Rising Fire

by William W. Johnstone; J. A. Johnstone

  “You don’t need to do that,” he told them. “You leave me alone and I’ll leave you alone. I haven’t said anything about what happened, and I won’t. That’s enough.”

  “No, no, we’ve already got your present. You have to accept it, or there won’t be a truce.” Lorenzo reached under his shirt and pulled out what looked like a wadded-up piece of cloth. He tossed it at Giovanni’s feet, and as the light blue cloth unfurled, he recognized it for what it was—a large piece of the same material as the dress Serafina had worn to church that morning.

  No, Giovanni thought as an icy cold began to flow through him, it wasn’t just the same material. It was a large piece of the dress itself, ripped and dirty as if it had been dragged across the ground.

  “We saw you looking at the Alcani girl after Mass this morning,” Lorenzo went on. “She’s really pretty, isn’t she, Malatesta? Alessandro and I were talking about her, and we decided she’s pretty enough and old enough that she ought to be broken in properly. Did you know she likes to go walking by that brook on the other side of the village on Sunday afternoon? That’s where we found her, and nobody else was around, so it seemed like the right time and place . . .”

  Giovanni’s chest heaved as Lorenzo went on talking, describing what they had done to Serafina. His heart pounded so hard he thought it was going to explode, and his brain, too. He took a step forward, clutching the branch.

  Lorenzo put a hand in his pocket and brought out a small pistol that he pointed at Giovanni. “You better stay right where you are,” he warned. “My papa taught me how to shoot. I’m good at it. Why don’t you drop that stick?”

  Giovanni couldn’t find any words. He knew, though, that Lorenzo just wanted an excuse to pull the trigger. The branch slipped through his fingers and thudded to the ground at his feet.

  “Anyway, once we were through with her, we thought you might like a souvenir of what happened,” Lorenzo continued. He nodded toward the torn remnant of Serafina’s dress. “You know what else we did when we were finished?”

  Giovanni couldn’t make his voice work. Anyway, Lorenzo didn’t really want an answer. He was just tormenting Giovanni by talking to him this way.

  Even though he knew that, he wasn’t prepared for what Lorenzo said next.

  “We gave her to Luca.”

  Giovanni doubled over and dropped to his knees. His hands scrabbled in the dirt, clutched the torn dress. He picked it up and his hands moved back and forth as if he was trying to rip it more, but there was no real awareness of what he was doing in his stunned face.

  He vaguely heard Lorenzo and Alessandro laughing as they walked away. That was the first sound he’d heard Alessandro make since the fight, but Giovanni didn’t really think about that. The stunned look in his eyes faded. He pressed the dress against his shirtfront as he began to sob.

  He stayed there on his knees like that for a long time after his enemies were gone.

  CHAPTER 16

  Serafina’s parents sent her to stay with her aunt and uncle in Palermo. Nothing was said openly in the village about the reason why, but Giovanni knew the old women speculated eagerly about it. Usually when something like that happened, it was because the girl was in the family way and had no husband. Serafina was a little young for that, but it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility, as the old crones discussed with hateful glee.

  Giovanni hated the gossip and rumors that went around about Serafina, because he blamed himself for what had happened to her. It was no fault of her own at all. If he had just killed his enemies when he had the chance . . .

  He had been relieved when he found out the girl was still alive. A brute like Luca could have killed her, either deliberately or accidentally. The one time he had caught sight of her in the village, she didn’t appear to be injured, but she was so hollow-eyed that it made her face look gaunt. And when she moved, there was a tentativeness to it that made it seem painful.

  Then she had turned her head, as if sensing him looking at her, and what he saw in her eyes made him gulp and tremble. She looked like she had stared into hell, close enough to feel the flames—and she blamed him for it.

  He knew then that Alessandro and Lorenzo had told her why they were doing what they did to her. Without a doubt, they blamed it all on Giovanni.

  He wanted to rush across the village square to her, explain everything that had happened, apologize to her and throw himself at her feet to beg for her mercy . . . but he did none of those things. Instead he stood there as if his feet were rooted to the ground like an olive tree and listened to the whispers and snickers that came from the villagers when Serafina walked past with her mother and father. The shame of it seemed to make her eyes sink even deeper into her head.

  It was the next day when Giovanni heard that Serafina was going to Palermo. He was glad that her parents were getting her away from the evil-minded villagers but sad that he might never see her again, might never have the chance to make things right for her.

  Then he realized that in this world, there was no way to make things right. Once something was broken—a chair, a human being, whatever—it might be mended but it would never be the same. Nothing could put it back like was, not even revenge.

  But when revenge was all a person had . . .

  * * *

  Over the next few weeks, Giovanni seldom saw the Capizzi brothers except at Mass. He wouldn’t have been surprised if they tried to attack him again, but they seemed to be steering clear of him. Some people might think they were ashamed of what they had done and didn’t want to face him, but Giovanni knew better than that.

  Monsters had no shame. That was why they were monsters. And that was a very valuable lesson to learn, Giovanni told himself.

  No, it was more likely that to their perverse way of thinking, what they had done to Serafina was enough to punish him, at least for now. Probably, they would decide to come after him again, sooner or later.

  Alessandro’s condition continued to improve. He talked again, although sometimes his speech had a strange halting gait to it. Every now and then his eyes glazed over for a few moments, too. Just like Serafina, he would never fully recover from the damage that had been done to him. The difference was, he’d had it coming.

  Finally, Giovanni caught Luca by himself in the village one day, while Giovanni’s grandfather was at the butcher shop. Luca stood in the shade under some trees, watching several small children rolling a hoop around, laughing and playing. He looked like he wished he could get right in there and join them, even though he was three times their size, maybe more.

  “Luca,” Giovanni said. “I need to talk to you.”

  Luca’s head jerked around. A scowl creased his forehead, where the scar from being hit with the rock showed as a pale, jagged line.

  “What do you want?” he asked. “I’ll pound you if you try to hurt me.”

  Giovanni put a smile on his face and spread his hands. “Luca,” he said in his most amiable voice, “why would I want to hurt you, even if I could? And I don’t think I could. I mean, look at you. You’re the size of Mount Etna!”

  Luca nodded and looked pleased by the comparison. “Yeah, I’m pretty big.” He shrugged those massive shoulders. “I just thought you might be mad at me. You know, because of that girl.”

  “Serafina, you mean?”

  “Yeah. She was really pretty. Or she would have been, if she’d ever stopped crying. I tried not to hurt her, I really did.”

  He sounded like he actually meant it, and for a second, Giovanni thought maybe the big oaf was just too dumb to be blamed for what had happened.

  Then, Luca went on, “But Lorenzo and Alessandro said I had to, because of what you did, so what else could I do?”

  Giovanni’s resolve came flooding back, stronger than ever. Luca, like the Capizzi brothers, would pay for what he had done.

  But right now, still sounding friendly, Giovanni said, “I was wondering if you could do me a favor, Luca.”

  “Why would I do tha
t?”

  “Because Alessandro and Lorenzo will be happy if you do. I just want you to give them a message for me.”

  Luca scowled again. He had an animal’s natural wariness. “What kind of message?”

  “Tell them I’ll be in old man Cannizarro’s barn at dusk this evening. I want to settle things with them.”

  “What do you mean, ‘settle things’?”

  “You know, talk it all out. Put the trouble behind us. Get on good terms with them again.”

  Luca shook his head. “They don’t care if you like them. They just care if you’re afraid of them.”

  “I am afraid of them. That’s why I want to talk to them.” Giovanni paused, but only for a second. “I want to find out what it will take to make them leave me alone from now on.”

  There it was, the bait that he hoped the Capizzi brothers would be unable to resist taking. If half of the rumors about their father were true, then extortion was in their blood. If they believed they could make him pay, they would show up at the old stone barn that was full of straw at this time of year.

  “I dunno . . .” Luca said.

  “If you tell them what I just said, exactly the way I said it, they’ll be pleased with you, Luca. I promise. Can you do that?”

  Luca scoffed. “Of course I can. I’m not as dumb as people think I am. Do you think I’m dumb, Giovanni?”

  “No, but you can show everybody you’re not. Just deliver the message for me, all right?”

  Slowly, Luca nodded. “Yeah, I can do that. Old Cannizarro’s barn at dusk.”

  “I’ll be there,” Giovanni promised.

  Luca nodded and went back to watching the kids playing with the hoop. Giovanni hoped he wouldn’t forget to talk to Alessandro and Lorenzo.

  But if that happened, he would just try something else. He would be as patient as he needed to be, because some things were worth waiting for.

  * * *

  Despite having that attitude, Giovanni was both pleased and relieved when he saw Alessandro, Lorenzo, and Luca stroll into the old barn that evening. He was watching from a grove of chestnut trees about two hundred yards from the stone structure with its thatched roof. With the shadows of twilight gathering around the thick-trunked trees, he was confident they wouldn’t spot him.

  Luigi Cannizarro had one of the largest farms in the area. His barn was surrounded by fields, so there was nothing too close to it. When Giovanni had started looking around the area and planning, he had thought of this place and realized he could make good use of it.

  He had to move quickly now. The Capizzi brothers would be wary as wolves and wouldn’t hang around long if he didn’t show up. As soon as they disappeared into the barn, along with Luca, Giovanni left the grove of chestnut trees and walked quickly toward the barn.

  Only one side of the double doors was open, and that only partially. Giovanni had arranged it that way. As he approached the opening, he heard Alessandro and Lorenzo talking inside, their voices echoing slightly in the high-ceilinged chamber.

  “—might be a trap.” That was Lorenzo.

  “Not Malatesta,” Alessandro replied. “He’s too much of a cowardly l-little r-rat.” He struggled a little to get the words out. “We’ll take his m-money, however much it is. And then we’ll k-kill him.”

  “He said he wanted to be friends.” That rumble came from Luca.

  “I don’t care what he said,” Alessandro snapped. “He lied. And even if he didn’t, I don’t want to be friends with him. I want him dead!”

  There it was. Exactly what Giovanni expected. He had no choice now.

  But deep down, he knew he hadn’t wanted a choice. What he was about to do was exactly what he did want.

  He paused beside the open door, where a small keg sat. He pulled the top off the keg, reached into it, and took out a wine bottle he had prepared earlier.

  Then he stepped into the opening and called to them, “Here I am.”

  The gloom was thick enough inside the barn that the three boys were just shadowy shapes as they turned toward him. It was easy to tell which one was Luca because of his size, and Alessandro was stooped a little, almost like an old man instead of a thirteen-year-old boy.

  Or maybe he had turned fourteen by now. Giovanni didn’t know when his birthday was. Not that it mattered.

  Alessandro stepped forward and demanded, “What do you want?”

  “For the trouble between us to end,” Giovanni said. “That’s why this time I brought you a present.”

  He held out the wine bottle.

  “A bottle of wine?” Alessandro said. He sneered. “A lousy, stinking bottle of wine?”

  “That’s all?” Lorenzo said.

  Luca said, “Why does it have a rag stuck in it?”

  Of the three of them, it was Luca, surprisingly, who had taken note of the most important detail. But the question the giant asked was enough to warn the Capizzi brothers. Lorenzo let out a frightened, inarticulate yell and charged forward. Alessandro tried to follow him but stumbled and fell to a knee.

  Using his thumbnail, just as he had practiced for hours, Giovanni snapped to life the match he had taken from his pocket and held the flame to the coal oil–soaked rag stuffed in the neck of the wine bottle. It caught fire instantly. Giovanni threw the bottle as hard as he could. It sailed over the heads of Alessandro, Lorenzo, and Luca, and just as he expected, they all turned their heads to follow its fiery flight toward one of the huge piles of straw that filled the barn.

  The burst of flame when the coal oil inside the bottle exploded was bright enough to hurt the eyes. The last thing Giovanni saw before he slammed the barn door and dropped the bar over its brackets was the sight of the three boys wincing and throwing their arms up over their faces to shield them from the heat.

  That wasn’t going to do them any good. Not one bit.

  Giovanni ran to pick up the other pieces of stout board he had laid against the barn wall where they wouldn’t be noticed. He wedged one under each of the brackets on the doors to reinforce them. Luca was big and strong enough he might have been able to batter his way out despite the bar, but not with those extra boards wedged in place. Giovanni had already prepared the rear door the same way. Also, he had nailed the small door up in the loft shut, so they wouldn’t be able to budge it. There was no way out for his enemies.

  The stone walls wouldn’t burn, but all the straw stored in there would, and so would the wooden rafters. The thatched roof would catch fire and collapse, too, but probably by that time Alessandro, Lorenzo, and Luca would be dead already. The smoke would kill them and the flames would consume their bodies.

  Right now, however, they were still alive, and Giovanni smiled as he heard their panicked yells, so loud he could make them out through the thick walls. He heard the crackling, too, as the fire grew stronger and stronger. The trapped boys started to scream. Maybe he imagined it, but the smoke escaping the barn seemed to take on the smell of cooking meat . . .

  Giovanni was still smiling as he turned and walked away. After a minute, he broke into a trot, then a run. He didn’t want to be discovered anywhere near here. In fact, it might be time for him to leave his grandfather’s farm altogether. Maybe even go somewhere besides Sicily. There was a big world out there waiting for him, and even though he was just a child, he realized he wasn’t afraid to face it on his own.

  To survive, you just had to be prepared to do whatever it took. And always, always, strike back at your enemies harder than they hit you.

  He didn’t just smile as he disappeared into the night. He laughed.

  CHAPTER 17

  Stinking Gulch, Wyoming, 1902

  There wasn’t much to the place, just a combination saloon, whorehouse, and general store on the south side of the railroad tracks, with an adjoining corral and feed shed. To the north of the tracks lay a large array of cattle pens and a couple of loading ramps. The broad, shallow, dry wash that gave the tiny settlement its name ran from north to south, just west of town, and a
long trestle carried the railroad tracks across it.

  The settlement, about halfway between Laramie to the east and Rawlins to the west, served as a shipping point for the ranches in the area. It was a flag stop on the railroad, but most of the time the trains just barreled on through because there was no reason to raise the signal. On this night, one of the rare rainy nights in the area, the westbound was due to come through at 8:20.

  The two men standing under the western end of the trestle didn’t know if the train was on schedule or not. They hoped it was, because they didn’t want to have to stay out in this mucky weather any longer than they had to.

  “I don’t know why in blazes it had to pick tonight to rain,” Curly Bannister said. “It ain’t rained around here in a month of Sundays, so why tonight?”

  “Don’t ask me,” the outlaw called Childers replied. “I ain’t in charge of the weather.”

  He finished tying a bundle of dynamite to one of the support posts but didn’t attach a fuse to it yet. The rain was falling fairly hard, and quite a bit of water dripped through the gaps between the planks that formed the trestle’s floor.

  Curly glanced nervously to the north along the gulch, which was barely visible on this dark night. “I wonder if it’s gonna rain so much there’ll be a flash flood.”

  “I think it’ll have to rain a lot more than it has so far,” Childers said. He didn’t sound worried. He had a stolid, unexcitable nature, which made him a good man to work with explosives. “It only started about half an hour ago.”

  “I know, I know,” Curly said. “But I wish it’d stop. How are we gonna set off this blast if it’s rainin’?”

  “Fuse is special made so it’ll burn even in the rain,” Childers said. “So that won’t be a problem.” He held his hand under one of the drips coming from the trestle. “Anyway, I think it’s lettin’ up.”

  “I sure hope so. I hate gettin’ wet!”

  “That’s what I would’ve figured from the way you hate takin’ a bath.”