by F. M. Parker
He stood in the rain on the sidewalk and looked at the people passing by, examining the unsuspecting faces. He extended his view to observe the people riding beneath the raised tops of the vehicles rolling by on the street. His eyes were met only by a placid expression of men and women enduring another rain. Soon those faces would be filled with fear as death struck thousands of times around them. And then they too would fall and die.
Savigne walked slowly toward the newspaper office. This was one story he dreaded writing. The thought came to him that he should leave the city. But he knew he could not.
He slapped at a stinging mosquito as he recalled the epidemics he had survived. The disease would pass him by as it had every time before.
* * *
The rains had come again, beating down steadily during the night and into the afternoon. Though the hard rain had now ceased, fine mist settled out of the dreary overcast. Lew thought it a day well-suited for a quiet game of poker.
The Saint Charles Hotel was just ahead. He had heard of the huge four-story building with its dome of beautiful proportions soaring one hundred and eighty-five feet into the sky. It contained three hundred and fifty rooms and fourteen baths with cold and hot running water. The Saint Charles was noted for its palatial dining room and fabulous bar and saloon.
Lew would have liked to bring Cécile to the Saint Charles. But that could never be. Negroes and mulattos were not entertained here; they were bought and sold on the auction block in the center of the open space beneath the dome.
He guided the gray horse through the sloppy mud and the puddles of water and up to the row of iron tie posts at the entrance of the hotel. He glanced up at the low-hanging clouds, so close to the earth that they half-obscured the high dome of the structure. Rain would soon fall hard again. Lew dismounted and tied his slicker over the saddle to keep it dry.
A funeral procession came around the corner and into the street where Lew stood. He turned to watch it move slowly past. There were many deaths these days, victims of yellow fever, the newspapers reported. Both of the caskets were marked with lampblack, as was the custom to indicate Bronze John had killed again. Lew could hear the wailing of the women trailing along behind in the mud. The men were mute in their sadness.
A horseman came splashing around the end of the funeral procession and up to the adjoining tie ring. He stepped down, careful to place his booted foot on the brick sidewalk.
Almost immediately a buggy spun along the street. A young woman called out to the man and reined the trotting horse close to him.
The man’s face twisted with anger as he looked at the woman. He went quickly to the buggy. The woman said something that Lew could not hear.
“Go home, bitch,” the man growled.
“Not unless you come with me,” snapped the woman.
“Go home and stay there,” the man repeated, his voice rising.
“No,” shouted the woman in a shrill voice.
The man’s hand shot out and he slapped her, rocking her head savagely back and forth. “Do it now, before I beat you.”
The woman dropped the horse’s reins and both her hands came up to her face. “Goddamn you to hell,” she screamed, her pretty face a mask of fury.
The man turned from her. He seemed to see Lew for the first time. “She’s crazy jealous, you know. I should’ve locked her up before I left the house.” He brushed past Lew and entered the lobby of the Saint Charles.
A sob came from the woman. She wiped at the flow of blood coming from her cut lips, smearing it over her chin.
Lew took his handkerchief from his pocket. He stepped to the woman and gently began to wipe the blood from her cut lips. The blood continued to flow from one bad split at the corner of her mouth, and he pressed the cloth firmly over it.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, that he hit you,” Lew said. “Are you all right?”
The woman clasped his hand that held the handkerchief. She stared steadily into his eyes with an intense, penetrating look. She did not reply.
Lew removed the handkerchief. The bleeding seemed to have ceased. “There, that should do it. But take this.” He offered the piece of cloth to the woman.
“Thank you,” the woman said, and took the handkerchief. She looked at the red stain. “He’s beat me worse than this. He’s going to kill me someday. I think it’ll be very soon, unless somebody stops him. He only married me for my land and slaves.”
She seemed on the verge of saying something else to Lew. Instead, she flung her sight quickly at the entrance of the hotel. Fear came to her eyes. She dropped the handkerchief on the floor of the buggy and jerked the buggy whip from its holder. She lashed the horse into a dead run along the muddy street.
Lew turned and entered the Saint Charles. He was disturbed by the beating of the woman. A man should never do that.
He asked a hotel steward the location of the gaming room and, following the directions, climbed the stairs to the second floor. The room was large with several tables and many players already at their game. The man who had slapped the woman had just seated himself at the only partially filled table. One seat remained.
Lew did not want to be at the same game as the man, but he had no choice if he was to play cards without waiting for a seat at a new table of players. He crossed the room to the empty chair.
“Is this a private game or may a stranger sit in?” Lew asked the men at the table.
Two military men, a naval captain and a marine colonel, sat across from each other. On the captain’s right was a thin man, who examined Lew with a hard stare. A heavy cane with a thick butt hung on the edge of the table near him. The fellow who had struck the woman was the fourth and last player.
“You are no more a stranger than the colonel and I are,” said the captain. “Our ship just arrived in port yesterday from Norfolk. This is our first shore leave in many days. I’m Captain Tolbert. This is Colonel Bullock.”
The colonel impatiently riffled the cards in his hands. “Sit down,” he said. “The game’s poker, with table stakes.”
“If you have money, you can play,” said the man with the cane. “What is your name?”
“Timothy Wollfolk.”
He saw the eyes of the man come to a quick, intense focus on him.
“The nephew of Albert Wollfolk?” asked Farr Rawlins.
“Yes.”
“Then I would judge you have plenty of money to cover about any size bet.” Rawlins pointed at the empty chair. “Join us. My name is Rawlins. That is Enos Grivot.”
He nodded at the man. “He won’t mind, he’ll play cards with anyone.”
Grivot looked sullenly at Lew.
Bastard wife-beater, Lew thought.
Rawlins noted the silent, unfriendly interchange between Grivot and the young Wollfolk. There was some sort of ill will here. It showed plainly on Wollfolk.
“Let’s play poker,” said the marine.
“Patience, Colonel,” said the captain. “These gentlemen of New Orleans will take your money soon enough.”
“Like hell they will,” the colonel said.
Lew pulled out his wallet and placed a stack of bills in front of him. He picked up the cards dealt him.
Several hands were played with Lew ending up just about where he had started. Then Rawlins dealt him a high set of cards. After a couple of rounds of betting, the two military men and Rawlins had dropped out, and Lew found himself alone with Grivot. He still felt his anger at the man. Now, wife-beater, let’s see how brave you are.
Lew raised Grivot’s bet. The man came back with a raise of his own. This continued for three rounds of raises, then Grivot called Lew even.
Both men had full houses, Lew’s was slightly larger. He raked in the pile of money, more than $1,500.
Rawlins smiled slightly. He had deliberately cheated to give Wollfolk the winning hand. At the same time he had given Grivot a strong hand to keep him in the game. The fact that the military men and he had lost their opening bets did not bother hi
m at all. He hated all military officers, ever since he had fought with General Jackson against the British. That bloody battle on the Plains of Chalmette had been fought days after the war had ended.
Rawlins, a young lieutenant in the cavalry at the time, had lain severely wounded on the battlefield for a day and a night before he had finally been found and his injuries treated. He had only partially recovered, limping through life with a bad leg for more than thirty years. To hell with all military officers.
Rawlins saw that his ploy was working and that the hostility between Grivot and Wollfolk was growing. He would aggravate it even more. He had the skill at cards to easily bring it off. For the first few years while recovering slowly from his war injury, he had been a professional gambler on several of the great river steamboats that sailed up and down the Mississippi. Few men could match him with skill at cards.
Lew began to win. And the strong hands came often. He bet aggressively, especially against Grivot, taking the man’s money with relish and piling it up in front of himself.
Lew picked up his next hand and spread the cards so that he could see them. He expected good cards, and they were extremely good. Why had he been so certain of them?
It came to Lew that he knew why: because Rawlins had dealt the cards, as he had dealt most of Lew’s other winning hands. The discovery jolted Lew. He looked across the table at the man. Rawlins’ face was unreadable as he studied his cards.
Lew slowly shuffled his hand as his mind raced to evaluate the situation. A stranger was cheating, dealing Lew high cards so that he would win. Lew had no friends, so therefore Rawlins was an enemy. Enemies did not help a man to acquire money without a motive. What did Rawlins hope to gain? One thing for certain, the man was very good with the pasteboards.
Lew glanced at Grivot. The man was watching him with an angry expression. He had lost several thousand dollars.
“I open for five hundred dollars,” Grivot said. Lew covered the bet. The two military officers dropped out. They were barely holding in the game, anteing up and hoping for a turn in their luck.
“I’ll stay,” Rawlins said, placing his money in the center of the table.
Grivot discarded. “Give me one card,” he told Rawlins.
“Two cards,” said Lew. He would play the game as the hand indicated, drawing to the three jacks he held. He picked up the cards as Rawlins dealt and slipped them unread in among the others.
Grivot looked at his cards and then folded them into his hand. “I bet a thousand dollars.” He tossed several bills into the pot.
“I’m out,” Rawlins said, and laid his hand down.
Lew pondered the situation. Had Rawlins purposely helped him to win to build up his confidence only to now begin to deal him losing hands? Let’s take a look. Lew unfolded his cards.
The three jacks had become four. A powerful hand. Still, it could be beaten in several ways. Lew checked Grivot’s remaining funds. The man had three, maybe four thousand dollars left. Lew could match that and, even if he lost, come out winning several thousand dollars. He reached for his money.
“Your thousand and a thousand more,” Lew said.
Grivot counted the bills before him. “Your thousand and twenty-five hundred more,” he said. Grivot’s face was flushed, but his hands and eyes were steady as he pushed all his money into the center of the table.
Grivot had no more money with which to bet again. With table stakes he could not leave to obtain more. Lew could win by merely betting more than twenty-five hundred dollars.
Lew glanced at Rawlins. Just for an instant he caught the cunning look in the man’s unblinking eyes. Before they slid away.
Lew began to smile. Rawlins did have a trick and it was simple. In fact, so simple that Lew had almost missed it. He wanted trouble between Grivot and Lew. Perhaps a fight. Grivot must be very good with weapons.
“What should I do, Rawlins?” asked Lew in a quiet voice. “You dealt me the cards. Are mine larger than Grivot’s or did you give him the best hand this time?”
Rawlins stared back without expression. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Sure you do. You fed me good cards so I could beat Grivot.”
“I did nothing of the sort.”
“Wollfolk, you cheated. You admit it,” exclaimed Grivot. “I knew it had to be that. Now you try to blame it on Rawlins. I’ve played many games with him and he’s an honest man.”
Lew ignored the ranting man. He counted out the amount of his original sum of money and shoved it into his pocket. The remainder he pushed away. “All of you, take back what is yours,” he said.
“You are a goddamned cheat.” Grivot’s voice rose to a roar. His angry flush had deepened to purple. “And now you play the coward.” He leaned across the table and struck at Lew with an open hand.
Lew knocked the blow aside. He did not like the man, but he did not want to kill him.
The military officers and Rawlins began to back away from the table. Lew heard chairs scraping behind him and the scuff of feet as other players hurried to get out of the line of fire.
“Easy, Grivot, don’t play into Rawlins’ hand. He wants us to fight.”
“You are a coward. But I’m not. You’re going to fight.”
He plunged his hand inside his clothing.
“Don’t do it.” Lew flipped aside the tail of his coat to expose the butt of his colt. He hoped Grivot would pull only a knife. There Lew could control the situation without shooting him.
Grivot snatched a pistol from a shoulder holster. He swung it toward Lew.
Lew jerked his pistol from his belt. Grivot was amazingly fast. He would also be very accurate. It would be dangerous to only wound him when he stood close. He could still kill. And should Grivot live, he would try again.
Lew shot the Frenchman directly through the heart.
Grivot pitched forward. As he fell, his pistol thundered into the table, blasting the paper money away in a blizzard. The gunpowder smoke of the two pistols blended together, rolling and tumbling, engulfing the dead and the living.
Lew stepped back, holding his pistol ready, watching Rawlins and the other men in the gaming hall as the smoke rose and thinned.
“Captain, and you, Colonel, I gave back the money when I knew Rawlins had cheated, and you saw that I did not want to fight. Will you tell the police that?”
“That is the truth and I will so inform the authorities,” said the captain.
“So will I,” said the marine colonel.
Lew put the pistol back into his belt. Abruptly he whirled upon Rawlins. “You have caused me to shoot a man. If you were a whole man, I’d kill you for that.”
Lew moved quickly forward. The open palm of his hand smacked Rawlins in the face, knocking him to the floor. “Crippled or not, don’t cause me trouble again.” He spun and strode from the room with long strides.
Rawlins pulled himself to his one good leg. His head rang and blood flowed from his paper-thin mouth. His eyes burned with fury. He hopped to the card table and grabbed his cane. Watching Lew’s retreating back, he propped himself up.
His hand slid inside his jacket just as Lew stepped through the door and was gone.
Rawlins removed his hand from his clothing. He glared at the men watching him.
Then he turned and, leaning heavily on the cane, made his way from the gaming hall.
17
Tim had little pain from his old wounds as he worked with the black stevedores on the dock. He selected his loads from the mound of stacked cargo and fell in line with the string of men moving to the ships. When he had shouldered his first load, the men had cocked their eyes in deep surprise. Now they simply made room for him as he lugged his burden.
The men hummed as they trod back and forth bent under their loads. The hum was no special tune, just a low undulation of their deep voices, like the drone of a hive of worker bees. Tim hummed with the black men, and it did seem to lighten the weight of his load.
He was lather
ed with sweat from the very beginning of the morning. Often he had to rest, hunkered down by the piles of boxes or crates out of the reach of the hot sun. His legs were wobbly with fatigue by the time Julius called a halt for the noon meal. He reflected upon Lezin’s words: that Jonathan sewed a tight stitch. The statement was correct. Not one of the injuries had ruptured under the strenuous labor.
Tim stumbled to one of the drinking buckets sitting in the shade of the warehouse. He lifted it and poured it all down over his head. Using the tail of his shirt, he wiped at the water coursing down his face.
He was exhausted by the morning labor, but only hard physical work would fully restore his strength. In a week or so he would be recovered. But first he had to get through this day.
The slow -wind cooled Tim as he leaned on the warehouse wall and gazed down at the river. Seabirds soared and hung in the air, their sharp eyes searching downward. Now and then one would fold its wings, dive down, and snatch something edible from the water. Two oystermen had found a few feet of open pier and had rowed in to tie their boat. Now they sat shucking their catch of oysters. In the center of the river, a tall-masted naval war ship had cranked up its anchor, hoisted its acres of white sails, and was gliding off on the current like a giant swan. Several other ships still hung at anchor waiting to find space at the docks. None of them was contracted to the Wollfolk Company.
Two ships were tied up at the Wollfolk docks. One of the ships was the result of the impostor’s ingenuity. He had hired a fast boat powered by four skilled oarsmen. When an oceangoing ship appeared coming up the river, or a river steamboat or flat boat came down from the north, he would spring into the rowboat and the oarsmen would speed him off to intercept the new arrival. If the vessel had no contract for dock space, he would negotiate one on the spot. Tim had to admit the man was hustling to find work for the men and keep the company busy until new contracts could be won.
Tim worried how he would take his property away from the impostor. He was the toughest man Tim had ever encountered. In a few seconds he had beaten the large German to a senseless lump. Then he had killed the Frenchman over a game of cards in the Saint Charles. He always carried that Colt revolver, though now it was in a holster under his arm. Tim knew he could not beat the man in a face-to-face fight with either fists or guns. If the law did not give him his inheritance, then he would have to simply kill the man without warning.
