The Frenchman's Revenge (52 page)

The train ride from
New York
had been
uneventful; in fact
,
it had been damn near pleasant, Rory thought.
A
mazing that a trip that used to take
nearly a week
now
was less than half of that
and
,
with the private sleeping cars
,
a man could arrive ready for business.
He
and Mike were waiting
in the bar
for
Patrick Doyle
,
Rory’s
h
ead man on the West
Coast
.
Pat’s
cousin
,
Sean Byrne
,
was a
major player in California financial circles and a
long time friend of Wyatt McManus
,
the former governor of Wyoming
.
Pat
and Sean
had arranged tonight’s dinner.
Rory knew he had one opportunity to
make an impression on
t
he Frenchman
,
and
he sure as hell inte
nded to
make it a good one
.

~~~

Rory refilled
Patrick’s
glass and looked at his friend in appreciation.
He was as Irish as Rory
,
but unlike Rory’s fiery good looks,
Pat
was what they called black Irish.
C
urly dark hair surrounded his handsome face and his emerald green eyes sparkled at the thought of their upcoming dinner.

“I
expect this to be an
evening
none of us will forget.
Sean says it’s unusual a
t
best that
t
he Frenchman
is
willing to attend.
I know you’re gonna be
impressed
.
Christ
, h
ow could you not be?”

Pat
motioned to
the
older
scruffy looking man
he had brought with him.

“I
invited
Finn
to join us
for a drink
, Rory.
He has some first hand experience with
t
he Frenchman that I thought
you’d like to
hear.
”

Rory
nodded
to
the little man
,
encouraging him to speak
.

“Tell me anything you can about this
phenomenon
we
’re
about to meet.”

Finn
took a long draft off his whisky and held out his glass for a refill. He began his tale slowly
,
then picked up speed and intensity as
he threw himself into the story.

Shaking his head with a disbelieving
sigh
,
Finn
began
,
“
I wanna tell you. I’ve seen
a lot of things
in m
e
day, some I’ll take to m
e
grave.
But if I live in
P
urgatory for the next million years
,
I’ll n
ot forg
et that
goddamn
night.
”

Rory nodded when Finn held up his glass for a refill.
Nothing like a consummate Irishman,
Rory
thought
with an
appreciative
grin.
It hadn’t taken
Finn
long to settle in
to
the storyteller’s
mode
, the top spot in any Irish gathering
, greasing his tale with liberal sw
igs
of booze
.

Rory eyed the wiry little man who looked
puny
at best. But Rory knew better.
Patrick surrounded himself with the best and Rory was confident the unprepossessing midget man was an accomplished killer
,
which made the awe in his voice when he spoke of
the
Frenchman more compelling.

“You know w
hen you
first
see
‘im
,
he
kind
a
looks like a skinny little
fart of a fella
.
Everything
about
him looks
,
well…kinda
windy,
foppish.
Sorta …
ah
,
bugger me
, what’s the word?”

“
You mean
‘
elegant
?
’
”
Patrick
offered.

“Y
eah
!
That’s what I mean.
L
ike
he
should
be wearin
’
a top hat
and them tails or somethin
’.
So these two who were ‘bout to fight
me
e
t out in the alley behind the Rusty Nail. Some of his men were standin’
back
;
I guess makin
’
sure nobody else got in. The Frenchie
st
ood
there,
them yellow eyes of his gleamin’ like jewels
,
sizin
’
up th
at
D
ago
,
who
was struttin
’
around like a barnyard rooster eyin’ a flock of hens.
Frenchie just looked at ‘im with a little smile, th
en
he
t
ook off
his boots
and put them off to the side
, neat as you please
.
Then he took off
his shirt and all of a sudden that skinny body
d
in’t
look so ski
mpy
no
more.
Hell, t
here wasn’t a piece of ‘im that w
eren’t
made of muscle.
It was like he rippled or
somethin
’
.
I ain’t
n
ever
seen
nuthin’
like it.
T
hat
Wop
, big moose that he was, din’t look so
big
no
more.
And he sure as hell din’t look so goddamn c
ocky
n
either.

“Then
Frenchie kinda grinned at
‘
im and said somethin’ like
‘
T
ime to call on your saints, asshole.
’
And before the
D
ago could say a word
,
Frenchie let out a yell that woulda scared the
sh
ite
out
a
the
hounds of hell.
Sure as fuck scared me.”

Finn
shook his head, then took another slug of whisky
,
as though he needed the liquid courage to face what he had seen.

“He was like a flyin’ man. You ain’t seen
nuthin’
like it
,
Rory. It was like watchin
’
a dancer or somthin’ leapin
’, j
u
mpin
’ up in the air
, no way the
Wop
could lay a
fist
on ‘im
.
But every time
Frenchie
came down
,
he put his heel in that poor basta
rd’s
face or his b
o
llocks
or somewhere on his body
.
Hell
,
I woudna be surprised if
he chopped off
that Dago’s dick
with a couple of th
em
kicks.
Then it was like a beast had entered
the Frenchie
.
He was flyin
’
through the air like a lion or a tiger or
a panther or
somethin
’
. You know how the
m animals
leap? That’s
what
he looked like.

“
H
e got
that
Wop
bastard
down on the ground. You could
see
a man
your size, Rory,
beatin’ a
body
to death. But, hell
,
Frenchie’s
as tall as you
,
but you got at least forty-fifty pounds on
‘
im.
And that
D
ago w
eren
’
t no pussy.
Nah, he was like a boxer, mean and strong, twice as big and
muscley
as those damn
Wops
ever get.
But th
en th
e
Frenchie
started kickin
’
‘
im. I never knew you could break
a body’s
neck by drivin
’
your heel under his chin but I’ll be damned if that
ain’t
exactly what
Frenchie
done
.
”

Finn
breathed
a
heartfelt
sigh
and shook his head as if in wonder a
nd
took
another large swallow of whiskey
.

“
Goddamn, if
he din’t
fuckin’ kick
‘
im to death.
Then
,
like one of them
‘
cup de gratcies
,’
as the French
peoples
say, he pulls outa knife and slits
the
Dago’s throat
, kinda for good measure, I’m guessin’.
He wipes the knife on his pants
and
put
s
it back God knows where
.
H
e
puts on his shirt
, pulls on his boots
,
and
lights a
cigarette
. Then
he
turns and
walks away
without
so
much as a
how
d
e
doo.
He looked like he wasn’t even
breathin’
h
ard. D
amn
d
est thing I
’v
e ever seen in my life.
”

~~~

Rory decided he needed a weapon
,
after all. He told Mike and Patrick to go ahead to the dining room Sean Byrne had reserved.
He would join them after he retrieved one of his trusty blades from his hotel room.
Hell, even if this was supposed to be a civilized evening, Finn’s tale reminded him he had stayed alive all these years by being prepared, never letting his guard down.

He was
hunting
for the
dining
room when he stopped,
pulled up short
,
knowing that he was looking at the most beautiful women he
’d
ever seen.
Shock
and hard cold lust
sucked
the
breath
out of his chest. Gasping for air
,
he leaned against the
wall to regain his balance.

She was
slender
,
taller than average
,
but the most remarkable thing about her body w
ere
the
lush
curves that filled her
fashionably risky
dress.
Christ almighty, how could a slender woman have breasts like that
, straining
to get free
from
the
indigo
silk that barely contained them
?
Sweet Jesus, they were full enough, firm enough to fill even his large hands. I
f that wasn’t enough,
her
curvy hips and th
e sweetest
tight
est
little ass
he
had
seen in a long time had
his dick
beating
against
his trouser
flap
like
the devil’s
drum
stick
. But it wasn’t her incredible body that stopped him cold
,
fluttering
like
a trembling
bird
instead of a six foot two statue of a man.
It wasn’t even those sparkling sapphire eyes that danced like
the
waves on
Galway Bay
on a bright sunny
morn
.
No, it was her fucking hair.
A cloud o
f the most glorious
fiery red curls he
’d
ever seen surrounded her beautiful pale face.