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Authors: James D. Best
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Washburn started buying up Carson City commerce, judges, and politicians. He doesn’t have the town locked, but he’s a major influence. This goes far beyond his big mining interests in Virginia City. The man has wedged his dirty fingers into every power hub in this corrupt state.”
This news was worrisome. It meant that I had aimed my blows at the periphery of Washburn’s empire. “Washburn’s candidate for governor?”
“Craig Stevens, president of the assembly. Used to be a Bolton ally when Bolton ran the senate, but I believe he has a short memory.” Richard passed the letter to me, so I could read it for myself. “You’ll see that he thinks a Bolton-Stevens contest will be a tight race.”
I read the letter while sitting in front of Richard’s tidy desk. I used my bank office for official business and the print shop for scheming, plotting, and general mischief. After their initial fearful reactions to my gunning down the Cutlers, Richard and Doc had joined my campaign with gusto, especially after they witnessed my first few steps. Jeremiah, unfortunately, had started to put some space between himself and our little cabal, so the card games had ceased, and I had curtailed my lollygagging around his general store. Besides, I had a business to run and a king to unseat.
When I looked up, Richard was bent over a piece of paper, writing a story for his newspaper in longhand. It had been eight days since the Cutler incident, and the town was eerily quiet: no Bolton, no Pinkertons, and no Sprague. At least, no Sprague to my knowledge. Even Sharp had vamoosed a couple of days ago. The sheriff had not returned, nor had I seen any of Washburn’s crew to give me a hint what the big man had on his mind. Bolton had returned to his ranch to get his affairs in order for the governor’s race and to put Jenny under the guard of his own men. Even Richard’s office was quiet, except for the scratching of his pen.
I got up and started pacing. The letter basically said that Washburn was more formidable than I had supposed. In New York, I had kept the political bosses at bay, beat off protection rackets, and handled crooked constables. I had done deals with businessmen so ruthless they ate secretaries for lunch, consumed subordinates over cocktails, and made mincemeat of partners at their snobbish dinner clubs. I had thought that if I fought Washburn my way, I could crush him with tactics honed in the most barbaric and competitive city in the world. After all, this whole sad collection of buildings could hardly equal a single block in my hometown.
But I had misjudged. First, these thrown-together clapboard buildings did not reflect the vast riches being pulled from the earth, and anywhere someone could get instantly rich attracted smart men with an edge hard enough to beat back all the other treasure hunters. Washburn had crushed a bunch of little barons to emerge as the preeminent lord over a huge domain.
Second, I had been foolish to assume that Washburn’s influence was mainly restricted to the local environs. I was aware that he also had mines in Virginia City and that he had aspirations to control the governorship, but I hadn’t anticipated that he had done the preliminary spadework to take control of the entire state. I should have guessed. Feudal tyrants possess insatiable appetites.
I reminded myself that he had a weakness—an impatience that compelled him to reach beyond his financial footing. If the man had unsustainable debts here, he had probably tapped the banks in Carson City as well.
“Richard, what’s the largest bank in Carson City?”
“Commerce Bank. But you can’t buy it. Not unless you’ve got a hell of a lot more money. And I mean a hell of a lot more.”
“I don’t need to buy it; I just want to establish a correspondence relationship.”
“A what?”
“A loose partnership. No shared equity, but we coordinate business dealings.”
Richard put his pen down. “Are you
This news was worrisome. It meant that I had aimed my blows at the periphery of Washburn’s empire. “Washburn’s candidate for governor?”
“Craig Stevens, president of the assembly. Used to be a Bolton ally when Bolton ran the senate, but I believe he has a short memory.” Richard passed the letter to me, so I could read it for myself. “You’ll see that he thinks a Bolton-Stevens contest will be a tight race.”
I read the letter while sitting in front of Richard’s tidy desk. I used my bank office for official business and the print shop for scheming, plotting, and general mischief. After their initial fearful reactions to my gunning down the Cutlers, Richard and Doc had joined my campaign with gusto, especially after they witnessed my first few steps. Jeremiah, unfortunately, had started to put some space between himself and our little cabal, so the card games had ceased, and I had curtailed my lollygagging around his general store. Besides, I had a business to run and a king to unseat.
When I looked up, Richard was bent over a piece of paper, writing a story for his newspaper in longhand. It had been eight days since the Cutler incident, and the town was eerily quiet: no Bolton, no Pinkertons, and no Sprague. At least, no Sprague to my knowledge. Even Sharp had vamoosed a couple of days ago. The sheriff had not returned, nor had I seen any of Washburn’s crew to give me a hint what the big man had on his mind. Bolton had returned to his ranch to get his affairs in order for the governor’s race and to put Jenny under the guard of his own men. Even Richard’s office was quiet, except for the scratching of his pen.
I got up and started pacing. The letter basically said that Washburn was more formidable than I had supposed. In New York, I had kept the political bosses at bay, beat off protection rackets, and handled crooked constables. I had done deals with businessmen so ruthless they ate secretaries for lunch, consumed subordinates over cocktails, and made mincemeat of partners at their snobbish dinner clubs. I had thought that if I fought Washburn my way, I could crush him with tactics honed in the most barbaric and competitive city in the world. After all, this whole sad collection of buildings could hardly equal a single block in my hometown.
But I had misjudged. First, these thrown-together clapboard buildings did not reflect the vast riches being pulled from the earth, and anywhere someone could get instantly rich attracted smart men with an edge hard enough to beat back all the other treasure hunters. Washburn had crushed a bunch of little barons to emerge as the preeminent lord over a huge domain.
Second, I had been foolish to assume that Washburn’s influence was mainly restricted to the local environs. I was aware that he also had mines in Virginia City and that he had aspirations to control the governorship, but I hadn’t anticipated that he had done the preliminary spadework to take control of the entire state. I should have guessed. Feudal tyrants possess insatiable appetites.
I reminded myself that he had a weakness—an impatience that compelled him to reach beyond his financial footing. If the man had unsustainable debts here, he had probably tapped the banks in Carson City as well.
“Richard, what’s the largest bank in Carson City?”
“Commerce Bank. But you can’t buy it. Not unless you’ve got a hell of a lot more money. And I mean a hell of a lot more.”
“I don’t need to buy it; I just want to establish a correspondence relationship.”
“A what?”
“A loose partnership. No shared equity, but we coordinate business dealings.”
Richard put his pen down. “Are you
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