eat in peace, or I’ll send you back to Senator Beares so full of holes, he’ll change your name to Cheese.”
Ratty looked like he was going to say something more, but discretion got the better of him and he snapped his mouth shut.
“Good,” Fargo said. He turned back to the gumbo. “You boys hungry?” he asked, not looking their way. “The gumbo here is a mite spicy, but it’s delicious.”
“He’s not tough,” Puncher mumbled under his breath. “He’s crazy. That gumbo could melt lead.”
Fargo ignored him and finished his meal, keeping one hand close to the Colt at all times. When he’d finished, he put a dollar on the bar. “There you go, mister,” he said. “I don’t reckon I’ll ever forget that meal.”
“It’s only two bits, Mr. Fargo,” the man said. “Let me get you your change.”
Fargo shook his head. “No, the rest is a tip. What’s on the menu for tomorrow?”
The man behind the counter grinned. “Blackened alligator steaks,” he said. “They’re a mite—”
“Spicy,” Fargo finished for him. “I’ll look forward to it.”
He put his hat on and gestured to Ratty and Puncher. “Let’s go see your boss,” he said. They stood and he followed them out into the New Orleans night.
Most of the towns Fargo had ever been in, the small cattle towns that dotted the western landscape, went pretty quiet after sundown. Even the saloons weren’t all that noisy unless a bunch of cowpunchers got paid and came in to raise a little hell. But for the most part, after dark, the towns of the West were quiet places. The folks who lived there worked too hard during the day to kick up much of a fuss at night.
But New Orleans was a different place after dark. An entirely new population walked the streets. Heavybrowed men looking for prostitutes, thieves skulking in alleyways looking for tourists who didn’t know the danger that surrounded them, whores calling out from balcony windows—some of them showing more skin than clothing—and then there were the children. All ages and skin colors raced through the streets, but all of them were dirt poor. They were out scavenging, looking for the scraps of the day, trying to find enough food to eat.
Following Ratty and Puncher through the maze of streets, Fargo kept his eyes and senses alert for trouble. There was no telling when they’d run across either more of Senator Beares’ men or a contingent of men belonging to Anderson or Parker. Both men walked in front of him, their shoulders tense, their heads swiveling on their necks as though if they tried hard enough, they could see right through the shadows around them to whatever danger might be approaching.
After several blocks, they turned and began to relax, eventually leading him to a house with a heavy iron gate in front of it. “This is it,” Ratty said. “Go on through the gate and up to the door. Just knock and ol’ Charles will let you in to see the senator.”
“No,” Fargo said. “You open the gate, Ratty. I think the two of you will make fine escorts all the way to the senator.”
“Ain’t nothing going to happen to you, Fargo,” Puncher said. “He just wants to talk is all.”
“Then he wouldn’t have sent heavy-handed thugs like you,” Fargo snapped. “Now get moving.”
Ratty turned the handle and opened the gate, which squealed on its hinges. Tiny leaves from the ivy growing along the gate fell to the ground. “Go on in, boys,” Fargo said. “I’ll be right behind you.”
“Aw, shit,” Puncher said. “I sure hope they don’t shoot us by accident.”
“That would be a shame,” he said. “I’d feel awful.”
“Mister, you wouldn’t give a rat’s ass if we both died.”
“Not true,” Fargo quipped. “I’m willing to give them two asses—a Puncher’s and a Ratty’s. Now get inside and be quick about it.”
They moved forward and Fargo’s eyes scanned the shadowy darkness.
Beares’ men were there—he could feel them—and a telltale flicker of movement on the roof caught his eye. Two men were stationed up there, holding rifles.
They were nearly at the front door, when Fargo barked, “Stop there!”
Both men stopped dead in their tracks.
“Senator,” Fargo shouted, his voice echoing strangely off the stone of the house. “Be a shame if we couldn’t talk because all your men were dead. Call them off or I’ll cut down Ratty and Puncher, and then those two men you’ve got on the roof.”
A voice floated into the courtyard from an open window.
“There’s no need for violence yet, Mr. Fargo,” it said. “Stand down, boys. This one can come in.”
The front door opened and an elderly butler stood in the doorway. “Please, Mr. Fargo,” he said, his ancient voice cracking. “The senator will see you now.”
“Keep moving, Ratty, Puncher,” he said. “I’d hate to have you slip away and leave me all by my lonesome. ”
“Aww, shit,” Ratty mumbled. “Could this night get any worse?”
“You could get dead,” Fargo said. “Now get inside. ”
They stepped through the door and Fargo followed them, wondering as he did so, if getting back out again was going to present the same set of problems, only with his back to Beares’ men, instead of his front.
It was an unpleasant thought, and Fargo knew that if he was going to get out of here alive, he’d have to play the game that was about to unfold very carefully.
7
From the entryway, Fargo saw that to the left was some sort of parlor or living room, furnished with heavy, padded couches and chairs, formal lamps, and an air of stuffiness to it that reminded him of people with too much money and not enough hard work to do. In his experience, a little hard labor went a long way toward teaching a man the value of a dollar.
The butler Charles moved with a kind of aging grace, his movements smooth despite the burden of his years. Fargo, with Ratty and Puncher in front of him, followed behind as Charles led them into another room to the right.
Fargo had not entered a mere house. He had entered an entirely different world from the one he was used to. This was antebellum New Orleans, the world of money and high society, of vast parties and privilege, of carriages trimmed in real gold, of opera companies imported from Italy and France, of horse races where tens of thousands of dollars were spent on single events. French was often spoken within these walls and very real duels were sometimes fought at drunken outdoor parties on the land in back of these mighty mansions.
Fargo wondered where the butler had been imported from. He certainly looked like the real thing. Formal but not unpleasant, businesslike but approachable.
This room was more to Fargo’s liking: dark wood paneling, leather chairs with brass rivets, a fireplace on one wall, a bar on another, and at one end a heavy, wooden desk made of polished mahogany. Over the fireplace there was a mounted lion’s head. Senator Beares sat in one of the chairs, sipping on a drink.
“Ahh, thank you, Charles,” he said. His voice was even, but beneath it, Fargo heard the tones of a man who was used to being in command and wasn’t afraid of much of anything. “Mr. Fargo,” he said, “please, consider yourself my guest. There’s no need for your weapon. You have my word—no harm will come to you here, at least no harm of my making.”
“That’s why you sent Ratty and Puncher to bring me here? Because you don’t intend me any harm?”
“Ratty and Puncher tend to be a little . . . overenthusiastic at times,” Beares said. He turned his gaze to the men. “I believe I instructed you to be gentle with Mr. Fargo. Did you fail me in this?”
“Hell, no!” Puncher said. “I just grabbed him a little is all, on the shoulder like, to show him we were serious.” He held out his mangled hand to demonstrate, then added, “Look what the sonofabitch did to me!”
Beares rose from his seat, taking a closer look at his employee, then turning back to the bar. “That does appear painful, Puncher,” he said. “You also appear to be missing at least one tooth and your nose isn’t a pretty sight either.” He shook his head. “I should’ve sent Charles. He, at least, would have been wise enough not to risk laying a hand on Mr. Fargo.”
He made a shooing gesture. “Ratty, Puncher, you are dismissed,” he said. “Ratty, you will take Puncher to the doctor and have him seen to. Puncher, once you are done there, you will report back here and Charles will give you your pay. Then you are to leave New Orleans. If you return here, I will have you dealt with the way I do anyone
