"Duke brought a crew of workmen up here to build Tunneltown. Ben
Vickers coaxed most of them away by offering them a bonus to work for
him. That left us awfully short-handed, and Duke pitched in himself. He
wasn't used to that kind of work, and he got killed.... Oh, I know that
Vickers was only playing a rough game the way it's played. I don't want
to be bitter. I'd give a good deal to have a cleaner town."
"You could clean it up."
"Me?" She seemed genuinely surprised.
"You and the town council. And the marshal. Maybe he'd need a deputy or
two."
"I don't know. The trouble is that we're making money."
"That's always the trouble. At least, it's always the argument. But
there's a good deal of honest business in town. There's a livery barn
and smithy, a general store, hotel, barber shop, restaurant...."
"Most of those aren't doing very well, Mr. Tesno."
"Has it occurred to you that the saloons and gambling tables are
hurting them?"
"No," she said thoughtfully. "I suppose there's money spent in the
saloons that could be spent elsewhere. But, Mr. Tesno, three of the
members of the council are saloonkeepers. The other is the hotel man."
"Is Pinky Bronklin on the council?"
"Mr. Bronklin? Yes."
"Mrs. Parker, would you call a meeting of the council and tell them
what I want?"
"There's a meeting of the council tomorrow night."
"Fine. On second thought, I'll tell them myself."
"That's probably best. But what do you want, Mr. Tesno?"
"Midnight and Sunday closing. No booze sold to drunks. No gambling.
That will do for a start."
Persia sighed heavily, then quickly smiled as if amused at herself.
"I've heard those words so often from Ben Vickers. The council has
heard them, too. What makes you think you'll get them to listen?"
"They'll listen," he said.
"Maybe they will," she said soberly. "I guess if they'll listen to
anyone, it will be you. I wish you luck."
He grinned his lopsided grin and started to rise, but she was on her
feet ahead of him. She brushed past him, laying a hand on his shoulder
to keep him in his chair.
"I'll get you some brandy," she said. Before he could protest, she was
gone, and he chided himself for the surge of warmth that her casual
touch aroused in him.
She was back at once with a brandy bottle and a glass, saying that she
had neglected her duties as a hostess. She poured him a drink and sat
down again, not having one herself.
"I'm taking up your evening," he said.
"Mr. Tesno, you have a cigar in your pocket. I wish you'd smoke it."
He smoked it, remembering not to chew the end. They talked and laughed
softly and got acquainted. She told him about herself; how she had
grown up in her aunt's Tacoma boarding house, how she had met Duke
Parker there and run away with him. She would have married anyone,
she said (curiously, he thought), who would take her away from the
dawn-to-after-dark routine of cooking, cleaning, and table-waiting.
She spoke, too, of the house Duke had built on the bluff above
Commencement Bay, of sailing parties and picnics and clam-digging at
Gig Harbor.
He might have wearied of such talk from another woman, but he cherished
every word Persia Parker spoke, weighing it for the subtle, personal
message that seemed to be hidden in it. It was as if some strange,
almost mystic accident were giving him a glimpse of a world he had
never known could exist--not the world she spoke about, but the lovely
mysterious world of herself.
At last he rose to leave, reluctantly, the cigar long since discarded.
She went to the door with him. When he had walked a few steps into the
night, he turned, and she was a waving silhouette in the bright frame
of the doorway. Jauntily, he threw her a kiss, wondering if she could
see him plainly enough to make out the gesture. She waved again. The
door closed. Picking his way in the thick darkness, he moved along an
unfamiliar path toward the scattered lights of the main street.
* * * * *
Persia stood frowning at the white surface of the closed door.
Footsteps in the parlor told her that Sam Lester had come in from the
other part of the building. After a moment, she went to meet him.
"I didn't expect he'd be quite so ... nice," Persia said.
"What did he say?" Sam seemed an emotionless little robot as his thick
lenses caught the light from a lamp.
"He's going to be at the council meeting tomorrow night."
"I don't think so," Sam said.
"Why not? It's best to have him dealing with the council."
"He has to go. It's been decided."
"Why? Is he so fierce? Mr. Madrid took his gun."
"Mr. Jay wasn't impressed," Sam said. "He said Vickers has hired
himself a he-coon." Sam sat down beside the brandy bottle and poured
himself a stiff drink.
"Sam," Persia said, "I wish I owned this town as everyone thinks I do.
I'd cash in and get out. Ben Vickers would pay a pretty price for it."
"Get out anyhow, Persia."
"No!" she said emphatically. "Not till I can take a lot of money with
me."
"I'd take care of you. You know that."
"Please, Sam. Don't start that."
She sat down at the far end of the sofa to avoid looking into the
thick lenses. She didn't want to hurt his feelings. He was forty--an
old forty--and she was twenty-three. He was a dull, ugly little man;
a twenty-dollar-a-week bookkeeper when Duke had picked him up. But he
was smart about accounts and legal documents. And he was loyal. He
protected her from any shenanigans Mr. Jay might have in mind.
Mr. Jay and Duke had been partners of a sort, although this had been a
tightly kept secret. The townsite papers were in Duke's name; but it
had been Mr. Jay's money that had built the town and he had put himself
firmly in control by tying Duke up with notes and contracts and such.
Duke had found himself a mere front--just as she was now, passing Mr.
Jay's decisions on to the council as if they were her own. She, Sam,
and Mr. Madrid, and possibly Mr. Pinky Bronklin, were the only ones who
knew this.
Mr. Jay's determination was sometimes frightening. He meant to take
over Ben Vickers' contract, and he wanted as wild and dirty a town as
possible in order to slow down the work. Some of Vickers' key men had
been drugged or beaten. Without coming right out and saying so, Sam had
made it clear that Mr. Jay had arranged these incidents. Oh, it was all
a pretty rotten business, but there was a chance to make money here, a
chance a woman didn't often get. She thought of that boarding house in
Tacoma and shuddered. She would die before she went back there.
All the income from rents, leases, and the sale of real estate was
going to pay off Duke's debt to Mr. Jay. The only thing in the clear
was a three-quarter interest in the Pink Lady, which was in Persia's
name and not part of Duke's estate. Since the town paid her living
expenses out of tax money, she was able to put aside this income from
the saloon each month. It was a tidy little sum but not enough to make
a person rich--not in the year or so of existence the town had left.
Her great hope was that Mr. Jay would take over the tunnel contract
soon. He could then come out in the open and he would buy the township
proprietorship from Duke's estate, writing off the debts and putting up
a tidy bit of cash besides. He would also buy the Pink Lady. And thanks
to Sam Lester, Persia had this agreement in writing.
Sam set down his glass and refilled it. "You're honest enough with me,
Persia. I'm grateful for that."
Before he could go on, she switched the subject back to Tesno. "Sam,
how are they going to get rid of him?"
"There's nothing we can do about it."
"Sam, I want to know."
"They're going to put him in the hospital."
"I won't have that!" Persia sat up straight. "I ... I'll see Mr. Jay
first thing in the morning!"