The Highbinders
Page 17
“The Southern Pacific deeds the land over to the settlers. No strings, no tricks—a clear, unencumbered deed.”
“I’m not sure Blackburn will bend that far.”
“I am,” Tallman said with conviction. “Otherwise he’ll lose all of southern California to the Santa Fe. By comparison, the farmers in Hanford are small potatoes.”
Pinkerton deliberated briefly, then shrugged. “Very well, your terms are acceptable. How soon can you produce the documents?”
“The minute I see a transfer agreement—signed and duly executed—awarding deed to the settlers.”
“Aren’t you being a tad too cynical?”
“Not where Otis Blackburn’s concerned.”
“It’s an imperfect world,” Pinkerton noted. “Only a fine line separates saints from sinners.”
“So where does that leave us?”
“Certainly not on the side of the sinners!”
“I’ll take your word for it, chief.”
Tallman stuck the cigar in his mouth and stood. He waved with a chipper grin and walked out the door, trailing a laugh and a cloud of smoke. Pinkerton stared at the door, wondering not for the first time why the unruly ones always made the best detectives. He shook his head and went back to work.
The house was on the outskirts of Chicago. A stone dwelling secluded in a grove of trees, it was Tallman’s private hideaway. His associates, Allan Pinkerton included, were unaware of its existence. He shared the secret with only one other person.
Tallman entered the foyer and walked toward the parlor door. Without warning, Vivian slithered around the corner and greeted him with a seductive smile. She was scantily clad in a garter belt and black net stockings and high-topped red leather boots. Her breasts were bare and her auburn hair hung long and unbound. She laughed and held out a bottle of champagne.
“Merry Christmas!”
Tallman grinned. “Saint Nick isn’t due for six months or so.”
“Happy birthday?” she giggled. “Trick or treat? Any excuse will do for me.”
“What’s the occasion?”
“We’re celebrating!” She raised the bottle overhead. “Here’s to our first case together . . . and whatever the future may bring!”
Tallman inspected her costume. “Where’s your whip?”
“Who needs a whip?” She vamped him with a look. “You’ve got something better to flog me with, lover!”
“Well, then,” Tallman nodded archly, “prepare to be flogged.”
“You devil!” She struck a pose. “Like my surprise?”
“A good deal more than I expected,” he said, eyeing her hungrily.
“Ooooh!” she purred. “You look good enough to eat.”
“Come to think of it, I’m getting hungry myself.”
Tallman laughed and spread his arms wide. Her breasts jiggled and her auburn muff wig-wagged beneath the garter belt as she hurried across the foyer. He swept her up in a tight embrace and kissed her long and tenderly. Then he led her toward the bedroom.
The champagne was gone in an hour. The meal lasted all night.