Robert B. Parker's Revelation Read online

  Virgil looked to me.

  “Vadito,” he said.

  “Whores,” I said.

  “Where’s that?” Book said.

  “Vadito’s a river-crossing town on the Little Colorado where cattlemen notoriously stop in to give up what money they make on gambling, whiskey, and whores, mainly whores.”

  “Mexico would be closer,” Virgil said.

  “It is.”

  “Maybe they or one of them has some connection to the place,” Virgil said.

  “Could,” I said.

  “Damn,” Book said. “Minus this Dobbin, there are seven killers on the loose.”

  “I suspect we’d be best to get to Vadito,” I said. “Let Stringer take the posse east?”

  Virgil nodded a little.

  “Two days’ ride,” he said.

  “Vadito could be busy,” I said.

  “Could,” Virgil said. Then he thought for a moment and pointed to the key in front of Willoughby. “Need to get some descriptions of the three and their horses.”

  “Their names, too, wouldn’t hurt,” I said.

  Virgil nodded.

  “What about this goddamn deal here?”

  Virgil shook his head.

  “More to it than meets the eye,” Virgil said.

  I looked to Book.

  “You know anything, hear anything about guys running a racket, pressuring and threatening business owners?”

  “No,” Book said.

  “Wonder how many others this was happening to?” I said.

  “Hard to say,” Virgil said.

  “Somebody has to know about them,” I said. “Who they are, what they were doing.”

  Virgil nodded some.

  “Like you said,” I said. “There is more to it than meets the eye . . .”

  “Too many goddamn people,” Virgil said.

  “What now?”

  “First order is these sonsabitches on the run,” Virgil said. “Can’t have a passel of murderers on the loose.”

  “If they are headed to Vadito,” I said, “we very well might make this notion of their new-formed freedom a little less free-feeling.”

  “That’d be my thought,” Virgil said.

  16

  The rain continued through the night but stopped a few hours before daybreak. I had tossed and turned throughout and eventually gave up trying to sleep. I got myself up and dressed. Then got the horses fed and saddled for the trip Virgil and I were preparing to take over to Vadito, in search of the three convicts who had killed two men in the shootout at the sawmill in Yaqui. It was early morning and still dark, but the eastern horizon was brightening some with a faint hint of gold, and the sun would be up and showing full within the hour.

  When I walked the horses toward the sheriff’s office, Book was loading panniers on a tall mule tied to the office’s hitch rail. Book turned quick and looked to me as I came up in the dark behind him.

  “Everett.”

  “Morning, Book,” I said.

  “Gave me a start coming up like that,” he said.

  “Just me.”

  He shook his head. “Glad of it.”

  “How goes it?” I said as I led the horses to the hitch and tied them next to the mule.

  “Okay, I guess,” Book said. “Been thinking about that shooting over at Meserole’s last night.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Hell of a deal.”

  “Been a long time since something like that has happened around here,” Book said. “Last gunplay I remember around here was when Truitt Shirley shot that Denver policeman in front of the gambling parlor.”

  “Yep,” I said. “Sounds right.”

  “I knew Old Man Meserole,” Book said. “I been in his place a few times, played some cards with the guys after work and looked at the girls. One of the few good places where the gals working aren’t selling their goods, too. Wonder if the place will close down?”

  “Hard to say,” I said.

  “Damn shame,” Book said.

  “We’ll get to the bottom of it,” I said.

  “Hope so,” Book said.

  “We ready?”

  “Pretty much. Just loading everything up.”

  I looked to the office.

  “Virgil here?”

  Book shook his head.

  “Not yet,” he said as he continued to pack the panniers with supplies that he had laid out on the boardwalk. “Got you enough rations to make the trip over and back.”

  “Hard to say what direction we’ll go once we get there.”

  “Well, I got you all kinds of stuff. A good amount—coffee, dried figs, carrots, biscuits, fatback, canned sardines, jerky, hardtack, beans . . .”

  “Damn, Book, not going to China.”

  “Well, no reason not to be prepared.”

  “You got whiskey in there?”

  “I do,” Book said.

  “Good man.”

  Book started back toward the office but paused before stepping inside and turned to me.

  “This is bad.”

  “What?”

  “These prisoners.”

  “Not good.”

  “What do you make of what the Dobbin fella said about how they got out?”

  “Don’t have a real clear picture.”

  “No, I know, that’s what I mean. It’s hard to conceive just how this happened.”

  “Don’t think we will really get a clear understanding until we get some information directly from the prison.”

  “Well,” Book said, “hard to figure how the whole of them overpowered the guards and just walked out.”

  “It does, I won’t deny you that.”

  “What if you come across them on the way?”

  “Could happen.”

  “Damn, Everett, maybe some of us should go with you?”

  “Think we’ll be all right, Book.”

  “And you and Virgil know one of the men on the list,” he said. “Charlie . . .”

  “Yep,” I said. “Ravenscroft. Charlie Ravenscroft, a no-good son of a bitch. We caught him after he killed two policemen. Claimed it was self-defense.”

  “He’s not one of the three you’re after, now, though,” Book said. “He’s with the other bunch, the bunch Sheriff Stringer is after.”

  I nodded.

  “What we know,” I said. “That’s what the Dobbin fella offered up, anyway.”

  “Well, if you want, I will go . . . I mean, if Sheriff Chastain thinks it’s okay.”

  “You’re needed here, Book. All of you. No telling about the other that got away from Meserole’s and what kind of fallout may happen. Maybe you guys can figure out something about the tall fella that Meserole shot, too.”

  Book shook his head some. “That was a hell of a storm we had,” he said.

  “Was,” I said.

  “Brought in some trouble,” he said.

  “Did,” I said.

  17

  Book walked back toward the office but stopped before entering and looked off down the street.

  It was dark, but I could make out someone walking up the street carrying a rifle. After he got a bit closer and stepped up on the boardwalk I saw clearly it was Virgil carrying his Winchester. Book entered the office, then came back out with a handful of supplies and looked to Virgil walking up.

  “Morning,” Book said as Virgil came into the spilling light of the sconce hanging by the office door.

  “Morning back,” he said with a yawn. “Coffee?”

  “You bet,” Book said, then hurried back to the mule and put the supplies in the panniers. “I’ll get you some . . . Everett, you, too, coffee?”

  “Sure,” I said.

  Book walked back into the office.

  “Sleep?” I said.

  “No,” he said. “You?”

  “Like a fish outta water,” I said.

  Virgil nodded, set the butt of his rifle on the floor, and leaned the barrel on the wall as Book came back out with coffee.

 
“Fresh and hot,” Book said as he handed Virgil a cup, then handed a cup to me.

  “That’ll work,” Virgil said.

  I sat on the hitch with my back to the horses and put my boots on the edge of the boardwalk. I blew on the cup’s steaming surface before taking a sip.

  “You pack some whiskey in those bags, Book?” Virgil said, then took a sip of coffee.

  Book looked at me and smiled a little.

  “I did,” he said.

  Virgil nodded.

  “Good,” he said, then sipped some more coffee and sat on the bench under the lamp.

  “I got just a few more things to load and you’ll be good to go,” Book said, then stepped back into the office.

  “I kept waking up thinking about the men from compound C,” I said.

  Virgil yawned and shook his head some.

  “Yeah, they were running around in my sleep, too.”

  Book came out and held up a few small bags. “Pecans and walnuts,” he said with a smile, then put them in the panniers.

  Book buckled the pannier flaps and came back toward the office but stopped with a foot on the step and looked to Virgil.

  “I told Everett I’d be happy to come along.”

  “Happy?” Virgil said.

  “Well, you know,” he said.

  “Me and Everett will be just fine, Book, but we appreciate the notion.”

  “Well, okay,” Book said and started back into the office but stopped shy of entering and turned, looking to Virgil, then me.

  “Hard to figure how that many men got out and on the loose like this,” Book said.

  “Is,” Virgil said.

  Book walked back into the office as Virgil and I sipped our coffee thinking about that very thing—the same very thing that kept us from having decent sleep.

  Book came out of the office with a small fry pan and bean pot. “Almost forgot this stuff,” he said as he unbuckled the panniers and put the cooking gear inside, then secured the flap again.

  “Appreciate it, Book,” Virgil said.

  “That should do it,” he said, then pulled a packing list from his pocket and read it as he walked back into the office. After a moment Book came to the door with a cup of coffee and leaned on the doorjamb.

  “How will you know what to do?” Book said. “Once you are to Vadito?”

  Virgil looked to Book.

  “Just have to figure that out as we go along.”

  “Do you think the three you’re after will all stay together?”

  Virgil shook his head.

  “Hard to know just what they’ll do.”

  “Seems to me they’d all go in separate directions,” Book said. “So not to draw attention to themselves.”

  Virgil nodded a bit.

  “Might well be.”

  “And you don’t figure that they will stay away from towns?” Book said.

  “No,” I said.

  “Don’t, either,” Virgil said.

  “I would . . .” Book said. “I think.”

  Virgil shook his head some.

  “Vadito gives them all the things they’ve not been able to have . . . pussy, whiskey, food, the basics, and Stringer said they took money, too, so they will have money to spend.”

  I nodded.

  “Money is something they’ve not had in a long time,” I said.

  “So many people come here to Appaloosa these days . . . They could waltz in here and we wouldn’t know them from the normal folk,” Book said.

  “That’s correct,” Virgil said.

  “Appaloosa is closer than a lot of other towns to that prison,” Book said.

  “Is,” Virgil said.

  “You think they could come here?”

  “Very well could,” Virgil said.

  “Hard to say about those that went east. If they got horses or not, and if so, if they do have horses and they stayed at a pace they could cover a lot of ground.”

  Book frowned a bit and said, “For all we know, they could be here by now.”

  Virgil looked to me.

  “Could,” he said.

  “All the more reason for you, the sheriff, and all the Appaloosa deputies to be here and keep close watch,” I said.

  “Is,” Virgil said.

  Book stared off up the dark street. He turned, looking in the other direction as if he heard something, then back to me.

  “Well, at least we have some descriptions and names,” Book said.

  Virgil pulled his watch from his vest pocket, looked at the time, then got to his feet.

  We saw to a few last-minute details, then mounted up just as the sun showed a piece of its face. When we turned the corner to head south I looked back to Book. He was standing in the dark of the office overhang. He stretched out his arm and poured the remainder of his coffee into the street.

  18

  Driggs had no idea until he did some snooping around that he would have to wait for a while in Appaloosa until he could accomplish what he came to town to do. But that was okay with him; he was as patient as ol’ Job.

  Driggs raised his long, muscled arms above his head, stretching, as he stood naked looking out the window of the Boston House Hotel. It was early in the morning; the sun was just brightening the free world of Appaloosa. Behind him, in bed, lay the woman. She was naked, spent, and sound asleep. Her long, dark hair violently wound this way and that, spreading out like long tentacles across the valleys and hills of the swirling white sheets.

  He stood perfectly still as he looked out, thinking about nothing in particular. Not at this moment, anyway. He was enjoying the view of the town coming to life before him, a vision he’d not witnessed in some time.

  A buggy came slowly up the street that was being pulled by an old wide dun horse. The driver’s face was hidden under the buggy’s canopy as he incessantly urged the animal forward. The fact that Driggs could not see the driver’s features made him think about how there is no real individual face of man, not really. Though far and wide there are many varied faces, they are pretty much most certainly the same. They are interchangeable, Driggs thought, all trudging endlessly toward the common goal of an end result. Survival, need, and instinct drove the masses. Driggs had determined early on that the insufferable hordes are primarily caretakers of man-made order, of the way of mankind. Driggs knew though that he himself was not part of that mundane order. He was certainly not just a driver with a face unseen.

  Driggs watched the man in the buggy encourage the dun as they turned in front of the hotel, and he watched as the dun trotted on, disappearing with the faceless man down Main Street.

  He stood calm and still for a few minutes, then moved from the window and picked up a tobacco pouch off the dresser and rolled a cigarette.

  He looked at the naked woman, watching her breathe. She was on her stomach with only half of her rear end covered with bedding. The gentle, slow breathing forced her lips to push out when she exhaled. The move seemed childlike and made the woman appear momentarily innocent to Driggs. But she was far from innocent. After Driggs had done his necessary investigation and reconnaissance throughout the evening and into the early-morning hours, it was proved to him that nothing about the woman embodied innocence. Maybe that was true before, but now it was different. Now that she had been relieved of her preconceived self-styled notions about tolerance and suffrage, about purity and decency, what was left was only a savage beast that breathed harmonically. But he knew all that before he got into it, into the throes of it, with her. He was glad to know there was more to be extracted and that made him feel good, that it would not simply be a matter of time before he would have to move on from her, disregard her. He rested in the comfort, however, that he knew exactly what was required and just how it would go on and what more would need to be pulled, twisted, and turned. But most important, she was his partner, his princess. His princess for the task at hand, and he was steady and patient about the process. Driggs didn’t ever rush or hurry. Haste was simply not in his nature.r />
  He moved back to the window, and with a stick match between his middle finger and forefinger scratched the sulfur tip with a quick flick of his thumbnail and the flame ignited. He lit the cigarette, then inhaled the Virginia tobacco. He held out the cigarette and studied the smoke rising from the lit end. It had been a long time since he had fine morning tobacco after an evening of roughshod. Driggs enjoyed the smoothness as the intake stimulated spiderwebbed euphoria across his mind. When he let out the smoke he savored the refreshing morning dizziness it gave him.

  He reached back and grabbed the bottle off the bedside table next to the Bible and held it up in the light of the window. It was three-quarters empty. He took a good pull from the golden liquid and savored the warmth as it slid down this throat.

  Hitch, he thought. Fucking Everett Hitch. It had been a long time since he had seen Hitch. A lot of men change through the years and age rapidly and drastically, he thought, but not Everett Hitch. He was still lean, strong, and youthful . . . like the Indian killer he remembered . . . Fucking Hitch.

  “What are you thinking about,” the princess said with a sleepily raspy voice from the night of whiskey.

  Her question did not take him by surprise. He figured it would be only a matter of time until she was ready.

  “God,” he said, without turning around to look at her.

  “What about God?”

  He did not answer immediately. He could feel his princess looking at the back of him, and most likely the three bullet holes in his shoulder that he’d received the day he was double-crossed. He turned to her and smiled.

  “Just flowing with the hinges,” he said.

  “Hinges?”

  He nodded and tapped his temple.

  “This way and that, they go.”

  Her eyes rested on his rugged and . . . rigid nakedness. She looked up and met his eyes. She stared at him and he stared at her. She rolled over on her back, looking up at him.

  He took a pull off the whiskey, put the cigarette in the ashtray, then moved a bit closer to the bed. She instinctively recoiled and moved back, but he reached out with his right hand and grabbed her ankle, then swiveled her around and grabbed her other ankle with his left hand. He stared at her eyes as he pulled the princess’s body toward him.