Oklahoma's Gold (12 page)

"See you around, Sheriff." Joseph tipped his hat and walked off. "Hopefully not too soon though," he laughed.

Caleb stood there, arms crossed, watching as Joseph headed back into the bar, probably thirsting from their conversation. "Keep on laughin'. We'll see how long it lasts." He spat out the words angrily before turning to walk toward the south end of town. If he remembered correctly, the Whitedeers lived on Sonora Avenue.

As he approached what he was certain belonged to Joseph and Maria, Caleb felt uneasiness creep over him. He wasn't sure why. Maybe it was the shabby, rundown appearance of the house. Painted shutters were peeling, some hanging crooked on their hinges. The porch steps were missing a board or two. And the smell. Caleb held a handkerchief over his nose trying to block it out. What was that smell? He then noticed as he got closer to the door, piles of garbage left out to rot in the sunlight. Most sitting on the porch, some bags over to the side of the house. How could people live like this? It amazed him. Of course, if Maria could put up with the stench of Joseph in bed, then anything else would be sweet as roses.

Caleb kept his mind thinking so he could keep it off the anxiety about his meeting with Joseph's wife. Her Latino temper was well known in town, flying off the handle at the drop of a hat. He didn't want to witness that firsthand. And what if she backed his story? But then again, what if she didn't? That thought made him more excited than anxious, so he hurriedly rang the doorbell.

 After what seemed forever, he could see the figure of a woman approaching the door very, very slowly. Peeking out from the curtain, she carefully undid all the locks and opened the door just a bit.

"
Qué quiere
?" she asked.

Caleb was taken aback. He knew Maria was a half-breed, Choctaw and Mexican, but he wasn't prepared for the Spanish he was hearing.

"Mornin' ma'am. Ah …
buenos dias
." He struggled with the words, hoping she spoke English better than he spoke Spanish. As he stepped closer, he was startled to notice a large bruise on one cheek. As if reading his thoughts, Maria brought a hand up to cover the dark blemish and stepped back.

"What do you want, Señor?" she asked, her accent thick, her words slow.

He quickly removed his hat and put on his most charming smile. He hoped desperately not to scare her off, so he certainly wasn't going to mention that bruise. "I'm sorry to bother you, ma'am, Señora Whitedeer, but I needed to ask you a few questions about your husband."

Immediately he noticed the change. Her once expressionless, almost dead eyes filled with fire, like two burning coals. She muttered a few words in Spanish, and even though Caleb didn't recognize them, her tone made him think they weren't too nice. He had a hunch and decided to take a chance.

"Some of the men in town are pointin' fingers at Joseph, sayin' he tore up Stumpy's Bar in a brawl real early this mornin'." He noticed the keen interest Maria quickly took in his words. "I was wonderin' if you could account for his whereabouts from last night till this mornin'?"

She stepped forward and dropped her hand, forgetting about the bruise. "Señor Sheriff," she began. "I tell you this. My good for nothin' drunken, fool husband did not stumble into my bedroom until four this morning." She spat on the floor.

"Must be a family habit," Caleb mumbled sarcastically, but fortunately Maria didn't hear.

"And he welcome me with this, Señor," she added and pointed to her cheek. Then she vehemently hollered, not muttered, more words in Spanish, and slammed the door in Caleb's face.

He blinked, then turned to hop carefully down the broken stairs. "That was sure unpleasant," he remarked aloud to himself, but started grinning. He had got what he wanted; he'd caught Joseph in a lie. How could he use it though, he puzzled. At least without letting on he'd spoken to Maria? Lord knew he didn't want to incite more family violence. He sighed. Emma was right. He still didn't have anything on Joseph Whitedeer, except lying. He kicked a stone out of his way. "Nothin'," he mumbled.

He decided to call from a public phone.
Can't be too careful
. While his call rang, he darted looks from side to side, relieved that no one noticed him. He then heard the click of someone picking up at the other end.

"Lucas Martin Realtor. How may we help you?" greeted a pleasant female voice.

"Ah, yes. Is he in, Betty?" he asked quietly, still concerned someone might walk by and listen.

The receptionist sighed, "Yeah, hold on."

Another click left him with the complacent sound of elevator music in his ear. He had just about enough of the instrumental version of Glenn Campbell's "By the Time I Get to Phoenix", when the line clicked again.

"Hello." A gruff voice answered him.

"Yeah, it's me."

"This better be good 'cause I'm right in the middle of an important meetin'," Lucas growled. "And I told you it'd be better, if you didn't call the office or come over."

"Well, just thought you should know the sheriff was givin' Joseph the third degree this mornin' and then had a talk with his missus."

"
That's
why you called?" Lucas sounded impatient.

"Well, what if Joseph gets too drunk and starts talkin'?" he defended.

"What do I pay you for?" His voice grew louder now. "Just make sure he doesn't talk. That's your job!"

He heard the receiver slam down, ending the conversation. He looked around once more. Still no one noticing. He carefully pulled his hat low in front to shadow his eyes and walked slowly down the street.

* * *

"Pardon me for the interruption, gentlemen," Lucas said as he returned to his office, then continued, "Now, where were we?"

One of the three businessmen, whom Lucas found somewhat irritating, had been doing most of the talking, nearly all in the form of questions. And, he admitted in frustration, if not questions, then criticisms. Lucas held his temper—no small feat for a man like himself—and responded or explained as best he could. Still, he wasn't surprised when the "bluesuit," as he was privately calling him, spoke again with his stoic northeastern accent.

"You've said, Mr. Martin, that everything was coming along quite smoothly, did you not?"

Did you not?
Lucas repeated the words mockingly to himself. Why couldn't these people just speak plain English? He only nodded an affirmation, certain that "bluesuit" was ready and waiting to fire his next question, slash, criticism at Lucas.

"Then why is it I see no deeds of purchase, in fact, no papers whatsoever here in front of me?" His voice gave just the slightest hint of irritation.

Not so stoic after all, Lucas mused. "I expect those will be comin' along very shortly now," he replied in strong southern dialect that he hoped was as irritating to "bluesuit" as the northerner had been to him.

"I sincerely hope that it is 'shortly' as you put it, Mr. Martin," he offered. "As previously agreed, upon receipt of the necessary land documents, ten percent of all profits in production or otherwise will be signed over to you." He smiled coldly, then added as he stood up, "Of course, all contract agreements become null and void after ninety days." He casually glanced at his watch. "That leaves you a total of forty-six days, does it not?" The smile became somewhat sinister looking. "Shortly does seem to be of utmost importance, Mr. Martin. Good day," he ended, the words a silent command for the other two suits to stand and follow as all three exited the room.

"Does it not? Does it not? I'd like to shove those words down his snobbish, upper class, Yankee throat!" Lucas snarled. Fortunately, no one was there to witness his outburst. He was always calm, in control. To let these guys get under his skin, well … it wasn't good for business. And this was very important business. It was his ticket to freedom, he reminded himself. To get the hell out of this hick town with its hick people.

He was sick to death dealing with the likes of Sonny and that busybody Emma Thomas. Sick of Daniel and his nosy questions which now were tending to make him nervous as well as angry. The need to get away from here had painfully become a gnawing irritation in the pit of his stomach. Only thoughts of a better place could calm Lucas. He sat back in his chair, arms behind his head, smiling and thinking of that, now. He had big plans, and they didn't include this cowshit town. Nothing or no one would stop that dream from happening.

Chapter 21

The gavel resounded with its constant hammering until the busy drone of voices inside the town hall hushed in silence. The room was nearly full of the townspeople invited. Most were big ranch owners, some merchants. All eyes now turned to focus on the gentleman standing at the podium, his face, a look of serious concern, a mirrored image of theirs. Mayor Francis cleared his throat to speak.

"Ladies and gentlemen. We are here tonight for what hopefully will be an informative and profitable venture." He then turned to face Lucas Martin who was standing off to the side.

"Mr. Martin has assured me his idea will meet with unanimous approval. So I guess without keepin' you all in suspense any longer, I'll turn the floor over to Lucas." The mayor finally relaxed and broke a smile as he stepped aside.

Lucas rested his hands on the podium and gazed out at his audience. He recognized several of the ranchers. One in particular kept his attention. He wrestled with his reaction; it was a mixed bag of emotions. And he realized it was only because of her guests that he was nervous. Daniel Ross and that young relative of Fred's. What was her name? He couldn't remember what Sonny had told him, but he knew they both could be trouble. Strong as she was, Emma Thomas was still an old woman. He could deal with her, alone. But two allies flanking her sides? That could be a problem. He sighed. Best leave it and attend to the matter at hand. He had other more pressing battles. And he couldn't afford to lose even one.

"Evening folks, fellow entrepreneurs," he began, smiling that charming Martin smile. "I've come here tonight to share with you an opportunity that I'm sure will please you as well as fill your pockets."

He was satisfied to notice the buzz of excitement develop, as people whispered to each other. He had a nibble. "Northern Republic Land Developers, a business located in New England, has expressed an interest in expanding in our area." His introduction, made as general as possible, left the field wide open for questions. Dozens of hands rose in unison, and he noticed with irritation that Daniel and Emma had promptly raised theirs. So, he steered away from that side of the room when he called on the first hand.

"What exactly do they develop on the land?"

Again, he forced himself to keep the information as vague as he possibly could. "They are very diverse, having completed residential as well as various commercial projects."

"And just what and where are we talking about for their plans here in Chickasha?"

The question was asked, uninvited and unwelcomed as far as Lucas was concerned. Of course it had come from Daniel. Still, he couldn't very well avoid it, with all eyes on him, all ears waiting.

"Yes, well … they would like to build an industrial park, suited for some of Oklahoma's bigger industry, on the western edge of town. Out beyond Lawson's ranch, near the Washita River," he informed them as calmly as possible, though the sweat was building up on the back of his neck with his pulse racing faster.