He was interrupted as Andy Wolfe pushed around him and stepped into the room. “I want to know what you have my client charged with,” he said.
“Nothing,” Scoggins blurted in surprise. “I ain’t charged him with nothing.”
“Then what did you arrest him for?”
“I don’t know that you could say that I actually arrested him. I just wanted to ask him a few questions.”
“Then you better release him to me right now or I’m going to federal court in El Paso and get a writ of habeas corpus and serve it on your ass before you can sneeze.”
“Why, you arrogant little shit,” Scoggins growled.
I thought Andy had overdone it. The sheriff was rising out of his chair, probably with the intent of dismembering the skinny young lawyer, when Manlow Rhodes appeared in the doorway and stood there silently, his hard gray Presbyterian eyes pinning Scoggins back in his chair like a bug on a board. A long hush fell over the room.
“I was trying to tell you that he had Mr. Rhodes with him,” the deputy said, breaking the silence.
“You are through with this man, aren’t you, Sheriff?” Rhodes asked.
“Sure, Mr. Rhodes. We were just having a chat. All very friendly.”
“Then you won’t mind if he comes along with us, will you? We’re all late for a luncheon date out at the country club.”
Rhodes knew exactly how to rub salt in the wounds. Cottonwood Country Club was one of the most exclusive clubs in West Texas, and I doubt that Will Scoggins had ever been through the door. The idea of a scruffy drifter like myself and a brash young Jewish lawyer sitting down to a fancy meal within its sacred precincts probably enraged him more than anything that had happened that whole morning.
“Be my guest,” Scoggins said, throwing up his hands in surrender.
As we went through the outer office, the clerks stopped typing to ogle us. A fat, tobacco-chewing deputy who sat in a chair tilted back against the wall froze with his spit can halfway to his mouth, his small, suet-ringed eyes contemplating us suspiciously. I’m sure that we made an odd trio to them, and I wondered how often they’d gotten to see a man who’d been brought to their jail in irons escorted back out fifteen minutes later by the town’s leading banker.
Few things ever feel quite as good as getting sprung from the clutches of the law. I had been hauled in a couple of times back during the war as a part of my work with the government, and I had felt the same sense of elation each time I stepped back out into the sunlight. We quickly climbed into Rhodes’s car, a 1939 Packard Club Coupe that had been so well maintained that it looked as though it had just rolled out of the factory.
“My thanks to both of you,” I told them as we pulled away from the jail.
“Will Scoggins is trash,” Rhodes said bitterly. “Someday he’s going to overreach himself and I hope I live long enough to see it.”
“Andy, it was certainly smart of you to go get Mr. Rhodes,” I said.
“It wasn’t me that thought of it.”
“Who—?” I began.
“Your friend Della,” Rhodes said. “A remarkable young woman. She sent Andy to the bank and then called me herself.”
“What surprises me,” Andy said, “is that he pulled this in front of witnesses.”
“One witness,” I told him. “He was careful to push Mona out of the room so there were just the two of us and the two of them. And they were cops.”
“It’s an old story in this town.” Rhodes said. “Now let’s go have that lunch.”
THIRTEEN
On our way we swung by the office so I could assure Della that I hadn’t been murdered. Andy begged off lunch, claiming he had too much work to do. The Cottonwood Country Club turned out to be a sprawling building of tan brick surrounded by several hundred acres of golf course just south of the city limits. The big Packard whisked quietly up the curving drive to the front portico and stopped. Rhodes turned the car over to a liveried Mexican attendant, and soon we were seated in the dining room. It was regal, with brocade-covered walls, stiff white linen and sparkling crystal.
My host asked for a weak bourbon and water and I took a strong scotch and soda. We both ordered prime rib with asparagus and a garden salad.
“I wish Andy could have come with us,” Rhodes said.
“I do too,” I agreed. “I liked him from the first time I met him, but he certainly earned himself a lasting place in my heart today. It looked for a minute there as though he was going to fight Will Scoggins right in his own office. And I must admit that you’re quickly becoming one of my favorite people too,” I finished with a grin.
“Think nothing of it,” he replied. “And you’re right about one thing.… Andy might well have fought Scoggins. That young man is the real thing. Tough as a boot.”
“What’s the story on him?”
“He’s a local boy, and his father ran a hardware store here in town. Andy went to the University of Texas and was almost through law school when Pearl Harbor was bombed. He joined up, fought in Europe, and had an impressive combat record. After the war, he finished his education, passed the bar, and then his father died. He had to come back home and take care of his mother. It’s that simple. He could be very successful in Dallas or Houston or even Tyler, but the poor old woman is a semi-invalid and she refuses to leave town. All her friends are here, so I suppose I understand.”
“How about Mona?” I asked.
“Basically the same story. Her parents were also merchants, but they both died when she was in high school and she couldn’t afford college. So she went to stenography school over in Fort Worth.”
“Are there many Jews here in town?”
He shook his head. “Only a half dozen or so families. And there is considerable prejudice against them. Years ago I proposed Andy’s father for membership in this club, but he received eight blackballs. Yet some of those very same men socialized with him at the Masonic Lodge. Aren’t people fools sometimes?”
“Indeed they are,” I agreed.
The waitress was back with our drinks. “Well, you’ve certainly had an interesting morning,” my host said when she’d left the table.
“Yes, and I really do apologize for bothering you about this business.”
“Think nothing of it,” he said with a tight smile. “It was the right thing to do.”
“Why do the people here tolerate a brute like Scoggins?” I asked.
“It’s a complicated matter.”
“I’m a good listener.”
He sighed and took a long breath. “There are two factions in this city. I represent one. It’s the older and I think the more decent of the two, if I may be so foolish as to use such a word. I represent the faction that would like to see this town run as fairly as possible. My friends and I are willing to tolerate the dives and the prostitutes and the gambling dens because that’s how people choose to amuse themselves, however regrettable it might be. But we don’t want them to be the sort of places where working men and soldiers are skinned at crooked tables or rolled by pimps, and then beaten senseless and thrown in jail by crooked cops who are hand-in-glove with the hoods. That is exactly the state of affairs we have now, and there is a substantial cadre of influential people here in town who’re content with the situation. But what the idiots don’t understand is that they are terribly shortsighted. However, they contribute generously to Scoggins campaign, and he makes it a policy never to agitate those who support him.”
“Shortsighted? In what way?” I asked.
“Take the airbase, for example. If it’s closed, the reason will have less to do with War Department cuts than the way the base personnel have been treated in the dens and whorehouses over the years. Did you know that two young airmen died in the jail under questionable circumstances back during the war?”
“I had heard about one of them, but I’m not surprised there were more.”
“And it’s happened with civilians too. But this stunt today was a new low, even for Scoggins. It�
�s the first time he’s ever tried to shake down a legitimate business so openly. The way his mind works he just couldn’t stand to see two outsiders doing as well as you two are.”
“Do many of the businesses in town pay him off?” I asked.
“A few. But until now it’s always been more a matter of goodwill than outright extortion.”
“Do you think I have anything to worry about from him tomorrow or next week or next month?” I asked.
He shook his head and smiled. “Let me tell you a little story about Will Scoggins. About twenty years ago he got into an altercation with a young man one night out at the county fair. It was sordid thing, really. Scoggins had been trying for some time to seduce a young woman who’d been working down at Wilson’s Ice Cream Parlor on the square. He was married at the time, of course, but back in those days he had the reputation of pursuing every unattached female who appealed to him. This young woman would have nothing to do with him, and eventually she began dating a fellow from out south of town, the son of an Irish immigrant who had become prosperous as a sheep rancher. At any rate, Scoggins jumped this boy one night at the fair, and Scoggins wasn’t wearing his gun. It was a personal thing that had nothing to do with his capacity as a lawman, and the long and short of it was that the young Irishman beat him to a pulp in front of at least a hundred people. To add insult to injury, the boy was about four inches shorter than Scoggins and probably fifty pounds lighter in weight. But the point of my story is that at the time I didn’t know Scoggins as well as I do now, and I wouldn’t have given ten cents for that young man’s life. In fact, a friend and I tried to get him to leave town, but he refused.”
“What happened to him?” I asked.
“Nothing. Nothing at all. I felt sure that Scoggins would exact some kind of horrible retribution, perhaps even murder him, but he never lifted a finger against the kid. A few months later the young man married the girl from the ice cream parlor, and he still runs the family ranch. So my answer to your question is no. You have nothing to worry about from Will Scoggins unless I do too. My feeling is that now that he’s aware that you are an associate of mine he won’t bother you anymore.”
“I hope not. This is not what I had in mind when I moved here. It’s a nuisance.”
“Not the sort of thing you studied for at Harvard, eh?” he laughed. “By the way, have you met Clifton Robillard yet?”
Suddenly I was very alert. “No, but I’ve heard that he’s a regular player at the Weilbach game. I’ve also heard that he gambles heavily on sporting events of all kinds.”
“He does, and he’s lucky. He’s also one of the powers behind Will Scoggins.”
“You don’t say.…”
“Indeed,” Rhodes said. “You see, he’s the major stockholder in the other bank in town, Mercantile State. But beyond that, he’s the chief landlord down on Buckshot Row. It’s a matter of public record that he owns several of the buildings where the dives and whorehouses are located, but the rumor is that he has interests in the businesses themselves as well.”
“Fascinating. I’m looking forward to meeting him. What’s he like personally?”
“He has decent enough manners, though he doesn’t always use them,” Rhodes said. “And he’s quite a womanizer.”
“What do you know about Ollie Marne?” I asked, changing the subject.
He looked at me slyly. “What’s your interest in Ollie?”
“Oh, I’ve met him a couple of times and I was just wondering.”
“Ollie rides the fence between the two factions. That’s about all a man in his position can do. Have you and Ollie become friends by any chance?”
“Something like that.”
“And does Ollie see your friendship as a positive asset to him?”
“Very much so,” I answered.
“Then I believe you can trust him. I truly think that Ollie would like to be a better man than his job and the circumstances in this town will allow him to be. And he’s really an excellent peace officer in some ways.”
“Really?” I asked, somewhat surprised.
He nodded. “He’s a good investigator, and he’s not lacking in physical courage. The opposite is true of Scoggins. He’s a braggart and a damned coward.”
Our food came and we lapsed into pleasantries. At the end of the meal Rhodes leaned back in his chair and gave me a thoughtful stare. “All this business may change. This oil boom is going to bring a new class of men to this town, men who won’t stand still for Scoggins and his shakedowns.” I nodded.
“You’re right, Mr. Rhodes, and I’m one of them. That’s why I asked if you thought he would be any further threat to me. I have ways to protect myself from a man like him.”
“I don’t doubt that you do,” he said with a knowing smile. “Scoggins is going to have to adjust to changing conditions. We all are.”
We finished our coffee and Rhodes drove me back to the office. I thanked him once again for bailing me out of trouble. “Think nothing of it,” he told me. “The next time we go to lunch I’ll bring my wife and we can make it a foursome with your lady friend.”
* * *
“I gave Mona another raise,” Della told me that night. I’d just come out of the bathroom. She was bundled up under the covers with only her head and one book-laden hand sticking out.
“Details,” I said with a long sigh. “What is it with you women and details?”
“You own half the business and I like to include you in decisions.”
“Okay, so I am now officially included. If you think she needs a raise, it’s fine with me.”
“It’s not a matter of her needing it. It’s that she deserves it. I’d be lost without her. By the way, don’t you know how to play bridge?”
“Sure. I’m only so-so at it, though.”
“Me too, but Mona tells me that she and Andy love it and don’t really have anybody to play with. I thought about having them over some evening for a few rubbers. Is that too much card playing for you?”
I shook my head. “Not at all. I can relax playing bridge. Poker’s fun, but it’s work too.”
“Then I’ll invite them soon. I’d really like to get to know them better.”
“I like them too, and I think we ought to do something else as soon as possible.”
“What?” she asked.
“You’re getting slow in your old age,” I told her as I flopped down on the bed and slipped my hand under the covers. “What are you wearing under there?”
“Nothing,” she said, and stuck out her tongue at me. “And you’re the one that’s slow. I’ve been buck naked for the last thirty minutes and you never noticed.”
“How would I notice? You’re all covered up.”
“That’s certainly not my fault.”
FOURTEEN
Unless you’ve lived through an oil boom you can’t begin to appreciate either the swiftness with which it unfolds or the speed at which fortunes are made. When the Daisy Bradford Number 3 well in Rusk County ushered in the great East Texas Field in October of 1930, the population of the village of Kilgore shot up from seven hundred to ten thousand in just two weeks. The Donner Basin discovery wasn’t far behind it in drawing people to town. In the weeks after the Smith strike every train that pulled into the depot carried roughnecks and roustabouts and their families. They also came in cars and trucks and by wagon, and a few even came on foot. Tent cities sprang up overnight at the edges of town, and the dives of Buckshot Row began to thrive once again as legions of whores and pimps and gamblers swept in behind the workmen and promoters. The rumble of engines was constant as trucks hauling drilling rigs and equipment rattled through the streets at all hours of the day and night.
There was money to be made everywhere. A hamburger that brought a quarter the day Della and I hit town now went for a buck, and a five-dollar room in a cheap tourist court rented for fifty if you were lucky enough to find one. The Weilbach was booked solid by oilmen who paid by the month and paid ahead of time. One
wealthy operator named Simon Van Horn hauled out his checkbook and leased the Presidential Suite for a year in advance, and a couple of other men made similar arrangements for smaller suites. An enterprising young capitalist bought five acres of mesquite jungle on the south edge of town, bulldozed away the undergrowth and installed thirty-five shabby, road-worn travel trailers which he advertised to let at fifty dollars a week. They were all rented by nightfall of the day he put up his sign.
The municipal utilities couldn’t keep pace with the influx of people, and twice the city reservoir ran completely dry. Drinking water had to be trucked in from Midland and Odessa, and at the worst of the shortage a gallon of distilled water sold for five dollars. I bought a half dozen five-gallon jerry cans, and several times had to buy water at two dollars a gallon from a sharp old farmer south of town who had a natural artesian spring on his property. During the worst of the shortage Della and I had to make do with spit baths for a week, and I was grateful that our house had air conditioning or we wouldn’t have been able to stand our own stench. Membership in the YMCA skyrocketed as droves of people joined so they could use the pool to bathe under the pretext of swimming. The city hired a civil engineer to deal with the problems, and after a week of calculations he told the council that at the rate the population was growing they would need five new deep wells if the town was to survive.
Crime rates soared. Knifings and shootings became an everyday occurrence. A second red-light and honky-tonk district sprang up, this one outside the city limit on the west side of town. It was thrown together in less than a month with sheet iron and green pine lumber in a ten-acre dry wash where an old Basque herdsman had once kept livestock. Soon it became known as Nanny Goat Gully, and for a while it had the highest crime rate of any area its size in the country. But few people really cared because the money was rolling it. At last the disorder reached such a point that Manlow Rhodes led a delegation of concerned citizens to Austin to ask the governor for help. Specifically, they wanted a declaration of martial law. There was ample precedent for such an action. In 1922 Gov. Pat Neff had imposed martial law in Sweetwater when an earlier oil boom destroyed civil order in that town. Similarly, Gov. Ross Sterling had sent the National Guard into the East Texas Field in 1932. But unfortunately the present governor was neither Neff nor Sterling. Instead he was a plump, handsome glad-hander named Buford Halbert Jester. Called Beautiful Buford with the Marcelled Hair, he was an intelligent but weak man who wanted nothing more than to attend testimonial dinners and bask in the love of the people while he bedded every young Capitol secretary who could be wheedled out of her panties by his golden-throated voice. When the delegation arrived at his office, he listened patiently to their complaints, all the while nodding in sympathy, his noble brow creased in a frown of manly concern. Afterward, he read a lengthy prepared statement to them and the assembled press. When its convoluted syntax was unraveled, it was found to contain little more than the assurance that the governor was in favor of virtue and against sin. Martial law was not forthcoming.
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