Cotton's Law (9781101553848) (5 page)

“W
here you goin’, Melody?” Jack asked as he watched her gathering her belongings and stuffing them in several bags and a trunk.

“I’m taking a little trip back to Gonzales. Got some business I need to clear up. I plan to be back in a couple weeks. You can live without me for that long, can’t you, honey?” She smiled coyly and planted a kiss on his cheek.

“I’ll make do. What kind of business you got?”

“I’ll tell you all about it when I get back.”

“Sounds pretty secretive.”

“No, no secret. Just don’t want to put a hex on my deal, that’s all. Don’t fret. I promise I’ll be back soon. Don’t forget, I need you as much as you need me,” she said, fastening the last strap on her trunk and scooting it across the floor to the door. “How about hauling that over to the stage office for me?”

Jack bent over to lift the trunk. His eyes got wide as he straightened up instantly.

“What the hell you got in there, gold bars?”

“No, just some of my—­”

“Yeah, I know, your women’s
necessities
. I’ll have someone from the stage line bring a cart over.” Jack left the house rubbing his sore back and muttering something about “women” and “necessities.” He didn’t understand either one.

As he was passing by the bank on his way to the stage office, Jack saw Cotton emerge with a serious look on his face.

“Hey, Cotton, what’s got you lookin’ like you was snakebit?”

“I told Givins about Bart Havens and the rumor about a new bank starting up. He’s the one who looked snakebit. I couldn’t get a straight answer out of him about what he would do if the rumor turned out to be true. I got the impression he couldn’t cover the withdrawals if many folks made a switch to another bank.”

“That’s not something the folks around here would take well,” Jack said. “A failed bank could make for some pretty temperamental outbursts, and that usually means someone gets hurt.”

“You don’t have to remind me. Let’s get back to the jail.” Cotton looked up and down the street as they made their way back to the sheriff’s office.

Jack was chattering about something, but Cotton wasn’t hearing any of it. He was lost in the past and his last encounter with Bart Havens. That experience had left him with a bad feeling about what Havens might be capable of should their paths ever cross again.

It all started about five years back, in another town, but with similar circumstances. The town was named Benbow Creek, named appropriately after the town’s only Civil War hero, a colonel who died defending a hill nobody had ever heard of. The town had one bank. Bart Havens came in and started another bank, using tactics that were questionable, but never anything clearly illegal. After about a year, the town’s original bank closed its doors, costing its stockholders everything they’d invested and then some.
Cotton was the town marshal in Benbow Creek, and while he could do nothing to stop the migration of depositors from one bank to the other, he
could
put a stop to a sudden increase in violent crime in town, seemingly always against those who’d chosen to back the original bank by keeping their deposits there. Over a period of six months, Cotton caught a half dozen gun-­toting troublemakers in the act of setting fires, breaking into stores, or beating some storekeeper or businessman half to death in some dark alley. He was able to take two of them to trial, where they denied any ties to Bart Havens, even though everybody knew them to be habitual liars. The other four he was forced to shoot, two of whom died. He felt no regret, except that he was positive Bart Havens was behind every dastardly deed, and he set out to prove it. Before the dust settled, Havens had been run out of town, losing everything. And now Cotton could see the seeds of the same scenario all over again. He wasn’t eager to watch a man like Havens get away with ruining a decent businessman and, in doing so, putting a lot of families in financial jeopardy if they didn’t toe his line.

“. . . and so, I’m not sure what I’ll do with myself while she’s gone. Got any ideas, Cotton?”

“Huh?”

“I said, got any ideas what I can do with myself while she’s gone?” Jack squinted at Cotton like he’d lost his hearing.

“While who’s gone? What the hell are you talking about?”

“Melody, that’s who. She’s goin’ back to Gonzales to put together some sort of deal. Didn’t really get the gist of the thing. Damn, Cotton, don’t you never listen to anything I say?”

“Sorry, Jack, got some things on my mind right now. Like how to keep Apache Springs from blowin’ away like a tumbleweed in a whirlwind when Bart Havens hits town.”

“Maybe someone should go visit the bastard and give him some friendly advice before he arrives here.”

“Who do you suggest?”

“I got nothin’ to do until Melody returns. Think on it.”

“I got no problem with you havin’ a talk with that scalawag, but first we got to locate him. Henry Coyote should be back with information on where he’s hangin’ out in a day or two. As soon as we find him, I reckon that’s when
I’ll
have to figure on how to handle him. Since he’s likely painted a bull’s-­eye on my back, anyway.”

“You just let me know what you want me to do, talk him out of comin’ to Apache Springs or shoot him. I’m willin’ to do either. Suit your fancy.”

“The way I’m feelin’ right now, that could well be a toss-­up. You two ever meet up?”

“Nope.”

“So you don’t even know what he looks like, right?”

“Nope.”

Jack left to get help carrying Melody’s belongings to the stage office. A devilish grin came over Cotton’s face.

U
pon arriving by stage in Gonzales, the town she’d called home for the past several years, before having her lover rudely uprooted by Cotton Burke, Melody went straight to her hotel. She called all her girls together in the large, elegantly appointed lobby. She chased out any remaining customers and locked the front door, pulling down the shades on the windows at the same time. As the ladies settled onto the plush velvet couches and high-­backed chairs, Melody leaned one arm on the registration counter and cleared her throat. She occasionally sipped from a glass of brandy brought by one of the girls.

“Well, ladies, as you know I’ve been up in Apache Springs with Jack. He’s there because of that scoundrel Cotton Burke who kidnapped him right out of my bed. At first I was furious, but after watching things unfold in that collection of shanties and termite-­infested haciendas, I think I’ve found a gold mine right under the noses of those backward fools.”

“And I’m bettin’ you want us to help you
work
that
mine, huh, Melody?” Texas Rose said with a suspicious sideways glance. “All at a big profit to you, right?”

“You always were quick to catch on, Rose. Just don’t get too smart for your own welfare.”

“Not me, Melody. I’m just a poor workin’ girl, bound to do my mistress’s bidding. Uh-­huh.”

“I don’t need no yappy bitches workin’ for me, Rose. If you’d rather strike out on your own, just say so. Otherwise, keep your mouth closed.”

Rose looked around the room for indications that any of the others might have some of the same inclination to break away from a woman who always thought first of herself. Once, when one of the girls got sick, Melody had told her to either work or get out. The girl had worked because she needed the money, but she only lasted a week before she died. The fever had taken her. Melody didn’t even attend the funeral.

If Rose was seeking confirmation of a willingness on the part of others to brave the storm and break out on their own, it wasn’t evident in the blank expressions she saw. Most merely pulled their gowns closed, crossed their arms, or fiddled with their hair. All eyes were devoid of any interest in anything even resembling a revolution. So, after a few agonizing moments of introspection, Texas Rose—­the wind now taken out of her sails—­fell into line and acquiesced to Melody’s wishes.

“Okay, I s’pose I’ll stick it out. What’s your plan?”

“That a girl, Rose. Now, everybody listen up, here’s what I’m aimin’ to do.”

For the next hour, Melody outlined an elaborate plan to buy the only saloon in Apache Springs, expand it by adding more rooms out back, and make the small offices on the second floor into cribs for the girls. She would expand gambling by bringing in some of the new games of chance that were wildly popular in the bigger towns, like roulette and faro. And she planned to up the profit from the alcohol sales by watering down the bar stock with branch water while also offering high-­priced Kentucky bourbons, Tennessee
whiskeys, and French brandies. She related how she had also come across a source for some homegrown bathtub gin that several of the hill folk had expressed an interest in getting their hands on. When she finished, she glanced about as if she might entertain questions, but the stern look on her face suggested she’d better not hear any objections. She got only nods of agreement. She then broke into a satisfied smile.

“And I’m going to rename it ‘Melody’s Golden Palace of Pleasure.’ Don’t you just love it? It’ll have a pressed tin ceiling like back East, and flowered wallpaper with all the trappings of a first-­class bawdy house.”

The ladies seated about the room exchanged glances ranging from “Who cares as long as it brings in the customers” to “Can her self-­indulgences get any more grand?” Melody took the lack of formal comment to mean they approved.

“When does all this take place?” Rose asked.

“I’m going to have to find a buyer for this place, although I doubt that will be too difficult. I’ve been asked several times by various businessmen right here in Gonzales if I’d consider selling. Once I find the person with the right amount of money offered, we’re on our way. I’ve already started putting together a deal in Apache Springs to purchase the saloon. I’d guess, at the most, two weeks and we’re off to a whole new life. A very lucrative life, if I have anything to say about it.”

“Ain’t all this gonna be powerful expensive?” one of the girls asked.

“Shouldn’t be a problem getting a healthy loan. I’ll close on the deal once we get to Apache Springs, provided the seller is still interested.”

“Did you give any consideration to maybe keeping this place going while you make sure the new one pays for itself?”

At first, Melody shot Texas Rose an angry glance, then, seeing that some intelligent reasoning had gone into the question, she glanced off into the distance to consider that
idea. It was something she had not contemplated before. But it
did
made sense. If she could find someone she could trust not to steal her blind, since she’d not be in Gonzales to keep an eye on every transaction, there might be merit in Rose’s plan.

“Come up to my room, Rose, and we’ll talk further. Bring that bottle of brandy with you. This might take a while. The rest of you, open back up and go on with what you do best.”

The girls got up and began roaming around. One of them opened the front doors and pushed open the drapes to allow folks wandering by to view the wares. One buxom blonde went outside to stand in the doorway, long legs spread apart, while she smoked a cigar and blew short puffs of bluish smoke in the air. She let her robe fall open slightly and put one hand on her hip. Her stance couldn’t be mistaken for anything other than what it was: a not-­so-­subtle invitation to an evening of pleasure.

Meanwhile, Melody and Rose disappeared upstairs, a bottle of brandy and two glasses in hand.

Bart Havens sat glumly at a worn, cast-­off desk in Las Vegas, New Mexico Territory, the only place where his past few attempts at residency hadn’t resulted in him being ridden out of town on a rail. And the only reason he had been welcomed here was because he hadn’t dared try his signature bank takeover scheme, since the only bank was owned by the wealthiest cattleman in three counties, and he had enough money to fight back. The entire population consisted of about two hundred, all of whom owed their livelihoods to that same cattleman in one way or another. Much to the chagrin of drovers pushing herds through for other markets, the largest number of inhabitants was overseen by a scraggly old man who spoke very little English, the lack of which amounted to no distraction to his charges: two thousand sheep.