The Shopkeeper Read online

  He leaned over the table, supporting his weight on two fists. “Are you threatening me?”

  “I’m making you a business offer. A good one.” I picked the newspaper up and snapped it open. “Have a pleasant day, Clyde.”

  Seemingly at a loss, he blurted, “I’m riding out to see Washburn.”

  “Good. The ride will give you time to think. Turn around if you change your mind. The cash will be waiting.”

  After a few moments of trying to stare me down, the sheriff stormed out without another word.

  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.

  I got up and started pacing. The letter basically said that Washburn was more formidable than I had supposed. In New York, I had kept the political bosses at bay, beat off protection rackets, and handled crooked constables. I had done deals with businessmen so ruthless they ate secretaries for lunch, consumed subordinates over cocktails, and made mincemeat of partners at their snobbish dinner clubs. I had thought that if I fought Washburn my way, I could crush him with tactics honed in the most barbaric and competitive city in the world. After all, this whole sad collection of buildings could hardly equal a single block in my hometown.

  But I had misjudged. First, these thrown-together clapboard buildings did not reflect the vast riches being pulled from the earth, and anywhere someone could get instantly rich attracted smart men with an edge hard enough to beat back all the other treasure hunters. Washburn had crushed a bunch of little barons to emerge as the preeminent lord over a huge domain.

  Second, I had been foolish to assume that Washburn’s influence was mainly restricted to the local environs. I was aware that he also had mines in Virginia City and that he had aspirations to control the governorship, but I hadn’t anticipated that he had done the preliminary spadework to take control of the entire state. I should have guessed. Feudal tyrants possess insatiable appetites.

  I reminded myself that he had a weakness—an impatience that compelled him to reach beyond his financial footing. If the man had unsustainable debts here, he had probably tapped the banks in Carson City as well.

  “Richard, what’s the largest bank in Carson City?”

  “Commerce Bank. But you can’t buy it. Not unless you’ve got a hell of a lot more money. And I mean a hell of a lot more.”

  “I don’t need to buy it; I just want to establish a correspondence relationship.”

  “A what?”

  “A loose partnership. No shared equity, but we coordinate business dealings.”

  Richard put his pen down. “Are you sure you’re approaching this from the right direction? This is a raw frontier, where men attack their enemies straightaway. Washburn solves problems like you by eliminating them.”

  “Pinkertons are on the way,” I said, more irritated than his comment warranted. “I’m willing to employ force if necessary, but I’m not going to start a damned shooting war.” I sat back down. “I’ve got to fight this out the only way I know how.”

  Richard looked unconvinced. With a resigned shrug, he said, “Commerce is run by the oldest money in the state—older than the silver strikes. They have an upright reputation. They usually don’t get mixed up in shady dealings, and they stay out of politics or at least hide their political dealings.”

  “Would they loan money to Washburn?”

  Richard thought about my question. “Probably not. They cater to the cattle, lumber, and railroad interests. Miners need these to run their operations and constantly gripe that the old-money barons extort all their profits. The two sides don’t mix easy.”

  “Then who do you think Washburn might turn to?”

  Richard again sat quiet for a minute. “Carson City First. Despite their name, they’re fairly new and welcome business with mine owners. The president’s a goddamn vulture, gobbling up every Commerce carcass he stumbles across. There’s no love lost between the two banks … yep, Washburn would go to Carson City First.”

  “Birds of a feather flock together?”

  “Exactly.”

  I got up and resumed my pacing. After a couple of laps, I stopped in front of Richard’s desk. “Then I’ll set up a relationship with Commerce.”

  “I thought you were trying to put the squeeze on Washburn. How can Commerce help?”

  “We need an ally in Carson City. Always go with power. Besides, I bet Carson City First would be hard to dislodge from Washburn.” I headed for the door. “But in truth, I’m going on instinct. Gotta go.”

  “Where to?”

  “The telegraph office, then the bank. I need more money.”

  “You got more?”

  “Lots more. I need to transfer fifty thousand to Commerce to get their attention. Then I’ll write them a letter outlining an ongoing business relationship. I just hope I have enough time.”

  Richard looked puzzled. “What kind of gun shop did you own?”

  “I had more than a gun shop, but it was the source of my good fortune.” I was about to leave, but then I stopped and turned back toward Richard. “We catered to the wealthy. Sold mostly expensive shotguns to weekend bird hunters. My dad loved the exquisite machining and craftsmanship of the Italian and English models. Most of them cost more than a constable’s annual salary. We made lots of money, and when my dad died, I invested in real est
ate and railroads. Did pretty well.”

  “I gather.”

  I shrugged. “I learned how to deal with men like Washburn.”

  “Do they shoot opponents in New York?”

  “In the seamier districts, but I avoided those. The men I dealt with may not have taken their opponents’ lives, but they stole everything else, including their pride.”

  “Is that why you left New York?”

  “Partly. I wanted clarity. But in truth, this Washburn affair is teaching me something—I enjoy the game.”

  “This is not a game of wits.”

  I headed toward the door again. “Different stakes, but it’s a game nonetheless.”

  Just as the door swung closed, I heard Richard yell, “You’ll need a lot more skill than you’ve shown at whist.”

  Chapter 15

  “Bolton’s dead!”

  “What?” I dropped the telegram I had been rereading and leaped to let Richard inside the bank’s wood barricade. I hoped I had heard wrong. Bolton dead? That wrecked all my plans. I let Richard pass by me into the inner sanctum, but instead of following, I went into the foyer to lock the door and pull the shade. Damn it. Then it hit me. I had set up Bolton as a diversion. Was this my fault?

  Before retaking my seat, I blurted, “What happened?”

  “Somebody shot him. He was just sitting peacefully on his porch, smoking a cigar, and the next thing he’s dead.” Richard looked petrified. “Steve, he was killed at long range.”

  “Sprague?”

  Richard wiped his brow. “That would be my bet.”

  “How did you hear about it?”

  “Telegraph from Carson City. Sent to all the editors in the state.”

  I sat in thought. The telegram I had been reading came from the circuit judge I had tried to lure to my side with a bigger bribe. He declined to meet with me, pleading that crucial cases would keep him in Carson City for the foreseeable future. The Pinkertons should have arrived two days ago, but I had not seen hide nor hair of them. Last, an emissary from the Washburn empire had delivered checks drawn on a Denver bank that brought his mortgage payments current. When I queried by telegram, the Denver bank responded that they would not confirm the account balances until the checks were presented for settlement. Despite immediately sending a rider, over a week would go by before I discovered if the checks were good.

  Washburn had crashed right through my supposed envelopment of his empire. The realization shattered my confidence like a pick slamming into a block of ice. He had moved fast, but the most worrisome part was how easily he had upset my plans. I looked at Richard, and his face showed the fear I felt. “Why do you suppose Sprague went after Bolton instead of me?”

  “I don’t know, but I sure wouldn’t assume that you’re off the list.”

  I thought a minute. “Perhaps I am off the list, at least for the time being. Without Bolton as governor, our power is diminished, and Washburn can deal with us after the election.” A new thought struck me. “Damn … he’ll save a pile of money in an uncontested race.”

  “Ya think he’ll let us live?”

  Richard looked hopeful, and I hated to disappoint him. I patted him on the forearm. “Only for a respectable period after the election.” I waited a beat. “Unless we make more trouble. Then he might hurry things.”

  Richard’s face regained that frightened look. “What are ya going to do?”

  “Make more trouble.”

  “Steve!” Richard’s eyes pleaded. “Is that wise?”

  “Listen, Richard, our only chance for a long life is to destroy Washburn, and we need the governor’s seat to do that.”

  “Who could possibly run?”

  “That’s my question.”

  Richard took a step back. “Don’t look at me.”

  I laughed at the consternation on Richard’s face. “No, not you. You’re a good man, but you don’t have a big enough reputation to run for governor. We need someone known all over Nevada.” I rocked forward, placed both elbows on my knees, and rested my chin on an overlapped fist. “Who can beat Stevens?” As Richard mulled over the question, I had a sudden thought. “Oh my God!”

  “What?”

  “Jenny’s a widow.”

  Richard gave me an odd look. “Steve, don’t—”

  “Don’t worry. I wouldn’t think of intruding on her grief.” I said this with such an edge that I was afraid it betrayed my feelings.

  “Bradshaw can give Stevens a run.” Richard wanted to change the subject. “He’s the mayor of Carson City, and he’s supported Bolton for years. If he has the courage, he might want to get even with the Washburn crowd.”

  I pushed Jenny from my mind. “A good man?”

  “I thought ya wanted someone who could win.”

  Richard’s answer made me smile. “All right, tell me about him.”

  “He’s a big man in Carson City. He owns the stockyards and supposedly a share of Commerce Bank. He’s also President of the Cattlemen’s Association.”

  “Thus his support for Bolton?”

  “You got it.”

  I thought a minute. “Yesterday you said Commerce was a sound bank that stayed out of politics.”

  “I said they keep a low profile. They don’t leave boot prints. Bradshaw and Commerce both prefer the back room to the podium.”

  “Still, if the bank is upright, it speaks well of him. Do you think he’s honest?”

  Richard shrugged. “He’s a rich man, intent on getting richer.”

  “Scandals?”

  “None that I’m aware of, but I don’t pay attention to Carson City doings.”

  A thought occurred to me. “Does Jeff Sharp?”

  “Yep, now that ya mention it. He traipses up there a couple times a year and always seems to have a handle on things.”

  “Bradshaw?”

  “He must know him. Sharp mentions his name occasionally.”

  My wooden swivel chair had four horizontal legs that splayed out from a central stanchion. I liked to use the toe of my boot to push against one of these legs until I tilted back so far that gravity threatened to upend me. I leaned back into this position and thought through the possibilities.

  Finally, I asked, “Have you seen Jeff recently?”

  “He just stepped into Jeremiah’s store.”

  “Watch the bank for a few minutes.”

  “What if a customer comes in?”

  “Take their money.”

  “What if they want money?”

  I headed for the door. “Don’t give ’em any. I’ll be back soon.”

  I bolted through the inner door without a backward glance and nearly ran into the street. I stopped and then backed up till I was just inside the door. Not much protection, but I was not nearly as exposed as I would be in the open street. I thought about getting my rifle, but the news on Bolton’s murder was fresh, and Bolton’s ranch was a three-day ride. News by telegraph moved faster than a man on horseback, so with any luck, Sprague had not yet arrived in Pickhandle Gulch. I took a deep breath and reminded myself that I could not win this battle by remaining indoors.

  Chapter 16

  I stepped into the open street, hoping that I was right that Sprague had not had enough time to reset his bearings on me. The threat of being shot without warning scared me more than facing the Cutlers. Just as I started across the street, I spotted six black-clad men riding into town with a demeanor that said Do not mess with us. I withdrew back onto the boardwalk and wondered if these men were employed by the Pinkerton National Detective Agency. The riders pulled up their horses in the middle of the street and looked around. After surveying the various people wandering about town, one of the men reined his horse around and walked it in my direction.

  Casually resting both hands on the saddle horn, he asked, “Excuse me, sir, but could you direct me to Steve Dancy?”

  “You found him.”

  He tipped his hat. “I’m Captain McAllen, Pinkerton. I believe you engaged my team.”<
br />
  “You were supposed to be here two days ago.” My voice sounded harsher than I intended.

  “I apologize. We were delayed due to some trouble in Colorado.”

  “Your office could’ve sent a telegram. I might’ve already been killed due to your tardiness.”

  “Again, I apologize, but we were not in communication with our office. They thought we were on our way.”

  I considered pushing the matter but simply said, “Would you and your colleagues please follow me into my bank, where we can talk in private?”

  Without waiting for a reply, I turned and propped open the door with my back. The captain beckoned his men and swung down from his horse. Each Pinkerton wore a dusty black suit over a once-white shirt now stained with sweat and trail dirt. Their vests provided their only individual touch: one gold, a couple gray, and the rest in a matching black with gold or pearl buttons.

  As they dismounted, each man pulled a rifle from his saddle scabbard. The men looked serious, alert, and professional. Without being told, one of them leaned against the exterior wall of my bank and rested his rifle across his arm in an intimidating pose.

  After the other five had squeezed by me, I closed the door and led them beyond the wooden barricade. I could hear Richard leap to his feet at the sound of six sets of boots and five pairs of spurs marching toward his sanctuary. We crowded in and remained standing, because my office had only three chairs. Richard looked confused and then relieved when he figured out why I had escorted these tough-looking men into a small space meant for private bank business.

  “This is Richard, our local newspaperman. Richard, these gentlemen are Pinkertons.”

  After handshakes all around, McAllen went right to business. “Tell me about the situation.”

  After I explained my problem, the only part that seemed to give McAllen pause was Sprague’s name. He rubbed his chin and said, “Sprague’s a nasty character. Hard to defend against because he works from a distance. I presume we can’t keep you indoors.”