Ernie and Dorrie greeted Diana with pleasure, me with openness, and sat with us at a table toward the back.
Ernie reminded me of the actor Ben Johnson, with a brush mustache and eyebrows to match, a rumbly, western voice, and eye-squinting lines dug deep into tanned skin.
Dorrie had short, determinedly dark hair with a line of girlish, short bangs across her forehead. The determination of her hair color, though, couldn’t hold a candle to her jaw. She could have shared it with three or four folks not blessed in the jaw department and had plenty left over.
“Did either of you know Furman York back then? Before the trial and everything.” Tactful way to refer to murder, but I didn’t want to discourage them from talking to me if he’d been friendly with York.
“Yeah, I knew him a little. Mostly from playing cards.”
“And drinking,” Dorrie said. “Bunch of little boys acting like truants from school. Wouldn’t give ’em all the liquor they wanted, so they’d go from here to those shanty bars that popped up like mushrooms.”
“York was one of those?”
“Not often,” Dorrie said. “He went straight to the loose bars. Didn’t want to waste time eating when all he was interested in was getting a skin full.”
“The lady asked me and you just said he hardly came in here.”
“Go right ahead. Tell her all about your dear friend.”
“He wasn’t no dear friend of mine. And you know—”
I stepped in to keep this from completely derailing. Sometimes back and forth between sources can reveal more than direct answers. But this seemed to be heading toward revealing more about their marriage and history. Certainly more than I wanted to know.
“What kind of card player was he?”
Both of them blinked at me. With a second blink, a light went on in Ernie’s eyes.
“That’s a real interesting question, Elizabeth. Most times he was kind of all over the place — no discipline, you know? But then he’d get ticked off at somebody who won a pot he thought he was going to win and Furman would turn into one of those dogs that latches on and won’t let go. All focus. All on one thing. It was like he didn’t care anymore about winning, he just wanted the other guy to lose. Sometimes it wasn’t just that night, either. He’d go days and days, following the poor guy who’d ticked him off, doing his best to make him lose. And you know, he did pretty good making some of those guys lose.”
“But eventually he’d get over it? Move on?” Dorrie asked.
Ernie cocked his head. “Move on, yeah. To the next guy who ticked him off. Pretty much let go of one guy because another one came along more recent like. Did it once to me and as soon as he was on to the next guy, I didn’t ever play with him again. There were plenty enough games around to get in on, no need to tangle with him.”
The militant glint returned to Dorrie’s eyes, indicating her temporary detour into poker’s character-revealing aspects had ended. “Plenty enough games around to lose your money in, you mean.”
Again, I stepped in quickly with a question.
“Have you encountered him much in his years at the Lukasik Ranch?”
“Nah. Not the type to stop in here or go to county events. Might’ve seen him in Sherman now and then, not to pass the time of day with.”
“Did you know Leah Pedroke? Maybe encounter her in the office where she worked?”
“Sure did. I was in there most days, trying to catch on with them right off when — if the boom hit. Good outfit.”
I suspected he was aware of Dorrie’s scowl, but neither of us looked at her.
“What was she like?
“Good worker. Spoke real pleasant to just about everybody. Sweet thing. Too sweet, really, for dealing with those oil toughs.”
Dorrie’s snort communicated her disdain for oil toughs, reminded Ernie he’d experienced a spell of madness when he tried to become one, and added that she’d like to see one of those so-called toughs coming after her.
Ernie paused, perhaps to make sure she had no further non-verbal comment — probably a wise move.
“She handled most of them real well,” he said. “She’d give them that cool look like they’d get from their mommas and remind them to treat her like a lady. Trouble came with those who didn’t have the right kind of momma or any momma at all. Because all they saw was a pretty face with a body that would turn an altar boy into—”
He coughed to break it off under his wife’s stare. Then reset his conversational path.
“Not at all sure she’d have known how to deal with someone who didn’t behave himself after one of her looks, if you know what I mean.”
“She did,” Dorrie said abruptly.
Ernie and Diana looked as confused as I felt. “She did what?” I asked.
“Have a momma of the right kind. A momma, daddy, sister, and brother.”
“How’d you know that?” Ernie gaped at her.
“Leah told me about them. Came in here a couple times when she first arrived and saw I was near drowning.” She side-eyed her husband, a reminder that he’d caused that predicament. “After that, she pitched right in. Had no restaurant experience, but knew her way around a kitchen and caught on quick. Talked about all her parents taught her. They’d taught her well. She was a good young woman. A kind person.” Tears came into her eyes while her chin remained firm.
“I never knew you—”
“You weren’t around.”
Ernie winced, as if he felt the impact of those three flat words more than everything else she’d said on the topic.
Dorrie turned to Diana and me. “Told her parents so when I went to see them at Gee Decker’s and give them the checks she’d never take for helping me. Couldn’t afford much, considering, but it was some.” She sighed. “Helped with the cost of their coming out here to see that worthless scum get tried. And then he got off. Almost like the girl dying all over again.”
* * * *
Dorrie told us more about Leah helping her. Both confirmed that the general sentiment was that York got away with murder through bribery, with the wide-ranging theories about how unhindered by proof. Other than that, neither she nor Ernie expanded beyond what Mrs. P had said.
Two messages to call as soon as I was available awaited when I turned my phone back on after Diana and I left Ernie’s restaurant … with only a small carryout bag each.
Mike and Tom. In that order. So that’s how I returned their calls.
Mike answered with, “Where are you?”
“Diana and I are driving back to Sherman after talking to Ernie and Dorrie.”
“Hi, Mike.”
“Geez, I missed that, too? Hi, Diana.”
“Too?”
“Don’t act all innocent. Tom told me about you going out to Lukasik Ranch, Elizabeth. And how you were talking to Lukasik, and nosing around about York’s friends.”
“Did he?”
“Nosing around’s my term, not his,” he added quickly.
Another example of them sticking up for each other.
Tom first appeared in Mike’s childhood world as a high school basketball star, though Mike’s athletic success exceeded Tom’s. A long time ago they’d come to the equality of mutual respect.
“Did he tell you I said I’d fill everybody in at the same time?”
“Yeah. And he didn’t give me any details for the same reason.” He groaned. “If I didn’t have to do these lead-ins for the other stations that wanted pieces of the interview, I could have shaken free this afternoon.”
“How many stations, Mike?”
“Four. Plus Chicago — I knew some of those guys from when I played — wants me on live for intro and outro for the interview. So I’m tied up until five.” That would cover the end of a five o’clock broadcast in Chicago, which was an hour earlier than Wyoming. “And then I might as well stick around for the Five here. Les is grumbling around the shop this afternoon and it’ll keep him off my back a while.”
“That’s tremendous exposure, Mike. You’ve got to be thrilled about that.”
“Way to go,” Diana added.
“Yeah, I know.” Underneath I could tell he was excited. “But you’re going to have this all solved before I get into it at all.”
“Not likely. We’ll bring you up to speed — and we’ll all share what we learned.”
“Can you wait until after the Ten, because one of the stations is West Coast and another station — I forgot about that, so it’s five total. Anyway, D.C. wants me to do a fresh lead-in for their late broadcast — in the news segment, not sports — so I’ll be working straight through.”
“If the others can’t wait that late, I promise to fill you in no matter how late it goes.”
“Okay. Thanks, Elizabeth. That’s when I’ll tell you what Jack said when I talked to him.” He sounded much more cheerful, probably because he’d remembered he had information to hold hostage in order to get ours. “And hope I’ll get a chance to contribute more after this rush.”
This rush — this interview could be a career-maker for him.
“Go knock ’em dead, Paycik.”
He clicked off.
We drove in silence for a few moments.
“Is he as good as I think he is?” Diana asked.
“Yes.”
“He’ll leave here?”
“Yes.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“I don’t know.”
She blew out a breath. “You better find out.”
I drove several more miles before placing the next call.