by John Horst
But he didn’t die and soon an officious little clerk came out and beckoned him in and he walked from one green cloud to the next. The general was a big man, on the fat side with a bald head and a bottlebrush mustache. He wore big round bookish glasses which made him look owl-like, magnifying dark mud-colored eyes. He smoked cheap cigars incessantly, had halitosis, had foot odor and poorly fitting boots which gave him the habit of walking about barefoot, his mycotic toenails like the great eyes of some otherworldly beast, yellow and scabby and revolting. This is what Miles Tolkenhorn, half drunk, fully nauseated, and completely terrified met when he entered the room.
They put him at the center, and now the general was across the desk, sitting a full foot higher, his back to a great glass window so that Tolkenhorn could not even see the general’s face, just like his audience with Marta earlier in the year. He could not see his face and therefore could not be warned when the general opened his rotting mouth to breathe out great gusts of rotten meat breath.
The ambassador flanked him. Him he could see and that did not help. The ambassador was an ugly, thin, pale man with hate-filled eyes. He was the worst kind of robber baron as he was a bureaucrat and had not even the brains or guts to break into business and steal his own fortune. He was simply a parasite living off the public and using and abusing his power to enrich himself. He was enriching himself now by pulling strings and making the little puppets like the general do the things that would make American business, and himself, prosper.
They waited, each had so much to say, so much ridicule to heap on Miles Tolkenhorn and they both leaned forward, jockeying for the first swipe. Tolkenhorn now reeled. He could not gain control of his senses and hiccupped, vomited again, down his shirtfront, then again into his handkerchief. He pretended it hadn’t occurred, used the hanky to wipe his nose and chin, but the general was too savvy. He looked down at the vomit puddle at Tolkenhorn’s lap. Pointed at the seat accusingly. “Clean that up!”
“Forget it” The ambassador waved him off as Tolkenhorn looked about confused, helpless, for some means to make the mess go away. He sat back at attention as the ambassador continued, the seat and crotch of his suit trousers soaking up the bilious fluid.
“What I’d, what we’d like to know, Mr. Tolkenhorn, is why the deal hasn’t gone through.”
“I, I. We’re working on it, I swear. The girl is being stubborn.”
“Oh, more than stubborn.” The general blew his answer and his fetid breath across the desk at the lawyer. “We’ve been told she’s hosted Zapata and his army on her ranch, that she’s gone on raids, and that she’s using the money you’re paying her to fund the revolution.”
The ambassador spoke up, “Mr. Tolkenhorn, it is exactly the opposite of our plan. It could not be any more opposite to our plan.” He looked on at Tolkenhorn. “It’s the antithesis of our plan.”
“I know, I know.” He absentmindedly wiped his forehead with the soiled handkerchief, spreading vomit across his sweaty brow.
“Slap the little bitch around and make her sign, goddamn it.” The general blew the answer at Miles Tolkenhorn on a green cloud that washed over him like a tidal wave.
“She’s not the kind you slap around, general, with all due respect, she’s quite independent, she’s also well connected. Her family knows many people, it wouldn’t do…”
“Her family! Her family! That little squaw’s family was shitting on the ground until ten years ago. She’s nothing. She’s a zero, you stupid fool. She’s got you thinking through your dick.”
“Not so, sir. I swear, not so. It is very delicate. She was adopted by Americans and they’ve got a lot of influence in Washington. I know sir, I’ve investigated. I have a plan, please sir, I have a good plan and just need the time…and, if you please, another payment.”
The ambassador leaned forward. “How much?”
“Twen…forty thousand.”
“This is getting expensive.”
“I’m sorry, we’ve got so many expenses. If Mr. Hearst would go on and buy the company, things would be much easier for me.” He looked down at his hands. He was sweating the vomit away. The general became even angrier.
“God damn you, I said not to say his name. Just don’t say it, Jesus you’re supposed to be a lawyer. I think your nothing but a bounder and a fool.”
The ambassador stood up, motioned for Tolkenhorn to leave. “I’ll take care of it.” He followed Tolkenhorn out to the antechamber and lit a cigarette. He stood away from Tolkenhorn who was by now quite the sight and smell. He did not smell any better now than the general.
“I’d be damned careful, Miles.” The ambassador looked at his watch. “The general has little patience, and you’re already into him for sixty. Another forty, whew, that’s pushing it. You’d better produce or you’ll end up in a shallow grave, if you’re lucky.”
Tolkenhorn swallowed hard, “What if I’m not lucky?”
“My friend,” he held up a cautionary hand, “you don’t even want to know about it.”
For the next several days he pushed Curtin, pushed and prodded and got nothing but empty promises. He even offered Curtin money and the young engineer took it and now the money he got from the general was running out again. He dared not go after more. Something had to give but he just couldn’t come up with a plan. Nothing was working. It seemed that the more dangerous the place, the more the young women liked it. Just as the general had said, his plan was having the opposite effect. It was time for something more drastic, and just at the height of his anxiety, a breakthrough occurred.
X Concerning Robert Curtin
Tolkenhorn had not visited the women at the ranch while sober. Other than for the Renaissance faire Curtin kept him away and he was just beginning to realize the place’s potential. It was so austere, the young woman wouldn’t waste a penny on anything that didn’t benefit the stupid peons on the place. He could do so much with it, with the wealth being pulled from the ground. The ranch was on a high spot on a plateau. He thought about it. He’d built a Mount Olympus. He’d build a beautiful palace and it would be seen off in a distance, for miles away it would be seen, a showcase. And he’d be the man of the hour. He’d own it, he’d have a bevy of little darkies all around him to serve him, serve him food, drink, serve him carnally. He could see it so clearly and it was within his grasp. He was certain it was within his grasp.
He was ready for them now, sat in the parlor and felt ready to share all he’d learned, discovered about Robert Curtin. He wished he could have done this all along, but better late than never. Curtin could have saved him a lot of time and trouble though had he only cooperated sooner.
As he waited for them he practiced looking serious, solemn. The younger one would need that now, once he’d given her the information, the news of her lover. Secretly, he was going to enjoy it. He hated them. He hated them because they were wealthy and had the upper hand and were not white and were so damned smug and superior. They, she wouldn’t be superior once he’d finished giving her this news. He could barely wait to see the look in her eyes, watch the color go from her face. Perhaps she’d even faint, oh that would be good, she’d faint and he’d catch her, be the fatherly figure and help her in her hour of need.
Marta and Rebecca entered the room, shook his hand and sat on either side of the tea table laid in his honor. Marta held nothing against the man. He tried for her ranch and lost, there was no need to throw salt in the wounds. She leaned forward and gave him a friendly smile. Rebecca followed in kind.
“Ladies, I do apologize for not coming to see you sooner. I’m certain everything is in order with the operations, and the payments?”
“Adequate, Mr. Tolkenhorn.” Marta watched him fumble with the documents on his lap, he would not look her in the eye and it made her wonder at what he was playing.
“I, I don’t quite know how to say all this, ladies, but well, frankly, we’ve had a bit of an embarrassment as it concerns the mining operation.”
“Oh?”
“Mr. Curtin.”
“What’s wrong with Robert, eh, Mr. Curtin?” Rebecca sat up straighter in her chair.
Tolkenhorn began to explain when Esmeralda entered the room to replace a bouquet of flowers. He looked on at the two women then held his tongue.
“It’s all right, Mr. Tolkenhorn, she’s stone deaf.” Marta smiled at her housekeeper and nodded for her to continue.
Tolkenhorn smiled politely at the servant and continued. “Well, ma’am, no harm, but it appears Mr. Curtin is quite the scoundrel.”
“How do you mean?” Rebecca demanded.
“Well, ma’am, ladies, oh, this is very embarrassing, we’ve been taken in. The dirty kike has taken us all in, oh, I’m sorry for using such an epithet, not generally in my nature.”
“He, he told me he was a Catholic.” Rebecca thought this was all perhaps some sick joke.
Tolkenhorn could read her mind, put up a hand. “I know, I know, we all thought it as well, thought a lot of things about Robert Curtin, or whatever his name is. He’s apparently not even an engineer.” He removed the packet from his lap and placed it on the settee beside him. “I’ve brought everything he’s left behind. Seems our men were onto him and he vamoosed in the middle of the night, even emptied our safe, but he left a lot of his personal effects.”
“And why are you telling us this, Mr. Tolkenhorn? What’s it to us?”
“Forgive me, ladies, but, I’m an old fool, but I’m not dead…or blind. I could see the attention he was giving you, Miss Walsh, and the terrible things he said, I feel just terrible the way he’s done you wrong.” He looked at her and then away, embarrassed for her. “Well, it’s a pity. I liked the man, at least the man he portrayed. Appears he’s got a family, well, here, you look.” He handed a portfolio of photographs over. It included one of Curtin standing with a woman and a man, wearing a yarmulke. It was Robert Curtin all right. Then more photos, a heavy woman with dark hair accompanied by two children. There were notes, letters, documents all corroborating Tolkenhorn’s story.
“Not to appear indelicate, Miss Walsh, but he was a bit of a braggart as well. Last night, in his cups he really showed off, regaled us with stories of how he’d strung you along, telling you that you’d be married, and eh, other things.” He blushed and averted his eyes. “Bragged about, eh, being, being intimate. He joked that he even made reference to Christmas morning, as if a Jew would know of such things.” He hesitated when he saw the look of mortification on her face. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I shouldn’t have brought that up. I know that was very personal.” He looked down into his lap, in deep thought. “Even gave you a ring, I believe.”
Rebecca sat, dumbfounded, but here it was, right in front of her. Robert Curtin was not a Catholic looking for a mate. He was a married man, an opportunist and she felt that she might fall over. How could it be? She’d heard of confidence men, heard of how they would prey on wealthy women such as herself. Madame Boutin even gave a lecture on it. She could not believe how good, how convincing he was.
“And Dan George, do you suppose he was involved in Dan George’s disappearance?”
“I’m sure of it. He tried to do away with you, Miss Del Toro, we know that for a fact. And, the men up in Alaska. We know now that he wasn’t so innocent in losing his work party, that’s what put our men onto him.”
“How so?”
“Oh, he found a good strike up there, but as they say, dead men tell no tales. He got rid of the men in his work party when…”
No, not that.” Marta was annoyed at his silly prattling on about Alaska. “Trying to do away with me, what do you mean?” Tolkenhorn was the most annoying man she’d ever known.
“The man on the boat, the one Miss Walsh so bravely dispatched, he was not just a stowaway, ma’am. He was hired by Curtin. Curtin was planning to lure you out and the man was to attack you, Curtin was to pretend to fight him, and you’d be killed in the process. They even had a boat waiting and the man was to jump overboard, and Curtin would look the great hero, fighting the brute, throwing him overboard, never to be found again, but it all fell apart. Curtin tried to manipulate it so that he would leave you at dinner that night Miss Walsh and escort you, Miss del Toro out where you’d be isolated, so that there were no witnesses and the attack would occur, but it got muddled. He was especially annoyed at the way all that turned out.”
“But, but he fought so well.”
“Yes, he said that, too. Said he had to make it look good, had to be a bit battered himself. It was all planned.”
Marta was annoyed with him again. No matter how hard she tried, she could not help being annoyed by this man. “So, he bragged about murder and conspiracy and doing all these things and you just sat there, you old fool, just sat there like a bump on a log and let him get away?”
“Madam!” He was hurt. “Look at me. I’m an old man. Robert Curtin might have looked mild, but I can tell you he wasn’t. He…” the old man choked up a little, then recovered, “he scared me so.”
With trembling hands he picked out his cigarette case and passed out one each to the ladies. Tolkenhorn looked especially wounded. “Oh he was a cocky one. He bragged that he convinced you to keep the affair under wraps when you landed in Tampico, made it look like you weren’t involved up on the ranch, spider, he’s a doggone spider is what he is.” He looked on at the two and continued. “I told him not to meddle in your affairs. I told him that you didn’t want to sell, Miss Del Toro.” He turned his attention to Rebecca, suddenly remembering something. “That was a cruel, cruel incident with the cigar band, Miss Walsh. He romanced you, he made it all sound so sincere, that,” he looked at her with watery eyes, I’m not ashamed to say, made me cry a little when he bragged about that. Terrible, terrible.” He reached for his handkerchief and dabbed the corners of his eyes.
He went back to addressing Marta. “He said that if he couldn’t beat ‘em, he’d join ‘em, I think those were his words. I think he considered himself so smart that he could even get away with bigamy. Heard stories of such things in the past, a man I heard of had four wives, all over the country, set up home in…”
Marta stood up. The dolt was giving her a headache, droning on so. “Well, that’s all well and good, Mr. Tolkenhorn, we’re obliged for the information.”
He stood up and took the photos from Rebecca’s trembling hand. He reached over and touched her lightly on the elbow. “I’m mighty sorry about all this ma’am. Mighty sorry.” He was gone.
Marta reached for her sister. She looked terrible. Rebecca held up a hand. “I’m going to go lie down for a while.” She looked around the room as if searching for something, some little joke, maybe Robert Curtin would jump out from behind a door and yell that is was a late April fool. But he didn’t. All she saw was Esmeralda, mindlessly clearing the tea service away. It just made no sense.
She went to bed and thought it all through. He must have been describing his real wife that day, the so-called Catholic wife he dreamed up when he was young. The big, big-breasted woman. No wonder he could describe her so well. She was real. His real wife. And the ring, she remembered now that he’d taken it back. It was a sloppy fit, he even took a ring that fit her properly so that he could have it sized when he went down to Tampico for supplies. So really, he didn’t actually give her a ring at all, he’d stolen one from her. And now the comment to Pedro that day on the ship, getting them on their backs, it all made sense. It all made sense and he was a scoundrel. He was not the love of her life and he was perhaps even a murderer and was most definitely a thief, he even tried to kill Marta. She wanted to cry but she didn’t as she was more angry than sad, heartbroken but not despondent. He was a son of a bitch and a bastard but he would not break her. She felt exhausted from the stress and shock of it all and soon, mercifully fell into a deep sleep.
Marta was lying next to her after midnight. She snuggled up to Rebecca and held her like a child. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.” She could feel Rebecca’s face wet with tears. “
I’m not going to call him names. I’m going to pretend that he died. Robert Curtin was a real man, a good man and he fell into a mine and died. That’s what happened, darling. That’s what happened.” She held her more tightly. “We’ll even have a full funeral for him if you want, if it’ll make you feel any better. I’ll even have the boys make him a nice coffin, if that’s what you want. Whatever you want my darling, whatever you want.”
“Thank you, Marta. That’s sweet and I didn’t need a see I told you so lecture. Not that you would. He was a tricky fellow, no doubt.” She laughed a little, ironically. “The devil actually gave me a ring, then stole it back and stole one of my rings to boot! And that man who attacked us. A hired killer. Well, I guess he didn’t hire one big enough for us, eh?”
She felt better talking about it. She was so sad, like when someone died, and Marta was right. Robert Curtin had died. He was a real and living human being, the loveliest man to ever breathe air and now he was dead. She patted her Marta and finally had a good cathartic cry.
Miles Tolkenhorn did not like the visitors. The general should not have come. He paced about filling the room with his rotten breath as he walked unsteadily in his ill-fitting boots, peering through his owl-eyed glasses. Tolkenhorn could only imagine the stench at the end of the day when he finally took those boots off. The ambassador was there too. They were pacing, both of them pacing and waiting for the one man who supposedly had the plan. When he arrived, Tolkenhorn was flabbergasted. “You!”
The man ignored him, looked through him and at the other two men. “Why’s he here?” He looked on with disgust at the lawyer.
“It’s his office, and he’s got the information from the mining company.” The ambassador blew smoke as he replied. He looked at Tolkenhorn and gave a solemn side to side movement of his head. “Doesn’t look good, Miles.”
“What, what doesn’t look good? I’ve been working this thing, I’ve been doing a good job.”