C. C. Phillips
C. C. Phillips
Someone shifted among the deeper shadows at the far end of the floor. A light flared and an Apache held a wooden match to one of a series of wall lamps spaced along the opposite side of the room. Diamond thought the man appeared quite relaxed and unconcerned. Had he not heard the shooting in the back alley? Did he not wonder what had become of his comrades? The giant ballroom must have been insulated from outside sound. But… if Ravenelle and L'Heureux had not heard the sounds of battle, why were they still holed up here?
A cry of anguish echoed through the empty hall. Preston knew the answer: Serge Ravenelle was interrogating Dominique before he moved her to another location. Diamond reached for the .45 but Sifu stilled his hand. If he shot this Apache now, Ravenelle may kill Dominique before Preston and Xi-Ping could get to her.
Covering shadows thinned more as the thug lit another lamp. Fortunately for Chiang and Diamond, proximity to the light source restricted the thug's view as well. He casually drifted along the wall moving closer and firing lights as he went. Diamond gritted his teeth; why the need for lighting? Maybe Ravenelle planned to invite his entire gang into ballroom so they could all watch him torture his niece.
Sifu and Preston now stood in plain sight. They implemented Diamond's vanishing trick: don't move; don't be seen. But there was nothing to hide behind and little background to relieve their outline. Xi-Ping held a knife; Preston, a shuriken. If he had to, Diamond would swap the star for the Colt but he did not want to alert Ravenelle and L'Heureux… if they were still here.
Less than ten paces from them, the French fighter stiffened; his sixth sense must have detected something. Reaching for the gun in his belt, he turned; simultaneously, Diamond and Chiang launched their weapons. The thin, flat blade of the perfectly balanced knife sliced through breast bone and sunk in the man's chest. Preston's needle sharp star struck just below the ear. It sliced through the carotid artery and buried itself in the Apache's neck. With a sharp gasp that ended in a relaxed sigh, the soldier sank to the floor. His half-drawn pistol slipped from lax fingers and, in the quiet hall, made an exaggerated clatter on the hardwood floor.
Preston palmed his revolver and covered the opening to the far room. No one emerged and there was no echo of footsteps. Diamond held his .45 ready while Sifu soundlessly stepped down the stair, swept up the fallen gun, grasped the collar of the dead man and lugged him across the room out of immediate view from the doorway. A thin trickle of blood marked the trail of the corpse. Retrieving their weapons, master and student eased along the wall, snuffing lamps as they neared the lit opening. One faint light continued to burn beyond the doorway but Preston and Sifu did not care to risk crossing the gap to extinguish it. Hugging the plaster, Diamond and Chiang fine-tuned their hearing.
At first there was total quiet, then a distant but distinct sob. After a moment, voices, a pair of French speaking, male voices, grew audible. Footsteps echoed on the hardwood.
The footsteps were coming nearer.
Henri L'Heureux, a living colossus, ducked and shouldered his way through the door. Preston had known the fellow was huge but, close up, he was a giant. Upon entering the quiet ballroom L'Heureux halted and surveyed the dimly lit area. In his wake, a second man, wearing the ubiquitous French chapeau, followed. L'Heureux said, “Andre? Andre, where did you get to?”
Sifu Chiang calmly stepped out of the shadow and faced the commandant.
How incongruous the match! Xi-Ping Chiang, his long white wisp of beard hanging to his chest, stood more than a foot shorter than the big Frenchman. There were two hundred pounds and thirty years separating them. Disbelief spread across L'Heureux's face as he stared at the intruder.
Less than calmly, Diamond turned his attention to the second man.
Preston shifted ahead on his leading foot, leapt high in the air and lashed out with a vicious front kick. The Parisian, surprisingly agile, stepped back, blocking the foot with a raised elbow. Preston lost balance but flipped round mid air and landed in fighting stance. He moved inside the oncoming attack and, twisting at the hips, rapped two brutal backhand fists to the temples. The thug, shaking his head to clear his vision, stepped back from the onslaught and aimed a booted foot at Diamond's groin. Preston shifted, slashing down to block the kick with his left arm; his right fist, a power driven piston, snaked out in a reverse body punch that blasted wine stale breath from the depths of the foreigner's lungs. He doubled over, retching and wheezing. Too late, Diamond saw the evil little derringer in his fist.
Preston shifted sideways but failed to dodge. The little gun spit fire from both barrels; two slugs tore across Diamond's chest, ripping through his shirt and raking a double tunnel through the flesh below his left nipple. The force of the passing lead spun him in a complete circle; when he again faced his opponent, the Colt was in Diamond's right hand belching flame.
The Apache, gushing blood and dead on his feet, gave up the struggle. Preston swung his gun to cover L'Heureux, but held fire for fear of hitting his friend.
Xi-Ping Chiang had broken a leg.
And he was about to break the other one so as to bring Henri L'Heureux down to a level where he could be reached. Various weapons: another derringer; a foreign multi-barrelled pistol; a stiletto; a set of brass knuckles; and —one that Preston recognized— Sifu's throwing knife, lay scattered about the waxed dance floor.
The commandant stood on one leg; chest heaving, one eye closed, blood streaming from nose and ears. Through a red haze he recalled the vow he had made to Serge Ravenelle: They won't kill me with their bare hands. Now, he realized that that would happen; he never dreamed it would be the bare hands of an old, old man.
A dull and sickening crunch reached Preston's ears as Chiang's wicked side-edge kick struck just above the calf of L'Heureux's good side. The leg buckled, dropping Henri to his broken knees. Sifu slipped by the anemic clutching of the commander's banana fingers and dealt a flurry of knife-hand slices in the area of the kidneys. He then shifted forward to land one last jab between third and fourth rib, left side. L'Heureux's eyes, even the swollen one, shot open and, sightlessly, he stared at the gold trimmed crystal chandelier above him. Numbed hands involuntarily covered his heart. With a lingering gasp of terror from beyond this world, he fell face forward.
Searing pain from the hot bullet wounds brought Preston Diamond round to the immediacy of his situation. Somewhere in this building, Serge Ravenelle held Dominique captive. He had to find her. Ignoring the dripping blood spreading across his shirt and the gnawing aches —one from the fresh wounds, the other deeper inside— Preston fed cartridges into the Colt, then shifted to the doorway through which L'Heureux and his companion had entered the ballroom.
No one was in view. This opening led into a wide hall that had several doors along either side; the first two, stencilled in large black letters, bore the announcements MEN and WOMEN. Weak light emanated from a lamp at the end of the passage; an open set of double doors on the right side, halfway along, had brighter light spilling through them. Preston eased up to the frame and cast a quick glance inside. A pattern of long tables was laid out in a circle, chairs were pushed up to the tables, a sheaf of paper and writing utensils were placed at each position. A conference without attendees.
Across the room, partially shielded by another table, insane rage distorting his handsome features, Serge Ravenelle stood with his left arm clamped round his niece's neck; his right hand held a pistol to her head. Upon seeing Diamond, he shifted the gun.
Preston drew back. Dominique screamed and a bullet splattered plaster where Diamond's head had been. Desperation rang clear in Ravenelle's voice as he shouted in heavily accented English, “Forsythe, give up your weapon and step in here with your hands where I can see them. Do it now and move slowly or my dear niece will have her brains, if she has any, scattered all over this room. You know I will not hesitate.”
Dominique cried out, “No, Adam! He will kill….” Her words terminated in a muffled groan.
Sifu Chiang, throwing blade in hand, appeared silently at Preston's side but he offered no advice.
Preston's eyes were blurring, his chest hurt, blood was dripping on his boots; on the floor. He had to finish this French monster now before Ravenelle could harm Dominique any more. Diamond winced as he reached in his right shirt pocket, extracted a bloodied star and held it in his palm. He looked at Sifu, who responded with a slight nod. “Alright, Ravenelle, I'm coming in. Here is my gun.” He slid the Colt across the floor, then followed it into the conference chamber.
“Bullet very fast. You be faster.” Sifu's words came back as Preston stepped into the line of fire. Was he fast enough to dodge Serge's bullets? He had just taken two of the Apache's slugs across the brisket; there wasn't much margin for error. At close range no one was faster than a bullet, but Preston now understood that underlying meaning of Sifu's words: the human factor; the minuscule delay between an opponent's point of the barrel and the pull of the trigger; the impulse from brain to finger. Preston had to be faster than that.
Serge Ravenelle had changed position. He now stood clear of the table; nearer to the entrance but more to the left side of the room. His features bore a contemptuous sneer; no sign of defeat, no surrender.
Ravenelles never lose.
Still using the girl as a shield, he shifted round to squarely face Preston but the movement momentarily eased his grip and the struggling Dominique pulled free. Deliberately blocking Ravenelle's aim, she broke across the room toward Diamond. Mindless of his niece, Ravenelle pulled the trigger. The short-gun barked in his hand; a small cloud of smoke trailing the projectile from the muzzle. Preston had timed his own movement with the dangerous glint in Serge's eyes. In the fraction of an instant the finger tightened on the trigger, Diamond dodged to the right. Plaster and dust exploded beside him. As Serge fired again, Preston hurled the star.
Ravenelle's second bullet struck Dominique. The front of her jacket flared out as she was spun in a half circle and thrown to the floor.
The shuriken, aimed for the jugular, flew high. The wickedly sharp teeth struck Ravenelle in the face; one point sunk deep into the left eye socket, the adjacent point sliced through the bridge of his nose. The Frenchman, screaming in agony and rage, clutched at his face with his left hand and, without aim, fired the pepperbox pistol with his right. Diamond dove for his Colt and came up firing. With deliberate, spaced shots, he emptied the revolver into Serge Ravenelle. The crime boss's body was pummelled a step backward with the impact of each round. The last slug slammed him against a white pillar; he slid to the floor leaving long streaks of crimson stark against the whitewash. In addition to six Colt .45 holes, the haft of a balanced throwing knife protruded from Serge's chest.
Preston, with Sifu Chiang at his side, rushed to Dominique. Blood soaked her clothes and a puddle was forming on the hardwood. Her face was ghostly white but she was conscious. One hand held her wounded side, the other was tightly clenched. As Preston slipped his arm round her neck and raised her head, she spoke in French, “Adam, I love you so much… I… I wanted you to have this.”
Her fist opened to reveal the tiny locket she had taken from her jewelry box. Diamond lifted the locket from the small hand and opened it up. He looked inside: Dominique's lovely face smiled back at him. “I… I hope you like it. Adam, I so much wanted you to have it.”
Preston kissed her forehead. “It's beautiful, Dominique, beautiful like you.”
She tried to smile but a cough made her wince and a tiny froth of blood appeared on her lips. She said, “It's growing dark… I… I'm going away, my love. I will always love you… I'll take good care of our son…” She went limp in Preston's arms.
Panic seized Preston; he turned to Xi-Ping. “She's dying, Sifu! Please, please, you've got to fix her!”
Tears, years of sadness welled in the old master's eyes. He placed one hand on Dominique's arm and the other on the shoulder of his student. He shook his head slightly and, in perfect English, said, “She is gone, Adam.”
Preston's eyes blurred. He bent forward, gently kissed the unresponsive lips, then collapsed across Dominique's chest, sobbing tears he swore to never shed again.
Rebecca Unzer coped with her private bereavement but it pained her to see her 'son' returned to the state of grief he had suffered following the loss of his parents. Adam had not known Dominique was with child; now his loss was even greater. The girl had told no one except her mother, but Mrs. Unzer recognized the symptoms of morning sickness and she presumed that pregnancy had contributed to Dominique's fainting spells. Rebecca had also realized that Adam was ignorant of the situation but she held her tongue, waiting for Dominique to tell him. During those few short hours, she had grown fond of the idea that one day she would be Grandmother Unzer.
Serge Ravenelle's bullets had taken away that and so much more.
Preston would have preferred to wallow in melancholy; he would have welcomed death; life only built you up to tear you down again; there was no eternal peace, no heaven on earth. Colonel Unzer and Sifu Chiang would not allow the lad to quit. The first three mornings after Dominique's death, the master came round to Unzer's house where he and Colonel Jim forced the bandaged youth out into the backyard, insisting that he continue his training. In different words, both old men explained that life goes on for the living; hard work and discipline keep grief from driving one insane. On the fourth day, Preston returned to regular training in the garden on Capitol Hill. But, if he lived forever, he would never recover completely.
A mother's loss of her only child ripped the heart from Gabriella Ravenelle. She aged a decade in a week. She did not blame Preston for the loss of her daughter and permitted that Dominique, through special arrangement by General Grant, be buried in the military cemetery alongside Preston's parents, Colonel Cutler and Constantina Diamond. Though Preston did not broach the subject, Gabriella volunteered the information that it was she who had told Serge's messenger and left the note saying they were bound for Alexandria. She apologized, saying that she had only found out, minutes before Adam and Sifu arrived that morning, that Dominique was pregnant. In her confusion, Gabriella had wanted to lash out at Adam Forsythe.
Madame Ravenelle and Robert Tessier sailed for France shortly after Dominique's funeral. They intended to return permanently when Gabriella had closed out her affairs across the Atlantic. Those affairs were not insignificant, Robert and Preston realized when, at the docks, Gabriella encountered a group of tough French speaking men wearing clothing and the chapeaus conspicuous of Les Apaches. The men obviously knew who the regal lady was and did not argue when she turned them round and shipped them back to France. Tessier and Diamond exchanged knowing glances but neither questioned Madame Ravenelle.
Early one morning, a fortnight after the final reckoning with Ravenelle, Preston saddled Rascal, tied on his bedroll and rode through the quiet streets of Washington. When the gelding hit the open country, Preston let him have his head and the pair raised a spiral of dust as they flew down the road toward Alexandria, then veered off to the right at the fork to Conception Landing. In less than two hours, Preston was drawing rein on the sweating, plunging horse amid the cacophony of Rufus Tweed's yapping hounds and braying mules.
For several weeks Diamond turned his mind to hard labour, trying to outwork his big black friend. Rufus told him that the Ku Klux Klan had never shown their faces around the farm again; he and his family were treated with respect in the village. With a toothy grin, Rufus admitted that General Grant and his men had paid a visit. In the evenings, sated with another of May-a-Belle's fine culinary productions, Preston would read to little Constantina or bounce Rufus's baby boy, Ulysses Cutler Tweed, on his knee. He liked the names Rufus had chosen for his children although Preston would have preferred Cutler Ulysses. Late at night, in the quiet bedroom that Rufus insisted reserving only for Preston, Diamond gazed at the picture in the lid of the locket. When he blew out the lamp, he heard the low voices of his parents talking in the parlour. He could hear Dominique's laughter; see her smiling face. Sometimes he heard a baby softly crying; was it Rufus's son or were the muted whimpers coming from beyond?
Diamond rolled over, the sounds faded and, in his mind's eye, he saw Sifu Chiang dropping petals from a flower on the lush green grass. He watched the master twist two blossoms together; when he held them up to catch the sunlight, they stayed joined as one. With his free hand, Xi-Ping reached out and touched Preston's shoulder. I have lost much, but I am never sorry for what I had.
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