Return to Blanco (Red Book 4)

by Darrell Maloney

  “Um… no ma’am.”

  “Then why on earth are you trying to play me for a fool?”

  “I’m not… I mean… I don’t understand.”

  “Why in hell would I accept payment in dollars when the dollar is now worthless?”

  “But… that’s what you deposited into the bank…”

  “I want my money in gold or silver bullion or coins.”

  “But… but… I don’t have any such bullion or coins.”

  “Bullshit, Mr. Savage. Shall I walk into your vault and see for myself?”

  “No. You can’t.”

  She stared him down, her face just inches from his bulbous and warted nose.

  “What I mean is, only bank personnel can go in the vault. And I don’t have any bullion or coins.”

  “Again, Mr. Savage, I call bullshit. You’re requiring your mortgage payments in precious metals. I want to be paid in exactly the same manner. Weighed and measured, at the same value per ounce you’re getting from your customers.”

  She pulled her handgun and pointed it at his face.

  “Now I dare you… tell me again that you don’t have any gold or silver.”

  He swallowed hard. He was afraid to say anything.

  He turned and went into the vault again, and returned with several tiny gold bars.

  “Weigh it,” she growled. “And if you rip me off for so much as a dollar, I’ll shoot your dumb ass and hang you naked from the courthouse bell tower for the entire town to see.”

  The truth was, Red had never weighed gold. Had never conducted a financial transaction in it. Didn’t even have a clue what an ounce was worth.

  She was bluffing. She was relying on Savage to weigh the stuff, and was relying on his being too afraid to short her.

  Her bluff seemed to be holding. His hands were shaking terribly as he took an old legal scale from a closet and went through the tedious process of weighing it.

  To make it balance he had to take one of the bars off the scale and replace it with a gold coin a fraction of its size.

  “There,” he finally announced. “One hundred thousand dollars exactly.”

  He looked at Red, pleased to be done with the process and starting to think he might survive the night after all.

  But Red wasn’t happy.

  “Shave some off that coin,” she demanded.

  “Shave some off? But why? I gave you more than you’re due.”

  “Exactly. I don’t want a dime that isn’t coming to me. I don’t want you telling anybody I robbed you or took advantage of you at the end of a gun.”

  “I won’t. I swear!”

  “Shut up. I said shave it.”

  He shut up. And he took out a sharp pocket knife and shaved off about a tenth of the coin, leaving the coin’s curled entrails in a tiny pile on his desk.

  Red seemed satisfied.

  “Now then,” she said as she shoved the gold into the front pocket of her jeans, “Go to the desk and very carefully give me your weapon.”

  “But…”

  “Go!”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  He sat at his big oak desk and slowly pulled open the center drawer.

  Red cautioned, “Slowly now.”

  He took a Ruger out by the barrel and laid it upon the top of the desk.

  Red played a hunch and demanded, “And the backup too.”

  He grumbled something unintelligible and opened a lower desk drawer, then took out a Smith and Wesson .38.

  “Is that it?”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  “No Derringer hidden in your sock? No .25 in your panties?”

  He caught his breath and Jacob stifled a laugh.

  “No. I swear.”

  Red nodded to Jacob and he collected the handguns.

  The two headed for the door.

  “We’re not robbing you of your weapons, Savage. We’re merely ensuring we don’t get shot in the back. We’ll drop your weapons in the center of the street a block away. You can retrieve them there.”

  They were a sight to behold, a young cowboy and a beautiful redheaded cowgirl, riding slowly down the center of Main Street.

  Walking forty feet behind them, a sweaty little fat man, looking furtively in every direction, as though a boogey man hid in every shadow.

  A tall stranger, also on horseback, approached the circus from the other direction.

  He caught Red’s eye first, and she smiled a friendly smile.

  Although the hazards of the new world taught her that not all men could be trusted, it didn’t hurt to be friendly to strangers until they proved they were no friends.

  Jacob nodded the traditional “man nod” common to men all over the world. It was merely an affirmation of the other’s existence, neither friendly nor hostile.

  The stranger on the tall Morgan horse nodded in return, then rode on.

  Rode on toward Savage, who looked around as if looking for a place to run.

  The fear in his eyes said it all. He was certain the man was there to kill him.

  -43-

  Only he didn’t. Instead, he merely pulled up reins outside the Bank of Blanco and waited there, watching the spectacle play itself out on the street.

  Finally, as Red and Jacob disappeared around an abandoned auto parts store, and Savage picked up his guns and headed back toward the bank, the stranger dismounted.

  Savage was still sweating bullets as he approached. He was less frightened now. If Red had hired the stranger to kill him, she’d have hung around to watch. Savage was sure of that. She’d want to experience the joy of watching Savage die.

  No, the man wasn’t connected to Red. But he was still a stranger. And as such, he had to be considered hostile and a potential threat.

  At least for the time being.

  “Good day to you, sir.”

  Well, he seemed friendly enough.

  Savage responded in kind.

  “Good day. Can I help you?”

  “I was told I could find the Chief of Police at the city bank.”

  “That’s me. I’m John Savage. I’m the Chief of Police.”

  The stranger reached into his back pocket and Savage winced, expecting the worst.

  But he wasn’t reaching for a weapon. He was reaching for a badge.

  A badge with a five pointed star.

  A Ranger badge.

  “I’m Corporal Randy Maloney, with the Texas Rangers.”

  Savage eyed the badge with suspicion.

  “Are you sure that’s a real badge? It looks kind of beat up to me.”

  “Well, it’s seen better days, that’s for sure.”

  The Ranger pulled a Texas Ranger Identification Card from behind the badge.

  Savage seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. He wasn’t going to be shot after all.

  “What was going on with you and those riders? And why did they drop those guns on the street?”

  “It’s a long story, Ranger, and one I’d rather not get into. Now, then… what can I do for you?”

  “I’d like to talk, if you’ll share some of your time with me.”

  His tone was an odd mix. It was friendly enough, yet somehow all business.

  “Come into my office.”

  Savage led the way into the bank, and once there realized he’d left the bank vault open.

  “Please, have a seat at my desk. And excuse me for just a minute.”

  While seated at the desk, the Ranger looked around. The bank certainly was nothing elaborate. Rather sparse, actually. Certainly not fitting in with the way Savage was described.

  He was expecting blatant displays of wealth and power. Fancy furniture. Perhaps some expensive paintings on the walls or sculptures on pedestals.

  But then, looks are frequently deceiving.

  Savage returned from his vault and sat down at his desk. A few minutes before he’d been sweating all over it, convinced he was going to die. Some of the drops of sweat were still drying on the desk top.

 
He wiped them away with his sleeve.

  He couldn’t wipe away his apprehension as easily.

  It was apparent in his voice.

  “So… Ranger. What brings you here to our friendly town?”

  “I’ve heard rumors there’s trouble in Blanco.”

  “Trouble? No trouble. I mean, we have the usual stuff. Looting and property crimes. Occasionally a robbery. But those are usually drifters we run out of town. There’s no trouble here we can’t take care of.”

  He added a smile he thought was charming but was actually troubling and suspicious, and said, “But we sure do appreciate your offer to help us out, even if it’s not needed.”

  “Actually, Mr. Savage, the rumors I heard pertained to corruption on your police force, and involved much more than property crimes. Murder for hire, to be more specific.”

  “No, sir. No, sir. Not at all. Those charges are completely unfounded. No one here is involved in any such thing.”

  “Perhaps you shouldn’t be so hasty to discount them, Chief. After all, surely you aren’t so attuned to every one of your officers that you couldn’t have a rogue cop hidden amongst your force.

  “Now, then. How many officers do you have on your force, exactly?”

  He gave Savage a rather odd look.

  The Ranger knew exactly how many men were on the payroll of the Blanco Police Department.

  Exactly one.

  And Savage, studying his face, knew that he knew it too.

  He was in a corner he couldn’t lie his way out of.

  “I am the only man on the force.”

  Then he added, in a squeaky voice, “But I need more help. I’ve been trying to get the city to hire me more bodies.”

  “So, then… Mr. Savage… If you’re the only man on the police force, I guess that greatly reduces our list of suspected dirty cops, doesn’t it?”

  Savage did what he frequently did when he was cornered. He lashed out, as most cornered animals do.

  “Just what are you implying, Ranger? What are you accusing me of? What charges are you making?”

  “Right now I’m merely conducting an investigation. I was hoping you’d be cooperative. Of course, if you choose to be defiant, that’ll be a part of my report as well.

  “Defiance, Mr. Savage, is frequently an indication of guilt. Or at least of something to hide.

  “But I’m sure you already know that, with all the years of law enforcement experience you must have to fill such an important position. Did you work your way up through the ranks, Mr. Savage? Did you start out a beat cop? Did you work the mean streets? Did you pull detective duty? Were you one of the good guys?”

  “I’m a banker,” he yelled indignantly. “A banker who stepped in to help the people of this town in a time of great crisis. I should be honored, not belittled.”

  “Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps I’ll recommend you for a medal for your devotion to your town and its citizens.

  “Or perhaps not. I guess it will depend.”

  “Depend? Depend on what?”

  “On the results of my investigation.”

  “What investigation? What are you investigating, exactly?”

  “I already told you. Police corruption in general. Murder for hire, specifically.”

  Savage turned white.

  “And you think I’m involved in a murder?”

  “Not one. Several, if my confidential informants are to be believed.”

  “What confidential informants? Who?”

  “What part of confidential do you not understand, Mr. Savage?”

  “Red Poston is a damn liar. So is that damn cowboy she was with, whatever his name is.”

  The Ranger took a tiny notepad from the pocket of his shirt, then a small yellow pencil.

  He spoke out loud as he wrote onto his pad, “Red Poston and her cowboy companion.”

  He turned back to Savage and said, “Actually, I haven’t talked to anyone named Red Poston, or anyone with her. But thanks for the new leads.”

  Savage started to sweat. He was once again fearful. Not of his impending death, but perhaps a life behind bars.

  “What charges are you bringing against me, Ranger?”

  “None. Yet. Maybe after I finish my investigation.”

  “You have no proof. You have no evidence. All you might have is rumors.”

  “Those sure sound like the words of a guilty man, Mr. Savage. Actually, I have several sworn affidavits from people who claim to have heard rumors which implicate you. That’s not enough to warrant charges. But then again, I haven’t finished my investigation yet. I still haven’t talked to…”

  He paused for effect, while taking his notepad back out of his pocket and reopening it.

  “…Red Poston or her cowboy friend.”

  “What do you want from me, Ranger?”

  “At the moment, nothing. Except a request to stay in town until I finish my investigation.”

  He stood to leave, and noticed his suspect had begun perspiring again.

  Profusely.

  “Are you okay, Mr. Savage?”

  Savage drew a great breath into his expansive lungs.

  “Of course I’m okay. Why do you ask?”

  “Because you look like you’re getting ready to explode. You’re flushed a bright pink and you’re drenched in sweat. In a room that’s actually quite cool.”

  “So? Is that a crime too?”

  Ranger Maloney laughed.

  “No. Not in the State of Texas, anyway. But in my experience, only guilty people start to sweat when they’re being investigated. The innocent have no reason to be stressed.”

  “I’m not guilty of anything. I… I have a medical condition. That’s all.”

  “Oh? Should I get you a doctor? Should I fetch Dr. Munoz?”

  “You know Dr. Munoz?”

  “Not yet. But he’s one of the men my informants suggested I talk to. In fact, I was on my way to his office next. Should I bring him back to look at you?”

  “No. I’ll be fine.”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Savage. I expect you will be. In fact, I think I recognize your condition. There’s even a name for it.”

  The comment surprised Savage.

  He demanded to know, “What? What is my condition called?”

  “Guilt. Good day, Mr. Savage.”

  -44-

  Once the Ranger had left him alone, Savage locked his bank’s doors. Just an hour before he’d gone to do that with the anticipation he’d be able to nap the afternoon away.

  So much had changed.

  Now that he was safe and secure in his sanctuary, he could finally breathe a sigh of relief. He’d come so close to death and survived.

  Then he’d come so close to being arrested, and somehow managed to dodge that bullet as well.

  But he wasn’t out of the woods. Not yet.

  He desperately needed to talk to Gomez. First to demand how in hell they’d let Red slip through their grasp.

  And then to weigh his options.

  He checked his calendar. It was the fifth day of the month.

  As desperate as he was to talk to his hit man, the prudent thing to do was wait.

  The next day, the sixth, Gomez would be coming to see him anyway. It was the third day since his last visit, and he was coming every third day to collect his waiting fees.

  No sense risking being shot while going to or from the highway if he could just cool his heels and let Gomez come to him.

  He opened a desk drawer and took out a bottle of Maker’s Mark.

  This was the good stuff. This was the stuff he poured into fancy whiskey glasses to impress some of his more prominent customers.

  It wasn’t the swill he normally drank when he was alone.

  But he’d downed the bottle of swill a couple of nights before when he couldn’t sleep. And he didn’t have the inclination to reopen his vault so he could get more.

  His hands were shaking too badly anyway.

  His nerves were shot
, he was breathing hard. His head was starting to spin.

  He had to do something to help calm his nerves.

  He skipped the whiskey glass and swigged directly from the bottle.

  Damn his customers and clients. They’d never know.

  His head was spinning. What was he going to do, exactly, over the next few days, to alleviate the Red problem once and for all and get the Ranger off his back?

  Should he go to the city leaders? Offer to free them from their mortgage obligations, to sign over their deeds, in exchange for their vouching for him? Or should he threaten to foreclose on them if they refused to do so?

  He’d always found coercion to be his best option in the past. But would coercion work when he didn’t hold all of the cards?

  Perhaps in this case it would serve his interests to take a loss. To write off a few properties in exchange for his being vetted by the people in the town who mattered the most.

  Who held they most sway.

  Would they do it? What if they refused to back him? What if they decided that, by helping to get Savage arrested, he’d go away for good? And they could come into the bank after he was in prison and just take the deeds? Pass them out to the town’s residents and say, “congratulations!”

  “No more Savage, no more mortgage payments?”

  Perhaps he should just order Gomez and Duncan to take out Red immediately. Just get her out of the way.

  After all, she was really the only link between him and the murders. Her and Luna. And Luna was dead.

  Ed Sloan was in on it, but he’d already beat feet out of town a couple of days before.

  Everybody else might have an opinion regarding what happened. But opinions didn’t mean squat in court.

  Then it hit him.

  He was a freaking idiot.

  Dr. Munoz knew everything.

  Dr. Munoz had been in Savage’s pocket for years.

  He was the one who tried to declare the explosion at Red’s house an accident.

  He was the one who ruled Butch Poston’s death by natural causes, although he knew damn well he’d been poisoned.

  He knew enough to put Savage away for the rest of his miserable life.

  And like an idiot, Savage had let him live.

  He should have gotten rid of him. Should have tied up loose ends.