Read The Final Adversary Online
Authors: Gilbert Morris
The Final Adversary
© 1992 by Gilbert Morris
Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Bloomington, Minnesota 55438
Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan
Ebook edition created 2011
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the publisher.
The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
ISBN 978-1-4412-7038-2
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, D.C.
Cover illustration by Brett Longley
Cover design by Melinda Schumacher
This book is dedicated
to my son-in-law,
Dr. Ron Smith.
I could not have given
my daughter
to a better man.
CONTENTS
19. The Walls Come Tumbling Down
20. Winslow’s Counseling Service
CHAPTER ONE
A Necessary Trip
Two days into the year of 1894, dark, angry clouds gathered over the city of New York. The temperature plummeted, transforming particles of moisture into crystal flakes that stung the eyes of pedestrians scurrying along the streets, seeking shelter from the blizzard they knew would follow. By four in the afternoon large snowflakes began to fall heavily.
“Oh, Tony!” Katie Sullivan exclaimed. “It’s like a fairyland!”
Tony Barone shifted his eyes from the paper he was reading to Katie, a smile creasing his face. A handsome man of thirty, with sleek dark hair and lidded black eyes, Tony considered himself an expert in two things: gambling and women. He congratulated himself on his decision to hire the girl. Yes, she was a pleasing sight—tumbling blond hair, sparkling blue eyes, flawless complexion, and shapely figure.
Getting up from the table, he walked over and slid his arm around her. She stiffened at his touch. Amused at her reaction, he thought,
Like a wild rabbit, ready to run for a hole at the first sign of trouble.
Tony dropped his arm and felt her relax. “Yeah, sure is pretty, Katie.” He smiled, then lifted her hand, squeezing it gently. “May keep a few of your fans home, though,” he laughed. “You’re bringing them in, honey—just like I said you would. Ought to make you trust old Tony a little bit more.”
Katie’s face grew warm at his nearness and the bold look
in his eyes. She withdrew her hand and said, “I—I do trust you, Tony.”
“That’s good. You go over the new number with Nick and the boys?”
“Oh yes! It’s kind of a silly song—not too hard. But . . . I think Sally is—”
“Sally’s a little jealous?” he asked, catching her hesitation.
She nodded.
“Sure she is, Katie. That’s show business. Folks want to see youth, and Sally’s been around a long time. I’ll have a word with her. Now you—you’re going to have to get a little tougher. You’re on your way up, and when you have to pass people, some won’t like it. I’ve told you this, remember?”
Katie nodded. “I know, but Sally was so nice to me when I first came. I hate to—to go above her.”
Barone stared at her. He had been a denizen of the dog-eat-dog world of show business so long, he had forgotten that gentleness such as Katie Sullivan possessed even existed. Six weeks earlier he had spotted the young woman coming out of a sooty factory, her clothes worn and bulky, yet revealing a nice figure. With a little help, he decided, she could be beautiful.
Getting her to work at his music hall, the Gay Paree, was another matter. Katie was not easily persuaded, in spite of the hard times. It wasn’t that Tony had difficulty finding girls; in fact, they came begging for a chance to work—even as a waitress, which soon led to drinking with the customers and then slipping into a lower life. But Katie was different, and her unspoiled beauty sparked Barone’s womanizing bent for control.
Katie had refused Tony’s first job offer. “I couldn’t work in a music hall, Mr. Barone,” she said with a smile and left him standing in the street, his eyes wide with astonishment.
“Never got chopped down like that, did you, Tony?” said Studs Ketchel, the huge ex-boxer, who had been with Tony. “Wait’ll I tell the guys! Tony Barone—axed by a country
girl!” he added, roaring with laughter at the expression on Barone’s face.
“I’ll get her, Studs,” he had retorted. “It’s just a matter of knowing how.”
Stalking the girl became an obsession with him, and he enlisted one of his waitresses to ferret out all she could about Katie. “She’s a country girl, Mr. Barone,” she reported. “Just come in from upstate—right off the farm. All she does is work and go for walks—mostly in Central Park on Sunday afternoons. Don’t have no men friends. One of her girl friends told me her old man’s dead and she sends almost every dime she makes back to her ma. You want I should find out more?”
That was enough for Tony, and the next Sunday he went for a walk in the park. There she was. “Why, it’s you . . . I’ve forgotten your name?” he said, joining her.
Two weeks later—after one more Sunday stroll and supper at a nice cafe—she agreed to go with him to the Gay Paree. Never having seen the inside of a music hall before, she had been appalled at the girls’ scanty costumes and the loose talk among them. Her shocked reaction amused him.
Better keep her isolated from the worst,
he had decided, though it had been a relatively quiet night—no fights or trouble with the customers. But the next Saturday afternoon, after lunch, he had brought her again. When she heard the number Nick and the band were practicing, she said, “Oh, I know
that
one!”
“Sing it, Katie,” Tony had urged, and was surprised at the clear quality of her voice. He had left her with Nick, and two hours later they were still singing. Nick had commented privately before the couple left, “Tony, most of the gals you drag in here screech like a crow. This kid has got a
great
voice. Do yourself a favor and hire her!”
Now as Katie and Tony stood at the window watching the snow fall, he said, “You’ve come a long way in a short time, honey.” He smiled and put his hand on her arm lightly. “Remember how scared you were when you first came?”
“I remember.”
“You were jumpy as a deer,” he mused. “Afraid of your shadow—and you were absolutely
sure
I was going to make love to you.”
Katie flushed, the rich color of her cheeks glowing under the yellow light of the lantern. “Yes, I was.” She smiled up at him. “I was wrong, wasn’t I?”
Barone moved slightly closer and lowered his voice. “Don’t bet on it, Katie. A beautiful woman like you—a man would have to be a stone statue not to fall in love with you.” Her eyes opened wide and he suddenly bent and kissed her, then stepped back. If she’d been any other woman, he would have pressed his luck, but not with this one.
She’s like a ripe fruit, ready to drop,
he thought.
But I’ve got to be easy—real easy or she’ll bolt and run.
“You’re sweet, Katie,” he said quietly, not touching her. “I guess I’ve seen so many hard girls I’ve forgotten what a real woman could be like.” He saw that she was flustered, so quickly changed the subject. “Got a treat for you after the show.”
“What is it, Tony?”
“Sally’s boyfriend’s fighting over at the arena. Studs got two tickets, but he can’t make it. We’ll go see it, then take Sally and the pug out for a late supper.”
“I’ve never seen a boxing match,” Katie hesitated. “Isn’t it kind of gruesome?”
“These are professionals. We’ll just watch.” He smiled, adding, “We’ll leave early if you don’t like it, honey.”
****
Andrew Winslow glanced up from the breakfast table and noted the heavy clouds through the bay window. “Dad, I don’t like the looks of that sky. We may be snowed in for a few days when we get to the city.”
“All the more reason for staying home.” Mark Winslow at the age of fifty-three was only five pounds heavier than he had been twenty years earlier, and just as handsome and fit now
as he was then. At that time he had worked under Samuel Reed as his assistant superintendent of construction, but his real job had been trouble—whipping any of the thousands of track hands or gamblers who interfered with the building of the Union Pacific Railroad from Omaha to Promontory, Utah.
Mark Winslow walked to the window and looked out, a frown on his face. “I still don’t like the idea, Andy. I know you think it’s something we need to do, but it could make things worse.”
“Dear, we’ve been over that,” Lola interrupted.
As always, Mark listened carefully when his wife spoke. He was proud of her, and his eyes glowed with the warmth of his love. She was so lovely—even in her plain attire. Unlike the ridiculous fashions of the day, she wore a dark green dress with simple lines. Still, she looked much as she had at eighteen. Her dark hair and smooth olive skin, inherited from her Mexican mother, had changed little. From her Irish father she had the legacy of blue eyes and delicate features.
She continued. “We haven’t heard from Barney in two years. What could make things worse than that?”
“Exactly!” Andy nodded. Their twenty-one-year-old son had the rich auburn hair and piercing blue eyes of the Winslow men. He was the same height as his father, six feet, but did not pack the solid muscle of the older man. He jumped up from his chair, his reactions quick and fluid, a phenomenon that had made him one of the finest football players in the nation. With his senior year ahead of him, he was already being sought by all the coaches, for he was equally adept in any position.