New Orleans, 1886
The wild, sensual laughter, scantily clad women, singing and dancing, drunken shrieks, jugglers, bells, drums, brass bands, delectable aromas, explosion of fireworks and delighted squeals of children did not distract the wiry man ferreting his way through the throng of Mardi gras revelers crowding Jackson Square. Masked, and cloaked to the ankle, he moved against the flow of people parading down Chartres Street and up Royal.
As he penetrated deeper into the darkness of the docks and warehouses and heard his boot heels echo off the pier and skip across the murky water he heaved a sigh of relief. He glanced back and smiled at his clever perception of the torch lit tide of humanity as strikingly similar to the coal black Mississippi River streaked with oily golden light from the fires along its shores.
Most New Orleanians, certainly most whites, would not dare go here at night, but this was his home and had been for so long that it was one of the only places he felt safe. A big part of freedom is being allowed to protect oneself. He knew. Most of his life he had a master. At least here he could do that - protect himself. Such justice was swift and decisive and, well…suffice it to say he was very good at protecting himself.
Occasionally, someone would pass in the shadows and the presence of danger would tingle the snakelike, whip scars across his shoulders and back. His hand rested confidently on the ivory handled Bowie knife in his red sash; his gun was wedged warm and deadly beneath his left arm in its leather holster. He almost hoped they would try something, but the denizens of darkness lurking about the piers smelled danger like hounds of hell and moved on in search of more vulnerable prey. After all, during Mardi gras there was an endless supply of drunks to roll.
Turning in at the dock where he was to meet his contact, he passed beneath the Touchstone Warehouse and Dockage sign and stationed himself to wait impatiently behind a stack of cotton bales two stories high. Not far from shore a steam ship hunkered, expelling smoky vapors that merged with the low overhang of clouds approaching swiftly from the east. The river gently sloughing against the dock and the occasional skitter of rats were the only sounds interrupting the deathly stillness. Lightning lit the low ceiling of clouds as a
tugboat horn blew a long plaintive note.
Recognizing the steady footfalls of the night guard echoing off the building like a warning, he moved further into the depths of shadow. The guard, momentarily aglow in the gas lamp attached to the warehouse atop the levee, passed by and turned the corner.
Removing his mask and shoving it in his pocket, he took out his gold watch and checked the time. He’s late, he thought, the arrogant, rich bastard.
" Dezant? ” a voice whispered.
" Yes, dammit! Where are you Chellini? Must you always approach like a wharf rat? ”
A tall, thin, hatchet faced man emerged from the shadows pawing at his soup strainer mustache. ” It pays to be careful, ” he mumbled.
Dezant snorted contemptuously. ” Where is Touchstone? ”
" He’ll be here shortly. ”
Dezant cursed bitterly. ” I can’t wait long. ”
Chellini shrugged. He knew Dezant would wait for the kind of proposal Touchstone had to offer. To Dezant money was everything and the criminal food chain all he respected.
Far out on the river an ocean going vessel slowly made its way downstream. Desultory and dusky, it skulked along without lights - probably a smuggler. Chellini hawked and spat in the water. There was a splash down river followed by the sound of rowing. Soon, a pirogue containing two men appeared and glided to a halt beside the dock. The rower stood, tied the boat securely and then steadied the boat as the other ascended the wooden ladder to the dock.
They advanced slowly with pistols cocked and ready. ” Chellini? ” a deep voice growled.
" Over here, ” Chellini replied.
The approaching men were silhouetted against the sudden flash of lightning that lit the river with blue-white light. The larger of the two beat out a hollow cadence on the dock with the stump attached to his left leg. Thunder rumbled as the two squared off with Dezant for the first time. Hand shaking was way too close for comfort at this meeting. Introductions were circumspect and perfunctory, weapons holstered but close at hand.
The two men facing Dezant stood in stark, under different circumstances even comical, contrast. Touchstone was immaculate and meticulously attired, uncommonly short, thin and shiny bald. His eyelids hung deceptively at half-mast over pallid, emotionless, blue-white eyes. The other, referred to only as Patois, was huge and rough shod with alert, intelligent, hard, black eyes shining out of a head and face almost completely covered with short, thick, curly, silver-dusted, black hair that extended beneath his shirt like fur.
Touchstone wasted no time on preliminaries. ” Do you know why I asked you here? ”
" Only generally, ” Dezant replied.
" Meaning? ” Touchstone said as he raised his chin and sighted like a sharpshooter down his aquiline nose.
Dezant was never one for riddles. He glanced briefly at the river and said with a touch of sarcasm. ” I assume you are interested in hiring me for my professional abilities. “
The little man waited a moment, chewing at his lip and scrutinizing Dezant with his reptilian eyes. ” Have you ever heard of White Snake? ”
" The pirate? ”
Touchstone nodded.
" Who has not? ”
" I’ll take that for a yes. I want him destroyed. ”
Dezant was stunned for a moment. Most of his victims were petty thugs or political hits, sometimes to even a score on the field of honor. His network was composed of enforcers, collectors, pimps and stooges. He made most of his money working with Mickey Finn shanghaiing unfortunate young men. White Snake was reputed to be a very dangerous and powerful man with supernatural powers. Dezant recovered his wits enough to ask, ” He’s in the city? ”
" He is headed this way and will arrive by steamer in a week or so. His own ship, the White Goddess, is hidden away somewhere down the coast. ”
" You want me to kill White Snake? ”
" No. That’s not enough. I want him destroyed. All that is required is that you carry out my orders to the letter. ”
Dezant scratched at his two days growth of beard. ” How much? ”
" Name your price. “
Dezant was confused by his own reaction. His hesitancy defied common sense. He never refused work if the price was right. For some reason his deepest fears and suspicions had been awakened by this man. He felt as if he was striking a deal with the devil himself. ” I must think on it, ” he said.
The larger man was set to pounce. Chellini backed away. The little man bristled and said menacingly, ” Monsieur, you already know far too much. Do not waste my time. I came here for a yes or no answer. ”
Dezant was no fool. He took that to mean the man intended to accept only one of the two responses and his own life hung in the balance.
" Well, that is my profession. ”
" Shall I take that for a yes? ”
Dezant hesitated just long enough to preserve his remnants of professional pride before conceding. ” Oui. Oui. Very well. You have your yes. Now let’s talk money. ”
