The Shopkeeper (7 page)

I enjoyed the puzzled look on his face. He was feverishly trying to figure out the implications of this turn of events. I was a Washburn enemy; he was a Washburn victim. At least, I’m sure he saw it that way. Others, including myself, might more appropriately view Jenny as the real victim. I desperately wanted to start a conversation with Mrs. Bolton, but as an aspiring banker, I kept my eye contact with Mr. Bolton.

With so many ramifications flying around inside his head, he finally went to the issue closest to his heart. “My money may not be safe with you.”

“My concern as well. After examining the books, I found that Crown had loaned an excessive amount of customer deposits to Washburn.”

Bolton sputtered and spewed for a few seconds before he bellowed, “Let me in! I shall not discuss my private affairs in front of the whole town!”

I made a point of gazing around the empty anteroom. “Of course, sir.” I stepped over to the door and opened it with a welcoming arm flourish. “Please, step over to my desk.” I was disappointed to see Bolton signal Jenny to stay outside, but I was pleased to receive an abbreviated curtsy from her before I closed the door.

Without preamble, Bolton nearly screamed, “Washburn has my money?”

I leaned in close, as if conveying a secret. “I suspect Crown was in cahoots with Washburn. I must admit, I’m concerned about collections. Now I know why Crown dumped the bank and skedaddled out of town.”

“You’re responsible now. I expect you to make good on my deposits.”

I feigned nervousness. “Yes, yes, of course, but I need help. Washburn’s not an easy man to deal with.” I wiped my brow with the back of my hand. “Perhaps you can help … or call on some of your powerful friends.”

“It’s your bank.”

“Yes, regrettably.” I pulled down the huge ledger and opened it as if looking for something. “Crown assured me the bank was sound.” I shook my head and put on what I hoped looked like a pleading expression. “He left town with all my money.”

“What kind of man buys a business without examining the books?”

“Evidently a foolish one. The top numbers looked good. But laying blame doesn’t help us out of our predicament.”

“
Your
predicament.”

“It’s your money that Crown loaned to Washburn.”

Bolton fumed. Between clenched teeth, he said, “What do you expect me to do?”

“As governor, you could bring the power of the state down on Washburn … clean up the judiciary, appoint an honest marshal, prosecute these atrocities.”

Bolton slapped the table with his hand. “Goddamn it, I’ve decided not to run.”

“Mr. Bolton, you
must
run. If Washburn’s candidate wins, I might as well close up.”

I suppressed a smile at this first reference to the Cutlers. “You can win. I know it. And I can help. If you run, I’ll contribute five hundred dollars to your campaign.”

“I thought you were broke.”

“I have some money left, and this is the only way I can recover my investment in the bank.” I leaned forward. “Like it or not, we’re in bed together.”

“I’m not one to share my bed freely.”

I refrained from making a sharp retort. “I can write the check now.” He continued to hesitate, so I added, “I’ve hired Pinkertons. They should arrive any day, and I’ll assign several as your personal bodyguards.” Still no answer. “Jeff Sharp has also promised support, both financial and security. And Mrs. Bolton can remain at your ranch under the protection of your ranch hands.”

I waited. Bolton was a proud man and surely wanted revenge for his humiliation at Washburn’s hand, but I had to let him come to his own conclusion.

Chapter 13

“We need to talk.” The burly man took the seat across from me at Mary’s.

“Good morning, Sheriff.”

I had been reading Richard’s stories about my ascendancy as the resident banker and Bolton’s aspiration for the governorship. It occurred to me again that I needed to find another place for breakfast. Of course, there was no other place in Pickhandle Gulch, and I was not ready to leave this dismal town.

I had encountered the sheriff many times, but our contacts had been limited to a tip of the hat. Odd, given that I had killed two men in his town. That messy incident probably would not be the subject of this encounter either. The sheriff was a big man, with a belly that rolled out over his gun belt. He had the swarthy look of a bully who demanded petty toadying from anyone he deemed beneath him, which probably included everyone not on the Washburn payroll. Despite my dispatch of the Cutlers, I assumed he saw me as a lower order of animal. I made a show of folding the newspaper and setting it aside to signal that he had my full attention.

The sheriff scooted his chair so close to the table that the edge gouged into his protruding stomach. “I don’t like being in business with you, and our silent partner will be furious.”

“What silent partner?”

“Sean Washburn.”

“I’ve read the Grand Hotel contract, and I didn’t see his name.” Acquiring the bank gave me a fifty percent interest in the Grand Hotel. The sheriff owned the other fifty percent, and I wasn’t surprised that he objected to sharing ownership with me.

I shook my head. “No wonder that hotel’s so threadbare. Well, I’ll not pay another dime until he shows me a contract with his name on it.”

“There ain’t no contract, shopkeeper. It’s a gentlemen’s agreement.”

“I see no gentlemen.”

“Go to hell!” The sheriff pushed back his chair and stared at me. After a while he said, “I never should have sat down with you. You’re a dead man.”

Perhaps the sheriff was more honest than I had supposed. One thing I had learned from this conversation was that he had not yet talked to Washburn or one of his surrogates. I had informed the hotel manager this morning that by acquiring the bank, I was now half-owner of his establishment. When I had asked to see the books, he had gotten nervous and asked for a day or two to get them updated. I let it pass. I didn’t really care about the hotel except for its irritation value. It had already irritated the sheriff and, as he said, it would infuriate Washburn.

I kept silent, so the sheriff added, “And don’t think you’re now the mayor because you bought that damned bank.”

“I only bought Crown’s commercial interests. The citizenry must elect a new mayor.” I smiled. “But it’s an interesting thought. It might be fun to be your boss.”

I waved my hand, dismissively. “He has the wherewithal.” When the sheriff refused to react, I decided to broach a far more sensitive subject. “I asked because Crown made such bad loans that I question his banking skills.”

“I wouldn’t know about that.” The sheriff acted nonchalant but then intrigued. “I thought most of his dealings were with Washburn.”

“That’s right. I’m executing the buy-out option in the contract.” I pulled a piece of paper from my pocket, laid it on the table, and pushed it toward him.

“You said you didn’t like being in business with me. Four thousand dollars is a lot of money. Enough to get a new start in a different town … a different state, even.”

“That doesn’t make them less binding. If one partner makes an offer to buy, the other partner must sell or purchase the other’s share for the same price. Do you have four thousand dollars?”

“That ain’t any of your business.”

“Unless you’ve got money stuffed in a mattress somewhere, it is my business.” I sat back in my chair and waited a beat. “You have only a little over three hundred dollars deposited at my bank.”

I didn’t believe he would take me up on my offer, but I hoped my display of confidence would tip the balance in my direction. Whether he accepted the four thousand dollars or not, the prospect would at least be another piece to worry Washburn. He could lose both his mayor and his sheriff.

With any luck, Washburn would become so furious, he wouldn’t think straight. If his carefully crafted empire began to unravel, he might come out of hiding and give me an opportunity to attack the problem at the source. As I flipped the newspaper out straight, it occurred to me that I might be underestimating my adversary, but I squashed the thought and went back to my reading.

Chapter 14

A couple days later, I wandered over to see Richard at his print shop. Without preamble, he blurted, “Washburn’s more powerful than I thought.”

“What have you found out?” I asked.

“I received a post from the editor of the
Carson City Tribune
. He said that about two years ago Washburn started buying up Carson City commerce, judges, and politicians. He doesn’t have the town locked, but he’s a major influence. This goes far beyond his big mining interests in Virginia City. The man has wedged his dirty fingers into every power hub in this corrupt state.”

This news was worrisome. It meant that I had aimed my blows at the periphery of Washburn’s empire. “Washburn’s candidate for governor?”

“Craig Stevens, president of the assembly. Used to be a Bolton ally when Bolton ran the senate, but I believe he has a short memory.” Richard passed the letter to me, so I could read it for myself. “You’ll see that he thinks a Bolton-Stevens contest will be a tight race.”

I read the letter while sitting in front of Richard’s tidy desk. I used my bank office for official business and the print shop for scheming, plotting, and general mischief. After their initial fearful reactions to my gunning down the Cutlers, Richard and Doc had joined my campaign with gusto, especially after they witnessed my first few steps. Jeremiah, unfortunately, had started to put some space between himself and our little cabal, so the card games had ceased, and I had curtailed my lollygagging around his general store. Besides, I had a business to run and a king to unseat.

When I looked up, Richard was bent over a piece of paper, writing a story for his newspaper in longhand. It had been eight days since the Cutler incident, and the town was eerily quiet: no Bolton, no Pinkertons, and no Sprague. At least, no Sprague to my knowledge. Even Sharp had vamoosed a couple of days ago. The sheriff had not returned, nor had I seen any of Washburn’s crew to give me a hint what the big man had on his mind. Bolton had returned to his ranch to get his affairs in order for the governor’s race and to put Jenny under the guard of his own men. Even Richard’s office was quiet, except for the scratching of his pen.