The good old days.
“Mr. Smith, that Mr. Adkins is here again.” Miss Blake stuck her head in the door, annoying Louis once more. What the hell was it with weak women? Was he to spend the rest of his life having to put up with them? His secretary wouldn’t even come into the room. He’d bet her chunky legs were shaking, too. He might have to fire the bitch and hire a man.
“Get in here and close the door.”
She eased the door closed and took tentative steps toward him. “He is demanding to see you.”
“Demanding? In my office? Who the hell does he think he is?” he snarled.
Miss Blake raised her hand to her throat and swallowed several times. “Can I send him in?”
“Where’s Mr. Sanders?”
“He called on the telephone earlier and said he was visiting with a client this morning.”
Louis snorted. The only client his weak-livered partner visited was Jack Daniels. Sanders was another one he had to get rid of. Why he should be surrounded by sniveling morons was beyond him. “Have Adkins wait twenty minutes. If he hasn’t left by then, show him in.”
She scurried out of the office like a mouse with a cat on its tail. He glanced briefly at the window, wishing not for the first time that his office was on the ground floor. Not that climbing out a window to avoid a client was very dignified. But he knew why Adkins was here. This was not his first visit. He wanted all his money returned. What he’d given them, plus the large amount of interest Louis had promised the man.
He had to get that oil man to invest with them. For the first time he began to worry. Was Sanders correct, and it was all coming to an end? The house, the Club, the lofty lifestyle? He was too old to start over. Not that thirty-seven was very old. But he’d made a comfortable life for himself here and didn’t want to give it all up.
Damn that whimpering wife of his, too. When he married her, he thought with all the money she’d been left by her parents that they were set for life. But beautiful gowns to show her off, memberships at the best clubs, his mansion, and elaborate entertainments to impress clients had cost a fortune. And now her inheritance was gone.
Maybe she had another relative somewhere out there who was ready to meet his maker and leave her more money.
His thoughts were interrupted by shouting and banging, and finally his door flew open.
“What the hell?”
Mr. Adkins came barreling into the office, his face flushed, eyes narrowed. “Where the hell is my money, Smith?”
Louis took a deep breath. He needed to calm the man down, speak in a quiet voice. Get him to leave. He gave him a welcoming smile. “Your money is right where it should be, Richard. Invested. Earning more money for you.”
“Oh, yeah? Well I’ve been hearing about this money I’ve been earning for over five years now. You keep telling me it’s being reinvested. Well, I’m telling you, I want it. Now. Everything I gave you, plus interest.”
“I can’t just pull all your money out right now. You have to be careful how the Market is manipulated.” He hated the way the sweat trickled down his back. He should not let this idiot threaten him.
“The only manipulation I see going on is right here in front of me. I want my money. Now.” He gestured with his chin toward the file cabinet. “Pull your checkbook out and write me a check while I wait. Anyone with all the money you claim to be making for your clients can write a check for my account.”
“You’re not being reasonable, Mr. Adkins. I need a couple of days to transfer funds.”
Adkins studied him, no doubt wondering how truthful he was being. “All right. Two days. I’ll be back on Thursday.” He headed toward the door, then turned. “And you’d better have that check ready. If you’re not here, I’ll be visiting you at your fancy home.”
Louis took a deep breath when the door in the outer office slammed. He pulled his ledger out from his middle drawer and checked his bank balance. There was certainly enough to cover Adkins’ account but that would leave them with virtually nothing. He needed to get more clients.
And where the hell was Sanders that he was never here when irate clients showed up? He shoved the checkbook back into the desk drawer and rose.
“I’m out for the afternoon,” he snapped at Miss Blake as he fled the office.
Fled, indeed. He was a respectable businessman. No client should be able to threaten him. He ought to report the man’s bullying to the police.
After a hearty lunch washed down by several beers and a few shots of whiskey, he drove several miles outside of town to Miss Betsy’s Club For Discriminating Gentlemen. Miss Betsy provided the cleanest and most accommodating girls in all of Texas. One in particular even allowed the rough handling he preferred.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Smith. May I get you a drink?” The madam slithered up to him in a gown much too small for her corpulent frame. Her breasts were in danger of falling completely out, and the slit up the side of her dress showed more leg than a woman of her age and size should have been flaunting.
“Yeah, I’ll take a whiskey. Is Constanza available?”
“Ah, your favorite. She is busy right now, but if you will take a seat and enjoy your drink, she will be available in a little while. In the meantime I can have one of the other girls keep you company.” She winked to indicate just what type of company the girl would provide.
Louis sank into a comfortable, well stuffed chair. Within minutes a young whore sauntered over with two drinks in her hand. Her drink was no more than colored water, but he would be charged for a whiskey for each of them. It was the way things were.
“What’s your name, beautiful?”
“Wendy.” She grinned, giving the impression of a fresh, just-off-the-farm girl. She had a scattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks, a slight space between her front teeth, and a young body. All of that in stark contrast to the dress she wore that barely covered her feminine parts.
He patted his thighs. “Come and sit here.”
She giggled and settled on his lap. She reminded him of his wife, sweet and stupid. He fondled her a bit but since he had one at home just like her, there was no thrill in doing much more. He was anxious for Constanza to be free. She understood his appetites and allowed him more freedom that any other whore he’d ever had. And certainly more than his frigid wife.
A dark mood passed over him at the thought of Emily. He should be home demanding she service him the way he liked instead of paying someone else to do it. He grinned at how shocked she always was when he did things to his liking. After the first few times on their honeymoon when he laid down the law and let her know with a few slaps how things would be, she was much more obedient.
But the revulsion in her eyes every time he touched her made him want to hurt her more. Who the hell did she think she was, anyway? Too good for him? He might have started out as a two-bit bank robber, but dammit, he’d made something of himself.
“Hey, get me another drink.” He yanked lightly on the whore’s hair. “My glass has been empty for a while.”
Wendy’s smile dimmed and she pouted. “Ouch. That hurt.”
“So what? Get me a drink.” He shoved her, and only a quick movement on her part kept her from landing on the floor. She flounced off.
“Hey Betsy, when’s Constanza gonna be done?” He shouted across the room, gaining the attention of several whores, and the men they were entertaining. The drinks were hitting him and he wanted to get down to business before he could no longer perform.
Miss Betsy glided across the floor, nodding pleasantly at the customers. “Mr. Smith, you must be a little patient. She will be finished soon, and I’m sure she will make you very happy.”
He snorted. “She’d better. You sure charge enough.”
“May I escort you to one of our rooms? As soon as Constanza i
s finished I will send her to you.”
“No. I’ll wait right here. I think you’re hoping I’ll fall asleep.” He pounded his fist on the small table next to him. “And where the hell is the little bitch with my drink?”
Miss Betsy’s pleasant expression changed as quickly as a whore on a time clock as she leaned over him. “Mr. Smith, I must ask you to lower your voice.”
“Get Constanza now. I’ll pay extra.”
“Once more I must tell you she is busy at the moment and will be with you when she finishes with her customer.”
Louis grabbed Miss Betsy by the arm, throwing her off balance. She landed in a heap on his lap. “Maybe you’ll do instead. Do you like it rough?”
She wrenched her arm from him and waved at someone across the room, then scrambled to her feet. Within seconds two men were on either side of him, hoisting him up under his arms. “Let’s go, sir. Time to leave.”
He twisted, glaring at both men. “Let go of me. Do you know who I am?”
“Right now sir, you are a customer who is being escorted out of the building.”
Miss Betsy moved to stand in front of Louis. “Mr. Smith, you are a good customer. I will ignore what happened today, but you must go quietly now.”
“Like hell!” He swung out and backhanded her, splitting her lip.
She screamed, and one of the men grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back. “You’re lucky I don’t break your arm, you bastard.” He and the other man dragged him to the door and shoved him out. He landed on his hands and knees.
“Don’t come back here. Ever. If you do, you won’t walk away on two legs.” The heavier of the two men kicked him in the head, knocking him completely to the ground. They returned to the club and slammed the door, leaving him in the dirt.
Louis lay there a few minutes, panting. Luckily no one entered or left to see him in this humiliating state. He climbed to his feet and patted his cheek with a handkerchief. Miss High and Mighty Betsy would pay for this. No one threw Louis Smith out of a club.
He staggered to his automobile and climbed in, the side of his face throbbing. He groaned as he leaned back and closed his eyes. Within minutes he was fast asleep.
Chapter 15
Guthrie, Oklahoma Territory
“Were you able to get the information Hunter wanted?” Tori slipped her spectacles on and rolled over in bed, propping her head on her hand as she watched Jesse attach his cuff links. Today was a court day for him, and even after all these years she still got a twinge in her lady parts when he dressed in a suit.
The dusting of gray hair at his temples added to his appeal. Sometimes it irked her that men seemed to age better than women. Although not exactly fat, she’d never shed the extra pounds from her fourth child. Jesse assured her over and over that he loved her that way, and he’d never given her any reason to disbelieve him. But when they were out together, he still had women turning their heads to look at him.
Since his office was at home, she was used to seeing him minus a jacket, with his collar off and sleeves rolled up as he went about the business of practicing law. But no matter what he wore—or didn’t wear—he still had the ability to make her heart beat faster.
“Yes. Divorce is possible for abuse, adultery, or abandonment. Since Hunter seemed to be concerned with Emily’s safety, I’m assuming abuse is what he’s looking for.” He adjusted his tie in the mirror and fastened his stick pin. “I just wished his letter hadn’t been so cryptic. It would have made my research a tad easier.”
Tori threw the covers off and stepped up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist. “I’m glad he’s asked for your help. He’s always been so darn independent. Never needing anyone. Despite how overwhelmed I’d been when Henry died and I took over the raising of four adolescents, I wish Hunter had been more open with me. I know he’s a troubled man, but he never gave me any indication what the problem was.”
He turned and kissed her on the nose. “Well, he’s asked for help now so that’s a step in the right direction. Not all men feel comfortable sharing their concerns.”
“You do.”
“Ah, but I am a most unusual and superior man.”
Tori rolled her eyes and followed him out of the bedroom after snatching up her dressing robe and shrugging into it.
Paul was the only one at the table when Tori and Jesse arrived in the dining room. “Dad, you might want to burn the morning newspaper.”
Jesse grabbed the paper from his son’s hand. “What now?” He looked at where Paul pointed and his jaw tightened as he read.
With impending statehood right around the corner, now is the time to think about who we want to represent the fine people of Oklahoma, and who we want to call Governor. Do we really plan to present to the United States of America a governor whose biggest supporter and confidant has a nephew who was released from his Texas Ranger duties under mysterious circumstances and is right now out of state chasing after a married woman? Should not the behavior of the candidate’s close friends and advisors reflect on the man? We the people must consider these facts when the time comes to cast our ballot.
“Goddamn!”
“Jessseeee,” Tori said as she poured coffee into her cup. She motioned toward Paul. “Language.”
“As if he’s never heard the word before,” he huffed.
“Not from his father’s lips.”
He turned to Paul. “Sorry, son. Your mother’s right. A gentleman doesn’t swear.”
Tori ignored the humorous look that passed between father and son. Even if they did use that language when she wasn’t around, she could pretend they didn’t.
“What I’d like to know is how the person who is feeding the newspaper this information knows almost more than we do. I’m assuming Hunter’s Emily is looking at divorce, but that’s just an educated guess for me.” He took a sip of his coffee. “And what does this mysterious circumstances mean? He was injured! Nothing mysterious about that.”
“Don’t they have to check their facts before they print them?” Paul asked.
“Unfortunately, no, they don’t have to. But an ethical journalist would. And since they haven’t flat out identified me as the ‘supporter,’ I can’t even make a case for libel.”
“How is Mr. Stubb’s campaign going?” Even at seventeen, Paul had always been way beyond his years. Being the oldest of four must have had something to do with that.
“Frankly, I need to spend more time campaigning for him. As soon as I finish the case I’m working on now, I’ve arranged to have my calendar cleared until the election.”
The sound of the doorbell interrupted them. “I’ll get it,” Paul said as he pushed his chair back.
“I’m assuming our life is about to get more chaotic with you running Franklin’s campaign?”
Jesse patted her hand. “I’m afraid so, darlin’. But I’m counting on all of you to help out. Especially my womenfolk, since Franklin is a widower with no children. I know you can all charm the voters.”
Tori laughed. “Just don’t put Ellie out as his representative. Some of her ideas are a bit provocative.”
“No worries there. The women will get the vote in Oklahoma as soon as statehood passes.”
“Ah, but that’s not all Ellie and her suffragette friends are fighting for these days.”
“Good grief, what do they want now? And I thought marriage and pending motherhood would calm that girl down, and she should—”
“Dad, there’s a telegram.” Paul held out the envelope to Jesse.
“Thanks.” Jesse took the missive and opened it. He frowned as he skimmed the words. Then his jaw dropped and it appeared all the blood had left his face as he looked at Tori. “Oh my God.”
Hunter felt a bit uncomfortable as he entered Millie’s dress shop. At leas
t there were no customers present, but he hoped Millie would be willing to help him out. After the fiasco of trying to bundle Emily away the other night, he’d been frantic trying to come up with a plan.
Emily’s driver no longer sat outside in the automobile while she visited shops. He accompanied her inside and stayed with her the entire time. He’d even seen him go into friends’ houses that Emily visited. How he explained his presence was a mystery, but that was not Hunter’s worry. He had to get Emily, even if he had to snatch her off the street with a gun pointed at the driver.
A petite woman with short dark curls framing her face came out from behind a curtain at the sound of the bell hanging over the front door. “May I help you?”
“Good afternoon, ma’am. I assume you are Millie?”
She offered a soft smile. “Yes, I am. And you are?”
“Hunter Henderson.”
“Ah. Mrs. Smith’s friend.” The twinkle in her eyes encouraged him. “Why don’t you come into the back area of my store? I was about to have a cup of tea since my next appointment isn’t for another half hour.”
“Thank you.” He followed her, feeling large and awkward in such a small, feminine place. The area behind the curtain was crammed with shelves of material. Bright colors, along with prints, stripes, and flowered fabrics almost hurt his eyes.
A Singer Sewing machine held a prominent place in the tiny area. Tins of ribbons and buttons sat open on shelves and tables. She waved him to a chair, which he took, wondering if the delicate piece would collapse under his weight.
Anyplace But Here (Oklahoma Lovers Series Book 5) Page 14