The Frenchman's Revenge

by Taylor Lee

  Franklin broke in and didn’t hide his contempt.

  “Tell you what, Greg, do what ever you goddamn well want to do. Why don’t you call Tom Caldwell and tell him that it’s your money now that Aldo is dead and see if the Frenchman will give it to you.”

  He took an audible breath, then continued.

  “Greg, they knew to the penny how much of Aldo’s money was in our bank. To the goddamn penny, I tell you. And no one from my operation gave them that information. Listen to me, Greg. You are in way over your head. I’ve never seen an organization more skillful or more frightening in my life. I’m just surprised they didn’t kill us all, as well.”

  Greg’s voice was cold, threatening.

  “You are a banker, Frank. One goddamn thing even you understand is that the money wasn’t yours to give away. I don’t know how you are going to do it, but you need to get that money back and get it back now or…”

  Once again Franklin interrupted and this time his voice was as cold as Greg’s.

  “Three things, Greg. First, even though I will grant the similarity, as far as I know, you are not Aldo’s son or heir. Second, it’s not your life on the line, and third, you fucking piece of shit, I don’t ever want to hear your voice or see your sorry ass again as long as I live. Connecting with you was the single biggest mistake in my life. I hope you rot in hell, Greg”.

  Greg listened to the silence and managed to quell his fury. After several calls to New York, he confirmed that by tomorrow evening, Franklin Pierce wouldn’t have to worry about seeing or hearing from Greg. For that matter, he wouldn’t be seeing anyone except his scummy cohorts in that special level of hell reserved for bankers and their ilk.

  The thought of Capital Financier Intégré made Greg’s blood boil. For three years, Greg watched Bai buy up failing European banks at bargain prices and consolidate them in a Swiss entity he called Capital Financier Intégré. The purpose of the entity was to give wealthy businessmen a safe harbor for their monies with no questions asked as to the source of the funds. The price of guaranteed secrecy was high, but those who required anonymity willingly paid the exorbitant fees.

  The brilliance and boldness of the initiative both impressed and enraged Greg. It was the kind of enterprise he would kill to create, but he didn’t have the resources, the contacts, or, frankly, the balls to pull it off. Instead, he watched from the sidelines as Bai created what became the leading Swiss banking enterprise in the world. The fact that Bai and Wyatt McManus, his partner in the venture, had conceived and implemented CFI and become exponentially wealthier in the process incensed Greg. The irony didn’t escape him, as he was sure it hadn’t escaped Bai, that most of CFI’s clients were businessmen who had tangled and lost to Bai or Wyatt in the past. The rogues may have despised the two men, but knew from their past thumping that their money was safe because no one cared for money the way Bai and Wyatt did.

  ~~~

  His reaction to Aldo’s death surprised Greg. It wasn’t grief he felt or even sadness. It was surprise. He didn’t expect the Frenchman to get Aldo. It was disquieting. After he had time to absorb his surprise, he felt relief. He admired Aldo, but always knew he was smarter than him. Aldo was a tyrant, a vicious and feared tyrant. But Aldo’s power came from the scum of the earth, his gang members. Greg could care less about the fucking gang members. He was relieved that the gang literally disappeared after Aldo was killed. To Greg, they were subhuman, no better than the vermin skulking in the alleyways of New York. They scattered like a flock of pigeons scared up by a round of buckshot, too stupid to know that that by flapping their wings they gave away their location and became open targets for the hunters and, eventually, carrion for the buzzards. With the remnants of the gang gone, Greg could put his own enforcers in place, the kind of men who were polished as well as dangerous. The kind of men who surrounded the Frenchman, he thought with a grimace.

  Unlike Aldo, Greg got his power from a different class of people. People like the bankers, like Louie Sinclair and the fifty other ranking politicians and financiers in his pocket. The class of people who bought, lied, and cheated their way to power and cut corners to get there. Greg knew how to find the dirt in those corners. He captured each grimy compromising particle in his ultimate source of power--the leather bound ledger locked in his desk. Every illegal or embarrassing act his flock of pigeons committed was documented in that book. And every penny – either the bribes they took or the hush money they paid--was listed in the columns after their names.

  Aldo never understood the power of keeping records. It was ironic, Greg thought, that it was Aldo’s records--kept by Carlos and handed over to the Frenchman before Carlos killed himself – that brought Aldo down. No, Greg thought, one more confirmation that he was smarter than Aldo. No one knew about his book and no one ever would.

  Greg’s final thought when he heard of Aldo’s murder was how differently he felt when his own father was killed. Not surprising, given the way his father died. Over the years, Greg watched his father’s concerns turn to horror. By the end, the old man couldn’t hide or ignore the chopped up animals, the neighbors’ charred pets, and finally the rumors of young girls hideously raped and killed. Knowing how weak he was, Greg knew his father might do something unpredictable-- like go to the police. Greg couldn’t tolerate unpredictability.

  Greg remembered the old man’s anguished face. When his father saw the gun in Greg’s hand, he looked relieved

  With tears streaming down his face, he said, “May God forgive me, I fathered a monster.”

  Greg had replied with a pleasant smile.

  “Please hold that thought in eternity, Father, because, yes, you most certainly did.”

  Then he pulled the trigger and shot his father in the face.

  ~~~

  Greg broke from his reverie and responded to the knock on his door. He nodded for Hank, Chris, and Peter to enter. He called the meeting of the leaders of his inside team to go over the plans for the evening. This was the night he had been waiting for, spent the last three years planning. It was the night he would take over the world, or at least as much of the world that was of interest to him. Tonight, men would die, either because they stood in Greg’s way or were no longer useful. Or because he was the Frenchman, a dirty yellow Chink who, among his other sins, had committed the ultimate sin--he had defiled Greg’s woman. Tonight, the Frenchman would pay the price and Greg would win the prize. Elena would be his.

  “Don’t forget, we will need a minimum of thirty men inside and at least that many outside. Every one of them needs to be crystal clear what I expect,” Greg reiterated for at least the third time as they went over the plan.

  Hank replied patiently, knowing how fastidious and compulsive Greg was about details.

  “I hear you, boss. We’ve got it under control. When the sheriff gets here, once he gets over his shock at the bloodbath, there won’t be a question in his or anyone’s mind that the perpetrator was the Frenchman. We’re all gonna leave this evening hailed as heroes for killing that yellow bastard and the rest of his foreign scum.”

  Greg nodded and licked his lips at the prospect.

  ~~~

  At their complex, Bai, Elena, Nianzu, and Wyatt huddled around blueprints for the governor’s mansion and grounds. The four of them had spent the last hour going over the diagram. When they finished, Nianzu planned to meet with Quitin, Manchu, Liang, and the others to confirm that every man knew his precise role.

  Bai and Elena, and Wyatt, Lei, and Alex had formal invitations to the Governor’s Ball. It would be expected that Nianzu, Quitin, and several other personal guards would accompany them. What wouldn’t be expected was that Bai and Nianzu would position over a hundred men four layers deep inside and outside the mansion.

  Bai tossed the sheaf of papers they had been studying on his desk and went over the goals for the evening.

  “Tom’s report is definitive. The ringleader of Aldo’s gang is here in California. No one knows who he is, but they ca
ll him the Chameleon. Our task tonight is to unmask him and get solid proof of the dirty politicians in his pocket.”

  Wyatt reread the list Tom sent and shook his head in disbelief.

  “Bai, we knew this Chameleon, is a master blackmailer, but, hell, there must be thirty politicians on Tom’s list. Christ, if we can break the Chameleon and get proof that all these assholes are on the take, we can change the fucking power structure in New York and Washington.”

  “I agree, Wyatt. This operation is bigger than a gang, even one as powerful as Marcello’s but I didn’t know the political rot was this extensive. Let’s face it, the Chameleon is smarter and more insidious than we gave him credit for. Granted, Marcello provided the muscle and the threat of terror. But you and I know money is the ultimate incentive for politicians and blackmail is the definitive weapon to keep them in line.”

  Wyatt let out an audible sigh and nodded in agreement.

  “Christ, these sorry assholes fear exposure more than they do being chopped in pieces by a tyrant like Aldo. Somehow, the Chameleon managed to get a hell of a lot of shit on a hell of a lot of unscrupulous men.”

  Bai lit his cigar and sat back in his chair. He was troubled. He couldn’t get by the feeling that he was missing something important. He had relied on his instincts all his life and something wasn’t adding up.

  “Damn, I still have trouble believing that Brad Sampson or even Louie Sinclair could pull this off. But, hell, whoever he is he has managed to hide his identity from us thus far. I guess that’s why they call him a chameleon. One thing for sure, we can’t underestimate the bastard.”

  They spent the next hour going over the final plans. Much as he hated using Elena as bait, Bai agreed that having her wear the museum necklace was a brilliant stroke. Only members of Marcello’s gang knew that someone other than Marcello stole the necklace. Bai knew damn well that whoever the Chameleon was, he knew it was the Frenchman. Flaunting the necklace would rub his nose in the fact that Bai outsmarted him, once again. Bai hoped the bastard would take the bait and make a move. No matter who he was, Bai was confident his men were prepared.

  As they were about to break, Bai turned to Elena.

  “I still don’t like the idea of your involvement, Elena. It’s too dangerous. The only reason I agreed is that I am depending on you to follow the plan precisely. No one and that includes you – especially you--is to deviate.”

  Elena tossed her head and Bai saw her eyes flash, a sure sign of her impatience.

  “Of course, I will follow the plan.”

  She added with an impudent grin, “Darling, when have I ever disobeyed you or my father?”

  Wyatt and Nianzu laughed. Bai shook his head, but couldn’t hide his smile. He quirked an eyebrow and took a drag off his cigarette.

  “We’ll discuss the repercussions for any deviations in our chambers, cherie, while we dress for the evening.”

  As they were leaving the office, Nianzu handed Bai a box that arrived from New York that morning. Bai opened the package and saw a note and a small jeweler’s box. Inside the box was a pair of exquisite earrings that looked familiar. He read the note and let a slight smile cross his lips. Bai tossed the box and the note on the desk for the others to see. He said with a shrug, “Not bad for an unwitting apprentice.”

  The note read:

  Bai:

  My men took these earbobs off D’Maggio before he could give them to Marcello.

  Please accept them as a gift for the lovely Irish lass.

  I appreciated the opportunity to watch the Master at work. I’ll take my lessons like a good apprentice should. Without complaint – And with sincere admiration.

  Rory

  P.S. Thanks for the manifest. Perhaps next time the apprentice will be allowed to participate knowingly.

  ~~~

  Several days later, Rory tore open the letter from San Francisco. He was eager to see how Bai responded to the package he sent. Rory threw back his head with a huge roar of laughter when he read Bai’s one-word response.

  Perhaps.

  ~~

  Chapter 30

  The crowded scene outside the governor’s mansion spoke to the importance of the evening. Scores of Hansom cabs and private carriages lined the twisting driveway leading to the mansion. Liveried attendants met the carriages and escorted the occupants to the marble steps leading up to the palatial building. Strains of jazzy music flowed from record players secreted in the walkways. Hundreds of tiny lights vied with the starry sky, making the winding entrance from the street as brightly lit as the ballroom at the top of the stairs. Powerful men in formal attire and beautiful women gaily dressed in the latest fashions traipsed up the marble staircase, filling the air with merry chatter and pleasant greetings.

  Nianzu and Quitin, their eyes moving surreptitiously in all directions, followed Bai and Elena up the steps. Liang, Manchu, and Donhai were close behind. Jim Thompson stepped from the shadows and caught Nianzu’s arm.

  “Can I talk to you for a minute, Nianzu?”

  Bai looked back over his shoulder and exchanged an imperceptible nod with Nianzu. When Nianzu turned to follow the sheriff, Liang stepped up and took his place behind Bai. Like Bai and his men, the sheriff was dressed in formal evening clothes, apparently a guest, not on official duty. He and Nianzu walked to the side of the stairs, away from the laughter filled area in front of the mansion. Dropping any pretense of a casual encounter, Nianzu adjusted the shoulder holster under his suit coat and faced the sheriff.

  “Good evening, Jim. What can I do for you?”

  “To start with, you can tell me what the hell is going on.”

  Nianzu quirked a questioning eyebrow and said in a bland voice, “Not sure what you mean, sheriff, other than this looks like it’s going to be a hell of a bash.”

  “Cut the crap, Nianzu. You and Bai have always been straight with me. First I see twenty of my men I didn’t know were on duty lurking around in the shadows. Then, and only because I know you fuckers as well as I do, I see that you have this whole damn place seeded with undercover men. If I grabbed a bunch of torches, I might find fifty or more of your men skulking in the bushes. Am I right, Nianzu?”

  Nianzu smiled a slight smile, but his eyes were serious, his expression guarded.

  “I think the more interesting observation, Jim, is that you see twenty of your men you didn’t know were coming. That seems strange to me. Is there a chance that any of those men answer to a different law, maybe pick up a little cash on the side working for the mob?”

  “Fuck you, Nianzu. You know that’s exactly what it means. I got the list of suspects you sent me and I’ve been watching those sons of bitches, waiting for them to show themselves. It looks like they might just do that tonight. Which doesn’t answer the goddamn question I asked you. What the fuck is going on that you need half of the Sing Leon at a goddamn ball, for Christ’s sake?”

  Nianzu looked at him for a thoughtful moment and then made a decision he knew Bai would support.

  “Since you asked, as you know Aldo Marcello’s gang was the most powerful in the country. Everyone believed that Marcello was the leader and with his death the gang was decimated. But we know that Marcello wasn’t the head man. We have reason to believe that Aldo Marcello’s puppet master is here in San Francisco and will be at the ball tonight. At this point, we don’t know his identity, but he is as big a fish as you are likely to land in your career, Jim. We’ve done our best to bait him. Get him to reveal himself. We also know that as anxious as we are to get him, his sole purpose in life at this point is to take down the Frenchman.”

  The sheriff stood still, looking like he was trying to grasp the enormity of what Nianzu said. Finally, he pinned the serious young Chinese man with a glare

  “Any reason why you didn’t bring the law in to this little adventure, if it’s as fucking important as you say it is?”

  “It is critically important, Jim. Tonight is Bai’s statement to the mob of what they can expect if the
y’re foolish enough to take him on. Trust me, Jim, when this operation is over, the mob leadership nationwide, and their political scum, will understand the folly of underestimating the Frenchman. As for the reason Bai chose not to involve you, we need the highest level of security to pull this off. As you just pointed out, there are too many holes in your organization. This is nothing against you personally, Jim. You know Bai and Wyatt hold you in the highest regard. Frankly, we don’t trust the men around you.”

  The furrows on the sheriff’s wrinkled face deepened in a harsh frown and he shook his head with a weary sigh.

  “It’s painful for me to say it, but you’re right. I have six men with me tonight that I trust the way Bai trusts you. You fuckers know who they are. I will keep them in the shadows covering the Frenchman tighter than the skin on his dick. Not that you need me, but at least I can be here for the formal arrests, right?”

  Nianzu grinned.

  “As always, Jim, we are pleased to turn that task over to you. You deserve the spotlight after all the shit we put you though with the Madam Torrento uproar.”

  The sheriff turned and walked back up the stairs, muttering under his breath. He turned back and glared at Nianzu.

  “You’re goddamn right about that! And I want my fucking picture in the paper, this time as a hero—not a Goddamn fuck up! You hear me, Nianzu?”

  Nianzu saluted and said with a smile, “Yes, sir. I’ll get right on that, sir.”

  ~~~

  Bai smiled down at Elena and pulled her close to him when they entered the ballroom. Elena was wearing the dress she wore at their wedding, only this time her high heeled slippers were a deep emerald green to match the precious stones on her necklace and earrings. The emeralds were the most prominent stones on the extraordinary necklace, the largest one at the center as big as a dove’s egg. Diamonds and other precious stones wove in an out on an intricate lace-like hammered gold setting that formed a point at the bottom. A teardrop diamond hung at the point and twinkled enticingly between the swell of her lush breasts. Her hair was swept up in a riotous display of curls, showing the matching earrings to excellent advantage.