Peacemakers (Peacemaker Origins Book 1) (31 page)

Wage W. Pascal

August 18, 1914

Waldorf-Astoria, Room 402

Manhattan, New York

The repligrapher was in pieces on the floor.  The last transcript read:

Edison,

William is dead.  Found your Baron.  Couldn’t find Kasper. William is dead. Kasper’s penthouse revealed nothing.  William is dead.  How should I proceed?  —Wage

WHERE IS THE BARON NOW???

In the same hotel.  Across the way.  17
th
floor.  He killed William.  William is dead.

I TOLD YOU HE WAS DANGEROUS!

William is dead.  How should I proceed?

FIND KASPER!  REPORT BACK!

Wage had his feet on the windowsill, pushing the wooden chair he sat in back on two legs.  He stared at the narrow slit of light between the curtains that cast a single white line down his face and bare chest like a luminescent scar.  He hadn’t slept or eaten in three days; his eyes were dull blue spiders resting in thick webs of red.  He replayed the events at Kasper’s penthouse over and over again as he tilted the creaky chair back and forth, creating a simple and saddening two-note melody.  Occasionally, he added the accompaniment of the spinning cylinder of Ol’ Snapper
that hadn’t left his right hand since Ol’ Bill died.

“Wage,” a woman stood behind him and put a hand on his shoulder.  “Wage, honey, what’s wrong?” 

Like a cat, he pressed his head into her hand, rubbing his scraggly beard up and down it with his eyes closed.

“Wage, honey, are you OK?” she asked again.

He sighed and said, “I wish you were real.”

“Wage.  I
am
real.  It’s me.  It’s Mink.”  She looked back to the door that had been left open and the trail of liquor bottles that led there.  “How long have you been like this?”

“Three days, give or take.  Since William died.  He’s dead, Mink.  Jesus Christ, he’s dead.  I’d cry, but I ain’t got any tears left.”

“It’s OK, Wage.”  She placed her other hand on his shoulder

“I wish you were real.  God, how I wish you were real.  I would tell you.  I would tell you, Mink.”

“Tell me what, Wage?”

“I would tell you that I was an idiot for ever leaving.  I would tell you that you are the only woman I’ve ever loved.  I love you, Mink Callahan.  I’ve only ever loved you.”

“Wage . . .”

“No.  No.  It’s OK.  I just wish you were here, right now.  With me. 
God
.”

“I’m here, Wage.  It’s me.”

He finally looked up at her.  Her green eyes were ablaze like gas lamps on a midnight street.  “I would tell you you’re beautiful.”

Mink’s eyes welled with tears.  “Wage, what happened?  Tell me.”

“There are bad people out there, Mink.  Dangerous people, they’re everywhere.  Hidin’ in the shadows.  William and I got caught up with them.  And they killed him, Mink.  They killed my best friend.”  Wage sobbed.  “They killed my best goddamn friend.  Goddamn it!”

“Who are these dangerous people?”

“Illuminati.  The Hand . . .The Hand.  The Illuminati,” Wage muttered.  “Am I going crazy, Mink?  I must be going crazy now. I’m dreaming of you.  It’s like you’re here.  With me.”

“Wage.”

He leaned his head back.  “I always dream of you.  Think about ya all the time.”

“Thank you.  I often think about you, too.”

“Ahhh, I knew it,” Wage said, pointing at her and smiling for a brief moment.  But then his lip begin to quiver.

“Wage,” Mink said and squeezed his shoulder.  “Wage, what is it?”

“Whenever things got dangerous with me and William, whenever it looked like we weren’t gonna make it, I always thought about you.  They say whatever you think about when you are near death is what you value most in life.  So I guess . . .” Wage shrugged his shoulders.

“Wage Winchester Pascal, why do you go and get yourself in all these situations?” she asked lightly.  She caressed his matted black hair. 

“To impress you, of course,” he replied with as much charm as her could muster.  “I wish you were really here, Mink.”

Mink grew impatient.  “When was the last time you slept, Wage?”

“I dunno.”

She reached in her purse and pulled out her pistol by the barrel.  “Wage, honey.  Please forgive me, but this is for your own good.”  She swung the butt of the pistol down on the side of his head.

Wage dropped his revolver and fell to the ground with a thud and grunt.

Intense cold shrouded his whole body, taking away his breath momentarily.  When his breath returned, he sat up and yelled.  He was half-naked and soaked, lying in his hotel bed.  Mink stood over him with a now-empty bucket. 

“What in the hell are you doin’?” he screamed, worsening the headache he already had.

“How are you feeling?” Mink asked sheepishly.

“Cold and wet!  How the hell do you think I’m feeling?”

She set the bucket down and tossed him a dry towel.  “Here,” she said.  “I have dinner for you when you’re ready?”

“Dinner?  What time is it?”

“It’s almost nine.  You’ve been asleep for about 12 hours.”

“When did you . . .  how did you . . .”

“Here,” she said, handing him a small box that read “Bayer Pharmaceuticals.”  “I ran down to the drug store earlier.  Take it.”  Wage slid the box open and unwrapped the aspirin tablets.  He reached for his nightstand where a quarter-full bottle of whiskey sat.  Mink slapped his hand and handed him a glass of water.  Wage obliged.  He took the medicine and scooted over to the drier side of the bed, leaning up against the brass headboard.  He shoved a corner of the towel in his ear and shook it violently.

Mink snickered as she sat down in the wooden chair next to the bed.

“What?”

“I’ve never seen you with a beard before.  It looks funny.  You never could grow one.  Remember how your older brother used to make fun of you?  Used to say you had cat whiskers.”  She laughed again, and for a moment Wage forgot everything.  All semblance of reality ceased to exist.  And all that remained was her laugh.  He basked in it like sunlight through a cypress tree, and finally he laughed, too.  It felt good.  Damn good.

“Mink—what are you doing here?” he finally asked. 

Mink took the plate warmer off and handed Wage a lukewarm rib eye and russet potato with a side of steamed carrots.  She peppered it for him. 

And as he ate, she told him everything.  Starting with her dad’s death.  The train robberies.  The terrible events on the
Artemis. 
Gary, Indiana.  Her sister’s engagement party.  Everything.  Everything but Quincey.  And he listened.  He ate and he listened.  After she finished, they sat in silence for seconds that seemed like hours.

Wage broke the silence.  “I saw Andromeda,” he said with a mouth full of potato.

“I know; she’s the one who told me you were here.”  She smiled.

“That girl ain’t right, Mink.  She never was,” he said, placing the last bit of steak in his mouth.

“You leave her alone, Wage Pascal.  She’s my sister, and the only family I’m ever likely to see.”

Wage placed his dinner plate on the wet side of the bed and took a big breath.  “Mink, my friend William, the one you met on the train . . .”

“I know, Wage.  I’m sorry.”

“How did you know?”

“This morning, you were delirious, but you told me.  You told me he passed away.  Do you not remember?”

  Wage lifted a hand to the side of his head.  He flinched at the tender welt that had formed.  “So that was real?”

“Yes.”

“Whoa boy.”

“Wage.  It’s OK.”  Her eyes were aglow and met his, locked the way they used to in her father’s barn.  “What are we going to do now?” she asked.

“I wanna run, but I ain’t got nowhere to go,” he confessed.  He told her everything.  Starting with when he came home from Cuba.  The events from Mr. Jade to Jonathan Hamilton to Detective Porter to E.J. Delacroix to Edison to Doctor Fatum to Mallory Macy, to the one-eyed Baron that killed Ol’ Bill.  Mink sat there.  She sat and she listened.  And when he finished, she got up.  She walked over to him and placed her forehead against his, holding his cheeks.  “Wage Winchester Pascal, what have you gotten yourself into this time?”

“I’m not sure, Mink.  I’m not sure,” he replied, closing his eyes.

She released him and sat next to him on the bed.  “I sure hope you are not planning on doing anything foolish.”

“Maybe I’ll leave town for a while.  Maybe head north.  Get my head straight.”

“And when it’s straight?” she asked.

“I’m gonna kill that one-eyed sonovabitch who shot my friend.”

“Wage.” 

They locked eyes again. 

Wage leaned forward.

Mink leaned forward.

“It’s getting late,” she announced.  She pulled a pocket watch out of her purse.  “It’s after midnight.  I need to get going.  I’m sorry.”

“It ain’t safe for you to go walking this time a night, Mink.”

She went to the dresser, grabbed her pistol, and put it back in her purse.  “I’ll be fine.”

“I know you will.  You always are.”

“I almost forgot.”  She dug into her purse and removed a red metal flower and threw it on the bed next to him.

“Mink, you shouldn’t have,” he said with a smirk. 

“No, Wage.  It’s the invitation to Andromeda’s engagement party.  The date and time are engraved on the back.  It’s at Carnegie Hall.  I hope you will come.  I’ll look for you.”

“I don’t know, Mink.  I—”

“Goodnight, Wage,” she interrupted.  “I have to go.”  She turned and closed the door, leaving him in an eerie silence he wasn’t ready for. A silence he didn’t want.

“
Bonsoir, mon amour.
” 

The Baron

August 26, 1914

Waldorf-Astoria

Manhattan, New York

The curtains were open for the first time in days.  Early morning light extended into the room like a giant pillar but still left the corners of the room in angular shadows.  Wage carelessly shoved his effects into a canvas duffle bag. 

There was a knock at the door, a muffled voice behind it.  He grabbed his six-shooter and aimed it at the door.  “Come in,” he barked.

The bellboy opened the door slowly and looked down the barrel of the gun.  He immediately put his hands up.  Behind the black eye of the barrel were two ice-blue orbs nestled between unkempt black hair and a wild beard.  Wage lowered the gun.

“What do you want?”

“Ya . . . ya . . . your presence is requested in the courtyard.”

“I’m not interested.”  Wage threw the gun on the unmade bed in front of him.

The bellboy adjusted his hat.  “He said you would say that.  Then he said to give you this.”  The bellboy reached in his maroon pocket and dug out a small locket.  Hesitantly, he stepped into the room.  He threw the locket on the bed.  It sprung open, revealing a small drawing of Delilah, Ol’ Bill’s wife, worn down with the caring touch of a thumb.

Wage made a half-hearted attempt to straighten his clothes.  He left his suspenders dangling by his mud-brown trousers and concealed his revolver under his untucked white shirt.  “Take me to him.”

Outside in the sunlight, the Baron sat by himself at a wood and wicker table, devouring poached eggs and glazed ham.  Plush green foliage not only divided the Roman-style courtyard from the busy New York Streets, but it also gave those who dined there the feeling that the whole place was carved out from an ancient hedge maze. 

“Have a seat, Captain.”

Wage stood for moment.  Silent.  Ready to pull out Ol’ Snapper and empty a full cylinder of lead into the man’s chest.

The Baron talked while chewing on a piece of ham.  “Well, if you are going to shoot me, I suggest you get on with it.”

Wage looked around at other diners.  He looked at the waiters and busboys.

The Baron took a sip of his tea.  “You’d be dead before you made it to the lobby.  Now please, join me.”  He gestured to the wicker chair in front of him.

Wage sat down.

The Baron took another bite of ham and then pointed with his fork.  “You know, I was a Captain myself, a long time ago.  Infantry.  You were cavalry, I believe.”  Another sip of tea.  “I talked to E.J. Delacroix.  I believe you are acquainted.  He tells me he offered you a position in our organization?”

Wage said nothing

“Quite a spectacular way to decline.  Would you like something to eat?”

Wage only stared.

“No?  I don’t blame you.  The food here is rubbish.”  The Baron took a bite of egg.  “Your gun— it’s a Peacemaker, isn’t it?”

Wage thought again about killing him in that moment.  He decided against it.  He reached into his trousers and pulled out Ol’ Snapper, laying it flat against the table, the barrel aimed at the Baron just in case he changed his mind.

“Do you find it ironic that we would name something with such destructive capabilities a ‘peacemaker?’”  The Baron leaned forward, the sun reflecting off his scalp.  “I don’t.  You see, Captain, peace only comes with the threat of violence.  Violent is what humans are.  You and I know that, of course; every soldier does.  Civility is a disguise, a thinly veiled veneer.  It is the mask we wear to hide the true nature of what we are.  Killers.  Survivalists.  Swindlers.  Opportunists.  Wouldn’t you agree?  Sure, kings and politicians make laws that require us to be kind to one another.  But what are laws without guns?  Just words, I suspect.  Meaningless words.  You see, most people don’t understand that.  But you do, don’t you?”

Wage kept his hands in his lap.  His fists were clenched.

“Yes.  You do.  Which is why . . .” The Baron reached into his pocket.

Wage raced a hand to his gun.

The Baron laughed.  He lifted a round stone from his inner jacket pocket and slowly placed it on the table.  “I will make this quick.  I am going to offer you one more chance.  Your friend died because you chose poorly in not taking the job before.  I am willing to give you one more opportunity to choose correctly.”  The Baron speared more ham and put it in his mouth, then pointed at the round stone.  “You killed the man wearing this one, I might add.” 

“You killed my friend,” Wage shot back.

“Then I’d say we’re even.  I’ll even overlook the recent incident on the train.”

“You . . . killed . . . my friend,” Wage repeated.

“Yes.  And what are the odds that we would be staying at the same hotel.  I will admit, that was a surprise.  Are you sure you don’t want any breakfast?”

Wage clenched his jaw.  A full minute of silence ensued.

The Baron sighed.  “Do you recall the myth of Bellerophon, Captain?”

Wage said nothing. 

“You see, Bellerophon was the son of Poseidon, and the greatest of monster slayers.  Like you, it seemed nothing could defeat him.  He always seemed to come out ahead.  Until one day, he demanded to reside on Olympus itself, the home of the gods.  He wrangled Pegasus and decided to fly to his new home.  But Zeus, to punish his hubris, sent a gadfly to sting the winged horse.  And do you know what happened?  Bellerophon was thrown from his mount and fell into a thorn bush far below, living out his days crippled and blinded before he died.  Now—”

“Excuse me, sir,” a waiter interrupted.  He laid a small wooden box on the table.  The box was so polished that it looked slippery to hold.  “This just arrived for you.”  The Baron dismissed the waiter and peered inside the box.  He plucked out a palm-sized metal flower.  It was a red rose with tinges of silver.  He plucked out another.  It was a light blue carnation also made of some kind of metal.  He admired the craftsmanship on both as though their previous conversation was utterly meaningless.  He then read a small note that was inside. 

Wage regarded the flowers with wide eyes.

    The Baron scooped up both and put them in the box, closing the lid.  “Sorry about that.  Where were we?  Ah, yes.  Bellerophon.”

“I don’t want your damn stone,” Wage said.

“Very well.  Have it your way then, Captain.”

Wage got up from his chair abruptly.  He pulled his suspenders over his shoulders and replaced Ol’ Snapper
in his waistband.  “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I fully intend to kill you,” he said, turning and walking away.

The Baron laughed.  “I wish you the best of luck.  One captain to another.  But do know, my men will never stop hunting you.  You are far too dangerous to be left alive.  And there is nowhere you can hide from me.  Beware the gadfly, Captain.”

Wage stopped.  “I don’t intend to hide, either.  Send your men.  I’ll kill them, too.”

A bustling waiter nearly ran into Wage on his way out.  Wage grabbed him by the collar and whispered so the Baron couldn’t hear.  “Have a shaving kit delivered to 402.”  He pulled the waiter in closer.  “And find me a goddamn tailor.”

The Baron watched Wage leave the courtyard.  When he was out of sight, Detective Simon Hum and Khalid Francois approached the table from behind a flowering hedge.

“Simon,” the Baron said, pushing his empty breakfast plate aside.  “Excellent work tracking down Captain Pascal.  Perhaps The Witchdoctor was right about you after all.  But now, I would like you to keep an eye on him.  Follow him everywhere.  When the opportunity is right, and he is unsuspecting, apprehend him, and bring him to me.  Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Simon answered.

“Do not toy with him.  If he gives you trouble, exterminate him.  Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good.  Now run along.” 

The Baron waited until the detective was out of earshot. “Khalid, when the good detective is finished with Captain Pascal, kill him and his whore.”

“Do I have to kill her right away?” Khalid asked with a smile.

“Please do not clue me in to your perversions, Khalid.  Do what you must.”

“With pleasure,” Khalid said.