Sunday, August 21^st

Jimmy Shadow had a plan. A good plan. Timing was everything. He wasn’t worried. Jimmy was up against Steve Burgess. Burgess wasn’t much of a threat.

Trent had been able to fall asleep when they returned from Miles’ condo shortly after midnight. Darcey let him sleep until eight o’clock before she woke him.

Preston Johnson had invited them over for Champagne this morning. It was an unusual invitation. In the years he and Darcey had been friends, he had either taken her out for meals or he had come across the hall to her condo.

But for whatever reason Preston wanted them to enjoy refreshments on his terrace on this Sunday morning. It was important, he told her. He was her friend. If it was important to him, it was important to her. They would be there, she told him.

Trent awakened feeling rested. As had become his habit, he lay in bed for a few minutes taking inventory of his body.

Hands steady.

Eyesight and hearing normal.

No aches or pains.

No fever or sweats.

A symptom free day!

Burgess awoke hungover. There was nothing out of the ordinary about that. He was usually either drunk or hungover. He reached for the gin bottle and took a big swallow. That made him feel better.

By 9:30 he was near the building on Nob Hill, the revolver he had taken from the body of the dead biker was in his belt, hidden by the light jacket he wore. He waited patiently for the concierge to leave his desk in the lobby.

As soon as the lobby was empty, he moved as quickly as he could to the elevator. He went only to the 14^th floor. From there he used his key for the secure floors to enter the emergency stairs and climb up to the 15^th floor. He arrived there winded but, he thought, unseen. He stopped in the stairwell to catch his breath.

Looking through the small pane of reinforced glass in the stairwell door, he was surprised to see Trent and Darcey come out of their condo. He watched as they stepped across the hall and rang the doorbell. An old man opened the door, welcoming them in.

This was a complication, Burgess thought. But not much of one. The man who had opened the door looked ancient. Burgess thought he could be easily handled.

He didn’t know Jimmy Shadow had already spotted him.

Preston Johnson was dressed as elegantly as ever. He was wearing a tan blazer, dark brown slacks, and a light blue shirt with a blue and red striped ascot around his neck. The ever present cane was in his hand as he hugged Darcey and shook hands with Trent, welcoming them into his home.

“I’m expecting another guest,” Preston said. “I think I’ll just leave the door open. It’ll save the effort of walking back and forth.”

“It’s no trouble,” Darcey said. “I’ll take care of the door.”

“No, dear, just leave it open,” the old man repeated. “I have a treat for the two of you that mustn’t be disturbed.”

He motioned them to his kitchen island where sat a bottle of Champagne. Both the bottle and its covering foil were dark.

“Trent, I would like you to have the honor of pouring this bottle for us.”

Trent’s eyes grew wide.

“Is this what I think it is?” he asked.

“If you think it’s a Shipwrecked 1907 Heidseick, then yes, it’s what you think it is,” Preston face showed his pleasure at Trent’s reaction.

“Preston, this bottle is much too valuable to open,” Trent objected.

“It’s wine, Trent. It was made to be drunk. And this bottle has waited far too long to be enjoyed.”

As the younger man began to open the wine, Preston explained Trent’s astonishment to Darcey.

“During World War I, a cargo of this wine was en route to Tsar Nicholas of Russia when the ship was sunk by a German U-Boat. It lay at the bottom of the sea until 1997. While most of the shipment was destroyed, there were several bottles left. The temperature of the water and the level of pressure were perfect for maintaining the high quality of the wine.”

“And I believe a bottle of this goes for close to $300,000,” Trent added. Preston merely smiled, his Champagne flute in his hand. Two others sat on the table. Trent poured all three.

Preston merely smiled. He held his flute up to them. The three friends gently touched glasses.

“To the two of you,” he toasted. “I owe you much. I wish a long and happy life for you.”

They sipped, rather than drank, the precious wine.

“It’s amazing,” Darcey said. “This is a surreal experience. Thank you for sharing it with us, Preston.”

“Yes, thank you,” Trent said. “But I’m puzzled. You said you owe us something. I don’t understand.”

Preston looked into his flute, swirled the liquid around gently, and sipped again.

“There are things you don’t know, Trent. Things I regret very much. But I think all will be made clear soon.”

“Well, isn’t this just a picture?” came the snarling voice from the doorway. Burgess held the small revolver on the group gathered in Preston’s home. He had eased down the hall after Trent and Darcey entered the old man’s condo. He had been standing by the door, listening.

“Ah, I see my other guest has arrived,” Preston said. “Come in, Mr. Burgess. I’ve been expecting you.”

Trent was startled for the second time within ten minutes.

“Burgess?” he said. “What are you doing here? How do you know this low life, Preston?”

“I’m here to finish what I started in New Orleans, Marshall,” the ex-cop said. “This time I’m going to do it right. I was the one who put that bug in your clothes, Mr. Big Shot. You have me to thank for your illness.”

Trent said nothing. Preston Johnson stared at the flute in his hand. He sipped the wine again.

“But you’re still alive and I’m tired of waiting. I decided to come over here today and shoot you and your woman both. Won’t bother me to shoot an old man as well,” Burgess said, stepping closer to where the group was gathered.

Preston drained the last of the wine in his glass.

“You have such little class, Burgess,” the old man said. “You are the biggest mistake I ever made.”

“The biggest mistake you ever made? What are you talking about?” Burgess blustered.

There was a near silent click as Preston pressed a button on the gold handle of his cane. He slid the twenty-three inch carbon steel blade from the black hardwood shaft, using it to slap the revolver from Burgess’ hand.

“We’ll just be rid of that silly looking little gun,” Preston said. He pressed the sharp tip of the blade half an inch below Burgess’ sternum.

Burgess looked at his revolver on the floor. He looked down at the blade pressing into his flesh.

“What...I don’t understand,” Burgess stammered.

“Your mistake was in not telling me you wanted the bug to kill Trent Marshall,” Preston said. “Trent Marshall is a friend of mine. Now you shall pay.”

“Wait…don’t do this…” Burgess pleaded.

“At least, Burgess, you will go to your grave with the knowledge that you’re the only person who ever saw the face of Jimmy Shadow.”

“Jimmy Shadow? You’re Jimmy Shadow?”

Preston didn’t answer the question. He gave a slight lunge forward, pressing the blade. The thin, strong steel slid smoothly, painfully through Burgess’ body. Then Preston stumbled, almost falling.

Burgess stood stupidly for a few seconds looking down. He could see the gold handle of the cane protruding from his body. He didn’t have enough life left to consider the sharp point that had come out his back.

The dead body of the ex-cop crumpled to the floor.

Trent caught Preston before he fell. He helped him into a chair.

“Now you see what I owe you, Trent. I owe you your life.”

Trent and Darcey looked at each other.

“I don’t have much time left. There was a particularly strong poison in my flute. Please let me explain quickly.”

With his last breaths he told them the story of Jimmy Shadow. Ending with the contact from Rossi on behalf of Burgess.

Darcey was repelled.

“Preston, you’re a murderer! How could you do these things?”

“Yes, you’re quite right. Though no doubt there have been some victims who were innocent, I have always told myself I was doing the world a service by ridding it of evil people,” he gasped. “But yes, I murdered. And at the end of my life I almost killed one of the finest men I’ve ever known.”

The old man was weakening quickly. He tried to retrieve something from his pocket but his arms were growing heavy.

“Trent, please,” he said, “the vial in my pocket.”

Trent reached into the side pocket of the tan coat, finding a vial of powder.

“Give that to your doctor,” Preston said. “I got it from the source who provided the bug that bit you. Tell your doctor to use this powder to make an antiserum which should arrest the disease now in your blood. Tell her to make a vaccine with it also and give that to you as well. You must have both!”

Trent nodded.

“Let us help you now, Preston,” Trent said.

“No. No. It’s much too late,” Preston said. “Hopefully your doctor will only need a small amount of the powder to save you. Perhaps they can use the remainder to develop a cure for related illnesses. I know it’s not much but it might provide some small good to atone for all the bad I’ve done.”

Darcey was filled with conflicting emotion. This man she had come to think of as a father figure was not only an assassin but had come close to killing her husband.

Preston reached a hand out to each of them. They let him touch them.

“I’m so very sorry,” he said, his breathing becoming ragged. “I hope someday you can find it in your hearts to forgive a wicked old man.”