by Abe Dancer
‘Well, you do know better,’ Morton Pegg growled around a large Corona. ‘You’re creating something out of nothing, so stop chuntering on.’
‘There’s a fair number moved into that goddamn tent camp now, and Savoy’s already got the ear of a handful o’ townsfolk. Him and the girl, who’s doing charity work,’ Marney continued. ‘Some of them are interested in what he’s got to say, and that’s how you start. Indifference is how you lose. I reckon the old goat wants to be someone. He’s big and mouthy enough for them to listen.’
‘For Chris’sakes, you have to get nominated for most anything in Blackwater,’ Pegg said. ‘Who do you reckon controls that?’
The railroad man was even less sympathetic. ‘An’ who cares about what they all want? Since when has an election stopped us?’ Benedict Bunce was an educated man originally from the East, but he slipped easily into the railroad workers’ argot. ‘Goddamn towners. I think king’s ransom, while they’re thinkin’ pig dirt,’ he sneered.
‘And that’s not how I want to end up, Ben.’ Hockton Marney was accustomed to success and prepared to do almost anything to ensure it continued. To that end, he’d become involved in a venture with Bunce and Pegg which, although not illegal, required certain illegalities to conceal its purpose. At the end of the day, he was as greedy as the timber man and the railroader put together. He just lacked their ruthlessness.
He drained the brandy, put the glass down and held out his hand, palm downwards. ‘I’d never have made a gunsman,’ he said, staring at the spread of his trembling fingers. ‘So where do we go from here?’
‘That’s more like it, Mr Mayor.’ Although of short stature, Morton Pegg looked every inch the successful entrepreneur with a three-piece suit and shiny black boots. ‘The doc says the bullet ripped through the fat in Harry Grice’s shoulder. He was lucky, but I doubt he’ll be seeing it that way. I think this Rogan feller could have shot him anywhere he wanted,’ Pegg said. ‘Unfortunately, our straw sheriff won’t press charges because every person standing close swore Harry was pushing for it. Even a few who weren’t. Huh, such is his and our popularity, gentlemen.’
‘I’ll fire Buckmaster when I’m re-elected,’ Marney promised.
‘There you go, Hock. Seein’ a future already,’ Bunce said. ‘But right now we got a problem with this Jack Rogan. He’s more’n Savoy’s side-kick, that’s for sure.’
‘How do you mean?’ Marney asked uneasily. ‘What sort of problem?’
‘A prospective one. And that’s the trouble.’ Bunce leaned forward and banged the stopper back in the brandy bottle. ‘Like Winge Tedder.’
A thin film of sweat glistened on the mayor’s florid face. Although he’d had no part in taking out Winge Tedder, he’d known about it. That made him every bit as guilty as the others. A business killing was one thing; one with blood and a body was something else, not his kind of work.
Bunce saw Marney stare at the brandy. He reached out and lifted the bottle away.
‘You’ve had enough,’ he said. ‘I hope you’re not goin’ to fall apart ’cause someone’s said boo. You know we can’t have a weak link.’
‘Hell, Ben, give me a break,’ Marney replied. He was shaking like an aspen. ‘We all get a setback now and again. What were you saying about Rogan?’
‘I’ll tell you what we know about him,’ Pegg said before stepping past Marney and out onto the balcony. The hard-driving timberman wanted Blackwater as his town, considered himself in a strong position to take it. But there was a ways to go and they couldn’t afford to overlook any kind of threat.
Pegg turned around, back to facing the men in the room. ‘I was told he tangled with the Savoys – knocked all sorts of stuffing out of one or two of ’em. Lamb says they’ve got his horse and his cash savings, that’s why he stays, why he’s helping ’em with whatever it is he’s helping ’em with. But after last night, I’m not so sure. Who is he – what is he? A lawman? A gunman?’ he continued.
Bunce fiddled with a silver trinket hanging from his watch chain. ‘I heard he was takin’ a detour through the swamps one dark night an’ stumbled into a half-wit Savoy. That’s what I heard, anyway.’
Marney and Pegg nodded concern and waited for Bunce to carry on.
‘When the deal’s done, I’ll be movin’ on, an’ I don’t intend to let anyone stop me, goddamnit. Last night, this Jack Rogan went up against our best muscle for info about Tedder. That makes him a sure-fire threat,’ the railroad man declared.
‘You got any ideas about what he’s up to, then?’ Marney asked.
‘No. But what if he’s some sort o’ Pinkerton agent workin’ undercover? What if he’s been brought in by old Savoy to check us out? What if he’s tipped him off about the goddamn timber? There’s a whiff of something here I don’t like.’
‘Are you saying what I think you are?’ Pegg said.
‘Yeah, probably. There’s a fortune waitin’ out there for us, an’ I’m not havin’ some interloper put a spike in.’ Briskly, Bunce pushed himself up from his big, office chair. ‘I say we rid ourselves of him.’
‘If you reckon that’s the only way out, I’ll second it,’ Pegg said with a searching look towards Marney.
Marney managed a tremulous nod. What could he say? His requirements matched theirs, and there was no danger of going up against them.
Jack Rogan sat quietly in a cane-bottomed rocker in the lobby of the hotel. But his mind was active, brimming with schemes. His effectual jailer was strolling around town in his store-bought outfit, telling anyone who’d listen about how they were all looking forward to integrating. In between supervising the settling in of the first few families, Gaston Savoy had been impressing Beatrice Marney with his new and finer style.
Consequently, Jack realized that right now could be a good time to ride for Whistler. He could make another try at breaking out his sorrel, tearing Savoy’s cabin apart, and anyone else’s, until he recovered his $1,000.
Jack knew that Homer Lamb was in town, but now there was also Loop Ducet, Eliot and John Savoy, and a whole pack of nephews and cousins. There was a chance he could get his horse back without having to crack a skull, or worse.
That thought prompted him to recall last night’s confrontation with Harry Grice. He doubted a flesh wound was ample enough warning for a hired gunhand. After getting his arm patched up, Grice was the sort of man who’d promise to settle the account, if only to himself. If there was a next time, there’d be no restrained message.
It was late afternoon and Jack went to stand outside the hotel. Within minutes, he’d noticed the change, the reserve of those townsfolk who passed by. They might still perceive him as a man who rides mules, but now it was different. Once upon a time Jack carried a reputation. He was a professional gambler who’d been known from Baton Rouge to Vicksburg as someone not to mess with. In Blackwater, Harry Grice was an intimidating individual, but Jack had taken him on, and put him down, publicly.
Jack was close to making a decision about what to do next when he saw the bright, red-painted wheels of a buckboard approaching. The vehicle slowed, swung towards the hotel when the driver saw him.
‘Good afternoon,’ Lauren Kyle, said unsmiling.
Jack tipped the brim of his hat. ‘It is that, Miss Lauren. I like your buggy.’
‘Hmm. Must say I’m a little disappointed in your choice of local amusement.’
‘Keeps me off the street,’ Jack flipped back. ‘How did you hear about it?’
‘Everyone’s heard about it.’
‘Well, you knew I was no storekeeper.’
Lauren studied him closely, her gloved hands in her lap, holding the reins. ‘You’re somewhat of an enigma, Jack Rogan. Gentleman one minute, ruffian the next.’
‘It’s probably the company I’ve been keeping,’ Jack replied, not continuing with the smile.
‘Maybe. However, I don’t want to bandy words. I actually came to ask if you’d care for a drive along the river.’
‘Well, I�
��m not sure about that,’ he said, not meaning a word of it. He was about to say something about being seen with a ruffian, when he saw Melba Savoy heading his way along the boardwalk. She was beside the unmistakeable form of Homer Lamb.
The moment Melba saw Jack she clasped Lamb’s arm, held it until they were up close.
‘Miss Savoy,’ Lauren said. ‘Are you enjoying your stay in the big city?’ she added sarcastically.
‘Well, I was,’ Melba replied coolly. ‘And what about you, Mr Rogan? Are you enjoying the fishpots?’
‘Yes, such as they are. And I think you mean, flesh-pots,’ Jack corrected.
Melba smiled. ‘I know what I mean, Jack. It’s my pa who’s short on words. I’m content with what I know.’
Lauren sniffed. ‘Well, if you’re staying here, Jack.’
‘Rather than watch red foxes chase frogs in the twilight?’Jack climbed up into the rig to take over the reins. ‘I wouldn’t want to miss that.’ He tipped his hat. ‘You too have a pleasant evening, Melba.’
‘There’s dancing here at the hotel, later. Come on, Homer,’ Melba said irately, tugging at Lamb’s brawny arm.
‘I hope you brought your clogs,’ Jack said and winked playfully.
Homer Lamb couldn’t understand his good fortune, the sudden warmth that Melba was demonstrating. But before he had time to more fully appreciate the offer, reality took over. Learning that Jack Rogan was on his way out of town, there was no way he could take advantage of the invitation.
Melba didn’t understand when Lamb muttered an apology, a lame excuse, before hurrying off. When she realized she was cursing, she smiled and continued along the boardwalk.
10
Gaston Savoy was thoughtful as he headed towards the Blackwater Hotel. There were a few families settled into the tented city, and over the next few days there would be a few more, continuing until the move was complete. He was getting them settled in stages, hoping to avoid antagonism between his people and the unsuspecting townsfolk of Blackwater.
Casting a shadow over the mass departure was the fact that he hadn’t yet got around to actually signing over Whistler and its surrounding land. All he’d received to date was the buyers’ down payment, and most of that had gone to the Chinamen.
But Savoy was pleased with the way things were progressing; satisfied to see just how much a little learning and tidying-up had smoothed the course of integration. He was winning over people on a business and social level, laying down his plan for the future. It was a vision based on more equality, why no one should simply move aside for big business. And the folk of Blackwater had an ear for such talk.
A few men had made fortunes from the defilement of the bayous, huge tracts of land torn bare by the reach of the loggers. It was a business that Savoy fervently reviled. If any man lopped so much as a tupelo branch within striking distance of Whistler, he took his life in his hands. It was how Savoy’s fearsome reputation had started.
By standing aside, Savoy could have made himself a fortune ten times over, and in as many years. But he’d stubbornly refused all such offers until the right buyer came along.
On his trip to New Orleans, Savoy met James Chester. The man represented the Department of the Interior, who were becoming interested in the preservation of the country’s forests and wetlands. Chester struck Savoy as honourable and far-sighted, with commitment and deep pockets.
Savoy was selling out for an acceptable dollar, and he planned to use the money to re-locate and improve the lot of his people. Although he hadn’t informed them of his contract with Chester, it had always been the reason to get moving. The signed deed had stipulated clearing the land of any settlement.
When Savoy had admitted to Jack what he’d done, the way he’d gone about it and why, Jack had dubbed him Don Quixote. Savoy responded with pleasure at the required explanation, said it was a make he was happy with. Most everybody commended him for what he was doing. Everybody that is, except the person he was most keen to impress.
Beatrice Marney had told him she thought he was making a mistake, that his way of thinking was rooted less in selflessness and more in his desire to be accepted by the people of Blackwater.
‘Not just them, Beatrice. You,’ he’d responded quickly. ‘And what’s so goddamn wrong with that?’
‘You don’t need to, Gaston. I see you as a strong, uncomplicated man who knows what he wants and leads by example. Or used to be at least. Now you’re trying too hard … bullying with your ideas and ambition. Like my husband used to.’
‘Yeah, well perhaps if I’d been less backward ten years ago, you’d have married me.’
Beatrice shook her head at that. ‘Do you want to know why I chose Hockton over you, Gaston?’ she asked.
‘I guess.’
‘Because I was just like you. Style over substance, the legislators call it. I married the trappings of office, not the man, and I’ve regretted it ever since. Do you understand what I’m saying, Gaston? Over the years you’ve held your people together … fought off what you don’t want or believe in. I’ve come to admire you and your ways, but I’m fearful of what will happen to you – the price you’re set to pay. Look what’s happened to Hockton.’
‘What? What’s happened to him?’
Beatrice thought for a moment, looked disappointed. ‘It’s gone, Gaston. No need to explain. It’s gone, that’s all.’
Savoy could see what was meant. All ideas he’d had about him and Beatrice Marney were pie in the sky. There wasn’t going to be any future together, agreeable or otherwise.
The patriarch of the bayou families halted in his thoughtful reverie. He sighed, put a hand against an upright at the edge of the boardwalk and took a long look around him. The moon was on the rise; affecting night scents from the mangrove were drifting in across the town.
Savoy had felt some reservation from the moment James Chester made him the offer for Whistler and its land. He’d been occupied by planning, now by implementing the big change from the old way of life to the new. He wanted to buy one or two new-builds on payment of the balance of Chester’s contract. But, along with seeing Beatrice Marney again, it was true that the big man with the big ambitions hadn’t taken much of a look at what he was doing.
Blackwater had grown fast on the back of its nearby timber, but with available tracts stripped bare, the industry had eaten itself up. The needy town turned its attention to other businesses, mainly the trade brought by the railroad, its connections to the Mississippi in the East and the Rio Grande to the West.
Standing there now, in the moonlit, peaceful silence, Savoy was acutely reminded of what he’d left behind.
Moments later he brought his mind back to the present. Since the shooting at the saloon, he wanted to reassure himself that Jack Rogan was staying clear of trouble. Jack’s real help wasn’t over yet, not by a long chalk. Savoy didn’t want the man hatching any plans about running out.
‘If I was the old Sabine Cuff, I could eat you alive, Pa,’ the voice sliced through the darkness.
Savoy flinched, turned to see his daughter standing alongside him. ‘Sorry, gal. I was just thinking,’ he said.
‘That’s what you do before you leap.’
‘I know. Have you seen Jack around?’
‘No. Not since he went ridin’ with Madam High-Hatty, Lauren Kyle,’ Melba replied tartly.
‘Oh. So that’s why you got a face like one o’ your squashes.’
‘Huh. Good riddance to bad rubbish, I say.’
‘Come on, Melba. You don’t feel that way an’ you know it.’
‘Well maybe not. Maybe I’m wishin’ it on this place.’ Melba glanced around like everything offended her. ‘I’ve not known many towns, an’ I guess I like this one least of all,’ she said.
‘We’ve had all this out more’n once, Melba. I hope we’re not startin’ back on in.’
‘No, Pa. But that don’t mean I understand it all. Like I haven’t done ever since you came back from New Orleans. Have you
stopped to think that, in between, we’ve all done what you wanted?’
‘Yeah, I’ve thought on it, Melba. An’ in time, they’ll know I was right when their kids grow up with nobody lookin’ down on ’em. You’ll see.’
‘I hope so, Pa. I really do.’
‘I reckon there’s somethin’ else stuck in your craw, daughter,’ Savoy pressed. ‘Doin’ good work, handin’ out grub to the real poor an’ needy’s not what you’re railin’ against. Didn’t you say you had a date with Homer, tonight?’ he asked. ‘I remembered, ’cause it’s such a turn out. Where is he?’
Melba grimaced. ‘It’s hard to believe that man is actually related to any of us. I only said I’d go to the shindy with him to put Jack Rogan’s nose out of joint.’
‘Jack Rogan?’ Savoy said in surprise.
‘Yeah, him. You’d know if you’d been there. Anyhow, would you believe he walked off an’ left me standing on the corner? Ha, Homer Lamb walked out on me. You reckon I’ll live that down, Pa?’
‘Of course. No one’s goin’ to believe him, are they? But I am wonderin’ why he’d do such a thing.’
‘Ten minutes ago, right after Jack Rogan drove off with Lauren Kyle. The minute they swung that rig around, he was up an’ runnin’.’ Melba paused to think a moment. ‘Reactin’ like that was kind o’ strange. I mean, he hates Jack somethin’ fierce,’ she said with palpable concern.
Savoy stepped down into the street and looked towards the river, ‘What the hell’s all that?’ he grunted broodingly at the muffled sound of distant gunfire.
The night heron that had been stalking young catfish was a long way from town. But it was still closer than the hunting fox had wanted to be. The scents and sounds made the animal nervous and watchful as it bent its bloodied muzzle over the still carcass.
Dragging its kill from the reeds of the shallow creek into bankside grass, it suddenly lowered its head and laid back its ears. There was no doubting its sharp senses; man wasn’t far away, and was creeping furtively along the water’s edge.
Troubled, the fox dropped its kill and turned away, ran swiftly towards the shadowed sanctuary of the old cypress stumps.
