Enthusiastic Paddling

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER THREE

"It's a dreadful thing, Mr. Saltiel," white-haired Ernest Lattemeyer shook his head and sighed. "You'll never find more hardworking people than poor Walter and Minerva Thornton. I think they put their lives into that little plot of ground, and the produce they got out of it is as good as anything you'll find in the State of Missouri. They didn't have enough land, and they just had bad luck."

"That's the way it goes sometimes," Francis Saltiel agreed in a bland, unconcerned voice. He was black-haired, wiry, and there was a distinguished touch of gray to his temples. At forty-six, he had made a fortune in a land investment company in Florida about a decade ago, and parlayed it into several stock companies, two small Miami hotels, and a chain of restaurants in Dallas and Fort Worth. He was in Durwent at the suggestion of one of his good friends and client, Jack Dantzger, and he had asked for the head of the Durwent Bank and Trust Company to go over this piece of business for his friend.

"Yes, but the real ironic thing was that the Thorntons were killed by a farmer who's been beating them out when it comes to making money, a produce farmer just like them. He had a fractured skull, but he's recovering. Just a hard-headed cracker, you might say. But that's the bad luck of the poor, you might say, Mr. Saltiel. Anyway, how can I serve you?"

"My client is Jack Dantzger, as you know. He owns several mortgages up this way. I was in Baton Rouge and decided to look around this state. It's got a wonderful history, and I've never been here before."

"Oh yes, I remember Mr. Dantzger's name. Seems to me he has quite a few mortgages in this area. Good gracious-"

"What's the matter, Mr. Lattemeyer?"

"I just remembered. One of the mortgages is on the Thornton farm itself. You see, two years ago Mr. Thornton came to me and wanted a loan to buy equipment. He was hoping to go into the growing of soybeans. Very profitable in certain parts of this state, but unfortunately it didn't work out for him. I guess I was just part and parcel of his luck all throughout his life."

"What are you getting at, Mr. Lattemeyer?" Francis Saltiel drummed his elegantly manicured fingers on the top of the desk and stared coldly at the other banker. He had little emotion, was sophisticated and used to wealth. He also knew what it would buy: not only the comforts of life, but also plenty of p***y. Indeed, he had been without p***y for a week now, wandering through the South on business. He was longing for a high old time, maybe in New Orleans, or perhaps when he got back to Miami. And then maybe a month on his yacht in the Caribbean, with some particularly tasty piece of cunt aboard who would keep him from getting bored. He was tired already of this hot little dusty town. Dantzger was going to pay through the nose for sending him to such a Godforsaken place.

"Well, the point is, when I made this loan to Walter Thornton, I put it into a mortgage. And it seems that your Mr. Dantzger happened to acquire the mortgage, and since you're representing him, and the Thornton's are dead and there isn't any money at the house at all, it's up to you to decide whether to foreclose or to take any other action you deem necessary, Mr. Saltiel."

"Of course, foreclose. Can you sell that little farm for anything?"

"Not for too much, and certainly not enough to meet the loan, I'm afraid. But you know, the Thornton's left two very attractive girls. One is eighteen and the other eighteen-that's Pamela, a very smart, spirited young lady. She's been hoping to go to college, but of course that won't be possible now."

Francis Saltiel's ears had pricked up at the mention of two daughters. "Hm," he said as he reached into his coat lapel pocket for a Corona cigar. "Maybe I could go out and meet them. I'd like to see the farm anyway, before I decide."

"Of course, Mr. Saltiel. I'd be glad to drive you there myself."

"No. Just tell me how to get there. I'd like to meet these girls and just find out what their parents were like and what they're like. You know-we won't talk banking or anything like that. I'll respect their bereavement, naturally."

"That's mighty nice of you. And if you can find it in your heart to do something for those fine girls, I'm sure the Thorntons would bless you from heaven, Mr. Saltiel," the old white-haired banker rose and shook the hand of the elegantly dressed taller man before him.

Francis Saltiel nodded curtly, turned his head and walked out by the bank. Ernest Lattemeyer looked after him and shook his head.

"There's something about that man," he mused. "I can't put my finger on it, but he's a cold-hearted one. I only hope a little mercy touches him when he meets those nice girls. Poor Walter and Minerva-they did their best but it wasn't good enough. I just hope those poor girls won't have to be thrown on relief or something like that." He could not guess that their future was to be decided in a way that would certainly not put them on public welfare. But it would be solved in a way of which he, as an honorable gentleman of the old school, could never possibly have approved, and it was as well for his own peace of mind that he was never going to hear about it.