Wilderness Double Edition 22, page 27
Richard swore, then growled, “Like hell we will. Speak for yourself. I never knew a finer man than Owen Trent and I will not let his killers off the hook.”
“Keep your voice down.” This from Duncan, who leaned toward Richard to whisper, “I agree with you, but we have the girl to think of. Once she is safe you can do as you please.”
After a few moments Richard grumbled, “Go ahead.” But he fingered his pistol as if he could not wait to use it.
“Well?” Zach yelled. “What will it be, Vasklin? Spill more blood or be sensible?”
“Does this sister of yours have a name?”
“Evelyn! And don’t tell me you don’t know her. I know a girl by that name was at your club.”
A shadow materialized by a front window, partially screened by drapes. “You’re Evelyn’s brother? Is that what you would have me believe?”
“Why do you sound so surprised?” Zach returned. “I have come many miles to find her and I will not rest until I do.”
“She isn’t here.”
“I don’t believe you.” Zach was sure Evelyn was in there. She had to be.
“I did not bring any girls with me,” Vasklin said. “There was not enough time. And I was thinking more of my skin than theirs.”
It was plausible, but Zach refused to accept it. “Then where, if not here? And don’t feed me another of your lies.”
“Shortly before you and your friends showed up, I sent Evelyn and two other girls to a boathouse I own down by the waterfront. They’re to leave at first light to visit a client upriver. One who pays extra for house calls.” Vasklin snickered.
Zach’s limbs began to tremble. Evelyn was still alive! Soon he would hold her in his arms and assure her that her ordeal was over. “You will take me to her without delay.”
“Just the two of us?” Vasklin said.
“If that is how you want it.” Zach would do anything, anything at all. “But I keep my weapons.”
“And I keep mine?”
“Don’t trust him,” Duncan said.
Zach was tom between needing Vasklin to agree and common sense. “No. No weapons for you. I would be a fool to trust you.”
Martin Vasklin did not like it. “I must think this over. Give me a few minutes.”
What is there to think about? Zach almost demanded, but he bit his lip, then said, “Only a few.” The shadow disappeared, and Zach hunkered to await the outcome. He would not wait long.
Duncan had thought of something else, and whispered, “I wouldn’t put it past him to try and sneak out the back. One of us should work his way around to keep an eye on them.”
“I’ll go,” Richard volunteered.
“You?” Duncan said suspiciously.
“Why not? Do you think I’ll go rushing in by myself?” Richard snorted. “I can’t take revenge for Owen if I’m dead, now can I?”
“Fair enough,” Duncan said, “but I want your word as a gentleman you won’t do a thing unless they make a break for it.”
“You wound me to the quick, but you have my word.” Richard crawled along the bottom step to the corner. Then, keeping a lilac bush between himself and the house, he began circling around.
“I wouldn’t have let him go,” Alain remarked.
“He’s not the one we need to worry about,” Duncan said, with a meaningful glance at Vin.
Zach was beginning to think Vasklin would not take him up on it when the shadow reappeared by the window and a hand cracked the drape.
“Breed?”
“I’m here,” Zach answered.
“I’ve talked it over with my men. I will take you to your sister but only under two conditions.”
The last thing Zach wanted was for Vasklin to make demands, but so long as they were not delayed in reaching Evelyn, he reasoned it might be best to agree. “Name them and we’ll see.”
“First, your friends must pull back to the end of the block. That includes the one who just snuck around back. I give you my word my men will not shoot.”
“Why should they?” Zach snapped. It sounded like another trick.
“Because I see Vin Connors out there, and I know how much he would like to see me dead. I don’t come out so long as he is anywhere near the house.”
Zach turned to Duncan, who nodded. “We agree. But we have a condition of our own. None of your men can show themselves at the windows until we are out of range.”
“Agreed.”
“What else?”
“You and I go unarmed. Give your guns and knife to de Fortier and I will leave my weapons here. That’s the only way I will trust you not to kill me before we get there.”
To Zach the request rang false. Vasklin knew all he cared about was Evelyn, and that he was not about to kill him before they reached her.
“Well?” Vasklin prompted when he did not get a reply. “What will it be, half-blood? Do you want to see her or not?”
Alain slipped a hand into his right boot and drew out a pearl-handled stiletto. “It’s not much but it’s better than nothing.”
Zach accepted it with a grateful smile. Cutting a whang from his left sleeve, he slid the stiletto up under his sleeve and tied it in place, then lowered his sleeve and gave his arm a tentative shake. The stiletto stayed where it was.
“Some time this year!” Martin Vasklin called.
“I agree!” Zach yelled, and passed his guns and the bowie to Alain.
Richard came crawling back around the lilac bush. “I heard,” he said, “and I think you’re making a mistake.”
With their pistols trained on the windows, Duncan and the rest rose and warily backed across the yard. All up and down the street people were peering from windows and peeking from doorways.
“There!” Zach hollered when the gamblers and Alain were where Vasklin wanted them. “We’ve held up our end. Now you hold up yours.”
The front door opened and Vasklin stepped out, his arms out from his sides, his hands empty. Smirking, he turned completely around. “Satisfied? Now you do the same.”
Zach complied, then motioned. “After you.”
Vasklin glanced at one of the windows and nodded, then walked to the street. Instead of going down it, he crossed through the next yard to the next street and then turned right. “In case Vin has any ideas about going back on his word,” he said.
“He worries you, that one.”
“No one has ever hated me as much as he does, and when a man is ruled by hate, he is capable of anything.”
Zach surreptitiously fingered the dagger through his sleeve, thinking how much he would love to bury it in Vasklin’s heart.
“I must admit, breed, you’ve proven more of a problem than I counted on,” Vasklin said.
“If my sister has been touched I will prove to be even more of one,” Zach vowed.
Vasklin chuckled, as if that were humorous. He kept glancing back and did not say anything until he was sure they were not being followed. “Well, it looks like Duncan’s bunch did as they were told.”
“Duncan is an honorable man.”
“Too honorable,” Vasklin spat. “He expects everyone to live by the same code he does. He had no right to challenge my brother to that duel over something as trifling as cheating. Hell, I cheat all the time, and no one has ever challenged me.”
“Only because they have never caught you at it.” Zach had heard this from Thorne earlier.
“Go to Hell,” Vasklin said. “In your way, you’re as bad as he is. All this aggravation you’ve caused me, and for what? Because I run a business.”
Zach’s temper flared. “Is that what you call it? Forcing those girls to do what they do?”
“I fill a need. People crave what I offer. Blame those willing to pay, don’t blame me.”
It took every iota of self-control Zach possessed not to kill Vasklin then and there. “And whites call my people savage and primitive,” he remarked.
“Apples and oranges, breed. Apples and oranges. Your heathen ways aren’t our ways and our ways aren’t yours.”
“I would not want them to be.” Zach had seen enough white hate and treachery to last a lifetime.
Vasklin had nothing else to say. They left the Garden District and came to an older part of the city where buildings were stacked like cordwood and gardens and trees were rare.
“What tribe do you belong to, anyhow?” Martin Vasklin asked out of the blue.
“The Shoshones,” Zach said proudly.
“I’ve never heard of them. But then, I take after old Andy Jackson. I believe the only good Indian is a dead Indian.” Vasklin grinned sadistically.
“There are days when I think the same of most whites,” Zach said. Were it not for his wife and his father and uncle and a few friends, he would think the same of all whites. Or that’s how he used to be. Now, after what Duncan and the others had done for him, he was not so sure.
For some reason Vasklin thought that was funny. “I don’t blame your kind for being jealous.”
Zach was not sure he had heard correctly. “Jealous of what?”
“Look around you.” Vasklin motioned. “This is one of the most modem cities in the country. Paved streets, lamps and stoves in nearly every home, all the conveniences a body could want. Compare that to your kind. I hear tell Indians live in tents made of buffalo hide. That the only light you have is fire. That you starve half the time because you don’t have the brains to plant crops. Indians are just as backward as backward can be.”
Bristling, Zach had an angry retort on the tip of his tongue but he did not voice it. Something about Vasklin’s expression gave him pause. A certain craftiness, a certain glint in Vasklin’s beady eyes. It suddenly struck him as strange that Vasklin was going on and on about Indians when Vasklin could not care less about them. It was almost as if Vasklin were doing it deliberately — as if Vasklin wanted to distract him.
At the next corner Zach contrived to glance back when Vasklin wouldn’t notice. He saw nothing at first and figured his concern was groundless. Then, a hundred yards distant, a dusky form flitted from one doorway to another. He spied a second farther back, then a third, and a cold rage filled him. Vasklin’s men had sneaked out of the house and were shadowing them.
“Another five minutes and we’ll be there. What then, breed? Do you take your sister and that’s it? We let bygones be bygones?”
“What else?” Zach said, masking his fury.
“That’s the first sensible thing you’ve said since I met you,” Vasklin said. “I didn’t start this, after all. You did. All I want is for it to be over with. I’m not out for anyone’s blood.”
“Me either,” Zach lied. Before he was done, he would take the lives of this lying dog and all those who worked for him.
“I’m glad you’re being so reasonable,” Vasklin said. “Soon this will all be over and we can get on with our lives. You have my solemn word.” Smiling, he turned — and he was holding a derringer.
Eighteen
Tendrils of early morning mist hung over the Mississippi River close to shore. A steamboat chugged downriver, sending thick plumes of smoke from its stacks. Near the dock a large catfish surfaced, then darted down into the depths again.
The boathouse was in need of repair. A flatboat was moored at the dock, half loaded with crates.
Martin Vasklin grinned as they stepped onto the dock. “I can’t wait to see the look on your face, breed, when you see your sister. It should be interesting.”
“Why?” Zach demanded, his worry over Evelyn flaring anew. Without letting on, he had kept an eye on the two-legged wolves shadowing them, and knew there were five, armed with rifles and pistols. And all he had was the dagger Alain had lent him.
Vasklin was supremely sure of himself. Confidently striding to the boathouse, he knocked loudly. “Open up!”
“Who’s there?” someone challenged. “This is private property and we’re not to let anyone in.”
“It’s me, Larson, you idiot,” Vasklin said. “Hurry up and open this door before I decide to have you chopped into pieces and fed to the fish.”
From the way he said it, Zach had the impression Vasklin was serious, which prompted the thought that Vasklin might have done it to others, and might intend on doing it to him.
A river rat with a crooked, bulbous nose and the broad shoulders of a bull filled the doorway. “Sorry, boss,” he said sheepishly. “We weren’t expecting you.” Behind him were other dangerous men with hard eyes and knives at their hips.
“Bring Evelyn here,” Vasklin commanded.
“That little girl, you mean?” Larson asked. “The one with the pretty eyes who has been so nice to me?”
“Who else would I mean, you simpleton?”
Larson went back in, but not the three men with him. At a whisper from Vasklin, they moved apart, their hands on their knives. Zach started to back away and heard the soft scuff of a shoe behind him. The five who had been shadowing them were there. He was surrounded with no hope of escape short of fighting his way out, and there were too many for one man to overcome.
Martin Vasklin laughed. “Surprise, surprise. I do so love moments like this. Be honest. Aren’t you feeling the least little stupid for trusting me?”
“I had to find out about my sister,” Zach said.
“Ah. Yes. Your precious sibling. Here she is now.” Larson’s huge bulk emerged first. Holding his hand was a girl no older than fifteen with curly brown hair and a dimpled chin and the tired eyes of all the girls at The Regal Club.
“It’s not her,” Zach breathed aloud, a lump in his throat, and had it not been for the others, he might have fallen to his knees in heartfelt relief. As it was, he clasped his hands as if in gratitude to the Almighty and looked to the sky, but it was only a pretext for him to slip his right hand up his left sleeve unnoticed.
“It’s not?” Vasklin was visibly disappointed. “The hell you say. I was looking forward to doing things to her while you watched.”
Zach faced him. “You’ve lived too long.”
“Perhaps I have. I confess life’s pleasures have paled of late. I’m too jaded, I suppose, for my own good. But that’s what comes from indulging in delights lesser men are afraid to taste.”
Tensing every sinew in his body, Zach prepared to spring. One thrust was all he asked. One thrust into the weasel’s chest. Then he could die knowing his death was not a waste, even if he had to take the thought of Evelyn still in Athena Borke’s clutches with him to his grave.
“Do you want us to shoot him and be done with it, Mr. Vasklin?” asked a scarred killer holding a cocked pistol.
“And spoil all my fun?” Vasklin rejoined. “I should say not, Bishop. Even without his sister, he still can amuse me. No, I would rather we take him alive. Shoot him in the knee if you must, but only if he resists.”
“With pleasure,” Bishop said, leering as he took aim. “There’s nothing I hate worse in this world than half-breeds — except the filthy Indians who spawn them.”
“Wait!” Larson suddenly cried, and pushed the girl named Evelyn through the doorway. “She shouldn’t have to see this, boss, young as she is.”
“Honestly,” Vasklin muttered. “The way you fawn over females and children is positively sickening.”
“I’m just being nice,” Larson said.
Bishop was itching to squeeze the trigger. “Give the word, Mr. Vasklin, and I’ll blow his kneecap off.”
Vasklin grinned at Zach. “What will it be, breed? Easy or hard? Frankly, it makes no difference to me.”
Zach streaked his right hand from under his sleeve and in the same smooth motion threw it, overhand. The dagger flew straight and true, the keen blade biting deep into the base of Bishop’s throat. Bishop bleated like a sheep and took a tottering step, then made the mistake of grabbing the dagger and wrenching it out. Along with it streamed a torrent of red.
Everyone else was momentarily riveted in shock. Vasklin recovered just as Zach leaped at him. “Shoot, damn it! Shoot him dead!”
Several brought their guns to bear but held their fire for fear of hitting their employer, who met Zach’s lunge by seizing Zach’s right wrist even as Zach seized his. Locked together, they spun to the right and then the left, Zach striving to wrench Vasklin’s arm so he dropped the derringer. Vasklin desperately tried to prevent him from succeeding, all the while shouting, “Shoot! Shoot! Shoot!”
The outcome was a foregone conclusion. At any moment one of the cutthroats would get a clear shot, and that would be that. All Zach could do was hope he had enough life left in him to deliver a fatal stab.
Suddenly Vasklin tripped. Zach slammed a knee into his gut and twisted Vasklin’s arm, and the derringer landed at their feet.
“I’ll help you, boss!” Larson bellowed, and lumbered to Vasklin’s aid. For someone as big as a bull, Larson was exceptionally fast. Before Zach knew it, hands the size of slabs of beef had hold of his arms and were shaking him as a bear might shake a lynx. Against such formidable might Zach was powerless. He was yanked off the ground and swung like a sack of flour against the boathouse. Wood cracked loud in his ears, and his breath left his lungs. Dazed, close to blacking out, Zach raised his head to utter a last cry of defiance.
Zach never voiced it. Figures were darting from the shadows. Three were dressed in black frock coats and one was dressed all in brown.
The pistols in Duncan’s hands cracked in cadence and two river rats dropped. Richard shot a third. Vin Connors disdained firearms for his sword cane, slashing right and left. That left Alain de Fortier, who was every bit Vin’s equal in swordsmanship and whose flair for the acrobatic was second to none. Springing, whirling, dodging, Alain waded into three of Vasklin’s men, his blade everywhere at once.
Zach heard the door slam. Larson and Martin Vasklin were gone. Sucking in a deep breath, he pushed to his feet and opened it. Midway down a long, dark hall were two forms, one huge, one short.
“Stop him!” Vasklin frantically ordered. “Delay him long enough for me to reach the boat!”
“You can count on me, boss,” Larson said, planting himself in the middle with his enormous arms and tree trunks legs spread wide.
