Cotton's Law (9781101553848) (18 page)

“You look like you could use a drink and some female company,” she said.

“You’re right on both them things, ma’am.” Sleeve was nervous and overly eager to get down to business. “But, offhand, I’d have to say the female company is uppermost in my mind.”

“Well, then if you have a dollar, we could go upstairs and visit for a spell. How’s that sound?”

Sleeve hastily began fishing around in his pocket. He
withdrew a dollar and thrust it into the girl’s outstretched palm. “Sounds fine, now can we get to it?”

He couldn’t get the sight of Delilah out of his mind. But he was damn sure going to try, at least temporarily. He took the girl by the hand and almost yanked her out of her shoes in his haste to climb those stairs.

Safely inside her room, Delilah sat on the edge of her bed and unfolded the note from Havens. She read it over carefully, three times. She was boiling hot at what she’d just read. It was one thing for Bart to use her to help promote his crooked banking operation, but it was quite another to be considered nothing but a cheap slut to be used in any way he saw fit. This time, he’d turned about-­face and was ordering her to send a message to Memphis Jack suggesting she hungered for his company and begging him to meet her. It went unsaid why Bart had concocted such a plan, but it was clear it had something to do with the overall plot to destroy the sheriff who he felt had stood in the way of his success long enough.

She was at a crossroads. If she refused his orders, she was certain to suffer an even more severe punishment than a bruised cheek and cut lip. On the other hand, what would happen to Jack, a man she’d loved once, and likely could again, given the opportunity?

She paced back and forth for nearly an hour before finally coming to a conclusion. Bart had made it clear she was to do exactly as he bid. And she didn’t like it one bit.

T
he next morning, as Delilah entered the bank, Havens came rushing out of his office to meet her.

“I assume you got my message,” he said.

“Yes, I did.”

“You will carry out my instructions as specified in the accompanying note. And do it to the letter exactly. Is that clear?”

“It is. But I don’t understand why you had to send that sleazy man to my hotel room at night.”

“Call it a test, my dear. I was interested in keeping the message quite secret, and I also wondered whether you would let him in.”

“Did I pass your little test,
Mister
Havens?”

“You did, my dear, you did.” With that, he spun around and headed back to his office, whereupon he closed his door.

Delilah was steamed by Havens’s rationale as to why he sent Sleeve to her room so late, as a test of her loyalty to him. She returned to her post as greeter to any customers
that might venture in. Her usually cheerful smile was now turned upside down. The reasons to hate that man were mounting up faster than tumbleweeds against a fence. She crossed her arms and made a feeble attempt to look pleasant in case someone might come through the doors.

But, after two days of standing all day, her legs were throbbing and her back had begun to ache. Havens had made it clear he wanted her at the ready the instant a customer arrived. So far, none had. And hers was not a position that allowed sitting. Finally, as if in answer to her prayers, a man and his wife wandered in. Delilah had nearly forgotten what to say, but the man spoke up first.

“I see in the paper that you’re giving loans for no interest for the first ten customers to apply. That right?”

“It is, sir. Let me introduce you to our president, Mr. Havens. If you’ll follow me.” She led the couple to Havens’s door and rapped softly.

“Come in,” Havens said, standing quickly as Delilah pushed open the door and he saw that she wasn’t alone.

“Bart Havens is my name. And you are . . . ?”

“This here’s my wife, Agnes, and I’m Donald Blanchard. We own a little spread in the hills out towards the Brennan ranch. Not much, but we got a few head of pretty fine stock. Like to build that bunch of Herefords up a mite.”

“And how much of a buildup you got in mind, Mr. Blanchard?”

“Like to start with an additional hundred head. I figure, if the winter ain’t too bad, I can make that hundred grow to at least one-­fifty, maybe more. I should easily pay off my loan by spring.”

Havens pulled some papers from his desk drawer and spread them out in front of Blanchard. “Sounds like a sound investment. I think you’ll find we’re a good place to do business with. Now, if you’ll just sign these papers, I’ll get you the money. Now, exactly how much do you figure you’ll need?”

“Two thousand ought to do it, Mr. Havens.”

“Two thousand it is, Mr. Blanchard. And since you’re
one of the first ten people to come looking for a loan, there won’t be any interest for a full six months.”

“Six months? I thought the ad said ‘no interest’ at all.”

“Well, now, Mr. Blanchard, I’m sure you understand, being a businessman yourself, that it would not be feasible to not require any interest at all, forever.”

Blanchard scrunched up his face into a scowl that was magnified by his rough, weathered skin. It was the face of a man who had spent many winters and summers under some very harsh conditions. He sighed, then bent over to sign. His wife said not a word.

“Just curious, Mr. Blanchard, was it the lack of interest that brought you in?”

“Yup. That fellow Darnell Givins tried his damnedest to keep me from bringin’ my business to you. When I asked if he’d match your offer, he said he couldn’t. That’s why I’m here. I been doin’ business with him for five years and now he don’t think I’m worth keepin’.”

When the Blanchards left, Bart said, “Delilah, run that ad again next week. And the week after that.”

Melody shook Jack from a sound sleep. He mumbled something foul as he tried to escape her persistent jabs. “Jack, damn your hide. Get your lazy ass up. I want to talk to you.”

“Melody, just come back to bed, will you. Whatever it is will keep till mornin’.”

“It won’t if that gambler downstairs gets caught cheatin’ by one of them gunslingers.”

“How do you know he’s cheatin’?”

“Honey, I can spot a card slick a mile off. And I’m bettin’ they can, too. Now, get dressed and hustle yourself downstairs. You got to keep an eye on things.”

“And if I catch him cheatin’, what am I supposed to do?”

“You
are
the deputy sheriff, aren’t you? And ain’t card sharks illegal?”

Jack had buried his head in his pillow. It stayed there until she got to the deputy part. He grumbled, but he finally,
out of desperation, swung his legs off the bed, gathered up his shirt and pants, and slipped into them. He strapped on his gun belt and started for the door.

“Uh, Jack, maybe you’d look a little more imposin’ if you’d put on your boots. A barefoot deputy ain’t likely to strike fear in those snakes.”

Finally, properly shod, and slightly embarrassed, he started down the stairway. Below he could see Buck Kentner and Sleeve Jackson engaged in a card game with a man who had a long coat and a bowler hat he had taken off and placed conveniently near the edge of the table. From where Jack was standing, any fool could see the gambler was a beginner. He was fumbling the cards as he shuffled the deck and showed no finesse dealing.
This man will be dead before morning if this keeps up
.

Jack sauntered up to the table, where he howdy’d each of the two gunmen. He stuck out his hand to the gambler.

“Name’s Memphis Jack Stump.
Deputy Sheriff
Jack Stump. Don’t think I’ve ever seen you around here before.”

The gambler was suddenly more nervous than before. He’d started to cut the cards, but the deck slipped from his hand and scattered on the floor.

“Oh, dear. Gentlemen, I’m so sorry. I’ll get a fresh deck right away.”

Just then, Sleeve scooted his chair back and eased his revolver from his holster. “Aww, that ain’t necessary. You been cheatin’ so long a new deck ain’t gonna change nothin’. I figure your dealin’ days are about to come to an end anyway.”

The gambler’s eyes grew wide and his face turned pasty as Sleeve brought the gun up to eye level with the hapless card shark. Jack stepped in, placed his hand on Sleeve’s gun, and shook his head.

“This gentleman is correct, Mr. Gambler. You been cheatin’, and that’s against the law in Apache Springs. I’m obliged to take you to jail, where you’ll find accommodations until the judge comes to town and sets your fine. Now, get up.”

“No need to get involved, Deputy, we can handle this ourselves,” Buck said.

“Oh, no problem, gentlemen. Besides, since you fellows will be dividin’ all the money on the table amongst yourselves, I figure this fella has a few extra dollars tucked away in his hat or vest. And the town
does
need funds to pay for its law keepers. That’d be me and the sheriff.”

Sleeve slipped his gun back in his holster and sat back with a grin.

“Fair ’nough this time, Deputy. But the next pasteboard hustler to drop by may not be so lucky.”

Jack hastened the gambler’s departure from the saloon so fast the man nearly forgot his genuine felt bowler.
Maybe a night in jail will at least keep this fumbling jackass alive awhile longer
, Jack mused as he escorted the gambler to the jail.

J
ack was in the middle of doing something he’d probably never done before. He was sweeping out the office. The door was open as he took one final dusty swipe at the little pile of dirt, nearly choking the sheriff, who had dismounted in front of the jail.

“What the . . .” Cotton muttered when Jack stepped outside.

“Uh, sorry, Cotton. Just figured the place needed a little tidying up.”

“Hmm. I reckon you’re right.” The sheriff stepped inside and removed his hat. As he was about to hang it on the nearest peg, he spotted a new tenant in the first cell. “Who’s that?”

“Oh, him, well he’s just about the worst crooked gambler west of the Mississippi. Caught him trying to bamboozle a couple of Havens’s owlhoots. Figured a night in jail might keep him alive a bit longer.”

“Good thinkin’, Jack. We can put him on the Thursday stage out of here.”

“That’s what I figured. The town’s close enough to explodin’ as it is. Don’t need a senseless killin’ for all hell to bust loose.”

Cotton seated himself behind his desk and leaned back in the swivel chair.

“I figure that’s just what’s about to happen. The hell of it is, I don’t know when or how or by whom. I swear I should have shot Havens the moment he stepped off that stagecoach.”

“I got the same feelin’. Everybody is actin’ like they was sittin’ too close to the fire.”

“Melody let anything slip that’s been said to her girls by their customers?”

“Nope. And to top it off, I’m not real sure she’d let on if she had heard something.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well, if you was to fail, she likely figures the mayor would appoint me sheriff and she’d be sittin’ pretty.”

“That figures. She’s one power-­hungry bitch.”

“But a damn sexy one, you got to admit that, Cotton.”

“I reckon.”

“You come up with a plan to get ahead of this bunch without tippin’ them off to our knowin’ about it?”

“Not yet. But unless I’ve been hornswoggled, that information should be showin’ up any day now.”

“You obviously know somethin’ I don’t. You care to share with your ol’ pard?”

“Soon, very soon. Too early and I could jeopardize our chances of success.”

“Ahh. You’re thinkin’ I might blab to Melody, and every­one knows she can’t keep her mouth shut unless she sees some profit in it. That about it?”

“Not exactly. I don’t think you’d
intentionally
blab anything, Jack. You know I trust you, but you
do
have one shortcoming that could prove deadly.”

“What the hell does that mean? What shortcoming?”

“You talk in your sleep.”