Bury the Hatchet by William W. Johnstone

Author:William W. Johnstone
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2020-06-12T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 19

The next morning, Lucien Clay made sure he was awake in time to meet the 6:23 train down at the station.

Knowing how impressionable these Pinkerton types were to appearances, he pulled his best suit out of the cabinet and had one of his girls give it a good brushing. It was a black affair, which was intentional given the purpose of his impending meeting. He found that serious colors in the territories always threw the city folk off their feed. They were accustomed to reading about how frontier people lived in rags or tan clothes. Clay hoped a dash of dignity would give him something of an advantage on whoever was leading the small army of Pinkerton men.

He needed any advantage he could get, coming in so late in the game.

He found two white gloves in the bottom of his dresser and decided they would add just enough of a dramatic touch to his ensemble. He remembered reading in one of the newspapers from back east that gloves had become fashionable again in Paris, London, and New York.

He had already finished off two mugs of coffee by the time he heard the train whistle sound as it approached the town. He pulled on his hat and coat before he took a stroll down to the station to greet the new arrivals to Laramie, Wyoming.

He nodded in greeting to all who stepped off the train, but was only truly interested in meeting one passenger in particular that rainy morning. Well, one passenger and his companions.

He found the man the telegram had told him to look for. Six feet, dark hair only beginning to be speckled by the gray of advancing years. His suit simple, save for a shiny gold watch chain that spanned his middle and the unmistakable gray duster that showed him to be a Pinkerton.

Clay could play the gentleman when the occasion called for it. He removed his hat as the man stepped down from the train. “You must be Mr. Alcott, I presume?”

Alcott eyed him for a moment before answering, “You presume correctly, sir.” The Pinkerton man took him in from head to toe. “I take it you are not the man I was supposed to meet, as I was informed he was a sort different from you.”

Clay appreciated the man’s vague caution. A cautious man could always be trusted to be corruptible. “I am afraid you are correct, Mr. Alcott. Although I may not be the man you expected to meet, I am a man you will be happy to know. My name is Lucien Clay and I am the proprietor of many fine drinking parlors here in town.” He removed his gloved hand before extending it. “Welcome to Laramie.”

Alcott regarded the hand for a moment before shaking it. “The pleasure is mine, Mr. Clay, though I’m afraid your reputation precedes you, sir. You’re more than just the owner of a few saloons. I have heard you are also a major provider of vice in this part of the territory.

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