“Is Cyclone still alive?” Brodie asked. “Last time I talked to Ben, he said the old boy was still kicking.”
“And still as handsome as ever, like his owner.”
“I wonder if he’ll remember me.”
“Animals have an amazing memory. It may take him a while but I’m sure he hasn’t forgotten.”
“He’s twenty-three now. And my godson is almost twenty. I can’t believe it.”
“Quite a young man. Fair college student but more interested in football and girls.”
“Ben says he’s not interested in banking.”
“He’ll be twenty this year,” Eli said, waving his hand. “He’s got plenty of time to make up his mind. He’s down in Los Angeles with Isabel. They’ll be back tomorrow. Why didn’t you tell us you were coming in today?”
“I like surprises. Isabel as beautiful as ever?”
Eli nodded. “Like Maddy, she gets prettier every day. She has a birthday coming up in a few months. Thirty-seven. I think she’d rather forget it.”
“And Buck?”
“Slowed down some but he’s fine. Tells everybody he’s sixty. Hell, he’s got to be at least seventy but nobody knows for sure.”
“Is that why I’m back here?”
“You’re back here because we miss you. And Ben needs you. We talked about that once, a long time ago.”
“I remember the conversation.”
“I’ve worried over that a lot. Was it I who drove you away?”
“Don’t think that. It was time for me to leave here, see what the rest of the world looked like.”
“Well, you certainly accomplished that.”
“Seen London, Paris, New York, Chicago. Been down South.”
“Everybody needs a home to come back to, Thomas.”
“My room over the stable still available?”
“I’ll build you a house.”
Brodie laughed. “What would I do with a house?”
“Get married. Have a family.”
“We’ll talk about that later. I hear Delilah came back to Grand View after the O’Dells were killed.”
Eli nodded. “She turned the place into a private club. Well, that’s what she calls it. It’s a high-dollar bordello. She has a small casino; excellent restaurant; beautiful, educated young women. Movie stars come up from Los Angeles. Businessmen from San Francisco and points east. They come in private train cars, Stutz Bearcats, yachts. She’s made her own fortune in addition to the one her father left her.”
“I found out about the O’Dells in the New York Times. They ran a list of all the victims when the Lusitania went down. I was reading down the column and all of a sudden there it was. Shamus and Katherine O’Dell, San Francisco.”
“I suppose Shamus had his good side, he just never showed it to me. And Kate was a fine lady. Loved him dearly, although I’ll never know why.”
“Water under the bridge, Mr. Eli.”
“It’s hard to forget the past when you live with it every day.”
“It’s that bad?”
“Prohibition starts in two weeks. Things are going to be tough around here. Social House is a private club so we’ll be alright. And they’ll never shut down Grand View. I know a couple of senators and at least one governor who’ve visited the place. The good news is, it may put Riker out of business. I’ve tried to buy him out since the night O’Dell left. The town is still as rotten as ever. It attracts rowdy crowds from fifty miles around.”
“Prohibition won’t hurt Riker. If anything, he’ll make more money. He’ll board over the windows and put up a front door with a peephole, just like they’re gonna do in New York and Chicago. Hell, the Feds’ll be too busy worrying about the big cities, they won’t be snooping around a little place like this.”
“That’s bad news,” Eli said. There was still anger in his tone after all the years.
They talked for several hours, about Eureka, about what Brodie’s job would be, about Ben, whose dream for the valley was more elaborate than Eli’s. About plans to form a county board, get a new prosecutor, clean up Eureka. No decent middle-class families would live there the way it was.
“You’ll be special deputy under Buck,” Eli said. “When he retires, you will become sheriff of the whole damn shebang.”
Twenty years and nothing had changed. Eli Gorman had a plan and Brodie Culhane was the last piece to fall into place.
The conversation finally wore Eli down, and Brodie and the nurse helped him to bed for his afternoon nap. Brodie strolled across the big backyard, past Maddy’s winter garden, and through the trees to the barn. The white horse lounged near the far end of the paddock, chewing on grass. His winter coat was matted and there were snarls in his mane, but he looked as strong as ever.
Brodie whistled to the horse. The white’s ears went up and he responded immediately, peering across the length of the paddock with curiosity. Brodie whistled again.
“C’mon, pretty boy,” he said softly. “I got something for you.”
He had brought two apples from the house.
Cyclone loped down the length of the paddock, approaching Brodie cautiously at first, sniffing the air, grumbling and snorting, his ears standing straight up. He’d come close and back up, come closer and back up.
“Look what I got,” Brodie said, and held up one of the apples.
Cyclone moved closer. Brodie held the apple between his hands and twisted it in two. The horse watched, his nose checking the air. Brodie rested half the apple in the palm of his hand and held it toward the horse. Cyclone snorted, bobbing his head up and down. He walked sideways, away from the apple, and leaned his long neck out, checking it. Brodie leaned through the fence and held it.
“C’mon, boy,” he said softly. “Pretty boy, come and get it.”
Finally he came close enough to roll back his lips and snatch the apple-half with his teeth. He munched it noisily and stepped closer, sniffing for more.
“Do you remember, pretty boy? Is it coming back?” He took the makings from his pocket and awkwardly began to roll a cigarette. A piece of shrapnel had injured his left hand and it was difficult. He finally prepared the paper and then the wind blew the tobacco off. “Damn,” he said, and started over. When he finished, the butt looked like a small pretzel but he got it lit and took a deep drag, all the while talking softly to Cyclone. He gave the other apple-half to him, and this time Cyclone came closer, let him pet his muzzle.
Brodie went into the barn, found a brush, and entered the paddock. The horse backed up, his eyes cautious and uncertain. Brodie broke the other apple in half, and this time Cyclone came over and got it. Brodie very slowly began to brush his side. The horse was still skittish, but he stood still as Brodie brushed his sides and then his mane and then finally stood close to him and petted his long nose.
“Wanna go for a ride?” Brodie asked gently. “You’ll have to wear a saddle. I got a bum leg, I don’t think I can handle you bareback.”
Cyclone grumbled but held fast. Brodie returned to the stable and came back with a blanket, bridle, and saddle. Every move was slow and easy. He put the blanket on Cyclone’s back first. The horse jumped a bit but Brodie soft-talked him, then eased the saddle over the horse’s back, reached under his belly and buckled the straps. So far so good. He put the bit in his mouth and laid the reins over Cyclone’s back, and the horse bolted. He trotted a dozen yards away and stopped, his ears twisting, his nose testing. Brodie held the last half of the apple in his palm. The horse slowly returned, this time bumping against him before taking it.
“Let’s give it a try, pal,” Brodie whispered. He leaned on the cane and got his right foot in the stirrup. The horse grumbled but stood fast. Brodie swung his injured leg carefully over the saddle and sat down.
Cyclone backed up, started to bolt again, and Brodie leaned over his neck. “Easy, pretty boy. It’s just you and me.” He kept talking, and walked Cyclone around the paddock a few times, then eased him into a trot. They circled the paddock a few times and Brodie steered him to the gate, reached down, and unlatched it. Cyclone walked slowly out of the paddock.