Peacemakers (Peacemaker Origins Book 1) (2 page)

“Yes,” said the lieutenant in his dark blue dress uniform, “do tell us about your costume?”

“Why, these fine threads were designed by my commanding officer, former president Theodore Roosevelt himself; they are as unique as the men asked to join the unit,” Wage replied.

“I was under the impression the Rough Riders were disbanded a number of years ago.  When was the last time you were even deployed, Captain?” Alexander asked.

“There are a few of us who are still around, I assure you.  Now, tell
me
, lieutenant, what was the last hill you charged?”  Wage reached over and dusted the lieutenant’s uniform where there was an absence of metals.

“Why, Alexander here just graduated West Point to be deployed as an artillery officer in the near future,” Jonathan Hamilton said.

“A shame to leave someone so lovely so soon, I reckon,” Wage said.  Cynthia blushed slightly.

“Nonsense,” Jonathan Hamilton replied.  “Cynthia will learn the family trade here at the plantation while he is away. She comes from a long line of headstrong women, don’t you, sweet pea?”

“Yes, father,” Cynthia responded.

“Just like her mother, God rest her soul,” Jonathan Hamilton proclaimed as he superstitiously turned the gold wedding band on his left hand.  “Smart as she is beautiful.”

The string quartet started playing a Viennese Waltz. 

“Well, perhaps the smart and beautiful lady may have some time in her busy schedule to allow me the honor of a dance?”  Wage stuck out his elbow to escort.  Alexander pushed it down and extended his own. 

“I’m sorry, Captain.  Her schedule is full.”

“Of course.” Wage bowed to Cynthia with a wink.  “Perhaps you could pencil me in another time.”

“Yes, some other time, Captain,” Cynthia said as she smiled and secretly winked back.

The happy couple proceeded to the dance floor to the amusement and clapping of the other guests.  Once on the dance floor, Alexander Beckett moved about it like he was receiving a grade for stiffness from a superior officer.

“Tell me, Captain Pascal,” Jonathan Hamilton inquired, “what brings you here this evening?  For the life of me, I cannot recall seeing your name on the guest list.”

“A last-minute addition by your dearest mother-in-law,” Wage replied, keeping his eyes on the couple.

“Do you like cognac, Captain?” Hamilton asked.

“It would be downright sacrilegious not to,
monsieur
.”

“Excellent,” Hamilton continued. “I have a rare bottle upstairs in my study, crafted for Napoleon himself.  Perhaps you would join me.”

“I would be delighted,” Wage said.

The two men ascended the large staircase to the second floor.  Hamilton’s study was in the corner at the end of the hall, which gave Wage the opportunity to observe the floor plan of the house.  Through a slightly ajar door, third from the right, he could see a four-post bed and princess canopy, which must have been Cynthia’s.  At the end of the hall, they came to a locked door.  Hamilton pulled a key ring from his jacket pocket and meticulously fingered through them.  He unlocked the door and adjusted the gas lights, revealing a room that, Wage assumed, revealed Hamilton’s true nature.

An enormous desk faced the door, flanked on both sides by full crowned windows overlooking the front of the estate.  Trophy animals surrounded the entire room—some native, some exotic.  Directly behind the desk and between the windows was a large map of the Carolinas with different color pins tacked throughout it. 

Hamilton grabbed a decanter and two glasses from his wooden liquor cabinet and sat behind his desk before pouring.  After quickly cataloging a large gun collection displayed on the right-hand wall, Wage had a seat in one of the two chairs in front of the desk and reached for his drink.  “
Merci
,” he said.

“What do you think of my personal study, Captain?” Hamilton asked.

“It is certainly befitting of a man of your fine status,” Wage replied.  “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear I was at the Smithsonian with all these fine creatures staring at us.”

“It’s taken me many years and many travels to accumulate them.  I am particularly fond of that one behind you.” Hamilton proclaimed. 

Wage turned in his chair to see an alligator’s head mounted high on the wall, its mouth partially open.  “They say the lion is the king of the jungle, but where I come from, the gator is king,” he said, still staring at the now-harmless specimen.  Wage turned back around to see a revolver pointed at his head from across the desk.

“I have killed many a creature in my life; it will not stress me to kill one more,” Hamilton said.

Wage leaned back in his chair.  “You know what I find interesting?  All the animals in here are predators.  Not one prey.”

“You seem strangely comfortable with a revolver pointed in your direction, Captain.” 

“Let’s just say this ain’t my first engagement party, Mr. Hamilton,” Wage replied.

“Who are you working for?  Reynolds?  My dear, sweet mother-in-law?  Why are you here?” Hamilton demanded. 

“I am recently retired, Mr. Hamilton, and I thought this would be a fine opportunity to find employment, is all,” Wage said.  “I am sincerely sorry to have caused you any distress.”

“Don’t play games with me, Captain.  You may have charged a hill or two in your day, but I won my first duel at 19 and have been undefeated ever since.  Wrong answers will get you killed.”

“I’m afraid I only have the one answer.  Just a retired soldier looking for some … mostly honest work,” Wage said.

“Nothing about you conveys honesty, Captain.  That is why I’m afraid I have to ask you to leave my daughter’s engagement party, leave Winston-Salem, and leave North Carolina,” Hamilton ordered.

“And if I do not oblige?” Wage countered.

“Then I will kill you where you sit and mount one more animal on my wall.”

“Well, I best get going, then.  Thank you for a lovely evening.  Give my best to the happy couple,” Wage said, rising from the chair. 

Wage returned downstairs, retrieved his hat and walked out into the warm, humid North Carolina evening.  Fireflies glowed as he walked down the dirt road back to the car, where he found Bill working on the engine with a lantern hanging from the hood.

“Did you get it?” Bill asked.

“Not yet, but I was formally introduced to Jonathan Hamilton.”

“You shoulda just clubbed him and took it, then.  We coulda been halfway to Charleston by now.”

“I’m afraid our client insists that this whole ordeal look somewhat random.  We can’t make Mr. Hamilton look targeted.”

“He could be
randomly
clubbed,” Bill insisted.

Don’t worry, William.  All is going according to plan.  You just make sure Apollo’s Chariot is ready to go.”  Wage hopped inside the car and pulled his hat down low to take a nap.  “Do me a favor, and wake me up when you are positive all the guests have left.”

Hours later, Wage felt the shove from his former sergeant.  “I think all the guests are gone,” Bill announced, sitting in the driver’s seat.  “I just did a bit o’ reconnaissance. It seems clear.”

“Excellent,” Wage replied, rubbing his eyes.  “Wish me luck.”

“Luck only works once charm has failed,” Bill said in his best Cajun-mocking accent.

Wage sneaked around the back of the estate and calculated which window was Cynthia’s.  After selecting the right pebbles from the garden, he threw them at the window.  An alerted Cynthia finally unlatched and swung open her window.  Wage took off his hat and addressed her, “Good evening, Madame.”

“Captain Pascal!  What are you doing here?  My father said you were leaving town posthaste.” 

“I’m afraid I’ve lost my map.  I was wondering if I might borrow yours,” Wage replied.  “Allow me to come and retrieve it.”  Cynthia put her hands over her mouth to stifle her response as Wage began climbing the vines up to her window.  “Oh, the towers I would climb,” he whispered to himself before nearly slipping off.  He finally made it through her window to see the breathtaking Cynthia, her supple breasts draped in her knee-length white nightgown.

“My father will kill you if he finds you here,” she said.  Wage grabbed her around the waist and kissed her passionately.  She broke away for air.  “If he doesn’t kill you, my fiancé undoubtedly will.”

“For one night with you,
mon chéri
, it’s worth it.  Now, about that map …” Wage said before kissing her again. 

…

After sunrise, Wage heard footsteps in the hallway.  He quickly put on his brown trousers, holster, and boots and threw the rest of his clothes out the window.  He blew a kiss to his perfectly sculpted, sleeping Rapunzel before he scurried down the vine to the garden below, where he waited, shirtless.  His presence became known quickly.  A fuming Jonathan Hamilton III in an undershirt with suspenders raced out the back door.  “YOU!” he screamed. 

Wage waved politely. “Good morning, Mr. Hamilton, sir.”

“WHAT IN THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?”

Wage looked about. “Just admiring your garden, sir.  Very lovely.  Are those azaleas?”

“Mr. Humpries!” Hamilton yelled for his servant, “BRING ME MY SHOTGUN!”

“No need to get upset, now,” Wage said.

“How dare you, sir.  Defile my only daughter and act so coy about it!” Hamilton cried.

“Now hold on a minute.  Nobody said anything about defiling.”

“You insolent bastard! You are nothing more than a common rogue!”

“Well, how dare
you
, sir,” Wage countered.  “You are making an assumption again that I’m a completely dishonest man!  I am afraid I must defend my honor against the likes of you.  I, sir, challenge you to a duel.”

A moment of awkward silence ensued.  “I accept,” Hamilton said.  “Tomorrow.  Sunrise.  At the apple orchard just east of here.  Bring your second, and your revolver.”  Hamilton smiled ear to ear like a python about to swallow its prey.

Wage put his hat on, and with his shirt still in hand, winked at Hamilton.  “See you then,” Wage said, as Mr. Humphries hurriedly ran outside with a shotgun. 

Wage finally returned to the car to find Bill asleep at the wheel.  “Good news, William!” Wage proclaimed.  “We shall be on our way tomorrow morning.  Now, let us return to our lodging; we have much to discuss.”  Bill started the car after the third try and drove them back to town.

…

Wage and Bill walked down the embankment toward the apple orchard where Jonathan Hamilton III and Lieutenant Alexander Beckett were already waiting, and steaming.

“Good morning, all,” Wage said.

“You are late, Captain,” Alexander barked. “Sunrise was an hour ago.”

“Do forgive me. I was just finishing a love letter.  And while we’re here, do respect a superior officer, Lieutenant.”

“Is this mongrel your second?” Alexander asked.

Bill and Wage looked at each other.  “Mongrel?” Wage said.  “Why, this is Sergeant 1
st
Class William MacDonough, hero of San Juan Hill.  He’s killed more Spaniards in one day than syphilis.  Ain’t that about right, William?”

“Get on with it then!” Hamilton yelled.

The overweight, plainly dressed Bill walked down the orchard with the lieutenant, who was in full uniform, and discussed the terms of the duel.  All the while, Wage stood, whistling and tracing the snapping alligator etched in gold on the ivory grip of his Colt Peacemaker. 

A few yards away, Hamilton scowled and sneered.  The seconds returned, and the two opposing groups split up to express the terms agreed upon. 

“What do you say, William?” Wage inquired.  “Will it be 15 paces or 20?”

“Eight,” Bill replied.

“Eight?  Then we turn and draw?”

“No turning.  You will face each other.”

“No turning?  Only one bullet then, right?”

“Two bullets.”

Wage took a deep breath.  “Well, OK.  Plan B then, huh, William?”

“Plan B was at 15 paces.”

“Right!  Plan C!”

“Plan C was with one bullet.”

“Did you remember anything we talked about?”

Bill remained silent.

Wage sighed.  “So … the catastrophic emergency plan, then?”

“It
is
my personal favorite,” Bill replied.

“Very well,” Wage said.  “Let us commence with this morning’s activities.”

Both Hamilton and Wage gave up their revolvers for inspection.  The seconds diligently checked them over and ensured that only two bullets remained in each gun before returning them.  Both men took up their locations at eight paces, faced each other, and awaited further instructions.

“On my count, duelers will draw and fire,” Alexander commanded. “You may only fire after one, but before three.  Are there any final questions?”  Neither dueler spoke.  “Duelers, take your marks.”  Wage adjusted his stance and gave a brief nod to Bill, who stood next to the lieutenant.  Bill subtly nodded back.