Robert B. Parker's Blackjack Read online

  Valentine laughed.

  “Well, as a matter of fact, I am,” he said.

  “That’s what I thought,” she said.

  She walked off and looked back over her shoulder. “Keep it up,” she said.

  Valentine looked at his beer and smiled.

  “I’m beginning to kind of like this town,” he said.

  “Don’t get too used to it,” Virgil said.

  Valentine winked at me.

  57.

  To say the least, it was damn sure interesting for me to witness Virgil and Valentine together. Blood is thicker than water, I thought. In some ways I was relieved that Valentine was here in Appaloosa and present in Virgil’s life. Though Virgil had both Allie and me as partners, I always felt Virgil was really without anyone. In most ways I know that was what he preferred, but in other ways as time marched on, I think Virgil found some comfort in having some distractions from that consuming world that was, in every respect, the consuming world of Virgil Cole.

  Virgil pulled a few of the cigars from his pocket. He held up one for Valentine.

  “Don’t mind if I do,” he said, taking a cigar from Virgil.

  “They come from you,” Virgil said, holding up the cigar.

  “Damn good ones, too,” Valentine said.

  Virgil nodded as he struck a match and cupped it for Valentine.

  “Where’d you steal ’em?” Virgil said.

  “I bought those with hard-earned money,” Valentine said as he puffed on the cigar until it was going good. “I chased and caught a couple of Mescaleros for the Army that used to ride for Victorio. Chased them for a hundred miles down the Rio Grande before I caught the savages, and I was given these cigars by the colonel himself.”

  Virgil looked to me, flicked the match, fished another from his pocket, then dragged the tip across the underside of table and lit his cigar. After he got the cigar going good he waved the flame from the match and looked at the gallows. He puffed on his cigar as he watched the men putting the structure together. We watched for a bit without talking.

  “The whole town is anxious,” I said.

  Virgil nodded a little and Valentine shook his head.

  “Juniper hit the jug,” I said.

  Valentine looked at me for a moment, then said, “He just got boxed in.”

  Virgil nodded.

  “Black did not help,” I said.

  “No,” Valentine said. “But I doubt that would have changed the good judge’s decision.”

  “No,” Virgil said. “Me, neither.”

  We sat for a moment, watching the workers.

  “Taking the position this was the Denver contingent’s plan,” Valentine said as he puffed on his cigar, “have you fellas given much thought as to why the prosecution waited until the second day to bring in the Brit painter?”

  “Maybe it wasn’t the plan?” I said.

  “If I were a betting man, which I am, I would stack chips it was,” Valentine said.

  “Why?” I said.

  “Don’t know,” Valentine said. “Just my gut.”

  Virgil nodded a little.

  “Don’t make good sense,” Virgil said.

  “I have said all along there seems to be a Denver conspiracy of sorts,” Valentine said. “But with the Brit painter and his Bloom Where You Are Planted painting, it goddamn sure painted Boston Bill Black into a corner, and up those hangman steps, no matter.”

  Valentine nodded to the gallows.

  “It did at that,” Virgil said.

  “DA Payne had told us there was no eyewitness.”

  “And then there was,” Valentine said.

  We sat silent for a moment, thinking about that.

  “I did some asking around,” Valentine said.

  Virgil looked at him, but Valentine just puffed on his cigar, looking at the gallows.

  “What kind of asking around?” I said.

  “Oh, in Denver,” he said. “I got some good friends in Denver.”

  “What were you asking around about?” Virgil said.

  “Just was curious, wanted to get the angle, what was at the apex,” he said. “Had some wiring back and forth with an amigo who talked to another amigo, what they knew about this.”

  “And?” I said.

  “Nothing much, really, only that the daughter-in-law was a dark stain on the family’s reputation. The scrawny police chief’s been the laughingstock because of his daughter-in-law. From what was relayed, she liked to hike her tail . . . a good bit . . . and was good at it . . . And I’d just have to bet a dollar to a dime that Black was not the only one swabbing those tonsils.”

  “Yeah, we got that from the Denver captain, that they wanted this over,” I said.

  “Chief and his wife are tighter than goddamn squeaking oak branches with the Church. He’s an elder, she sings in the church choir.”

  “And that goddamn judge,” Valentine said. “I know he’s got a reputation and is a good hand, but I don’t know, it seems to me he’s holding on to a greased rope.”

  Virgil looked at me and nodded a little.

  “He wavered,” I said.

  “Wavered?” Valentine said. “Why, he should be doing something else . . . like crocheting or carving wooden toys for his great-grandchildren.”

  “He’s no spring chicken,” Virgil said.

  “I have always thought Callison the best and most reliable judge we got,” I said. “But . . .”

  “Nothing lasts forever, Everett,” Valentine said. “Comes a time for every sanctimonious scallywag and do-gooder to get their ass dry docked.”

  Virgil looked down. He kept the cigar wedged in the corner of his mouth and reluctantly nodded in agreement.

  “And though,” I said, “this case got Black on the downslope with the testimony from the Bloom couple that owned the inn, saying they heard Black and Ruth Ann arguing and finding blood on the back porch, to LaCroix offering up his testimony, it still seemed . . . I don’t know, suspect.”

  Virgil looked up at me. He did not say anything, but his look told me he agreed with the comment.

  “The Coloradoans still here loitering about in Appaloosa?” Valentine said.

  “They are,” I said. “They said they would remain here to watch the ball drop.”

  “That’s kind of them,” Valentine said.

  Valentine took a sip of beer and gazed off for a moment, watching the workers on the gallows, then shook his head and looked to Virgil.

  “You think he’s innocent?” Valentine said.

  I looked to Virgil.

  “Callison heard it and he pulled the trigger and there ain’t nothing we can do about that,” Virgil said.

  “That’s not what I asked.”

  “I know,” Virgil said.

  We sipped our beer, thinking about that, as the worker raised the top rope beam above the gallows floor.

  “I went to Callison after the trial,” Virgil said.

  “For?” Valentine said.

  Virgil puffed on his cigar for a moment as he thought.

  “For the very thing we are talking about here,” he said.

  “You wanted to make sure he was looking down the cue?” Valentine said.

  Virgil nodded.

  “Yep,” Virgil said. “Just wanted to make sure he heard enough and saw enough. And I wanted to have a look in his eyes.”

  “What did you see?” Valentine said.

  Virgil thought for a moment and shook his head.

  “He was convinced,” Virgil said.

  Valentine said, “Stands by the jury’s decision, that sort of thing?”

  Virgil nodded.

  “Don’t mean he’s right,” Valentine said.

  “Or the jury made the right decision,” I said.

 
“Just because a bunch of goddamn geese go south don’t mean the meadowlark needs to follow.”

  “No,” Virgil said. “It don’t.”

  “Well,” Valentine said. “Like I said, it was told to me Roger’s wife had more than one chucker in the woodshed, so no telling.”

  58.

  I had yet to speak with Daphne after the verdict. I stopped by the hotel a few times and tried to visit with her, but I was told she was not accepting any visitors.

  After the sentencing she was visibly upset and had hurried from the courtroom with Pritchard, who was also in shock and disbelief. This was an obvious blow to them, as they had previously believed Black was not guilty of killing Ruth Ann Messenger.

  Two days later and four days before Black’s hanging I was inside the round corral behind the livery, working Ajax, when I saw Valentine walking from the livery pulling two big bay mules.

  “Fine looking animal you got there, Everett.”

  “When he’s asleep,” I said.

  “This here is Magellan and Columbus,” he said, nodding to the mules.

  “Going someplace?” I said.

  “I am,” he said, then pointed to his prison wagon parked behind the corral.

  It was a standard sturdily built prisoner transport wagon with bars on four sides and lantern headlamps for night travel.

  “Duty calls,” he said.

  “You got somebody you’re going after?”

  He laughed.

  “Oh, there is always somebody in particular to be going after.”

  “You don’t have to worry about me, Valentine.”

  “Now, why would I worry about you, Everett?”

  I smiled and walked toward the corral rail.

  “I’m not your competition, Valentine,” I said. “Besides, I receive my regular government salary that precludes me from such monetary pursuits.”

  Valentine came close to the corral and put a boot on the rail.

  “Fact is,” he said, “time to move on.”

  I nodded.

  “’Sides, I don’t need to stick around for no by-God hanging, Everett.”

  “Not so interested in that myself,” I said.

  He shook his head a little.

  “You headed back to El Paso?”

  He looked off with a contemplative thought.

  “Nope,” he said. “I’ve had plenty enough of that goddamn dusty place . . .”

  “Figure you will try someplace new?”

  He nodded.

  “Where you thinking?” I said.

  “Oh, I will stay on the border somewhere. I can’t move out of my honey hole, and I do like the sonorities . . .”

  “Whole border is dusty,” I said.

  “That it is,” he said. “But different dust, I’m thinking, is a good idea . . . Nuevo Laredo, maybe, Piedras Negras perhaps . . . I’m kind of undecided at this point, maybe even Corpus . . . Always been fond of the water.”

  “When you riding out?”

  “No reason to dally.”

  “You talk to Virgil?”

  “Have not.”

  “You gonna?”

  He looked off again and smiled, then shook his head.

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “No,” he said with a smile.

  “You want me to tell him anything?”

  He shook his head.

  “Nothing else to say, Everett.”

  “Think he’d might want you to say something,” I said.

  “Like what?”

  “Hell, I don’t know, he’s not my brother.”

  “Oh, you’re a brother to Virgil, Everett,” he said. “No doubt about that.”

  “In some ways,” I said.

  “Besides, as Virgil likes to point out, he’s my half-brother,” he said with a smile.

  “Allie would appreciate it,” I said.

  “Do me a favor,” Valentine said.

  “What’s that?”

  “Tell the both of them that I enjoyed their company and hospitality immensely.”

  “Anything else?”

  He shook his head and said, “Nope.”

  “Well,” I said. “Think you might be missed.”

  “That’s a nice thought, Everett,” he said. “I appreciate it.”

  I pulled off my glove and reached over the fence.

  “Safe travels,” I said.

  59.

  That evening I ate a steak at Hal’s Café before I paid Virgil and Allie a visit. As I approached the dark house I could see Allie through the window, playing her piano, and for the first time I actually thought she was playing pretty well. When I entered through the front gate I noticed Virgil sitting on the porch in the dark. There was a small amount of light coming through the window that provided a slight outline on one side of Virgil’s face. He was leaning back in a corner with his boots on the rail, smoking a cigar.

  “Evening,” Virgil said.

  “Evening,” I said.

  “How goes it?”

  “Goes,” I said.

  “Nudge of Kentucky?” he said.

  He held up his glass and I could see the amber liquid glow a little as it caught the spilling light from the window.

  “Why not,” I said.

  As I walked up the steps, Allie stopped playing the piano and in a moment poked her head out the door.

  “Why, Everett Hitch,” she said.

  “Why, Allie French,” I said.

  “How are you?”

  “Fine . . . fine . . . nice night,” I said.

  “Oh, it is,” she said.

  “Don’t stop on my account, Allie. I was enjoying that.”

  “Me, too,” Virgil said.

  “Oh,” she said. “You two.”

  “No,” I said. “Really.”

  “Y’all just tolerate my playing,” she said. “I’m done for the evening. Besides, my hands are getting tired.”

  “Get Everett a glass,” he said. “Would you please, Allie?”

  “Indeed I will,” she said.

  Allie turned and walked back inside as I moved over on the porch by Virgil.

  “What ya doing out here alone in the dark?”

  “Sitting.”

  “Contemplating?”

  “Am.”

  “Black?” I said.

  Virgil nodded.

  “Keeps turning in me.”

  “What can we do?”

  “Don’t know there is anything we can do, Everett.”

  “Nothing?”

  I sat on the rail opposite Virgil and thought for a brief moment about what I was getting ready to say.

  “Saw your brother earlier,” I said.

  “Half-brother,” Virgil said.

  Allie came out with two glasses.

  “One for you and one for me,” she said.

  She held them out and Virgil poured us each a glass of Kentucky whiskey.

  “He left,” I said.

  “Who left?” Allie said as she handed me one of the glasses in her hand.

  “Valentine.”

  Allie put both of her hands to her sides before she said anything.

  “What?” she said.

  “Yep.”

  “What do you mean ‘he left’?”

  “Just that.”

  “Well . . .” she said, and then stammered her next words with a hint of growing agitation, “is . . . he coming back?”

  “Don’t think so.”

  “Well . . . where for Heaven’s sakes?”

  “Don’t know.”

  Virgil sat back in his chair and didn’t say anything.

  “Did he say where he was going?” she said.

  “Wasn’t sur
e.”

  “He left without so much as a good-bye?”

  “He did.”

  “Well . . . I just can’t believe that.”

  “He named a few places he might end up.”

  Allie shook her head.

  “End up?”

  “He told me to tell you both how much he appreciated your company and hospitality.”

  Allie shook her head in disbelief and walked over by the rail near me and looked out.

  “This is just awful,” she said.

  I looked at Virgil. His half-lit face showed no real reaction, but he did not meet my eye. He was looking at Allie, who was looking away.

  “Why?” Virgil said. “Why is it so awful?”

  “Why?” she said, without turning to look at Virgil. “Why . . .”

  “A man has to do what a man has to do, Allie,” Virgil said.

  Allie turned and looked at Virgil.

  “Oh . . . don’t say that. A man? A man . . . Virgil . . .”

  “You got to meet him,” he said. “Visit with him. Hear stories about me as a kid.”

  “I know, Virgil . . . I know.”

  Virgil looked to me.

  “I just wish . . .”

  “What, Allie?”

  “I don’t know,” she said as tears began to well up in her eyes.

  “He did what he had to do,” Virgil said.

  “That does not mean he can’t show us a little respect and common decency,” Allie said. “Of at least coming by here and giving us a proper good-bye.”

  “I think it might have been hard for him,” I said.

  “Hard?” Allie said. “Why?”

  “Oh,” I said. “You know, Allie, how it is with family.”

  “Well, no, Everett,” she said with a quiver in her voice. “Actually, I don’t know . . . I don’t know anyone in my family. I never have and I never will.”

  “Well, I’m sorry,” I said.

  “Not your fault, Everett,” she said. “They just left, most of them I never, ever even knew, they all just sort of petered out of my life, nobody wanted me and I was left all alone.”

  “Well,” Virgil said. “You’re not alone anymore.”

  “First all this horrible trial stuff . . . and now this . . .”

  Allie shook her head a little and walked away to the other side of the porch and stared out into the darkness. After a moment she lowered her head and started to sob.