“It depends.”
“On what?”
“On whether I happen to be running late or not.”
“Is that some kind of joke? You think you’re a jokester?”
“No joke, just a fact.”
“Hmm. Well you might want to be a little more punctual when a United States senator requests a meeting.”
“And you might want to refrain from sending gun hands to invite me to talk. First, I don’t usually eat breakfast so you’re lucky I even agreed to meet, and second, you want to meet with me, you ask me yourself or send a wire. Next time one of your men sneaks up on me in an alley, I’ll put ’em down. We understand each other, Senator?”
The senator’s face went red, in embarrassment, not anger, and try as he might he could not will it away. He started to speak, but Hollister interrupted.
“One other thing, your gun hand-told me last night his name is Slater-is waiting in the cloakroom over there. I don’t like that. You tell him to come out real slow-like, with his hands clear.”
Declan was now nearly crazed with anger, but trying every trick he knew not to show it. How the hell had Hollister figured everything out?
“Slater. You heard the man. Come on out. Slowly, if I were you.”
Hollister watched as Slater stepped out of the cloakroom across the dining room. He’d smelled the man’s cologne again as he’d passed it by. After last night, he figured Declan, if he were the type to use a man like Slater, wasn’t going to leave the horse in the barn. He’d be close by, in case he was needed.
Slater had a better poker face than his boss. He kept the emotion out of it. He came out with his thumbs hooked in his gun belt. Nice and easy so Hollister didn’t get jumpy and shoot him, but not out to his sides or up in the air, which is what Hollister had asked for. He took note of this moment and filed it in the back of his mind. Slater now knew he was good. He would still kill him, whenever the senator gave the word. But it wouldn’t be as easy as it usually was.
“Now look out the window, Senator,” Hollister said.
“What?”
“The window.”
Declan looked out the window and saw Chee standing on the sidewalk, leaning slightly against a pillar in front of the hotel. Chee had his eyes on Slater, ignoring the senator altogether.
“Who is that?”
“Master Sergeant Chee. He works for me. He is here to watch Mr. Slater and make sure he doesn’t make any sudden moves. If he does, Sergeant Chee will shoot him in the head no less than four times before he hits the ground. Believe me, I’ve seen him shoot. And if you’re thinking about sending your thugs after Chee, maybe to take him out so you can focus on me, you’re going to need a lot more men. The sergeant likes to kick people in the face. Hard. He also has a very large dog. I’ve only just met the dog, but I’m fairly certain it likes to eat people. We left the dog at our offices this morning as it really shouldn’t be out during the day where it might scare small children. I say these things not by way of confrontation or hyperbole, merely statements of fact,” Hollister said.
“Hyperbole?” Declan snorted.
“What can I say? I went to West Point. Officer and a gentleman and all that. I simply want you to understand me.”
There was a silver pot of coffee on the table and Hollister took the handle and filled his own cup, without asking permission. The senator took several deep breaths. Finally getting his color back to normal.
“Are you working for Allan Pinkerton?” Declan demanded, trying to get some measure of control back.
“Why would that matter?”
“Yes or no?”
“Why don’t you tell me what happened in the mining camp, Senator? That’s what this meeting is all about, right?”
“It’s nothing really, just some savages raided the camp and killed everyone. My son survived. He’s… not a strong boy… never been well really… has a weak constitution, but somehow he managed to get away. But he mis… he got things wrong, told some wild tale to cover up his cowardice and now everyone in the territory is spreading rumors and panic.”
“I heard though, you were willing to raise an army of volunteers to go after these ‘savages.’ You were putting pressure on the president to do something.”
“Where did you hear that? Pinkerton?”
“I hear things.”
“I… yes. I suggested to the president the army be sent out to scout and find the Indians responsible for this horrible crime. I would imagine it’s Utes. They’ve been restless lately… but I never said anything about any… creatures… I…”
“Wasn’t Utes.”
“And you know this how, exactly?”
“First, I’ve fought Utes before. This ain’t their style. Second, your boy says he saw what happened?”
“Yes.”
“He say anything about a big fella, close to seven feet tall, maybe taller, with white hair, talks with kind of a lisp and an accent, makes him sound sort of like a snake trying to speak?”
Declan thought his heart would stop. Young James had mentioned just such a man, several times in fact. It was real. Dear God. What would happen now? He saw his only son and worse, the Declan name dragged through the mud in what would undoubtedly become a feeding frenzy for the papers once word got out.
He could not be associated with this. If Hollister discovered the truth, that there was some type of sinister creatures roaming the mountainsides of Colorado, and the papers got wind of it, Declan would lose everything. The damn Indians were bad enough when they went on the warpath, keeping the settlers away, but this. If word about this got out, not only would new settlers stay away, but people would pack up and flee the state. With no one to deposit money in his bank, buy up his cattle, and lease his farmlands, he faced utter ruin. He had to contain this now. And something else no one knew, not even Slater, was the silver was nearly mined out. He’d lost a lot of the silver money in the financial panic a few years back. He was still wealthy. But not if people started fleeing the territory.
“What are you doing here, Mr. Hollister?” Declan asked.
“Senator, I have been sent to investigate.”
“I don’t like your damn casual attitude.”
“And I don’t give a damn what you like. Two days ago I was stuck in Leavenworth Military Prison digging wells, with six more years on my sentence left to go. What happened to your boy also happened to me. But you already knew that. Finding these things and killing them is going to keep me from going back to Leavenworth. And that is what I will do. I will kill them or they will kill me. But I ain’t going back to prison. Now. You want to tell me where I can find your son?”
Declan tried hard to stare Hollister down, but it didn’t work. He had learned a long time ago, even when he was cheating honest ranchers out of their land, cattle, and money, to leave them with a little something. Men who had nothing to lose couldn’t be controlled. Hollister had nothing to lose.
The senator pulled a white calling card from his vest pocket, setting it on the table in front of Hollister.
“My son is resting at our home. This is the address. My butler’s name is Silas. He will let you in to see James.”
Hollister put the card in his shirt pocket without looking at it. He stood and ignored the senator but gave a small salute to Slater before he stalked out of the dining room.
Both men were quiet for a moment.
“Slater?” the senator said quietly.
“Yes, sir?”
“When this is over, I want him dead.”
“Yes, sir,” Slater said. Thinking again that killing Hollister would not be easy.
