Fortune Is a Woman - Elizabeth Adler [153]
“Who is this?” she demanded, suddenly frightened.
“Don’t you know? Don’t you remember? Well, no, I suppose you wouldn’t, would you? After all, you thought you’d finished me off years ago. But here I am, back from the grave, Francie, haunting you just the way Josh haunts me.”
Francie’s face paled. She gripped the receiver so tightly, her knuckles showed white. “Sammy Morris,” she whispered.
“Ollie’s waiting right here for you, Francie. Why don’t you come and get him. Only, don’t bring any of your bastard Chinese hatchet men this time. And no police either. Or you know what to expect.”
The line went dead and she stared numbly at it for a second, then she threw down the receiver and ran for the door, flinging her coat over her shoulders as she went. Ollie was in mortal danger—he was alone at the warehouse with Sammy Morris. She turned and ran back again, grabbing the small pistol from the drawer by her bed. The Mandarin had given it to her for her protection years ago when the tongs were warring with each other and he had felt she might be in danger. Now she meant to use it on Sammy Morris.
The narrow street in front of the warehouse was in darkness and Sammy had left the boy where he lay while he’d quickly broken a window and groped his way to the office. He’d drawn the window shade and found the telephone, turned on the light and called Francie, so choked with bitter excitement at the sound of her voice he could barely speak. But his real triumph had come when he’d realized how terrified she was and he had laughed out loud. Didn’t they say the way to a woman’s heart was through her children? Well, this time he had Francie’s heart and he was going to mangle it to pieces. Only then would she know how he felt about Josh.
He found his way to a side door, pulled back the bolts and went back outside to get the boy, cursing as he stumbled in the darkness. Picking up the unconscious lad he threw him over his shoulder and carried him into the office. He flung him roughly into the chair and stepped back and looked at him.
The dose of ether had been a heavy one, he’d wanted no trouble and the boy was still unconscious. His head was tilted back and his gray eyes were half-open. And as he looked at him Sammy’s face paled. He was looking at the young Josh. He clutched his head in anguish; one part of his mind was telling him this was Josh’s son, the other was refusing to accept it. He was flung backward in time, back to Montgomery Terrace with his best friend, Josh; he would do anything for Josh, and Josh would do anything for him. Stabbing pains shot through his brain, his blood pulsed so hard he felt his head would burst and he suddenly fell, senseless as the boy, to the floor.
The smell of kerosene revived him, stinging his nostrils, choking him and he sat up, coughing. The room was in darkness again and he reached out to touch Josh, glad he was still there. His best friend had not left him after all. He lifted his head, sniffing the air, sensing danger. There was a flash of white light and the warehouse behind him suddenly exploded into orange flames. He stared numbly at it for a few seconds and then he dragged himself to his feet. The whole place was burning, the flames were leaping toward him, throwing strange shadows over the boy Josh’s face and he knew he had to save him.
He lifted him onto his shoulder and staggered back down the corridor into a wall of heat. A pall of black smoke crawled toward him and he ducked his head, fighting against it as it filled his lungs. There were only a few more yards to go, a few more steps to safety. The boy’s weight grew heavier and his knees buckled. He couldn’t breathe but he knew he must go on, he must save Josh this time. And then the black smoke filled his lungs and his head and he knew no more.
Harry was preparing to leave. His valet had packed his bags for an extended trip abroad and the chauffeur was waiting with the de Courmont ready to drive him to Union Station. Time was passing. The train would leave within the hour, yet Harry was still pacing up and