Shooting For Justice, G. Tilman [best historical fiction books of all time .txt] 📗

“Ain’t seen you here, fella,” the man next to him said as the three and Pope ordered their fourth and his second beer.

“Naw. Just got into town. Found a job for today digging a garden for an old man,” Pope said. He did not want to offer too much. He preferred they ask him, and he would consider the best answer.

“Where ya from?” the man asked, his friends listening.

“I came in from Colorado on the very damn rails I used to make a good living laying.”

“Ticket musta been expensive,” the man probed.

“Nope. I rode in boxcars all the way and avoided railroad detectives. Didn’t cost me a cent!” Pope lied.

“You said you laid rails?” another of the men asked.

“I did. Good money, too. Then, the president started molly-coddling them foreigners and a good American like me was put out of work. Just not right, you know?”

“Doesn’t seem right. We heard he was giving special rights to foreigners. Chinese and all. We was talking about it two or three days ago in here. Some fella got all worked up over it. He agreed with us and stomped off. We talked after. My pa was born in Dublin. Hans, where are your folks from?”

“Outside of Solingen,” the man two barstools down said.

“The same place where they make them knives? In Germany or somewhere?” Pope asked in character.

“Yeah,” he said, with it sounding more like “yah”.

“So, you see what I mean? None of us been here for a long time. We are all kinda foreigners. I don’t see the harm in giving a man a chance. We agreed on it. But the fella the other night got himself worked up into a real lather.”

“What happened to him?” Pope asked, knowing the man was talking about Baker who he had questioned in the security office.

“Don’t rightly know. Ain’t seen him since. Probably moved along, looking for work.”

“I might do the same,” Pope said. “Go back out West. I like it better there. Too many people here. You boys hang in there. Maybe I’ll see you down the road somewhere,” Pope said and stood. He downed the beer. The men nodded at him and he put his cap on and walked out.

He thought about the men and Baker on the way back. He believed they did not know where Baker was or what he had tried to do. Baker was still in jail. There was no way they knew his predicament.

Pope did not consider this a dead end. He considered it one more item checked off his to-do list. He walked back to the rear entrance of the Willard and climbed the stairs to his and Sarah’s room. She did not know about him being disguised today, so he knew to be careful.

He tapped on the door and said, “It’s me, but I am in disguise.”

She cracked the door, and he knew there was a .44 in her hand, just out of sight.

“Hello there? Come right in. My husband won’t be back for an hour or two,” she said in a believably seductive voice.

“Thank you, Ma’am. I think an hour or two will be plenty of time,” he said, and she grinned broadly.

“Good disguise. If you weren’t dirty and smelly, I might take you up on a little fun,” Sarah said.

He grinned at her and asked if she would draw a hot bath while he got rid of the work garments. While he was in the bath, she put them, boots included, in a sack to take to a cleaner. He might need a disguise again before all this was over.

Pope had gotten used to being able to walk to a Chinese laundry in San Francisco. He would have to look around for a laundry in Washington. It would be bad tradecraft to have the soiled workman clothes washed by the Willard staff. Too many questions could arise.

Clean and redressed in clothes appropriate for an informal dinner, he briefed Sarah on his trip to Baker’s bar the day before.

“While the men at the bar are unlikely to be involved in a plot against the president, I don’t think it was a futile effort. We eliminated one specific concern and need to continue investigating. What was your experience today?”

“I came up with something worth further investigation. I just hit on it reading local newspapers in the Congressional Library. You and I discussed some senators and representatives were agitating to expand the boundaries of the country. We also were concerned about the growth in disruption by newly powerful Southern members.

“Well, I found three senators and two congressmen have some sort of group pressuring other members to vote for expansion into Mexico. Maybe even Canada, though Canada is lower on the list. Here is the list.”

She handed him a list of three senators and two congressmen and had their states in parentheses beside their names.

“There was also mention of funding possibly available from a finance firm in Dallas. It operates like a private bank and is very secretive. It’s called GC Financial. A man named Joe Selby Jr. is the president. The bank and he popped up in an article once and was never mentioned again. I thought it was pretty odd. Like somebody called the reporters off,” Sarah said.

“I will see if either secretary knows anything about it. It sounds significant enough to make a quick train trip to Dallas. Sure, wish I had Caesar with me.”

“Your horse is in high cotton. Or, maybe high grass, with your grandfather. You may have to arm wrestle the old mountain man to get your massive horse back from him!”

“I might. He’d probably win too,” Pope said. She grinned, having seen him lift an outlaw who smarted off at her. He grabbed the man by the collar, lifted him up with his feet off the ground, and threw him several feet. Pope did this with one arm. Sarah would put her money on Pope in a match off with about anyone.

Pope stopped by the President’s