Chapter 14

We meet Kitty Murdoch, owner of Murdoch's Saloon, and a Swiss businessman, a baron von Sonnenfeld. Not is all it seems—but you've probably figured that out by now....

Chapter 14

Wednesday, December 20. Even though there was little to no gold left underground, there was no shortage of men ready to part with what little money they had. As soon as miners or trappers were paid, they opened their wallets to whoever was quickest to drain them of their earnings. Money flowed into the saloons, spilling quickly from one hand to the next.

Murdoch’s Saloon. A fine establishment, some would say. A place of refreshment—a euphemism if there ever was one for prostitution, gambling and liquor. Kitty’s father had bequeathed her the business after he met an early demise at the short end of a .45 caliber pistol. An argument at a card table, the story goes, her father accused of cheating. Clearly, he didn’t have the ability to ready people as well as his daughter. 

Kitty Murdoch had become an expert in relieving men of their money. She knew more ways to get men to part with their cash than there were paying claims in the hills surrounding town. Some people have the ability to play an instrument and Kitty knew how to play a man. Among her other talents, she could spot easy money from a long way away. The man who had just walked into her hotel looked like an easy mark—they always did if they arrived with clean clothes and no dirt on their shoes. This man was trim and fit and his suit was smartly cut—it looked expensive. He carried himself with confidence. Kitty sensed both arrogance and pride: it was going to be a challenge to get this one to open his wallet.

She strolled over to his table with a bottle of bourbon and sat down. 

“Welcome to my place,” she said, pouring two glasses. 

He left his bourbon untouched. “Yes, I had assumed as much.”

Arrogance, she thought. She would wait until he decided to be civil.

“Baron Winfried von Sonnenfeld,” he said, reaching for the glass.

“Baron? I trust you’re not some goddamned German,” she said without emotion or concern for decorum.

He laughed, a little too easily, she thought. 

“No, I am Swiss. I can assure you I have no love for Hitler or his madness.”

She nodded. “Swiss…you have the luxury of playing the neutral card. We’re not all so lucky.”

He shrugged. “My country is of no strategic use or concern to Germany.”

Bullshit, she thought. “I hear you’re good at hiding Reichmarks and Nazi gold.”

“There are few innocents in war, either Allied or Axis. We provide a service that is mutually beneficial to all parties.”

“Well, let’s hope you brought some of that gold to the Yukon. What brings you to Whitehorse?”

“I represent a consortium of investors who are looking for minimal risks and investment opportunities, like a copper mine or perhaps a refinery once the pipeline is complete. From here, I will continue to Alaska. There are mining prospects to be explored with various companies in Anchorage.”

“Minimal risk is hard to find during war.”

“Neutrality can be used to gain advantage, that is, if alacrity is avoided and attention is focused elsewhere.”

This man talks shit, she thought. Advantage, avoid, alacrity…just who in the hell talks like that? She couldn’t tell if the man sitting across from her was as rich as he appeared or was just another player.

“How long you in town?”

“Long enough to satisfy investors.” He emptied his glass. “I’ll be needing a room.  I’ve been told there are women here to satisfy other needs.”

This one doesn’t waste any time, she thought. She relaxed: this was a language she understood. 

“If you’ve got money, there’s no problem. You can even skip the bath. Hell, I can smell how clean your clothes are.”

“I’m not interested in girls.”

She leaned back in the chair. “Mister, you can’t afford me.”

“Allow me dinner, at the very least.”

“You can forget it.” She stood to leave.

The man opened his wallet and threw fifty dollars on the table. That equalled an entire month’s profit. She hesitated a moment, then picked it up. 

“Dinner’s at seven. You can have room twelve.”

He stood and took her hand, kissing it lightly. “Until then.”

At 7.10 p.m. Kitty walked into her hotel dining room, her late arrival meant to signal her independence and control. Von Sonnenfeld was waiting at a table. She had a good, long look at him and wondered what he was up to. Murdoch wasn’t naïve: von Sonnenfeld certainly looked the part but she had had her fair share of unscrupulous customers. Her intuition told her von Sonnenfeld ranked high on that list. What exactly he was in town for, she didn’t know but he was too eager to bed her and the money he’d already thrown down was a tell, but in relation to what or why, she couldn’t say and didn’t care. Money was money.

After dinner, von Sonnenfeld lifted his glass of wine for a toast. 

“To you, Miss Murdoch, your beauty and to your business.” 

Their glasses touched and the lead crystal rang clear and true. He pushed his plate to the side. 

“While I am in Whitehorse, would you make introductions? Your Commissioner of Mining for a start?”

Here it comes, she thought. She had read him perfectly. Money and clothes didn’t change a man’s basic human nature. He wanted something, and she wasn’t his main course. 

“His name is George Jeckell and you want to know if he can be bribed.” 

“Bribery sounds so heavy-handed. I’m sure he desires what every man here wants.”

“Gold? There’s many that have tried and failed.” She reached for her wine.

Von Sonnenfeld lit a cigar. He rolled it between his fingers, savoring the taste. “Like any ore, the right pressure must be applied in order to create the jewel. Where might he be vulnerable?”

“He can’t be bought. He’s got no family here. His wife died a few years back. And he’s a regular church goer, or so I’ve been told.”

“Ah, a man of morals in a position of power. Such a person who has only his principles thinks he has nothing to lose. But every man has his price. Where does he live?”

“You’re wasting your time.” And mine, she thought. “He’s got a shack on the corner of 3^rd and Strickland.”

“And his preferred place to relax?”

“You mean ladies? Booze?” She shook her head. “Not a chance! He hasn’t looked at another woman since his wife died. I’m telling you, you have nothing he wants.”

Von Sonnenfeld temper rose. “I’ve not travelled this far to be stymied by some Puritan. I must have what his signature can grant me.”

“Really? And what might that be?”

He ignored her question. “Curiosity does not become you.”

It was time to reel in the catch. She couldn’t believe how easy this was. 

“Look, I can get you that signature but it’ll cost you.”

“I can write you a check for whatever amount is required.”

He needs Jeckell’s signature for something illegal, she thought. Otherwise, why the rush? If I’m sticking my neck out for him, he’s going to pay dearly.

She laughed. “A cheque? Cash or nothing. One thousand dollars. And I’ll keep your name off the register.” She guessed anonymity was also something he valued. 

Kitty had just raised the stakes. She knew what the money could do for her. She could return to Pincher Creek, buy a farm outright and start a new life. She held his gaze, wondering if he would fold. He blew a couple of smoke rings into the air, examining his cigar. I’ve got him, she thought. 

She decided to sweeten the deal.

“And, I’m all yours until your business is completed. Deal?” 

Sonnenfeld nodded and then kissed her hand. 

“Shall we say my room in one hour?”

“No, you can come to mine.” She rose. “In an hour, then.”