by Taylor Lee
Then nodding at his bandaged wrist, he added, “And that you have found someone worthy of you.”
~~~
At that moment, the door opened and Sean Byrne strode out. A thoughtful man, Sean had quieted his colorful Irish heritage and relied instead on his reputation as a power broker in San Francisco’s financial circles. But there was nothing like kinfolk to bring out the blarney in the most subdued of the brethren.
Sean saw them and his ruddy faced flushed with pleasure.
“Ah, good, you are all here. Bai, Elena, Rory… great, please come in. Patrick and Mike and the Governor and Nianzu are already inside. Rory, I see that you have met Bai and Elena.”
He shook Bai’s hand and then Rory’s. He leaned over and took hold of both of Elena’s hands, then bent down and kissed her on her cheek. Looking back at his towering red-haired guest, he grinned at the awed look on his face.
“Tell me, Rory, in all your days of chasing after the skirts of sweet Irish lasses, have you ever seen anything more beautiful than this woman?”
Rory’s response was careful, reverent.
“Never in all my life.”
Chapter 24
Rory was accustomed to spiking any dinner conversation with raucous stories and jousted with Sean, Patrick, and Mike in their efforts to outdo one another with outrageous tales. The whisky flowed as freely as their blarney. Rory caught Wyatt winking at Elena throughout the evening as Rory and the other Irishmen preened, fighting for her attention, while keeping a cautious eye on her understandably protective husband. He saw Elena occasionally look at Bai as if to see how he was handling their awestruck overtures. Like the men, she seemed relieved that the cordial smile never left his lips.
Christ, if anything, Rory thought, Bai was the most charming of them all. He smiled at their stories; knowledgably discussed New York politics and added to their understanding of the East Coast gangs, making it clear he knew his rivals far better than they did. The ultimate weapon in his charm offensive was his intimate knowledge of Ireland. He regaled them with episodes of himself as a young Chinese boy trying to understand the ways and lore of the Emerald Isle, seeking desperately to fit in. He admitted that he finally earned his place with his fists, learning that even brawny Irish lads couldn’t withstand the charm of a savate kickboxer.
Listening to Bai’s soft cultured voice explicating forgotten moments in the history of his beloved homeland, Rory shook his head. It was hard to square the seeming incongruity of the distinguished, elegant man who had four accomplished Irishmen begging for his attention with the man in Finn’s story. And the man who had coolly burned to death twenty members of the Costa Nostra.
With a flash of insight, Rory understood the compelling power of the man holding court at the head of the table. Remembering the cold fury in Bai’s eyes when he threw the knife at him, Rory saw pure animal power in human form, ready and able to take down anything and anyone who stood in his way. At that moment, he knew Bai was as charismatic and as dangerous a man as he had met and couldn’t suppress the chill that shook his spine.
After the dessert was cleared and the guests were enjoying brandy and cigars, Rory and Sean Byrne exchanged a nod. Sean rose and asked to be excused, citing an early morning meeting. Rory was confident everyone at the table saw through the pretext, but he had told Sean earlier that he needed to have a private conversation with the Frenchman.
Turning to Bai, Rory dropped the Irish guise and spoke as the leader of an opposing gang, not merely as an entertaining dinner guest.
“I appreciate the opportunity to talk with you privately. Mike and Patrick are privy to my conversations and I would like them to stay.”
Bai nodded.
“Nianzu is my lieutenant and Wyatt is my partner and closest advisor.”
Bai stopped for a moment and his eyes were cold and hard. He took a long drag on his Turkish cigarette and blew a cloud of aromatic smoke high in the air. He held Rory’s gaze and then said softly, “Elena is my wife and, as we established earlier, she is also my woman.”
Rory felt his face flush and he grimaced, acknowledging that he had not forgotten the earlier incident. From the look in his eyes Rory wondered if the Frenchman ever would. Taking a chance, he assumed the brash air of self confidence that had gotten him out of tight spots in the past.
“May I call you Bai? The Frenchman, while rich with symbolism, seems formal among friends.”
“Mais bien sûr. But, of course. Please do. I permit acquaintances to call me by my given name.”
Rory blushed again, wondering if by chance Bai had been trained by the cutting tongue and flat ruler of Sister Carmelita, who was the final impetus in the ten year old Rory’s departure from formal education.
Bai seemed to relent in the face of Rory’s obvious embarrassment; at least his next question was cordial, more in keeping with their dinner conversation.
“Tell me, Rory, how does Aldo Marcello get the minor East Coast gangs to defer to him, give him the power to run roughshod over them?”
“It’s no secret, Bai. He is the most vicious, dishonorable human being that ever walked this earth.”
“I gathered that. But there are a number of leaders who might be called vicious, perhaps some at this table. What makes Marcello different? What does he do to gain the loyalty of the other gangs?’
“It ain’t loyalty. It’s fucking, heart stopping fear. He terrorizes them.”
“Hmm, be specific.”
“I take it you know Marcello created a clever scheme where out of the goodness of his heart and a third of the profits he launders the monthly earnings of the member gangs. They get back less than a third of what they gave Aldo after he supposedly scrubs off any illegal stink.”
“Yes, I am aware of his enterprise. Why do the other gangs participate?”
“Marcello gives you one chance to join his little syndicate. Any gang leader who refuses finds one of his key men dead, killed in a barbarous way.”
Rory gave a harsh snort, then added, “In case you didn’t know, his moniker is the “Barber.” He likes to do the killing himself; he is a master with a ten inch blade. As long as his victims are securely tied, that is. My understanding is that he has a special rack he uses to spread-eagle the unlucky bastards; gives him access to their most tender places and allows him the luxury of time. He gets off on screams of terror, I’m told.”
Bai nodded in confirmation and Rory saw what looked like a mix of anger and pain in his eyes.
“Yes, one of the young girls Aldo captured described Aldo’s penchant for sexual gratification from the terrified screams of his victims.”
Rory continued, his voice thick with disgust.
“The recalcitrant gang gets their man back – in a box—not big enough to hold a full grown man, you understand, unless he was chopped in pieces first. It doesn’t take more than one, two at the most, of their members tortured to death to bring the smaller gangs around. And Aldo keeps them in line by filling their ranks with informants. God help any one who tries to bamboozle him. They don’t live to see the sunrise.”
Bai sat quietly smoking for several minutes, looking at the Irish leader.
“I understand that you have resisted the lure of Marcello’s syndicate, oui?”
Rory flushed and puffed up his chest with pride.
“You’re damn right. The only gang Aldo hasn’t been able to terrorize is mine.”
“Why is that?”
Rory smiled and allowed his satisfaction to show.
“Because I’m as good with a knife as that son of a bitch and I don’t need a fucking rack to hold the men I’m killing; even that prick Aldo understands the difference. And my men trust me; they know I’d go to my grave to protect them.”
Looking down at his bandaged wrist, he added with an awkward grin, “Maybe I’m not as good as you are, but I assume no one is as good with a knife as you are, correct?”
Bai shrugged, a graceful lift of his shoulders.
“My k
nife skills are adequate.”
Rory quirked an eyebrow and wondered to himself if ever in his life he had met a cooler or more ruthless son of a bitch. He concluded, with a slight shake of his head, that he hadn’t. He shouldn’t have been surprised by Bai’s next question. It just underscored how fucking smart he was.
“Who does Marcello answer to?”
“Interesting question, Bai. Not many people would think to ask it. But you are on to something. Aldo presents himself as the king of the hill. He is a lot of things, but he ain’t a politician. He doesn’t pretend to be anything but a vicious son of a bitch. His world is the likes of me.” Rory said with a grin. “We don’t pretend to be polished. We gain loyalty with our fists and our weapons. No, I’ve long thought that Aldo has a silent partner, someone as vicious as he is, someone who handles the fuckers who fear exposure more than they do violence. Aldo’s backed by a network of politicians and moneymen like the fucking bankers who grease his laundering scheme. Someone with ‘different skills,’ shall we say, created that network and keeps the powerful assholes in line. I don’t know if Aldo is the boss or the silent one is. All I can say is that they have created a powerful partnership that makes them the strongest gang in New York coming and going.” He added with a devilish grin, “Except mine.”
It was only after he had talked at length about a range of subjects that Rory realized he was being interrogated by a master. Without much thought, he had given Bai critical information about the workings of Marcello’s gang and his own and got little or nothing in return. He decided it was time to ask the question that mattered most to him, the one he had travelled from New York to ask the Frenchman.
He took a clearing breath, then gave Bai what he hoped was his most charming smile.
“Have you ever thought about sharing? There’s room at this table for both of us.”
Bai quirked an eyebrow and a wicked grin tugged at his mouth. He drew on his cigarette, then shook his head.
“You can ask around, Rory, but you will get the same answer from anyone you ask. I don’t share.”
He looked over at Elena, making it clear he was talking about her, then added, “Or anything else.”
Rory nodded as if that was the answer he’d expected and then undeterred, he pointed to Wyatt.
“My understanding is that you share with the governor.”
Both Elena and Bai smiled and he caught Nianzu and Wyatt’s corresponding grins.
“The only way I became Wyatt’s apprentice was to become a kung fu grandmaster when I was seventeen years old; a year younger than Wyatt did, and over the years saving his son’s life once and his daughter’s twice.”
Nianzu, who had been quiet throughout the discussion, turned to Rory and said with a dismissive wave of his hand.
“You have a ways to go, Mick.”
Rory felt his face flame at Nianzu’s rude slur when Wyatt spoke up, softening the blow.
“Understand, Rory. In the years following that apprenticeship, the apprentice has become the master. For many years, it was my comfort to know that Bai had my back. Now it is my honor to have his.”
Bai stood and bowed slightly to Rory and his men, indicating the conversation was over.
“Thank you for a pleasant evening. I trust you will have a good journey back to your territory.”
He motioned to Elena, who came and stood beside him. Both Wyatt and Nianzu rose and nodded to the three men left sitting at the table.
As the four of them turned to leave the room, Rory sat back in his chair and slapped a big grin on his face. In a voice dripping with his best brogue, he pointed to Elena and said to Wyatt, “Sure ‘en you canna tell me, govner’ there ain’t Irish blood flowin’ in that sweet little lass!”
Wyatt’s eyes twinkled and he took a deliberate puff off his cigar.
“Tell you what, Rory, if there is, it has been dominated by a stronger power – Apache.”
~~~
Later that evening, Rory, Mike, and Patrick sat in the hotel bar licking their wounds and drowning their frustration with the finest Irish whisky available.
Patrick looked Rory in the eye and raised his glass to him.
“I know you think I’m trying to cheer you, Rory, but there isn’t any question that the Frenchman liked you. It’s clear he’s a loner and, hell, if you think about it, why would he want to share, territory or any other damn thing? He’s sitting on the top of the mountain like the fuckin inscrutable Chinaman he is. Look at the people he’s close to. His wife, her father who he’s known since he was a kid, his lieutenant who is more like his brother than one of his men, and I understand he and his father, Wan Chang, are inseparable. And, hell, that old Chink is a legend. From everything I hear, he and Wyatt McManus are the only ones who come close to the Frenchman in ferocity and imaginative ways of killing their enemies.”
“Yeah, Pat, I know you’re right. But, goddamn, what I would give to be associated with the Frenchman. Holy fucking Christ, he is most impressive man I’ve ever seen, and without question the scariest son of a bitch any of us will ever meet.”
Rory lowered his eyes and didn’t try to hide the sad smile that crept across his face. He kept his voice low, almost a whisper.
“And Holy Mary, Mother of God, that beautiful little wife of his…”
“Any chance you’ll tell us what happened between you two before dinner? Sure as hell something did,” Mike said with a knowing grunt. “I know you, Rory. I know what happens when you get around a sweet smelling pussy and, from the look of that possessive son of a bitch, I’d say you stuck your stinger in the wrong honey pot.”
Rory was too good humored to stay morose for long. At heart, he liked a good story as much as he liked a pretty pussy, even if the tale made him look like an ass. That gift had made him the best-liked gang leader in New York and sought after company up and down the East Coast.
He chuckled, then with a good natured grin, filled Patrick and Mike in on the results of his overwhelming attraction to Elena.
“Sweet Jesus, how was I supposed to know that a little Irish lass was married to the Frenchman? Hell, I saw her coming down the hallway and my goddamned prick about jumped out of my pants and introduced himself. I’m tellin you, I ain’t never seen anything like her. I can’t remember the time I’ve reacted that strongly to a woman, I don’t care how pretty a pussy she had.”
He shook his head, recounting the length and breadth of the blarney he swilled, never guessing that her husband, the fucking Frenchman, overheard him. Mike and Patrick sat wide eyed at the story. A frown crossed Mike’s face, clearly thinking what might have happened to his boss and his best friend.
“Hell, Rory, I had no idea. You’re fuckin’ lucky to be alive.”
“Well, I almost wasn’t. I might of made it out of there without injury if I had enough sense to tell her she was a beauty and then gone on my way. But no, as usual, I was thinking with my dick.”
He smiled, his eyes dancing at the memory.
“Christ, she looked like she stepped right out of a meadow in Killarny. She stopped me cold. Hell, for a minute there, I was absolutely speechless. When I got my prick out of my throat, I started sweet talkin’ her, softening her up and then, damnit, I just couldn’t stop myself. I leaned over to touch her hair. I tell you, I couldn’t help it. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. I reached down to touch her and I swear on my Grandma O’Reilly’s virginity, my fingers weren’t two inches above her head when out of nowhere a knife comes flying across the room and pins my fuckin’ sleeve to the wall.”
He stopped for a moment for emphasis and took a hearty swig of whisky. He shook his head and continued with a disbelieving grin.
“I gotta tell you, the most amazing thing wasn’t that he could throw a knife like that—or that he would take a chance, be so sure he wouldn’t hit his wife. No, boys, the most amazing thing was that the fucker was smoking a goddamn cigarette when he threw that knife twenty feet and pinned me to the wall.”
/> Patrick and Mike sat dumfounded, looking as stunned as Rory had felt.
Rory rolled his eyes and a wistful smile curved his mouth.
“Then, and Christ, I still can hardly believe this… but then that little lass, that beu- ti- ful little lass… reaches up to take the knife out of my sleeve and twists it, cuts me about a quarter of an inch deep on my wrist. I’ll be damned if it isn’t still bleeding.”
He held up his wrist with a bloody handkerchief wrapped around it. Rory looked down at his wound, admiration shining in his eyes.
“Hell, it’s a scar I’ll carry to my grave in her memory,” he said with a rueful smile.
He quirked an eyebrow and a salacious grin spread across his face.
“Can you imagine the kinda sex that takes place between those two? Hell, any man whose wife trusts him that much and he trusts her not to move… Christ, there probably ain’t a thing he couldn’t or wouldn’t do to her or, hell, that she wouldn’t do to him. Sweet Jesus, just imagining it is enough to make my prick stand at attention, leakin’ like a sieve.”
~~~
Bai and Elena planned to spend the night at the Palace Hotel. As they said stood in the hallway saying good night to Wyatt and Nianzu, Bai took a puff off his cigar and didn’t try to hide the twinkle in his eyes or the grin on his face.
“I’ve been thinking about our plan to take down Aldo. Since Rory is anxious to work with us, it might be interesting to incorporate him.”
Wyatt looked at him in surprise.
“I sure as hell didn’t think I’d hear you suggest that, Bai!”
Bai smiled and took another puff off his cigar.
“He wants to be our apprentice? How about we make him one – an unwitting one, that is.”
A minute later, after listening to Bai’s idea, both Wyatt and Nianzu were grinning in admiration.
Wyatt shook his head and clapped Bai on the shoulder.
“Hell, that’s rich, Bai. Christ, I’m always reminded of how goddamn happy I am to be working with you, not against you! But you’re right. That son of a bitch wants to work with us? Crazy bastard. Yeah, let’s give him a taste of what that means. Especially since he’ll be doing it without his knowledge.’