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

“I will, sir. Not a problem. Even if caught on it, I could say I was on loan to the Attorney General’s office from the War office. I can finesse it alright.”

“Go ahead and get a ticket to and from Dallas. How can you keep us apprised?” Brewster asked.

“Wells Fargo uses a coded telegram system. I can send telegrams to Sarah. She can decode and deliver to you.”

Pope left and, since he was returning to the West, picked up his boots, Stetson and Colt .44. He swung by the train depot and picked up roundtrip tickets for Dallas.

He and Sarah walked down to the Old Ebbitt’s Grill near the hotel and the President’s House. They recognized several diners from the cocktail party, but names and titles eluded them. They had originally thought social mixing was going to be the way the investigation would run, but quickly found it not to be the case. Both admitted they were glad of it.

Sarah had pork chops and Pope had a steak. They still chatted at dinner like new lovers instead of old marrieds. The dinner was a delight and they walked back to the Willard anxious to arrive at the privacy of their room.

3

Pope left for the train depot at dawn and boarded the train south, then connecting west.

He arrived in Dallas the next morning. This train trip had been brutal with storms buffeting the train and rocking the cars like a boat in rough water. He was beat as he climbed down from the train. His return ticket was open, so he found a hotel. Pope took a nap and cleaned up before going to the GC Financial offices.

Looking like the native Westerner he was, he arrived at the offices at ten o’clock.

There was a man at a desk. Nothing identified him as to name or title.

Pope asked to see Mr. Joe Shelby, Jr.

“What is your business with Mr. Shelby?”

Pope presented the new engraved Attorney General’s Office business card.

The man read the card, taking an inordinately long time to do so.

“Let me repeat myself. What is your business with Mr. Shelby?”

“I am here on behalf of the US Attorney General. My business with Mr. Shelby is not your affair unless you happen to be him.”

The man glared at him.

“Are you, in fact, Mr. Shelby?”

The man continued to glare. Then, he threw his coat back and reached for a gun in a shoulder holster.

Before the gun cleared leather, he felt a Colt Frontier Model pressed against his mustache, just below his nose. Looking cross-eyed up the barrel, he could see the Colt was cocked and ready to fire.

“This could have been so easy. But you had to be stupid. Now, before I decorate this office with your brains, where in hell is Mr. Shelby?” Pope asked.

“I am Joe Shelby. Is this a robbery?” a portly man in his forties said from a doorway behind where the covered man sat.

“Of course not. I work for the attorney general. I asked to see you and this man tried to draw on me. He’s the first one who did and lived to tell about it.”

“You are with the Texas Attorney General? I may have to have a talk with him,” Shelby said.

“I am with the Attorney General of the United States. You are most welcome to have a talk with him. In fact, it’s beginning to look like he will be wanting to have a talk with you.”

“Perhaps we should come into my office.”

Pope removed the gun from the man’s mustache and slipped the gun out of the shoulder holster and stuck it in his own waist.

He nodded for the man to precede him into his boss’ office. The man hesitated but was sped up by a hard barrel prod in the middle of his back.

“Does my secretary need to sit in with us?” Shelby asked.

“It was not my plan. But I will not have him bushwhack me while we are talking, or run and get some accomplices,” Pope said.

“Talbot, sit at your desk and do not move. Do not take any action or go anywhere. This gentleman and I need to speak in private.”

“I want my gun back.”

“You may get it when I leave. Or you may not. You came real close to dying just now. Why don’t you sit at your desk and contemplate on it?” Pope suggested.

Shelby sat at his desk. Pope moved the chair around to the side so he could control the door and sat.

“Do you have any identification?”

“I gave the man who drew on me my card. Here is another,” Pope said, handing it to Shelby.

“Assistant US Attorney for Criminal Prosecutions. Ominous sounding for a visitor,” Shelby noted.

“Maybe, maybe not. I am here to ask your cooperation and maybe help on a major criminal investigation.”

“What type and how can GC Financial assist? Also, should I have my attorney present?”

“I don’t think you need him, but you are most welcome to have him present if you wish,” Pope said.

“Ask me a few questions and I’ll decide.”

“Fair enough. I am out of Washington. I am heading up an investigation for the Assistant Attorney General. I cannot tell you about the crime we are investigating because it has not happened yet.

“We have a fair number of facts about an event which will occur in Washington. We have received information from a good source saying your institution will be involved in the funding of the operation. I was sent here in good faith to ask you about it. It’s entirely possible someone is soliciting your financial support under false pretenses. If such is the case, it would certainly behoove you if we work together to nip this in the bud.”

“How should I address you?”

“Provost Marshal Pope.”

“Isn’t provost marshal a military position?” Shelby asked.

“Yes. I am a head investigator for the War Office. I am on loan to the Attorney General and deputized as a marshal during my deployment.”

“What is the nature of this crime?”

“It