The Lawless

by John Jakes

  Fochet skidded to a stop just outside. “Now I ask you—would I forget something so important?” There was annoyance as well as immense scorn in the question, to which Matt silently answered, Yes indeed. By then Fochet was gone.

  Matt didn’t chase after him. He thought the reminder would do the trick.

  Upstairs, he worked an hour, completing the detail of the card-laden table at which the Confederate captains were playing poker. Tomorrow, when he had daylight, he’d finish the dancer. She was merely sketched in, a sinuous figure outlined by thin black brushstrokes.

  After cleaning up and carefully closing the case containing the large, clear bottles which held his dry pigments, he locked the studio and walked back to the Rue Saint-Vincent, arriving a good half hour before Dolly was due home. Or so he guessed. It was hard to be sure of the light on such a day.

  The drizzle had stopped. The black clouds had dissipated. But the sky above Montmartre still had a rainy look, and the air was hot and saturated with dampness. He noticed an expensive phaeton standing a short distance beyond the gate to Madame Rochambeau’s but thought nothing of it because the vehicle was so obviously expensive and the driver well dressed. It was definitely not the sort of rig that would be used by one of the layabouts, as the landlady called them. There were none visible on the street today.

  He paused and leaned against the wall, his mind drifting back to Lisa. He wished he could think of some way to help her gain revenge without inviting further reprisals. He couldn’t. Lepp no doubt enjoyed diplomatic immunity. Even reporting the original attack to the police would almost certainly be a waste of time.

  An old woman carrying two fragrant baguettes went by, frowning in disapproval at the young man lounging in the street with a faraway look in his eyes. Matt never noticed. His thoughts had turned back to the vivid picture of Lisa in the kitchen. Another abrupt, unexpected intuition prickled his spine. Somewhere in that compelling image lay the solution to the problem of Dolly’s portrait!

  He was absolutely convinced of it. But how, specifically, would the solution work? How did the older woman relate to the younger, and how could both be blended into one composition? He was pondering the questions as he walked on to the door in the wall and absently lifted the latch. He was halfway through the opening before he jerked his head up, realizing he’d interrupted some sort of argument or confrontation.

  “Run, Matthew!”

  Leah Strelnik’s cry terrified little Anton, who’d been clinging to her skirt. The boy wailed. On Matt’s left, a burly, bearded fellow in a tight striped shirt jumped forward. The man could only be described with Madame Rochambeau’s word: layabout.

  He grabbed at the little boy, who darted out of the way and wailed louder than ever. From behind the thick trunk of the old plane tree came a voice all too familiar. “Leave the little wretch alone, Josef. People are used to hearing brats cry in a residential neighborhood.”

  All of that happened in a matter of seconds. Matt stood stunned, beginning to grasp more of the details of the scene. With them came a consuming sense of physical danger—the kind of gut-hollowing reaction he hadn’t experienced since the war and had hoped in 1865 that he’d never experience again.

  He remembered it now. He felt it now, exactly as he had on nights when McGill’s gray painted ship had run into Wilmington past the rosy glares of Union cannon and the blue showers of Union star shells and the white geysers erupting as the projectiles struck near the hull.

  He started to back into the street so he could summon help. A voice on his right barked in accented French, “Don’t, Herr Kent.”

  Matt saw who it was. The gnomelike fellow who’d been copying down train schedules at the Gare du Nord. Instead of a pad and pencil, this time he held a nickeled revolver. It looked gigantic in his tiny hand.

  Leah bent to comfort her crying child. Matt hesitated in the doorway. The little man, who wore a derby, shook his head.

  “You will stay. Colonel Lepp insists.”

  The Prussian walked out from behind the tree which had concealed him. His monocle reflected the hazy white sky. He was hatless and elegantly attired in a pearl-gray suit with matching cravat and spats. In his right hand, whirled around and around by supple motion of his wrist, a cane blurred in a circle.

  Lepp smiled without humor. “Indeed I do. Close the door, if you please!”

  The gnome gestured with the revolver. Matt obeyed.

  Chapter IX

  Colonel Lepp Insists

  i

  ANOTHER LIGHT RAIN SHOWER began suddenly, pattering on the flower beds and the limp leaves of the plane tree. With the slow grace of a cat stalking some smaller creature, Lepp strolled toward Matt. It was eerie to watch the Prussian avoid muddy places without so much as a downward glance.

  The gnome and the layabout exchanged smirks of anticipation. Abruptly, Matt wondered about Madame Rochambeau. He glanced toward the door to her quarters. Lepp noticed, stopped and responded with a languid smile, “The landlady? Out on some errand, evidently. If she returns, she’ll cause no trouble.” He began to slowly unscrew the handle of the cane.

  When he had separated the sections, he had a long, needlelike sword in his right hand. He whipped it in an arc in front of Matt’s nose. The younger man jumped backward, landing in a bed of poppies. One heel crushed several of them. Lepp laughed and lowered the sword till it was parallel with the seam of his trousers.

  “Be so kind as to tell me the whereabouts of your young woman,” Lepp said. For the first time in his life, Matt wished he owned a watch. What time was it?

  His lack of response irritated the officer. Lepp flicked the sword up and rested it against the point of Matt’s chin. “Answer me! Where is the young lady?”

  “Working.” He jerked away from the sharp point. “She won’t be home for at least an hour.”

  He saw Leah react to the lie. But the others were facing him and missed her look of surprise.

  The rain fell harder. Clouds darkened the garden. He hoped his face didn’t reveal his panic. How soon would Dolly be coming up the street and through the gate? A bad shock could have a damaging effect on a woman carrying a child, couldn’t it? Even cause her to lose the baby?

  “An hour, eh?” Rain streaked Lepp’s monocle. He tossed the empty barrel end of his cane to the layabout, then removed the monocle and slipped it into his breast pocket. “Well, then, we can get on with our business. And let me say this, my young friend—”

  The point of the sword darted out again, pricked a bright drop of blood from the back of Matt’s left hand before he could move. Again he stepped away. The blood kept oozing as Lepp murmured, “Anyone who wastes our time—who delays and inconveniences us—shall suffer for it.”

  White-faced, Leah hugged Anton closer to her skirt. The tip of Lepp’s tongue moved along his lower lip as he glanced at the thread of blood running down to Matt’s fingers.

  “You, for example, Herr Kent. You are a painter, are you not? Come, don’t look so astonished. You’re always with that crowd at the Guerbois. But I know a good deal more about you than that. I know where you study, when you generally come and go around here—yes, a good deal. Let me ask a question.” The bright, merry eyes fixed on his. “Could you paint with both hands permanently injured?”

  Somehow he found the nerve to say, “You’d enjoy using that sword on me, wouldn’t you? Just the way you used it on Lisa.”

  “Don’t mention that unwashed slut! She got what her arrogance earned for her.”

  “Her arrogance, or just her refusal to lift her skirt for a Pruss—?”

  “For God’s sake don’t bait him!” Leah cried. She was close to breaking. He could hear raw fright in her voice as she leaned against the trunk of the plane tree and begged him, “Let’s find out what they want and perhaps they’ll leave us alone.”

  She turned tearful eyes to the poised Prussian; he was idly swinging the sword again. “If you’re looking for my husband, he isn’t here.”

  Lepp
smiled another of those dazzling smiles. “Yes, madame, we’re aware of that. We removed your husband from the place in which his Red comrades had hidden him. We have him right now.”

  By the end of the sentence, Leah Strelnik’s mouth hung open. Her eyes had an hysterical glaze. She made peculiar choked sounds. Lepp was immensely amused.

  “In case you don’t believe me, Madame Strelnik—”

  “I don’t either,” Matt interrupted. “If you abducted Sime, why didn’t his friends report it to us?”

  Lepp shrugged. “They’ve all gone into hiding, too, I suppose. Terrified. Three of them got badly shot up when we took him. Be assured, we do have Herr Strelnik.” He snapped his fingers. “Show them, Josef.”

  From a back pocket, the blue-chinned layabout produced a wad of checked cloth. He shook it out, held it aloft on his index finger and then started to spin it. Matt recognized the shabby cap Sime Strelnik had worn at the Guerbois. Now, however, there was a huge blackish stain on the cap’s crown.

  Leah Strelnik stared at the dried blood and jammed the edge of her right hand between her teeth and bit down.

  ii

  Lepp sighed. “Really, madame, these exhibitions are dreadfully tedious. They waste so much time. I insist you get control of yourself. If you’ll just give us what we came for, we’ll be pleased to leave you alone. We want the correspondence from your husband’s brother, Yuri Strelnik, documenting certain confidential political initiatives undertaken by my government.”

  The Spanish candidacy? They really were concerned that its announcement would create difficulties with the French, then. And the fact that Lepp was conducting a search for the documents meant he was indeed attached to the diplomatic mission, or at least acting as its unofficial agent.

  Almost at once, Leah Strelnik began shaking her head. Lepp ignored her. “Naturally your husband claims he has no such documentation. We know he’s lying.”

  “He isn’t,” Matt said. “But he was afraid you might assume he had letters or papers like the ones you described.”

  For the first time, Lepp grew nervous. “Did he also describe the information contained in those documents?”

  “No, of course not. He didn’t have them! He went into hiding because he knew you wouldn’t believe that.”

  The Prussian relaxed. Lifted one shoulder in a broad shrug. “We might expect to hear such lies on your friend’s behalf. Well, we shall take you at your word—temporarily.” He ran the ball of his thumb along the sword, a slow, almost sensual motion. His eyes strayed briefly to Matt’s waist, then back to his face. “When we are suspicious of someone’s veracity, however, we have certain highly refined techniques for confirming or denying that suspicion.” He turned slightly. “Ah, but perhaps those are best saved for your husband, Madame Strelnik.”

  Lepp glared, his eyes bright as gas flames. The pale young woman couldn’t bear to meet his gaze. She leaned heavily against the plane tree, staring down at her little boy’s head in a numb way. Again Lepp switched his tactics from quiet threat to feigned cordiality.

  “Of course there’ll be absolutely no need for unpleasantness if we find what we want.”

  Leah screamed, “It isn’t here! I don’t even know whether it exists!”

  Disgusted, Lepp bobbed his head at his helpers. “Get on with the search!”

  The blue-chinned fellow ran to Madame Rochambeau’s rooms, the gnome to the door on the other side of the garden. Soon, from both areas, there came the sounds of drawers being hurled to the floor, furniture thudding over, crockery shattering. The layabout took special pains to wreck Madame Rochambeau’s parlor. He pitched a valuable vase through one of the tall windows overlooking the garden, then tossed out a Madonna she kept near a small altar. The head of the statue broke off and rolled, part of its gilt-edged blue drapery chipping away. The head came to rest with the sad painted eyes turned up toward the rainy sky.

  When the statue broke, so did Matt’s temper. He lunged forward. Lepp pivoted, bent his right leg at the knee and extended his sword arm full length. He was incredibly fast. Matt nearly impaled himself on the point.

  “Yes, do charge in heroic outrage,” Lepp said. He put weight behind the sword. The point dug into Matt’s shirt. The blade bent into a slight curve. “A grand gesture! And your last one.”

  Before the point pierced to his skin, Matt pulled away. He snarled the dirtiest epithet he knew. Lepp threw his head back and brayed. In both Madame Rochambeau’s quarters and the rented rooms, the sounds of destruction continued.

  “For God’s sake, Lepp,” Matt protested. “You don’t seriously think he’d hide anything in the landlady’s flat?”

  Another shrug. “It’s possible. These anarchists are devious.”

  He seethed. The banging and breaking went on. Four minutes. Five—

  Lepp grew bored and began to examine his sword. Three times he swung it in a hissing arc. Matt was literally aching from tension. Facing away from the wall, he kept listening for the rattle of the door latch. If Dolly arrived, he’d only have a second to shout. He had to warn her to stay outside. God knew what these bloody-minded bastards would do before they left.

  The layabout, Josef, returned first: He shook his head in a glum way. Then the gnome emerged from the door on the south side of the garden.

  “Well?”

  “Nothing interesting, Colonel.” The gnome folded and pocketed a clasp knife. The tiny eyes flicked to Matt. “Well, nothing except a very nice half-finished portrait. Painted by the young gentleman, I suppose. I fear it’ll never be finished now.” He giggled as he retrieved the revolver from the side pocket of his coat.

  Lepp’s ruddy cheeks took on even more color. He executed a crisp right face so that he was again turned toward Leah Strelnik. She had her son in her arms and was practically jamming his head down on her shoulder so he wouldn’t cry out. The Prussian transferred the sword to his left hand and kept it pointing in Matt’s direction, ready to fend off any sudden rush as he said, “Madame, I insist you answer my question now. Where is the material from Yuri Strelnik in Berlin?”

  “Insist all you want. I don’t have it!” Leah cried. Tears began to streak her cheeks. “There’s nothing like that in this house. Nothing!”

  The Prussian took two long strides to the tree. “I won’t tolerate any more lies, you Red whore.” He slapped her face so hard, the contact sounded like a pistol shot. But it was Anton, not she, who screamed in fright.

  Matt knew he should stand still, but he couldn’t. There was no telling what Lepp would order next. A beating? Torture? He started for Leah’s side, only to have the gnome cock the revolver.

  “I’ll shoot you if you take another step, Herr Kent.”

  Matt halted in midstride. A jaw muscle writhed on the left side of his face. The gnome giggled again.

  It felt as if a rope had been wound around his forehead and was being steadily tightened. The feeling of frustrated rage grew and grew. Lepp took a moment to draw out a silk kerchief and dab raindrops from his forehead. Doing that enabled him to get control of himself before he spoke again.

  “An impasse has been reached, it seems. Perhaps we need to try a different tack with you, Madame Strelnik. Give you time to reconsider your rash and foolish answers to my questions.”

  “I don’t need to reconsider anything. I’ve told you the tru—”

  “Be silent and let me finish! We shall permit you to ponder your ill-advised behavior for the next forty-eight hours. At the end of that time, another of my associates—someone you have never seen before—will call on you to receive the documents. If you fail to surrender them, your husband will be killed.”

  “My God, why can’t you understand? I don’t have any documents to give you!”

  Now Lepp hammered at her, quietly but without pity.

  “Then get them. I know they’re somewhere in Paris despite your husband’s denials.”

  “He’s telling the truth! I’m telling the truth!”

  “Nonsense,
” Lepp whispered.

  Leah closed her eyes. While Anton fretted and clutched at her neck, she sank to the ground at the base of the plane tree. She cried in silence.

  Lepp retrieved the barrel of the cane from the spot where the layabout had dropped it. He rammed the sword back into the sheath and screwed down the hilt.

  “Of one more thing I should particularly warn you, madame. Do not report this visit anytime during the next forty-eight hours.” He swished the cane at the plaster head of the. Madonna. “Do not report it to the police in this arrondissement. To the Sûreté detectives—to anyone in authority! We shall know if you do! And we shall take immediate, appropriate action.”

  He extended the cane and used the ferrule to pluck the bloodied cap from the layabout’s back pocket. Deftly, he spun the cap through the air. It landed on the hem of Leah’s skirt.

  Her eyes flew open. She stared at the cap as if it were contaminated. Wide-eyed, little Anton studied the cap too. A radiant smile spread over his face. “Papa’s. Papa’s!”

  “Clever child.” Lepp tucked his cane under his arm. “Let us hope he’ll have more than a cap to remind him of his father as he grows up. It’s entirely up to you, madame.”

  He barked something in his own language and marched toward the door in the wall. The layabout and the gnome fell in step behind him, almost like trained soldiers. Relief flooded over Matt then. Once the three left the house, he and Leah would have time to think. He kept his eyes on the men, relaxing just a little for the first time in twenty minutes. The men blocked his view of the latch as it moved.

  Too late, he realized what had made the clicking sound. The gnome whipped the nickeled revolver toward the door opening inward.

  She came into the garden in a rush, her arms laden with packages. Matt’s reactions were slow. Before he could make a sound, the gnome jumped sideways, out from behind Lepp. The maneuver gave the gnome a clear target. The revolver leveled, pointing to the center of Dolly’s forehead.