The Assassins

by F. M. Parker

  “That may be true, but I think I have more of a chance to survive if you help me. Therefore, I’m not being too generous. My life is damned valuable to me. Shall we be partners?”

  “We may end up being dead partners, but partners we shall be.” Lew held out his hand.

  24

  Old Ella watched Farr Rawlins enter the office of Russee Loussat and the door close behind him. Then, exaggerating the slump of her shoulders, she shuffled across the street and moved past the front of the building.

  She slowed as she passed the window at the end of the structure. The drone of a man’s voice reached her through the open window covered with a mosquito netting.

  Ella continued along the street for half a block and then turned and began to retrace her steps. The few pedestrians paid her no attention. There were no street vendors about to become suspicious of her movements.

  Near the window of the office, Ella halted and sat on the sidewalk. She stretched her thin legs out on the brick and pulled the faded dress primly down to her shoe tops. She closed her eyes and her chin sank to rest on her bony breast. Just an old black woman asleep, or perhaps sick, on the street.

  For five days, Ella had spied upon Rawlins. He was a punctual man, with a routine that varied hardly at all. She slept when he entered his house and the lights went out. When he sought out a restaurant for his meal, she ate from the food sold on the street by the vendors. Never once did she lose track of Rawlins.

  A messenger had come to Rawlins’ office in the late afternoon. Immediately Rawlins had left and, leaning on his cane, walked the short three blocks to Loussat’s place of business.

  Ella shifted her head slightly, placing her ear at the very edge of the window. The voice of a man came to her through the baire swaying to the slow, damp wind.

  * * *

  “We should not meet so openly, and in one of our offices,” Stanton Shattuck said. “This had better be damned awful important.”

  “Nobody is thinking about rigged bidding for military contracts,” replied Loussat. “The city’s half-deserted and the remaining people are hiding in their homes or preparing to leave.”

  “We’re still here,” Shattuck said.

  “But only for a very short time,” Tarboll said. “I’m about ready to leave too.”

  “The same here,” Rawlins said. “Loussat, why did you send for us?”

  “My nephew, the one who works as law clerk for Rosiere, came with important news just a few minutes ago. What he told me will change how we handle Wollfolk.” Loussat looked at one face after the other.

  “Out with it, Loussat,” Shattuck growled.

  “Wollfolk is not who we think he is. That accountant Datson is really Wollfolk.”

  “Then who in the hell is the man that has been passing himself off as Wollfolk?” Rawlins asked.

  “A Texas Ranger named Lew Fannin.”

  “A lawman from Texas has no jurisdiction in Louisiana,” Rawlins said.

  “He used to be a Ranger. Now he’s hired by Wollfolk to take his place.”

  “How did your nephew come to find this out?” Tarboll asked.

  “Wollfolk and Fannin came to Rosiere to draw up a paper to set the record straight. They must be afraid the yellow fever might strike one of them. My nephew heard it all.”

  “That’s good news indeed,” Shattuck said. “This new Wollfolk will be much easier to kill.”

  “The timing is excellent,” Rawlins said. “The city is in turmoil with the law busy either picking up dead bodies or trying to stop looting of vacant homes and businesses. Wollfolk can be disposed of without danger to us.”

  “We will use Kelty this time,” Shattuck said. “He’ll not fail.”

  “But is he still in the city?” questioned Loussat.

  “Kelty’s afraid of nothing, not even Bronze John,” Shattuck said. “I know where to leave a message for him. Perhaps I can still get hold of him today.”

  Tarboll spoke. “Since the Wollfolk Company has put on the night shift, Datson is usually working on the dock or at the warehouse until dark. I’ve seen him there. Kelty can catch him on his way home.”

  “I want to get this thing done today,” said Shattuck.

  “If Wollfolk’s not on the dock, Kelty can find him at that mulatto Morissot’s home.”

  * * *

  Ella clambered to her feet and scampered off along the avenue. Lezin must be told at once of Kelty. He would stop the assassin from killing Timothy.

  Or could he? When Ella was in the presence of Kelty that one time, she had felt the power and evil in the man. Maybe no one could stop Kelty.

  Ella had visited Lezin’s home and had seen the tender looks Marie gave the young white man. The girl had a great love for Timothy. Once, oh, so many years ago, Ella had possessed such a love for a man. She felt the glow of the pleasant memories of that time. But her man was long dead. Marie’s man must not die.

  Ella lengthened her stride almost to a run. Her old heart with its paper-thin walls beat and thrashed against her ribs as she sped block after block.

  * * *

  “What’s that noise?” Shattuck said. He had heard the scuff of feet at the open window. He hurried across the room, flung aside the baire, and looked out.

  “Just an old nigger woman passing,” he said. “That’s all.” He reseated himself.

  Tarboll spoke to the group of men. “Have you thought of what the Texas Ranger will do if we kill Wollfolk? The Ranger was at my office earlier today. He said he wanted to see what I looked like, that I was number four. That means he knows the three of you. He is aware of the Ring. He threatened to come and kill me if anyone tried to hurt him or damage his business.”

  Tarboll studied the three men. Shattuck was grinning as if a joke had been told. Tarboll thought the man was anticipating a fight with the Ranger. Loussat and Rawlins were not grinning. Both had felt the deadly threat of the Ranger. Rawlins had been slapped half-senseless and knocked to the floor of the Saint Charles. Loussat had been challenged and had tucked his tail between his legs and ran.

  “So we must kill the Ranger Fannin too,” said Shattuck, looking at Tarboll. “And more than that, this is the time to destroy the Wollfolk docks.”

  “You’re right,” Tarboll said. “I’ve no doubt that Fannin will come after us when we strike at Wollfolk. I mean to hit him before he hits me. I know many men in the Swamp. I’ll gather a bunch of them and we’ll burn the Wollfolk docks and warehouse. We’ll do it late tonight. If Fannin is there, we’ll shoot him while he is busy fighting the fire. If not there, then we’ll go to his placee’s house on the ramparts and finish him.”

  “I’m coming with you,” Loussat said. He had to conquer his fear of Fannin. The Ranger’s deadly accuracy with the pistol had unnerved Loussat. But that was passing. To redeem himself in his own eyes and those of his comrades, he had to slay the man with his own hands. “You must let me kill Fannin,” Loussat told Tarboll.

  “All right, Loussat,” Tarboll said. “You get the first shot at him.”

  * * *

  Morissot took a two-pound channel catfish from the hook on the trotline and tossed the flapping creature into the bottom of the pirogue. Bait was fastened to the hook and the trotline released to sink back into the water of the Mississippi. The boat floated free, picking up speed and drifting with the current.

  Morissot inserted the oars into the oarlocks and stroked for the bank. The day had been profitable. Some fifty pounds of fish had been taken from his seven trotlines. At three cents per pound, he had earned one dollar and fifty cents, an average day’s wage for a laborer.

  Morissot had enjoyed the simple honest pleasure of the fishing. He wished he truly was only a riverman who traded his hard-earned catch of fish for the necessary things of life. But he had long ago passed beyond that simple existence. Now, nearly two score of dead men lay behind him. He was thankful that he had no son and that the line of assassins would end with him.

  The pirogue reached the
riverbank and Lezin stepped out. He dragged the craft out of the water and secured it with a chain and lock to a big sycamore. The fish were packed into a burlap sack. Lezin lifted the sack to his shoulder and climbed up to his wagon on top of the levee. The mellow feeling of an enjoyable day on the river still held him, lingering as a pleasant glow as he drove the horse and wagon in the direction of his home.

  * * *

  Old Ella and Marie were in the carriageway when Lezin came into sight on the wooded lane to the house. The women hastened toward him. Lezin’s pleasant mood vanished at the sight of Ella’s face so full of dread and fear.

  “Lezin, I’m so glad you have come,” Ella said as the wagon came to a stop. “Kelty is coming to kill Timothy.”

  “How do you know that?” Lezin asked.

  “I heard Rawlins and some other men agreeing to hire the man to do it.”

  “Where is Tim?” Lezin asked Marie.

  “He hasn’t come home yet,” Marie answered. “Father, you must warn him.”

  “Ella, tell me all that you know,” Lezin said.

  The old woman swiftly described how she had followed Rawlins to the office of a man named Loussat, and the conversation she had heard.

  “How many men were there?”

  “I heard four different voices. I did not see any of the men except Rawlins. They know Timothy stays with you.”

  “Marie, take Ella and go to Jonathan’s home. Kelty may come here and he would harm you and Ella. Stay with Jonathan until I come for you, and don’t go outside, for Kelty may see you. Tell Jonathan no one must learn that you are there.”

  “What of Tim?” Marie asked. There was a tremble in her voice. “Ella told me Kelty is a wicked mail and has killed many people.”

  “Ella exaggerates.”

  “I don’t either,” Ella snapped.

  “Father, keep Tim safe for me,” Marie said, catching him by the hand.

  “I will. Now go to Jonathan’s like I say.”

  “I’ll pack some things at the house.”

  “No. Leave this very second.”

  Lezin watched the two women scurry off through the woods on the worn path to Jonathan’s. Then he drove on to the house and tied the horse. He climbed the steps to the upper floor.

  From the closet in his bedroom, Lezin dragged out an iron-bound chest and unlocked it. He dug into the chest and laid out his cache of killing weapons, an assortment of knives, handguns, and two garrotes.

  Rarely did Morissot use a gun to carry out the contracts he made to execute men. However, this time he was not going against ordinary men, but against Kelty. He loaded one of the Colt pistols with measures of powder, rammed home the five lead balls, and pressed a cap over each nipple. He put the gun in his belt. A long-bladed, two-edged knife was strapped to his waist. The remaining weapons were once again placed into the trunk and locked away hidden in the rear of the closet.

  Morissot walked slowly down the stairway of the house. On the ground, he gazed back, letting his eyes roam over the old house where he had lived all of his life. Where Marie had been born and grew to beautiful womanhood. He recalled old joyous memories, savoring them as they flitted through his mind. He should be hurrying, but there was a growing premonition that he might never see his home again.

  Morissot whirled around and leapt into the wagon. The whip cracked an inch above the horse’s ears and the animal broke into a trot easterly toward New Orleans.

  Behind Morissot, the sun watched with half a red and bloody eye showing above the flat horizon. Ahead cannon began to boom, jarring the city as if it was under military attack. Smoke was streaming upward in many locations.

  He knew what the cannon fire and smoke meant. Once again the officials were beginning their defense against the yellow fever. The number of dead must be very large.

  * * *

  Gustave Besançon stopped pounding on the door of the barroom and looked through the darkness at Leandre and Maurice standing near him. “Locked tight, and nobody answers,” he said.

  “I want a drink of rum,” Leandre said. “Step aside. I’ll give it a few kicks that’ll wake even the dead.” He assaulted the door, and it rattled loudly on its hinges and against the lock. He ceased kicking and listened through the boom of the cannon. There was only silence from within. “We must have tried nearly a dozen barrooms and every one is closed,” he said.

  “The Flatboat Saloon won’t be closed in the Swamp,” Gustave said. “Those hellions down there have never given in to any epidemic, either yellow fever or cholera. They just draw lots to see who will dig the graves for the dead, and the rest go right on drinking and whoring.”

  “The Swamp is a damned good idea,” Leandre said. “And we’re not going to let old Bronze John spoil our good time either. Let’s go visit those rascals in the Flatboat.”

  The three Creoles waded off through the night lying dense with ropy smoke from burning tar.

  * * *

  Gustave stopped just inside the entrance of the Flat-boat and stared around. “We’ve made a long trip for nothing. The place is nearly deserted.” He gestured down the saloon.

  A pair of men stood at the bar and sipped at beers. One of the card tables had three players. The craps table was covered with a dirty Indian blanket.

  “We might as well have a drink while we are here,” said Leandre, leading toward the bar.

  “Maybe Custus is around and knows where something is happening that will entertain us,” Gustave said.

  “Back again,” said the bartender, recognizing the young Creoles. “Don’t shoot anyone this time. I don’t have enough customers to spare even one.”

  “Business does look lean,” Gustave said. “Is Custus around?”

  “He’s in the back with a couple of gents from uptown,” said the bartender. He chucked a thumb in the general direction of the rear of the saloon. “Go on back. They’re probably someone you know.”

  “Order me a drink too,” Gustave said to his friends as he turned and headed off.

  He parted a pair of ratty curtains and entered a short, dark hallway. A sliver of weak yellow lamplight shone from under a closed door at the end of the passageway. He heard men’s voices.

  As Gustave approached the light, the voices became clear. Custus was speaking.

  “All right, I’ll help you burn the warehouse and as much of the docks as will burn. My charge is two hundred dollars.”

  “That price is acceptable,” a second unknown voice said. “How many men can you get?”

  “As many as you want,” Custus announced.

  “The Irishmen might help Wollfolk fight us off,” the first man said. “We’ll get only one chance, and that’ll be a surprise. Fifty men or so will be needed. That would be enough to keep the Irishmen busy and still leave us with some men to set the fires.”

  “That number won’t be any problem,” Custus said. “How much pay do the men get to help me?’

  “We want men who can swing a hard club,” said the first man. “The pay is a double sawbuck for an hour’s work.”

  “I can find men who’ll work for that. What about the military cargo? After we soak the warehouse and the docks with coal oil and light them, we’re not going to be able to control the fire.”

  “We don’t give a damn about the military supplies. So don’t you worry about them. Now, here’s the plan.”

  “I don’t need your help to do this,” Custus said.

  “You’re going to get it whether you want it or not.” The first man spoke quickly and angrily. “And you’ll follow it or I’ll get somebody else to do the job.”

  “All right,” Custus agreed in a mollifying tone. “Take it easy.”

  “Good. Now, the first thing is that your men must not know who hired you.”

  “They won’t find out.”

  “Be sure of that. Here is how we’ll organize your men. First there’ll be a frontal attack on the warehouse and docks by the bulk of the men. Second come ten men with coal oil and lucife
rs. Have four men with axes go around the border of the fight and cut the lines of the ships tied up at the docks. Those ships must drift out into the river so the sailors can’t help Wollfolk. The ships’ crews will be sleeping, so that should be easy. Is all this understood?”

  “Yes. Give me the money now. And there’s one thing you got to know: even if we fail to burn Wollfolk’s property, we keep all the money. For, sure as hell, the men I pick to do this job won’t give it back.”

  “That’s agreeable,” the first man said. “When can you be ready?”

  “In an hour, just as soon as I can round up the men.”

  “Make the attack just as I told you,” the first man warned. “I’ll be watching.”

  Gustave backed away from the door and hastened along the hallway. He slowed at the doorway and sauntered to the front of the saloon.

  “Did you find them?” the bartender asked.

  “They had the door closed and I did not want to disturb them,” Gustave said. He sat and picked up his glass of rum. “We got to get out of here,” he said under his breath. “Drink up.”

  “What’s the problem?” Leandre said.

  “There’s a hell of a fight coming and I think we can get in on it. I know which side we should be on. I’ll tell you the rest outside.” Gustave drained his glass of rum and headed for the door.

  25

  The crashing boom of cannon fire rumbled across New Orleans and hammered the city and its frightened inhabitants like a great thunderstorm. At a hundred street intersections, tar barrels burned and sent up their putrid smoke.

  The cannon positioned by the row of sailor’s boarding-houses exploded, jarring the buildings and rattling the windows near Kelty. He heard the clattering fall of stones as ancient bricks softened by age and shattered by the concussions of the gun rained down from the buildings to the sidewalk.

  Kelty stole on, slipping through the army of night shadows crowding the waterfront streets near the Wollfolk warehouse and docks. The man Shattuck had said was named Lew walked sentinel duty on the river’s edge. The mulatto Morissot guarded the inland side, stalking Jackson Square and the dark streets that lay adjacent to the waterfront. That action of the two fighters told Kelty that his prey was there on the docks. However, he would have to get close to identify a man he had seen but twice, and that at a distance.