Quake believed there were no honest men in Spokane Falls. His work had taken him to so many cities and towns across Washington Territory, and in most of them he found people to be just as they were: straightforward, trusting, and trustworthy. But here in Spokane Falls, he’d yet to meet or even hear of a single person who fit that description. It seemed everyone was out to get one over on someone else. There was Heydale, of course. Then there was his story of the woman who ultimately got the upper hand on him. There was Heydale’s boss, Zeeb, yet another crooked banker. And then whoever Zeeb was working for, presumably city officials—councilmen and the mayor. There were the brazen thieves in the streets, and the only slightly more highbrow thieves selling fraudulent or overpriced goods from tents. Then there were the police, who were charged with keeping the peace but seemed on the take just like the other crooks.
And there was Quake himself. Never honest, never trustworthy, never straightforward. He had no illusions otherwise. Still, he did not think himself the worst person in Spokane Falls. Not by a long shot.
The worst person was Chief Hornsweller. Quake decided as much the day after their conversation about anarchists. He was leaving the police station, intending to get a meal at one of the tent restaurants before heading back to his hotel for the night, when Hornsweller called out to him.
“Inspector Auchenbaucher? Could I have a word with you in my office?” The police chief’s voice had a nervous edge to it, but when Quake turned to meet him, he found him smiling. Further proof of the man’s lack of self-control. He was so clearly up to something, even a child would have known it.
Quake followed him into the space Hornsweller called an office, but it was really just a room. It had no desk or bookshelves. There was only one chair. Quake couldn’t imagine what Hornsweller used the office for. He probably just sat in it and called that work.
Hornsweller lowered himself onto the chair. Quake leaned against the wall, reaching out with a hand to close the door. Though it was Hornsweller who had summoned him and not the other way around, he wanted the police chief to feel a little trapped with him. Intimacy, Quake found, had a way of stripping away insincerity. There was no one for Hornsweller to put on a show for.
“Seattle told us you need to be paid,” Hornsweller started. “For your services and all. We intend to make good on that.”
A pleasant surprise. It had, in other cities, been Quake’s least favorite part of the arson inspector scam: explaining why a fee needed to be tendered by that municipality—expenses not covered by his salary, and so on. But here, Hornsweller was relieving him of that discomfort. Too good to be true, Quake decided.
“Trouble is, the mayor says the city’s short on cash.”
There it was. Quake fixed Hornsweller with a deeply impassive gaze.
“The cost of making repairs since the fire, it nearly cleaned us out, assets-wise,” he continued.
A lie. Spokane Falls was bursting at the seams with cash and goods from other cities. Though Hornsweller had no idea Quake knew this.
“And then there’s all the money Heydale stole from the bank. Well, with all that, we just don’t have the funds. But don’t worry, you’ll still get paid! The mayor’s got a plan for that.”
Still Quake said nothing. Kept waiting.
“What he says we can give you instead are banknotes. We’ve collected most of the ones Heydale issued before we arrested him. We don’t need them for evidence anymore, so we’re putting them back into circulation. Just until the city gets its cash situation sorted out. They’re certified from a bank, by a banker.”
“You intend to pay me in forgeries made by a man currently in police custody for those very forgeries, among other crimes?”
Hornsweller looked at his shoes. “Well, Heydale says they’re good as cash. The mayor says the same.”
What a truly awful place, Quake thought, where the highest-ranking civic leaders were perfectly comfortable using the logic of their most hated criminal.
Most men in Quake’s position would call bullshit. But the brazenness of this bullshit Hornsweller was trying to sell him gave him pause. It meant someone in Spokane Falls—Hornsweller or the mayor or someone else—thought Quake of so little consequence, they were willing to cheat him with no fear of repercussion. Again, he wondered if his scheme might have been discovered. But if that were the case, wouldn’t he already be under arrest? Spokane Falls, he’d found, was not a place to hesitate. He couldn’t be sure one way or the other. Not that the reason mattered. Success was never a result of perfect understanding. It was only about shifting the balance of power back into his favor. But he had become exhausted by this game he felt himself playing with Hornsweller—nearly every day a new problem for which to devise an elaborate fix. A lesser con man would have given up. Quake had never done that before on a job. He wasn’t going to let Spokane Falls be the first to get the best of him.
So, with no more than a quick nod, he agreed to what Hornsweller had told him. Then he left the room before Hornsweller had the chance to say anything else. Then he closed the door behind him. He did this to show he was the one having the last word, but he pushed too hard and it slammed, betraying his anger.