Chapter 3 - The Secret in the Ledger
By 10:00 PM, a heavy, dark rain had returned to Blackwood, turning the dirt streets into a churning river of thick brown mud.
The town was dark, save for the bright, warm glow radiating from the second-floor windows of the Blackwood Hotel—Bodie Crane’s private headquarters.
In the alleyway behind the hotel, shadowed beneath a wooden overhang, Jackson stood watch with his hand resting on his gun, his gray eyes scanning the street for syndicate patrols.
Eleanor, dressed in her dark coat and cap, used a thin steel hair clip to pick the brass lock of the hotel’s rear service door. Her fingers were quick and steady, trained by years of delicate medical procedures.
CLICK.
The lock gave way. Eleanor pushed the heavy oak door open an inch, peering into the dark kitchen hall.
“Keep your head down,” Jackson whispered near her ear. “I’ll hold the alley. You have twenty minutes before the night watchman does his rounds.”
“Fifteen is all I need,” Eleanor replied softly.
She slipped inside like a shadow, pulling the door shut behind her.
The hotel smelled of cigar smoke, expensive lavender soap, and roasted pork. Eleanor moved silently down the carpeted service hallway, avoiding the squeaky floorboards with practiced ease. She climbed the narrow servants' staircase to the second floor, arriving at the heavy mahogany door of Crane’s private office.
She reached for the brass handle. It was unlocked.
Eleanor slipped into the room, closing the door quietly behind her.
The office was lavishly furnished with red velvet drapes, a polished mahogany desk, and a massive floor-to-ceiling iron safe sitting in the corner. On top of the desk lay a thick, leather-bound accounting ledger, open to a page filled with neatly written names and dollar amounts.
Eleanor stepped up to the desk, bringing a small pocket oil lamp out from her coat. She struck a match, shielding the flame with her palm, and began scanning the financial entries.
What she found made her blood run cold.
The ledger didn't just contain records of local debt collections. It contained monthly payout records to the town mayor, the local judge, three county deputies, and... Gus Bell, the saloon owner who had offered her a kitchen job with a sympathetic smile.
Gus wasn't a bystander. He was Crane’s primary informant, reporting on every struggling family in the valley so Crane could foreclose on their property.
Then her eyes caught an entry dated three weeks ago—the exact day her husband had died:
Payment to S. Venn: $200.00 — Special Removal Service (Thomas Hail).
Consignment Order: Project Iron Rail — North Pasture Access.
Tears of pure, burning rage filled Eleanor’s eyes. It was all there. A written confession signed in Crane’s own handwriting. They had murdered Thomas like an animal just to secure an access route for their illegal rail shipment.
Suddenly, a heavy hand grabbed Eleanor’s throat from behind, slamming her face violently against the mahogany desk!
The pocket lamp fell, shattering onto the rug, extinguishing the flame instantly!
“Well, well,” a rough, familiar voice sneered in the darkness. “Look what caught itself in the boss’s office.”
It was Silas Venn.
His heavy hand squeezed Eleanor’s throat, cutting off her oxygen as he pulled her up, pressing his grotesque face inches from hers. His left eye was heavily bandaged from the stone splinters Jackson had caused earlier that morning.
“You thought you were clever, didn't you, bitch?” Venn hissed, his breath reeking of stale whiskey. “You and your little cowboy thought you could dig up our business. But Crane knew you’d come here tonight. He left the back door unlocked on purpose.”
Eleanor gasped for air, her vision darkening along the edges as her oxygen vanished. She couldn't reach her pocket. She couldn't fight his massive physical strength.
Think, Eleanor! Think! her mind screamed.
She stopped clawing at his hands. Instead, she reached up with two fingers of her right hand, locating the thick bandage covering Venn’s injured left eye, and drove her thumb directly into his open, torn eye wound with all her remaining force!
“ARRRRGH!” Venn shrieked in agonizing pain!
He instinctively released her throat, stumbling backward, clutching his bleeding face as fresh blood soaked through his bandage!
Eleanor dropped to her knees, coughing violently, taking a ragged gulp of air. Before Venn could recover, she reached onto the desk, grabbed a heavy brass paperweight, stood up, and swung it with all her strength directly into Venn’s jaw!
CRACK!
Venn’s head snapped back, his eyes rolling into his head as his massive body collapsed heavily onto the floor, unconscious!
Eleanor didn't waste a second. She grabbed the leather ledger from the desk, shoved it under her coat, and sprinted out the office door into the hallway!
As she reached the top of the servants' staircase, a loud alarm bell began ringing wildly throughout the hotel!
“INTRUDER! SECOND FLOOR!” a guard screamed from below.
Eleanor took the stairs three at a time, bursting out the rear service door into the rainy alleyway!
Jackson was already waiting, his revolver drawn. “Did you get it?”
“I got it!” Eleanor gasped, holding the thick leather book against her chest. “They murdered Thomas! It’s all written down!”
Four armed syndicate guards rounded the corner of the alleyway, rifles raised!
“THERE THEY ARE! KILL THEM BOTH!”
Jackson grabbed Eleanor’s hand, pulling her behind a heavy wooden delivery wagon as a hail of lead bullets shattered the wooden walls around them!
“We can't go back to the farm!” Jackson shouted over the deafening gunfire. “They’ll burn it down by midnight! We need to get to the county seat and hand this ledger to the state prosecutor!”
“The midnight train!” Eleanor called out, her voice clear and decisive despite the chaos. “It stops at the water tower two miles south at midnight to refill! We can leap onto the freight cars!”
Jackson looked at her, a fierce, wild smile breaking across his rain-soaked face. “Then run, Eleanor! Run like hell!”
They ducked through a narrow gap between two brick buildings, plunging into the dark woods bordering the town. Behind them, shout and gunshots echoed through the night as Crane's men mobilized to hunt them down.
The rain fell harder, turning the forest floor into a slippery slope of mud and wet leaves. Eleanor clutched the ledger tightly to her chest, her lungs burning as she ran alongside Jackson.
"Hold up!" Jackson called out, pausing near a high ridge overlooking the valley.
Below them, the lights of Blackwood were flickering, and in the distance, a pair of bright headlights cut through the storm. Three black carriages were speeding down the main road toward the train tracks.
"Crane's personal transport," Jackson said, reloading his cylinder. "He knows about the water tower. He's trying to cut us off before the train arrives."
"Then we take the high trail," Eleanor said, pointing toward a steep rocky path winding along the ridge. "It leads directly to the water tower from above. We can reach the train before his carriages arrive."
"Let's move!" Jackson urged.
They scrambled up the slippery trail, the cold wind whipping against their faces. Above them, the low, mournful whistle of the approaching steam locomotive echoed across the valley. The midnight train was arriving.
They reached the top of the ridge just as the massive iron locomotive pulled to a slow stop beside the wooden water tower. Steam hissed from its undercarriage in giant white clouds.
"There it is!" Eleanor panted.
They began their descent down the rocky slope toward the tracks, but as they reached the level ground, the three black carriages skidded to a halt on the road fifty yards away.
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The doors flew open, and Bodie Crane stepped out, surrounded by fifteen heavily armed syndicate enforcers carrying rifles and shotguns.
They were completely cut off.
