The Frenchman's Revenge Page 2

  Tony gasped as he stared in shock, seeing his worst nightmare standing casually in front of him.

  With an involuntary shudder, Tony recognized who held the power. It wasn’t him, the three hundred and eighty pound, six foot six inch tall mob leader sitting at the table. No, goddamnit, it was the lean, elegant man, quietly smoking a cigarette. Everything about him – his voice, his eyes, the way he moved, spoke to the contained animal within. He was the fuckin’ Frenchman, the prize of the pride, Tony silently conceded. And the one who held the power.

  Struggling to regain his composure, Tony tried to speak in a voice meant to be brave, unconcerned. Instead, he choked, a gagging sound rattling up in his throat.

  Trying again, he bellowed, “Well if it isn’t the goddamned Frenchman. We were just talking about you, Frenchie. You alone, Frenchie?”

  The Frenchman smiled. “Not so as you’d notice.”

  The men at the table froze as a group of Chinese men with their guns drawn came from behind the Frenchman, positioning themselves in a row across the front of the room.

  Dante and Arturo made a move for their guns but stopped at the Frenchman’s soft warning, “I wouldn’t do that.”

  With a barely perceptible nod at Louie, he added, “It wouldn’t bode well for Tony.”

  The two men jumped back in horror when Louie stood up and tucked the muzzle of his gun in the back of Tony’s neck, tight against the base of his brain.

  As surprised as his men, Tony looked up to see four Chinese men with their guns trained on the space between his eyes. Staring at Louie in disbelief, his face turned a pasty gray.

  “Louie, I don’t believe it. Christ, you’re not a Chink. What the hell are you doing mixed up with these assholes?”

  Louie ignored him. Instead, he pushed his gun harder against Tony’s neck, exchanging a nod with the Frenchman.

  “Nianzu, Quitin, get their guns. All of them. Tie their hands. Put them up against the wall,” the Frenchman ordered.

  The two Chinese men next to the Frenchman walked up to the men sitting at the table. They began taking their guns, putting them in the saddlebags they slung over their shoulders. Two other men came from behind and jerked Dante away from the bar, then pulled Arturo to his feet. They tied their hands tight behind their backs, dragged them across the room and shoved them face first against the wall.

  At that moment, there was the sound of a soft “shtick” as a knife flashed across the room. A second later, Freddie screamed a hideous cry. Clutching his throat, he fell to the floor, his gun clattered uselessly beside him, a butterfly knife buried in his neck.

  “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, did you see that? Goddamn, I didn’t even see it leave his hand,” Victor gasped, staring at the Frenchman in astonishment.

  The men at the table turned to the Frenchman in shock. To a man they were visibly shaking.

  “Mother of God, he’s still got the goddamn cigarette in his mouth. I tell you, he was smokin’ the goddamn cigarette when he threw the fuckin’ knife!” Mannie yelped, rubbing his eyes, as if not believing what he had seen.

  The Frenchman nodded to the man he called Nianzu.

  Nianzu said, “In case you didn’t hear, the Frenchman said, “All of your weapons’.”

  Within minutes, the mobsters were herded across the room, their hands tied behind their backs, their faces smashed against the wall, except for Freddie, lying dead on the floor. And Tony.

  The Frenchman studied Tony. He sunk in his chair, clutching the edge of the table. His face was pale. Bright red spots marked the pocked skin on his face and neck. Sweat ran down his fat cheeks. Wet splotches stained the underarms of his already filthy shirt. He smelled like what he was, a cornered animal.

  Clearly making an effort to pull himself together, he assumed a hearty bravado. “Okay, Mr. Frenchman, you got the upper hand now. You may be crazy, but you ain’t stupid. You know the organization behind me. What do you want?”

  The Frenchman continued to look at him with a slight smile, amused.

  Tony blustered on. “Christ, tell you what, we’ll cut you in. Might even make you a partner here in California. Hell, I’ll give you every Chink prostitute we got. They are selling like crazy!”

  Seeing the look in the Frenchman’s eyes, Tony paled more, took a breath, then stuttered, “Look, they’re our best sellers. I’ll…I’ll give them to you--they’re yours--all yours….”

  Tony’s voice trailed off when the Frenchman’s smile died and he turned away, his face tight with distain.

  Ignoring the blabbering man at the table, the Frenchman focused on the Chinese girls who were plastered against the far wall, clinging to each other for support. Some of them were crying, most of them stood wide-eyed, dumb with fear.

  The Frenchman spoke to them in Chinese and told them to leave the room—to go outside with his men. When they drew back afraid, the Frenchman singled out the older girl who was looking at him angrily, but without fear.

  He said in Chinese, “Look at me.”

  He paused, holding her gaze. “Listen to me. We are here to help you. We will not hurt you. Please go with my men and take these girls outside where they will be safe.”

  She continued to stare at him without moving. The Frenchman nodded to Nianzu. Nianzu stepped up to the girl and took hold of her arm. He spoke in Chinese.

  “You heard what the Frenchman said. We need your help. Tell these children we won’t hurt them. They are safe. All of you--go with our men. Now!”

  The girl threw him a furious look, then jerked her head at the young girls behind her, murmuring to them to follow her. Quitin and several other men came up beside the girls and began to shepherd them out. One little girl fell to the floor sobbing, begging them not to hurt her. Wattu, one of the largest of the Chinese men, his face stricken with a mix of anger and pity, bent down and picked her up in his arms. Murmuring soft comforting words in Chinese, he carried her out of the room.

  Within minutes, all of the girls were gone and the Frenchman turned back to Tony.

  For the moment, Tony’s outrage overcame his fear.

  “Now, wait just a goddamn minute here. What the hell’s going on? Look here, Frenchie. Those sluts belong to us. I already told you we’d cut you in, but we gotta come to an agreement first. You hear me?”

  The Frenchman looked at the huge man who was sweating like a pig and smelled like rancid meat.

  “You’ve made your last dollar on the backs of Chinese, Tony.” He added with an ironic grin, “But then you’ve made your last dollar period.”

  Tony said, “Okay, Frenchie. Let’s get real. You know the organization that is behind us. We’re just a small part of it. If you’re not careful, you’re gonna have the whole goddamn mob up your ass.”

  The Frenchman took a drag off his cigarette and quirked an eyebrow at Tony.

  Tony blundered on, “All right, Frenchie, I’ll help you out. I’ll tell the big boys to leave you alone. I’ll tell them we never should have come to California. I’ll tell ‘em we need to stay in the East. Christ, you can take this whole fuckin state, for all I care. I sure as hell don’t want it. You can fight it out with the Irish.”

  The Frenchman studied him. A wry smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

  “Hmm, California, huh? I don’t know about you, Tony, but that seems a rather limited option to me. This table would appear to have a great deal of room. Especially since you and your men won’t be sitting at it any longer.”

  The Frenchman’s eyes hardened as if tiring of humoring a repulsive child. He tossed his cigarette to the floor and turned to Nianzu.

  “Strip him. I want to see all of the man that does what Tony does.”

  Tony blanched and cried out, “No, no, please, tell me what you want from me...”

  Nianzu and Quitin each grabbed hold of one of his arms and hoisted Tony to his feet as Louie kicked his chair out from under him.

  Louie said in a harsh voice, “Take off your clothes, asshole. Now, or I’ll shoot you
r fingers off one at a time. Then I’ll then start taking your toes.”

  Tony stared in horror at the man he had thought was one of his own. He shook so hard that he had trouble unbuttoning his shirt.

  Nianzu took a knife from his boot and said with a sly smile, “Here, let me help you.”

  With a quick slash, he cut the buttons off the shirt driving the knife in just deep enough to leave a thin line of blood from Tony’s neck to his waist. Tony screamed in pain as Louie and Quitin pulled off his shirt.

  “Now your pants, fat man. Don’t make me use my knife again to help you. No telling what I might cut off,” Nianzu said with a grin.

  Tony struggled with the buttons on his pants, huffing and puffing like a locomotive lurching up the side of a mountain. He got the pants down to his knees, but lost his balance toppling to the floor--a heap of writhing flesh.

  “Jesus God, what a pig,” Quitin muttered. He reached down in disgust and pulled off one of Tony’s boots, then the other. Finally, he jerked the pants off the huge man, who was wallowing on the ground like a giant catfish.

  He started to pull off Tony’s long underwear but turned to Louie, his forehead creased with disgust. “Help me, Lou. I don’t think I’ve seen or smelled anything like this in my life.”

  Louie gave Quitin a sympathetic grin and said to Tony, “You got two minutes to get naked and stand up. Or I start shooting.”

  To underscore his point, he aimed his gun at Tony’s foot and fired, grazing his ankle. Tony screamed in pain, no longer trying to hide his panic. Shaking like a wounded elephant, he struggled out of his foul smelling underwear. He crawled first to his hands and knees, then, using the table as a brace, he pulled himself up to standing. His face was purple with fear. Any vestige of anger was long gone, replaced with terror.

  The Chinese men stared in amazement at the mammoth mound of quivering human flesh before them.

  No one spoke for a moment, then Quitin said pointing his gun at the fat man’s groin, “Christ, does he even have a prick under all of that?”

  Wattu said in disgust, “He probably had to have one of his men hold back the fat so he could get his cock out far enough to fuck those little girls.”

  “Damn, talk about out of proportion,” Mikmo said. “What would you say is the proportion of gut to cock, men? Maybe a hundred to one?”

  “Nah,” said Louie, “A thousand to one, if not more.”

  The men laughed in disgust as Tony’s face flamed. Humiliated tears tracked through the grime on his face.

  The Frenchman allowed a glimmer of a smile to cross his face at his men’s taunting banter, but when he turned to the naked man, he didn’t hide his revulsion.

  Tony stood sobbing, trying to cover his hairy groin with his hands. He looked to the Frenchman and cried out, “You’re gonna kill me, aren’t you? You are, aren’t you? Then do it, god damnit! Shoot me now and get it the fuck over!”

  The Frenchman smiled a soft mocking smile.

  “What kind of a family man are you, Tony? Is that what goes for courage in your gang? You die easy while your men suffer? Hmm, I didn’t know that’s how Marcello trained his men to die. Like cowards, Tony? Begging and crying for mercy? And, if I’m not mistaken, with piss running down your leg?”

  The Frenchman paused and lit another cigarette. He walked closer to Tony and blew smoke in his face. When the smoke cleared, he continued.

  “You want to die quickly, Tony? You want to die without pain? Quickly? One easy shot?”

  He smiled again, but the smile didn’t reach his hard eyes. His voice was soft, sinister.

  “I don’t think so. I don’t think so, Tony.”

  Tony blanched, clearly remembering the tales of how the Frenchmen killed his enemies. The rivulet of piss ran down his leg, forming a good sized puddle on the floor.

  The Frenchman shook his head. His voice was filled with a quiet fury.

  “No, Tony, I want you to die slowly, as slowly and as painfully as those eleven year old girls did. I want you to feel the pain and the fear that every one of them felt. You and your men are going to scream until your throats bleed, Tony. Ah, yes, cowards that you are, you’ll scream louder than those little girls did when they were ravished by men who paid you for the privilege to attack children half their size.”

  Tony was bawling like a baby. Tears streaming down his face, his massive body shook with fear. Most of the men against the wall were openly sobbing, begging for mercy.

  The Frenchman nodded to Nianzu and said, “Tie his hands.”

  Nianzu tied Tony’s hands tightly behind his back and pushed him toward the wall.

  The Frenchman grinned and said, “I know your temptation is to run, Tony, like the coward you are. Not many places to run, my friend, but just in case…”

  He pulled a gun from his boot and shot Tony in the foot. Tony fell to the ground screaming, writhing in pain.

  The Frenchman nodded over his shoulder to Nianzu and Louie as the rest of his men left the room. Nianzu and Louie rolled in two large drums of gasoline. They lit the fuses attached to the cans and shoved the drums further in the room. Then, along with the Frenchman, the three of them backed through the doorway out of the room.

  Too late, the men against the wall understood what was happening. Screaming and shoving, they charged the door in horror, trampling over Tony in a panic. But in a matter of seconds, there was a huge flash as the barrels exploded and flames tore across the room. Nianzu and Louie slid in the bolt locking the door from the outside. They followed the Frenchman out of the brothel, ignoring the screams of terror coming from the room behind them.

  ~~~

  The scene outside was pandemonium. People were screaming in fright, backing away from the burning building. Nianzu went to help their men who were loading the young girls in the horse drawn carts they had stationed by the stable. Half dressed men, customers in the brothel, were standing back, huddled against the fence, trying to hide. People who lived close and patrons of nearby taverns filled the street. Dozens of people ran up to the scene, shouting questions, adding to the cacophonous din.

  The Frenchman stood off to the side on a ridge above the street smoking a cigarette, quietly observing the chaos below. Nianzu came over to report.

  “We got all the girls and the customers out. Everyone is out now except for Tony’s men.”

  “Madame Torrento?”

  “We let her go. She is standing over there by the johns.”

  “The fire department?”

  “They’re on their way. The steam engines are coming up on Market Street now. They’ll be here within ten minutes. The only building that will burn down tonight is the brothel.”

  The Frenchman nodded.

  “How many men did you leave inside?”

  “Quitin said there were twelve guards in addition to the men we had in the back room with Tony. Louie identified each of them by name to make sure they were mob. Our men tied them to the wall in the main parlor and sprinkled them with a little gasoline. We have three drums positioned around them. Those screams you hear are from them. No doubt, they have a hell of a good idea of what’s about to happen.”

  The Frenchman flicked his wrist. “Light it.”

  Nianzu signaled the men standing next to the building. Six of them picked up bottles of gasoline with wicks at the top, lit the fuses, and together threw the bottles in the building. Thirty seconds later, there was a huge explosion followed in rapid succession by two more. The crowd jumped back as flames shot out of windows and the crumbling walls of the brothel. The horrendous screams of the men locked inside filled the air.

  The Frenchman and Nianzu stood quietly for a moment, then turned to watch their men loading more girls into the carts.

  Nianzu’s voice was racked with pain.

  “Jesus, we’ve got at least thirty girls at this point. The oldest is fifteen, maybe sixteen. By the time we get them all in the carts, I know we’ll have forty to fifty girls.”

  He shook his head, g
laring at the burning building.

  “Goddamn, I hope those animals are dying slowly. Most of the girls are ten or eleven years old.”

  The Frenchman just shook his head and took a drag off his cigarette.

  Nianzu said, “We’re taking any of them who want to come, even if they’re not Chinese. Is that okay?”

  The Frenchman nodded. He stood quietly off to the side as Nianzu went to give directions to the men who were preparing to drive the carts and their precious cargo to safety, making way for the fire department’s horse drawn steam engines arriving on the scene. The Frenchman had arranged for fifty Sing Leon members to help control the crowd and ensure that the fire did not spread beyond the brothel.

  The Frenchman stayed above the fray. His eyes moved from scene to scene, aware of everything that was happening. Nothing was beyond his notice. Though he heard the screams of the burning men, he didn’t let on. Rather, he felt calm, satisfied that his work for the night was done.

  He took out his cigarette case with the embossed wolf’s head. The wolf’s topaz eyes twinkled in the light from the burning brothel. As he took a drag off his cigarette, anyone close enough to the Frenchman to see his face might think the wolf had come to life.

  Nianzu walked up, leading their horses.

  “The fire department has the fire under control. We need to get going, Bai. There is a party waiting for you.”

  Bai nodded and mounted Noire. He and Nianzu rode off, leaving the burning brothel, the screaming men, and the turmoil behind.

  ~~

  Chapter 3

  Earlier that day, Wyatt McManus sat with his son in the Last Chance Tavern on San Francisco’s teeming wharf. Through the grease streaked windows, they watched the crews unloading cargo from the myriad of ships anchored in the busy port. They were waiting for the porter to bring Alex’s trunks from the ship that had arrived from China that morning. Wyatt looked at his son’s furious face, took a drag off his cigarette, and poured them both another shot of whiskey. Even through the closed door, the smell of rotten cargo, animal dung, and filthy men too long sequestered below shipboard permeated their space.