The funeral business is dying, I tell ye, dying on its feet!
Mister Jolly was only sometimes inclined to bide a wee in the saloon for a wee dram; tending more to have his whiskey shipped wholesale from Helena, and drink it alone, in the gloom of his miserable empty funeral parlour of an evening, for it was cheaper that way, sip for sip. But tonight he actually entered the stardust: that place of conviviality and good cheer and... life: so different from his own establishment of mourning, sorrow and death.
He approached the bar and waving away Mr Flandry's usual request for 'what he'd be having' instead told the bearded barman: "It's yer mon Fortner I'd be speaking to. A matter of business, y' ken?" he requested in his airy highland accent.
Frances Grimes, noodling on the piano nearby, heard his evocative accent and, almost despite herself, felt her fingers drift to misty Scots minor keys and finally a longing, sad tune called "The Skye Boat Song". She even sang it quietly.
Speed, bonnie boat, like a bird on the wing
Onward! the sailors cry
Carry the lad that's born to be king
Over the sea to Skye
Good job she wasn't doing it to try and get a coin to clank in her little metal 'tip pot' - the man was a Scot!
The Proprietor's back was to the bar since he was sitting at his assigned table, mulling over things with the estimable Mr. Priest.
There was the planned construction of a couple of card rooms in the back. There was the mining engineer's report that was due by the end of the week -- and the paltry capital they'd raised this far. They was a possible run for Mayor that Priest was entertaining.
Frances Grimes was playing the with the ivories .. then he heard his name.
"It's yer mon Fortner I'd be speaking to. A matter of business, y' ken?" he requested in his airy highland accent.
"I wonder what the Hell this is about?" Fortner muttered to his cohort before standing and turning around.
"I'm Mr. Fortner," he said as he approached the man. He'd never seen him before. "What can I do for you?"
The funeral business is dying, I tell ye, dying on its feet!
"I'm Mr. Fortner," he said as he approached the man. He'd never seen him before. "What can I do for you?"
The old man (God, he was even older than Priest!) looked at Fortner and his bushy eyebrows rose and fell a few times as his strange haunted-looking rheumy eyes took him in. Then he held out a long, bony, cadaverous hand: his grip was surprisingly strong for such an old looking fellow: but then he was a carpenter by trade and still worked daily with his hands.
"My name is Malcolm Jolly and you'll ken I run the Funeral Parlour away yonder over the way." he said pointing a white finger in the general direction of out-the-door.
"It's a wee business proposition I've come to talk over with you Mister Forrrrtner, in private if you please, it's a... well, you ken it's a delicate wee matter." he looked suspiciously about the place, in case the place was full of Sheriffs and Marshalls and Deputies and Government secret agents.
"My name is Malcolm Jolly and you'll ken I run the Funeral Parlour away yonder over the way." he said pointing a white finger in the general direction of out-the-door.
"It's a wee business proposition I've come to talk over with you Mister Forrrrtner, in private if you please, it's a... well, you ken it's a delicate wee matter." he looked suspiciously about the place, in case the place was full of Sheriffs and Marshals and Deputies and Government secret agents.
Fortner stood back a step and surveyed the old man. The man looked old enough to have an "e" added to the end of the string of letters spelling o-l-d. He found the man's accent at once appealing and put-offish. Scots were notorious skin flints and penny pinchers and chiselers. Still, he was curious to hear what the coot has to say.
"Alright, Old-timer. I've got an office upstairs. It's nice and private AND there's a bottle of scotch up there and a couple of glasses. What so you say?"
The funeral business is dying, I tell ye, dying on its feet!
"Alright, Old-timer. I've got an office upstairs. It's nice and private AND there's a bottle of scotch up there and a couple of glasses. What so you say?"
"Aye, I'll nay say nay to a wee dram!" agreed Jolly and followed Fortner upstairs to the lair where he made all his Machiavellian plans. He made himself comfortable and sipped the single malt he was offered appreciatively.
"I'll nay beat about the bush, Mister Fortner. It's whores I've to talk to ye about. Plain as that, mon: whores. Prostitutes, Ladies of the Evening, Soiled Doves, Doxies, Tarts, call 'em as ye will, they're all one in the same to me: and here's the rub: we dinni have any. Not in this wee Town." he set the scene before getting down to brass tacks:.
"Now, you'll ken there's a wee empty building behind my Funeral Parlour; a close associate of mine is planning to open a bonny wee knocking shop just there. Nothing fancy or big or loud, ye ken? Kalispell has too many respectable folk, or at least those who like to think they're respectable, to stand having to look the thing in the face, if ye ken my meaning. Och, it'll be a bonny wee thing: private, comfortable and clean; run by a Lady with many, many years experience in the trade. This Lady's backers want the place to serve a wee drink or two, but they don't wish to be about treading on your finely polished boots, Mr Fortner, thus my presence here tonight."
He knew Fortner would want more specific details of the proposed deal.
"The brothel will buy from you at your selling price and we'll add a mark-up. That's nay so much to make a profit as to stop the customers hanging around once they've done their dirty wee business, ye ken. Be that as it may, a good deal of the randy wee rascals'll want a drink while they're waiting their turn, and a good many of the younger lads'll be needing a wee dram of Dutch Courage, if ye follow my drift. Of course, if it's a wee interest in the business itself you'd be interested in... well, that might be a possibility. But I'm not authorised to negotiate upon that, you'd need to speak to the Lady herself about that wee matter."
"Ahhh, that was a fine wee drop o' whiskey, Mr Fortner, I must say." the old thistle said finally, putting his empty glass down and angling for another one.
The two men sat in the office, Franklin in the chair behind his desk with his right foot propped against its edge, and the old man in an overstuffed chair covered in Cordovan Leather.
As the Scotsman spoke, Franklin's mind, which had no boundaries for its corruption, began to see how the man's plans for his brothel might benefit him.
When the he finished, he angled for another drink. "Ahhh, that was a fine wee drop o' whiskey, Mr Fortner, I must say."
Franklin put both of his feet on the floor and pulled himself closer to the decanter. He motioned for the empty glass and when he received it, he filled it once more. "Here you go, old timer," he said.
Now was the time for business.
"So let me get this straight. You are opening up an sporting house in town, and you would like the Stardust to supply the liquor for your clients. We would sell you the stuff at mark-up, then you'd add a mark-up of your own. You know, that could be a bit pricey for the patrons. The boys in this town aren't exactly rolling in money."
He cleared his throat and look agreeably at his visitor.
"I'll tell you what, and i know you're not here to negotiate, but I want to run this by you anyway. What I'm proposing is we will sell you the liquor at our cost .. no mark-up. Then you can put whatever price on it you want. This, in turn for 10 percent of the establishment's take."
Franklin was proud of his deal, a deal that even Priest would approve of.
"Do you think this would fly with your boss?"
The funeral business is dying, I tell ye, dying on its feet!
"I'll tell you what, and i know you're not here to negotiate, but I want to run this by you anyway. What I'm proposing is we will sell you the liquor at our cost .. no mark-up. Then you can put whatever price on it you want. This, in turn for 10 percent of the establishment's take."
"Well..." started the canny Scotsman, shaking his head a little.
"Do you think this would fly with your boss?"
"You'll ken that ten percent is a mighty large slice of the cake for the mere pleasure of buying booze from ye, Mr Fortner..."
Of course, Fortner was asking too much, and Jolly was proposing too little: it was all part of the dance of negotiation. After an hour's wrangling and a fair few more 'wee drams' of whiskey, a deal had been more or less come to: Fortner could take a much lower percentage of the whole, or a larger percentage of tricks which had been picked up in his saloon: that was up to him to decide. the rider on this, of course, was that Mrs Adam's 'hostesses' were free to operate in the saloon without hindrance.
The deal was done, to the mutual satisfaction of both.
Of course, Fortner was asking too much, and Jolly was proposing too little: it was all part of the dance of negotiation. After an hour's wrangling and a fair few more 'wee drams' of whiskey, a deal had been more or less come to: Fortner could take a much lower percentage of the whole, or a larger percentage of tricks which had been picked up in his saloon: that was up to him to decide. the rider on this, of course, was that Mrs Adam's 'hostesses' were free to operate in the saloon without hindrance.
The deal was done, to the mutual satisfaction of both.
"Without hindrance" meant that the girls were free to solicit johns in the saloon, but would operate with a discretion that would not run afoul of the eagle-eyed Bartender or Caroline Mundee, the saloon's star attraction. And no lewd conduct on Saloon premises.
These details were ironed out before the handshake, and only after Hiram Priest entered the office looking for a corkscrew and was asked to listen to the details of the agreement.
"You need to get all this in writing," he determined. "Oh, and signed as well," the crafty lawyer added.
The funeral business is dying, I tell ye, dying on its feet!
"You need to get all this in writing," he determined. "Oh, and signed as well," the crafty lawyer added.
"That'll no be a problem, Mister Priest" confirmed the old Scot "I'll have Mrs Adams make her wee mark on the documents forthwith." He had never quite understood the exact relationship between the smooth, ruthless Fortner and the somewhat old and creepy Priest and suspected that the story of their symbiotic relationship extended back many a year.
Old and creepy; like he could talk!
He took a last swig of Fortner's most excellent grog and rose creakily to his feet. Tonight he would report his success to Mrs Sally Adams and she, in gratitude, would repeat for him her Grand Performance... a role she was loath to reprise a second time with him, but which she would tonight! It would involve a black wig, one of his wife's old dresses and a rather large and slightly unstable gravestone in the graveyard beyond the town upon which were carved the faded words: In Memory - Loving Wife and Sister - Elizabeth Jolly - 15th May 1839 - 17th October 1860. Abide With Me.
"I'll bid ye good night, Gentlemen and... I'm sure Mrs Adams will be pleased to see the both of ye at any time you please when operations commence." he assured them.
@[Preton]
Address me as Hon. Hiram Priest, esq.
He took a last swig of Fortner's most excellent grog and rose creakily to his feet. Tonight he would report his success to Mrs Sally Adams and she, in gratitude, would repeat for him her Grand Performance... a role she was loath to reprise a second time with him, but which she would tonight! It would involve a black wig, one of his wife's old dresses and a rather large and slightly unstable gravestone in the graveyard beyond the town upon which were carved the faded words: In Memory - Loving Wife and Sister - Elizabeth Jolly - 15th May 1839 - 17th October 1860. Abide With Me.
"I'll bid ye good night, Gentlemen and... I'm sure Mrs Adams will be pleased to see the both of ye at any time you please when operations commence." he assured them.
"There is nothing like sealing a deal with a gentleman," Hiram said with a sigh. "It's a pleasure to do business with you and..."
Fortner interrupted him.
"... golden days are ahead." he finished for the wily lawyer.
The saloon owner raised his glass and held it out in front of him.
If only all my transactions were are nicely completed as this one.