The Shopkeeper (18 page)
Authors: James D. Best
Tags: #Western stories, #Nevada, #Westerns, #Historical fiction, #Fiction
“That wasn’t my intent.”
“I know. Listen, you handled yourself real well there, but—if you don’t mind—I’d like to give you some advice.”
“Sure.”
“Your man was still armed. He had a hide-out gun and a knife.”
“You left your man with a gun.”
“And I watched him close. A person might not pay enough attention to a man he thinks is disarmed.”
“Meaning, get all their weapons or let it be?”
“And no more books in public. Stay alert.”
“Anything else?”
“If you see either of those men again, they’ll mean to kill you. Shoot first.”
I nodded. I had been proud of the way I approached the two men, but I had intended only to challenge them verbally. McAllen went to direct physical violence. Last night, Bradshaw had recommended this kind of action, and McAllen had lost no time finding an opportunity to publicly show we could match Washburn’s ferocity. I was also proud that I had pinned my man—only to find out he hid additional weapons. I had been lulled by old habits, habits that were harmless in my previous life but now might prove fatal. I vowed to do better.
“What’re your plans for today?” McAllen asked.
“I’m going to try to find Bolton’s lawyer. Put one of your men with me, so you and Sharp can talk to that tobacconist.”
“Sam’ll go with you. We’ll also ask if anyone saw Washburn and Sprague together.”
“Your other two men?”
“Being sworn in as state officers at the capitol. Then they meet with Bradshaw to find out who they’re to question.”
“Let’s meet for beer about two this afternoon. Figure out our next moves.”
McAllen immediately said, “Here at the hotel. Stay away from the saloons.”
Chapter 32
I asked the hotel clerk for the best lawyer in town. He directed me to a man named Jansen, who had an office across from the capitol. I then asked to see the chambermaid in my room, so I could give her some special instruction. After a brief wait, an exceptionally skinny girl arrived, whose cheap dress fell straight down from her narrow shoulders.
“You sent for me?” she said.
“I would like you to do me a favor. I’ll pay handsomely.”
“All right.”
“I haven’t told you what I want yet.”
“Tell me … and then I’ll tell you what handsomely means.”
That took me aback, but I plunged ahead. “I want you to write a letter and sign it with another woman’s name. Can you write?”
“You mean can I forge?”
I had to laugh. She may have been slight, but her wit had heft. “Yes, can you forge a letter?”
“I think the question is, will I forge a letter for you?”
“You’re educated!”
“I teach politicians’ children when I’m not cleaning chamber pots.”
That surprised me. I was looking for a poor girl with rudimentary writing skills. It seemed that I had found a tutor. “Can’t you get a secretarial position with one of the politicians in this town?”
“I’d rather work with their children.”
Her bitter tone told me not to pursue that path, so I simply said, “All right, now tell me, what does handsomely mean?”
“Twenty dollars.”
I whistled. “A lot of money.” My instinct to barter showed I had not shaken off all my old habits. “Ten.”
“How many women can you ask before rumors wreck your scheme? Ten dollars to write the note and ten dollars to keep my mouth shut.” Her face showed absolutely no emotion. “That’s twenty, in advance. Now, do you have a draft of the letter you want written?”
After she read my draft, she looked up at me with an odd expression I couldn’t fathom. “Will this harm the woman who supposedly wrote this letter?”
“No. I’m trying to help her. She’s illiterate, or she would have written the letter herself. I need a feminine hand.”
She gave me an empty stare. It was difficult to maintain direct eye contact. She evidently came to a decision and said, “Very well. May I see the twenty dollars?”
I handed her four five-dollar certificates, and she stuffed them in her apron pocket. The woman’s demeanor made me curious, so I asked, “What do you intend to do with the money?”
“Put it with my other millions.”
Chapter 33
Sam and I arrived at the lawyer’s outer office without an appointment, so his assistant tried to brush us off. When the assistant further learned that I did not have business that required gaining the ear of some powerful government figure, nor did I want to file a claim that made other ore discoveries look small, he insisted I write a letter requesting an appointment, which he told me could be arranged within a week or so.
“I assume Mr. Jansen charges by the hour?”
“He does.”
“I’ll pay him two hours’ worth for fifteen minutes of his time. Tell him now, or I will barge into his office while my man here throws you to the floor and stomps your neck.”
I meant this to be somewhat humorous, but the assistant jumped through the office door like he had suddenly encountered a coiled rattlesnake. This rough talk got results, but I reminded myself that if you picked the wrong target, you could get yourself shot instead of obeyed. I thought about apologizing to the assistant before I left the office, but I remembered that we were striving for a tough-as-nails image.
After a few minutes, the assistant partially opened the door and peeked around the edge to see if we still fouled his anteroom. His Adam’s apple bobbed with an involuntary gulp, and he croaked, “Mr. Jansen will be with you gentlemen in just a few minutes. Please be patient.” He ducked back into the office and tugged the door until we heard a solid click and the twist of a deadbolt.
Sam chuckled and said, “That little man sure scared easy.”
“Must have been the nasty look you gave him.”
“That, or word already got around town about your lack of cordiality at breakfast.”
Sam made a good point. Gossip in Carson City probably moved faster than the news did by the telegraph, especially gossip about some newcomers who beat up a hired gunfighter. I hoped that our reputation would make Jansen cooperative, because all I had to convince him was a chambermaid’s scribbled note.
The office door opened, and a man who looked like a wealthy merchant hurried past us and out the door. In a moment, the assistant waved us in and warily took a side step around us to his chair in the lobby.
After we entered, Jansen kept his back to us while he worked at a Wooton rolltop desk that teemed with paper-stuffed cubbyholes. We remained standing and kept quiet. The lawyer continued pretending to ignore us as he scratched notes on the margins of a legal document. When he finally deigned to turn around, he looked exactly like what he was: a highly connected and prosperous lawyer. He was clean-shaven and wore a clean three-piece suit with a silk cravat that probably cost more than I had given the chambermaid to commit a felony.
He did not bother to extend a hand. “As you can see, gentlemen, I’m quite busy. Please be brief.”
“My name is Steve Dancy. I’m the new owner and president of the Pickhandle Gulch Bank. I’m also a business associate of John Bolton and his family.”
“You’re also a gunman and a brute. I understand you threatened to break my assistant’s neck.”
“I’m afraid … actually I said my associate would stomp your assistant.” I used a tone of voice meant to convey that the threat was not to be taken seriously. “Perhaps we could have gotten off to a better start.” I reached into my suit-coat pocket and extracted a sealed envelope. Written in an obviously feminine hand, the outside of the envelope read,
Mister Claude Jansen, Esquire
. “These are instructions from Mrs. Bolton.”
“The mother?” This question answered my question. John Bolton had used Jansen as his Carson City attorney. That meant I did not have to pay the chambermaid to address another envelope, and I suspected that each succeeding letter would cost more.
“No, Jennifer Bolton. The two women do not get along. I represent John’s wife.”
“Represent?”
“An agent, so to speak.”
Jansen looked at me askance and then ripped open the envelope. The letter told him that I was acting on Jenny’s behalf and that Jansen should provide me with a copy of her husband’s will.
He studied it a minute and then said, “I didn’t know she could write.”
Jansen sounded wary, so his comment made me nervous. “John had hired a tutor for her, partly to keep her occupied and partly to put her in a room away from his mother.”
I hoped Jansen had not spent a lot of time with Jenny when she had accompanied Bolton to Carson City. I felt the risk was low, because Bolton seemed to hang Jenny off his arm but exclude her from his business.
Jansen pulled on his chin. “Bolton sure hated his mother. I sometimes felt sorry for him, trying to keep peace in that house. Suppose that’s why he spent so much time here.”
“He was here a lot?”
“Far beyond what was necessary for his business interests … or senate duties. He told me his mother had pretty much run the ranch since his marriage. She must have been a strong woman.”
“She
is
a strong woman.”
“Yes, ’spose so.” He pulled on his chin again. “I’ve never seen you in Carson City. Heard about you, of course, but in association with the Cutlers … and that nasty piece of business this morning.” He looked up at me. “You say you had business interests with John?”
“Yes. Banking. But our stronger tie was political. I supported him for governor.” I pretended to consider how much to divulge. “There was a bad incident with the Cutlers. I, uh, kind of helped John make things right.”
Jansen sat straight up and bellowed, “That story ’bout Jenny was true? My god!”
“I prefer not to discuss it further, only to say that the Cutlers were under orders from Washburn.”
“Goddamn that bastard.” Jansen threw down the letter and then looked at me hard. “Were you a friend of John Bolton’s?”
I felt this was a test. “I told you, I was a business and political ally of John’s. I wouldn’t characterize it as friendship.”
“Jenny?”
“I barely know Jennifer Bolton, although I saw her at the ranch yesterday. She knows John trusted me with sensitive matters.”
“I get your gist.” Jansen seemed to be coming to a conclusion about me. “They were sensitive matters for Jenny as well. She must have appreciated your dispatching the Cutlers.”
“We never discussed it, nor do I intend to.”
Jansen leaned back and spoke in a friendlier manner. “Tell me something about yourself.”
“I’m not the issue here. Jenny is.”
“Are you here with Jeff Sharp?”
“Yes.”
“And did you make a large deposit at Commerce Bank?”
“
That
is none of your business.” I was peeved. “And further, I’m highly disappointed that you’re aware of my business affairs. I may need to reconsider my relationship with Commerce.”
“But it
is
my business. I’m on the board of directors. The size of your transaction did not go unnoticed.”
I relaxed. I had made the deposit to gain credibility with the bank but had gotten the added benefit of increasing my stature with this lawyer. “Then you must know Bradshaw?”
“Of course.”
“Last night he agreed to run for governor.”
“I know. We had breakfast. He made me curious about you; otherwise you’d never have been admitted to my office.” He smiled. “Peter isn’t such a very good assistant. If you’d broken his neck, I’d have found another.”
“I was joking.”
Again the smile. “Peter does not have a sense of humor.” With that he pushed back in his swivel chair and extracted two envelopes from one of the cubbyholes. “Please deliver these to Jennifer Bolton and her mother-in-law.”
I accepted the envelopes. One was thick. “Any surprises?”
“For her? No. She gets the ranch and John’s other assets. His mother, on the other hand, will fume. She gets ten thousand dollars and a one-way ticket to San Francisco.” Jansen’s smile now enlivened his entire face. “It’s all in the envelopes.”
“Thank you. I’ll handle the mother.”
“Jenny’s hardly more than a child. John didn’t expect this to be executed for years.” The next question seemed to reflect honest concern. “Can she manage the biggest cattle ranch in Nevada?”
“I’ve met her foreman, and he seems a capable man. I also believe that there’s more depth to Jenny than is obvious from the surface.”
“I hope so. Ranch hands tend to be a hard lot.”
I didn’t know how to respond, so I put the envelopes in my pocket and asked, “Would you accept a retainer to handle my legal affairs?”
“What type?”
“Do you get involved in criminal cases?”
“Are you in trouble?”
