Robert B. Parker's Bull River Read online

  Alejandro laughed.

  “Alejandro can’t show his face card, Sheriff Hawkins. God knows Sheriff Hawkins knows Alejandro is smarter than that.”

  “Well,” Hawkins said. “Sheriff Hawkins knows and God knows you better not get down there to Mexico and lose your sense of direction.”

  Alejandro raised his hand, pointing to his temple. His shackles required both his hands to make the trip up to his head.

  “Alejandro knows like pigeon.”

  “Just what makes you sure this especial place is the place to find Dalton McCord?” Hawkins said, as if he were throwing a second dart but harder.

  Alejandro smiled. He looked to Virgil, then to me and back to Hawkins. Then he stopped smiling.

  “I will give you a clue how Alejandro knows.”

  “Good,” Hawkins said. “Why don’t you? We’re listening to you, Captain Alejandro.”

  “When we was children in the orphanage,” Alejandro said, “we visited this especial place. We always said when we were rich and happy, we would return.”

  “Well, bullshit,” Hawkins said. “That ain’t no kind of guarantee.”

  “I never gave Virgil and mi amigo Everett no guarantee, but Alejandro knows Dalton, and this place, the especial place, has much to do with Dalton, especially for Dalton.”

  Hawkins looked at Alejandro for a bit, then said, “Don’t fuck up.”

  “Alejandro will not fuck up. You will see, Sheriff Hawkins.”

  Hawkins shook his head a little and looked back to Virgil.

  “Not the most ideal travel companion,” Hawkins said.

  “He’ll have no option but to show his worth,” Virgil said.

  Hawkins pulled out a handful of cigars that were resting in his shirt pocket and handed them to Virgil.

  “Good ones,” Hawkins said.

  “Appreciate everything you’ve done,” Virgil said.

  “I’ll be right here. Send word if you need something.”

  “Will,” Virgil said.

  “I could use some keys to get these irons off,” Alejandro said.

  Hawkins didn’t pay any attention to Alejandro, and neither did Virgil. Virgil just nodded for me to get Alejandro on the train.

  “Good-bye, Sheriff Hawkins,” Alejandro said as I pulled him up the steps of the car. “Good-bye, San Cristóbal.”

  We were in the sixth car back. It was the smoking car, and the only other passengers were men. We sat in the back seats. I put Alejandro next to the window, and I sat next to him.

  “We have a long way to go,” I said.

  “Sí,” he said. “It is a far travel.”

  “Is,” I said.

  “Mexico is beautiful,” Alejandro said. “Viva la México.”

  “Yep. Viva la México.”

  Alejandro looked out the window like an excited kid riding the train for the first time.

  “Like you to do me a favor, Alejandro,” I said.

  “Anything for mi amigo.”

  “Do your best not to talk,” I said.

  Alejandro looked at me like I hurt his feelings.

  “It’d be best for the both of us if you just kept quiet,” I said.

  “But how will you know the directions, unless Alejandro can talk?”

  “Well, like you said, it’s far travels to Mexico City,” I said. “When we get there, and we need to know how to get to the especial place, then it would be a good time for you to talk.”

  Virgil stepped on board just as the engineer pulled the cord and the whistle let out one short blast. Virgil sat across the aisle from me. He leaned forward and looked over to Alejandro. Alejandro smiled.

  Virgil didn’t smile back, and he didn’t say anything.

  56

  The trip south into Mexico City was not without troubles. Alejandro didn’t heed my request entirely. He talked more than he needed, and, as expected, Virgil continued to be annoyed by his unnecessary travel commentary about Mexico and its culture.

  Virgil and I took turns watching Alejandro while the other slept. The days to Mexico City were long and hot. A few nights on the trip we camped near the depot, exercised the horses, and Virgil and I played gin to pass the time. We were three stations away from Mexico City when Virgil figured it was time to press Alejandro for details.

  “Now that we are good and down here,” Virgil said, “and closing in on Mexico City, it’s time you tell us just where the hell we are headed, Captain.”

  “Virgil Cole,” Alejandro said. “Alejandro told you. Without trying to be tricky, if Alejandro were to say, try to tell you, you would never find where.”

  “Where about?” Virgil said.

  Alejandro looked at us for a long moment.

  “East out of Mexico City,” he said. “We will have to travel east.”

  “How far east?” Virgil said.

  “A week with horses,” Alejandro said.

  Virgil looked at me and shook his head some.

  “A week?” I said.

  “Sí,” Alejandro said.

  “First Mexico City,” I said. “Now you’re saying elsewhere east?”

  “Alejandro said we travel to Mexico City,” he said. “Then Alejandro will provide the instructions.”

  “Just get to those instructions, Alejandro,” I said.

  “When we get to Mexico City, there is a train, Ferrocarril Interoceánico, that will travel east a ways. That would be faster.”

  “A ways?” I said.

  “Sí,” Alejandro said. “The rail is not complete. At least last time Alejandro was down here it was not complete. We will see, but I don’t think so. Mexicans do not work so fast like the Americans.”

  “When were you last here?” I said.

  “A year, a little more,” he said.

  “Why?” I said.

  “Oh, I come back to my people. I have many friends here.”

  “Where?”

  “Alejandro have friends all over Mexico,” he said.

  “No,” Virgil said. “Where, east?”

  “Where is very hard to find,” he said. “Alejandro is not lying. He will have to show you, Virgil Cole.”

  Alejandro smiled, then looked out the window.

  We arrived in busy Estación Ferrocarril in Mexico City early in the afternoon. Virgil took Alejandro with him to inquire about booking travel east, and I retrieved our horses from the stock car. I walked them around the station and waited on Virgil near the arches of the entrance.

  The street in front of the station was crowded with people and vendors selling their goods. Unlike most of the cities in America, the buildings were old, built of stone, and built to last. In the distance I could see a cathedral rising above the buildings that looked to be centuries old and hundreds of feet tall.

  After some time, Virgil walked out with Alejandro. He found me near a trough I’d located across from the station for our horses to drink.

  “We’re booked to a place called Córdoba,” Virgil said. “End of the line.”

  “Córdoba?” I said.

  “Yep.”

  “That’s almost to the Gulf.”

  “Is.”

  “Veracruz.”

  Virgil looked to Alejandro.

  “It is,” Virgil said.

  “How far?”

  “Two days.”

  “This is good,” Alejandro said. “The rail is longer than when Alejandro was here before. From there, it is not far. We have only a day’s ride.”

  “When?” I said.

  “Leaves this evening,” Virgil said. “Departs at seven.”

  “Córdoba is a beautiful place,” Alejandro said. “You will see.”

  Virgil shook his head.

  “Beautiful place or not,” Virgil said. “First you say Mexico City, no
w this. You lead us on a rabbit hunt, you will have hell to pay.”

  “There will be no rabbits,” he said, “and Alejandro will not pay hell.”

  57

  The train broke down twice on the journey to Córdoba. The second time it stopped we were less than halfway to Córdoba. We unloaded our horses and rode to the next village depot.

  There were two Federales sitting on the depot porch when we rode up. One of the Federales was a big man with a pockmarked face. He was cleaning his fingernails with a large knife.

  “¿De dónde viene?” the big Federal said.

  “America,” I said.

  “¿A dónde va?”

  “Córdoba,” I said.

  He eyed me with a curious look, then glanced west up the track in the direction we had come from. I told him the train broke down five miles back.

  “¿Quiénes son?”

  “Soy un Territorial Deputy Marshal, Everett Hitch,” I said. “Este es Marshal Virgil Cole.”

  The Federal stood up and looked to Alejandro in his shackles. Alejandro smiled.

  “¿Quién es el prisionero?”

  “Alejandro,” I said.

  “¿Y su apellido?”

  “Vasquez,” I said. “Su nombre es Alejandro Vasquez.”

  “¿Qué hizo?” the Federal said.

  “El es un ladrón de caballos,” I said.

  “No soy un ladrón!” Alejandro said.

  “He claims he is innocent,” I said.

  The Federal looked at me and frowned.

  “He does not understand you, Everett. The Federales are not very smart like American police, and they don’t know English,” Alejandro said.

  “Él dice que es inocente,” I said.

  The Federal nodded and laughed.

  “Inocente,” he said.

  He looked to the other Federal. They both laughed.

  I explained to him in brief the nature of our mission.

  He moved closer to the edge of the porch, looking at Alejandro as if he was a slave trader and Alejandro was for sale. He smiled, but it was not a friendly smile. After a long stare, he nodded sharply.

  Virgil clicked and moved Cortez away from the depot, and Alejandro and I followed.

  “Why did you tell the Federal that Alejandro was a horse thief?” Alejandro said.

  “You prefer he told him what you really are?” Virgil said.

  We found some shade, away from the depot under a stand of oaks. We removed our saddles and hobbled the horses to graze as we waited.

  We waited under the trees the better part of the day, and just as the sun began to set we heard the train approaching from the west.

  After the train took on water and coal at the depot, we got our horses into the stock car and boarded for the final leg to Córdoba.

  The Federal with the pockmarked face eyed us as we took our seats in the coach. When the train pulled out of the depot, the Federal got to his feet and watched us as the train built up steam and started thumping away from the depot.

  “Don’t think that Federal fella much cares for you, Alejandro,” Virgil said as the train began to move away down the track.

  “No, mi amigo,” Alejandro said. “All Mexico love Alejandro.”

  “Amigo?” Virgil said with a smile. “I am an officer of the law, you are my prisoner.”

  “You will see, Marshal Cole,” Alejandro said as he leaned forward, looking past me to Virgil across the aisle. “I will not let you down.”

  Virgil looked at Alejandro for a moment.

  “Everett,” Virgil said. “Providing the train don’t quit on us again, what time do you figure we’ll get to Córdoba?”

  I looked at my watch.

  “I’d say nine, ten in the morning.”

  The coach we were in was fairly empty of passengers now. Virgil looked out the window, watching a man in a big straw sombrero herding sheep, as the train picked up speed.

  Virgil pulled a cigar from his pocket. He bit the tip and spat it out the window. He fished a match from his pocket, dragged the head of it on the back of the seat in front of him, and lit the cigar. After he got it going good, he looked over to Alejandro sitting by me. Alejandro was looking out the window next to him. Virgil looked at me and shook his head a little.

  “Hope to hell we’re not pissing in the wind,” Virgil said.

  58

  When we arrived in Córdoba it was eleven in the morning. The station was a bustle of activity, and to our surprise, a group of Federales were waiting for us when we stepped off the train.

  Their leader was a lean man with a scraggly beard and friendly dancing eyes. He had a black-handled Colt with a backward Slim Jim holster. He wore a flat canvas police hat with a short leather brim and a green jacket with medals pinned next to both lapels.

  “Marshal Virgil Cole?” he said.

  “I am,” Virgil said.

  “Everett Hitch?” he said.

  I nodded.

  “My name is Lieutenant Sebastian Diaz. This is Sergeant Major Acero. We are with the Córdoba Federales. We have been waiting for you.”

  The lieutenant spoke perfect English. His manner was pleasant and slightly formal. He showed no sign of drunkenness, but it was obvious by his smell that he was no teetotaler. His sergeant major stood a half step behind him. He was a burly, mean-looking hombre with dark slits for eyes and void of expression.

  “Waiting for us for what?” Virgil said.

  Virgil looked to me.

  “We are here to assist you,” the lieutenant said.

  “Assist us with what?”

  The lieutenant looked to Alejandro.

  “You are Alejandro Miguel Vasquez, are you not?”

  “What are you here to assist us with, Lieutenant?” Virgil said.

  “The stop west on the rail,” the lieutenant said. “You met one of my cousins. I have many. He sent a wire letting me know you were coming. He wrote, stating your prisoner said my cousin was not smart. My cousin is amusing. Contrary to his ugly looks, he is very smart. He knew he remembered the name Alejandro Miguel Vasquez, the man with the naval captain’s jacket, the man with the fancy breeches and sombrero. He has a good memory. So my cousin sent a telegram to me inquiring about this Alejandro Vasquez. And sure enough, wouldn’t you know, Alejandro Miguel Vasquez is wanted here, too, in Córdoba. My jefe learns from me two Americano law officials, Virgil Cole and Everett Hitch, have one of our wanted men, Alejandro Vasquez, and it was his orders, my jefe’s orders, we assist you . . .”

  He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket.

  “I have an arrest warrant for Alejandro Vasquez right here,” the lieutenant said. “We appreciate you bringing him to us.”

  Alejandro shook his head and started to speak, but I jerked the back of his belt. He shut up.

  “Didn’t bring him to you,” Virgil said. “This man is my prisoner.”

  “Yes,” the lieutenant said. “But you are in Córdoba now, and he is a wanted man here in Córdoba. So he is now our prisoner.”

  “Wanted for what?” Virgil said.

  “Robbery,” the lieutenant said. “Alejandro robbed one of our statesmen’s haciendas. A rather high-profile robbery, too, so you might imagine how fortunate it is for you that you apprehended him for us and brought him back here to face trial.”

  Alejandro shook his head, and I jerked him again by his belt.

  “You can’t have him, Lieutenant,” Virgil said.

  The lieutenant smiled.

  “We have brought this man here to Córdoba to help us locate some hombres who abducted a woman,” Virgil said. “And we ain’t leaving until he helps us do what we brought him down here to do.”

  “How much is she worth?” the lieutenant said.

  “There is no price.”

  “Aw, but su
rely there is a price on a woman from America?”

  “There is none.”

  “You have come to Mexico to find a woman and there is no ransom involved?”

  “That’s right.”

  The lieutenant crossed his arms high across his chest, looking at Virgil. He was no longer smiling.

  “How can this man help you? He is a thief, a common criminal.”

  “He knows the whereabouts of the woman,” Virgil said.

  The lieutenant looked Alejandro up and down.

  “You believe him?” the lieutenant said.

  “Do. Until he proves himself otherwise, I got no choice.”

  “You do have a choice,” he said. “An obvious choice it is.”

  “That choice being?” Virgil said.

  The lieutenant looked back to his sergeant major.

  “You just have to persuade him to tell you where to go,” the lieutenant said. “Did you think of that?”

  “Didn’t,” Virgil said.

  “Well,” the lieutenant said. “You are in luck, because my sergeant major can persuade him easily.”

  The slit-eyed sergeant major showed no visible emotion.

  Alejandro wanted to run, but I held him by the back of his belt.

  The lieutenant folded the warrant carefully and handed it to one of his seconds, then put his hands behind his back.

  “It should not take long,” the lieutenant said.

  “No,” Virgil said.

  “No?” the lieutenant said.

  “No.”

  “It’s no trouble,” he said with a stern face. “No trouble at all.”

  “We are here now,” Virgil said. “Come a long way, took us a while to get here. I will complete what I set out to do with him.”

  “Seriously?” the lieutenant said.

  “More than seriously,” Virgil said.

  The lieutenant looked at Virgil for a steady moment.

  “We will assist you,” the lieutenant said.

  “With what?”

  “We will assist you and help you find the woman.”

  Virgil shook his head.

  “Won’t be necessary,” Virgil said.

  “I insist,” the lieutenant said. “And when we are done, we will arrest this man.”