Tallman pulled into Fresno shortly after midnight. The bright lights and general hubbub of the sporting district made it simple to locate. Where Elm Street intersected Broadway, he stepped down from the buggy and tied the horse to a hitching-rail. Then he went looking for Vivian.
Some hours earlier, Tallman had escaped the clutches of Angela Pryor. After their talk, she’d cooked him supper and treated him to more of her fine Napoleon brandy. When she suggested he spend the night, he had begged off and got her to settle for an encore performance in the sack. Their second time around, she had proved herself an accomplished gymnast on a goose-down mattress. Upon leaving, he’d felt a little used and bruised. The widow Pryor was of the rough and tumble lovemaking school.
By a roundabout route, Tallman had then headed for Fresno. Angela’s unwitting disclosures about McQuade and the Settlers’ League had unveiled new facets of the case. With all he’d learned, it was therefore imperative that he brief Vivian immediately. Then, too, it was no less vital that he obtain a report on what she had unearthed in Fresno. An exchange of information might very well suggest some quicker approach to their investigation. There was, moreover, the matter of Ambrose Sloan. He meant to sic Vivian on the lawyer without delay.
Fresno’s sporting district was slowly winding down for the night. Tallman bypassed the sleezier dives and limited his search to those establishments with a touch of class. His third stop was the Palace Variety Theater, and he spotted Vivian the moment he walked through the door. She was seated at a table with two men, one portly and the other trim. By their attire, he pegged them as men of substance and some position in the community. He walked to the bar and took a place directly opposite Vivian’s table. Ordering rye, he casually turned with the glass in hand and put his back to the counter. He sipped and willed Vivian to look in his direction.
To all appearances, a contest was underway at the table. The stout man and the dandy were obviously in a neck-to-neck race for Vivian’s favor. She, in turn, was acting the coquette, playing one off against the other with minxish charm. She laughed, quaffing their champagne with gusto, and divided her attention equally between them. At last, her head thrown back in a bawdy howl of merriment, her eyes drifted to the bar. She did a quick double take and her gaze fastened on Tallman. He ducked his chin, acknowledging her look, and cut his eyes sharply toward the door. She flashed a pearly grin in return and instantly went back to the courting ritual with her gentlemen friends. Tallman finished his drink, watching the chorus line onstage with jaded disinterest. Then he sauntered to the door and stepped outside.
An hour or so later the Palace closed for the night. Posted in a doorway across the street, Tallman observed Vivian’s admirers depart as the theater emptied. Shortly afterwards, Vivian emerged with several other girls and bid them a loud good night. Turning uptown, she walked off alone and strolled toward the distant intersection. Tallman hung back a moment, then trailed her from the opposite side of the street. On Broadway, she rounded the corner and went directly to her hotel.
Tallman angled across the street. He moved through the hotel entrance and saw Vivian waiting at the bottom of the stairway. She pressed a finger to her lips and then pointed to the night clerk, who was snoozing peacefully behind the desk. Tallman crossed the lobby and followed her to the second floor landing. There she proceeded along the hall to her room and unlocked the door. Without a word, he slipped inside and halted in the dark. She closed the door and locked it behind her.
Vivian turned and he took her in his arms. She kissed him long and hungrily, performing a variation of bumps and grinds against his groin. Finally, with a low chuckle, he broke her hold and swatted her smartly on the rump. She laughed and moved to the washstand, tossing her cape on the bed. A match flared and she lit a lamp, adjusting the wick to a dim glow. She pirouetted around and spread her arms in a grandiose gesture.
“However humble, there’s no place like home!”
“Christ,” Tallman muttered, eyeballing the stark furnishings. “I told you to pick a fleabag, not a flophouse.”
“All part of the charade,” Vivian said cheerily. “Even the girls at the Palace think I’m busted flat. One of them offered to loan me ten dollars till payday. How’s that for acting the part?”
Tallman inspected the room closely. “Offhand, I’d say this dump would convince anyone.”
“You ain’t seen nothin’ yet!” Vivian hooted. “Wait till the cockroaches start their parade.”
“Spare me the details.” Tallman sat down in the single straight-backed chair. “We’ve got work to do and damned little time. I have to be back in Hanford before daylight.”
Vivian’s expression turned serious. She took a seat on the edge of the bed, hands folded in her lap. “I’m all ears. You talk and I’ll listen.”
Tallman related the events of the past two days. He skipped over nothing and he dwelled at length on the more salient points. He briefed her on McQuade and the Settlers’ League meeting, and outlined details of the Southern Pacific sales contract. Only one omission was made in his recounting. He neglected to mention his bruising tryst with the widow Pryor.
“In a nutshell,” he concluded, “the railroad’s out to screw the settlers. Which means we were conned from the very beginning. Our assignment has nothing whatever to do with squatters. We were hired to make sure those people got screwed six ways to Sunday.”
“So it appears,” Vivian allowed. “Of course, we’re in no position to make any judgments. We’re private detectives for hire, not idealists.”
“Once before I told you the Southern Pacific has the law on its side, and nothing has happened to change that. We’re still the mercenaries and we’ll earn our pay. But I’m starting to think it’s a helluva way to make a living.”
“Unless I missed something”—Vivian paused for emphasis—“the Southern Pacific isn’t the only villain in the piece. From what you say, there are other forces at work.”
“No doubt about it,” Tallman growled. “And it’s dirty work of the lowest kind. I’m convinced someone is using those farmers as a stalking horse. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say a sacrificial goat.”
“To what purpose?” Vivian asked. “Who would benefit by sabotaging bridges and trains?”
“Good question,” Tallman said grumpily. “I haven’t the foggiest notion.”
“But you suspect McQuade?”
“So far as I can determine, he’s the only candidate.”
“And his motive?”
“One big blank,” Tallman said, troubled. “For all Angela Pryor told me, the man’s still an absolute cipher.”
“Not entirely,” Vivian reminded him. “You know McQuade organized the Settlers’ League, and without him it would fall apart. I gather he’s not the Good Samaritan type, and that tells us a great deal in itself. He has to have a reason, some way he’ll benefit. Otherwise, what’s the point?”
“I admit I’m stumped,” Tallman conceded. “For a moment it occurred to me that he might be an agent for the railroad. Wrecking trains and blowing bridges certainly casts the settlers in a bad light. But on second thought, I decided the theory won’t hold water. That’s just a little too smooth, even for the Southern Pacific.”
“If not the railroad, then who?”
“Try asking me a simple question.”
“All right,” Vivian replied with a wave of her hand. “Why did he move from Bakersfield to Hanford? All the more important, why did he make the move at the exact time the Southern Pacific served eviction notice on the settlers?”
“I’ll go you one better,” Tallman countered. “Why would he buy a farm when he knew he wouldn’t receive a valid deed? To compound matters, he must have known that the sales contract with the railroad wasn’t worth the paper it’s written on.”
“Coincidence?” Vivian offered. “Poor judgment?”
“Some coincidence.” Tallman scoffed. “And it goddamn sure wasn’t poor judgment. McQuade’s no fool, and only an imbecile would have bought into that kind of fight. His move there was planned—premeditated.”
“You’re saying he bought into the fight for a purpose?”
“I see no other explanation.”
“Which means we’ve come full circle.”
Tallman stared at her a long time, finally he drew a deep breath. “It’s like a Chinese puzzle. A box within a box within a box.”
“Why not ask McQuade himself—point-blank?”
“Ask him what?”
“Why he moved to Hanford and bought the farm.”
“I already have,” Tallman remarked. “I got him talking, and he told me he’d come west from Ohio. Went into a song and dance about California being the land of opportunity. He very pointedly said nothing—zero—about having settled first in Bakersfield.”
Vivian whistled softly under her breath. “He’s a man of many secrets, our Major McQuade.”
“Well, as some poet so aptly penned—‘O what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive.’ Our job is to find a strand and unravel the Major’s web.”
“Where do you suggest we start?”
“Here.” Tallman gestured out the window. “That’s why I busted my arse getting to Fresno tonight.”
“Fresno?” Vivian repeated blankly. “You think we’ll find the answer in Fresno?”
“You’ll recall I mentioned a Fresno lawyer who represents the Settlers’ League. His name is Sloan.”
“Sloan?” Vivian looked astounded. “Not Ambrose Sloan?”
“How’d you know that?”
“Call it dumb luck,” Vivian said honestly. “The two gents I was sitting with tonight, when you gave me the high sign . . . remember?”
Tallman searched his memory. “One was fat and somewhere in his late forties. The other was slim and quite well-dressed, probably ten years younger.”
“You don’t miss a trick,” Vivian said with genuine wonder. “Well, hold onto your hat, lover! The younger one was Ambrose Sloan.”
Tallman smiled, obviously pleased. “Tell me about it.”
“I figured somebody prosperous would be the best source of information. So I collared those two and gave them the Jezebel treatment. The fat one’s Benjamin Canby, president of the Mercantile National Bank.” Vivian suddenly burst out laughing. “You might say they’re in a dead heat to see who gets into my pants first.”
“What have you learned so far?”
“Not much,” Vivian explained. “Too much curiosity too fast would have seemed out of character for a saloon girl. I was working up to it gradually.”
Tallman considered a moment. “All right, here’s the way we’ll work it. Ditch the banker and concentrate on Sloan. Be discreet, but pump him dry. I want specifics on his connection with McQuade.”
“You think they’re in cahoots?”
“Something smells fishy,” Tallman said with assurance. “By all accounts, Sloan is a capable attorney. But he took on a hopeless case and I suspect he knew it from the outset. One look at that sales contract would have convinced anyone with even a little legal training.”
Vivian made an empty gesture with her hands. “Maybe he was trying to bluff the Southern Pacific into a settlement. Or maybe he just saw the chance to earn a sizable fee. Lawyers are known for their sticky palms.”
“Or maybe,” Tallman added, frowning heavily, “he’s involved in a little hocus-pocus with McQuade. I get suspicious when someone badmouths their own attorney. And McQuade personally handpicked Sloan.”
“So you want me to find out the score?”
“Exactly.”
“Will do,” Vivian said agreeably. “Anything to speed the case along—and get me out of Fresno!”
“What’s wrong with Fresno?”
“A horny bastard named Horace Logan. He owns the theater, and a girl either puts out or she loses her job. I can’t hold him off much longer.”
“Then the quicker the better with Sloan. Turn on the charm and get him to talk.”
A funny look surfaced in Vivian’s eyes. “Was that how you got the widow Pryor to talk?”
“Well . . .” Tallman gave her a sheepish smile. “Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies. Fair enough?”
“On one condition!” Vivian studied him with a wicked expression. “Share and share alike . . . equal treatment!”
Tallman groaned and consulted his pocket watch. “We’re a little short on time.”
“I’ve got a short fuse.” Vivian brightened with a wide smile.
Tallman wanted nothing more than a good night’s sleep. He was numb and overworked, and he thought another roll in the hay might cripple him. Yet he heard the siren’s call in her voice, and temptation beckoned. He rose to the occasion.
On the bed, Vivian hugged him with fierce possession. Her arms clutched him about the neck and her breasts flattened against his chest. She kissed him passionately and trembled with an almost uncontrollable sense of urgency. Her hand unbuttoned the fly of his trousers and groped for his cock. She stroked it tenderly, lovingly, her caress like the gentle tingle of a snowflake.
Tallman got back to Hanford later than he’d planned.