I sat in silence for a moment, dismayed that they had gotten the drop on me like this. It should have been me writing this juicy, sordid tale. And to beaten by our rival, The Daily Times, hurt like the devil himself. I was a regular drinking partner with Billy Stewart, a reporter at the times, and we enjoyed a friendly animosity. Why, we had sipped and supped on at least three occasions since the murder, and not one word of the deed had passed his lips. Still, Moses Phoenix may not have been an inspirational subject for rebuttal, but he was all mine. So I made him a fine speech.
Why, here he was a beleaguered immigrant to our fair city, a man struggling, and succeeding, to make good under difficult circumstances, Against the odds he had prevailed, only to be thrust back into oblivion by the evil press. Why oh why would they pursue him, unsatisfied hounds of hell, their thirst for his blood never slaked until, he had either been driven from town or strung up by a citizenry maddened and provoked by the bloodlust of the Times? Would no one take his side, would no one listen to mild reason, would no one stay the crude mob and shine the light of justice? Why yes, there was someone.Someone who knew better than the lurching, unthinking crowd. Better than the slinking, hate-filled, ignorant and conniving newspaper, the Daily Times. There was Sam Clemens. And what a hero I would be!
Full of fire, I shook his hand, which proved to be remarkably strong, and assured him that he was as good as vindicated. I would write a vivid rebuttal to the slanders of the Times and in short order have the people of Virginia City begging his forgiveness. It was as plain as day, but first I needed to ascertain some of the facts. I would have to peruse the scene of the crime, the better to provide my readers of the base nature of the murder (after all, they oughtn’t to be deprived of the gory details). Then I would describe the scene of the non-crime, that is, Mr. Phoenix’s abode, where I would prove that nothing untoward could possibly have occurred. I would be, I assured him, his personal savior. Those iceberg eyes filled with tears, not cold but warm with gratitude. He took both of my hands in those crushers of his and professed his undying thanks.
“Not a bit of it,” I said modestly, as only true heros know how. “It is only what one does, to see that justice is done.” I left off the fact that I would destroy Billy’s standing as a credible reporter and deliver an exclusive interview with a surviving member of the Donner group in the bargain. Not bad for a day’s work.
But first I had to gather the detail for my story. I grew excited as I considered how I would insert actual, verifiable truth into my reporting (a usual story would be pieced together from random, amusing thoughts that occurred to me whilst I nursed a hangover from the previous night’s debauch). This would be something new, something entirely novel for me, and I found myself becoming more and more proud of myself. I was quite the prince.
My new friend wanted to accompany me, to show me where the various crimes against his good name had taken place, but I would have none of it. He must protect himself, and remain hidden from public view while I visited the scene of carnage. There was what called itself the law in that city to be considered, to say nothing of what an aroused citizenry might do to him, if they were to act before receiving my golden words of reasonableness. No, he would have to remain in my little office, and not show his sad face about town. With a show of reluctance he agreed to my plan. Planting my slouch hat upon my head and stuffing cigars in one pocket and some papers and a nub of pencil in another, I left him there.
Fairly skipping down the stairs I left the Enterprise building disappeared down the alley which brought me to the street on which the Blue Gem was located. I found it wedged between a brothel called the Golden Gully and another saloon, The Rye Expression. I had had some familiarity with both establishments, by way of my study of the nether world of the city. Nothing too intimate, just enough to recognize the devil’s tools if ever I should find myself in need of them.
To be continued...
No comments:
Post a Comment