Read Online Vendetta Trail by Robert Vaughan - Free Book Online Page B

“Tell him to send Morello,” he said pointedly.

Chapter 10
    HAWKE WALKED THROUGH THE FRENCH DOORS of his apartment to stand out on the veranda. As part of his compensation, Clarisse had provided him with an apartment on the second floor of the House of the Evening Star. His room was on the same floor as the chambres des dames de plaisir , the rooms of the ladies of pleasure. He was guaranteed his privacy because he was separated from the women and their “working rooms,” by a wall that had no door. In order to get to his room from the business part of the building, one would have to go down one set of stairs and come up to his room by another.
    Hawke smiled as he contemplated his living arrangements. In all his travels, this was the first time he had ever lived in a whorehouse.
    Resting his elbows on the wrought-iron grillwork railing that extended across the front of his balcony, Hawke looked out over the city. He couldn’t help but be impressed by nighttime New Orleans. The lights were as bright now as they had been on the night he arrived by train. The Crescent City was illuminated by the flickering lamps that lined the streets, aswell as the several yellow squares of light that were cast through the windows of the many restaurants, homes, and establishments.
    From downstairs, he heard the pop of a champagne cork, then an explosion of laughter. As Big Callie suggested, Hawke had found much about New Orleans to like. The city certainly had its cultural side, with traveling dramatic groups playing in the local theaters, as well as an excellent symphony orchestra, and a very good ballet company.
    But he had also discovered a more sinister side. Much of New Orleans seemed to be controlled by a shadowy group of outlaws. And, while Hawke had encountered outlaws before, even gangs of outlaws, he had never run across anything quite like the Mafia.
    He could relate to being shot at, though. And Hawke decided that being a target was little different, whether you were being shot at by a Yankee sniper in the war, a Texas horse thief, or a Sicilian Mafioso.
    But Hawke had been in New Orleans for six weeks. He came here because he wanted to see New Orleans. Well, he had seen it, and now he was ready to move on. To that end, he had told Clarisse, earlier this week, that he would be leaving soon.
    “I hate to see you go,” Clarisse replied, disappointed at hearing his announcement. “But I have to admit that you did warn me you wouldn’t stick around very long.”
    “It has been an interesting six weeks,” Hawke said. “But I’m ready to see what’s over the nearest hill.”
    Clarisse laughed. “Oh, honey, it’s a long way from New Orleans to the nearest hill,” she said.
    “That’s right,” Hawke said, pointedly.
    Clarisse sighed. “Well, you have been a wonderful asset to our place of business, Mason, and I also like to think you have become a good friend. I wish you luck.”
    “Thanks.”
    That conversation had taken place three days earlier. This was Hawke’s last night at the House of the Evening Star. Tomorrow, he would be departing for St. Louis, Missouri, onboard a Mississippi riverboat, Delta Mist , having been hired to play piano in the great salon.
    This wasn’t to be a longtime job either, because once the boat reached St. Louis, Hawke planned to board a train and head west. He had no specific destination in mind, as long as it was somewhere in the West.
    Finishing his glass of wine, Hawke went back into his apartment, put on an emerald jacket, adjusted his yellow cravat, and went downstairs to work.
    “There you are, you handsome devil, you,” Clarisse said as Hawke stepped into the parlor.
    Clarisse was a little younger than her sister, Big Callie, had been. She was also considerably smaller, though she wasn’t a petite woman by any means. Her blonde hair was piled in ringlets on top of her head and her low-cut gown displayed a generous spill of creamy white breasts.
    “You have come to break