Angel of Death
Chapter 2
"May I offer you something to drink?" Jordan asked, smiling at the beautiful woman sitting across his desk from him. "Coffee? Tea? Lemonade? Something stronger perhaps?"
The corners of her soft, luscious mouth turned up a little. "No thank you, Mr. Jordan," she replied firmly.
Hannibal Jordan unconsciously licked his lips. Crown had told him she was beautiful but that didn't begin to describe her. There was a sharp intelligence in those lovely eyes, a sophistication in her manner. Even the simple but expensive emerald green silk outfit she was wearing spoke of her casual elegance. He wondered idly if the simple gold and diamond necklace and matching earrings had been gifts from an admirer.
"Now Miss..." he glanced down at the ivory, gold embossed calling card on his desk top, "Foxgate. Perhaps we should discuss the...reason for your visit."
"An excellent suggestion, Mr. Jordan."
His eyes flickered uneasily to the man sitting comfortably on the leather sofa across the office from them. "Since this is an extremely confidential matter, Miss Foxgate, I wonder if it might not be better if we discussed it...privately."
"I can assure you, Mr. Jordan, Charles is the very soul of discretion. He's been with me forever. Whatever you say to me is safe with him."
"Very well," he replied grudgingly, taking a last uncertain look at the other man, "I shall take your word for it." He cleared his throat and took a sip of water. This was a situation he was not comfortable with. After all, he generally left such matters to Crown or one of the other legion of underlings he employed. If it was not for his desperation to end this situation, he would never have submitted to the woman's insistence that they meet face to face. It was just that he was not quite sure how to proceed.
As if reading his thoughts, the woman readjusted her position in the chair and fixed him with those amazing eyes. "Where would you like to begin?" she asked lightly. "The weather? Current events? The new fashions from Paris?" The smile disappeared and the eyes took on a darker quality. "Perhaps Jarrod Barkley?"
The woman was rewarded when Jordan flinched visibly. "I...I don't think I understand," he stammered.
She laughed, a short, surprisingly sharp and brittle sound. "Oh come now, Mr. Jordan," she chided, "disingenuous does not become you. Besides which, you are not very convincing at it.
"Coastal and Western's troubles in the Stockton area are well known to anyone who reads the newspapers. Tom Barkley organized the ranchers and farmers against the railroad's first attempts at this land grab more than six years ago. Your mishandling of his murder was nothing short of monumental." She sniffed and shook her head slightly.
"I had nothing whatsoever to do with that," Jordan told her although it sounded flat even to his own ears.
She chuckled softly. "Don't be ridiculous. Everyone knows that Thomas Barkley's blood is on your hands. Simply because Crown did the actual hiring of the assassin and paid the money, doesn't mean the order didn't come from you. Not to mention you then had to pay that filthy vermin...what was his name? Ah, yes, Handy Random, to kill your ham-handed henchman and clean up the mess..." The beautiful head shook once more and that lovely face screwed up in disgust.
"I don't know what you're talking about," he insisted.
Ignoring him, she continued. "Then, to compound your stupidity, you failed to realize that his sons would not simply roll over and play dead for you. They've proved to be every bit as troublesome as their father. Especially the oldest one, the lawyer. He's fought you tooth and claw in the courts for years and despite your virtual stranglehold on the legal and legislative systems in this state, he's kept you at bay. And when all else failed, the Barkley brothers were willing to stand with those little farmers and ranchers against the railroad's hired guns. A move which turned the tide of public opinion against The Coastal and Western and resulted in Jarrod Barkley finding the last honest judge in California who finally ruled against you and allowed the matter to be settled once and for all in the landowners' favor. In short, he singlehandedly beat you, honestly and fairly, something I'm sure you would never understand. And I'm informed by those who know that you are not a man who loses gracefully."
"No wait. I..."
She waved a delicate hand to prevent him from speaking.
"Your obsession with taking revenge on the Barkleys...and Jarrod Barkley in particular, is practically legendary. In fact, for several months, you have been trying, through clandestine channels, to make contact with a person known, a little melodramatically if you ask me, as 'The Angel of Death.' Which is what brings us together today."
"You're...you're 'The Angel of Death?" Jordan paled and tiny beads of sweat appeared on his upper lip.
"As I'm sure you're aware, Mr. Jordan, no one who has ever actually met 'The Angel' has lived to tell about it. I am, if you like, 'The Angel's' business representative. I'm merely contacted, given the information about a potential client and arrange the contract details. I have no personal knowledge of 'The Angel' whatsoever."
"How do I know you actually represent 'The Angel'?"
"You don't," she replied simply.
"Then why should I believe you?"
"Well, let us say, purely for the sake of idle speculation, that someone could guarantee, absolutely, that both Nick and Jarrod Barkley would be delivered to the Stockton undertaker, the bastard half-brother would be delivered to the hangman's noose, the ensuing scandal would be of such massive proportions as to effectively destroy the Barkley family and that there would be no hint, no breath whatsoever, that Coastal and Western or Hannibal Jordan had any connection to the tragedy."
Jordan leaned back in his fat chair and considered her words. Jarrod Barkley dead was tantalizing enough...the thought of all the brothers dead and the family destroyed by scandal was almost too wonderful to contemplate.
"For pure speculation only," he said carefully, "how would that be accomplished?"
"Mr. Jordan," she continued in her light vein, "I have no idea. That's not my area of expertise. I have, however, been associated with 'The Angel' for a considerable number of years and know this person to be a consummate professional. If 'The Angel' guarantees a project will be accomplished to your satisfaction, you may be assured it's as good as done."
"And what would the cost of such a guaranteed project be...purely for speculation's sake?" He leaned forward again.
"One hundred fifty thousand dollars," she told him simply.
"One hundred fifty thousand dollars," Jordan repeated, not a little stunned at the figure.
"That's only fifty thousand dollars per Barkley," she replied brightly. "Considering how long Jarrod Barkley has been a thorn in your side and how much time, prestige and money he's cost you and your precious railroad over the years, his death alone should be worth that to you. Add to that, two more Barkley brothers permanently out of your life and a ruinous, full blown scandal, it's a bargain at twice the price."
"And the contract terms?'"
"Seventy-five thousand dollars due and payable upon contract acceptance by both parties. Fifty thousand dollars due and payable the day Nick and Jarrod Barkley are buried and twenty-five thousand dollars due and payable the day the bastard drops through the gallows floor. You may consider the scandal a no-cost bonus.
"All payments are to be made in gold and by you, personally. You'll receive instructions as to how and where all payments are to be made.
"Also, please understand that the contract price and terms are non-negotiable."
"Suppose, hypothetically of course, that after I enter into this contract, I should change my mind? Is there an 'escape clause'?"
She laughed, a warm, musical sound much different than her previous chuckle. "Certainly not, Mr. Jordan," she assured him. "You, of all people, should know that once the engine starts down the track, there is no turning back."
"Well then, what would happen if I were to renege on the contract?"
"That would be quite unfortunate for you," she warned, her voice as icy as her face. "I won't go into tedious detail on the subject. Suffice it to say that the consequences of such an action would be...severe at best."
For the first time since she'd entered, Jordan smiled broadly. He was a rich, influential and powerful man. He was protected and unassailable. This woman was trying to frighten him with a ghost, a phantom, the Bogey Man. He'd cheated, stolen and even killed with impunity. How dare this mere slip of a creature threaten him, no matter how veiled. He wanted Jarrod Barkley dead. To get that, he would be willing to enter into this bargain. When the deed was done, he would simply eliminate this problem as he did any other.
"Very well, Miss Foxgate," he said finally, "I accept your terms. However, be warned that I want the Barkleys taken care of as quickly as possible. I will not tolerate any unreasonable delay."
"I have been given no timetable as yet," she replied pleasantly, "although as soon as the gold is transferred, you will be contacted and given an estimate."
"Make sure that you inform 'The Angel' that I will expect the contract to be completed and that I am a powerful and dangerous enemy. He would do well to remember that, as would you."
Miss Foxgate's mouth curled into a cold, menacing caricature of a smile. "You have no idea about powerful and dangerous, Mr. Jordan." Her smooth purring voice dripped venom.
"Oh?" He raised a quizzical eyebrow.
"Indeed. You see, the Devil and I have a long standing agreement. To cross me is to cross him. No matter how invulnerable you see yourself, you are merely flesh and blood and I assure you, no match for the Prince of Darkness. If you default on the contract or in any way try to wriggle out of it...well, believe me when I tell you that dying can be a very long, very painful process."
Rising, she held out her lovely hand to him. Cautiously, Jordan took it and they shook once. He was surprised at the strength in the delicate hand. The man on the sofa rose as well, and moved to the office door.
"I shall relay your acceptance of the contract and you will be informed as to your payment. Good day, Mr. Jordan." She floated across the room and was gone.
When she and her companion were safely in their cab and headed home, she leaned back and let out a long sigh. "Send a wire confirming the contract," she told him, "and make sure that Chan knows to expect a visit from Mr. Jordan. Once the gold is delivered, I shall want to move as quickly as possible."
"Everything is ready," he assured her.
"What about the railroad car?"
"All that needs to be done is to tell them which Stockton train to hook it up to."
"And Jordan's men?"
"All present and accounted for, both here and Stockton. We can take them out whenever we're ready."
She smiled. "Well then, when we get home, I shall finish packing. If all goes as anticipated, I shall be dining with the Barkley family by the end of the week."
Lo Chan emerged from the rear of his laundry in response to the small bell over the door that announced customers entering. He shuffled to the counter and bowed before the large, portly, well dressed man.
"Good evening sir," he said in flawless English. "How may I be of service?"
Hannibal Jordan's eyes darted around the spare, shabby room. "I...I have some laundry that I'd like taken care of." Slowly, he raised the valise he was carrying and placed it on the counter in front of the other man.
"Of course sir," Chan replied, smiling slightly. "Are there any special services we can provide?"
"Ah...yes. I have several valuable dress shirts. Silk. They must be handled with great care." He opened the valise so that Chan could peer in.
"I see." Carefully, he pawed through the shirts, pushing them aside and revealing the false bottom. Underneath were neat rows of small gold ingots. "Most beautiful workmanship," he commented. "Be assured that we will take the utmost care with these precious items."
Bowing again, he took a small piece of paper from under the counter and handed it to Jordan. "Your ticket, sir. Your shirts will be ready on Thursday after ten am. Be sure and bring your ticket. Good evening, sir." He lifted the valise from the counter and returned to the back of the laundry.
Jordan hurried back to his waiting cab. Even in broad daylight, it was not a neighborhood he felt safe in. With dusk settling, it felt even more threatening. Once the cab was on its way, he looked down at the paper.
J
Project started. Timetable is approximately three weeks. Next payment due
when first two parcels are delivered in Stockton.
A
With a smile, Jordan tore the paper into tiny shreds. Putting his hand out the window, he let the fragments blow out between his fingers.
"Soon, Barkley," he sneered, "soon."