“Can I trust you?”
“Damned if I know,” Pete said with a grin. “I don’t double-cross my friends, but I raise hell with my enemies. Pay your money and take your choice.”
I leaned over across the table. “I was stringing you when I told you that I was a writer looking for local color,” said.
Pete Digger threw back his head and roared. “That’s the funniest thing I’ve heard in forty years,” he said.
“What is?” Ashbury asked.
“This young chap thinkin’ I didn’t know he was lyin’ when he told me he was a writer. He’s up here snoopin’ around. I figure he’s a young lawyer tryin’ to get somethin’ on that dredgin’ company. That’s what he was after. Writer, he? Haw haw haw!”
I grinned and said, “Well, we’ve got that over with. Now then, Pete, I’m stuck on that stock position.”
“ You are?”
“Uh-huh. I got soft and bought some stock in there,” I said.
Pete’s face darkened. “The damn bunch of crooks,” he said. “We’d oughta go down there an’ dynamite their drill rig, give ’em a coat of tar and feathers, and dump ’em in the river to cool ’em off.”