Cotton's Law (9781101553848) (11 page)

“How do you intend to go about that, sir, if I may ask?” Buck said.

“I shall simply offer loans at a much lower rate than the present bank offers, then I shall foreclose on those ranchers and mine owners who fail to meet my strict terms for repayment. The details will be buried in the contract in such a way as to discourage anyone but an experienced lawyer from understanding them. It’s complicated, but it has worked many times before and it shall again. I can assure you of that.”

“Is that what you’ll be wanting us to stick around for? Forcing men off their land when they don’t pay up on time?” Comanche Dan said.

“Mr. Sobro, you are a man of deep understanding,” Havens said, “and I laud you for it.”

“So, you say you want us to arrive separately in Apache Springs?” Buck asked.

“That is exactly what I wish.”

“How do we make contact with you? And if we’re to corner this sheriff, don’t we need to palaver amongst ourselves?” Black Duck asked.

“Indeed, Mr. Duck. I already have carpenters working on outfitting the interior of my new bank. As soon as they’re finished and I arrive in town, you’ll be able to come to my office by way of a back door to an alley. It won’t ever be locked. You can also meet there between yourselves.”

“When do you want us there?” Buck asked.

“Right after breakfast, each of you may set a course for Apache Springs at your leisure. No hurry. Any questions?”

“Does it make any difference how soon we brace this sheriff?” Black Duck asked.

“Once I’ve given you the okay, none at all, Mr. Duck, none at all. Individually or as a group.”

“So, we’re to wait for you to give us the go-­ahead?”

“Timing is essential for the whole thing to work. Certain recent events have caused me to revise my original plan. We can’t get ahead of ourselves.” Havens shied away from claiming that Whitey Granville’s failure to kill the sheriff was the reason behind this alteration. Certainly not in front of Plink.

“You can count on us, Mr. Havens,” Buck said.

“Good. Oh, Sleeve, keep your eyes out for a beautiful dark-­haired woman named Delilah Jones. She is in Apache Springs at my, uh, personal request. She will be assisting me at the bank. Do not be seen talking to her, any of you. Her reputation must in no way be tarnished by familiarity with gunmen. No offense, gentlemen, but people do often make judgments based on the company others keep. Our customers must see us as highly respectable.”

T
he whole time Havens had been talking over his plans for assuming control of Apache Springs, and how the demise of Sheriff Burke should proceed, Plink Granville sat in sullen silence, nursing one drink after another. Suddenly coming into a thousand dollars to do something he would have gladly done free of charge, plus the extra fee to be paid upon completion of the job, appealed to him, but Havens’s rules just made him angrier and angrier. He had no intention of following any convoluted plan laid out by some pompous, highfalutin ass. He had his own purpose and his own plan. He owed this Sheriff Burke payment on his personal debt, and he damned well intended to collect. His brother was lying cold in a grave as a direct result of Cotton Burke. And Bart Havens, too, when you got right down to it. Maybe after he collected the extra two thousand, he’d put a bullet in Havens for good measure. That would even things up considerably, he figured. All this, of course, he kept to himself.

Plink Granville had grown up in Mississippi in the
shadow of his older brother. He wasn’t nearly as good a shot with a rifle as Whitey, but when it came to a sidearm, he could compete with most. Plink never finished his schooling. He found out early that reading and writing weren’t something he was good at. As soon as he could, he quit attending the one-­room schoolhouse and found a job cleaning floors in the town’s only saloon after all the drunks had left.

Plink had killed three men, each of them almost too drunk to stand. His reputation had been built on a lie, but few knew of that well-­hidden aspect of his fabled past. Only once had he come close to picking on the wrong man, a wrangler that wasn’t nearly as drunk as he’d let on. When Plink pushed, the wrangler pushed back. Plink found himself in a tight spot. When the man went for his six-­shooter, Plink dropped to the floor. The man’s shot missed, allowing the wily Plink Granville to roll behind an overturned table and skedaddle out the side door. From then on, he avoided contact with that particular adversary. He soon left town and began wandering all over Texas, slowly falling into the very same trap so many men had: consuming too much liquid poison. But now he had an opportunity to put a thousand dollars in his pocket, to shoot down a highly regarded gun­slinging sheriff, and avenge his brother all at once. His reputation as a shootist should jump up a notch.

Cotton had no sooner walked through the door to the jail than Jack was in his face with a concerned look and some noticeably uncharacteristic nervous fidgeting.

“Cotton, I, er got somethin’ needs sayin.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, uh—­”

“Spit it out, Jack.”

“Okay. I, uh, figure it’s about time you moved back into your little house. I’ll be movin’ on, so you can stop payin’ for a hotel room,” Jack said.

“Where you figure on movin’ to, Jack? Your contract isn’t up by a long shot.”

“Well, uh, here’s the situation. Melody is buying the saloon from One-­Eyed Billy’s heirs, turning it into, uh, a more profitable business, if you know what I’m sayin’. And, she’s settin’ aside a cozy room upstairs for the two of us.”

“I heard a rumor to that effect, but I hadn’t figured on you goin’ back to livin’ in a whorehouse. Of course, it
does
put you closer to the whiskey.”

“Hmm, I hadn’t thought of that angle. Thanks, Cotton.”

“Just when do you figure on makin’ this momentous change in address?”

“Melody hired a couple of carpenters to turn the place into a more desirable environment for, uh, entertainment. She’s lookin’ to gussy it up with drapes and a chandelier, and even some rugs here and there. They’re startin’ the renovation tomorrow. She figures to have it done in two weeks. Sounds good, don’t it?”

“Sounds like just what it is, Jack. Trouble.”

“What trouble? She’ll be bringin’ in more business to the town, and that helps everyone, don’t it?”

“Where’d she come up with the money?”

“Said she borrowed it from the bank back in Gonzales. Put up her other establishment as collateral. She’s turnin’ into quite the entre—­er, enter—­”

“Never mind. I get the idea. I reckon she’ll be bringing some of her other girls with her, huh?”

“Yep,” Jack said, with a licentious leer.

“Like I said,
trouble
.” Cotton just shook his head as he walked outside. Jack followed.

“She’s not doin’ anything illegal, Cotton. You know that. Just because you don’t like her don’t mean she’s no good.”

“I didn’t mean to suggest she was. But you know as well as I do that trash attracts trash. When there are women
and
whiskey involved, men do stupid things. I hope you’re up to keepin’ your part of the bargain as a deputy. That’s all I’m sayin’. Things could start to get real
busy.”

“You can count on me, Cotton. I’ll not let you down . . . again. You got my word on it.”

“I’ll hold you to that, Jack.”

“Oh, and Cotton, there’s one more thing you probably ought to know.”

“Yeah?”

“I probably should have told you earlier. An old friend of mine blew into town last week. Delilah Jones. She’s a, er, a businesswoman. But Melody doesn’t know about her. Yet. There’ll be hell to pay when she finds out.”

“Is this Delilah plannin’ on settin’ up some sort of business?”

“No. She’s been sent here by Bart Havens to size up the town, uh, let him know about who the most likely prospects are for his bankin’ business.”

“You mean who’ll be the easiest to fleece.”

“Uh-­huh. That’s the way I see it,” Jack said.

“You’re right, Jack.”

“Right about what?”

“There is goin’ to be hell to pay.”

Cotton had wrestled with how he should handle a situation he knew he could do little to control, short of posting Havens out of town. Posting a sign saying that Havens couldn’t enter the town wasn’t really a choice, though it was one that had flitted through his mind. Over a span of a few days, his awareness of a couple of rough-­looking strangers arriving in town also had him edgy. One of them Jack had pointed out as the man who’d identified Whitey Granville. None were from any of the ranches nearby. It was time to talk to the mayor, although he wasn’t sure he’d get very far with the stubborn, contrary politician. But he had to try.

He walked down the middle of the street toward the mayor’s office shaking his head and grumbling to himself. His anger at the idea of Bart Havens coming into Apache Springs seemed to heighten his awareness of several pairs of eyes watching him carefully from different locations
along the boardwalk. One man was sitting in a chair leaning back against the whipsaw-­sided meat market. Another sat with his elbows on his knees on the steps to the hotel. Yet another eyed him over the batwing doors of the saloon with a beer in his hand. Each looked to be studying the sheriff as he strode down the dusty street, likely sizing him up for any sign of a telltale habit, a move that might give a hint of hesitation, any awkwardness that might translate into an advantage for one who sought to take his life.

A gunslinger who wished to stay alive couldn’t take any chances on not knowing his opponent right down to the size of boot he wore.

“S
heriff Burke, what’s on your mind?” Mayor Orwell Plume said, looking as if the sheriff’s entrance had interrupted a nap.

“There’s trouble comin’ and its name is Bart Havens. That’s what’s on my mind. And it’s weighin’ heavy.”

“This something you can prove, or are you just being overly concerned? I assume you’re referring to the fellow I’ve been told is planning to bring some competition to that stuffy banker, Givins? Just found out myself a week or so ago. But it doesn’t seem to be anything worth getting in a lather over.”

“You may not know his history. I have considerable experience with that rattler, and I’ve seen what his kind of business brings with it.”

“As long as he operates within the law, there isn’t much you or anybody else can do about it, is there?”

“Listen to me, Mayor, this man is the dirtiest kind of lowdown skunk. He’ll cheat the socks off decent folks and laugh while he’s doin’ it. I’ve seen the kind of underhanded tricks he uses. I’m warnin’ you, he’s not here for the good
of Apache Springs. He’s here to line his pockets by the most devious means possible. That’s all.”

“Well, until he
does
step outside the law, we’ll just have to sit back and watch the town grow. You might even benefit yourself.”

“How do you figure, Mayor?”

“If the town gets big enough, we might be needin’ a deputy U.S. marshal, instead of just a sheriff. You given any thought to the possibility of moving up?”

“When you see how quickly Havens can deplete a town’s resources, you’ll change your opinion soon enough. Gettin’ your own marshal will be the
last
thing on your mind.”

“You’re a pessimist, Sheriff. You need to stop lookin’ at every rock like there’s a scorpion under it.”

“Mayor, I know this man, and I assure you he’s every bit as dangerous as any scorpion.”

“What’d he do to get you so riled?” The mayor scowled at Cotton’s continued insistence that Havens was certain to be bad for the town. “It sounds personal.”

“For starters, he tried to have me killed back in Texas. When that didn’t work, he tried to convince the town council I was bad for business. Fortunately, they saw him for what he was and they ran him out of town on a rail. Cost him most of his fortune, a mostly stolen fortune, I might add.”

“So, if he’s broke, how can he be settin’ up a new bank here?”

“That’s just what I aim to find out. And that’s not all. I have a hunch he was behind that fellow who took shots at Jack and me.”

“Sounds like you can’t prove it, though,” Plume said with a smirk.