The Shopkeeper Read online

  Sharp tested the temperature of his coffee with a shallow sip. It was scalding, so he took another tentative taste and set it down. “Washburn has never used Sprague before. I suspect he’s too expensive for Washburn’s miserly tastes. Besides, he had the Cutlers, who worked for a pittance.”

  “I was told he had other dangerous men on his payroll.”

  Sharp waved, dismissive. “Brutes, tough enough men, but not indiscriminate murderers. Just take it as a sign of his anger that he’s partin’ with a goodly amount of cash to see you dead.”

  I thought a minute. “Actually, that works into my plan.”

  “You have a plan?” Sharp looked dubious.

  “Tell me about this Sprague fellow.”

  Sharp sipped at his coffee and found that it had cooled, so he gripped the cup with both hands and took a swallow. “I said he was an assassin. A bushwhacker that uses a rifle.” Sharp shook his head. “Steve, he hunts his prey from behind cover, an’ he’s seldom seen by his target … or anyone else, for that matter.”

  No wonder Sharp looked worried. After a moment of reflection, I muttered, mostly to myself, “Washburn wanted someone who could kill from a distance.”

  Sharp nodded. “Yep. He’s heard about your pistol work.” Sharp put his cup down. “Sprague’s a sneaky son of a bitch. Hardly anybody’ll know he’s around until the deed’s done.”

  “Any suggestion?”

  Sharp gave me a forlorn look. “None comes to mind.”

  I noticed he did not advise me to run as before. He had probably come to the same conclusion as our little whist group. I did not blame him. Dooley and the others were friends, and I was just an unknown busybody who had stupidly barged in on a raging little war that was taking place in a remote piece of the frontier.

  After a moment of rolling his coffee cup between his two palms, he asked again, “What’s your plan?”

  I smiled. “I bought Crown’s bank.”

  Sharp looked stunned. “What the hell! Why?”

  I shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. “I decided to hang around, so I needed an occupation.”

  Sharp’s face grew wary. “What about Crown?”

  “Left town already … with his family.”

  Sharp smoothed his eyebrow and then said, “Crown was also the mayor. Washburn owned him, but he was weak.” He seemed to think it over. “Getting rid of the mayor won’t dent Washburn’s control of this town. I don’t see how this helps.”

  “It helps.”

  “How?” Sharp said this last in a way that brooked no further temporizing.

  “Everyone assumes that Washburn seduced Crown because he was the mayor, but Washburn wanted Crown because he owned the only bank within a hundred miles. Empires, even pilfered empires, require money.” I took a sip of my coffee. “By the way, according to my bank’s records, you owe me nine thousand dollars.”

  Sharp recoiled. “My mines are worth tenfold that. Hell, lots more.”

  “Of course. You run a conservative operation. But then again, you don’t aspire to rule everything this side of the Continental Divide.”

  “I also couldn’t get any money outta Crown for the last few years.”

  “Lucky for you Washburn set a low market price for the diggings you did buy.”

  Sharp stiffened. “What’re ya implyin’?”

  “Nothing.” Damn, my smugness had offended my only real ally. “My error. I shouldn’t have spoken lightly.”

  Sharp let an uncomfortable silence hang for a long time. I was starting to get concerned, because I needed Sharp, but he finally said in a matter-of-fact voice, “I’m good for my debts.”

  “Of course. I’m not worried. I guess I was trying to impress you. I actually bought the bank to gain control of Washburn’s mortgages.”

  Sharp sat back and chewed on that one. “Washburn stretched thin?”

  I waved my coffee cup in Mary’s direction. “Thinner than one of Mary’s pancakes. All of Washburn’s local mines are mortgaged to the rafters.”

  Sharp’s startled look delighted me. “How much does he owe?”

  “More important … how far behind are his payments?”

  “You intend to foreclose?”

  I nodded. “I know how to deal with the courts, but I need muscle to enforce the writs.”

  Sharp didn’t hesitate. “You can’t rely on the sheriff. Hire Pinkertons … and ya need to hurry.” He turned his coffee mug a full circle. “You know, don’t ya, that the damned circuit judge is on the Washburn payroll.”

  “I know, but that only means he can be bought. I just need to establish a new price.” I remained quiet while Mary refreshed our cups and then asked, “Where can I get Pinkertons?”

  “Denver.” Sharp again set his cup aside to let it cool. “The judge won’t come over to ya if he doesn’t think ya’ll be around for his next payday.”

  “I thought about that. I’m going to set up a trust that will guarantee him his money. How many Pinkertons should I hire?”

  “Six or eight.” Sharp furrowed his eyebrows. “What’s a trust?”

  “A pile of money in a Carson City bank that can pay out cash on a regular basis.”

  Sharp grinned. “You’re not playing by Washburn’s rules.”

  “His rules tilt the table. Everything slides to his side.” I leaned forward. “How long before the Pinkertons can get here? I’m suddenly in a big hurry.”

  “About five or six days by train and then by horse … if you wire them today.”

  “Then I’d better get to it.” I left for the telegraph office as Mary brought over Sharp’s chops. He looked like he was going to enjoy the meal.

  Chapter 12

  In a few days, I had bought a bank, got rid of Washburn’s mayor, ordered Pinkertons by telegraph, and sent what I hoped would be an enticing telegram to the circuit judge. Progress, but Sprague worried me. How long before he got to town, and how could I avoid his sights once he arrived? I needed time to bring my plan to fruition, and that meant I needed a diversion—something to grab Washburn’s attention, other than me.

  My plan was to break Washburn’s lock on the town one piece at a time and put him on the defensive in areas he wouldn’t anticipate. Battling business moguls in New York, I had learned to avoid the frontal assault and attack neglected portions of their empires. You had to be careful with this breed of men. When pricked, these carnivorous beasts would instinctively whirl at their tormentors and strike with furious resolve. You had to throw them off balance and make them hesitant, unsure, and disoriented. Next, if possible, you had to deny them their favorite weapons. Washburn’s favorite weapons were violence and the threat of violence. Because I had killed the Cutlers, he expected a straightforward contest of arms—his hired hands against my six-gun. I needed his attention elsewhere.

  I unlocked the door of my new business and flipped up the shades to signal that the bank had reopened after my lunch break. Walking back to my desk, I started to hand-letter a “Bank Teller Needed” sign, when someone rapped on the wall of my cage.

  I put the heel of my foot on my chair leg and leaned my swivel chair back until I could peer through the cage window. What I saw caused me to bolt out of the chair and bound toward the window.

  “Mr. Bolton, Mrs. Bolton, how may I help you?”

  “Where’s Crown?” Bolton demanded.

  “Crown found it necessary to return to St. Louis. I bought the bank.”

  “You? You’re a gunman. What do you know of banking? And how’d you get the money?”

  “Honestly … in New York. And in the process, I learned about banking.”

  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 M
r. 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.”

  “Damn it, man, it would be dangerous for me.”

  I collapsed into my chair. “Then we both lose.”

  Bolton sat, contemplative. After a moment, he said, “Some obstacles have been removed. Perhaps I can make a run.”

  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.

  A long moment passed before Bolton simply said, “All right, I’ll run.”

  After I got the answer I wanted, I ran over to Richard’s print shop to find him setting type. “I have a new lead story for you.”

  “Already got it. It wasn’t easy making you look like a banker. People trust their money to solid citizens, not gunfighters.”

  “Not that story. Bolton has formally announced his candidacy for governor.”

  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.

  “That’s what silent means.”

  I leaned back. “What’s his interest, Clyde?”

  “You call me sheriff, shithead,” he said menacingly. “And he gets ten percent—off the top.”

  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.”

  “Are you going to kill me?”

  “No. I’m the law.” He put on a bullying smirk. “But you’ll be dead soon, just the same.”

  “Well … I’m sure you’ll do everything in your power to protect me.”

  “I won’t do shit.”

  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.”

  “Don’t be stupid. Crown was never my boss.”

  “Was Crown stupid?”

  “He wasn’t smart to sell out to you. Now he better run fast and far.”

  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.”

  “Almost exclusively.”

  The sheriff looked befuddled. “Washburn’s the richest man in the state.”

  “Bi
ggest debtor, you mean. That man owes me a lot of money. Damned if I’ll give him cash from that piddling hotel.”

  Now the sheriff waved his hand. “Doesn’t matter. We won’t be partners long.”

  “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.

  “What’s that?”

  “My offer. Four thousand dollars.”

  The sheriff made no attempt to pick up the paper. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “I’m offering you four thousand dollars for your interest in the Grand Hotel.”

  “I’m not selling.” His blustering response didn’t hide his confusion.

  “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.”

  “I’m not looking for a new start, and you can’t make me sell.”

  “But I can.” Finally, he looked concerned. “Or I can make you buy me out. It’s in the contract.”

  “I don’t read contracts.”

  “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.”

  “Go to hell.”

  “You need to enlarge your vocabulary.”

  “Fuck you.” He got up to leave. “We never had this conversation.”

  “Doesn’t matter. I’ve already mailed the papers to the circuit judge. You have thirty days to decide … per our contract.”

  “Thirty days?” He laughed. “Plenty of time.”

  “Sheriff, think about my offer. Things are going to get very dangerous around here. You might not want to be around.”