“But they’re senators,” Fargo said. “Why not just take bribes or something?”
McKenna laughed. “Oh, there was plenty of that, too, and we don’t mind that so much. But when people start laundering illegal money and printing their own, we—or should I say our client, the United States government—takes exception to that.”
“So why involve H.D.?”
“I can answer that one,” his old friend said. “I wanted to help. McKenna here came to me about six months after I got here, just trying to get the lay of the land. When he told me what he was up to, I asked if I could help.”
“And the only way you could do that,” Fargo guessed, “was to get inside their organizations.”
“Exactly,” H.D. said. “What I wasn’t expecting was you to show up, working for Parker. I wasn’t sure what to do then, except keep going and see how things played out.”
“I didn’t know what Parker was doing,” Fargo said. “He just hired me for the poker game after I caught someone trying to cheat him.”
“That’s the part,” McKenna said, “that still doesn’t make sense to me. Why hire someone to catch cheaters, when he planned on cheating himself? And why kill Beares?”
From her cell, Hattie laughed contemptuously. “Because Beares wanted out, you idiots,” she said. “He grew himself a conscience and felt like they were making plenty of money.”
“So you shot him?” H.D. asked.
“Hell, no,” she said. “Parker did. Then he handed me the gun before any of you got there. I just played along.”
“So why’d you shoot Parker, then?” Fargo asked. “If you were in cahoots with him, and he was using the Blue Emporium for so many of his deals, why kill him?”
Hattie laughed again, and Fargo felt a chill run down his spine. This was a woman with no compassion at all. “Because I’ve made enough money, too,” she said, her voice like a block of ice. “He was starting to want more from me than I was willing to give and his demands were unreasonable. I got what I wanted from him.”
“You are one cold bitch,” McKenna said.
“Yes, I am,” she replied. “But I’m now a rich cold bitch.”
“You’re also in jail,” he reminded her.
“But she’s not staying,” Fargo said. “Is she, H.D.?”
“No,” he said, his voice filled with sadness. “I’m going to cut her loose.”
“What?” McKenna asked. “Why? She killed a man, H.D.”
“It was part of the deal,” he said. “Without Hattie’s help, I would never have gained access to Parker and Beares.”
“There’s more,” Fargo said. “I can hear it in your voice.”
He nodded. “You don’t have to make me say it, Fargo,” he said. “What’s the point?”
“There isn’t one, but McKenna needs to hear it.”
“Fine,” his old friend snapped. “She’s going free because I . . . I love her,” he admitted. “She’s cold and ruthless and a user, but . . . when I’m with her, she makes me feel alive again.”
McKenna shook his head. “It’s your choice, of course. We don’t need her for Parker and Beares. Between the evidence at their mansions and what we’ve gotten the last few weeks, they’ll be found guilty after death and their possessions auctioned off to pay restitution.”
Political corruption, Fargo realized, wasn’t all that different from the other kinds of moneygrubbing he’d seen in the West. Even the rich wanted to be richer. “Why’d you tell me that the Pinkertons were going to burn down New Orleans?” he asked McKenna. “Why not just tell me the truth?”
McKenna chuckled. “I still hadn’t spoken to H.D. and you were working for Parker. I figured that the worst case would be that you’d run to Parker with the story and maybe he’d back down. I didn’t count on you hitting me in the head and dragging me off to jail.”
“Well, if we cross paths again, you’ll know for next time,” Fargo said. He stood up, stretched, and put his empty coffee cup on the desk. “I guess that’s about it for me. I’m going to get some food and some sleep.”
H.D. nodded. “I’m sorry about what happened here, Fargo. If I could’ve told you the truth sooner, I would have.”
“I’m just glad you hadn’t really crossed the line,” he replied. “I would’ve killed you, H.D. Bad men are bad enough, but good men who’ve gone bad . . . they’re worse than rabid dogs.”
“I know,” he said. “I’ll get Hattie back over to her place and then I’ll send Mary over to the Bayou. She should be there before long.”
“Fine,” Fargo said. “Just make sure she steers clear of Hattie. You may love her, but I know a black widow when I see one.”
“There’s no accounting for love, is there, Fargo?” H.D. asked. “It just shows up when it wants to.”
Fargo was silent for a long minute; then he said, “I wouldn’t know. I can talk about death and fighting and horses and a lot of other things, but love and I don’t cross trails too often.”
“You’re a hard man, Fargo,” he said. “But sooner or later, it will catch up to you, too.”
Fargo grinned. “Not if I ride fast enough, it won’t.”
He started to step out the door, but McKenna’s voice stopped him short. “There’s just one more thing before you go,” he said.
Fargo turned back to the Pinkerton man. “What’s that?”
“The money,” McKenna said. “What did you do with it?”
“I gave it to a politician,” he said. “The mayor of Storyville.”
“That’s . . . that’s evidence, Fargo,” McKenna said. “We need to get that back.”
“Sounds like a real problem,” he said. “He’ll probably make some kind of deal for it. Perhaps a promise of no Pinkerton involvement in Storyville for a long, long time. Or maybe cash.”
“Anderson’s barely more than a common criminal!” McKenna objected. “Why should we deal with him?”
Hattie’s voice, tired out now from crying, said, “Because he cares, the dumb sonofabitch. He keeps this place running, and he practically built Basin Street. Without him, the real criminals will run the place.” She cackled softly. “You need him if you don’t want this place to really come apart at the seams.”
“Makes sense to me,” Fargo said. He tipped his hat to them, then stepped out into the morning sunshine, grateful to be away.
He didn’t think he’d ever really trust H.D. again, but he didn’t have to. It was a big country and this piece of it was one that he didn’t want to visit ever again.
Let the schemers have it, he thought. I’d rather be in the West. Out there he understood the people and the land, and more importantly, he felt at ease with himself. The trail that had led him here had taught him one thing: the trails in the city are just as bloody and dangerous as those on the frontier.
The only difference, he noted as he patted the wad of cash in his vest, was that the paychecks were sometimes bigger. But money wasn’t everything, and he had all he really needed with his Colt, his Henry, his Ovaro . . . and his burning desire to live free.
By the time he’d stabled the Ovaro and made his way back to the diner next door to the Bayou, Fargo was all but asleep on his feet. Still, he needed food first. He hadn’t eaten in a couple of days and the rich coffee H.D. had given him was sitting in his stomach like a lead weight.
He pushed open the door of the diner and found a seat at the counter, nodding at the man who came over to take his order.
“If you don’t mind me saying so, you look done in,” he said.
“I just about am,” Fargo admitted. “But I could use a bite to eat before I get some sleep. What’ve you got?”
The man smiled, his teeth so white against his black skin that they were almost blinding. “I’ve got just the thing, sir. Scrambled eggs, spicy French sausage, and fried potatoes with peppers and onions wrapped up together in a nice soft tortilla.” He paused, then said, “It’s a little bit . . .”