“Guilty, I suppose, but I’d rather be clear of this mess.”
“And what mess would that be?”
“I seemed to have made an enemy of Sean Washburn.”
“So I hear.” Bradshaw laid his napkin carefully across his lap. “I accepted this invitation because after all the talk, I wanted to meet you. I, however, am not the subject of widespread gossip, so why did you want to meet with me?”
Sharp had been right. Bradshaw didn’t blather about politics—nor anything else, I imagined. I didn’t want to jump right into my purpose for this dinner, so I suggested we get drinks and order our meal first. Bradshaw gave me an appraising look and then assented with a nod.
When the waiter arrived, Sharp ordered a bottle of French wine and suggested that I try the trout. Since I hadn’t had decent fish since Denver, I gladly agreed.
With our orders placed, Bradshaw’s next question indicated that he was not a patient man. “Why did you make a large deposit in Commerce bank?”
“You’ve probably heard I bought the bank in Pickhandle Gulch. I want a correspondence relationship with Commerce.”
“Is that why you asked me to dinner?”
“No. I know you’re a board member, but I’ll handle the bank arrangements tomorrow. Tonight I want to discuss a political matter.”
“I’m listening.”
He looked wary, so I decided I might as well plunge in. “Washburn is supporting Stevens for governor. You supported Bolton, but he was killed a few days ago. We need another candidate.”
“We?”
“Jeff and I also backed Bolton.”
“Well, what do we suggest?”
I hesitated but decided not to irritate the man. “That you run.”
Bradshaw sipped his wine and nodded approval of Sharp’s choice. After another swallow, larger this time, he looked at me. “I suspected as much. The answer is no. An emphatic no.” He held up his wineglass in salute. “Now, with that settled, we can enjoy the evening.”
This was not the way I wanted the discussion to go. I had intended to present the arguments for a strong candidate and then softly broach the idea of Bradshaw himself running. Now I had an answer before the first course had even been served. To give myself a moment to think, I also tested the wine. It was excellent, and I turned the bottle to read the label. “Nice choice,” I said to Sharp.
Sharp gave me a wicked smile. “Since you’re payin’, I ordered their finest bottle.”
“Then I shall be sure to enjoy it.” I turned to Bradshaw. “May I ask why you won’t run?”
He looked as if he might say no, but then he must have decided it was better to explain. “Politics is for men who have no other route to power.”
“But you’re the mayor.”
“A mostly ceremonial position.” He gave a dismissive wave. “It doesn’t take much time.”
“Your interests will be threatened by a hostile governor.”
Bradshaw laughed as if I had just told an amusing story. “Stevens?” He laughed some more. “The man’s an incompetent buffoon. He’s no threat.”
“Washburn will tell him what to do.”
Bradshaw stopped laughing. “Washburn can have the governor; I have the legislature. We’ll see who knows how to get things done in this state.”
My plan appeared dead. “Can you think of anyone else who could run and win?”
“The election’s only six weeks away. Too late, I’m afraid. Stevens will get the office. We’ll see what he can do with it.” Bradshaw gave me a direct look and then straightened his posture to show me that he meant what he said next. “Gentlemen, let me make myself clear.” He waited a beat. “My continued presence this evening depends on a different subject for our dinner conversation.”
I took another sip of wine and then said as sociably as possible, “How’s the price of cattle holding up?”
Chapter 28
Dinner had been exceptional, but when I received the check, I saw that it had not been a bargain. The Comstock Lode had made money plentiful and prices dear.
Sharp and Bradshaw were good dinner companions, and if I had not been so disappointed about Bradshaw’s refusal to run for governor, I would have enjoyed the evening. Bradshaw knew more stories about the West than anyone I had ever met. And not just Nevada stories. He told fascinating tales about Kansas cow towns and the California Gold Rush. If my mind had been on my journal, I would have felt like I had struck pay dirt.
We were ready to call it an evening, when I felt someone approach from behind me. I heard McAllen’s chair scrape the floor, and Sharp quit talking in the middle of a sentence. When I dressed in a suit, I carried a Remington .38 pocket pistol under my arm in a shoulder holster of my own design. I raised my hand slightly and turned toward the intruder. What I saw almost made me bolt to my feet.
“Take it easy, Dancy. I only came over to say hello.”
The man behind me wore an expensive gray suit, a great mane of obsessively groomed gray hair, and a taunting sneer. He also wore two nickel-plated revolvers in a cross-draw configuration. Two menacing bodyguards stood one step behind him at either shoulder, like dreadnoughts protecting a cargo steamer. When I glanced back at my Pinkertons and then at our table, the only person seemingly not on edge was Bradshaw.
I cleared my throat and slowly rose to my feet. “Mr. Washburn, I’m afraid I cannot accept your apology for your shabby behavior. Shall we step outside and make a fair fight of it?”
The sneer lifted, to be replaced by a look of such rage that I thought I might get my duel. Instead, Washburn said dismissively, “You’re not worth the effort. I never deal with little men. Sit. It’s not polite to stand in front of your dinner guests.”
Disappointed that he had deflected my challenge, I slid back into my seat. It would have been so much simpler if we could have just shot it out, but I knew a quick solution had little chance with this man. Brave men don’t travel with bodyguards. Then I remembered my Pinkertons. Well, maybe I wasn’t that brave either.
Washburn’s attention turned to Bradshaw. “Mr. Bradshaw, I’m disappointed in the company you keep these days. In case you didn’t know, this man is a notorious killer.”
Bradshaw continued to look at ease. “Mr. Washburn, who I dine with is none of your business.”
“None of my business?” Washburn glanced left and right at his two guards and then grinned. “Everything in this state is my business or soon will be. What I don’t own today, I’ll own tomorrow.”
“You’ve elbowed your way into the game, Sean, but you’re an interloper. You may know how to scare ignorant prospectors in the hills, but you don’t understand how the game is played here in the capital. The stakes are higher here.”
“You old fool. I play the game my way. Make my own rules. And as for the stakes, they may very well include your continued health.” Washburn put his hand on our table and leaned in toward Bradshaw. “I suggest you cash in your chips and leave the game to your betters.”
Bradshaw seemed to grow even more relaxed. “This isn’t Virginia City or Pickhandle Gulch. Men here compete with brains, not guns.”
Washburn straightened as if he had been struck. “You sayin’ you’re smarter than me?” His face went through a series of emotions, none attractive. “You old fool. Hell, that’s supposin’ you still got some brains left inside that numskull of yours.”
Bradshaw folded his hands on the table and crossed his legs. “Bully tactics are a sure sign of weakness.”
“Weakness! Goddamn you. In three months, you’ll be poor as a church mouse and wondering how it all happened.” Washburn arrogantly tossed his mane of hair, but the gesture came across as effeminate. Then he leaned on the table with his knuckles and shifted his head until it was close to mine. “Mr. Dancy, I have one word of advice for you.” He leaned in even closer. “Git!”
I ignored his spittle on my face and tried for my own casual pose. “Do you think growing long hair and wearing two pistols makes you Bil
l Hickok?” I reveled in the instant look of anger. I took the last sip of my wine and said, “I always figured that if a man wore someone else’s character, he didn’t much like himself.”
Washburn straightened and visibly worked to control himself. “On second thought, don’t git. After I squash Bradshaw here, I’ll need some new entertainment.” With that he marched out of the restaurant, his two ruffians in tow.
After Washburn left, no one spoke. I glanced at Captain McAllen and his man, but they were both staring at the door, I suppose to make sure the threat stayed gone. I kept my eye on McAllen because I wanted to call him over.
I was still looking the other way when Bradshaw’s fist smashed the table and rattled the dishes. I heard him exclaim, “Goddamn it!” I whipped around to look at him. “That son of a bitch!” His face was redder than our waiter’s vest, and he breathed hard for a moment before adding, “You’ve got your candidate for governor.”
“You’ll run?”
“Hell, yes. I’m gonna wring that strutting peacock’s neck.”
Chapter 29
Bradshaw’s outburst had drawn McAllen’s attention back to our table. I gave him a wave, and he immediately walked over.
“Can your man follow them and find out where he’s staying?”
“I already know where Washburn stays,” Bradshaw interjected. “He bought a house on West Musser Street last month. A big one, with servants and all. I gather he wants to make his presence known in Carson City.”
“Paint it gray?”
“What?” McAllen looked puzzled, but Bradshaw laughed.
“Never mind,” I said to McAllen and then turned to Bradshaw. He seemed to have regained most of his composure. “May I introduce Captain McAllen of the Pinkertons? The captain and his men are working with me.”
Bradshaw stood to shake McAllen’s hand. “Pleased to meet you. How many in your crew?”
“I have three men with me.”
“That should do. I don’t expect Washburn to bring his rougher ways of doing business into Carson City. He seems intent on building a respectable front here.”
When Bradshaw was seated again, I asked, “Where can we talk in private?”
Bradshaw looked around. Most of the tables had emptied, so he said, “Right here’s as good a place as any. Order some brandy.”
I gestured for McAllen to sit at the remaining place at the table. Before I could look around, the waiter appeared at my elbow, and I ordered a good cognac. When I resumed the conversation, I kept my voice low. “How can we use Commerce Bank to put pressure on Washburn?”
Bradshaw looked at me with renewed interest. “Brains, not guns?”
“We might need both, I’m afraid. That’s why I asked Captain McAllen to join us.”
Bradshaw looked at McAllen. “How long have you been with Pinkerton?”
“Twelve years, sir,” he answered.
“He’s the best they got,” Sharp added.
Bradshaw returned his attention to me. “In answer to your question, we attack Carson City First. They hold Washburn’s debt.”
“Not all of it. I picked up a share when I bought the Pickhandle Gulch Bank. I started foreclosure on his mines down south, but he delayed court action with a draft against a Denver bank. I’ll know in a few days if the draft is honored.”
Bradshaw looked at me as if he saw me for the first time. “What’s in this for you?”
“Victory over Washburn—plus some smaller stuff, like my life and the lives of my friends.”
He looked at Sharp, who gave him a reassuring nod. Bradshaw tapped the table a moment and then said, “By the end of the week, Carson City First’s charter will be revoked.”
His comment startled me. “You can do that?”
“I didn’t say I’d try.”
“Under what pretense?” I could not believe it could be this easy.
“Filing false claims. The bank recorded some mining claims on behalf of their shareholders and big clients. A few were questionable. They intend to tie the matter up in court for months, but I’ll paint it as just the surface of a major corruption scandal. The scathing speeches from the senate floor will hint at other nefarious deeds. Newspaper stories will demand that the officers be indicted. Within the next couple of days, the governor will rise up in righteous indignation and revoke the bank’s charter in the name of responsible government and protecting the public interest.”
“That’s remarkable. In New York, that would take months … years perhaps.”
“Advantages of a small town. Not that many people to get on board.”
“How much will this hurt Washburn?” Sharp asked.
Bradshaw scratched his whiskered chin. “Only six weeks until the election—that’s not much time. Even if he’s in arrears, we can’t foreclose his loans in time to do much good, but we can dry up any new funds.”
Bradshaw appeared to have a new thought. “We’ll use the scandal to hurt Stevens in his campaign. By the end of the week, I’ll tie him and Washburn to the biggest scandal in Nevada history. They’re both so tight with Carson City First that everyone will believe they’re culpable, and six weeks won’t give them enough time to defend themselves in court. We’ll also hit ’em with so much legal crap, they’ll think they went wading in an outhouse.”
“Can you destroy Stevens before the election?” I asked.
“Hopefully, in the next few weeks.” Bradshaw switched his attention from me to Captain McAllen. “Your Pinkertons can help. Will you put two of your men at my disposal?”
After I nodded, McAllen turned a hard look on me. “They aren’t your men.”
“You’re all under my employ,” I answered.
McAllen aimed his hard stare at Bradshaw. “What kind of work?”
“Investigative.”
McAllen waited about three beats and then said, “I can approve a short assignment.”
“Good. I’ll have them made officers of the governor’s office and point them at people who frighten easily. A few of the right questions will get this town buzzing.” Bradshaw gave me a direct look. “We’ll also need a demonstration of violence. People need to know we can handle Washburn and his hired gunmen, or they won’t come to our side.”
“You want me to shoot somebody?” I asked mockingly. “Should I pick a victim at random, or do you have someone specific in mind?”
I heard Sharp laugh quietly to the side of me, but Bradshaw remained serious. “Don’t be ridiculous. But at the same time, we can’t ever be seen to back down from a physical threat. If the opportunity comes, shoot one of his men. Better yet, goad Washburn into a fight. I’ll protect you legally.”
People who have never killed find it easy to act casual about violence, but Bradshaw was right. Still, though I had tried to get Washburn into the street just a few minutes ago, I didn’t like somebody else telling me to shoot someone. I decided to direct the scheme along a more benign path. “We’d like to indict Washburn for conspiracy to murder Bolton.”
I asked Captain McAllen to describe our scanty evidence. When he finished, I asked Bradshaw, “Enough?”
“Well … I can probably engineer an indictment as long as the arraignment date is set for after the election. But if you don’t get any more evidence, the case will be quietly dropped a day or two in advance of the hearing. In the meantime, it should give Mr. Washburn something else to worry about.”
I felt it was time to bring up another subject. “I want to see the circuit judge. He telegraphed me that he was tied up in Carson City. Where can I find him?”
“What the hell for? He’s useless.”
“He’s in Washburn’s pocket, and I want him in mine.”
“Judge Wilson’s a twitchy little man, and Washburn’s an accomplished scaremonger. I doubt you’ll be successful.”
“I still want to give it a try.”
Bradshaw just pointed to a meager man at a corner table with a beautiful woman.
“Wife or prostitute?” I asked.<
br />
“Neither. That’s the widow Clark; Judge Wilson is courting her. I don’t know if she’s serious about his advances or just likes the food here.”
After a few minutes of sizing up the little man, I described a rough plan to McAllen. He thought about it a moment and then said, “Let’s do it.”
Chapter 30
McAllen and I walked over to Wilson’s table and glared down at the couple. Wilson was so enthralled by the widow Clark’s cooing that he didn’t notice us, but she broke his trance by glancing up in annoyance.
“I understand you know the Cutler brothers,” I said, without introduction.
“Excuse me?”
“The Cutler brothers. Pickhandle Gulch.”
“Do I know you?”
“You’re about to.”
“Get out of here.”
I slammed the table. “Get out of here? Would you tell the Cutlers to get out of here? Hell, no!” I did my best to appear mad as a March hare. “I’m the one who killed those sons of bitches. Now tell the lady to make herself scarce. We got business.”
The man literally trembled in fear, but he managed to sputter, “I’m an officer of the court.”
“Who gives a shit?” I said.
McAllen stepped behind the widow and stood uncomfortably close to her. She looked at the two of us and said, “I really need to visit the room out back anyway. I’ll just be a few minutes.” Without waiting for permission, she scurried away.
I slid into her seat as McAllen shifted sideways to block Wilson from standing up. “You ignored my telegram.”
“You’re Steve Dancy,” Wilson said in a shaky voice. Glancing at the stolid McAllen, he asked, “Who’s this?”
“Someone who does dirty work for me. He’s quite good.”
Wilson tried to gather himself up and spoke in his courtroom voice. “What do you want?”
I let a long silence ensue before I said, “I want you off Washburn’s payroll … and on mine. I’ll set up an assured payment system for three years.”
“I’m paid by the Nevada courts, not Washburn.”
The Shopkeeper Page 12
