Phantom Point
by Gary Inbinder
Chapter 3: Santa Teresa
part 2
Max hired a hack to drive him to The Pacific Hotel on Main Street. He decided on the Pacific after receiving the following information from the driver in response to an inquiry about places to stay in Santa Teresa:
“You got two choices, mister; the Western and The Pacific. Drummers and suchlike favor The Western, but a better class of people prefer The Pacific.” The driver also favored The Pacific. He had sized up Max as belonging to “the better class,” and he received a kickback from the hotel for steering well-heeled passengers to that establishment.
The Pacific was a three-story frame structure from the 1880s; the interior made of hardy native redwood trimmed with walnut and mahogany, the floors covered with Turkish carpets and the ceilings hung with glittering crystal chandeliers that had recently been wired for electricity. There was a parlor filled with potted palms and overstuffed furniture.
Max figured the reserved, bourgeois atmosphere suited the image of Matt Rogers, successful young businessman. Word of his presence would go around the small town and get to John Merwin and others, soon enough. But as part of his plan, and for a bit of fun, Max would explore the seedier side of Santa Teresa.
Max signed the register for the fussy desk clerk, who eyed him up and down before ringing for the bellhop. A husky man answered the bell.
“George,” the clerk said, “take this gentleman and his luggage up to room two-twenty-six.”
The bellhop grabbed Max’s bags and said, “Follow me, sir.” They walked up a circular staircase to the second-floor landing and two-twenty-six. The room was small, but neat and clean. Lace curtains fluttered over half-opened windows admitting a eucalyptus-scented ocean breeze. The room had the added luxury of its own bath and toilet. George set Max’s bags down next to the bed and asked, “Anything else I can do for you, sir?”
Max smiled, reached into his pocket for a silver dollar and handed the coin to the bellhop.
George fingered the shiny new coin, smiled broadly and said, “Thank you, sir.”
“You seem like a bright fellow, George. I’ll bet you know who’s who and what’s what in this town, see and hear lots of interesting things, keep your ear to the ground, if you know what I mean.”
“Well, sir, maybe I do.” The bellhop answered cautiously.
“I’ll just bet you do.” Max pulled out his billfold and riffled through his wad to give George a whiff of the long green. Then he pulled out a ten spot and held it up so George could get a good look at the crisp greenback. “I want you to take this, get me a bottle of good whiskey and a bucket of ice. If you’re back in fifteen minutes, you can keep the change.”
George smiled and took the bill. “Yes, sir. I’ll be right quick.”
“OK, pal. And listen. If you’re back in ten minutes or less, we can have a little talk about how you can make some real jack.”
The bellhop stuffed the bill in his pocket and darted out the door without another word. Max eased back in a leather armchair near the open window and lit a cigar. He checked his watch to time the bellhop. The anticipated knock on the door came in just under six minutes. George entered with a bottle of good rye and a bucket filled with ice cubes.
“You did well, George. You earned what’s left of the ten spot. Now, you got a few minutes to discuss how you can make more?”
“Things is a might slow. Yes, sir, I guess we can talk.”
“First, you can drop the ‘sir’ when we’re alone. My name’s Matt.”
George was stunned speechless. After a tense moment he said, “OK... Mr. Matt.”
“Good. Now pour us both a drink and have a seat.”
“No, sir... Mr. Matt.” George shook his head vehemently, “I can’t drink with you. I’d lose my job.”
“Just one, George, with ice. If you don’t tell, I won’t.”
The bellhop hesitated for an instant. Then he poured two singles with ice, handed one to Max, took the other, and sat in one of the chairs on the opposite side of the half-opened window.
Max sipped some whiskey and expressed his appreciation of fine liquor. Then: “I’m here scouting property for a group of investors. They’re particularly interested in a place called Phantom Point. Are you familiar with it?”
“Sure; everyone knows ’bout Phantom Point.”
“What do ‘they’ know?”
“Old man Merwin owned most of the property in and ’round Santa Teresa, including The Eyrie, that’s the big house and estate up the coast from the town. Phantom Point runs to the north right next to the estate. The old man was a widower with two sons, John and Paul. He left most of his property to the older boy, John and he divided Phantom Point, giving half to each son. They got along all right till Paul married a woman his brother don’t like and they started building on the Point and bringing in strangers.”
“What sort of strangers?”
George frowned and shook his head. “Don’t rightly know. Some folks says they’re artists, others says they’re foreigners, anarchists and heathens. Whatever they is, most folks ’round here don’t like ‘em.”
“I see. What about Paul’s widow. What do people say about her?”
“Nothin’ good. They give her dirty looks when she comes to town. And she’s got a man, what some call an easy rider. Folks don’t like that, people livin’ in sin right out in the open.”
Max smiled. “I guess free love ain’t so free in small towns. I hear Santa Teresa has a couple of sporting houses and a roadhouse, too.”
“I reckon so, though I’ve never been. Anyways, the sportin’ houses are on the other side of the tracks and Doyle’s honky-tonk is three miles outside of town. Marshal Rivers sees to it they don’t bother the decent folks.”
“I take it Marshal Rivers is the law hereabouts?”
“Yes, Mr. Matt. He’s been the law ’round here for near to twenty years; him, the county sheriff and Judge Foster that is.”
Max nodded his understanding and sipped some whiskey before continuing. “Getting back to Phantom Point, Mrs. Merwin, her man and the strangers. You ever hear talk of people wanting to run them off the property?”
George put down his drink and glanced around, as though there were unfriendly eyes and ears lurking nearby. He leaned toward Max and lowered his voice. “There’s been some loose talk, but Marshal Rivers keeps the peace. As long as he’s around, there won’t be no night-riding in Santa Teresa.”
“What if the night riding was outside the town limits and someone paid Rivers enough to turn a blind eye?”
George’s eyes widened and his voice came down to a near whisper. “I don’t rightly know, Mr. Matt. But there ain’t been no whitecapping in Santa Teresa since before Rivers’ time.”
“What happened back then?”
“White caps broke into the jail and lynched a couple of horse thieves. That’s all I recollect.”
“All right, George. Have you heard any talk about oil? They’re drilling up and down the coast. I’m surprised no one’s been prospecting around here.”
“You an oil man, Mr. Matt?”
“No, George. I’m just looking to buy some good property for my clients. Of course, the oil and mineral rights could be worth something, too. So, I’m asking again. Have you heard any talk about oil around here?”
George paused to think a moment before saying, “Yes, Mr. Matt. Mostly talk about Phantom Point. Years ago, there was some drilling up there, but they was dry holes.”
“How many years ago was that?”
“Back in the nineties.”
“Drilling’s improved since then.”
George raised an eyebrow. “I thought you said you wasn’t an oil man?”
“I’m not, but I like to keep up with the times.”
“Well, you might want to see Lawyer Williams. He used to work for old Mr. Merwin. He’d know what was goin’ on up at Phantom Point.”
“How does Williams get along with John Merwin?”
“They don’t get along at all. They been to court against each other.”
“Now, just one more question. Do you know of anyone from out of town who was up here recently asking about Phantom Point? I’m particularly thinking of a man named Burgess... Art Burgess.” Max added a good description in case Burgess had used an alias.
George thought a moment before saying, “Can’t say that I do, but I’ll ask around.”
Max smiled, reached into his wallet and pulled out another ten. He handed it to George. “I’ll go see Lawyer Williams. Now, you know what I’m interested in. Keep your eyes and ears open. Bring me something I can use, and I’ll take care of you. Is it a deal?”
“Thank you, Mr. Matt. It’s a deal,” George answered without hesitation.
“Good. Let’s shake on it.” They shook hands. Then Max said, “One more thing before you go. I plan on having some fun tonight. Can you tell me a bit more about Doyle’s?”
“Not much to tell. They got liquor, women and gaming in a back room. They’re outside Marshal Rivers’ jurisdiction, and the county sheriff leaves ’em alone. That the kind of fun you lookin’ for?”
Max grinned. “Could be. How do I get there?”
“You can hire a buggy at the stables on Front Street. Tell old Levi I sent you. He’ll take care of you, all right.”
George left in a good mood with better than a week’s wages and tips in his pocket and prospects for more. With the bellhop gone, Max leaned back in his chair and poured another whiskey. He enjoyed his drink and the fresh ocean air streaming through the window. Max figured he was making good use of Miss Van Dorn’s money. He would invest a bit more at Doyle’s roadhouse.
Copyright © 2022 by Gary Inbinder
