by Paul Colt
“I wanted to introduce you to these two gents. They’re investigating the counterfeit ring we’re on the lookout for.”
“Briscoe Cane.” He offered his hand across the desk.
“Wilford Pendergast, Cashier.” He returned a birdlike shake.
“Beau Longstreet, Mr. Pendergast.”
“Briscoe and Beau are with the Great Western Detective League I told you about.”
“Pleasure to meet both of you. The bank is indebted to you for the timely warning the sheriff was able to offer us in regard to these nefarious characters. I understand others have not been so fortunate.”
“I’m afraid not, Mr. Pendergast. Glad we could help,” Cane said.
“I take it all’s quiet,” Bassett said. The banker nodded. “Just as well. I thought you should know who Briscoe and Beau are as you will likely see them in the course of our surveillance.”
“We’re pleased to have all the protection the law can afford.”
“If either of you need anything, we’ll be staying at the hotel,” Cane said.
“We’ll check in in the morning.”
Longstreet noticed it on entering the hotel lobby, something fresh to go with the usual scent of musty fabric and wood polish. The clerk spun the register. Cane signed. Longstreet placed it as he scratched his signature.
“I’d like to leave a message for Miss Maples.”
Cane arched a brow.
“We don’t have anyone registered by that name,” the clerk said.
“I see that. She’s medium height, dark hair, quite pretty.”
“That could be Mrs. McGarritty.”
The name immediately above Cane’s on the register. “I’m sure it is.”
The clerk handed over a note paper and pencil. Longstreet scrawled.
“Supper?” Cane asked.
He nodded. “Will you be joining us?”
“I believe I’ll have a tray sent to my room. I’m behind on my scripture reading. You might do well to consider some of that for yourself.”
Longstreet handed the note to the clerk. “He can be such a curmudgeon.”
She descended the stairs to the lobby promptly at six thirty. Longstreet smiled.
“Punctuality, a rare character in beautiful women.”
“I’m sure you have vast experience in that regard, Mr. Longstreet.”
“Please, Beau.”
“Dare I dream? How did you know I was here?”
“Lilacs.”
“Lilacs?”
“The lobby smelled of lilacs.”
“I shall have to be more discreet in my use of perfume. I could have been found by some unscrupulous charlatan.”
“Reserve judgment on that until you see what you’ve caught.”
She smiled a mixture of mystic and amused, taking his arm.
“Following us for lack of a better lead I see.”
“Of course not. I’m hopelessly infatuated with you if you must know.”
“I knew it all along.”
“Well, more truthfully, I was hoping to enchant you out of the nugget of information that brings you here.”
“I may be persuaded to listen to your offer. What are you hungry for?”
She pursed her lips, mocking thought with a bit of mischief in her eye. “House special?”
“Hmm, I believe I see one of those across the street behind those café curtains.”
“Ever the clever devil, Beau Longstreet.”
“Clever? No. Enchanting?”
“We shall see.”
The house special happened to be roast pork, mashed potatoes with a rich brown gravy, fresh beans, and enough wine to mellow the conversation.
“So what is it? What brings you here?” Samantha said around a forkful of chocolate cake.
“Enchanted yet?”
“That remains to be seen.”
“I feel enchanted.”
“Then give me what I want.”
“Don’t you want to finish your cake first?”
She feigned irritation. “Information, please.”
“Well if you must know. Our bondswoman made an appearance at Nebraska First Bank. Sheriff Basset received a dodger from the league and tipped off both banks in town. The cashier tried to stall her long enough for an arrest but she became skittish and bolted. We’ve got the second bank under surveillance, but frankly my gut tells me she’s gone.”
She wiped a bit of chocolate frosting from her lip. “Enchanted.”
He held her chair. “I much prefer this exchange to Kingsley.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
New York
Gould sat in his spacious darkened office shadowed in the halo of a single desk lamp. He read the Salmon Chase statement of the blind trust account. He glanced at his desk calendar and drummed the desk with his fingers. Too slow. What’s taking so long? El Anillo was expensive, but normally the Don’s ring could be counted on for swift efficiency. The delays are unacceptable.
He reached for a cut-glass decanter on his credenza and poured a stiff measure of cognac. He swirled the amber liquid in soft light refracted in the facets of the elegant tumbler. He sampled the bouquet. Excellent. A soft sip burned, mellowed, and warmed its way to satisfaction.
It is time for the Counselor to make his displeasure known. The Don must speed up the redemptions. The Missouri Pacific opportunity could not wait. The longer it took to liquidate the latter, the more likely the game would be found out. There was, of course, no way this gambit could be traced to him. He’d taken great pains in that regard. No, it was simply about the money. The money and winning at all cost
Santa Fe
Don Victor read the telegram by firelight, warming himself at the hearth. He disliked written communication even when veiled as this one. Communications depending on third persons like telegraphers or messengers served only to complicate matters.
Client displeased at slow rate of progress.
Who the hell did this arrogant hombre think he took for his displeasure? El Anillo could snuff out the man like a candle. He clenched his jaw. He could not even answer his own question. He didn’t know who the client was, arrogant or not. What’s more, this client paid handsomely. He dropped the telegram into the fire. He would see what Escobar could do to speed up collections.
San Francisco
The Stanford came as a pleasant surprise. She owed the surprise, in part, to the man who chose it. One of the more elegant hotels anywhere in the west, the Stanford seemed an epicurean choice for a man who preferred a frontier brothel to conventional accommodations. She waited in the spacious marble and teak lobby seated in a Victorian wing-chair upholstered in deep forest green. A massive candlelit, crystal chandelier suspended from the two-story domed lobby sprinkled soft light across the polished black marble floor. Quiet conversational furnishings were grouped at intervals around the perimeter, leaving the central reception expanse open from the massive front entrance with its uniformed attendant; in the reception area stood a polished wood registration desk, flanked by sweeping circular staircases ascending to guest rooms on the upper floors. A single polished round table stood beneath the chandelier, its center occupied by a massive oriental vase filled with an explosion of fresh multicolored flowers that scented the air with the barest hint of tropical fragrance.
The luxury seemed in order. They’d made off with a rather substantial sum of money in a rather short period of time. It felt good to relax a little without looking over her shoulder for the handsome detective or some of his more rustic associates. The puzzling part was how quickly law enforcement caught on to their activities. Given the distances, the time that would be taken to discover the forgeries and the speed they were traveling, it should have taken longer. They should have been able to pass the whole lot, or most of it, before they were found out.
Approaching footfalls drew her attention across the lobby. Escobar’s dark eyes flicked from side to side on the edge of alert. The trappings of respectability did not rule out the
possibility of a trap. He nodded.
“Señorita.”
“Señor.”
He tilted his chin to an arch near the front entrance. “May I suggest the salon? We should find a place of private conversation there.”
She nodded and followed. The salon resembled a library. Book-lined shelves muted conversational groupings of velvet-covered furnishings discreetly scattered around the room. Low lamplight turned the sitting areas into inviting islands of light. He led her to a back corner table with facing chairs. He held the first for her before taking his. A black man in a white coat appeared at his side.
“May I offer you an aperitif?”
“Agave.”
His manners went only so far.
“And for the lady?”
“Sherry.”
The waiter disappeared.
He drew a cheroot from his pocket and bit the tip. He scratched a match with a thumbnail, cupped the thin cigar, and drew it to light. He flicked out the match behind a mask of blue smoke. “The Don is displeased. Our client grows impatient. He wants faster results. Now.”
“That’s fine for the Don and his client. I’m the one taking the risk.”
“You are well compensated . . .” He cut himself off for the waiter.
He set the drinks before them and departed.
“You are well compensated for the risk you take. If that bargain is no longer satisfactory, we could surely make another arrangement.”
The words were casual. Tight lips and a glint in his eye gave them threat. The implication was clear; one did not simply walk away from this arrangement. She fortified herself with a sip of sherry.
“So, what do you suggest?”
He paused, his glass halfway to his lips.
“We go south.” He took a swallow. “To Los Angeles and San Diego, there we catch the Texas & Pacific east. We redeem the rest of the bonds on their own line. ¿Es muy bueno, no?”
“We? You mean I bank the bonds.”
“Sí. This is our arrangement, no?”
Arrangement, again. “Yes.”
“Then we understand one another, comprende?”
“What about the detectives?”
“What about them?” He knocked back his glass. “Most likely they are scratching their asses in Nebraska, wondering what happened to us. If we move fast, we should finish in El Paso. You can catch a stage to Galveston and be long gone at sea before they could possibly catch us.”
“It didn’t take them that long to catch on the last time. What makes you think that won’t happen again?”
“Would the señor care for another tequila?”
“Sí.”
“And the lady?” His smile shone bright light in the gloom.
“Please.”
He vanished into shadow, but for his white coat.
“This time we will not have the misfortune of betrayal.”
“What do you mean, betrayal?”
“It seems the engraver who produced the plates for our bonds couldn’t resist making a thirteenth for himself, very unfortunate for him. He was eliminated of course, but his son could not resist his father’s temptation. He attempted to cash the bond and thus alerted the authorities before we cashed our first bond.”
“So that’s how they caught on so quickly.”
Fresh drinks arrived.
“Most unfortunate, but at least that will not happen again.”
“I wonder if they know how many bonds were printed.”
“Hmm.” He tipped the ash from his cigar in the tray and relit it. “I doubt they know. A forger worth his salt wouldn’t keep careful records of such a transaction.”
“He was clever enough to skim a hundred-thousand-dollar forgery.”
“A mistake for which he paid.”
She took a stiff measure of sherry. “He paid before the mistake was discovered.”
He cracked a half-smile, cold light in his eye. “The terms of our arrangements are often final.”
Arrangements, again. The only way out of this is to finish the job. The only way to do that is to strike fast. “There is one more thing we can do to improve our chances of success.”
“What is that?”
“We stay out of sight until we are ready to strike.”
“Of course we stay out of sight.”
“That’s not what I mean. We don’t cash any bonds in California until we are ready to board an eastbound Texas & Pacific train.”
“But it will take time to travel there. We have opportunities in Los Angeles and San Diego.”
“San Diego, maybe. Los Angeles, no. The first bond will tell those pursuing us where we are and where we are going. Once we are on the Texas & Pacific, we can finish before the first bond is redeemed.”
“The Don and our client will not be pleased by further delay.”
“Do they want the job finished or not? The delay won’t trouble them unless you tell them what we are planning. I take the risk. You and your Don and his client get the money. If I get caught, you’re in for a bigger delay than a trip to San Diego. Now what is it going to be?”
He tossed off his drink and signaled for another. “We leave in the morning.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Omaha
Bright light splashed the white linen tableware in the hotel dining room. The welcoming smells of fresh coffee and breakfast bacon scented the air. Kingsley spooned sugar into his tea with a dash of cream. He stirred thoughtfully.
“She’s not coming back, you know.”
Samantha let her coffee cool. “No, I suppose not.”
“No point in cooling my heels here any longer. I sent a wire off to Chicago yesterday after tea. Unless they see some reason to keep me here, I believe I shall toddle on back to Denver for the comforts of home and hearth and all that. Will you come along?”
Her lashes lifted over the rim of her cup. Surely not you, Reggie old boy. “Perhaps I should stay here to keep an eye on them.” She tilted her head ever so slightly across the room. Cane and Longstreet settled themselves at a table.
Kingsley took his tea with a slurp. “Eye is it? On them, or is it somewhat more on him?”
“Mr. Kingsley, whatever are you suggesting?”
“Come now, Samantha, the two of you can’t think you’re as subtle as all that.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He chuckled. “Please. Well, then, keep an eye on the opposition if you must, just remember who signs your pay voucher.”
“That I never forget.”
“We’re always a step behind.” Cane drummed his fingers on the breakfast table, his ham and eggs going cold on the plate.
“It’s the nature of a chase when you follow someone without knowing where they are going,” Longstreet said.
“That’s it! Why didn’t I think of it before? You’re smarter than you look, Beau.”
“Of course I am. What did I say?”
“We do know where they are going.”
“We do? Where?”
“Come along; we need to wire Colonel Crook before we check on the bank.”
Samantha sat at a window table where the café curtains afforded her a good view of the bank across the street. She sipped coffee, waited, and watched. Cane and Longstreet arrived promptly at one o’clock as they made their afternoon rounds. Watching them had become predictably easy with the regular routines the men followed. They spent several minutes with the banker before reappearing on the boardwalk for a brief conversation. Somewhat out of habit they parted company, with Cane appearing to cross the street into the next block, while Beau turned back toward the hotel. Curious, might something be afoot? She resolved to watch a bit longer. Minutes passed.
“May I join you?”
She glanced up, surprised to find Longstreet standing beside the table.
“Please.” She offered the chair across the gingham-checked table.
The waitress came to the table.
“Coffee.”
She went off to fetch a cup and the pot.
“Haven’t seen anything of old Reggie recently.”
“He’s gone back to Denver.”
“And you stayed here to keep an eye on us.”
“On the bank.”
“And us. She’s not coming back.”
“So Kingsley thinks.”
“We’re inclined to agree. Cane went off to wire Colonel Crook.”
The waitress set down a fresh cup of coffee and refilled Samantha’s.
“And you found yourself in desperate need of a cup of coffee.”
He smiled. “No, I came by to tell you we will most likely be heading back to Denver.”
“What, you’re not preparing to disappear in the middle of the night?”
“As I recall, you started that.”
She suppressed a smile of her own.
“I thought I’d let you know as a courtesy. You’ll have time to check in with Reggie and won’t be left trying to stalk us in our absence.”
“Stalk! Whatever do you mean?”
“Caught in the act, though I find the idea of a beautiful woman following my every move rather pleasant.”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to misread your intentions.”
“Nor I yours.” She held his eyes.
She scraped back her chair.
“Where are you going?”
“I need to wire Kingsley.”
“Supper?”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Six o’clock in the lobby?”
“How can you can be so abominably certain sure of yourself?”
“Practice.”
Shady Grove
I waited down the block until the last ray of sunlight disappeared behind the mountains. This had to be as early as early evening gets. It was so early, every light in the place was lit or being lit. I slipped through the front gate and kept to the shadows as far from window light as possible. I amused myself waiting for the sun to set by conjuring up a plausible reason for skulking about the grounds in the dark on the chance I should be discovered. The colonel’s stories had taught me the value of a good lie. A lost watch, dropped on my earlier visit, seemed plausible enough. I moved along the north side of the home toward the back corner window that opened to the colonel’s room. I hoped. The window was indeed open as expected, though I could see little more than lamplight from the ground.
