby chuckled. “That’s what it looks like to me. But tell me, which one is the whore and which one is the piano player?”

Both men laughed at Luby’s joke.

“Did Tangeleno send you?” Rachel asked in a frightened voice.

“Tangeleno? Hey, Ned, that’s the name you said. You was right.”

“Yeah,” Ned said. “So, it looks like you can quit worryin’ whether or not we got the right ones. I figure this just proves it.”

“Oh, Mason,” Rachel said, very frightened now. “Is this nightmare ever going to end?”

“How many more of you are there?” Hawke asked.

“How many more? No more. Just Luby and me. What makes you think we need anyone else?”

Hawke shook his head. “I’m not talking about how many of you are here,” he said. “I mean, after I get rid of you two, who else will Tangeleno send after us?”

“What do you mean, after you get rid of us? Are you crazy?” Luby asked. He held his knife up. “We’re the ones with the knives.”

“Yes, but I’m the one with a gun,” Hawke replied with a sardonic smile.

“You may have a gun, mister, but it ain’t in your hand and…” Ned started, but gasped when he saw what happened next.

“Oh, but it
is
in my hand,” Hawke said and, even as he spoke, the pistol was in his hand, the draw so fast that both assailants were caught completely off-guard.

“What the hell? How did you do that?” Luby asked.

“It doesn’t matter how I did it. I did it,” Hawke said. “Now take off your clothes.”

“What?” Ned asked.

“I said take off your clothes, both of you.”

“Mister, are you crazy? I ain’t takin’ off my clothes,” Luby said.

“Don’t worry about whether or not I’m crazy. What you should worry about is whether or not I will shoot you if you don’t do what I say,” Hawke said. He pulled the hammer back on his pistol. “And believe me, I will shoot you.”

“I believe you,” Luby said nervously. “Ned, I believe him.”

“I’m glad you believe me,” Hawke said. “Now take off your clothes.”

“You can’t ask us to do that. There’s a woman here,” Luby complained.

“You should have thought of that.”

Suddenly Ned made a sudden lunge toward Hawke and Hawke fired. The bullet hit Ned’s hand and he dropped his knife. It clattered as it fell to the cobblestone-paved street.

Luby dropped his knife as well and put up his hands.

“Neither one of us is armed now,” Luby said anxiously.

“Take off your clothes,” Hawke said again. “I figure if you two are wandering around St. Louis naked, you aren’t as likely to get into trouble again.”

The two men continued to glare at Hawke, but neither of them made an effort to comply with his demand.

Hawke pulled the trigger, and, with a yelp of pain, Luby put his hand up to his left ear. When he pulled it back, he was holding a little piece of flesh.

“You…you son of a bitch! You shot off my ear!”

“No, I didn’t,” Hawke said easily. “I just shot off a piece of your ear. But if you don’t take off your clothes right now, I’m
going to start carving pieces off both of you.” He cocked the pistol and raised it up to point directly at Ned.

“No!” Ned said, holding out his hand as if, by that action, he could stop him. “No, don’t shoot us no more!”

“Take off your clothes,” Hawke ordered again.

Quickly, Ned and Luby slipped out of their clothes, then began piling them on the ground in front of them.

“No, not there,” Hawke said. Using a wave of his pistol, he indicated a storm sewer on the curb. “Drop them down there.”

“What the hell, mister? If we drop them down that hole, we never will get our clothes back,” Luby said.

“That’s right,” Hawke said. “Maybe you should have thought of that before you came after us with knives. Do it.”

Grumbling, Ned and Luby carried their discarded clothes over to the storm sewer and dropped them. Then they stood there in their long-handled underwear, glaring back at him.

“Take that off too,” Hawke said.

“What?” Ned shouted angrily. “No, wait a minute. If we do that, that’ll make us naked in front of the woman.”

“I’m a whore, remember?” Rachel asked, laughing now at their plight. “You don’t have anything that I haven’t seen before.”

A minute later both Ned and Luby were totally naked. They stood in front of Hawke and Rachel, holding their hands over their private parts.

“Now, you go that way,” Hawke said, pointing off into the fog. “And we’ll go this way. If I ever see you again, I will kill you on the spot.”

Rachel laughed out loud as the two men ran off into the fog.

“I know I have no right to be laughing, I know Tangeleno is trying to kill me, but that was just too funny,” she said.

“I’ll give Tangeleno this,” Hawke said. “He is persistent.”

“How is he able to know where I am?” Rachel asked. “It’s almost as if he knows where I’m going.”

Because of the darkness and the fog, Ned and Luby were able to avoid being seen, simply by staying close to the buildings, moving through alleys, and stepping into doorways when necessary.

“This way,” Ned said, pointing up one of the alleys.

“What do we want to go that way for? We live that way,” Luby replied, pointing in the opposite direction.

“The Gandy Dancer is this way,” Ned said.

“The Gandy Dancer?”

“That’s a saloon where railroad workers hang out.”

“I know what it is,” Luby replied. “But I don’t know why you want to go there. Are you plannin’ on us just walkin’ in there, butt-ass naked and orderin’ a drink? Which, in case you ain’t noticed, in addition to being naked, we also don’t have no money.”

“Have you ever been to the Gandy Dancer?”

“Yes, sure I have.”

“Have you ever stepped out behind it to take a piss or something?”

“Yes.”

“What did you see back there?” Ned asked.

“What do you mean, what did I see back there? I seen the privy.”

“What else?”

“I didn’t see nothin’else except…,” Luby replied, then he stopped in midsentence. “Drunks,” he said. “I seen drunks.”

“Drunks who are wearing clothes,” Ned added.

Luby laughed. “Yeah, that’s pretty smart, Ned. We can roll a drunk for his clothes, then we won’t have to be goin’ home butt-naked.”

“We won’t be goin’ home. We’re goin’ to finish the job we started out to do.”

“The hell with that,” Luby said. “Let them damn Italians do their own killin’.”

“You’re that willing to turn your back on a thousand dollars, are you?” Ned asked. “Because if you are, I’ll kill both of them myself and keep your share of the money.”

“No,” Luby said. “I was just talkin’ is all. I’ll come with you.”

“I thought you might.”

“We goin’ to have to get us a couple of knives too,” Luby said.

“To hell with that. We’re goin’ to use guns this time.”

“Where we goin’ to get guns?”

“Sikes Hardware store sells guns.”

“Sikes ain’t open now. They done closed for the day.”

“Yeah, well, after a store is closed is the best time to shop if you don’t have any money,” Ned said.

“Yeah,” Luby said. He laughed. “Yeah, you’re right.”