Chapter 10

Thursday afternoon, at two o’clock, Malik was in the second-floor offices of attorney Raul Castillo (rah-OOL kah-STEE-yo), in Fort Birney. Castillo, seated behind his distressed, white, French colonial desk, was a slightly stocky man of thirty-three years, five-feet-nine-inches in height, whose aristocratic, olive-toned visage was free of facial hair, but for a narrow, closely-trimmed mustache marking a line just above his lip. He had handsome good looks and was dressed in an immaculate charcoal-gray business suit with a subtle black window-pane check, set off by a white shirt with a high, stiff collar, and a black, silk cravat bloused just beneath that collar, its trailing ends tucked into his waistcoat.

Two other men were seated in the office.

There was the slim, distinguished-looking Mitchel Anderson, a man of some thirty-nine years, who wore a van dyke beard and a mustache, either end of which terminated in a lavish, waxed curl. He had been raised in a London east end slum, but was able to affect an upper-class British enunciation that would do Queen Victoria proud. Anderson had graduated from a two-year business college in Virginia and was the manager of the Fort Birney Lodge, a favorite hotel of business travelers and tourists.

Next to Anderson sat the forty-six year old Joe Collins, tall and clean-shaven, amiable in appearance and manner. He was a former slave who fought in the Civil War and afterward became a Buffalo Soldier and, later, an army cook. Now the retired sergeant was the lead cook at the Officers’ Mess, the most popular restaurant in Fort Birney.

Malik had become acquainted with each of these men during prior business trips to Fort Birney, a regional commercial and government hub, as well as the seat of the federal district court for eastern Arenoso.

This warm July afternoon, all four men were puffing on the Guardia Real cigars Malik had borrowed from banker Robert Smith—at an interest rate of one cigar per month. There was a growing cloud of blue-gray smoke clinging to the ceiling and rolling through the transom to the outer office.

Malik, who’d been seated off to the side, now rose. “Mister Castillo, thank you for hosting this meeting. Mister Collins, Mister Anderson, I deeply appreciate your attendance. Also, thank you each for signing the confidentiality agreement.”

“Meet wit’ cha ever’ day, you bring more a’ dese see-gars” Collins quipped, emphasizing his old plantation accent.

“Indeed,” Anderson sniffed.

“Gents, I’ve explained most of this to Mister Castillo, but more of the business detail than the concept. Allow me to describe what I have in mind in broad strokes, then we can get deeper into it.

“At the moment, there is a void within the influential leadership in Jackson County. I include both the county government officials and a few key businessmen in that structure. However, I do not include myself. I am definitely not a member of that group. I’m more the proverbial outsider.

“Be that as it may, the void they are dealing with is a lack of cash at a time when they have a pressing need for it. Jackson County is nearing completion on a new courthouse and final payments are coming due. And one of those key businessmen has been negatively affected financially by some recent adverse court decisions directed at the county.

“I, on the other hand, have cash on hand, inherited upon my father’s recent death. I believe I see a way to transfer some of my cash to the county coffers and get a real bargain in the process. But it’s only worth pursuing if you gentlemen will join me in that undertaking.”

Collins and Anderson shifted in their seats as they exchanged an uncertain glance.

Malik said, “Bear with me for just a few more moments, gentlemen. I think you’ll find this interesting.

“To press my advantage, I have a project in mind. Specifically, I intend to purchase the old Jackson County courthouse building, which the county plans to vacate. I want to convert it to lodging and a restaurant. I think ‘The Old Courthouse Inn’ would serve as a name that conveys the type of establishment I want to see in place. In fact, the building is less than ten years old, but was built somewhat small with the expectation that the county fathers would build a larger structure once the county and the state were better established.

“The building in question is two stories, with a full basement. Though not particularly ornate, it is Italianate in its appointments, with a hipped roof, a covered front porch, and is set back some thirty feet from the street, sited on a corner. It is across the street from the new courthouse and at the upper end of the main business district and two blocks from the K and ASR depot. I believe it would serve my purpose very well.

“I’ve looked at the tax rolls and population numbers for the past ten years and I believe the time is right for this type of business, especially if I can limit the need for initial capital investment.

“As far as transient lodging goes, there is little competition. The Railroad Arms, across from the depot, serves the transient trade at present, but it’s dirty, poorly run, and it does not enjoy a good reputation. The other major facility, and where I happen to reside, is run by a fine older woman, Francine Kuiper. It is a boarding house on a former ranch on the south edge of town, about a half mile from the depot. It’s good quality, but tends toward long-term boarders and seldom has more than one or two vacant rooms available. Missus Kuiper does maintain eight beds of overflow capacity, but they are only bunks in her barn loft. The loft bunk room is clean and neat, but rough-finished and intended for use by transient labor crews.

“On the other hand, food service competition is another matter. Setting aside saloon sandwiches and pickled eggs, there are a working man’s lunch counter and two small Mexican cantinas. But the major eatery is Molly’s Restaurant. It’s popular, and rightly so. Molly and her husband, Maylon Rademacher, emphasize home-style cooking and plain, but well-prepared and hearty dishes. It’s a friendly setting but, with two six-place tables, six four-place tables, and a ten-seat counter, it can get a mite too busy for any sort of personal attention. Even so, I would not want to compete with them directly.

“What I’m thinking of is a smaller-scale operation, maybe eight or ten four-place tables, emphasizing less common, though not exotic, dishes. Wild game and fowl, local fish, maybe the occasional shellfish, when freshly available, more types of soups and stews, common ingredients presented in less common fashion, like the medallions of beef you serve at the Mess, Mister Collins. Extend that concept to side dishes and desserts, along with a modest wine cellar. Then provide an equivalent level of service: linen table cloths, heavy, ornate tableware, attentive, smartly-dressed staff. And a bit pricier than the Rademachers. Deliver premium quality and certify it with a premium price. Make it the eatery of choice for business meetings and romantic outings for couples, as well as guests of the Inn. I wouldn’t compete with Molly’s, I’d complement it, expand the customers’ choice.

“Now, here’s the knotty part: If the county knows that I am behind this, they will take my money, and gladly, but then throw all sorts of difficulties in my path. Secondarily, if this plan for the old courthouse were known, I might find myself in a bidding war for the building.

“So, what I want to do is to let Mister Castillo represent me, but through a straw-man, in this case, a business name that suggests a feed and grain company.

“‘When you say ‘straw man,’ Mister Malik, what do you mean?” Collins asked.

“Oh, uh, a false front. It will be an actual registered business, but one not involved in the trade the business name suggests.”

“I see, like a scarecrow pretends to be the farmer.”

“Precisely. Ah, where was I? Oh yes. So that will be Mister Castillo’s role, being my mask, so to say, as I set this up. At some point, Mister Castillo will hire me as the local attorney for that business, and after that I can help administer things more directly.”

“That is all intriguing, Mister Malik,” Anderson said, “but what of Mister Collins and myself?

“Of course, forgive me. I get sidetracked by the intrigue.

“You, Mister Anderson, would be in overall operational charge, the general manager, as well as the lodging manager. You would report directly to me, the majority shareholder, but you would be the executive in charge of the business. And you, Mister Collins, would be the chef de cuisine, in charge of both the kitchen and dining room, their staff, and operation. You, in turn, would report to the general manager, Mister Anderson. You each would be responsible for managing and balancing your own income and expenditures, your own purchasing, and hiring and firing.