“Yes, I knew you were living here,” Tamara said, “but I didn’t want to bother you with my troubles.”
Sally reached her hand across the table to lay it on Tamara’s hand. “Tamara, we are friends. Friends are never a bother. Now, please, tell me what is going on with you.”
“Shortly after you and Smoke Jensen were married, I married a man named Ian McKenzie.”
“Did he live in Bury?”
“No. I left Bury and went to Denver to take a position there. That’s where I met Ian. He was a lawyer, and a wonderful man.”
“Was?”
“He took cholera and died two years ago,” Tamara said.
“Oh, I’m so sorry.”
“Yes, it was awful. I miss him so. But, to make matters worse, I found out his law partner had been cheating him all along. I’m sure that Ian died thinking I would be well taken care of, but there was nothing left of his estate. I left Denver with nothing but the clothes on my back.”
“Tamara! If you knew I was living here, you should have come to see me,” Sally said.
“I couldn’t do that. I won’t be a burden to my friends or to my relatives.”
“Where are you living now? And what are you doing in Big Rock?”
“I am living in Gothic,” Tamara said.
“Gothic? Why, that is very close to here. Tamara, if you are that close, you should have come to see me.”
“I planned to do so once I got back on my feet,” Tamara replied.
“Are you teaching in Gothic?”
“No. I applied, but there is no position for me. I have been earning a living baking pies and cakes and selling them from my house.” Tamara smiled. “I’ve actually done better than I thought I would, so that gave me the idea of starting a restaurant.”
“Why, Tamara, that is a wonderful idea,” Sally said. “So, why are you in Big Rock? Do you plan to start it here?”
“No. The restaurant will be in Gothic. To tell the truth, I have come to get some ideas from the people who are running this restaurant. There is already another café in Gothic, and I’m not sure they would be all that happy to have competition, so I thought I would do my research over here.”
“I remember what a good cook you were, even when we were in college. You would sometimes prepare a veritable feast for us. I think your restaurant will do wonderfully.”
“Thank you. I hope I can convince, Mr. Flowers.”
“Mr. Flowers?”
“He owns the Miners’ Bank in Gothic,” Tamara said. “I will be applying to him for a loan to get my restaurant started.”
“How much money will you be asking for?”
“Quite a lot, I’m afraid. From all I have been able to figure, I’m going to need at least two thousand dollars.”
“You’ve got it,” Sally said.
“No, I don’t have it. That’s why I’m going to have to borrow from the bank.”
“No, I mean you’ve got the loan. There is no need for you to go to the bank. I will lend you the two thousand dollars you need.”
“Oh, Sally, no,” Tamara said. “I told you, I don’t want to be a burden to my friends. And I especially don’t want to borrow money from them. Why, what if the restaurant doesn’t make it?”
“What would you do with the bank if the restaurant doesn’t make it?”
“I don’t know, to be honest. I haven’t thought it through that far.”
“That’s because your restaurant is going to make it. I’ll come over next week with the two thousand dollars you need. If you truly are my friend, you won’t upset me by turning this offer down.”
Tamara’s eyes welled with tears. “Oh, Sally. What a wonderful friend you are.”
CHAPTER THREE
Colorado State Penitentiary, Cañon City, Colorado
The prison guard walked down the center aisle between flanking rows of cells, carrying a large ring of keys.
“Hey, Jack, you comin’ to let me out of here? I’m innocent, you know,” one of the prisoners called to him.
“Yeah,” the guard answered. “There’s not a guilty person in this whole prison.”
“That’s right,” another prisoner said. “We’re all innocent, so when are you goin’ to let us out?”
“Two men are getting out today,” Jack replied. “They aren’t innocent. They’ve just served their time.”
“Hey, tell the warden to check his books. I know damn well I’ve served my time,” another prisoner said.
“Hell, Smitty, you’ve only been in here two months,” someone else said.
“Is that right? Damn, I thought I had been here for ten years already.”
The other prisoners, and even Jack, laughed.
He stopped in front of one of the cells, and the prisoner, as was the routine, stepped all the way back to stand against the wall.
“What’s your name?” Jack asked the prisoner.
“Hell, Jack, you know who I am. I done been here for five years,” the prisoner answered.
“You do want to get out today, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Then you’ll do this my way. What is your name?”
“Parnell. Cole Parnell, number 1210.”
Jack unlocked the door.
“Step out into the aisle, Parnell, and come with me.”
Parnell did as instructed until they reached the far end of the aisle, where Jack went through the same procedure with a man named Johnny Putnam, number 1138. Parnell and Putnam marched in step with Jack toward the lock gate at the other end of the aisle. Prisoners shouted their goodbyes as the men walked by.
“Good-bye, boys.”
“Putnam, don’t forget, you owe me two dollars.”
“I’ll send it to you,” Putnam called.
“No need to. You’ll be back inside in less than a month. You can just bring it to me.”
Parnell and Putnam were taken to the warden’s office. Each was given a new pair of jeans, a denim shirt, and a wool coat. They took off their striped trousers and striped shirt to put on the new clothes.
“Here’s five dollars apiece,” the warden said, sliding the money across the desk. “Both of you are young enough that you have your entire life ahead of you. I don’t want to see you back here again.”
Neither Parnell nor Putnam answered. Dressed in their new clothes, they took the five dollars and put the money in their pocket.
“I had a gun and holster when I checked in here,” Putnam said.
“Yeah, I did too,” Parnell added.
The warden nodded, then opened the bottom right drawer of his desk. “Here are your guns. No bullets. I would suggest you don’t use them for anything other than shooting varmints and the like.”
“Don’t worry none about that, warden,” Putnam said as he strapped on his pistol belt. “I ain’t plannin’ on doin’ nothin’ that will get me back in here. No offense meant, but this here prison ain’t exactly a high class hotel.”
The warden chuckled. “Why thank you, Mr. Putnam. I’ll take that as a compliment. It is our intention to make your stay here unpleasant enough that you will think twice before doing anything that might cause you to return.”
Fifteen minutes later the two former prisoners walked through the door at the front gate. They heard the door slam shut behind them, a clanking of steel on steel.
They stood for a moment, as if adjusting to the fact that, for the first time in five years, they could see from horizon to horizon without walls around them.
“Damn,” Parnell said. “Damn, this feels good.”
“Don’t it though?” Putnam replied.
“What are you going to do now?” Parnell asked.
“I’m going to find the nearest saloon and have a beer,” Putnam said. “No, not a beer, a whiskey. A real whiskey.”
Bill Dinkins was sitting in the Red Dog saloon when he saw Johnny Putnam and another man come in. Dinkins knew that Putnam was getting out of prison today, and it was for that reason he had come to Cañon City. He watched as the two men stepped up to the bar to order drinks. Their new jeans and shirt, plus the five dollar bill each of them slapped down on the bar, telegraphed to everyone in the saloon that they were just-released prisoners. The other saloon patrons moved away pointedly.