Chapter 42: Why Use a Gun When a Dollar Will Do the Job?
“Sheriff Hanley, there’s a gentleman here who’d like to speak with you.”
“Oh, have him come in.”
Davey pushed the door open and stepped inside.
Sheriff Hanley sat by the kerosene lamp, a cigar in his mouth, reading the paper. When he saw Davey he set the paper down and smiled. “Well now, sir, you look familiar. What can I do for you?”
How could he not be familiar? After all, he was a wanted man from Blackwater. Even if no posters hung in Strawberry, the sheriff would still have Davey’s file.
“Davey Callander. Sheriff Hanley should recognize the name.”
Davey spoke his real name without hesitation. In a town this small he had little to fear.
Sheriff Hanley paused, then snapped to attention. His voice turned cold. “Fuck — a wanted man from Blackwater. Who gave you the nerve to stand right in front of me?”
He spoke harshly but quietly, and made no move to reach for his gun.
Having looked into the Van der Linde Gang, Sheriff Hanley knew this was a dangerous criminal who’d taken many lives. More importantly, he didn’t believe he could control the situation in this cramped office. This wasn’t a game — people thought about their own safety first.
“Sheriff Hanley, please calm down. I’m here to talk business, not cause trouble. Sheriff Malloy from Valentine sends his regards.”
Davey kept his tone steady.
At Malloy’s name Hanley’s expression softened a little. “I warn you, Davey, don’t try to stir up big trouble in Strawberry. If you know what’s good for you, leave now. I don’t want to be working with a wanted man.”
Hanley drew on his cigar and leaned back, as if not wanting to deal with Davey further.
Davey only smiled, reached into his pocket, and laid five one-hundred-dollar bills on the desk. $500 in cash.
“Sheriff, consider this a small token of my sincerity. If you talk with Sheriff Malloy you’ll learn I’m running a moonshine business. If you cooperate, I’ll pay you $300 a month.”
“The same for Sheriff Malloy.”
“Of course that’s just the start. Once the business grows, I’ll pay more.”
Hanley stared at the $500, his eyes lighting up. That was nearly a year’s pay. His opposition to Davey melted when he saw the money.
In this country, dollars solved most problems. If dollars didn’t, then you simply didn’t have enough. This was a world run by capital — not even presidents got far without campaign funds. Out here in the West, being blunt often worked best.
Whether $500 upfront or $300 a month after, it was an offer Hanley couldn’t refuse. The cigar on his breath and the faint sour tang of alcohol Davey had noticed when he entered told him the sheriff wasn’t exactly incorruptible.
After a brief hesitation, Hanley pocketed the cash.
“Oh, Mr. Davey — you know Strawberry’s a dry town. This puts me in a bind.”
By now Hanley’s face was all smiles. He was already looking to haggle.
Davey shook his head. “Sheriff Hanley, this is just the initial sum. My operation isn’t up and running yet; once it is, there’ll be more.”
“Besides, Sheriff Malloy gets the same rate — it’s uniform, keeps things from getting messy.”
“And, Sheriff Hanley, you may call me Mr. Callander.”
Hanley could see there wasn’t much room left to bargain. “Very well, Mr. Callander. I think our partnership will be most agreeable.”
“With prohibition here, there are no saloons. Your business could do very well.”
Davey nodded. “Exactly. I saw the opportunity. There’s one more small favor I need, Sheriff.”
“There’s a friend of mine locked up in your jail. If possible, I’d like to take him out tonight.”
Having already pocketed the $500, Hanley had little reason to refuse. He unhooked the jail keys from his belt.
“I’ll take the deputies out to check around. You have thirty minutes, Mr. Callander.”
“Ah — tomorrow the papers’ll have a field day about a jailbreak.”
Author's Note
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