Chapter 15

The next day, Cowboy took the bow and some arrows that he kept in the cellar at Malik’s office, and went hunting along the cottonwood-fringed river bottoms southeast of town. Shortly after lunch, Malik was in his office, catching up on business. At the moment, he was working on a complicated long-term stock exchange contract between two local ranchers.

The entry doorbell jingled and he heard, “It’s Robert Smith, Mister Malik.”

Malik stood and walked around his desk. “Do come in, Mister Smith. Pleasure to see you.” Spotting the two boxes the banker had in hand, Malik said, “Ah, my cigars? I’m happy to welcome them to my office, as well. Come in, sit. Here, I’ll take that.” Malik set the larger paper-wrapped parcel on his desk.

As before, Malik sat in one of the straight-backed arm chairs in front of his desk while Smith sat in the other.

“Would you care to inaugurate this first box with me, Mister Smith?”

“I would be honored, Mister Malik. In recognition of the solemnity of the occasion, I brought you this.” He handed Malik the smaller wrapped package.

“That is very thoughtful, Mister Smith. Shall I unwrap it?”

“Please do. It bears discussing.”

Malik cut the heavy string with a pen knife and tore through the protective tan wrapping paper. It revealed a small, flat, wooden box, finished in a glossy, black lacquer. On the lid were fine-line carvings depicting palm trees, the narrow lines carved to a depth to reveal the lighter color of the wood beneath the dark lacquer. The inside of the box smelled like cedar, but more pungent than the local trees.

“A humidor! This is very nice, Mister Smith. Is it from...?”

“Cuba? Yes. The cigar importer’s catalog has a few other items to facilitate and enhance the smoking experience. It is made of a Cuban native wood they call cedro, which is also known as Spanish cedar.”

“I’ll be proud to have it on my desk and to use it to offer cigars. Real proud.”

“Then it exceeds my expectations.”

“Well, let’s load it up.” Malik used the pen knife to slit the label-paper seal on the box of cigars, a carton made from thin slats of wood and sealed all around with a moisture resistant waxed paper, printed in designs on the faces of the box. The top displayed an elaborately scripted representation of the words “Guardia Real” (Royal Guard) above a hand-colored print of two armored guards holding pikes before a wrought-iron gate through a stone-walled battlement. The humidor would hold eight cigars; a ninth slot, in the center, contained a metal trough holding a strip of dry sea sponge, meant to be dampened with water. Malik filled the humidor with cigars, then held it out, open, to Smith.

“Would you join me in a cigar, Mister Smith?”

“Delighted to, Mister Malik.”

Both men went through their own rituals of preparing and lighting their cigars.

“Mister Malik, there are a couple of problems with our cigars.”

Malik looked at his cigar. “Problems, Mister Smith?”

“I purchased that smaller humidor purposely. If kept too long at too high a temperature, such as we are experiencing right now, tiny eggs, which sometimes remain on the tobacco leaves, can hatch. Those tobacco worms then eat the tobacco. In this summertime heat, I never keep more on my desk than I will smoke within two or three days. The rest should be kept in a cool, moist place, a springhouse or a cellar is best. Believe it or not, I keep mine in a covered pail, suspended in my well shaft, at home. While it’s not ideal, it serves the purpose, most of the time. Last summer, though, I lost half a box to worms.”

“That, Mister Smith, is a seriously tragic story.” He rose from his seat. “Please come with me. I have something about which I’d like your opinion.”

He led Smith to the side door that opened to the cellar stairway. Malik lit a lamp in a holder at the top of the stairs. Then he carried the lamp down the steps and placed it in a bracket at the bottom. He asked Smith to close the door behind him and to join him. Smith slowly descended the steps.

“What do you think?” Malik asked.

Smith stepped past him onto the pea gravel floor. He held out his arms in the cool, moist air and said, “A humidor that you can walk around in. What a capital idea. Indeed, this should be perfect, Mister Malik”

“Then, may I also offer to store some portion of your supply, as a courtesy, of course, one aficionado to another?”

They returned to Malik’s office to work out the details.

Afterwards, Malik said, “By the way, you mentioned more than one problem with the cigars.”

“Ah, yes. Well, the other problem really isn’t about the cigars, so much, but about our purchasing syndicate.”

“Then we must be talking about money.”

“Well, yes, in part. Allow me to explain.”

Malik nodded. “Please.”

“We have four members. One of those members is now two months in arrears. What’s more, I have not heard from him in some weeks. Oh, this is awkward. But it does affect you, so I’ll provide the pertinent detail.

“Granger Lestly was a month in arrears at the time you joined the syndicate. He has fallen behind, before, but he’s always brought it up to date by the next month. I suppose there was no reason to extend confidentiality in the first place, it’s just an ingrained habit. The other member of the syndicate is the County Clerk, George Miller.”

Just then, the bell on the entrance door jangled and a man’s voice called, “Emil, you in?”

“Come on back, Uncle George.”

Malik and Smith both stood, as that very same George Miller came through the door. In his late fifties, Miller was a pleasant-looking man of an easy-going manner, medium height, and with mutton-chop whiskers and mustache.

Miller paused at the office door. “Mister Smith, I’m sorry, I certainly didn’t intend to intrude on your business. I can come back later.”

“George, you aren’t intruding,” Malik replied. “If I didn’t know better, though, I’d think that Mister Smith had conjuring powers, as he had mentioned your name but a second before you appeared. Here, take this chair. Would you care to join us in our cigars?”

The men sat and Malik offered the humidor to Miller.

“Nice humidor. Must be new.” Miller extracted a cigar. “Hold on, now. Why, these are Guardia Reals! You’re the new member of the syndicate.”

“Indeed I am. In fact, Mister Smith and I were just discussing syndicate business. Seems one of our members is in arrears. I suggested ten lashes but Mister Smith felt a nice, round dozen were in order. I think he wants an example made.”

“Of course, paint me the villain, Mister Malik,” Smith faux-groused.

“Make that Emil, Mister Smith. I think this partnership is too vital not to become personal.”

“Only if you extend the same courtesy, Emil. You too, Mister Miller. In fact, within the confines of this syndicate, please call me Bob. It is the name by which I am called in the bosom of my family.”

“It would be my pleasure, Bob. And I am George, of course. We won’t go into the names I’ve been called by my family.”

“Bob, George is a long-time friend of our family. He and my father were friends for many years. We called him ‘Uncle George’ when we were younkers.

“So what’s the problem with the cigar syndicate?” Miller asked.

“Our fourth member, Granger Lestly, is two months in arrears,” Smith said. “Moreover, I have been unable to contact him for the past two weeks.”

“That’s interesting. Sheriff Banks has been grumbling about that, too,” Miller said. “It seems Lestly went off with the chief deputy and shady dealings are rumored, though nothing specific.

“Are you gentleman aware that Mister Lestly has an interest in the B-Bar-L ranch, up in McCabe County?”

“Yes, Emil,” Smith replied. “I sent an inquiry there and just received a response today, hence my visit with you. Well, that and to deliver your first box of Guardia Reals. In the future, however, deliveries will be on a fee-for-service basis. One cigar is the standard. Is that not so, George?”

“It’s what he duns me for,” Miller groused.

“Really? Is it my imagination, or did he not seem friendlier as ‘Mister Smith.’ This ‘Bob’ fellow has a mercenary edge,” Malik said, with a disarming grin. “But, to return to more pressing matters, what is the word from the B-Bar-L?”

“Very little. They say they’ve had no communication with him since his Angus cattle arrived nearly two months ago, around June eleventh or twelfth. For that matter, I spoke with him, myself, as late as the thirteenth of July.”

Miller mused, “I believe I saw him later than that. He’d been closeted with Sheriff Banks and several deputies. I saw them coming out of the sheriff’s office. I remember, because it was about nine in the morning, which was remarkably early for a Monday around the courthouse. I’m pretty sure that was...” he pulled Malik’s desk calendar over. “Yes, Monday, June twentieth, the day after my wedding anniversary.”

Malik said, “That Aunt Emmaline persists in that contract is a wonder to us all, Uncle George. But, to return to the matter on the table, let me see if I can summarize, if only for the interests of this syndicate. Member Granger Lestly is two months in arrears. Our self-appointed operations officer—no offense, Bob, we’re grateful for the service—our self-appointed operations officer, Bob Smith, has made all inquiries logical to contact Mister Lestly to resolve the matter. All efforts have come to naught. Am I correct to assume that you are out of pocket for the arrears, Bob?”

“Yes, I am. And what was that business about ‘self-appointed?’”

“Well, having now met this mercenary ‘Bob’ character, I simply want it on record that you took this role on yourself, without our consent, so that when you come to us with a fee for that service, we can just blow smoke at you.”

“Emil, I may still have some tobacco worm eggs from that batch last summer.”

“May I please, please return to addressing you as ‘Mister Smith’?” Malik quipped.

“Emil, give Bob some respite. Did your devious lawyer’s mind come up with a plan?”

“Not much of one. Think on this: I will pay one of the months if you gents will each pay half the other. We will split Mister Lestly’s last shipment by the same proportions. I get fifty percent, you each get twenty-five percent. When he shows up, we will sell him his current shipment only after making good on his dues, but we will retain one quarter of that shipment as a penalty, those penalty cigars to be distributed in equal portions between the three of us. Agreed?”

“It’s all right with me, Emil,” Miller replied.

Malik looked at Smith. “Bob?”

“It resolves the immediate problem, though still at our expense. I’m concerned if it should happen again.”

“A worthy concern. I have a book here,” Malik rose and walked to a wide, floor-to-ceiling bookshelf on the wall behind the two men, “which has a section on participant-supported organizations. It describes several types of arrangements. You know most about the problems that have arisen, Bob. I’ll loan you the book to study.”

“One of your law books, Emil? I’m not comfortable taking one of your law books, especially from such a beautifully matched leather set.”

“Bob, you’re our banker. We trust you with much more than that every day. Take it with you, read it at your leisure. If I have immediate need of it, I’ll come fetch it.

Malik continued, “Now, I have one more proposal. Bob, do the deliveries come on the same day every month?

“Not always. Usually it’s on the fifth of the month, but it’s sometimes a day later, once, it arrived a day earlier. Usually delays occur when the fifth falls on a Sunday.”

“Where do you pick them up?

“Mister Trent sees that they’re delivered to the bank. My tip is the runner’s pay.”

“Very well. I suggest we switch the delivery to Jacob Baylor’s store. He has a cellar that should defeat the summer heat, pending our retrieval. We can pay him a cigar each for the service. If you’re lucky, my attractive sister-in-law might be disbursing your cigars instead of her crotchety father.”

“Bob?” Miller asked. “Would that work?”

“The store is open six days of the week. If Mister Baylor’s agreeable, it’s fine with me.”

“I like that, too, Emil. Jacob’s used to handling merchandise and special orders, so it shouldn’t be much of an inconvenience,” Miller added.

“Another consideration is that I think we might expect inquiries from some new adherents in the coming weeks,” Malik added. “I know that, if they were closer, the Tsosies would be interested. My brother likes them, so do Mister Baylor and Mister Gibbons. I’ll talk to each of them again, see what they’ve decided. For now, we are caught up on resolving problems, I think.”