Vendetta Trail

by Robert Vaughan

  That reasoning enabled him to get through both sleeper cars more quickly than he thought he would. But it also proved to be a fruitless search, because he didn’t see either one of them.

  Finally, he came to the Palace Car. Since he had already checked all the other cars, he knew this was where they had to be.

  Dallipiccola stepped across the vestibule connector plates, but found that the door to the Palace Car was locked. He tried to open it but was startled when it was jerked opened from the inside. A porter stood just inside the door, blocking the way.

  “Yes, sir, what can I do for you?” the porter asked.

  “I, uh, just want to see what a fancy car like this looks like inside,” he said.

  “I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t let you in.”

  “Why not? I won’t bother anyone.”

  “Because that’s the rules,” the porter said, as if that were all the reason he needed.

  For just a moment, Dallipiccola considered trying to bribe his way in, but decided that it might make him too memorable. And in his business, it wasn’t good to be too memorable.

  “I understand. I’m sorry if I bothered you,” Dallipiccola said.

  “Ain’t no bother, sir,” the porter said. “We gets folks all the time wantin’ to take a look inside. But, like I say, I can’t let you in.”

  “You are a good man,” Dallipiccola said as, without argument, he returned to his seat. He had taken passage in one of the day cars, and he cursed himself now for his parsimoniousness as he settled in as best he could to spend an uncomfortable night. He was a patient man, and he was certain that if he waited, opportunity would present itself.

  Chapter 31

  THE NEXT MORNING AN IMPROMPTU RACE BROKE out between a coyote and the Kansas City Flyer. The coyote kept pace with it for a while, but finally broke off its chase as the huge engine, with wisps of steam streaming back from the driver wheels, pounded tirelessly down the long lonesome expanse of railroad track.

  Inside the train Hawke and Rachel had just returned from breakfast and were sitting in the elegant lounge area in the middle of the Palace Car. The big, comfortable, overstuffed chairs would rotate so passengers could either watch the scenery roll by just outside the window or turn their chairs inward so they could engage in conversation with their fellow passengers. The walls were richly paneled with rosewood and the floor was carpeted to deaden the noise of the undercarriage. On a table near the porter’s station, there were containers of coffee, tea, and water.

  Rachel had her chair facing the window, watching the scenery, when she realized that they were traveling much faster than they had been.

  “My,” Rachel said. “Look how fast the ground is going by. We must be going very fast.”

  “We are indeed,” the conductor said, looking back toward Rachel. “We are doing better than forty miles an hour now, trying to make up for lost time.”

  “Forty miles per hour? I don’t think I’ve ever gone that fast,” Rachel said. She turned to look out the window again, then she gasped. “Mason!”

  “What is it?” Hawke asked.

  Rachel pointed out the window at the shadow of the train as it slid quickly along the ground.

  “The shadow,” she said. “I saw his shadow!”

  “You saw whose shadow?”

  “I don’t know. Some man,” Rachel said. “He is on the roof of the train.”

  “Where is he? On this car?” Hawke asked.

  “No, when I saw him, he was a few cars up that way,” Rachel said, pointing forward. “I can’t see him right now, but a moment ago there was an open area and I could see the shadow of the entire train.”

  “Mr. Bates,” Hawke said, calling to the conductor, who had moved to the back of the car. “Do we have brakemen on top of this train?”

  “Brakemen? Oh no, we don’t use brakemen on our passenger trains now. We have air brakes. Why?”

  “We thought we saw the shadow of someone on top of the train.”

  Bates laughed and shook his head. “Oh, I hardly think that. It must’ve been an optical illusion of some sort. Why, who would walk on top of this train at forty miles per hour?”

  “He wasn’t walking, actually. He was all crouched over, and he was running along the top,” Rachel said.

  “Which way was he heading?” Hawke asked, leaning over to peer through the window. “Was he going toward the front of the train or toward the rear?”

  “Toward the rear,” Rachel answered.

  “Mr. Hawke, surely you don’t think she actually saw someone up there, do you?” Bates asked.

  “Yes, I think she may have,” he said.

  “What on earth would make you think such a thing?”

  “Mafia,” Hawke said.

  Rachel reached out to squeeze Hawke’s hand. “Oh,” she said.

  “Mafia? What is Mafia? Is that a man’s name?”

  “I think I’ll check it out,” Hawke said.

  Hawke started toward the back door of the car, hooking the strap over his pistol to keep it from falling out.

  “Mr. Hawke, where do you think you are going?” the conductor asked as Hawke reached for the door.

  “I’m going up there to take a look around.”

  “No, sir, I’m sorry, but I can’t allow you to do that,” Bates said.

  “Mr. Bates, they cut the brake hose in St. Louis. And you said yourself that if we hadn’t discovered that, it could have caused a wreck,” Hawke said. “Those same two men took out a trestle this morning. If the engineer had not seen it in time, that would have wrecked the train. Now, it would appear there is someone else on top of the train, and you say it isn’t a brakeman. So, do you really want to take a chance that it is just an optical illusion?”

  “No, I…I suppose not,” Bates said. “Do what you feel you must do, but, I must caution you, the Missouri Pacific takes no responsibility for anything that might happen to you.”

  “Don’t worry. I won’t blame the Missouri Pacific,” Hawke said.

  Hawke stepped through the back door of the car. This was the last car, so the back vestibule was open. As he stood there, he could see the track unwinding so quickly behind him that the cross ties were a complete blur.

  The ground was whipping by at such a speed that he grew dizzy. He didn’t even like being out here at this speed, let alone up on top of the car. But he figured if someone else could do it, he could do it too.

  Taking a deep breath of resolve, Hawke grabbed the little access ladder, then climbed to the top. He crawled out onto the roof of the car and lay there for a moment until he got his balance. There was a pendulum effect in the sway of the cars, with the wheels being the attaching point and the top of the car being the outer end of the pendulum arm. That meant that, up here, the swaying of the car was much more pronounced. Also, the blast of air, which, on the vestibule platform, was normally diverted by the car, was very strong up here. It was going to be difficult just to keep from falling off. Hawke stayed on his hands and knees for a moment until he was sure of his balance, then he stood up and looked toward the front of the train.

  About two cars in front of him, he saw a man rise up. The man saw Hawke at the same time.

  “What are you doing up here?” Hawke shouted, even though he knew he probably couldn’t be heard. His words sounded thin in the rush of wind and the roar of the train.

  Dallipiccola fired at Hawke, then he turned and started running away from him, back toward the front of the train. Hawke dropped down to the roof of the car and fired back, but he missed. Dallipiccola also dropped down, then scooted forward on his belly until he reached the front of the car. He scrambled over, then climbed down. Hawke got up and started running toward him.

  Suddenly Dallipiccola appeared again, this time shielded by the car so that only his head could be seen. Raising his pistol over the edge of the car, he fired, and the bullet clipped the roof just in front of Hawke. Hawke returned fire and saw a shower of sparks made by his own bullet as it disint
egrated against the top of the ladder to which Dallipiccola was clinging.

  Down in the engine cab, the noise prevented Charley and Wayne from hearing the firing, so they were unaware of the drama being played out behind them. Their task was to coax as much speed as possible from the locomotive and they were doing just that. Charley was keeping the throttle wide-open, while Wayne shoveled in coal with the regularity of a machine. The train was thundering down the track and whipping around a large-radius curve at a tremendous speed.

  As the train started around the curve, it opened the gap between the cars just enough for Hawke to take a well-aimed shot. But when Hawke pulled the trigger, the hammer fell upon an empty chamber. Frustrated, Hawke pulled the trigger a second time, but with the same result. He had forgotten to reload after his engagement with Ned and Luby!

  Dallipiccola realized at once that Hawke was out of bullets. Smiling, he climbed back up onto the car and started running toward Hawke, holding his pistol extended in front of him. He leaped across the gap between the cars, reaching Hawke before Hawke had the opportunity to reload.

  “For a piano player, you’ve been a very hard man to kill,” Dallipiccola said. He laughed, then raised his pistol.

  Hawke saw that the train was about to pass under a small bridge. He saw, also, that Dallipiccola was pulling the hammer back on his pistol. “Say your prayers, Piano Player!”

  “If you kill me, you’ll never find the gold,” Hawke shouted back at him.

  Dallipiccola got a confused look on his face. “‘Gold’? What gold?”

  “What gold? Why do you think Tangeleno has hired everyone in America to kill us? Because we got away with the gold.”

  There was no gold, of course. Hawke was making a desperate play for time, hoping he could hold Dallipiccola’s interest just long enough. He didn’t need too much time. The engine was almost to the bridge now.

  As Hawke hoped he would, the man lowered the pistol. “Tangeleno didn’t say anything about gold,” he said.

  “How’d you find out about us? By telegram?”

  His assailant nodded.

  Hawke chuckled. “Come on, you think he’s going to put in a telegram that we stole half a million dollars in gold bars?”

  The nose of the engine was passing under the bridge. There was about one second left.

  “Look out behind you!” Hawke called, suddenly dropping flat on his stomach.

  “You think I’m going to…unhh!”

  Dallipiccola’s head, traveling at forty miles per hour, smacked hard into the side of the bridge. Hawke saw a little misty spray of blood fly, then Dallipiccola was gone over the side of the train. Hawke pressed himself flat on the top of the car as the bridge passed by overhead, then he stood up and looked back at Dallipiccola’s body, now lying grotesquely twisted on the track behind them.

  Gingerly, he worked his way back to the end of the train, then climbed down the ladder. He stood out on the vestibule for a moment, then went back inside.

  Chapter 32

  AT ABOUT THAT SAME TIME, BACK IN BELLEFONT, Eddie Smalley took a last swallow of his coffee, then got up from the breakfast table. He walked around the table to kiss Louise.

  “I’m going to open the store.”

  “Why so early? We’ve got another half hour before we have to open,” she said. “I just heard Kathy ringing the school bell.”

  “Ely wanted to come in early this morning so he could get some things for the kitchen over at the Brown Dirt. He’s a good customer. I like to keep him happy.”

  “I know. All right, you go open the store. I’ll get over there as soon as I get the breakfast dishes washed.”

  “You don’t have to hurry.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “Louise, have I ever told you how lucky I am to have you for a wife?”

  “No, Eddie,” she said. “I’m the lucky one. Not many men would treat me the way you have, knowing where they found me.”

  “Yes, well, you never know where gold is going to turn up,” Eddie said with a chuckle.

  Louise walked to the front door with him and kissed him again before he left. She watched him start across the street, then sighed in contentment. As Clarisse had told her before she left New Orleans, “Honey, you are about to realize every whore’s dream.” Turning away from the door, she returned to the kitchen to begin cleaning up.

  She had just finished the dishes when she heard someone knocking at the back door. Chuckling, she started toward it.

  “What did you do, Eddie, forget your key again? You should tie a…” she stopped in midsentence when she opened the door and saw Vizzini standing on her back porch. Vizzini was holding a shotgun.

  “Vizzini!” she gasped.

  Vizzini smiled an evil, ugly smile.

  “I’m flattered that you remember me,” he said.

  “You aren’t an easy man to forget,” Louise said.

  Vizzini reached out and let the fingers of his left hand trail across her breast. “You and I never experienced the bed of pleasure, did we?” he asked. “We should have. I’m told by those who did go up to your room with you that you were a real joy.”

  “What do you want?” Louise asked. “I’m not in that business anymore,” she added coldly.

  “Don Tangeleno wants to see you.”

  “Well, you just go back and tell your boss that I don’t want to see him.”

  “If you remember, Don Tangeleno is not a man you want to disappoint,” Vizzini said.

  “What are you two doing here, anyway? This isn’t New Orleans. There can’t possibly be anything here that would interest either one of you.”

  “We have some business to do here, and you are going to help us.”

  “I’m not going to help you do anything.”

  “Oh, I think you will,” Vizzini said. “Because if you don’t, I will blow your head off with this shotgun. Then I will go into the store across the street and I will blow your husband’s head off.”

  Louise didn’t respond.

  “You know me, Louise,” Vizzini said. “You know Tangeleno and you know the Family. You know too that I will do as I say, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” Louise said in a small quiet voice.

  “So you will help us. Yes?”

  “Yes,” Louise answered, her voice so quiet now that it could barely be heard.

  “Was that a yes?” Vizzini jabbed the twin barrels of the shotgun under Louise’s chin, pushing it up so hard that it hurt.

  “Yes,” Louise said again.

  “I thought so. Come along. We have things to do.”

  Miss Betty O’Hare had eleven students in her school. They ranged in age from six to sixteen. Right now she had her older children doing work at their seats while she was going over a reading assignment with her younger students. When, unexpectedly, the door opened, she looked up to see Louise coming in.

  “Why, Mrs. Smalley, what a pleasant surprise,” Betty said. “What brings you here for a visit?”

  Two men stepped into the school behind Louise and Betty saw that they were both carrying shotguns.

  “What is this? What’s going on?” Betty asked in alarm.

  “That one,” Tangeleno said, pointing to one of the students.

  Vizzini walked over and grabbed the student Tangeleno had pointed out, a young girl of about twelve.

  “Miss O’Hare!” the young girl called out.

  “Don’t make another sound, girl,” Vizzini said. “If you do, I’ll pull the trigger.”

  The girl began crying, though her sobs were subdued.

  “Get your students all together, teacher,” Tangeleno said. “We’re all going to church.”

  “‘Church’? I don’t understand,” Betty said.

  “You don’t have to understand. All you have to do is do what I say. Get all these kids rounded up, take them through the back door of the school, across the schoolyard, and into the back door of the church.”

  “I will do no such thing.”


  “Then we will kill this girl to show you that we are serious,” Tangeleno said. He looked toward Vizzini. “Do it,” he ordered.

  Vizzini pulled the hammer back on one of the barrels of his shotgun.

  “Betty, for God’s sake, do it!” Louise said desperately. “I know these men! Vizzini will do exactly what Tangeleno tells him to do!”

  Betty hesitated for just a second, then she said, “All right, children, let’s do what the men say. Out the back door, across the yard, and into the church.”

  “I want my mama,” one very young girl whimpered.

  “Don’t worry, piccolo uno, you will see your mama very soon,” Tangeleno said. “Oh, and let me warn you, if anyone tries to run, we will kill this girl.”

  “Don’t anyone run,” Betty said. “Please, don’t anyone run.”

  The church was right next door to the school and the little group of students and adults crossed the yard, then went in through the back door of the church. The reverend was sitting at his desk writing when they all came in.

  “Well,” he said, smiling broadly. “Have you come to have a…” He stopped in midsentence when he saw the two men with shotguns, one of which was pressed to a young girl’s head. “What is this?” he asked.

  “The sign out front says your name is Reverend Timothy Gadbury,” Tangeleno said.

  “I am.”

  “Well, Reverend Gadbury, my name is Joseph Tangeleno. I’m sure you haven’t heard of me, but—”

  “I’ve heard of you, Mr. Tangeleno,” Gadbury said. “I conducted the funerals for Deekus and Farley Carter.”

  “Good, then you realize that we are people who deserve respect.”

  “Io non ho rispetto per un assassino,” Gadbury said in clipped angry tones.

  “You have no respect for a murderer? Bravo, bravo, Padre. I didn’t know you spoke Italian.”

  “What do you want, Tangeleno?”

  “I want to borrow your church.”

  “It isn’t my church. It is God’s church.”