The Undertaker's Devil - 12. Betrayals

June, 1886

Ritter sat at his desk at the courthouse, trying to make sense of assessments, tax bills, warrants for payment, and budgets. His head throbbed and his vision was getting blurry. Looking at the clock, he saw that he had stayed too late again. Samael would have gone out to dinner alone by now. Since selling the undertaking business to Joseph Pascholy, who owned a hotel and a few other enterprises in Tombstone, Ritter saw less and less of Sammy. But he simply didn’t have time for both the funeral business and the endless details of the county treasurer’s office, even with the assistance of his deputy treasurer W. E. Ludlow.

“You have to stop worrying about every little penny,” Ludlow had said the previous week. “Some people are hundreds or thousands of dollars behind in their taxes. That’s what we should be focusing on, not a dollar or two discrepancy.”

“Everything’s got to be impeccable and irreproachable for that damned Board of Supervisors. I don’t want those sons of bitches to have any grounds for complaint when I demand what they owe me.”

“You’re a fool if you think you’re going to get it. They changed the treasurer’s pay by unanimous vote.”

“They promised me when I ran that I would get a half-percent of everything I collected, just like the last treasurer. And then they turn around and tell me that now the salary is a flat fee of thirty-five hundred a year. They will pay me what they promised if I have to sue them.”

But today, Ludlow had already gone home for the day and the sun was nearing the horizon. Ritter laid his head down on the desk for a moment.

“Mister Ritter, sir?”

Ritter groaned and opened an eye. “What is it, Robbie?”

“I finished sweeping up. Are you all right, sir?”

“Just tired, Robbie. Headache. Go on home.”

Robbie Crooks walked behind Ritter and laid his hands on Ritter’s shoulders. “You work too hard, Mister Ritter.” He began massaging the tense areas beside Ritter’s neck.

“Now, how many times have I told you to call me Andy?”

“Yes, Andy. Oh, Andy?”

“M-hm?” Ritter was concentrating on the knots Robbie was working out.

“Could I have an advance on my pay, please? Just a few dollars?”

“Robbie, I just paid you yesterday. Is that all gone already?”

“Well, I sort of celebrated, a little bit. And I might have lost a dollar or two at poker.”

“Bad habit, Robbie.”

“Please, Andy? I won’t let them talk me into a game again.”

“I’ll think about it. Just don’t stop what you’re doing.”

Robbie continued the massage.

Ritter closed his eyes and half mumbled, half sang:

“As I was a-walking down Paradise Street,

To me way-hey, blow the man down,

A sprightly young fellow I chanced for to meet.

Give me some time to blow the man down.

He winked, and I followed wherever he led,

To me way-hey, blow the man down,

The riches I sought turned to ruin instead.

Give me some time to blow the man down.

Now all you good fellows, if you would stay free,

To me way-hey, blow the man down,

Don’t you go walking with bad company.

Give me some time to blow the man down.”

Robbie paused. “So can I have that advance?”

Ritter was half-asleep. “I say yes to advances and no to retreat, To me way, hey, blow the man—"

“Thank you, Andy.” Robbie leaned over and kissed Ritter’s lips.

Ritter responded eagerly for a moment, then opened his eyes, grabbed Robbie’s arms, stood, and pushed him to a safer distance. “Robbie, you mustn’t do that.”

Robbie shrugged. “Seems to me like you wanted it.”

Ritter reached into his pocket. “Here’s half your next week’s pay, in advance.” He deposited the coins in Robbie’s hand. “To be deducted on your next payday. Now I think you’d better go.”

“Sure, Andy, I’ll go.” Robbie started for the door, then turned back. “I’d like to talk to you about giving me a raise. I think my work here deserves a higher wage.”

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

Robbie smiled, jingled his coins, and left.

********

Joe Corbin decided to dine at Mrs. Dill’s American Restaurant, across the street from the undertaker’s. He quickly spotted Samael dining alone and approached him.

“Mind if I join you?”

“No, I’ll be glad of the company.”

“Where’s Andy?”

“Working late, as usual. Even when he doesn’t, he usually goes home to keep an eye on Carson.”

“I thought he hired a housekeeper to keep an eye on him.”

“He did, but Mrs. Hodges isn’t there every minute, and she’s not Carson’s father.”

A waiter took their orders, and Corbin continued, “Carson still in school?”

“Yes, it’s his last year, from what I understand. After Andy’s mother died, Carson stayed with some couple in Indiana to finish out that school year, and then moved here for his last two years.”

“They getting along, Andy and Carson?”

“I suppose so.” Samael grinned. “Carson keeps trying to get Andy married off.”

“Married off! In this frontier town? What lucky lady does he have in mind?”

“I don’t know. All the mining money brought in people who thought they were high society, but now that the silver’s past its peak, there aren’t quite so many swells.”

After a moment, Corbin said quietly, “I don’t know how anybody could look at you and Andy and think there was any place for a woman in his life.”

Samael had never been quite sure how much Corbin guessed. This was as close as Corbin had come to saying anything explicit. Still, Samael deflected the remark. “Carson can be a little thick sometimes. He still hasn’t figured out that Andy isn’t made of money.”

“He’s just a boy. He probably sees how much Andy does in this town and concludes that he’s a big shot, so he must be rich.”

They chatted further as they ate. When they finished, Corbin offered to walk back across the street with Samael.

When they entered the shop, they could tell something was off. A few papers blew across the floor. Corbin motioned to Samael to be silent and not to move. He picked up stout piece of scrap wood from the floor and closed the front door. Together they stepped quietly into the hall leading to the back.

The back door was open. More scraps of paper blew across the floor. In Samael’s room, they saw that his chest of drawers had been emptied and the clothes strewn about, the water jug had been smashed, and the ropes of the seldom-used old rope bed were cut. What Samael grabbed first, though, were the pieces of paper. Every sketch, drawing and painting of his had been ripped to small pieces.

Corbin held Samael’s arm. “Sammy, did you leave the back door open?”

Samael was shaking. “I don’t know. Maybe. I don’t remember.” He leaned against a wall. “All my drawings, all my paintings, every single one gone.”

“We don’t have far to look to guess who did this. Ike Clanton is in town.”

********

Ritter arrived at the shop to find Corbin examining the back door and Samael packing a small bag with clothes and other possessions. “Sammy? Joe? What’s wrong?”

Samael, pale and trembling, was near tears. “Goddamn Ike Clanton, that’s what’s wrong.”

“We had a visitor.” Corbin continued examining the back door. “Someone got in, maybe this door was unlocked. I don’t see any sign that it was forced. Whoever it was went straight to Sammy’s room and smashed things, cut up his bed, ripped up his artwork. No other damage in the place.”

“I’m going to one of China Mary’s houses,” Samael said. “She’s got guards at all of them. I’ll stay there for a while.”

Ritter moved towards Samael. “Is that really necessary, Sammy? I come here before I go home, just to spend a few minutes with you, and I find you about to move out.”

“Why are you even here? You sell the business and move out and leave me here, Mister Pascholy is hardly around either, he hires people I don’t know, I don’t even know if I’m still working here. At least with China Mary I know where I stand.”

“Sammy, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry this happened. If you want to stay at China Mary’s for a spell, I understand. But give me a few minutes so I can help you. I have to go home and let Carson know I’ll be out for a while.”

Samael hugged himself. “Used to be, when you said ‘home,’ you meant here.”

“I know, I know, but Carson’s my son. I have to think of him, too.”

“But he didn’t just get all his things wrecked!”

The sound of breaking glass came from the front room. Corbin ran to the front and returned with a rock with a note tied around it. “Somebody just threw this through a pane in the door.” He handed the rock to Ritter.

Ritter read the single word on the note: “Soddamytes.” The spelling didn’t obscure the intention.

Samael said, “I have to go now. Right away.”

Ritter and Corbin went with him, scouting the way and keeping guard.

********

Midnight was approaching when Ritter arrived at the house he now shared with his son. Carson was clearly irritated. “Where you been all this time?”

“Something happened at the undertaker’s. I had to take care of it.”

“It’s not even your shop anymore. You’re always going over there because Sammy needs this or Sammy needs that. I don’t get it. Who is that guy? Why can’t he look out for himself?”

Ritter snapped. “His life was just threatened!”

Carson took a step back. “Why? Who would do that?”

Ritter forced himself to calm down. “It’s a frontier town. Happens more often here than it does in nicer places.”

With the resilience of youth, Carson turned back to his own concerns. “Well, I was stuck here with no idea where you were. You said we were going to go out tonight. Left me here twiddling my thumbs.”

“I said that?”

“Yes, you said that.”

Ritter shook his head. “I’m sorry. Did you at least get something to eat?”

“Yes, Mrs. Hodges left something for you, so I ate it. Serves you right.”

“Young man, you’re not too old for me to apply a belt to your backside. I’ve been through enough tonight, so let’s drop it. And I’m dead tired. I’m going to bed. I suggest you do the same.”

Carson hesitated before saying, “Yessir.”

Ritter felt a little bile rise to his throat as he heard the ghost of his father in his own voice.

********

A few weeks later, Ritter stood before the imposing guard at one of China Mary’s brothels. Goes some way toward dispelling the idea of all Chinamen being short and slight, Ritter thought. The guard recognized Ritter and stood aside for him.

“Thank you, sir,” Ritter said.

The guard nodded.

Inside, Ritter made his way to a small room on an upper floor. Samael answered his knock and ushered him in.

“I brought you something,” Ritter said, presenting a paper-wrapped parcel.

“Thanks, Andy,” Samael said. He tore it open, finding pencils, paints, brushes, and fine paper.

“I hope you’ll keep drawing and painting, even after…”

Samael put down the gift and hugged Ritter. “I will.”

They kissed, and one thing led to another. Afterward, as they lay in the narrow bed, Samael said, “You seem to be doing well for such a sick old man.”

“Oh, it’s this desert air. Just what the doctor ordered for my condition, you know.”

“If I were smart, I would probably stay away from you, even though you’re so confoundedly handsome.”

“But what about you? How long are you going to stay here?”

“Well, I’m not going back to the shop. For one thing, Mister Pascholy hired a replacement for me.”

“What? He never discussed this with me. He asks me every little detail about how to run the place, some dang question every other day, seems like, and he never mentioned this.”

“Yeah, some fancy fellow from Saint Louis, a real whiz at the death racket, knows embalming and all the rest. Mister Plotts.”

“Do you need money? Let me give you something to tide you over.”

“I have money. I’m washing dishes at the Can Can. There’s a funny sight -- a white boy washing dishes at a Chinese restaurant.”

“Please, let me give you something. This shouldn’t have happened.”

“Really, Andy, don’t worry about it.” Samael kissed Ritter’s hand. “And how is Carson?”

“Doing fine. He’s a good scholar. I worry that he’s going to want to go into mining as soon as he finishes. Just when the silver in this town is drying up. Maybe I shouldn’t use that term, with all the mines flooded since the pumps broke down.”

“Being treasurer still running you ragged?”

“Oh, yes. Mainly those lying sons of bitches, the Board of Supervisors.” Ritter preferred to steer the conversation away from his office at the courthouse and the thoughts of Robbie Brooks that it inevitably evoked. “Carson wishes I spent more time with him, of course. And he looks askance at my visits here.”

“He knows about you coming here?”

“Relax. He thinks I’m availing myself of the wares China Mary has for sale, paying for feminine company. After all his efforts to find me a respectable wife. He fears for my sinful soul. Fortunately, he has no idea of my real sins.”

“I talk to the girls here all the time. Compared to me, they are definitely the lesser of two evils.”

“Well, you’re my kind of evil,” Ritter said, and kissed Samael.

With a shuddering sigh, Samael said, “I miss you. I miss our old life. I miss spending the whole night with you. I miss being with you at the shop.”

“So do I.”

********

Robbie Crooks saw Ike Clanton approaching the back of the livery stable and spat on the ground. “You finally gonna pay me the rest of what you promised me?”

“Just hold on, kid, give me a chance to sit down.”

“I’m not a kid. I’m eighteen.”

Clanton snorted a laugh. “Trust me, you’re a kid.”

“I done what you told me to. A man does what he says. Like pay up. Seems you been avoiding me the last couple of weeks.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t get all bent out of shape. I got your money. I had other things on my mind.” Clanton fished some coins out and counted them into Robbie’s hand. “Square now?”

“All square. What do you got against this Sam fella, anyway?"

Ike spat on the ground. "Turned my brother queer. Billy was a dead shot, once. He woulda killed Wyatt with one bullet if Sam hadn't turned him soft. And things woulda been real different in this town. Why? What do you got against him?"

"I got my reasons," Robbie said, pocketing his wage.

********

********

November, 1887

So much changed so quickly in Tombstone, yet the grind of serving as county treasurer felt much the same to Ritter, as did his uneasy truce with Robbie Crooks. Robbie continued to serve in minor roles at the courthouse, and continued wheedling small sums of money out of Ritter, always with the claim that he had been led astray by others and that he had learned his lesson this time. And there was always the veiled threat of telling what he knew about Ritter’s personal inclinations.

Ritter couldn’t spend all his time worrying about it. Robbie’s demands were never large, so Ritter grew less wary and even told himself that Robbie was simply another young man stumbling as he found his way in the world. Robbie was respectful, which was a welcome contrast to Carson; he listened raptly to Ritter’s advice and his stories; and he laughed at Ritter’s jokes; so the occasional plea for a few dollars seemed inconsequential.

Joseph Pascholy’s purchase of the undertaking business never amounted to him being more than a silent partner, and in the end Ritter bought the business back from him earlier in 1887. But he could not see his way clear to firing Mr. Plotts, and in any case, Samael seemed disinclined to return to work there.

Ritter visited Sammy early in June. “Good news, Sammy.”

“What good news?”

“Ike’s dead.”

“How?”

“Range detective up in Springerville, fellow by the name of Brighton, was trying to arrest him for cattle rustling. Ike ran, Brighton shot him.”

“Oh. Just like that.”

“Just like that. You could move back to your old room.”

Samael shook his head. “What for? You won’t be there.”

Samael continued to rent a room in China Mary’s brothel, and Carson still thought that his father was visiting prostitutes there. But as Ritter predicted, Carson’s attentions shifted to breaking into the mining business. If he thought about his father’s reluctance to remarry at all, he probably thought that Ritter would regard it as a betrayal of the memory of Carson’s mother.

November was county tax season. Ritter lugged the sack of taxes collected for the day, much of it in gold and silver, into his office and set it on a side table close to the safe. For the hundredth time, he cursed his brain for its absolute refusal to memorize the combination. He went to his desk to pull a small notebook from a hidden drawer. Taking the notebook with him, he read the numbers one by one and turned the safe dial to each, opened the door, lifted the sack into the safe, closed it, and spun the dial.

He was just returning the notebook to its little drawer when Robbie Crooks entered. “I delivered the last of the tax bills, Mister Ritter. Anything else you need from me?”

Robbie had returned to addressing him as Mr. Ritter after that disturbing kiss over a year ago, and Ritter was grateful. “No, Robbie. I’m just closing up here myself.”

“I don’t know how you keep track of all these papers.”

“I do my best, but between you and me, I have been known to lose a few documents now and then. Fortunately, there’s almost always more than one copy of everything.”

“Oh. That’s smart.”

“It was Mister Ludlow, my deputy treasurer, who finally drummed the importance of that into my head. I may be old, but I still have things to learn.”

“Oh, you’re not so old, Mister Ritter.”

Ritter packed up a few documents to take home and prepared to leave. “They say you’re only as old as you feel. And, Robbie,” he said, clapping a hand on Robbie’s shoulder, “I feel ancient.”

********

Samael had worked up from dishwasher to cook at the Can Can. Mr. Quong had taken an interest in Samael’s painting and bought two of his larger canvases to hang in the restaurant. It didn’t hurt that Samael asked so little for them. Mr. Quong could not resist a bargain.

One evening, Samael noticed that one of his paintings was missing from its place on the wall. “Mister Quong, what happened to my painting?”

“Customer buy.”

“Really? Someone asked you to sell it to him?”

“Yeah. He like it, he buy it.”

“Well, how much did he pay you for it?”

“Not much, not much.”

“How much?”

“No work to do?” Mr. Quong rounded on Samael and lashed out, as he often did when questioned about anything. “You all finish? Talk, talk, white people like to talk. Don’t like to work hard. Plenty to do. You go back to work. Kitchen.” He turned away.

The next night, Samael left the kitchen briefly to ask a waiter to clarify an order, and a customer hailed him down.

“You’re Sammy, right?”

“Yes, sir. Food OK?”

“Oh, yes, the food is fine. Mister Quong told me you did the painting I bought. The one that was hanging over there. I really like it. It’s beautiful.”

“Well, thank you, sir.”

“You’re very talented. I’m surprised you’re not painting full time instead of working as a cook.”

“I think you overestimate me a little. But can I ask you, how much did you pay for it?”

“Well, Mister Quong explained to me that he would let me have it for a real good price, hardly more than he paid for it. He’s probably making more than he lets on, but I thought thirty dollars was reasonable. It’s certainly worth that.”

Thirty dollars, Samael thought. I sold it to that old fraud for three. I’ll let him get away with it this time, but he’ll pay a lot more if he wants any more Samael Higgins originals on his walls.

The man’s appreciation gave Samael’s mood a much-needed boost. He had had an unpleasant encounter with Robbie Crooks the day before. Robbie, seeing Samael by chance on the street, struck up a conversation. Having little to say to him, Samael finally asked Robbie, "Did you ever get any use out of those clothes Joe Corbin passed along to you, a couple of years ago?"

Robbie sneered. "I don't need your castoffs. I can get what I want myself." As a parting shot, he said, “Ask Mister Ritter how he liked the kiss.” Robbie was gone before Samael could ask what he meant.

********

Ritter entered his office to find Robbie bending down at the desk. “What are you looking for, Robbie?”

Robbie stood suddenly, an expression of distress on his face. “Oh, I was just emptying your wastebasket, Mister Ritter, picking up a few papers that fell on the floor. I know you like it kept tidy, so I thought I’d just –” Robbie’s face crumpled, and he turned away, crying.

“What’s wrong, Robbie?”

“Mister Ritter, I’m in terrible trouble. I lost a lot of money playing cards. A lot of money. I don’t know what to do.”

“A lot of money? How much, exactly?”

Robbie shook his head.

“Robbie, tell me.”

“They kept telling me my luck would turn around and they would take my note so I could keep playing, and my luck never turned and they kept offering to take my promise to pay and let me sign another note, and it just kept getting worse and worse, and I got a really good hand and bet a lot of money, I mean a lot, and I lost anyway, and now I’m in real trouble.”

Ritter tried to steady his breath. “How much did you lose, Robbie?”

“Nine thousand dollars.”

Ritter simply stood with his mouth open.

“Please, Mister Ritter, they said my name would be no good for the rest of my life if I didn’t pay. Please, can you lend me the money? I’ll work for you for the rest of my life to pay it off. But if it gets about that I don’t pay what I owe, I’ll never be able to hold my head up anywhere.”

The scoffing breath that escaped Ritter was not exactly a laugh, more like disbelief. “Who were you playing with?”

“Jake Strand and some others.”

“I see. Robbie, Jake Strand is a professional gambler. He had no right to coax you into playing against him.”

“He didn’t. I begged him to let me play. He told me to go away a dozen times, and finally he let me into the game, and then it was like I couldn’t leave. I was caught.”

“Robbie, I suspect he merely wanted to teach you a lesson. I will go and talk to him and get him to let this go, or at least reduce it to a reasonable amount.”

“No!” Robbie grabbed Ritter’s sleeve in a panic. “You can’t! I’d be so humiliated! He won it fair and square. Please, Mister Ritter, can’t you just give me the money?”

“No, Robbie, I can’t give you nine thousand dollars.”

“But you’ve got lots. You’ve got plenty more than that in that safe right there.”

Ritter did not like where this conversation was going. “No, the money in the safe is not my money. That is the county’s money. Tax money. I can’t just do what I like with it.”

“I’ll never be able to hold my head up again!”

“Nonsense. You will be able to, and you will learn from this. Now I am going to go talk to Strand and see what arrangement we can come to.”

Robbie was shaking his head silently.

“Robbie, stay here. I know where Strand spends his time. I will be right back and tell you what he says.”

“Don’t. Don’t. Don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t. Please, Mister Ritter.”

“There is nothing to be afraid of. Now stay here and wait for me.”

********

At the Bird Cage Theatre, Ritter pulled up a chair near Jake Strand and waited for a chance to talk to him. Strand finished a game of cards and motioned for a drink, and Ritter took his opportunity.

“Evening, Mister Strand.”

“Evening, sir. Who might you be?”

“My name is A.J. Ritter. You may recall me as the county treasurer.”

“Oh, yes, of course. Pleased to meet you. What can I do for you?”

“Well, it appears that you played a rather high-stakes game of poker with a young employee of mine. Very young. I don’t think he realized how far out of his depth he was.”

Strand smiled. “No, he did not.”

“Now, sir, you cannot seriously expect a young man of modest means to pay such an enormous debt. Surely we can work something out.”

Strand leaned back. “I certainly have my doubts about him ever paying, but I wouldn’t call it an enormous debt.”

Ritter chuckled. “Perhaps nine thousand dollars isn’t an enormous sum to you, sir, but it’s enough to ruin the whole life of a young boy like that.”

Strand burst into laughter. “Nine thousand dollars! Is that what he told you? Mister Ritter, I would never let such a sum accrue, even from a young feller that I only meant to scare off. No, his final tally was three hundred and twenty-five dollars, not a penny more. I was thinking that if a three hundred and twenty-five dollar debt kept him away from card tables for the rest of his life, it was money well spent. Not that anyone actually spent it, of course.”

Ritter tried to wrap his mind around what he was hearing. “Three hundred twenty-five dollars.”

“That’s it. That’s all.”

“The boy seems to think his reputation is at stake. He doesn’t want to be known as someone who doesn’t pay what he owes. If I were to pay his debt, would you refrain from bad-mouthing him? In any way?”

“Mister Ritter, if you paid me one hundred dollars, I would consider his debt paid in full and I would praise him and you as the most honorable of men.”

“I’ll have your money tomorrow evening, Mister Strand. And I thank you for your generosity.”

“You’re very welcome. It will be one hundred dollars more than I ever expected to see. And, as a bonus, I had an entertaining evening terrorizing an uppity pissant with ideas beyond his station, which is a pearl beyond price.”

********

As he walked back to his office, Ritter desperately tried to think of another reason besides the obvious, criminal one for Robbie to exaggerate his gambling losses. Maybe Robbie had misunderstood in his panic? Maybe he had other debts as well?

Ritter entered his office. His empty office. On his desk was a scrawled note. It was from Robbie.

Dear Mr. Ritter I told you please not to go talk to Strand if you had just given me the money I would not have had to do this I am sorry but in a way it is your own fault yours truly R

The small notebook in which Ritter kept the combination to the safe was also on the desk. With rising dread, Ritter opened the safe.

Ultimately, he would calculate the amount missing as about ten thousand dollars. And over the next day or two he would discover just how meticulously Robbie planned his quick getaway.

********

W.E. Ludlow noticed a change in Ritter’s demeanor. He seemed ill-tempered, impatient, and sharp-tongued since the disappearance of Robbie Crooks. At last he asked Ritter if there was something wrong that he could help with.

After a moment’s hesitation, Ritter said, “No, it’s something I have to take care of myself. And I’ve finally decided how. That Board of Supervisors is going to pay me what they promised me, going back to ‘85. And I’m not going to wait for them. I’m going to withhold it from the taxes paid this year.”

******** 

Samael watched with alarm as Ritter paced in the little room at China Mary’s. Ritter was ranting about money, about what the county owed him, about the wrongs done him, about the ingratitude of the town he had tried so hard to help build.

“I don’t like seeing you like this, Andy.”

“Well, get used to it. Those bastards are going to pay.”

“Why now? Why do you have to have the money now?”

Ritter stopped and rubbed his face with his hand. “I have to have the money, Sammy.”

“What for? Why all of a sudden now?”

Ritter hung his head. His voice was shaky. “I lost the tax money.”

“Lost it! How?”

Ritter flashed anger again. “It was stolen!”

“Stolen! When? You got robbed?”

Ritter sank to his knees, covering his face with his hands. “Robbie Crooks stole it. He found the combination to the safe.”

“How did he even get into your office?”

“He had a key, to do his job, cleaning and so on.”

Samael’s own anger rose. “What was going on between you and Robbie?”

“Nothing! Nothing, I swear.”

“He said something about a kiss.”

Ritter’s eyes betrayed alarm. “It was nothing. It didn’t mean anything.”

“Nothing?” Samael’s rage, once triggered, did not subside quickly. “You trusted a gold-digging criminal! You think because he had such a sweet face that he couldn’t have a black heart! You kissed him! I’m living in a whorehouse and you’re kissing that little thief!”

“That’s not how it was!”

“I hope the county never gives you the money you lay claim to. I hope they take you to court! Now get out! I’m too mad to talk to you!”

“Sammy—”

“Out! Stop talking and get out!”

Ritter allowed Samael to push him out the door of his little room. He felt too guilty to object.