Blood Legacy (A Tony Masero Western) Page 9

  “Elephant?” said Long thoughtfully. “Zack here mentioned one of those, what is that exactly, Jim?”

  “It’s a beast, Long. You never heard of an elephant before? Thing with a long nose and big feet. Big critter stands as high as a house.”

  “What? They have one here? A white one! I should go see that.”

  “No, that ain’t quite the same, Long. A white elephant is something else.”

  “How so?” Long looked at him cautiously. “How can it be the same but different?”

  “It’s a saying, you know, like something you took on board that you just can’t sell. That’s a white elephant. The normal kind is a sort of gray color, all wrinkly like.”

  Long took off his hat and scratched his head. “Now, I’m real lost. A white one you can’t sell and a gray one that’s wrinkly all over. I do believe you’re joshing me.”

  Jim patted him on the arm and stepped down from the porch. “I have to be getting on. I’ll see you fellows around.”

  “That’s one of the toughest characters you’ll ever meet,” said Chad after he had left.

  “Truly?” asked Zack, looking after the seemingly harmless figure.

  Chad nodded, “Mean as they come when he’s roused. He needs to be, watching over Hell’s Half Acre.”

  “What say we find us a hotel and set off to find your friend after one of those fine steaks?” asked Long.

  ~*~

  It was dark by the time they had found rooms and demolished a set of steaks that were the size of dinner plates. Zack was feeling contentedly replete after the meal and as they made their way through the bustling crowds of folk all heading for the Acre and a night out, Long sidled up alongside him.

  “Here’s how we’ll play it, Zack,” he said. “Chad and Lemon will move out and circulate, I’ll be close by but make like you don’t know me. We’ll all be watching over you until this Van Olen arrives.”

  Gunshots were heard coming from the distance as they entered the packed Main Street of the Acre.

  “Let’s hope it isn’t too long a wait,” groaned Zack as he watched a bevy of predatory and luridly painted whores loom off the sidewalk and close in on a band of newly arrived cowhands.

  “Like vultures on fresh meat, ain’t they?” said Long with a grin. “When Van Olen gets here,” he went on. “We’ll fade. Say nothing about our presence, we’ll be somewhere near at all times, even though it looks like we ain’t.”

  “You think James might be a problem then?”

  “We just don’t know, do we? Best play safe for the time being until you can find out for sure.”

  It made sense and Zack nodded. The wide street before them was lined on both sides by an array of houses of pleasure, their painted signs boldly lit by lamps and blazing torches. Drunks stumbled down the street and the sound of raucous laughter and fiddle and piano music came from a number of the houses and clashed in noisy confusion in the crowded road.

  “There’s the place,” said Long, jerking his chin in the direction of a large sign in red and gold further along and half way down the street. “See you later.” With that he was gone and Zack was left alone in the center of the street, he pushed his way on through bands of men slowly moving forward as they decided where to entertain themselves from the array of pleasures available.

  Mother Barns Hotel was a false fronted building built from sawn plank wood and painted pink. The front doors that sported paneled glass windows in diamonds of blue and white were tall and on swinging hinges that flapped open and shut constantly as customers entered and left.

  Zack followed a group of dusty and wide-eyed young men wearing chaps and wide brimmed prairie hats and obviously intent on having a good time. As he entered the noisy barroom Zack saw that beside the front door stood a high and narrow molded wooden desk rather like the one his clerk Williams’ owned back in Boston. The creature that sat behind was a great bustling woman in a lavish silk dress; she had an ugly pitted face that was over-decorated with makeup giving her the appearance of a bizarre china doll. She wore long peacock feathers on her coiled head of dyed black hair and an array of chunky jewelry on every pudgy finger.

  “Evening boys,” she bawled down from her pulpit in a voice that might have suited a steamboat captain better. “Welcome to Mother Barns and that’s me you’re looking at. You fellas take your pleasure where you will but we’ll have no brawling or gunplay in here. Fair enough?”

  The cowhands all nodded enthusiastically, one more innocent than the others took of his hat respectfully and uttered a hurried, “Thank you, ma’am,” before following his cronies into the heaving mass inside.

  Mama Barns gave Zack a quick appraising once-over as he stood in the doorway, his eyes scanning the crowd.

  “You just looking or buying?” she asked him abruptly. “You cain’t know the fruit until you taste some, you know?”

  “I’m meeting someone here, ma’am,” said James. “Just trying to spot him if I can.”

  “That right?” she boomed. “Who is this, may I ask? Might be I know the party in question.”

  More men elbowed Zack aside as they crowded in behind him. “It’s a fellow called James Van Olen.”

  She pursed her cupid bow lips and nodded her head so that the feathers waved gracefully above. “You a friend of Mister Jimmy’s? Well, come right on in. Follow me.”

  She descended from the desk by way of a series of small steps alongside and at ground level Zack found she was a diminutive creature not more than four and a half feet tall.

  “Follow me,” she ordered and set off in the direction of the packed bar.

  It was a long elbow-high wooden counter in dark wood with a brass foot rail and spittoons at regular intervals. The entire length was propped with bands of hard drinking men who faced ornately decorated mirrors behind the bar, the curlicue patterns on the glass fronted by stacked glasses and bottles. Busy and tough-looking individuals with drooping mustaches and long aprons handled the serving with a show of adroit indifference.

  Mama Barns led the way to one end of the bar and a small gate that gave access.

  “Everything all right here?” she asked the nearest bartender as she opened and entered the gate closing it before Zack behind her.

  “It’s okay, Mama,” he said.

  “Give this man here a drink, will you? He’s waiting on Mister Jimmy.”

  The tender, who towered over Mama Barns nodded dutifully and jerked a questioning chin in Zack’s direction.

  “Just a whiskey,” Jack said, thinking that it was unlikely to find anything else in the establishment.

  “Give him a brandy,” said Mama Barns, looking at Zack knowingly. “The French sort. Real gentlemen always prefer brandy. Ain’t that right?”

  “Well,” Zack answered. “It’s quite true. I do have a preference.”

  The ugly woman wrinkled her nose. “I know it,” she said, pleased with her assessment. “I can tell a class john even under all them cowboy clothes.”

  “I’m obliged. Tell me, does Mister Van Olen come in often?”

  “On occasion,” she answered passing him the glass, which Zack tasted with approval, finding it to be quite a fine variety. “Mister Jimmy’s a big spender so we always enjoy his company.”

  A rough looking fellow with a lividly scarred face that pulled down one eye butted in, nudging Zack aside.

  “I think I’ll have me one of them, Mama,” he said, swaying and jabbing a finger at Zack’s glass.

  “You’ll get back where you belong and shut your mouth,” snapped Mama Barns.

  “Here,” he said to Zack, ignoring the woman. “Give me a taste, I never had me a brandy wine before.”

  He leered near until their faces were close and Zack could smell the stale whiskey stink on the man’s fetid breath.

  “Best go buy your own, fellow,” said Zack.

  “No,” the man insisted, his bad eye looking balefully at Zack. “I want a sip of yourn.”

  “Get out of here, you
bum,” ordered Mama Barns.

  “Aw! Shaddup bitch,” snarled the man, dismissing the small woman with a cruel twist of his lip before facing Zack again. “Give it here, asshole,” he ordered, reaching for the glass.

  As he moved, Zack saw the other hand reaching down to his shadowed waist and drawing a blade from his belt.

  Swiftly, Zack threw the glassful into the man’s face, who jerked back his head the stinging liquor blinding him.

  “Aw, hell and damnation!” he cursed, his hands reaching for his eyes and the blade coming into clear view as he did so.

  “Knife!” bawled Mama Barns at top volume and there was a flurry of activity behind the bar as the team of brawny bartenders surged through the small gate and surrounded the knife-wielding drunk. He disappeared amidst a flurry of blows that sounded loud above the general noise. A series of cheers from the customers greeted the beating and followed the scarred man as he was hastily hustled through the crowd and out of the front doors.

  “Apologize for that,” Mama Barns said dismissively as if it was an everyday occurrence. “Let me get you a refill.”

  As she went to fulfill the order Zack was wondering where his minders had gotten to when a hand tapped him lightly on the shoulder.

  “Captain Zachary Endeavor, I declare, you’re still able to handle yourself I see.”

  Zack turned to see James Van Olen smiling at him.

  “James!” Zack cried with a broad grin of greeting. Physically, James had changed little over the years he still had the same lank of fair hair hanging over one eye. There were some lines and a certain softening around the jaw but it was basically the same features that Zack remembered.

  “It’s so good to see you, Zachary,” said James, taking his hand in both of his and shaking it firmly. “I have thought of you often.”

  “Why there you are, Mister Jimmy,” said Mama Barns, bustling up with Zack’s drink in hand. “Will you have a glass with your friend there?”

  “Thank you, Mama Barns, but no. Zachary and I have much catching up to do.”

  “Well, you are always welcome here as you well know, Mister Jimmy.”

  “Come on, Zack,” said James, taking him by the arm and guiding him towards the door.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Somewhere quieter, I think. Tomorrow I will take you out to the Circle V.”

  “You have a ranch?”

  “I do indeed. You will enjoy it, I think.”

  James led him out into the busy street and down a few blocks until they came to a quieter section that housed an obviously more select number of institutions. They stood before a brick built building with a flight of stone steps leading up to a pair of impressive and rather intimidating wooden doors standing under a large hanging lantern.

  “My club,” James explained. “This is where most of the town business gentry usually meet. It’s a little less raucous than further down the street.”

  “Why didn’t we meet up here?” asked Zack.

  James laughed and shook his head. “Oh, nobody gets in here off the street. You need special invite or an accompanying member.”

  They were shown in by a somber looking tall black man in a dark suit and pressed white shirt with ribbon tie. Once entered, he led them through a hallway to a large and comfortably furnished smoking salon. There were plush leather seats scattered around the room; a few occupied by elderly, well-dressed men either deep in quiet discussion or reading newssheets. Black servants hovered attentively ready to arrive at the twitch of an imperious finger.

  James nodded greeting to a few of the patrons who demurred to him with obvious respect as they passed on their way to a corner table

  “There,” said James, settling into a deep leather armchair. “That’s a little more like it. Take a seat, Zack. Would you like a drink?”

  “I would like to finish that brandy I almost had at Mama Barns.”

  James held a reproving finger to his lip as if word of the establishment should not be uttered. He waggled a hand and instantly one of the black servants was at his elbow.

  “So, tell me everything,” said James, leaning forward eagerly after the servant had taken their order. “It’s been so many years, you must have a Bible-full of things to tell me. What have you been doing with yourself?”

  Zack settled back, feeling the most at home he had since leaving Boston. The place reeked of wealth and sensibility and it was an atmosphere to which he was most accustomed and in which he felt he could relax.

  “I have a law firm now that is doing tolerably well and a fiancé too.”

  “Indeed!” said James. “You are in Boston? That is a fine city I know.”

  “It’s growing apace but tell me of yourself. The little I have seen says you have done very well.”

  “Well, I must not complain,” he was interrupted as the servant returned with two balloon glasses of brandy on a gold tray. “Here,” said James. “A toast to our meeting,” he raised his glass. “To both our good fortunes at surviving that pest-hole of Libby and escaping into better lives.”

  Zack smiled agreement and they drank. He studied James over the rim of the glass and could easily see the confidence that now beat through his old companion. There was little nervousness evident in James’ demeanor and he appeared more decisive in his attitudes.

  “So, your business has blossomed?” Zack asked.

  “Indeed it has but since my father died and left me everything I have diversified to a great extent. There was little future in meat biscuits as far as I could see, so I invested in the railroads early on and that has done extremely well for me. We now trade in cotton; there was some nice business to be done in the South after the war. Property, coal and oil. Well, quite a few things actually. And it all seems to have paid off handsomely.”

  “So what brought you down here?”

  “Cattle. I came to have a look at how things were being done here and have a slaughterhouse in construction at the moment. Ever since the railroad arrived it has been a boom town.”

  “So you bought a ranch?”

  James nodded. “Yes, I did. I found I quite liked this rough and ready environment. So different from the conservative attitudes in the North.”

  “You’d never know it in here,” whispered Zack, waving his glass in an encompassing circle around the room.

  “Oh, this is necessary,” James confided. “Business needs a place to be done and this is neutral ground where we may discuss our private matters without fear of being shot or knifed in the back by some drunken lout.”

  “So did you ever marry?”

  James paused and Zack detected a flicker cross his face. “No,” he said. “Never did. Too busy I suppose but there’s time yet.”

  “Of course,” agreed Zack. “How about old comrades, did you keep in touch with any?”

  “A few but not for long. So many died anyway, if not during the war then from wounds and ailments during its course.”

  Zack nodded agreement. “Yes, I lost a good man at Richmond. My sergeant, he was imprisoned on the island and never made it back.”

  “Damn shame!” James commiserated. “We lost many good men there. Remember Gaspar?”

  “I do,” agreed Zack, sipping his drink.

  “It marked me, you know? Those days during our run for the lines. Bleak, hard days they were.”

  Zack nodded agreement, both men entering a solemn mood at the memory.

  “It marked me profoundly,” James went on. “It gave me some assurance as to an attitude about the running of things. The waste and stupidity of that wretched war, or at least it seemed so at the time. But then, out of it came all the blessings of the Golden Age in which we find ourselves now.”

  “Yes, it is incredible that from so much blood comes such blossoming. I suppose that is the meaning of the Union though, without it things would have only gone on with disparate states each vying for their independence. Now at least we are united as a nation.”

  “To some degree,”
said James, raising a doubtful eyebrow and brushing aside his lock of hair as he settled back in the armchair. “I travel much, Zack, when I am about my business and I fear there is still dissension and division evident in this land of ours. It will need a strong hand to guide it through this boom time so that we become a force to be reckoned with on the world stage.”

  “Surely in time that will be the natural course of things.”

  James swept the invasive lock of hair from his eyes, “I’m not so confident of that. Business and trade will be our building blocks, that is for sure but we shall need a firm hand at the tiller if we are to succeed and not fritter away all our advantages.”

  Zack laughed, “You are beginning to sound like a politician.”

  “Who? Me? Not on your life. I’ve met too many of them and most are as crooked as the day is long. Why I’d rather risk a spell under the gangs in Hell’s Half Acre than those pomposity's up in Washington, at least you know where you are with outright robbers and thieves.”

  Despite himself, Zack stifled a yawn. The long days of travel were catching up on him and with a full stomach and brandy inside him he was feeling tired.

  “I’m afraid I must retire, old friend,” he said. “Perhaps we shall talk more tomorrow.”

  “Of course, of course. You must be dead tired after hauling down from Boston. Look, why don’t you turn in and we’ll meet up here tomorrow and I’ll take you out to the ranch. How’s that sound?”

  “Sounds fine.”

  “Good, we’ll leave it like that then.”

  The two made their farewells, shook hands and James saw him to the door.

  “Sleep well. Until the morrow,” James said after him as he descended the club’s front steps.

  As Zack made his way back through the noisy Acre the contrast was strong for him coming as he was from such gentile and austere surroundings into the mayhem that marked the red light district.

  “How did it go?” It was Long, appearing quietly at his elbow.

  Zack turned in surprise. “Remarkably well,” he said. “You’ve been waiting all this time.”