Fiction: Jaudon – An American Family (a novel) [13]

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Chapter 13. Oil

Ricardo sat on a small trunk with a suitcase next to him. Everything that he owned in the world was waiting to be put on a train and ride with him into exile.
    The buggy stopped and the driver got off to help load the trunk. Once everything was tied down, the driver popped the whip, and the life of Ricky Rodrigo stopped and the life of Ricardo Rodrigo began again.
    J.W. Hankins had a sleeper, and to Ricardo’s surprise, he was welcomed into it. The train would go through St. Louis, where they would change trains and go south to Houston. As they entered the countryside of NewYork State, J.W. suggested they go to the smoking car for drinks.
    Over two whiskeys, J.W. confided in Ricardo. “I know you think you got the short end of the stick, but believe me, you’re well rid of her. She was going to destroy any hope you ever had of making a mark in this world.”
    “I have nothing without her.”

    J.W. took a sip of his drink. “Hell, she’s the one who told her father. But out of nothing, you can build something. That is, if you’re willing to work hard. I’ve worked for Mr. Rockwell going on twenty years. The one thing I know about him is, he has a nose for money. If he says money’s going to be made off of oil in Texas, I believe him. I’m setting you down right where you can become a rich man.”
    “I don’t know anything about the oil business. I’ve always dreamed of being a banker. I wouldn’t even know where to start.”
    J.W. waved at the steward to bring two more drinks. “I’ll teach you all you need to know. I have some money put back. Quite a bit, in fact. I can’t invest it without Mr. Rockwell finding out. But you can.”
    “I don’t see how he can tell you what to do with your money.”
    J.W. smiled. “The problem will be that the information I get for the investments will have come from him, and if he sees I’m an investor in these oil wells, he’ll know what I’m doing.”
    Ricardo was feeling the whiskey, but even so, what J.W. was suggesting didn’t sound legal. “Will we be breaking the law by doing this?”
    “You won’t, but I have a contract with the bank, so I could be sued or maybe go to jail. However, the money to be made is worth the risk to me. And you sure don’t owe Rockwell any loyalty.”

    The drinks came and J.W. took a big gulp. “In 1866, at a place called Melrose, in Nacogdoches County, Texas, Lyne T. Barret drilled a hole and hit oil. Nothing more has been done since then to produce an oil well. But now I’m on my way to see a man who wants to borrow money to drill in Bexar County, Texas. That’s where we think there’s oil. Mr. Rockwell believes it could be a boom as large as the gold rush of ’49.”
    “I don’t see how that will help me.”
    “I have some investors lined up and we’ll open a small bank. It will have only a few depositors, but we’ll use the money deposited to buy land leases. We’ll lease the mineral rights on farmland, letting the farmers keep and use their land while we put money in their pockets. We’ll not own the land but we’ll own what is under it.”
    “I’ve never heard of anything like that.”
    “Nobody has, until now. It was Mr. Rockwell’s idea. He’s had his lawyers working on it for months, and it’s legal and binding. The lease will cost nothing unless oil is found on the land, in which case the farmer gets a penny a barrel. The bank gets the rest.”
    Ricardo was intrigued. “Do you have a copy of one of those leases?”
    J.W. pulled one from his pocket and smiled. “I thought you might be interested.”
    Ricardo unfolded the sheets of paper and began to read.
    Fifteen minutes later he folded them and handed them back. “Damn, that is something else!”
    J.W. finished his drink. “Rockwell is the smartest man I’ve ever known. But once it gets out about these leases, everybody will be doing it. We’ll have to lock up as much land as we can before that happens. It won’t matter if oil is under the land or not, the leases themselves will be worth money on the market.”
    “It sounds like there’s no way for the bank to lose.”
    “Somebody will be drilling the wells, and some of them will borrow money from our bank. The bank gives them a percentage of whatever they hit and we keep the profit, plus the interest on the loan. If they hit nothing, it’s their loss.”

    The next morning they had a three-hour layover in St. Louis. Ricardo got away from Hankins and sent a telegram to J.F. Jaudon:

Have business deal for you. Meet me in Houston. Wayfare Hotel. Don’t act like you know me. I’ll find time to meet you.

    J.W. and Rodrigo were back in the smoking car as the train pulled out of the station. They were scheduled to arrive in Houston by 7:30 that night. Ricardo asked, “How long will it take before these things are in place? You know, the investors, the bank, the leases?”
    J.W. sipped his coffee and brandy. “Don’t get in a rush. First things first. The idea of investing in oil wells is new, and the investors will want proof it’s worth gambling their money on this unknown product.”
    Ricardo was drinking only coffee. “What kind of proof will they want?”
    J.W. put his cup in the saucer and rubbed his chin. He picked the napkin up and dabbed his handlebar mustache. Folding the napkin neatly he said, “They’ll want to see oil coming from the ground in Bexar County.”
    Ricardo choked on his coffee. “How long will that take?”
    “Nobody knows. Maybe a few months or maybe close to a year.”
    “What am I to be doing in the meantime?”
    J.W. stood and whispered. “Let’s speak back in the sleeper car. There are too many ears in here this morning.”
    Back in the sleeper, J.W. handed the lease form to Ricardo. “While I’m gone to Bexar, rewrite this and come up with a company name to put on the top. Then, if you can find a Mexican printer, which I would prefer, have him print 500 of them. If you can’t find a Mexican, then anyone will do. But look hard for a Mexican first.”
    “That’s a lot of leases.”
    “I don’t want to have them printed more than once. There’s too big of a chance the printer will talk to someone, and we can’t afford to let the cat out of the bag too soon.”
    “What do I do with them once I have them?”

    J.W. opened his briefcase and removed a map and an envelope. “Here’s a map of the areas I want you to concentrate on. Secure as many leases as you can.”
    Ricardo took the map and J.W. handed him the envelope. “Here’s $1,000. It should carry you until the oil well comes in. There’s also a name and address that you will use to contact me back in New York City. After we disembark from this train, we’ll no longer have contact. I’m staying with a friend. Once the well comes in, I’ll return to Texas to sign up the investors.”
    “Do you want me to keep you advised of how many leases we have?”
    “The less you contact me, the better. I want to hear from you only if you run into a problem.”
    J.W. went back to the smoking car, and Ricardo pored over the map. He was half asleep when the sound of the tracks changed and Ricardo looked out the window. They were crossing the Red River bridge and would be in Texas soon.

Copyright © 2019 by Ed Rogers