FIVE

We finally managed to get the car turned around, and when the traffic began to thin out halfway back to town Della started passing slow-moving vehicles on the right. And on the left. And a couple of times I thought she was simply going to plow the big Lincoln right through a snarl. I kept my mouth shut. In my view you don’t tell somebody to drive and then complain about how they do it. Finally a couple of miles from town the traffic thinned out and the car surged ahead as she bore down on the accelerator.

“Your family has money, doesn’t it?” she asked, the first words either of us had spoken since we left the well site.

“Some,” I told her.

“Mine too. Do you have any of your own?”

I shook my head. “Just enough to live well from day to day and that’s all.”

“Same thing with me,” she said.

She lapsed back into silence until we were almost to the city limits, then she turned her head and regarded me through the dark lenses of her sunglasses, the wind whipping her hair wildly about where it protruded from under the edges of her scarf. “Let’s get rich,” she said. “Let’s start right now. Today. This very afternoon.”

“I’d love to, but I don’t know very much about the oil business.”

“I do.”

“Really?”

She nodded. “I grew up in the oil game. My dad was one of the pioneers in the El Dorado field up in Arkansas, and when I was in high school he was drilling in the Cherokee Outlet over in Oklahoma.”

“I thought your father was a cotton broker.”

She turned and looked at me for a moment, her eyes unreadable behind her dark glasses. “And I thought you knew that ‘cotton broker’ is a polite Memphis term for a damned old scoundrel who likes money and will take it anywhere he can get it.”

I roared with laughter. She shook her head. “He’s something, I tell you. Don’t you ever play poker with him.”

“Hey, I’m supposed to be sort of a pro at the card table,” I said.

“You still better not play with him.”

Without warning she pulled the car over to the shoulder of the road and skidded to a stop. Whipping off her sunglasses, she turned to stare directly into my face. “I want you to answer one question for me right this minute,” she said. “You told that cop a few days back that you trust me with your life. Do you really?”

I looked into those deep blue eyes of hers and knew that this was one of those golden moments I’d remember until my last breath. Suddenly my senses were hyperacute. The very air itself seemed to hold an electrical charge, and the smells of the sagebrush and the soft new leather of the car seats baking in the noonday sun were sharp in my nostrils.

“Yes, Della, of course I do,” I answered softly.

“Good,” she said, and slipped her glasses back onto her face. “Now, which bank is the one where you deposited that draft?”

“Farmers and Merchants National. I’m supposed to talk to the president. He’s a man named Rhodes.”

She put the car in gear and roared back onto the highway with barely a glance at traffic.

It was an old-time bank, full of marble counters and bronze grillwork, the kind of institution where you might actually feel safe leaving your money. The place fell silent when we entered, and all eyes were on Della as she strode briskly through the lobby. “Go see your Mr. Rhodes,” she told me. “I think I can get my business done out here.”

Manlow Rhodes turned out to be a tall, slim man in his sixties, dressed in an elegant three-piece suit of dark blue wool that was ten years out of style. His hair was silver and sparse and his eyes were hard gray orbs set in a long, hard, gray face. A pair of rimless bifocals perched atop a thin, aristocratic nose that could no doubt smell bad credit and weak collateral as far away as a hound can smell pot liquor. His left lapel held a small diamond Shriners pin, and a Phi Beta Kappa key dangled from his watch chain. I had no doubt that in college he’d majored in accounting, and if I ever found out he wasn’t a Presbyterian I’d lose my faith in the constancy of human nature.

His handshake was dry and bony, and when he waved me into the chair before his desk it was with the easy grace of a man who’s been in charge of things for a long, long time. “Your draft cleared by wire yesterday,” he said.

“Excellent. I didn’t anticipate any trouble.”

“So you like to gamble, is that right?”

“Yes sir, I do.”

“Don’t you ever lose?”

“Occasionally, yes. Everybody does.”

He nodded. “I know, and that’s why I never indulge in the vice. But I take it that you win more often than you lose.”

“So far I have.”

“The draft you left with us was much larger than I expected when Ollie Marne talked to my friend at the hotel. Thirty thousand dollars. For the time being at least, that makes you a substantial depositor in this institution. Therefore I feel obligated to tell you exactly what my interest in that poker game is.”

“I couldn’t help but wonder,” I admitted.

“Who wouldn’t?” he asked with a long sigh. “The simple fact is that the syndicate that owns the Weilbach has a large overdue note at this bank. That game has been going on up there for years, but a few months ago I learned that the hotel was only charging a hundred and fifty dollars a weekend for use of the Plainsman Suite where it’s held. I forced them to go up to a thousand dollars. Many times that amount crosses the table up there each week, so why shouldn’t the hotel profit some from the risk they are taking? Were it to be raided by the authorities the Weilbach’s reputation would suffer, and the bank would suffer as well. That’s also the reason that I demanded the power to veto any new players, and there have been a couple of real ringers who have tried to get in up there. I don’t approve of the whole mess, to tell you the truth. But the game brings in a significant amount of cash, which has helped the hotel stay afloat. So, you can see why…” his voice dropped off.

“Yes sir, I can. But the question that’s most important to me is, do I get to play?”

He gave me a nod that was a bare moving of his head. “I can’t see any reason why not. Ollie Marne tells my friend that certain people down in Austin speak highly of you.”

Before I could reply the door opened and Della swept into the room with Rhodes’s secretary and a young lending officer trailing along in her wake like two rowboats behind a clipper ship. She strode up to the desk and laid a long, blue check in front of Rhodes. Then she put her hands possessively on my shoulders, and said, “I am trying to open an account here by transferring money from my bank back home. I told this young man that if he would call the Cotton Exchange Bank and Trust in Memphis, any of the officers there would guarantee any check I cared to write. But he insists that I will still have to wait until the check clears to draw on the account, and that just won’t do.”

Rhodes picked the check up and looked at it quickly. “Ten thousand dollars,” he murmured.

He glanced back and forth for just a second between Della and me, then swiveled around and leaned across the desk holding the check out to the young man. “This gentleman here,” he said, nodding his head toward me, “has more than adequate funds on deposit. He will be happy to guarantee the check for the young lady. Don’t bother with disturbing anyone up in Memphis. Just open the account for her and give her access to the money immediately.”

After the loan officer and the secretary left, I introduced Della to Rhodes. When she thanked him for honoring her check, he said, “Not at all, not at all. I just hope you enjoy banking with us.”

“Oh, I’m sure I will,” she said. “And now that you’re my banker I would appreciate a word of advice, if you would be so kind?”

A soft murmur of assent came from the other side of the desk.

“Tell me, how many abstract companies are there in this town?”

“Just one. And it hasn’t been very busy the last few years.”

“It’s not for sale, is it?” she asked.

“No, but I think it could be bought,” he replied with a puzzled frown. “Why do you ask?”

“Oil.”

“Oh yes, I had heard. Out west of town. I know very little of the oil business.”

“Then you need to learn,” Della informed him bluntly. “If I were you, I would go to Dallas or Tyler and hire some young banker who knows leases and royalties. When the East Texas field came in, the local bankers lost a lot of business because they didn’t know enough about the oil game to appreciate its significance.”

“Really?”

“Yes, and this strike is going to be big.”

“You feel that strongly about it?” There was no sarcasm in his voice. It was an honest question from a man seeking information.

She nodded. “I was raised in the oil business. One more thing. I also need to know if there is a good surveyor, or a map company in town who will have plats of the area out around the Donner Basin?”

“Lipscomb and Associates Surveyors. They’re on Roosevelt just three blocks past the courthouse.”

“Thank you, and now I better go finish my business.”

Rhodes got to his feet and walked her to the door and she quickly vanished back out into the lobby. After he’d resumed his seat behind the desk, he and I chatted for a few minutes, passing the time with meaningless pleasantries. Finally I rose and shook his hand once more. “If this is a good field the Weilbach should be in the black in no time,” I told him. “It will certainly draw a lot of people to town.”

“If it’s a really big strike the problem with the hotel might not even matter anymore,” he said. “You go on up there and play your cards anytime you want, young man. They’ll be expecting you.”

I hoped then that the strike would be big, and not just for Della and myself either. I had decided that I respected Manlow Rhodes the minute he committed me to guaranteeing the check for Della. He had strong-armed me a little there, and I couldn’t help but admire him for having the guts to do it. It made me feel a deep sense of regret about what was going to happen in a few months.