Trial Run

Lancer Ranch

San Joaquin Valley

‘Honesty is the best policy.’

Throughout history, the phrase has been a moral guide reflected in uttered words or written narratives by influential people expressing wisdom and vision.

Greek fabulist Aesop.

English politician Sir Edwin Sandys.

Founding father Ben Franklin.

U.S. President George Washington.

Scott’s pencil paused as its owner spoke to a framed boyhood drawing on his bedroom wall. “And then there were the Lancer Boys.” 

*******

“Gotta say brother, I’m havin’ second thoughts.”

With arms crossed and backside resting on the edge of their father’s carved oak desk, Scott’s stance mirrored Johnny’s as they contemplated the three empty chairs positioned in front of them. “Consider being tarred and feathered as the alternative. It makes this approach more attractive.” 

All had remained quiet in the Green River gossip circles, suggesting Will Jenkins, owner of the one rogue copy of J.S. Lance’s dime novel, was in no hurry to light the literary stick of dynamite. Instead, he preferred to keep it close to the vest; so far only dealing the Lancer brothers a hand of meager demands and annoying smirks. However, with California elections still a year down the road, Will’s requests for Lancer financed beers would eventually include campaign contributions. The game had to end.

Honesty is the best policy. A fancy way of saying time to fess up using a strategy of laying cards on the table. The Lancer authors would take responsibility for their penned saga of a woman’s enticing baking skills and the two men gunning for a slice of her affection by gathering the sheriff, the doctor plus the widow into one room for a reading of Showdown at Apple Pie Gulch. It was a mature, straightforward solution that allowed the brothers to offer an explanation for their stupid, apple-brandy-inspired stunt. Clear the air and disarm blackmailer Jenkins. 

In theory it should work, but with consequences. Like with most theories, a trial run was wise in order to fine tune the presentation, thus avoiding as many repercussions as possible. Selecting a test subject seemed prudent.

Teresa? Nope. The young lady wouldn’t get past the second page before rolling her eyes while tossing the story into the hearth.

Jelly? Hell, no. Scott may as well hand out a copy of the brothers’ apple pie debacle to every man, woman and child in Green River.

Names were discussed then rejected until a single one remained which, truth be told, was the boys’ only choice from the beginning.

 ********

Murdoch Lancer closed the last page of his sons’ stab at literary genius and placed it front and center on his desk. Tossing spectacles aside to join a scattered herd of paperwork, the Lancer patriarch laced fingers across his midsection, sat back and scrutinized the dime novel authors standing in front of him. “Whose idea was this?”

Side-eyed glances between brothers spurred the youngest to assume a casual pose of a cocked head while thumbs hooked at his pants’ waist. “Y’see, Beadle- ”

A palm raised. “Thank you, John. My question has found its answer.” The tune caller’s eyes shifted to his oldest. “I detect sharp wit surfacing frequently in this tale of intrigue. Can I assume it’s yours?” 

Scott stifled a grin at his father’s own brand of repartee. “Your assumption would be accurate.”

“And the reason for its decline into snickering schoolboy humor with the turn of each page?” 

“That would be the effects of Jelly’s apple brandy.”

“Hmmm.” Murdoch’s grunt indicated his repartee would soon evolve to reprimand.

“Sir, we’d like to offer further explanation.”

“Uh-huh. Well, first let’s see if the ol’ man has a firm grasp on your situation as it stands currently and save us some time.” 

Scott’s puffed-cheeked exhale huffed more noticeably than intended.

“Bad timing on that heavy sigh, son. I suggest holding off on any more.” The patriarch executed his own suspire before continuing. “It’s my understanding you both spent an afternoon writing this -” A finger tapped the dime novel. “On a whim.”

“Lark.” 

“What?”

Scott shrugged. “I said we wrote it on a lark.”

“Right. Lark. Proof great authors are often misquoted.” 

An eyebrow arched. It appeared that fatherly reprimand would be taking a slight detour down sarcasm alley.

“Look. Murdoch.” Johnny’s arm swept out to present a possible loophole to a guilty verdict. “What were the odds our story would get published?”

“Obviously better than your odds in a bunkhouse poker game.”

Grinning, Scott’s chin dipped while arms crossed. Sorry, little brother. That was a hangman’s noose, not a loophole.

The judge paused, allowing the defense its opportunity to submit additional lame considerations. Greeted with silence he continued. “After realizing your penned lark had been published your remedy was to buy up all the copies in Green River, however… and this is where I find the waters begin to muddy… one copy failed to fall into your hands. Mind telling me who spent the dime?”

“Will.” Scott’s delivery of the one syllable book patron landed with a verbal thud on his father’s desk.

“Sam’s son?” Grunt. “Knowing how well you three get along, I’m surprised your writing talent isn’t front page news in the Green River Gazette.” 

“Well…” Scott resisted an eyeroll. It would receive the same appreciation as his heavy sigh. “Right now it’s Lancer-financed beers at Henry’s for his discretion that’s preventing our notoriety."

“Can’t blame him.”

“Ah, hell, Murdoch.” Johnny aimed a scoffing tsk out the side of his mouth. “You takin’ Jenkins’ side?”

“Taking the fella’s side who you wrote as… ” The accused father flipped through dime novel pages so as not to misquote its authors. “The yapping puss of a pud-pulling spawn? Although the description is pretty damn accurate, I feel Sam's boy still deserves a free beer or two for your poetic insights so, yes.”

Scott found jousting with his father needed ending much like Jenkins’ blackmailing. “Using our embarrassment over this asinine dime novel for a few free beers is only the beginning. Will has his political eye on Sacramento and Lancer support would be a good asset. He already insisted on meeting the Stanfords at Kinsey’s wedding.”

“And how did that go?” The tune caller eyeballed his son’s absence of a positive response. “Nevermind. I’m guessing your celebratory state of mind influenced the introductions. So, what's the plan in avoiding your public humiliation?”

“Fabelin’ Aesop.” Johnny’s confident reply faltered with his father’s expression of deciphering a foreign language. Further clarification was required. “The Honest Woodsman. Tell ‘em, Scott.”

“I don’t think that would clear the muddy waters here, brother.”

“Ah, a reasonable response. There’s hope ranch chores can resume shortly.”

Scott smiled. His father’s reprimands, dusted with poking sarcasm, painted slightly upturned corners of the man’s mouth. It was a fact, Murdoch Lancer was secretly finding this whole dilemma funny. “We plan to invite Val, Sam and Bedelia Patterson to a private reading of Showdown at Apple Pie Gulch. Afterwards, we’ll try to explain our shenanigans.”

Johnny joined his brother in a grin. “We figured rippin’ off the bandage fast is better than a slow tug.” 

“Hmmm. Also a strategic move to disarm the enemy?”

“Scott voted down me loadin’ Will’s ass full a buckshot.”

Murdoch’s eyes glanced towards the heavens. “Thank you.” The father of two dime novel authors rose and handed back their printed tale of culinary intrigue. “I’ve learned through the years to express appreciation for the small blessings the Good Lord provides me.” Turning to leave, the final verdict was given. “If Val doesn’t shoot my sons and if Sam can resist skinning them alive with a scalpel, they will both offer their services as handymen to the Widow Patterson. A much better use of their free time than writing the next great novel.” 

*********

Contemplating the three empty chairs halted at the sound of an approaching buggy.

Johnny rubbed the back of his neck. “So, whadda we do if Val ends up drawin’ his gun or Sam opens his doctorin’ bag?”

Scott slapped his little brother on the shoulder. “We serve up The Widow’s apple pie to the gents as a distraction.”