Vendetta Trail

by Robert Vaughan

  “If you don’t tell him, I’m going to,” Fancy insisted. She started to stand.

  “Fancy, no, please, don’t!” Rachel said, reaching out to pull her back. Rachel’s plea was so sincere that Fancy acquiesced.

  “All right, if you don’t want me to tell him, I won’t,” she said, sitting back down.

  “Thank you.”

  “But you’re crazy,” Fancy said. “You know that, don’t you? A man like that and you know him from the past, but you don’t say anything about it. I sure can’t understand that.”

  “Rachel?” a man’s voice said.

  Looking up from the sofa, Rachel saw a small balding man.

  “Professor Tompkins,” she said, flashing a sweet smile at him. “How good to see you tonight.”

  “Do you think we could, uh, go upstairs?” Tompkins asked, almost embarrassed by the asking.

  “Why, of course we can,” Rachel replied. “I would be delighted to spend some time with you.”

  As Rachel and Professor Tompkins started toward the stairs, they passed a man of medium height, with dark hair and dark blue eyes. He was wearing a hat with a small round crown and a small brim. He lifted it by way of greeting Rachel.

  “Hello, Mr. Provenzano,” Rachel said.

  Professor Tompkins looked away pointedly, as if trying to avoid recognition.

  “I enjoyed your last concert, Professor,” Provenzano said. “I like Rossini. You should play more Italian composers.”

  Professor Tompkins held his left hand up, as if shielding his face.

  “Yes, uh, thank you,” he mumbled.

  Provenzano laughed at the professor’s embarrassment, then walked over to Fancy. “Fancy, buona sera,” he said.

  “Vinnie,” Fancy said, smiling coquettishly at him. “I thought you said you had a meeting and you weren’t going to come tonight.”

  “I did. But the meeting didn’t last long,” Vinnie said.

  “It didn’t go well?”

  “You might say that the man I met with lost his head,” Vinnie said with an ironic chuckle.

  Chapter 14

  TANGELENO WAS ON THE BACK PORCH CAREFULLY trimming and working on his orchid plants when Sal Vizzini stepped out onto the back porch.

  Tangeleno put his hand on the orchid and held the petals out so Vizzini could see them. “This is the Vanda Limbata,” he said. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

  “Yeah, beautiful,” Vizzini said.

  Tangeleno sniffed, then sniffed again before realizing that the smell was coming from Vizzini.

  “What the hell? Are you wearing perfume?”

  “Yeah, I, uh, had a little accident,” Vizzini said. “I took a bath, but I could still smell it, so I put on a little perfume.”

  Tangeleno chuckled. “Just so long as you don’t turn strange on me.”

  “Huh, you don’t have to worry about anything like that,” Vizzini said.

  “What do you want, Sal? You don’t normally come out here just to enjoy my flowers.”

  “Nick Morello’s carriage has returned,” Vizzini said.

  Tangeleno squinted his eyes in curiosity. “What do you mean, Nick’s carriage? Not Nick?”

  “I think maybe you should come into the parlor,” Vizzini suggested.

  Putting down his trowel and scissors, Tangeleno moved quickly into the parlor. There, three of his men were standing, waiting for him.

  “What is it?” Tangeleno said. “What’s going on here?”

  One of the men pointed to a wicker box. The lid was closed.

  “What is that?” Tangeleno asked.

  “This was on the seat of Nick’s carriage,” one of the men said.

  “What’s in it?”

  “We don’t know what is in it, Don Tangeleno,” Vizzini said. “We thought we would wait until you saw it, before we opened it.”

  “All right, I’m here. Open it,” Tangeleno said.

  Vizzini nodded to the man standing nearest the box. He released the clasp, opened the lid, then stepped back with a gasp.

  “Well?” Tangeleno demanded. “What is it?”

  “I…I think you should look, Don Tangeleno,” the man said.

  Tangeleno stepped up to the box and looked down inside. Like the man who had opened it, Tangeleno gasped.

  There, inside the box, was the severed head of Nicholas Morello.

  “Nicholas, oh, Nicholas, my friend,” Tangeleno said in a choked voice. He stared at the head for a long moment, then turned to Vizzini. “You say his carriage brought this back? No driver?”

  “The gardener saw the equipage coming in without a driver, so he moved out front to halt the horses and investigate. That was when he saw the box and brought it in. There was no message from De Luca.”

  “Oh yes. Yes, there was a message from De Luca,” Tangeleno said. He pointed to the head. “This was his message.”

  “How could De Luca do such a thing?” Vizzini asked, shaking his head sadly.

  “I want him dead,” Tangeleno said. “I want De Luca and Provenzano dead. I want everyone who works for them dead. I want their soldiers dead, I want their servants dead. And if he has any dogs, cats, or goldfish, I want them dead too!” Tangeleno said, ending with a loud shout.

  “Sí, sara, Don Tangeleno,” Vizzini said. “It will be,” Vizzini promised.

  Chapter 15

  THE DELTA MIST LEFT HER MOORING PLACE BEFORE dawn the next morning and moved over to one of the boarding docks in order to facilitate passenger loading. Prospective passengers were advised by circulars and by advertisements that had been placed in the city newspaper to “board between the hours of seven and nine in the morning.”

  Hawke had never been on a riverboat before, and he watched with interest as the passengers began to stream aboard.

  “Oh, Papa, look how big this boat is!” one little boy exclaimed as he stepped onboard with his family. “Why, I bet this is the biggest boat in the whole world!”

  “I wouldn’t say that,” the boy’s father replied. “But it certainly is a nice big boat.”

  The boy’s mother looked around and held on to her husband’s arm, and Hawke could read in her face the changing expression of all her feelings: excitement, hope, fear, determination, and courage. Seeing families like that sometimes made Hawke realize how shallow and empty his own life was, and, cursing himself for such thoughts, he turned away from the loading passengers.

  “Sorry, sir,” a deckhand said. “But passengers aren’t allowed on this part of the deck.”

  “I’m not a passenger,” Hawke replied. “I’m a crewman.”

  The deckhand looked at Hawke, clearly not believing him. “You say you are a new crewman?”

  “I’m a crewman in a manner of speaking,” Hawke replied.

  “What do you mean, ‘a manner of speaking’?”

  “I’m Mason Hawke, the new pianist.”

  “The new what?”

  “I’ll be playing piano in the grand salon,” Hawke explained. “At least until we reach St. Louis.”

  “A piano player?” the deckhand said. “Well, yes, sir, I reckon that does make you a crew member.” He stuck his hand out. “The name is John Lee, and I welcome you aboard the Delta Mist.”

  “I’m happy to be aboard,” Hawke said.

  About half an hour later, with all passengers aboard, the captain pulled on the chain that blew the boat whistle and its deep-throated tones could be heard all up and down the river.

  The captain put the engine in reverse and the steam boomed out of the steam-relief pipe like the firing of a cannon. The stern wheel began spinning in reverse and the boat pulled away from the dock, then turned with the stern pointing downriver and the bow pointing upstream. The engine lever was slipped to full forward, and the wheel began spinning in the other direction until it finally caught hold, overcame the force of the current, and started moving the boat upstream.

  Hawke stood on the deck watching the dock fall away as the boat beat its way against the current, then n
egotiated the wide, sweeping bend that gave the Crescent City its name. The engine steam pipe continued to boom loudly, as if the city were under a cannonading.

  In midstream now, the Delta Mist started working its way upriver, with its two engines clattering and the paddle wheel slapping and the boat itself being enveloped in the thick smoke that belched out from the high twin stacks.

  The sound of the boat whistle and the booming of the steam pipe rolled across the city, awakening Rachel. Opening her eyes, she lay with her head on the pillow for a moment or two, enjoying the very bright sun that streamed in through the window, illuminating the room.

  She thought about the boat and wondered if that was the boat that Hawke was on. Perhaps Fancy had been right. Maybe she should have told him who she was. As it stood now, they were never going to see each other again anyway. It might have been interesting to reach back in time—if just for a moment or two.

  To her surprise, she felt a lump in her throat and tears in her eyes.

  “This is ridiculous,” she said aloud. “What did I think he would do, even if I had told him? I did the right thing.”

  “Mary! Mary, you get those clothes hung up on the line, do you hear me?”

  “Yes, Mama, I’m doing it now,” a young girl’s voice answered.

  The voices were coming from outside, drifting into the room on the soft breeze that filled the muslin curtains at the slightly raised window and lifted them, cloudlike, over the carpeted floor.

  Rachel heard the little girl singing a cheery morning song and she got out of bed and walked over to the window to look down onto the alley. She saw a young girl of about twelve, hanging a wash on the line. Mary lived in the house that was just across the alley behind the House of the Evening Star.

  Rachel lifted the window all the way up. “Good morning, Mary,” Rachel called down to her.

  “Good morning, Miss Rachel,” Mary called back.

  “Mary!” her mother scolded from inside the house. “I’ve told you not to talk to any of those women.”

  “But, Mama, Miss Rachel is my friend.”

  “Women like that are friends of no one, except Satan,” the woman said.

  Stung by the harsh words, Rachel put the window down, then looked at the clock. It was ten o’clock, and she knew that most of the city had been awake for several hours now. The house had been quite busy last night, and after Professor Tompkins, she had entertained two more men. But it was very quiet this morning, and that made it conducive to sleeping late.

  Rachel got dressed and stepped out into the hallway. When she did so, she saw Doney folding towels and sheets and stacking them on shelves in a hall closet. Rachel smiled. She remembered wondering, when she first arrived, how one place could use as many towels as this place did. That curiosity had been one of the last vestiges of her naïveté. She had been here for over two years now. She had experienced many men, in many different ways, and by now there was no curiosity left unfulfilled.

  The door across from Rachel’s room opened and Fancy stepped out into the hall, yawning and stretching.

  “Good morning, Fancy,” Rachel said.

  “Good morning, Rachel,” Fancy replied. “Did you have a busy night?”

  “Not too busy,” Rachel replied. “How about you?”

  “Just Vinnie, but he stayed all night,” Fancy said. She turned to the maid. “Doney, I had to come down here and get my own towel last night.” She brushed her hand through her hair to push the strands back away from her face.

  “The towels was here, wasn’t they?” the older woman answered. “I brung ’em in from the line and folded ’em. I just hadn’t gotten around to puttin’ ’em in the rooms yet.”

  “Yes, but I don’t want to have to come get them, Doney, I want them in my room,” Fancy said. “I thought we had an understanding. We spread our legs for the men, you keep us supplied with clean towels.”

  “I just be one person, Fancy,” Doney said, walking away in a huff.

  Fancy turned to Rachel, who had been watching everything in amused curiosity.

  “I tell you, sometimes that woman can be pure mean-spirited,” Fancy said. Her comment, however, was ameliorated with a smile.

  “Doney’s all right,” Rachel said. “And she is overworked.”

  “Don’t ever let her hear you say that she’s overworked. Lord, we’ll never get another lick of work out of her,” Fancy said, laughing.

  “Fancy? Fancy, I must be going,” someone called from the room with the open door. A man followed the voice, stepping out into the hallway. He was still wearing his hat with a small round crown and a small brim, but he was wearing absolutely nothing else.

  “Hello, Mr. Provenzano,” Rachel said.

  “Rachel,” Provenzano said, lifting his hat. When the maid came back, bringing more towels, Provenzano spoke to her. “Doney, did you get my clothes washed?”

  Provenzano showed no more concern over being naked in front of the maid than he had being naked in front of Rachel and Fancy.

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Provenzano,” Doney answered, and she pointed to a table where freshly laundered underwear, shirt, and pants lay.

  “Thanks,” Provenzano said.

  Smiling, Rachel went back into her room to make up her bed. She was just finishing when there was a light knock.

  “Yes?” she said.

  “It’s Provenzano.”

  Rachel opened the door and saw Provenzano standing there. He was still wearing his hat, but now he was fully dressed.

  “I would like to invite you and Fancy to a dinner tonight, to be hosted by Don Carlos De Luca. The dinner will be at his home.”

  “Oh, I don’t know.”

  “I realize we will have to pay for your time. I’ll clear it with Clarisse.”

  Looking over Provenzano’s shoulder, Rachel saw Fancy standing behind him.

  “What do you think, Fancy?” she asked.

  “I think it will be great fun,” Fancy said. “Oh, do say that you will go.”

  “All right,” Rachel agreed. “I’ll go.”

  “Good!” Fancy said, clapping her hands in delight.

  “Where is Mr. De Luca’s house?” Rachel asked.

  “You don’t have to worry about that,” Provenzano said. “I’ll send a carriage down to pick you up.”

  Chapter 16

  HUMMINGBIRDS FLITTED AROUND THE CREPE MYRTLE bush, darting from bloom to bloom. Near the bush was the alabaster statue of a nude woman holding a basin. The basin, which was filled with water, gave the birds a place to drink and bathe. Throughout the garden, flowers bloomed in colorful profusion.

  Carlos De Luca’s backyard was one of the showcase lawns of New Orleans. The grass was well manicured and kept free of weeds, the lawn was terraced, beautifully landscaped, and filled with statuary of all sizes and shapes. There was also a large round pool, crowned by a very ornate fountain. De Luca was clearly proud of his yard, and when Rachel and Fancy arrived earlier in the evening, he showed it off with great relish.

  Rachel responded to the show with the proper enthusiasm and enjoyment, though in truth she thought that the many statues, birdbaths, fountains, and pools made the garden a little too extravagant for her tastes.

  Although some of Rachel’s clients had taken her to dinner at restaurants from time to time, this was the very first time she had ever been to a private home, and she commented about it to Fancy.

  “Oh, I’ve been in private homes many times,” Fancy replied.

  “You have?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why, that’s wonderful.”

  “Not so wonderful.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Don’t you know why I’m never taken to a restaurant?”

  “No.”

  “Think about it, Rachel. I’m colored.”

  “But you are only half-colored.”

  Fancy laughed. “That might be true, but I haven’t been able to figure out how to separate the white half that they will let into the
restaurants from the colored half that has to stay outside.”

  Rachel laughed with her.

  “To be honest, Fancy, I sometimes forget that you are colored. I never think of you that way anymore. I just think of you as my friend—and my sister.”

  As the two young women surveyed the garden, they walked around the backyard in their butterfly-bright gowns, almost as if a couple of the flowers themselves had come alive. Provenzano asked them to wear their most beautiful gowns and, acquiescing to the request, Rachel was wearing a bright yellow gown, while Fancy chose lavender.

  “This is a celebration,” Provenzano told them when he issued the invitation.

  “What sort of celebration?”

  “Fifteen years ago, on this date, our Sicilian brotherhood overthrew the Bourbon authority in Palermo.”

  “Oh, then it is like your Independence Day,” Rachel said.

  “Yeah,” Provenzano replied. “You might say it is something like that.”

  They would be dining outside in the garden and, even as the women strolled around enjoying the garden, unaware that, by their beauty they were actually a part of the scenery, servants hovered about as they prepared for the meal.

  They weren’t ordinary servants, though. As Provenzano explained, someone like De Luca could not afford to have ordinary servants because it would be too dangerous. Therefore all his servants were Sicilian soldiers.

  “Soldiers? You mean like in the army?” Rachel asked.

  “Sort of like that, only this isn’t the U.S. Army. This is more like Don De Luca’s private army.”

  Whether servants or soldiers, they knew their jobs and they did them well. The dining room table was covered with a damask tablecloth and set with glistening china, sparkling crystal, and shining silver.

  The women were escorted to the table and seated before De Luca and Provenzano took their seats. One of the servants immediately poured a small amount of wine into De Luca’s goblet. He swirled it around, inhaled the aroma, then tasted it.

  “Ahh, Il Chianti è eccellente. Lei può servirlo, Guido. You may serve,” he translated for the women.

  “Grazi, Don De Luca,” Guido replied. He poured Chianti into Rachel’s glass, then Fancy’s, then De Luca’s, and finally Provenzano’s glass.