Counterfeit

Chapter 6

Jimmie Mathews looked around at the place they were hiding. It was damp and from time to time a rat would run across the floor. To begin with that was scary, but you can get used to things in time and they come to be the accepted norm.

At the time of their first meeting Jimmie knew this man was different from the others that Mr. Colter entertained. He had honest eyes and ….well that first meeting was definitely not like any other that Mr. Colter arranged.

Now he looked over at the man, if Colter's men had followed them to St. Louis it would not be long before they would be discovered. Jimmie removed the dirty cloth cap from his head and shook the long dark hair loose. This was a long way from the grand theatres and opera houses of Europe that had been like a childhood home, but for now it was the best available.

Mr. Weeks became restless he was tossing his head and mumbling incoherently. If the wound in his leg began bleeding again they would be in trouble. The character that was Jimmie Mathews felt alone.

-XX-

Dillon and Quartermaine had left the office of Director Brooks. It was dark outside except for a few lamps and they made their way along a paved sidewalk to another building. The city man produced a key and unlocked a side door, inviting the lawman inside. There was not much of note in this house – it could have been one of the better homes in Dodge City – or even the Dodge House, but smaller. He led the way along a fairly narrow passage to the back of the building.

"We will be staying here for a few days, tomorrow I will take you to the treasury to start learning about counterfeit currency." He opened the door to a comfortably furnished bedroom and told Dillon this would be his for the duration. He pointed across the hallway to another door, "I'll be over there so if you need anything just come and get me. Meantime get yourself a good night's sleep."

The tall lawman looked around the room he had been given, there were a couple of unremarkable pictures hung on the walls. A small washstand and mirror stood in one corner and against the far wall, by the window, was a small dresser. He sat on the bed experimentally and was surprised to find it quite comfortable. Removing his coat and string tie, he couldn't help glancing down at the empty space where his badge used to be. He thought back to Dodge City, to Kitty and Doc and Chester and his office, it seemed an age ago that he had left them. Slowly he removed his boots and lay back on the pillows.

Sleep did not come easily, even though he was tired from travelling and trying to stay alert. At first he hadn't totally trusted Quartermaine, but since seeing him in the presence of Devens and Brooks he had to accept that he was who he claimed to be. Kitty's face kept appearing in his mind. The red hair and the blue eyes that were rapidly filling with tears the last time he saw her, the image was so clear in his mind. He hoped Sam and Chester would see that she was safe while he was gone.

Eventually both his mind and body relaxed and he slept.

-XX-

It was early morning when Doc and Kitty rode the short distance to the station in a buggy driven by Mr. Jonas. Doc had impressed upon the man that he was accompanying Kitty on a short trip to visit some friends and they would not be gone long. No word of the telegram was ever mentioned.

It was hot inside the train and even once they got going the breeze generated by the movement of air through the open windows did not seem capable of displacing the stale air that smelled of unbathed cowboys and sweaty cattle. Kitty had tried to get a sleeper compartment but there were none available so she and Doc just had to sit there and while away the hours ahead with small talk and words to encourage each other. She had brought a few snacks to sustain them and a small book to read. Doc seemed content to close his eyes from time to time and nap. The two days it would take to get to St. Louis would seem like an eternity, but at least she felt like she was getting closer to Matt with each passing hour.

-XX-

It must have been early when Quartermaine knocked on the Marshal's door.

"Let's go get breakfast," he called "you have a busy day ahead."

Matt opened his eyes – still uncertain of where he was.

"Give me ten minutes," he replied through the fog that seemed to permeate his brain. Even so by the time he had washed and dressed his head was clear and the city man led them both to another room off the hallway where a table was set. Shortly after they sat down a short arthritic looking man appeared with plates and set them on the table. Whatever else may be going on they were providing a plentiful meal and both men set about enjoying it. "First thing today we are going to meet a tailor to fit you for some new clothes, you have to appear the part and those you are wearing will not do. Then I am taking you to the treasury where you will begin learning about counterfeit bills and about the man you will be impersonating."

Dillon didn't really like the sound of all that, but the sooner he got on with this job the sooner he would be back in Dodge.

The next few days were arduous. Filled with instruction as to how money was printed, what kind of paper was used, how to detect forgeries, what the printing press and plates looked like and the current price range for buying counterfeit bills. He also had to learn about John Henry Weeks, his background, his manner and worst of all his less than desirable social ethics.

After breakfast on the fourth day, Quartermaine told Dillon he needed to hand over all his clothes, everything he brought from Dodge – including his gun. The lawman must have looked surprised.

"We can't give Mendoza any reason to suspect you are anyone other than John Henry Weeks. Although your regular attire is suitable for where you come from, it would stand out among a group of city men. You will need time to get used to the new clothes, get accustomed to wearing them comfortably, moving around in them, knowing where the pockets are and all that. In a few more days you will be meeting these people."

"Why did you take my badge back there on the train?"

"If anyone saw someone new in town wearing the badge of a lawman, it would raise suspicion and maybe lead to your being recognized later.

Matt had a hard time parting with his coat, as he handed it over he could not help but remember some of the times he had worn it. The meals at Delmonico's with his beautiful red head sitting beside him, a few buggy rides out on the prairie, how she laughed and smiled at him when he had worn it to the Ford County Sociable. His fingers lingered on the cloth for a second or two, almost feeling her touch where she would hold his arm. It was as if she was being taken from him.

Quartermaine could see something in the lawman's face, somehow these things he was parting with meant a lot to him.

"Don't worry I will personally be responsible for seeing that everything is returned to you when this is over."

The man was true to his word but would never know the worry and consternation caused to several people in Dodge City because he kept that promise.
"What about my gun."

"That too I'm afraid, Marshal. Most people you will be mixing with carry guns but not in a holster like you are used to. You will find they carry it in a shoulder holster concealed under a coat or jacket. Of course the weapon will be smaller than you are used to, but we will see you have chance to practice with it."

Matt felt the familiar comfort of the colt handle as he swung it round his fingers for what he imagined could be the last time. It had been a good friend, always reliable, never jammed or fired crooked and had saved his life on numerous occasions. Now he spun it around one last time before handing it over to Quartermaine.

TBC