The Frenchman's Revenge Read online

  The Frenchman’s Revenge

  By

  Taylor Lee

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Epilogue

  Book Cover

  Main Menu

  Afterword

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  The Grandmaster’s Legacy: Release Schedule

  Copyright Information

  SNEEK PEEK: The Joker is Wild

  ~~

  Prologue

  June, 1904

  He lay next to her, his cock buried inside of her. So many mornings he woke like this, connected physically to this woman, this woman who was his life. He didn’t remember who fell asleep first. It was like that with her. They came together with a passion so intense that their nights often ended this way. They made love until one or the other -- usually both -- fell asleep exhausted, entangled in each others arms, each others bodies.

  He was careful not to wake her. It was still dark. Long before she needed to waken. His men were waiting for him. There was much to do today.

  He slipped out of her. She moaned in her sleep at the loss. His still erect cock jerked in sympathy. He marveled at her body, caressing her only with his eyes. If he allowed himself to touch, to taste, he wouldn’t leave. He had never permitted himself to feel this way about a woman. A woman so beautiful, so desirable, she made a man weep to be inside of her.

  He loved her long slender neck. He smiled at the love bites he put there, glad he had marked her. He wanted her to wake remembering his teeth, his tongue in all the sensitive erotic places he was still discovering. Her breasts were beautiful, so full and firm that he had to restrain himself physically to keep from running his tongue around the soft tips. He knew how quickly they would harden when he licked and bit them. He could suckle her for hours. Many nights it seemed as though he did.

  He longed to bury his face between her thighs and feast on her, inhale her sweet musky smell. She was still slick from their lovemaking. He reveled in the memory of kissing her, sharing the taste of their combined juices on her lips and his.

  Easing out of bed, he began to dress, cloaking himself in the accoutrements of his trade, his chosen profession. A gun here, another there, both well hidden. A series of knives secreted in their special places. He was a killer, an accomplished one – feared by friends and enemies alike. Blessed with an untouchable sense of his power, he didn’t know fear, except with this woman – for this woman. He would die to protect her. And he would walk into certain death rather than let another man touch her.

  He turned to leave when she sighed and roused up, her eyes heavy with sleep. Her lips were still red and swollen from his rough hungry kisses.

  “Go back to sleep, mon amour. It’s not yet dawn. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “I know. But I would rather watch you leave then wake and find you gone.”

  “I’ll remember that. I need to go. They are waiting for me.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “I will tell you when I return.”

  “Is it dangerous?”

  He didn’t answer. It wasn’t necessary. She knew whatever he was doing, it would be dangerous, more likely for the people he was meeting than for him.

  “You know we have a party tonight.”

  “Ah, oui, a huge celebration. I may be late but I will be here. A party tonight and I understand there is to be a branding ceremony on Friday, correct?” he said, sighing in mock dismay.

  “Most people call it a wedding.”

  “I’m not most people.”

  “That is true. Be careful.”

  “Ah, cherie, I am never in more danger than when I am with you. The most dangerous times of my life are when I am in your arms. All my defenses are down. I am at your mercy.”

  He said it with a wry chuckle, his eyes twinkling, but it was true. She was his greatest strength, his only weakness.

  ~~

  Chapter 1

  Tony wiped the slime off his chin with the back of his hand. His beady eyes focused in gluttonous concentration on the platter of greasy meat in front of him. Ignoring the gristle trapped in the folds of fat hanging from his jowls, he methodically worked over each bone, scraping off the particles of meat first with his grimy fingernails, then his teeth. He noisily sucked the juice from each gnawed bone before tossing it over his shoulder to the growing pile on the floor behind him.

  “Christ, Tony, do you have to eat the whole damned cow? Jesus, leave something for the fuckin’ dogs to chew on,” Federico said in disgust.

  “Shut the fuck up, Freddie. A man’s gotta eat.”

  “Hell, yeah, but the rest of us finished about an hour ago. Christ, don’t you ever think you jest might explode? Goddamn, even in a gut your size, Tony, there’s gotta be a limit – an overflow switch, somthin’ that says it’s time to stop.”

  “Tell you what, Freddie, if I got one, it ain’t never talked to me yet,” Tony said with a grin, patting his huge gut and letting loose a satisfied belch, blanketing the table with the stench of rotten meat and gastric juice.

  “As for the goddamn dogs, there’s lots of meat left on them bones for the mutts to chomp on.”

  He looked over at the young girls huddled against the wall. The light from the gas lamps lit their pale strained faces and frightened eyes. They wore tight gaudy dresses and garish makeup that made them look even younger than they were, like little girls playing dress up. It was difficult to tell how old the girls were, but even the oldest ones couldn’t have been over fifteen.

  Tony glared at them. “You, bitches. Pick up them bones and take ‘em outside to the dogs.”

  Several of the girls scrambled forward to grab the bones, their eyes glued to the floor. They darted down to pick up the bones and then jumped back, staying as far away from Tony as possible.

  “You, you too, bitch!” Tony said to the older girl leaning against the wall, her beautiful Chinese face tight with emotion, distain in her dark eyes as she glared at the enormous man.

  Seeing the hostile look on her face, Tony shifted ominously toward her. Shaking his head in recognition, he growled, “Oh yeah, you’re the haughty little cunt Diego and the boys have been chasing across the country. Did you think you could get away from us, bitch? I don’t suppose you speak English? Christ, don’t any of you ignorant sluts speak anything besides that fuckin’ sing song Chink gibberish?”

  Glowering at her, he pointed to the last bone on the floor at his feet. “Pick it up, cunt.”

  The girl stared at him, then lifted her chin defiantly. She slowly reached down to pick up the bone.

  “Not with your hands, she-bitch,” he growled. “Get down on your hands and knees like the dog you are and pick it up with your teeth.”

  When she sto
od still glaring at him, Tony growled, a low animal sound. With the back of one huge hand, he slammed her across the face, knocking her to the floor. The other girls shrieked and jumped back, clutching each other in fear. The girl lay still for a minute, her slender body shaking. She scrambled back to avoid Tony’s boot as he reached out to kick her. She pushed up to her hands and knees, took the bone in her teeth, and backed away from him. Her soft cheek bore a bright red mark from his hard slap. Angry tears swam in her dark eyes.

  “That’s right. Crawl back in the corner, bitch, and gnaw on your bone like the mangy dog you are,” Tony snarled.

  He started to heave himself out of his chair and go after her, but Louie, who was sitting next to him, grabbed his arm.

  “Damn, Tony. That’s merchandise you’re markin’ up. Hell, that pretty little gal can do eight or ten men a night. Let them bruise her if they want to, they’re payin’ for it. But we should at least try to keep them looking good as long as we can. Shit, I thought we were going to play poker tonight, now that you’re finally done feeding your face. I plan to take your money, big guy.”

  Angry red splotches blazed on Tony’s bloated face and he stared menacingly at the defiant young girl. Shrugging off Louie’s restraining arm, he muttered under his breath about ignorant Chink cunts, then yelled to the dark haired man behind the bar.

  “Goddamnit, Dante, bring us that fuckin’ whiskey you’re hoarding over there. We got a night of heavy drinking ahead of us.”

  Over the next hour, the eight men around the table settled in with their cards, whiskey, and cigars. Music from the brothel out front drifted to the back room. The sounds of men’s laughter, drunken shouts, and the high pitched voices of the whores punctuated the night. Madame Torrento’s was the most elegant brothel in San Francisco and the flagship of the Sicilian mob’s emerging presence in the city. Like the rest of the brothel, the private room reserved for the mob leaders was lavish. The massive intricately carved mahogany bar was the centerpiece of the darkly opulent room. Heavy damask red and gold wall coverings defined by mahogany wainscoting complimented the plush carpet and velvet covered arm chairs. Oil paintings of women in various stages of nakedness decorated the walls and a fire burned low in the stone fireplace. The flickering gas lamps strategically placed throughout lent a pleasant glow to the room.

  “Nights like these make me almost glad we’re out here,” Arturo mused as he threw in a crap hand with a disgusted grunt, tossing back a big swig of liquid comfort. “How about you, Tony? You starting to think you can live in the Wild West or are you still pining to get back to New York?”

  “Christ, if there were a few more of us here and I didn’t have to spend every goddamn minute looking over my shoulder, I could like it a lot. I just wish we weren’t the fuckin’ pioneers sent to keep the Irish from setting up here,” Tony said, blowing a cloud of cigar smoke up in the air.

  “I dunno, Tony, I think we’re making real progress. Hell, we got as many cops and pols in our pocket as the Micks do. We definitely got more brothels. Hell, our gambling halls are overrun with easy marks every night,” Louie said as he pushed a pile of Madame Torrento’s custom chips to the center of the table and nodded to Carlo. “Show me what you got, asshole. There’s no way you can beat my queens.”

  Carlo shook his head in disgust, threw down his cards and with a grumble pushed his chips over to Louie.

  “Not so fast, Louie, my boy, unless the fuckin’ poker gods decreed that queens beat kings,” Tony said with a gleeful snort tossing down his three kings and dragging the pot to his burgeoning pile of chips.

  “Fuck, Tony, do you ever lose?” Louie asked, shaking his head in disgust.

  “Nope,” Tony chortled, “Losing just ain’t in my blood.”

  Taking a puff off his cigar and a deep swallow of whiskey, Louie squinted up at Tony, a sly grin tugging at his mouth.

  “Unless the Frenchman’s involved, right, Tony?”

  ”Fuck you, asshole,” Tony shouted, slamming his glass down on the table, his face purple with rage. “You think I don’t know we got a problem? The biggest fucking problem I’ve ever had is that goddamn Chink. I ain’t ashamed to admit it.”

  He shook his head and added angrily, “The Eastern big boys have no idea who this guy is. Christ, I know they wanted us out here to beat the goddamn Irish to the punch. But none of them – not the Micks, not us, knew about the Frenchman. Like everybody else, Aldo and the rest of the family thinks all that’s out here are some has been outlaw gangs and a bunch of impotent Chinks. Damn, I never even heard of the Sing Leon til I got here. Now I learn they run the place. The Tongs in New York are in Chinatown, that’s it! Who would have thought they’d still be big players out here?”

  “Yeah, Tony, but the Frenchman is more than the head of the Sing Leon. I can tell you, the rest of the Tongs defer to him. Not a hell of a lot happens in Chink circles without his say so.” Louie studied his cards, then added. “And being half French doesn’t hurt. Makes him more accepted by the whites. Neither does the fact he has more money than God. Christ, he’s into more shit than we are. Hell, he even does some legit business. We need to make the big boys understand that this guy is a hell of a lot more than a gang leader,” Louie said with a grimace.

  Dante brought another bottle of whiskey to the table. Loading the empties in the crook of his arm, he gave an appreciative whistle. “Holy Mother of God, did you hear about what happened on Palmer Street last weekend?”

  “You mean when the Frenchman took on that rival Tong? Hell yeah, who hasn’t heard about it?” Gavino snorted. “Christ, word is he single handedly took down seven men.”

  Freddie nodded, daring a quick look at Tony’s angry face to see how his boss was reacting to the conversation about his nemesis.

  “That’s the hell of it. Apparently he always has his men around him, but they stand back. Let that vicious son of a bitch do the killing. Damn, if he doesn’t kick em to death, he cuts ‘em to ribbons. He’s like a goddamn animal. Needs to spill blood to live.”

  Tony flung an empty whiskey bottle at the stone fireplace. It shattered with a loud crash, sending shards of glass flying through the air just missing two of the girls.

  He said with an incredulous growl, “And, Jesus, the fucker takes heads for trophies. Think about it! Seven goddamn Chink fighters in an alley and he bests all of them. He beats them to hell, then slices off their heads like some ancient swordsman outa the dark ages!”

  Tony shook his head in wonder, his fat chins churning across his neck like waves in a storm. “Goddamn, heads rollin’ up and down the alley like fuckin’ Bocce balls. Not a single body left with a head. How’s that for sending a message? Christ, talk about a savage!”

  Carlo’s mouth twitched and his eyes twinkled wickedly. “From what I’ve heard, it ain’t just heads he cuts off either.”

  Loud groans from the men at the table greeted that unwelcome inference.

  “Yeah, I don’t think anyone the Frenchman takes on ends up with all his body parts, even if he lets em live,” Louie confirmed.

  The men all nodded, muttering in agreement.

  “I’ve been thinking, Tony,” Freddie interjected. “Maybe we should cut him in on some of our shit. Maybe give him some of the Chink cunts to get him off our backs.”

  “Hell, no! Those sweet little pussies are our most lucrative business, our best seller. Damn, we get em by the boatload—those that survive the ocean, that is. No way can we get that many young white girls who are honest to God virgins.”

  Tony laughed loudly and raised his glass to the group of young girls clinging together against the wall.

  “At least for the first week or so we can pass em off as virgins. If we clean em up in between johns, that is,” he added, grinning lewdly at the cowering girls.

  “Yeah, but they’re not exactly sturdy. Hell, they’re pretty much goners after ten days or so working for us, depending on how many guys take ‘em each night,” Freddie said in exasperation.

&n
bsp; “What the hell do you expect from an eleven year old kid?” Louie said, glaring at him.

  Before Freddie could respond, there was a series of loud crashes outside the door. Sounds of people running in the hallways shouting and screaming echoed through the closed door.

  Tony glanced up in annoyance. “Goddamn, I’m gonna kick some ass out there if we have another fight tonight. Christ, that’s why I got ten men there to protect the merchandise and keep the fuckin’ customers from killing each other over the whores!”

  There was another loud crash close by as they heard more people running and yelling as they went by. Tony nodded to Dante, “Find out what the hell is going on!”

  Dante threw down his towel. As he moved from behind the bar, the footsteps receded. It sounded as though what ever was happening had moved outside. Screams could still be heard in the distance, but all that they heard in the hallway was an eerie silence. Squinting over at Tony, Dante shrugged and moved back behind the bar.

  “Whatever it was, it’s over, Tony.”

  Tony nodded, grunted, and threw back the whiskey in his glass, reaching for the bottle to pour another.

  At that moment, the door opened and a tall young Chinese man entered. He wore a tailored black silk shirt with pearl buttons, fitted black trousers, a black cowboy hat, and heavily tooled black lizard skin boots. He looked lean—almost slender; distinguished, elegant until you saw his eyes. They were hard, gleaming, and a strange amber color. But it was his voice, soft and cultured, overlaid with a distinct French accent, that brought the room to a dead quiet.

  ~~

  Chapter 2

  “Good evening, gentlemen. I trust I’m not interrupting your poker game.”

  The young man reached in his shirt pocket and took out a silver samorodok cigarette case. It had a repousse wolf’s head with topaz eyes embossed on the lid. He removed a cigarette, took a match from the bottom of the case, lit the cigarette, and took a deep drag.

  He blew the smoke up in the air. Looking at the stunned men sitting at the table, he said with a slight smile, “But, then again, it would appear that this game is almost over.”