Ragtime Cowboys (27 page)

“Can I get you gentlemen anything?” she asked the others.

“I wouldn't mind having some of that beer,” Siringo said. “Shooting's thirsty work.”

Hammett said, “Beer for me, too. And a ham sandwich, if it isn't too much trouble. Surviving's hungry work.”

“What would you like, Becky? We have fresh buttermilk.”

“Could I have a beer?”

Charmian frowned.

“Really, Charmian. It's illegal for us all; and I think I've earned it.”

She nodded and left.

*   *   *

“Well, sir, what shall we talk about?” Kennedy sat in a rocker with his legs crossed, the crease in his trousers perfect, the aviator's helmet on the table at his elbow and a glass of Jack London Vineyards in his hand.

Siringo, to whom the question was addressed, looked at Charmian, a woman who asked no superfluous questions. She unlocked the drawer of one of the display cabinets, drew out Hammett's notes, and brought them to Siringo, who tilted his head toward Kennedy. She frowned, but did as directed.

Kennedy glanced at the top sheet and dropped the notes in his lap. “You know, I could prosecute you for theft.”

“Seems you started something along them lines.”

“Clanahan's a fool, and shortsighted besides. The first affliction is universal. The second is congenital. He'll finish out his political career in the penitentiary.”

“Dead, more like,” said Hammett. “It's a brave new world.”

“I assumed he'd go through the proper channels. If he'd come here with a warrant, it would have saved everyone a world of trouble.” He sipped at his cabernet, directed an appreciative expression at Charmian, who sat stone-faced in the rocker facing him. “I blame myself, of course. I'd be a poor politician if I did not. I expected too much of my associates when I should have dealt with the business directly.

“I knew nothing of this man Lanyard. I don't expect you to accept that, but it's the truth nonetheless. What are you asking for the original?”

“That's up to Mrs. and Miss London,” Siringo said. “It's this spread we're sitting on that's at stake.”

“They have nothing more to be concerned about in that regard. As of this moment, Beauty Ranch and
The Valley of the Moon
are immune to a transaction that should never have been undertaken in the first place.”

“Becky?” Charmian looked at her stepdaughter, who hadn't yet touched her glass of beer. Siringo was certain she'd never held one before in her life.

“I don't know what to say.”

“Not an admission confined to youth,” Charmian said. “Mr. Siringo? Mr. Hammett?”

Hammett sipped beer. “I want to know what all this has to do with Teapot Dome; and with a ten-year-old kid in San Francisco who wants to be president.”

Kennedy smiled at Siringo. “Well, sir?”

Siringo wrapped his hands around his glass of beer. The cold felt good. Not too long ago he hadn't counted on ever feeling anything again. “I want what Mr. Hammett wants. You can take the man out of Pinkerton, but you can't take the Pinkerton out of the man.”

“Well put. I'm curious, also: Aren't we all? These amounts don't constitute evidence in any court. They could as well be suggested wagers, which although illegal in most states are hardly worth justice's time, had it any to squander. What I say from here on in must be regarded as confidential to these premises. Yes?” He looked to Charmian.

Siringo said, “I'll do the negotiating. I've had to deal with criminal enterprise in the past. So has Mr. Hammett, but he's less experienced. I'll let you know when we're wandering into dangerous territory for you.”

“Fair enough. My people have done enough homework to assure me you're a man of your word, as am I, whatever else you may think of me. Ask your questions, and I'll let
you
know when we're wandering into dangerous territory: Your phrase, and I'd be a shanty-Irish idiot if I thought I could come up with a better one.”

“Were you hoping to buy into this oil business?”

“Quite the contrary. It was—it's still—my hope that I can squash this scandal involving my political enemies before it reaches the press. It would be disastrous to my plans.”

 

35

Charmian said, “I don't understand. The embarrassment would be to the Republican Party. You said you're a Democrat.”

“I am, and when the timing is right, nothing would gratify me more than a scandal of these proportions shattering the opposition. Unfortunately, the public's memory is short. Within two presidential terms, unless my party succeeds in everything it attempts—which is as unlikely as it is unprecedented—some fair-haired fellow with the GOP will manage to charm and connive his way into office.

“Politicians' memories are made of sterner stuff,” he went on. “If Teapot Dome breaks now, my esteemed opponents will be especially careful in their nominations: In their quest for a candidate who never did anything wrong, they'll probably propose a dodo who never did anything. That may work to our benefit, or it may not. Warren G. Harding is a fool of the first water, but the electorate fell for him because he takes a distinguished photograph. The upshot is, we won't see an opportunity this promising for generations.”

Hammett inserted his grating chuckle into the conversation.

“I get it. You're interested in the next generation, not two or three down the road.”

“Precisely. Too much foresight can be worse than none at all. My boy Joe is a level-headed youngster, whom I think will make a fine president in twenty-five years, reflecting well on our party, our family, our heritage, and our faith. I'm not so certain about little John; he shows signs of being covetous, which in maturity can take a lecherous turn. I expect to father more sons, but for all I know the next will be completely inadequate. A strain of moral cowardice runs through the Fitzgerald side of the family.”

Siringo said, “You wanted to squash this bug and save it for later.”

“Yes. You'd make a fine orator, Mr. Siringo. I admire your bluntness. I can see how you managed to impress Handy Muldoon.”

“I hope I didn't get him in trouble. I never seen a better right cross, in or out of the ring.”

“You needn't worry about that. The man is useful.”

“You mean those bribes—” began Becky.

“Incentives. I apologize for interrupting, young lady, but I intended to pay all the principals and their instruments involved in the fraud to behave honorably instead. I don't see how anyone could interpret offering someone a reward to do good an act of bribery.”

“Here's some more of that bluntness you like so much,” Hammett said. “A man like Secretary Fall would take your dough and go on as usual. There will always be a Doheny to pay him to do bad, and a Fall to take the money.”

Siringo looked at Charmian. “It's what I was telling you before. You can't feed a puma and turn it into a housecat.”

“I concur.” Kennedy sipped wine. “However, my investors agreed with me that if we divided their shares in the proper amounts and directed them enough places, the more cautious cats in the pack would restrain people like Fall, and possibly even alert Harding to the perils of weak leadership.” He smiled without mirth. “It's a thin hope, I confess. Like you gentlemen I know that what my colleagues call a dishonest buck will always find a home. But not on this scale, and considering the odor it will leave if we fail, not soon enough for my plans. I intend to live long enough to see a Kennedy in the White House.”

“With that notebook we could put one in the big house right now.” Hammett drained his glass and thumped it down.

Kennedy stopped smiling, and it was as if no such expression had ever found a foothold on that stoic face.

“I misjudged Clanahan. I gave him sufficient money, and the promise of much more, to make force unnecessary. Instead of using it to grease the wheels, he paid an assassin to eliminate them entirely and kept the rest for himself, when he could have been vastly more wealthy if he'd done as I directed.”

“He plays careful poker,” Siringo said. “Too careful. He could have been secretary of the Treasury, but he went for table stakes.”

“Not under any administration I supported. It would be disastrous to give him the key to the Bank of America. He's through. Tomorrow everyone in the state will read the details of his private affairs on the front page.”

“What if he talks?” Siringo asked.

“He has no proof. As far as the world is concerned, we're casual acquaintances who met at the Harvard Club for a friendly game of poker.”

Charmian said, “I don't believe you had nothing to do with the eel. You're a bootlegger, a base smuggler. ‘Scratch a crook and see a liar,' Jack used to say.”

“This morning I divested myself of all my interests in the liquor trade. The decision was a relief. I was never comfortable dealing with the class of person I was forced to in order to raise the funds I needed in order to raise more. I suppose you could make the case that even if I was ignorant of the path Clanahan chose I'm guilty of being an accessory to murder and attempted murder, but I doubt it would ever go to a jury. You've seen my list.”

“Come this time tomorrow, they'll all be out on their ears,” Hammett said. “Even if those
were
just wagers.”

“That list would certainly bring down the Democratic Party, as well as its Tammany division. That would guarantee a second term for the most corrupt administration since Grant's. However, we can spare ourselves a great deal of misery. What will you accept for that notebook?” Kennedy reached inside his suit coat and brought out a gold fountain pen and a checkbook bound in green leather.

Charmian said, “I don't want your filthy money.”

“Nor I,” said Becky.

Kennedy's brows lifted above the rims of his glasses. He turned to the old Pinkerton. “Mr. Siringo?”

“Talk to Hammett. He's got possession. I only stole it.”

“Mr. Hammett?”

Hammett stretched out his bad foot. The bandage Siringo had applied to his bullet wound made a white slash inside the open collar of Jack London's shirt, a heroic effect.

“How do I know once you get what you want you won't come after us?”

“I can't convince you I'm not the monster you think me, but you're an intelligent young man. Surely you can see what Clanahan would not: that even without evidence, the accusation alone of participation in this venture would exile me from politics forever.”

“That's certain,” Siringo said. “I got paid to bury a parcel of horseshit in my day; begging you ladies' pardon.”

Hammett nodded.

“Money's not dirty,” he said, “just some of the hands it passes through. But it can ruin a man with ambition. If I had money, I'd never write a word. But there's a matter of all those notes your people bought up when you wanted to swipe the ranch.”

Kennedy laid the checkbook in his lap, reached inside another pocket, and brought out a fat wallet with a clasp. “Are you thinking of going into the wine business?”

“I'm strictly on the consumer end. Give it to Becky.”

“One moment,” said Charmian, as he was rising.

He waited.

“Am I correct in assuming you've abandoned your original plan to buy off all the people involved in the scandal?”

“You are. I am an investment counselor, and it's time I listened to my own counsel. There is a time to stay the course and a time to cut your losses, and the first rule of investment is never to use all your own money. This new plan is far less certain of success, but it falls within the means we have now that the vineyards have lost the appeal of secrecy.”

She sprang out of her chair before Kennedy could get up. He handed her the wallet. “You'll find most of them there. Any others that are still outstanding would have no effect upon the disposition of the property. You're out of debt, Mrs. London; Miss London. Congratulations. I haven't done so well I don't recall the feeling.”

Hammett said, “Now it's Siringo's turn. I wouldn't have the notebook if he didn't steal it.”

Siringo rubbed his sore knee for a moment. Then a grin slid across his features. “What's a new roof cost?”

 

36

“Mr. Siringo—”

“I wisht you'd call me Charlie.”

She shook her head with a smile, wrinkling her nose. “I'd rather keep this on the same basis where it started.”

“What was you about to say, Mrs. London?”

“Is your leg up to a brief walk? I think Becky and Mr. Hammett would appreciate some privacy.”

“He's getting married in June.”

“It shows, though he doesn't seem to know it. She's quite capable of looking out for herself.”

“I see that. There's nothing wrong with my eyes.”

The moon was nearly full, washing
The Valley of the Moon
in silver light. They walked down the lane that led between the stable and the pigpens. Despite the competition from both buildings, the smell of Kennedy's engine exhaust was still strong ten minutes after he and his pilot had taken off, bound for San Francisco and the package waiting in General Delivery. All the hands were back at work at their various chores.

“I had 'em all wrong,” Siringo said, watching them. “They're a good bunch of fellows.”

“They haven't had so much excitement since we lost Jack.” She caught him when he stepped in a small depression, wrenching his knee. “Should we go back?”

“No, but I wouldn't mind a little support just in case.”

“You're incorrigible, aren't you?”

“I wouldn't say that, but there was a time.”

“You could have been rich, you know.”

“I had my shot at pay dirt before. It ain't as much fun as you'd think. It was my bad roof got me into this business. It don't pay to lose sight of things.”