The Constable - Brossura

Cole, R.E.

Brossura

ISBN 10: 1496958306 ISBN 13: 9781496958303

Casa editrice: AuthorHouse, 2014

Riassunto

The story follows the life of Horace Goodman and his devoted family as he is thrown into a complex drama involving the murder of his best friend, dealing in the financial world of the later 1800s, and a chase across the country to find the dangerous killer who is leaving a path of death as his trail.

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The Constable

By R.E. Cole

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2014 R.E. Cole
All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-4969-5830-3

CHAPTER 1

Horace Gooden studied his cards, absently stroking his mustache. Good hand, bad hand, or a winning hand, his face showed nothing.

He considered his options.

Bet too much, he'll either scare them off, or they'll think he's bluffing.

Horace didn't look up at the other faces -- Riley Jones, Samuel Fowler and Jamie Horsch -- most of which were watching him.

The agreement was for no bet to go over ten, with only the last hand having no limit. So, Horace contemplated the possibilities.

Darcy's Pub at this late hour had grown quiet, not due to men leaving, going home to their family and farms, but most of them watching this hand play out, a couple trying to get a peek of Horace's cards over his shoulder.

"I'll raise," he said and pushed another $20 into the pot.

"I'll see that," Riley Jones said, "and raise it another ten."

"I hope that's not the bank's money," Pete Darcy said, and a chorus of snickers broke out.

"Actually, it's your last mortgage payment on this place," the banker said, straight-faced, which brought a round of guffaws while Pete scowled.

The wealthiest man in Atlantic County, New Jersey smirked, then threw his cards on the table. "I'm out," Samuel Fowler said.

All eyes fell on the fourth man, Jamie Horsch, owner of the Feed & Mercantile Store in Cape May.

"Horace, I'm not letting you get away with that bluffing shit with me. I may be younger than you, but this is 1885, the modern times, and I'm not fooled. I'll not only see the bet, but I'll raise you by another fifty!"

This was a first. Even though there was no limit on this hand, they'd never gone above $30 before.

Everyone was watching Horace Gooden's face to see how he would react.

Gooden's expression changed. He smiled. And then everyone in the pub smiled.

Gooden cocked his head, thinking. Jamie wasn't bluffing. At 25, he wasn't savvy enough yet to know how to hold back. It was easy to read him like a book.

"Jamie, isn't that pretty young wife of yours planning to have a baby real soon?" Horace asked. "Are you sure you want to do this? You're gonna need your money. I'll let you think that bet over again."

Everyone in the pub started nodding. But Jamie was too excited, and stubborn.

"I know what you're all thinking, but all his talkin' is part of his game," Jamie said, a little defensively. "He's bluffing. I know him better than he knows himself. I've got him just where I want him. He knows he's cornered and is trying to talk his way out of it. Come on, Horace. Wipe that smile off your face and do something!"

Now all eyes went to Gooden, who continued to smile. "Well, Jamie, I tried reasoning with you. I'll see your fifty and raise it by a gentleman's ten."

"Aha!" said Jamie. "I see a weakness in the old boy. I'll see your ten and go another fifty!"

Riley Jones said, "You went out of turn, Jamie. But I'm out anyway." He tossed in his cards.

"Sorry, Riley. Are you okay with it, Horace?"

"Sure, I'm fine, but I've got to say I would not feel good taking all this money from such a fine young man with a growing family. Why don't we say, since you went out of turn, it caused the game to be cancelled and everyone takes their money back?"

There were murmurs of both agreement and puzzlement -- as if they were asking why Horace was being so generous.

Samuel Fowler shrugged, with a bit of a smirk. Riley Jones nodded.

"Absolutely not!" Jamie said, a little too excitedly. "Week after week I've lost to your bluffs and it's not going to happen this time! I kick myself all week long for not challenging you. Well this time, things will be different."

Horace let the smile drop from his face, and went back to a blank expression. He re-checked his cards, making sure those behind him didn't get a peek. He didn't need to know what he had, or what to do -- it was more for show. Jamie must have one hell of a hand for him to be that confident. At this point, it wasn't Horace deciding whether he should follow-through, but if he could afford this loss. It would sting, and Maggie might frown at him, but he couldn't back down.

"Very well. Here's my fifty," and Horace Gooden pushed the chips to the middle of the table, joining the others. "Let's see what you've got."

Without hesitation, Jamie laid his cards down. There were several "oohs" and "aahs", and someone whistled.

"Three Aces!" said Jamie, proudly. "Whadda ya got?"

Horace stared at the Aces for several moments, and then sighed. "Two Kings," he said as he laid them out slowly.

There were a lot of gasps, followed by head shaking and a couple of open jaws. The consensus was that Gooden had blown it.

Jamie, with a big grin on his face, started pulling in the pot.

"And three Sevens," Gooden added in a slow drawl, laying down the Club, Spade and Diamond.

Another gasp and Jamie stopped dead, arms outstretched around a pile of chips. His face went white, and he swallowed heavily. He pulled back, as if he wanted to be invisible while Horace roped the chips in.

"Drinks for everyone, Pete." Gooden said.

A rousing cheer went up.

Horace stacked his chips. "You know, Jamie, I don't bluff all the time. A couple weeks ago, I cleaned Riley's clock with a good hand. The problem is you never know when it's gonna happen. Tonight it happened. I hate to take all you got, but I gave you a way out. I hope you don't get all mad over a learning experience."

Pete Darby brought drinks to the table, patting Jamie's shoulder as he passed by. "Tell you what, Jamie," Horace said, still stacking his take. "I'll divide this pot in half, which includes my winnings for the whole evening. I'll cut cards for it. High man wins. You don't have to do anything."

"You mean I can't lose?"

"No more than you already have."

"What's the catch?"

"The catch is -- this is my lucky night. I'm gonna win my own money."

Jamie thought about this, looking at a couple of others as if asking what to do. "Oh, what the hell," he said. He reached out and flipped the top card on the deck. "Lucky me Seven of Hearts!"

There were a couple of snickers -- only Jamie would think a Seven in this situation was lucky.

Gooden nodded. "Right down the middle, could go either way." He reached out and plucked the next card off the deck and slid it in front of him face-down before peeking. His smirk fell away.

"Three of Diamonds," he said, leaving the card flat on the table.

There was a reaction of surprise from the gallery and Jamie hooted. "A Three!" But then he paused as the smile drifted away from his face. "Are you sure about this?"

Gooden held up his card to Pete Darby. "What do you see, Pete?"

"A Three. I can't believe a Seven won that pot!"

The expression on Jamie's face exploded into a broad grin as he pulled in his share of the pot.

Sam Fowler collected the cards, pulling in Horace's face-down card last, casually flipping it over, revealing a Queen of Hearts. He calmly placed it on the pile, not commenting.

Jamie didn't notice, too busy counting his money.

CHAPTER 2

Horace Gooden and Sam Fowler left Darby's Pub just after 11, and got into Horace's wagon. The horse eyed them wearily, while Henry -- Horace's mutt -- jumped up and wagged its tail, happy to see someone. With Horace's farm four miles away, a little over an hour away, the dog would be asleep before they got out of town. Fortunately for Sam, he was less than a mile out, making it convenient when, every Saturday, Horace picked up Sam for the card game. It gave them a great time to talk about what had gone on all week.

"Okay, Homer. Take us home."

"Couldn't you have come up with a better name than Homer for this fine horse?" Sam asked.

"All I know is, he takes me home whenever I tell him to. Homer seems like a very appropriate name."

"Then what about your dog? No dog should be named Henry."

Henry's tail started to beat like a drum against the side of the wagon, happy to hear his name.

Gooden held the dog's head in his hands and said, "Look at that face, Sam. What does he look like?"

"Yeah, but Horace, Homer, Henry ... It's all too much."

"I could have named him Sam."

Fowler laughed. "Yeah, I guess you could've."

The sounds of the wagon wheels creaking as they rolled and the horse plodding along lulled them for a while.

"That was a very generous thing you did for young Jamie tonight," Sam said. "You didn't have to. After all, you did give him a chance to get out of the bet."

"Well, I felt somewhat guilty because he blamed my bluffing as the reason he kept upping the bet. I'm not a bluffer, Sam."

"Spare me that one. But I wanted to correct Jamie on one thing. He mentioned he knew you so well and that's why he knew you were bluffing. If he knew you like I know you, he'd realize you've never told anyone to take their bet back."

"Yeah. There's that too," Gooden said.

They went quiet again, enjoying the night air.

"So tell me, Horace -- how do you like being our constable?"

"Don't know. It's been three months and they haven't asked me to do anything yet."

"Well, having no law enforcement in town means we need someone to look into minor thefts and provide legality to various documents drawn up in town."

"I guess people haven't been stealing or documenting then."

"If there is a crime, the state police will come handle it."

"Yeah, three months later."

"True. Having a constable is more of a deterrent for the young folks. Makes them think before they do something they shouldn't."

"It hasn't been a bother to me. I'm happy to do it for the town." Again they rode quietly for a while.

"I was thinking about how the Jersey Shore will not be the same in ten years," Sam said.

"How so?"

"Well, the railroad and all."

"What railroad?"

"Oh, I forgot. It hasn't been announced yet. All those railroads they're building everywhere is causing land speculators like me to anticipate where they're going to run the tracks and buy up as much as we can beforehand."

"Sounds complicated to me."

"Don't shortchange yourself. I've dealt with all kinds of businessmen, lawyers, accountants, bankers and politicians. You are one of the most savvy men I've ever met. Why don't you sell that damned farm and join up with me?"

"'Cause I love working with my hands and being outside. I wouldn't fit in your world. So what about the railroads and the Jersey shore?"

Sam paused for a minute. "The Pennsylvania Railroad is going to build a rail line from their Philadelphia station to Atlantic City. It's going to open that town up wide. The wealthy from Philly will build mansions on the shore and commute to and from their offices in the summer. New businesses will spring up. It will even have a moderate effect on Cape May."

"Especially if they like milk." said Horace.

Fowler shook his head. "Such simple thoughts from such an intelligent mind."

Horace could feel himself blushing. "So, tell me. Did you get to speculate on some of that land the railroad's gonna need?"

Smiling, Fowler said: "What do you think?"

"I think you're in a big poker game. I hope you're not in too deep."

After a bit Fowler said, "Penny an acre."

"What?"

"Penny an acre. That's what I paid for a hundred and fifty thousand acres of swampland ten years ago. Now the railroad is going to go smack though the middle of my swampland and some other land that I have options on."

"Well, see? Have you sold it to the railroad yet?"

"No, they bought the land they need in Atlantic City for their terminal, so they're committed. My lawyer tells me all the other landowners have cut their deals with them. I'm the only hold out."

"What's the problem?"

"Well, they know I only paid a penny an acre and they're only offering me a dime an acre."

"That's ten times what you paid for it! Isn't that a good profit?"

"Horace, my good man. What I paid for the land has no bearing on the market value."

Horace scratched his head for a moment, not sure what to say. "How did you get it so cheap, anyway?"

"The state ran a public announcement in a little known weekly Trenton newspaper saying they were auctioning off most of the swamp lands. I couldn't imagine what I would want with all that swamp land, but I thought, what the hell. It's land. Mushy land, but land nevertheless, and that's better than gold if you're in the right place at the right time. So, I put in a bid of a penny an acre. Turns out I was the only bidder."

"Sounds like it was worthless."

"You might think that, but when I tried to close the deal, they kept running me around in circles. This got me suspicious, so I took a room in Trenton and bugged them every day until they had no choice but to bring the deal to a close. Not a very trustworthy lot up there in Trenton."

"What can you expect? That's where the politicians are"

"Precisely. So now the railroad is offering me a dime an acre, but a friend of mine sold his swamp land in Northern New Jersey to the Erie for fifteen dollars an acre. So, I now have a comparison for market value."

"Is that what you're demanding?"

"Actually, no. It's worth less in this part of the state, so I have put it at twelve-fifty. My rock bottom is ten."

"Have they responded to that?"

"It's all being handled through my lawyer in Philadelphia. He said they told me to -- and I quote -- `Piss off.'"

Horace and Sam laughed at that.

"You're not going to back down, are you?"

"No, I plan to hang in there. After all, they need the land."

Horace thought for a minute then said. "Let's see, a penny an acre is, aaah, fifteen hundred. Right?"

"Right."

"And ten bucks an acre is ... one and a half million? Wow!"

"Yep. Wow."

"Samuel, do you know how many cow teats I'd have to pull to make that kind of money?"

"I don't really give a shit. It only proves my point -- you should join me and give your family a better life."

The horse slowed to a stop, and Horace looked around to see they were in front of Sam's place. Homer was smarter than some of the folks he knew in town. Maybe smarter than his owner.

Sam jumped off and waved half-heartedly. "Thanks, as always, for the ride. I'll see you when I see you."

"Same here."

Without needing to be told, Homer started moving again, taking his master home so they could all get some sleep.

CHAPTER 3

It was a warmish Tuesday with the mid-morning sun trying to make Horace break into a sweat, but not quite succeeding. Homer, doing double-duty pulling a plow, was helping to prepare an area for tomatoes and corn.

A distant sound made Horace look up to see a lone rider coming at full gallop across his land.

"Whoa, Homer," he said, pulling the horse to a stop.

Henry the dog even stopped and sat obediently, panting lightly.

Horace squinted as the rider came closer, trying to make out who it was and wondering why they were in such a hurry. Then he realized it was Pete Darby. He couldn't remember the last time he had seen Pete outside of his pub, much less outside of town.

Darby slowed up and pulled to a stop. "I didn't think you'd heard, so I thought I better come out here and tell you."

"What's that?" He saw the look on Pete's face, and wondered if it had to do with one of his sons.

"It's Sam Fowler. He's dead!"

"What? Oh my God, what happened?" Horace sat down on the plow, taking off his hat. He felt his stomach do a roll. Sam being dead was hard to comprehend. "Horse threw him?"

Pete Darby shook his head slowly. "No. He was murdered, Horace. His throat was slit from ear to ear." Pete looked like he was going to vomit. "It was the worst thing I ever seen."

Horace moaned and his head went into his hands. It was bad enough Sam Fowler was dead ... but murdered? Who would want Sam dead?

"You're our constable, Horace. You've got to handle this. The town expects it. We've already sent a wire to the state police."

This is not what Horace expected to be handling when he accepted the job as constable. He wasn't any kind of investigator. The worst he expected to ever do was kick someone off their foreclosed land. Well, as soon as the state people arrived, he could excuse himself from any further responsibilities."

"Okay, let me take this to the barn and hook Homer to the wagon." He paused. "Where is he? The body, I mean. Where is it?"

"Doc Nelson's"

"Where was ... where did it happen?"

"Along the road to his house. Must have been walking home last night. His wife and daughter went out looking for him at daybreak when he didn't come home last night."

"Did they find him?"

Pete Darby nodded slowly, his eyes looking far away. Then he looked at Horace, tears threatening. "I'll be at the pub if you need me."

(Continues...)

Excerpted from The Constable by R.E. Cole. Copyright © 2014 R.E. Cole. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Dettagli dell'edizione

• Editore: AuthorHouse
• Data di pubblicazione: 2014
• Lingua: Inglese
• ISBN 10: 1496958306
• ISBN 13: 9781496958303
• Rilegatura: Copertina flessibile
• Numero di pagine: 250
• Contatto del produttore: non disponibile
• Persona responsabile: non disponibile