Chapter twenty – five
Scott hid his surprise. Latchford's smug delivery of the news left him with a spasm of doubt in the pit of his stomach. Harlan Garrett had been a consummate businessman, and he ran his personal affairs with the same iron fist. His will would be uncontestable. Scott had seen the will himself. Upon his grandfather's death, seventy percent of Garrett Enterprises went to him.
"I thought you were smarter than that," Scott scoffed. "If you think killing me will get you Garrett Enterprises, you haven't read my grandfather's will."
"I have actually. The new one, that is."
Scott felt his throat constrict. Now that doubt was a big hole in the center of his stomach.
"I told you your grandfather was very hurt by your abandonment. Hurt and angry. When Evan and I pointed out that your father and half-brother would inherit Garrett Enterprises if anything happened to you, he became enraged. He would have done anything to keep it out of Lancer hands. He changed his will. I'm afraid, Scotty my boy, you are no longer in your grandfather's will."
Scott felt the room shift. He had already lost Lancer…now he was losing Garrett Enterprises.
"We convinced Harlan that the business would be better off with Evan and me in charge. Your leaving made him fall right into our hands."
"Grandfather's attorneys would never let him draw up a will like that."
"He fired two of his attorneys. Mr. Conway saw it our way." Latchford looked at his three hostages, making sure he had their undivided attention. "Mr. Casey was an invaluable asset. His reports of your growing friendship with your brother incensed your grandfather. The thought of you degrading yourself by publicly calling a half-breed gunslinger your brother was humiliating." Latchford turned toward Johnny, still lying motionless on the floor. "I can't say that I blame him."
"But it was the reports he received from your household help of your growing attachment to your father that inflamed him the most. You walked away from him and the business, wasted all the money he had spent sending you to the best schools, and you couldn't even take the time to send one letter." Latchford shook his head sadly. "A hard cross to bear –knowing your grandson was so ungrateful."
Scott's mind was reeling. He remembered the first letter he had written to his grandfather, filled with worry and indecision. He had seriously thought of leaving Lancer. He hadn't felt part of the Lancer world, and he certainly hadn't expected to find that he had a half-brother who was a gunslinger. The reply had been cold and impersonal, ordering him to return at once. Incensed by his grandfather's demands, he wrote back that he would give Lancer a year. To think that his grandfather had never received any of his letters, that the words he had read were not Harlan Garrett's, left him feeling guilty. Grandfather must have been hurt deeply. How long had his grandfather waited to hire someone to spy on him, to steal private conversations between him and his family?
"Who was he getting those reports from?" Scott asked, his voice not betraying his anger or his fear.
Latchford waved a dismissive hand. "Some young woman, Margarita, I think her name was. Luckily she understood enough English to give Mr. Casey a full report. Your grandfather was a conniving old bastard. But he always got what he wanted. Until now."
Scott remembered the day Margarita had come to the house begging Maria for a job. Maria couldn't turn her niece away.If she had, would they be here right now? Now Scott knew why she was always around, dusting and straightening the rooms. He glanced over at Murdoch. Scott knew each new revelation was like a knife in his father's back. But Murdoch didn't flinch. Just the vein throbbing at his temple told Scott how much this was hurting him.
Looking back at Latchford, he saw the self-satisfied look on his face. Grandfather had always been a cunning businessman. But he was never egotistical. Latchford was egotistical. He would never give up the chance to show just how smart he was - how much smarter he was than the great Harlan Garrett. This was his Achilles heel, and Scott intended to exploit it.
"I'm impressed," Scott said. "I would never have guessed that Margarita was a spy. I'm even more surprised by Casey. From what I remember, he couldn't even write his own name. He used an X to sign for his pay."
"I don't know how you could stand to be around thosebarbarians, Scotty. Mr. Casey had to ride into that quaint town of yours, Green River I believe, to report his findings. Once, he couldn't get to his contact in Green River and sent a telegram. The fool! He could have ruined everything."
Scott fought to keep his emotions under wraps. He thought of everything his grandfather had ever taught him about controlling the situation. Have patience.Let the other man make the first mistake and then attack. But this was not a fight to take over another company…this was a fight for life. He looked at Murdoch. The pain on his father's face was not for himself, but for his sons. He looked at Sam, for the first time noticing the dab of blood at the corner of his mouth and the bruising beneath his right eye. Jessup had not been gentle with the old doctor. And Johnny, still lying motionless on the floor. If only Johnny hadn't tried to take things into his own hands, if he had confided in him about the Pinkerton letter. But Johnny was trying to protect him in the only way he knew how…jump into the melee with both feet.
"It sounds like my grandfather handed you everything on a silver platter," Scott said. Keep Latchford talking about himself. Let his ego be his undoing.
"I have to admit I am impressed. Not many people could put one over on my grandfather. But I don't understand. Why go to all the trouble of hiring someone who looked like Masters to arrange my death in Omaha? And why try to kill Johnny? If there was a new will, Johnny couldn't inherit after my death."
"Simple. You said I hadn't learned from the best. But I did. Garrett always said keep your adversary off balance. Don't give them time to think. With your brother dead, you would be emotionally off balance. Mr. Casey botched the job, but your brother was still injured enough to keep your mind only on him. Impressed?"
Scott shrugged indifferently. "Not really. You took an unnecessary risk. What if Casey had been caught? It would have been traced right back to you."
Latchford shook his head. "Your grandfather hired him, we didn't. And Masters' look-alike was set up to look like Weatherly hired him. Again, keeping you off balance. We made sure the trail would never lead to me or Evan."
Latchford smiled smugly again. "We had your grandfather off balance too. He didn't have time to think about you, or his will. He was fighting off predators that wanted his company."
"And you were the predators."
"He taught us well."
"It won't work, you know," Scott said. "I'm alive and my death would appear suspect now."
"Oh, but that is where you are wrong, Scotty. The man using the name Scott Lancer in California was an imposter. Even Murdoch Lancer thought so. And, sad as it makes me feel, Scott Garrett Lancer died of influenza in Italy. Evan is bringing your death certificate to the judge as we speak. As far as the world is concerned, Scotty, you are dead."
Scott felt the weight of the death certificate in his vest pocket. "I've been seen by too many people here. How can I be here and dead in Italy?"
"How many people have seen you, Scotty? You and your brother have been sneaking in and out the back door, keeping out of sight. The servants who gathered here to help you last night…if they say a word they lose their jobs, or worse, and they know it."
"It still won't work," Scott said. "Too many people in Green River know that my father and I followed Johnny and Sam here."
"Oh, but it will, Scotty. It will. You see, your brother, the infamous Johnny Madrid, killed poor Heddy. There's a warrant out for his arrest. It's not surprising that he was shot in the back while trying to escape."
"No one who knows him will believe that."
Latchford shrugged. "He'll still be dead. As for your father and the good doctor – it's a terrible shame that they happened to wander into the wrong part of town. Many an innocent man has been killed there for something as simple as a warm coat."
Scott dipped his head to Latchford. "I'm impressed," he said mockingly. "You thought of everything. Except Evan Moore."
"Evan?"
"Grandfather always let the lackeys do the dirty work, take the risks, thenhe would swoop in and take the spoils. Seems to me that the only dangerous thing Evan has done so far is to deliver my death certificate to the courthouse."
There was just a hint of hesitation in Latchford's demeanor. But he quickly masked it. "Nice try, Scotty. Your grandfather would be proud of you."
"The one thing I don't understand is why you were trying to dissolve the company you planned on taking over. Unless, of course, all the information was coming from you and Moore." Scott realized as the words came out of his mouth that he had said too much.
Suddenly Latchford's smile disappeared. "You were in Garrett's office. That's the only place you could have found that information."
Scott smiled. "You'll find your man Zachary locked in the closet."
Latchford turned to Walt. "Zachary carried a derringer. Check Scott's brother again. Scott gave that gun up too easily."
Scott struggled against the tie that bound his hands behind him. Murdoch looked toward him…take it easy, his eyes warned. Walt hurried across the room. Dropping to one knee, he roughly pulled Johnny's casted arm out of the sling. The derringer hit the carpet with a dull thud and Scott's heart sank.
"Well, well, well," Latchford grinned. "Make sure he isn't carrying anything else."
Walt went to work, ripping Johnny's shirt open, patting down his pant legs, pulling off his boots.A letter opener from the writing desk in the corner of the parlor dropped out. He rolled Johnny onto his stomach, kicking at the cast on his arm so he would lay flat. Scott cringed at the rough treatment. Seemingly satisfied that Johnny was now totally unarmed, Walt stood up and delivered a vicious kick to Johnny's kidney.
Walt handed Latchford the derringer and held up the letter opener, letting the light from the window reflect off it. "You have to hand it to him, he's good," Walt said with admiration. "He's really good."
Scott looked toward Murdoch and was surprised to see his father looking intently at Johnny then turning away, the flicker of a smile touching his eyes.
He glanced over at Johnny, catching his breath when he saw his brother slowly walk two fingers across the carpeting. Hope and panic vied for his attention. Johnny was conscious, probably for the entire time. His brother had some kind of plan in mind and he needed a diversion. Scott looked back toward Murdoch. They struck a silent agreement. Murdoch suddenly moaned loudly through the gag and shifted his weight in the chair.
Walt swung around toward Murdoch just as Scott jumped to his feet, ramming his shoulder into Latchford's chest. They both went down in a heap. Scott dared not look toward Johnny for fear of giving his brother away. Jessup and Walt grabbed his bound arms and dragged him back to the chair.
"Damn it! Tie him to that chair!" Latchford exploded, climbing to his feet.
Walt grabbed the lace table runner that covered the coffee table, sending the teacups and dishes crashing to the floor, and wrapped it around Scott's chest, tying it off at the back of the chair.
"Now one more move from you and…"
"Boss!" Jessup yelled. "He's gone!" Latchford spun around. His face turned crimson with rage. The spot where Johnny had been lying was empty.
"Find him!" Latchford turned back to Scott and backhanded him across the cheek. "You'd better hope Jessup finds him, and quick, or your father will be joining your grandfather."
Scott looked toward Murdoch. Had he just signed his father's death warrant? The look on Murdoch's face told him that he expected nothing less from his son. If there was a sacrifice to be made, he was willing to make it to see his sons survive.
Johnny saw Scott drive his shoulder into Latchford like a raging bull. Scott had given him a minute, maybe less to get out of the parlor. He didn't want to think what it might cost him. He pushed himself to his knees, wrapping his right arm around his stomach, trying to keep his ribs from grating together. Walt's kicks had been right on target. He didn't have time to slide his left arm back into the sling before he dove into the hallway. He almost blacked out, but he pushed past the pain and climbed to his feet, hunched over, dragging his right shoulder along the hallway wall to keep his balance. He passed the first two rooms then barreled into the third, forcing himself to close the door quietly.
Leaning back against the door, he gasped for air, each breath searing his ribs. He had to pull himself together. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to think about what Latchford would do to punish Scott or Murdoch. Damn it, he couldn't let Latchford win. Opening his eyes, he realized he was in Garrett's office. Somehow he had to get Walt and Jessup out of the parlor to give Scott and Murdoch a chance. There was little left in the office. A desk, a sofa, a couple of chairs and a fireplace. He looked at the fireplace. A plan came to mind.
Steeling himself against the pain in his ribs and the weight of his arm hanging by his side in the heavy cast, he closed the flue and hurriedly arranged a stack of kindling on the fireplace grate. He found matches on the mantle and set fire to the kindling. He counted the seconds as he waited for the kindling to catch, and then waited until it was fully engulfed before setting three logs in the center of the fire. Instead of the smoke venting up the chimney, it poured out into the room. But it wasn't enough, Johnny wanted more smoke. He grabbed a pillow from the sofa and a letter opener from the desk. He ripped the pillow open and threw the feathers to the sides of the fire so they would smolder but not smother the flames.
The room quickly filled with thick smoke, the stench from the burning feathers nauseating. His eyes stung and watered until he could barely see anything. He began coughing, his ribs grating with each cough. Staggering through the clouds of smoke, he reached the door and opened it, thenwatched as the smoke streamed out of the room into the hallway.
He saw Jessup groping his way down the hall toward his hiding place in Garrett's office, a bandana over his nose and mouth and his gun drawn. Johnny knew he was in no shape to take the man on in physical combat. His ribs were on fire, his back was pounding where Walt had kicked him in the kidney and his left arm was useless. He had no gun and only a letter opener as a weapon. But he did have surprise on his side. He swung the door open wider, letting more smoke billow out of the room. He flattened himself against the right side of the wall and waited. He heard Jessup's footsteps slow to a stop, then saw the gun first as Jessup cautiously stepped into the room. Johnny swung around with all his strength, hitting Jessup in the face with his cast. Pain radiated down his arm and into his chest, but he could not suppress the smile as he saw Jessup pitch forward like a downed tree.
Pushing Jessup's feet out of the way, he grabbed the gun that had fallen from Jessup's hand and closed the door. The smoke would kill the man, but he felt no remorse. Jessup felt no remorse in killing him now, or his family when Latchford gave the order.
Once again armed, Johnny made his way back to the parlor.
Latchford sniffed at the air. "Smoke!"
Scott nodded imperceptibly to Murdoch. They both knew it was Johnny's work.
"If your brother thinks a little smoke is going to change the outcome, he's wrong."
"It already has. Where is your man Jessup?" Scott asked. Divide and conquer. He had said those very words at Lancer when Pardee was attacking the ranches. Johnny had said later that it was a good idea, just not the right one for Pardee. But it was the right one now.
Smoke continued to fill the hallway and began floating into the parlor. Walt looked around, eyeing the windows. "No," Latchford cautioned," if you open a window you'll have half of Boston in here trying to put the fire out. Go see where it's coming from. And close the damn door. Keep the smoke out of here." Latchford handed Johnny's gun to Walt as he headed for the door, closing it behind him. Scott prayed Johnny was well hidden in the house somewhere.
"I should kill you all right now," Latchford spat.
"You're not the type who likes to get his hands dirty," Scott said. "You'll wait for the hired help."
"Don't push me, Scott. Walt and Jessup will handle your brother, then we'll see to the rest of you."
Scott couldn't keep his own smug smile off his face. "You have no idea who you're dealing with. Your Walt and Jessup are no match for Johnny Madrid."
Latchford looked around, suddenly nervous. "Evan will be here any minute, Then we can deal with you and get out of here."
"Do you really think you have the time?" Scott asked just as a gunshot thundered through the house.