Big Win

by Tony Masero

  ‘Well, he certainly came into a packet all of a sudden. Said it was a vein of silver but who knows, that could just be a cover.’

  ‘That’s what I’m thinking. I intend to go and see him real soon.’

  ‘Then tread wary, my friend. He has help over there, you know?’

  ‘That right.’

  ‘Yes, a couple of Cap Light’s deputies are out there on guard. I reckon Soapy has his mind set on Monty’s cash for himself so he’s set up Cap to supply the men. He’s offering the actor bodyguards but maybe they’s just keeping Monty Dupree under a close eye. Certainly never see the fellow in town at all.’

  ‘You think they’re holding him prisoner?’

  Rusthead hummed a moment thoughtfully, ‘More like protective custody, if you get my meaning.’

  ‘He’ll need it if it is my man,’ promised Joe, tying off the thread. ‘There you go. Should do you.’

  ‘Thanks, partner,’ said Rusthead, looking down at the swollen sore red line and crude stitching. ‘Nice job.’

  ‘Better keep it covered to avoid festering,’ Joe said, pulling out his spare shirt and tearing off a strip from the tail.

  ‘So how much you coming in for, if you manage to get it back?’

  ‘My brother left me over a million,’ Joe admitted.

  ‘That American dollars?’ gasped Rusthead, his mind rapidly taken off his aching wound.

  ‘Well, it ain’t sea shells.’

  ‘Good Lord, Joe. That’s a fortune. A regular win, man could live like a king for the rest of his life with that kind of money.’

  ‘Not so sure I want to live like that,’ muttered Joe. ‘It ain’t really my style.’

  ‘Listen good, youngster. No, no, you got to see this through, chance like that don’t come your way more than once. I know they say you can’t take it with you, but believe me, you can damn well try.’

  Later, whilst the old man snored, Joe pondered on his situation. He had been happy just cowboying, he realized. Okay, so his life had been nothing special but he had no responsibilities to worry about other than himself, regular meals and the kind of work he was good at, with a fine set of pals to work alongside. In the space of a few weeks he’d lost all of that, he’d killed two men, was out of a job and now living hand-to-mouth panhandling his way in a cavern with an old drunk. What was he becoming? And all thanks to a bequest from a brother he hardly knew. He wished to hell that damned actor fellow had never turned up at the No. 3 that night. That was what had started this whole mess off.

  Why had he been so open with the man? If he had been a bit smarter he would have asked questions and done some checking. But Joe knew that when a fellow comes in and tells you that you had just inherited a fortune you aren’t about to mistrust him. It was certainly a smart move on the trickster’s part. Who could doubt a man bearing such gifts? Only a poor fool like me – Joe thought.

  Joe’s stomach was rumbling when he awoke next morning.

  Weak sunlight was streaming through the cave mouth and by its light he could see Rusthead blearily coming awake also.

  ‘You got anything to eat around here?’ Joe asked.

  ‘What you think this is the Regal Hotel?’ groaned Rusthead grumpily. ‘You want to eat you got to buy it, steal it or beg it.’

  Joe dug in the pocket of his jeans and pulled out the few remaining coins he had.

  ‘Ain’t got more than a cup of coffee’s worth here,’ he said, fingering the pittance.

  ‘More than what I got,’ mumbled Rusthead, rubbing at his wounded arm. ‘We got to go into town. See what we can work up.’

  He started wheezing with a sound like the wind blowing through rushes and at first Joe thought the old man was coming down with something but then he realized that actually Rusthead was laughing.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ he asked.

  ‘Here, godammit! Here I am sharing this hole in the ground with a righteous millionaire and we ain’t even got the price of a crust of bread between us. Don’t that beat all?’

  Joe snorted a laugh, ‘I guess it is ridiculous alright.’

  ‘Come on then,’ said Rusthead, slapping a hand on his knee. ‘Let’s go on down there.’

  ‘How’d you get that name anyway?’ asked Joe as they started off down the hillside.

  ‘Well,’ Rusthead confessed. ‘You wouldn’t know it now but once these locks of mine were as golden and red as a prairie sunset. Turned many a maiden’s eye, I can tell you. All gone now,’ he said, ruefully running fingers through his white hair. ‘Like all them pretty gals I once knew.’

  Below them the town stretched out and was beginning to awaken. The streets were still in shadow as the sun had not yet risen high enough to cast its light between the high fronted buildings but fires were alight and chimneys smoking.

  Joe breathed deeply of the crisp morning air.

  ‘Lord!’ he said, sniffing the air. ‘I can smell bacon frying.’

  ‘Yep,’ teased Rusthead. ‘Imagine that fresh baked bread set on the table. Along with a tower of flapjacks and syrup, biscuits and curly crisped bacon hot from the stove. Scrambled eggs so yellow they make you weep and maybe a juicy slice or two of ham on the side.’

  ‘Cut it out, Rusthead,’ moaned Joe. ‘You ain’t making me feel any better.’

  ‘Finished off with coffee thick with sweetening and a stogie to go,’ Rusthead went on blandly, getting carried away with his own fantasy. ‘Yessiree, ain’t nothing like a millionaires life, that’s for sure.’

  ‘Get on down, before I boot you up the backside,’ growled Joe. The mere thought of such a meal only adding to the desperate hollow emptiness he felt inside.

  They reached the town outskirts and started down Main Street. A few people were about, mostly regular workers. A Negro man carrying bridles on his way to the livery stables and a blacksmith stoking up his forge fire.

  ‘You need any work done?’ Rusthead called across as they passed by.

  The blacksmith shook his head negatively.

  ‘Anything you got, we’ll do it right cheap,’ Rusthead pressed.

  ‘Can’t use you,’ the blacksmith confirmed.

  They carried on down the street and as they passed The Orleans, they noted Soapy Smith sitting in a chair outside with his feet up on the hitching rail and lifting his chin to the first rays of sunlight.

  ‘Morning, Mister Smith,’ Rusthead called from the middle of the road.

  Soapy’s eyelids fluttered and he squinted at the two.

  ‘You boys moving in tandem now?’ he asked.

  ‘We’re just looking for work, enough to buy us breakfast,’ Rusthead explained.

  Soapy thought about that for a moment, his tongue in his cheek.

  ‘Come over here,’ he called.

  As they trooped over, Joe felt uncomfortable. He was naturally distrustful of the scam artist and after the arranged, or at very least suspicious killing in the saloon the night before he was doubly wary.

  ‘You was in my place last night, wasn’t you? Didn’t you make mention of my brother-in-law?’ he asked, looking keenly at Joe.

  ‘Like I said to you last night,’ said Joe. ‘I don’t know your relative and I made no comment about him.’

  ‘Best you don’t. He’s a mean hand with a pistol as you witnessed.’

  ‘We seen that,’ Rusthead cut in. ‘Right fast.’

  ‘So you fellows are looking to do something, are you? How about you sweep out the saloon and this here porch? I can only use one of you though, who’s it to be?’ he looked them both up and down. ‘I think I’ll take the young fellow. He looks able and willing. What’s your name, son?’

  ‘My names Joe Alberplas and it’s either us both or neither.’

  Soapy snorted a laugh, ‘Some kind of deal you got there, sounds like you’re doing the hiring and not me.’

  ‘Take it or leave it,’ Joe said firmly.

  ‘Now, hold on,’ interrupted Rusthead, turning on Joe. ‘Don’t be so danged righteous and upstan
ding. You go ahead, boy. One of us eating is better than two going hungry.’

  ‘You hear what he says?’ asked Soapy. ‘That’s common sense speaking. Now you want to work or don’t you?’

  ‘Come on, Rusthead,’ said Joe, turning away.

  ‘As you like,’ said Soapy, closing his eyes to the sun again. ‘Nothing worse than a proud man, I do declare.’

  Joe turned on his heel, suddenly imitated by the glib remark, ‘It ain’t foolish pride. I can work good same as the next man but I ain’t about to crawl for it.’

  ‘You think that’s what I’m about?’ said Soapy, opening his eyes and levering his chair forward.

  ‘Yeah, I do. You’re set on demeaning one or the other of us and I don’t want a part of it.’

  ‘You ain’t afraid of being shamed, are you Rusthead?’ Soapy said, turning his attention to the prospector.

  ‘No, sir,’ said Rusthead rapidly. ‘It’s all like water off a crocodile’s back to me.’

  ‘What you done to your arm?’ Soapy asked, spotting the bandage.

  ‘He cut himself shaving,’ said Joe. ‘Come on, Rusthead. There’s nothing for us here.’

  ‘Wouldn’t have nothing to do with that body they found up at the cut this morning, would it?’ said Soapy, with a knowing look.

  ‘What body?’ Rusthead asked innocently.

  ‘I ain’t asking you, old man. I’m asking the fellow there with the leg iron strapped on. Can you use that thing, young fellow?’

  ‘If needs be,’ Joe answered.

  ‘They say that Ben Salem had his face blowed off.’

  ‘That right?’

  ‘Sure is, I’m not saying he didn’t deserve it, he was a wretched piece of work as it was. But that was close in work, I wonder if the perpetrator could shoot further away than two feet and still hit the target.’

  ‘I’ll ask him if I meet him,’ Joe answered coolly.

  ‘Maybe I can find a place for you,’ said Soapy, resting his head to one side and rubbing finger and thumb together speculatively.

  ‘Both or neither,’ Joe protested.

  Soapy chuckled, ‘You’re one sassy boy, ain’t you? But I kind of like that. Okay, you come by this evening we’ll see what we can find for you. Rusthead, you get in there and do some dusting, tell Bill I said it was okay but you go near any of my liquor and I’ll kick your butt out of here right off, understood?’

  ‘Sure thing, Mister Smith. I…. we’re obliged, that’s right, ain’t it, Joe?’

  ‘Here,’ Soapy said, peeling off a few dollar bills from a rolled wad he kept in his trouser pocket and waggling them at Joe. ‘Take this as an advance. Go get yourself something to eat, can’t have my men walking around with their bellies flapping.’

  ‘I’ll take the money when I‘ve earned it,’ said Joe, keeping his place.

  Soapy gave him a wry smile and pushed the money back in his pocket, ‘Fair enough,’ he said with finality.

  ‘Take the money, goddammit,’ hissed Rusthead from the corner of his mouth.

  ‘You go ahead. Go on,’ insisted Joe. ‘Do some work and get yourself fed. I got some other business to attend to.’

  Rusthead shook his head, ‘More damned pride than a cockscomb,’ he mumbled, starting off towards the saloon and Soapy who had gone back to his sunbathing.

  ‘And, Rusthead. Not a word about what I told you, okay?’ urged Joe.

  ‘Sure, sure,’ said Rusthead, without turning.

  Six

  The dazzlingly white building Joe looked down on was certainly impressive and set in a magnificent landscape that would excite any eye. It appeared to Joe that nigh on three hundred acres of forested land had been cleared specifically to allow the build and a run of green lawn down to the water’s edge at lakeside, where a small jetty reached out and rowboat lay moored.

  It was beautiful, Joe had to admit it, verdant forests of fir trees covered hillsides reaching up on either side and were reflected in the still waters and behind the mansion a craggy peak rose in backdrop to the unfinished building. It was plain that the stonework already completed supported two floors of large rooms behind a fine frontage with six rounded columns standing sentinel over an open porch that stretched the length of the building. A graceful looking structure in the Greek style constructed in white stone with tall windows and gated porches, all of it shining in pristine reflection on the mirror of the lake.

  Gantries and scaffolding stood on either side where work was still in progress although there was no sign of masons at work now. It was striking alright and as Joe watched from his hiding place amidst the undergrowth he felt disgruntled to think that a fair portion of his inheritance may have gone towards creating this miracle in the backwoods.

  The thought filled Joe with determination and he could wait no longer, he was convinced that he had to discover right now if this was the guilty man he had come to find and reclaim what was his. There was no way Joe could think of approaching both building and the thief it housed other than by the most direct manner and his anticipation mounted as he made his way on foot around the edge of the wide lake.

  Both bitterness and excitement coursed through his brain when he mounted the broad steps leading up to the mansion, his boots sounding loud in his ears on the marble underfoot. Drawing a deep breath, Joe steeled himself and rapped hard on the great doors.

  It took a while but eventually the door opened.

  ‘Yes?’ said the girl.

  She was the prettiest girl Joe had ever seen and he was taken aback for a minute having expected the short little fellow from the No. 3 saloon.

  Dressed in a maids cap and apron she looked at him questioningly. Her hair was dark brown and fixed up under her cap and she filled out her tightly-waisted long black dress perfectly, standing erect and coming up to just over Joe’s shoulder she was a fine looking young woman. But it was her sea-green eyes that captivated Joe and for a moment he was held speechless.

  ‘Can I help you?’ she pressed him, leaning forward questioningly and bringing Joe to his senses.

  ‘Yes, sure…. I, um…. I’d like to see Monty Dupree.’

  ‘Can I ask who’s calling?’

  One hand was on the open door and she peeked around it, a tad nervously Joe thought. He realized he must not look his best, having slept the night in his cowboy gear and with a pistol hanging strapped down at his side.

  ‘My name’s Joe Alberplas.’

  ‘If you’ll wait here, I’ll see if Mister Dupree will see you.’

  ‘You mind if I step inside?’ said Joe, forcing the door wide, not wanting to be left on the doorstep.

  ‘Well…. I….’ she hesitated. ‘I suppose so. Just stay here in the hall, will you?’

  She did not avert or lower her eyes from him and he noted that her gaze was steady and somewhat challenging.

  ‘Okay,’ he agreed, gritting his teeth and setting his jaw firmly as he determined to have it out with Dupree despite the pretty vision that had greeted him. ‘I’ll wait but not for long.’

  She hurried off and Joe had time to take in the magnificent domed and open hallway before him. It held a great cantilevered mahogany stairway reaching majestically up to the second story. To either side of the mosaic floored circular hall stood tall open doorways. On one side, a white painted room with genuine wallpaper and under the decorated thirteen-foot high ceiling sat an elegant dining room with a long polished table and chairs. To the other side an equally impressive room, a parlor with tall windows onto the lake view, easy chairs and even gold-framed paintings on the wall. To Joe’s amazement there was even an underfoot carpet in there, something he had only heard about and never seen.

  ‘Imported from England,’ said a voice. ‘The carpet. It’s the best wool anywhere.’

  He had come from somewhere behind the staircase, from rooms at the back of the house.

  ‘I heard you were in town,’ said Dupree. ‘And was expecting your visit.’

  He was no longer the redheaded Scot with rol
ling ‘r’s’. This was a small, bustling man, erudite and sharp eyed. His dark hair was combed to one side on his forehead and he watched Joe with a slight smile on his face.

  Joe was dumbstruck, the anger and resentment building up to an explosive tidal wave inside him.

  ‘You stole my money,’ he managed to blurt out.

  ‘I did,’ agreed Dupree blandly. ‘And you did very well to find me. Come though, will you take some coffee? Justine!’ he called. ‘Will you bring coffee for Mister Alberplas and me, in the parlor, I think.’

  Abruptly and leading with a guiding hand he led the way at a brisk pace into the parlor room beside the hallway.

  ‘What do you think?’ he gushed, as Joe, vibrating with rage followed numbly on behind. ‘Ten rooms planned in all, the brick especially imported from St. Louis. There’s a separate kitchen and servant’s quarters, you know? And such a fine view, don’t you think?’ He indicated the scene through the tall windows in the room but Joe did not take his eyes from the man. ‘We have a gentleman’s parlor and a ladies one too, a library and bedroom’s upstairs. Not finished yet, of course but well on it’s way.’

  It was as if Joe were a prospective client and being shown around by a real estate salesman but the words sailed over Joe’s head as he glowered at the audacious little fellow.

  ‘Please, Mister Alberplas, do take a seat. I think you will agree I have spent your money well,’ he grinned as if nothing were wrong and they were friendly acquaintances having a pleasant conversation.

  Ice water ran through Joe’s veins, ‘You think you can get away with this?’ he growled.

  ‘I already have, dear sir. Really, there’s no point in getting upset,’ he flounced into a fine upholstered chair with spindly yet daintily fashioned carved legs, carefully pulling up neatly ironed pants over his knee as he crossed his legs. ‘Let us discuss this in a sensible fashion.’

  ‘Are you kidding me?’ Joe burst out. ‘Sitting there like you’re doing me a favor after hoisting a million dollars of mine. I should wring your fetid little neck.’

  ‘Come, come,’ said Dupree with a dismissive wave of his hand. ‘Really, there’s no…. ah!’ he cried as the maid, Justine came in with a tray and fine porcelain coffee cups. ‘Thank you, my dear. Just here on the side table, you can run along now, we’ll serve ourselves.’