Greg greeted people warmly as he passed them on the sidewalk but mostly they regarded him with hostile, suspicious eyes and responded to his greeting with silence and occasionally a curt nod. Greg put it down to the ‘Noble Breath’ getting them down and walked on taking in the town and looking at what was for sale in the shops- more particularly the prices of things for sale.
He strolled down the side streets and along the back of Main Street. The air seemed less dense there. After a few paces he realised he was walking behind the several fast food outlets on Main Street and he looked into their back yards as he passed. He thought it curious that each of them had a number of large, plastic drums out back and he wondered what they were for?
At the back of the 'Fryway' burger outlet one of them was leaking from a slight crack. Curiosity got the better of him. He looked to left and right, and saw there was nobody around, the yard was open to the street and he walked in to have a closer look. Greg inspected the seepage, smelled it and then poked it with a finger and rubbed it between his thumb. He recognised it as spent cooking oil and his brain moved into overdrive. If nobody was collecting this stuff, then the quantity waiting for disposal suggested it was a problem. Here was an opportunity. It could be the small business venture that could put Jess through High School and perhaps, even on to College.
Greg already had some knowledge of this business as he had invested in setting up a small plant in Florida that had collected waste cooking oil and converted it into bio-diesel. The process was not difficult or costly to set up or run and if care was taken, it was not dangerous. This was an idea to work on and maybe mention to the mayor when he introduced himself later that day.
He walked along a few more streets and looked into the backyards of buildings and saw more drums of waste oil waiting for disposal. It added strength to his perception that if nobody was already doing it; here was a business opportunity ripe for exploitation. He wrote in his notebook. ‘Check bio-diesel from cooking oil, process, regulations and equipment- US Rules.’
His next stop was to introduce himself to the Bank manager. He whistled the Ricky Skaggs number that still throbbed in his brain as he walked to the Commercial and Farmer’s bank on Main Street.
* * *
Bill Courtley was not only expecting him, but applauded him on his proposed benevolence for the benefit of Jess White. It seemed that Bamptonville was no different to any other small town where everybody knew everything about everybody else – or at least among the top echelon of local society. Greg made a mental note not to delay making the acquaintance of the others on the Sherriff’s list
He set up an account at the bank and talked about transferring funds and ongoing investment opportunities. The manager promised to keep him informed when suitable opportunities arose.
‘Come and see me at any time Mr. Mitchell, an appointment will not be necessary, not for you. Anything at all. Any time!’
‘Thank you very much Mr. Courtley. Perhaps you can recommend me an accountant. I’ll be working on a diverse range of business opportunities and maybe setting up a charitable trust and he’ll need to be somebody who can work with my Boston lawyers. Does anybody come to mind you think who could fit that requirement?’
Without a moment’s hesitation, the banker took a piece of paper from a pad on his desk and wrote a name and contact information on it and passed it over.
‘There’s nobody at that level in Bamptonville that I could suggest Mr. Mitchell. But I’m sure you’ll find Bill Elbury to your liking. He’s in Larksville, that’s 63 miles directly North of here.’
Everything was pointing to Larksville and he needed to get out there to check it out. He needed first to pay his respects to the Mayor, to the Judge and Mr. Noble.
* * *
Greg met the mayor coming down the steps of the Town Hall as he was going up and tried to introduce himself as the mayor continued walking down the steps.
"Delighted to meet you Mr. Mitchell. I’ve been hearing good things about you since you came to town. Do come and see me for a talk when I’ve got more time to give you. My apologies, I have to rush off for a meeting."
Greg waited for no reason until the mayor had cleared the steps and hurried away towards Main Street before following him more sedately down the steps into the street.
‘Just the Judge and Mr. Noble.’ He said to himself and looked at his wrist watch with a grimace. ‘ 9.20- another hour before the judge gets to his watering hole. I’ll best try Mr. Noble.’
Greg had bought a 'Pay as You Go' cell phone when he started his trip. He consulted the Sherriff’s paper and punched in Noble’s number on the keypad.
A crisp, businesslike voice came into his ear. ‘This is Ross Noble.’
It was a voice that sounded like it was used to exercising authority and Greg decided that prudence required him to proceed with caution.
‘Good Morning Mr. Noble. I’m Greg Mitchell. I’ve just arrived in town. I’ll be here for a while and I’d like to come out and pay you my respects, as a courtesy.’
The voice lost none of its crispness.
‘Thank you Mr. Mitchell. That’s very neighbourly of you. The Sherriff told me you might call. I believe you’ve some ideas and I’d sure like to hear them.’
‘Thank you Mr. Noble, when could I call? I’ll put myself at your disposal Sir.’
Greg heard the pages of a diary rustle in the background
‘You say you’ll be here for some time Mr. Mitchell?’
‘Yes Sir.’
‘I have to go away for a few days, today’s Tuesday, can you come over next Monday morning, say about 10.00. I’ll be able to give you a good hour then?’
‘Thank you Sir, until next Monday morning at 10.00. Have a good trip Sir.’
‘Thank you. Mr. Mitchell!’
Greg looked thoughtfully at the instrument after Noble had rung off.
‘There’s no doubt who’s running the show around here,’ he said to himself
Greg had formed the impression that anything he wished to do here for himself would need approval by this man or nobody else would help him. It had been a valuable call.
‘Next the judge!’ Greg slapped his side and strode off to look into the shops and write notes in his notebook until 10.35, when he walked into the chintzy lounge of the Hapsburg Hotel.
An overly thin man in breeches and laced up riding boots stood at the bar with one foot on the rail and a large glass of iced something in his hand.
Greg decided to wait until the glass was a third full before going over. Two minutes later he stood beside the man at the bar.
‘Excuse me Sir, but would you be Judge Denman?’
The man stood bolt upright and fingered his neatly trimmed ginger moustache and regarded Greg severely.
‘And who would want to know,’ he bellowed?
‘Pardon me your honour, but I’m new in town and plan to stay for a while; I just wish to pay my respects to you. I’m Greg Mitchell. May I buy you a drink Sir?’
‘No You can’t!’ The judge bawled like a bull that couldn’t find it’s cow. He put his hands on his hips and faced Greg squarely on.
‘You’re the English chap that ran down one of our junior citizens.’
It was an accusation and the hard eyes that bored deep into Greg made him feel ashamed.
‘I’m afraid there was an accident…’
The judge wagged a finger at him and interrupted.
‘Accident be damned. I’d have given you a week in jail and 120 dollar fine if you’d come before me this morning.’
The stern face held Greg’s and once more those eyes bored deeply into him as if reading his soul.
‘Yes your honour, Deputy Bronsky said it would be about 120 dollars.’
‘Did he, be damned? Never mind Bronsky.’ The judge waved a hand above his head and then drained his glass and banged it on the counter loudly. T he barman sidled over. The judge wiped his mouth on a pocket-handkerchief and wagged a finger at Greg again.
‘I’ve also been hearing how you took care of the youngster and how you’re gonna be doing something to help him pay his way at school. Is that right?’
‘That’s right Sir. I was impressed with the boy’s integrity and sincerity. I’m presently in a position to help and wish to do so.’
‘Good man!’ The judge slapped the counter with the flat of his hand and the crack echoed off the papered walls yellowed by decades of tobacco smoke and rattled the old photographs of long gone citizens that hung on them.
‘Good Man, no, I’m not giving you 7 days jail. Do you know what I’m going to do?’
‘What’s that Sir?’ Greg was confused, but anxious to hear.
‘No Sir, I’m going to buy you a drink.’ The judge slapped the counter with his hand again as if he had pronounced sentence with a gavel.
‘That’s very kind of you Sir,’ Greg was overawed and very relieved.
The Judge beckoned to the waiting barman.
‘James, another for me and one for Mr… Mr..’
‘Mitchell sir’
‘One for Mr. Mitchell.’
The judge turned to Greg. ‘Little pre-lunch cocktail I invented, you’ll love it. I call it Gin and Tonic with a twist.’
The barman expertly poured the drinks and added ice and a slice of lemon.
‘Your health Mr. Mitchell.’
‘Skin off your nose, your honour.’
The judge laughed and Greg felt emboldened to ask.
‘If you don’t mind me asking Sir, what’s the twist, in the drink I mean. What did you invent’?
‘Twice as much Gin to tonic, that’s the twist.’ The judge bellowed and burst out laughing.
They got on well and supped three drinks together, before Greg excused himself.
‘Good luck to you young fella. Come and see me if you need my help. You know where to find me.’
* * *
Greg staggered out into the midday sun, glad to find the wind had dropped and the dust settled. He wondered if he was in a fit state to drive to Larksville and decided to try a plate of Ma Tooley’s pancakes with a large jug of coffee before setting out on the drive. Things had gone well for him so far.
Ma’s ample bosoms rocked as she laughed when Greg told her about the judge.
‘He’s a good man to be your friend is Judge Denman. He’s got a farm on the west side of town and owns the Flyway Burger joint. He’s only here days when he’s not in court.’
‘This town doesn’t have a court-house?’ Greg asked in surprise.’
Ma’s bosom’s rattled again as she chuckled while topping up his coffee mug.
‘We do, if you count the lounge in the Hapsburg Hotel, otherwise Larksville’s the nearest.’
Greg finished and paid for his meal, then left to walk to the motel and check in with the clerk, collect his car and drive to Larksville. It had been a valuable morning in which he had learned much about the town and it’s people. He tapped his inside pocket where he had put the Sherriff’s paper.
‘And I’ve got the names and introductions to the men who run it.’