Envelopes
Five couples pulled back from the large dining table, having just finished a lavish four-course dinner expertly prepared by the talented McCreedy cook. The women retired to the parlor to partake in polite social conversation shared with sherry. The men adjourned to their host's study for fine aged cognac, expensive hand-rolled cigars, and a discussion of local and national events. In the middle of a heated debate on the feasibility of finding oil in the west, especially in Texas, after the proven success of oil wells in the Appalachian Basin, east of the Mississippi River, Big Mac McCreedy staggered back and fell heavily into an overstuffed arm chair. Beads of perspiration formed on his suddenly pasty face as he gasped for breath and grabbed at his chest and left arm. Dr. Holwitt hastily thrust his glass of brandy into the banker Peterson's hand as he took charge in the crisis.
Some hours later, the initial chaos had settled down and the guests had left. It was well into the middle of the night when up in the large master bedroom Big Mac lay propped by numerous pillows to ease his labored breathing. Dr. Holwitt had retired to a nearby guest bedroom, remaining quickly accessible to his patient, who was also a friend. A still dressed, plump, formidable woman sat dozing lightly in a chair placed at the bedside, her hand resting on the covers next to her husband's, a beautifully carved set of ivory rosary beads entangled her fingers. Carlotta McCreedy startled when Big Mac reached out and weakly squeezed his wife's hand while struggling to speak. The deeply worried woman leaned in closer as tears formed on dark lashes.
"Carlotta, love, …have someone…fetch my lawyer now…it's important."
Calotta studied the pale blue eyes of her husband, found late in life, and realized the truth. She reluctantly rose from her chair and exited the room. Returning quickly, Carlotta resumed her bedside vigil as Patrick McCreedy whispered words of love he never expected to feel, much less express to a woman he was grateful to have in his life and he knew who he had to thank.
Four months later
Two still-retired, amnesty-seeking outlaws, Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry, hesitated in the late afternoon shadows outside the Porterville Sheriff's office, slipping to the side of the window and spying on the interior before deciding to enter.
"Well?"
"Lom sitting at his desk. One man, in a suit with a portfolio, must be the lawyer. Cells look empty. No deputy." Curry leaned back and gave his report to his partner. They quietly retreated to the corner of the building.
Heyes tilted his hat back and rubbed his chin partially obscuring his mouth as he ruefully admitted, "I can't believe I'm saying this but I'm sure going to miss Big Mac. The challenges and the money. Too bad he died so sudden-like."
"What's Big Mac's lawyer want with us? You don't think…", Curry pondered while he reflexively scanned the area, looking for anything untoward.
"Nah, Kid, Uncle Mac's had a soft spot for his nephew Thaddeus," Heyes reassured the worrier, half seriously. "Besides, I really don't think he'd turn us in on his deathbed. Carlotta Armendariz McCreedy sure don't need the reward money and it would be a Marshall visiting Lom not a lawyer. Anyway, if Lom was gonna set us up, it wouldn't be like this. He's not that imaginative. He's more a straight shooter."
"Well, there's only one way to find out. After you, partner." Kid gestured at the front door with a raised eyebrow and a strained smile.
"Howdy Lom", Heyes greeted his old friend, striding confidently into the Porterville Sheriff's Office, his semi-reluctant partner trailing close behind.
The no nonsense sheriff rose, his eyes narrowed for an instant before muttering to himself, "I just lost that bet."
Heyes raised an inquiring eyebrow and Curry shrugged in response.
Lom caught the exchange, "Well boys, you don't usually come in together, especially if you're not sure why you're here. It's a shame, too, since I just replaced the lock on that side door."
"Mr. Rutowski, may I introduce Joshua Smith and Thaddeus Jones. Mr. Rutowski is Mr. McCreedy's attorney, who came all the way from Texas to meet with you two."
The men shook hands all around then found seats and settled down to business. Mr. Rutowski placed his portfolio on the sheriff's desk, opened it and withdrew 2 large manila envelopes. He gave a little nervous cough and glanced at Lom for reassurance.
"I am here to execute the last will and testament of Patrick McCreedy. You, sirs, are the last of the bequest beneficiaries. Before we start, I need to confirm your true identities. Am I speaking with Hannibal Heyes and Jedediah Curry? Do you have any proof of who you are?"
Heyes, intrigued, leaned back in his chair, "Lom, do you have our wanted posters in one of those drawers? We don't exactly carry around any documents attesting to our real names right at the moment."
"Mr. Rutowski, I'll attest that you have before you the one and only Jedediah Curry and Hannibal Heyes."
"Uhm, Yes, I guess you would know. Excuse me Mr. Curry, Mr. Heyes, but you don't look like infamous outlaws to me. I had despaired of ever contacting you as you have managed to evade the law for many years. You see, Mr. McCreedy specifically names you by your real names in his will. It wasn't until Mrs. McCreedy remembered who Mr. Smith and Mr. Jones really were and that Pat reached you through Sheriff Trevors, here that I had any hope of concluding the probate, which in itself caused quite a stir. I must tell you I did not appreciate the visits by various interested U.S. Marshals…"
Curry abruptly stood, silently drew his colt and rapidly performed a surveillance round by peering out every window and door in the building. Lom watched, quietly amused. Heyes steadily studied the attorney whose face reddened as he became flustered under such intense scrutiny.
Lom sought to ease the sudden tension, "Now boys, Mr. Rutowski was as anxious to circumvent the law's interest in the will's probate as you and I are. We put together a plan, that even you would appreciate Heyes, to avoid anyone tracing him here. Relax, and sit back down, Kid."
The lawyer retrieved a handkerchief from the inside pocket of his suit and wiped his sweaty forehead while keeping a wary eye on Kid Curry. He still couldn't believe Patrick McCreedy had insisted on making a deathbed request amendment to his will. And he was shocked to his core to when he found out that Thaddeus Jones was really Kid Curry and Jones' friend Smith was Hannibal Heyes. He moved his chair a little closer to the cluttered desk and further from the dangerous men, friends and mysterious non-relatives of Big Mac or not.
Heyes spoke up, using his most genial tones, "What's this about Big Mac naming us in his will?"
Rutowski handed each of the partners one of manila envelopes and started to search his case for additional documents.
The partners examined what they were given and unobtrusively compared each other's, the one in Heyes' hand was somewhat thicker than the one Curry was holding. Heyes and Kid hid their confusion and eagerness well and strove for nonchalance when they simultaneously ripped open their respective envelopes
Rutowksi removed a sheaf of papers from his portfolio, thumbed through the pages until he located the one he wanted and started to read, "I, Patrick McCreddy, hereby give, devise and bequeath my shares totaling fifty percent, of ownership in the Red Rock Savings and Loan Bank to Hannibal Heyes, for his general use and purpose. May he enjoy having his own personal bank safe and vault and may he remember it is only the safe and vault, the money is the depositors."
The lawyer looked up and noticed Heyes leafing through a thick stack of stock certificates half out of the envelope. He cleared his throat and hesitantly grabbed the papers out of Heyes hand and thrust them at Curry while his other hand was exchanging the Kid's envelope with the one he had removed from Heyes' hands.
"Sorry, wrong bequests."
Heyes dimples were in full force and his laughing brown eyes crinkled with glee when he caught the incredulous blues of his startled partner. "Oh Kid, if you think my envelope was something just wait to you see what Big Mac left you. I don't believe it but if it's true, it can't get any more perfect!"
Lom and the attorney both nodded, one a little more enthusiastically then the other. Kid looked down at the half-revealed certificates and a grin slowly widened into a full force Curry smile.
"I, Patrick McCreddy, hereby give, devise and bequeath all my railroad stock certificates in the Midwest Railroad, the Galveston, Harrisburg, and San Antonio Railroad, the Gulf, Colorado and Santa Fe Railroad, the Texas and Pacific Railroad, and the Atchison, Topeka, and Sant Fe Railroad Company to the ownership of Jedediah Curry, for his general use and purpose. Jedediah Curry is now a man no longer in need of a wealthy uncle and whom I wanted to have claimed for a nephew."
Kid's mouth hung open in frank disbelief at the magnitude of Big Mac's generosity. He could hardly begin to process what Heyes and he had meant to the Texas rancher to warrant any notice in his last will and testament, much less a bequest, which turned bank and train robbers into bank and train wealthy owners. He clutched the thick stack of certificates in his right hand and waved it in the attorney's face. "What in the world? Why would…"
Rutowski handed Kid Curry one more envelope then started preparing to leave. Kid slid his finger along the flap and withdrew a sheet of paper with one word printed on it in a faint, large, shaky letters – LEVERAGE. He passed it to Heyes.
Heyes who had moved past the surprise and into complete acceptance was already working out the ramifications, complications, and options.
"Mr. Rutowski, this is legal? These bequests won't be challenged in court? Will the law take them away from us since we're wanted?" Heyes called out to the lawyer who already had one hand on the door knob.
Rutowski turned to face the Heyes and Curry and hurriedly explained, "I'm sorry, I should have explained but I'm in a bit of rush to catch the train. No, the law can't take the property away from you. It is all properly legal, if very unorthodox. But to those who knew Mr. McCreedy, it's not entirely unbelievable. None of the other parties named in the will wished to contest the will in probate court. Mrs. McCreedy is well taken care of and I should have extended her invitation to stay with her when you next come to Texas. Mr. Peterson, your new banking partner Mr. Heyes, laughed outright during the reading of the will. It turns out that he had a suspicion who Smith and Jones really were and if you want to sell your shares Peterson is prepared to buy you out. He is fine with things either way. And as far as you go, Mr. Curry, Big Mac spoke of you convincingly enough as his long-lost nephew that most of us had no reason to doubt his genuine fondness for Thaddeus Jones. No, the bank shares and railroad stock are all yours. Although, Mr. Curry, I would strongly caution you to find yourselves a good attorney to act as your agent and have your whereabouts covered by attorney-client privileges. I suspect that if you showed up to the railroad shareholders meetings that Mr. J. Gould, Mr. E.H. Harriman, Mr. W. Strong, and Mr. Harlingen, among others, wouldn't hesitate to have you arrested and throw away the key."
The door closed, leaving the three friends, each with huge smiles, sitting around the sheriff's desk, closely examining the various documents and shaking their heads in wonderment.
Kid didn't know whether to laugh at the sudden totally unexpected wealth or cry since he wasn't free to enjoy it. Heyes and he definitely needed to not squander the opportunity that was handed to them and to make the bequest work towards a future.
Heyes got lost for a few moments fantasizing about his very own personal bank vault and safe. He could have Kid or Peterson change the combinations and time him cracking it whenever he had the urge. A blissful sigh escaped before the supposedly retired safecracker regained his senses. Heyes' brown eyes focused on the paper with the one word, leverage, written on it and knew what the partners had to do. He picked the paper up and held it up as an exhibit for Kid and Lom.
"Big Mac is right. We've joined the enemy, so to speak, and what's more we're now members of the political donor class. You know, the people who usually finance political campaigns for mayors, senators, and especially governors of Wyoming. All those elective officials gotta keep the bank and railroad owners happy. And amnesty is the way to keep two particular new bank and railroad owners feeling charitable to the ambitions of political men." Heyes waved the paper to emphasize his words.
"Yeah, but Heyes how are we gonna leverage our windfall? We have no way to use it, acknowledge it, or even sell the shares without getting caught." Curry's smile faded as reality intruded into his pleasant day dreams.
Lom leaned forward in his chair as he slowly gave voice to his musings, "You boys need someone to act as your agent, do your talkin' for you like I do with the governor. And boy, is he going to be surprised at our next talk regarding your progress."
Heyes rose and started to pace, getting genuinely excited as he talked, "That's it, Lom, you're right! And I know just the guy. Kid, we have a lawyer. We go see Brubaker, he can act on our behalf, go to the bank association and railroad shareholder's meetings, vote the way we want, persuade people, and use our bank and railroad holdings as leverage." The dark-haired ex-outlaw stopped pacing, put his hands on his slim hips and regarded his blond partner. "Yes, this can work. Big Mac's a genius, and as much as it pains me to say it, Kid, I think you got under Mac's skin somehow. Me, he liked, respected and used. I appealed to his mercenary You led to this."
Lom couldn't stop smiling as he looked from one friend to the other. His eyes widened as a vision of Heyes sitting at a bank officers desk, rubbing his hands in glee while contemplating the bank vault flashed before his eyes. The sheriff rapidly shook his head and got to his feet, coming around to the front of the desk.
"Come on boys, let me buy us all steak dinners to celebrate your changing fortunes."
Kid Curry nodded in agreement, and standing slipped his hat back on his curls. Kid started for the door, and added over his shoulder, "We'll drink a toast to Mac, who is surely cheating the devil, to Peterson who's a good sport, and to Carlotta, may her grief be lessened by her good memories." Curry got half way out the door with Heyes on his heels when he added as an afterthought, "Oh and Lom, if this all works out and Heyes and Brubaker leverage the bequests into an amnesty, you'll receive a lifetime pass on the railroad courtesy of Kid Curry, Railroad Baron. Can you just see it, Heyes, Harlingen's face when we can sit down across from him in some fancy boardroom?"
Hearty laughter with a hysterical edge rang loudly out into the Porterville night.
One good thing about fanfiction is that I can resurrect Big Mac for another story. He is far too useful a character to let rest in peace.