Blink caught a familiar sound as he neared the inn – a rough, exhausted voice calling out a clever, albeit obviously fabricated, headline. He looked around for the source of the voice, but he reached the inn before he found the elusive newsboy.
"Mister Erickson, did you have a nice walk?" The innkeeper's daughter smiled at him from the front desk. Blink smiled back and nodded in reply. "Can I get you anything while you're down here? Something to warm you up?" She gave him her late-teen aged "come-hither" smile, one he seemed to be getting from a lot of unmarried girls since he started making money.
"Um, some coffee, or tea, whichever you've got ready." He leaned against the desk as the girl ducked into the kitchen, and gave her one of his winning smiles as she returned. "Thank you."
"It's nothing, Mister Erickson." She blushed, setting the cup of coffee on the desk in front of him. "Milk, sugar?"
"No, thanks, Lilly." He picked up the cup and sipped, closing his eyes (or eye, if you will) for a moment in gratitude for the warmth.
"Cold outside, isn't it?"
Blink nodded. "Yeah. I forgot how cold it gets up here this time of year." He laughed a little. "There's sun practically all year round down in Texas, and I guess that maybe I got a little too used to it."
Lilly giggled in the most over-accentuated, feminine way possible, biting her lower lip as Blink finished his coffee and handed her the cup. "Can I get you anything else, Mister Erickson?"
"No, thanks."
"Are you sure? We have some bread and butter in the back, are you hungry?"
"That's okay, Lilly, thanks." He smiled at her and turned to head up the stairs. "I'll probably see you later."
"Oh. Well, alright. You have yourself a nice afternoon, Mister Erickson." She watched Blink go up the stairs, leaning against the desk and sighing when he disappeared from sight. She wasn't nearly as quiet as she thought, though, because Blink was still chuckling to himself as he walked into his room.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
Blink had a dinner invitation to Michael Smith's house. Smith owned and operated the Smith Shipping Company thanks to his late father's will, and he was more than a little interested in making Blink his oil supplier. Blink was just as eager as Smith was to woo him into a business relationship.
He knocked on the door of Smith's overly large and disgustingly impressive house, wiping his feet on the mat. The door was opened by Michael himself, who smiled in welcome.
"You must be Zacharias Erickson." Blink nodded and extended his hand. Michael looked him up and down as they shook hands. "You're a lot younger than I thought you'd be. I was expecting an old, fat cowboy."
Blink laughed. "Funny, sometimes I expect to see the same thing when I look in the mirror."
Michael smirked. "Well, you're not from Texas, are you?" He stepped aside to let Blink into the house.
As he entered, Blink shrugged. "No. Manhattan born and bred." In the ten years since he'd left New York, his accent still hadn't left him.
"Ah. Well, welcome home, then."
"Thanks."
"You can give your hat and coat to Liza here, she'll hang them up for you." Michael gestured to the maid, who smiled silently.
"Oh, alright." Blink shrugged out of his coat and pulled his hat off his head, handing them to the maid and smoothing his hair down. Michael then led him into the sitting room.
There were two other men and a woman in the sitting room, and they all looked up as Blink followed Michael in. The woman stared at Blink for a moment, then looked away when he noticed.
"Everyone, this is Zacharias Erickson. He owns Erickson Oil," Michael said with a smile.
The woman dropped her cup of tea with a gasp at the mention of Blink's name. Michael chuckled a little as the woman apologized and the maid rushed to clean up the mess.
"Zacharias, this is Jonas Ingraham, my right-hand man, and this is Fred Baker, my accountant. And that clumsy, but nonetheless lovely lady over there is my fiance, Evelyn Pulitzer."
