Blue-Eyed Devil
Robert B Parker
The extraordinary new Western from the New York Times- bestselling author, featuring itinerant lawmen Virgil Cole and Everett Hitch.
Law enforcement in Appaloosa had once been Virgil Cole and me. Now there was a chief of police and twelve policemen. Our third day back in town, the chief invited us to the office for a talk.
The new chief is Amos Callico: a tall, fat man in a derby hat, wearing a star on his vest and a big pearl-handled Colt inside his coat. An ambitious man with his eye on the governorship-and perhaps the presidency-he wants Cole and Hitch on his side. But they can't be bought, which upsets him mightily.
When Callico begins shaking down local merchants for protection money, those who don't want to play along seek the help of Cole and Hitch. But the guns for hire are thorns in the side of the power-hungry chief. When they are forced to fire on the trigger-happy son of a politically connected landowner, Callico sees his dream begin to crumble. There will be a showdown-but who'll be left standing?
Robert B Parker
Blue-Eyed Devil
The fourth book in the Virgil Cole and Everett Hitch series, 2010
For Joan: blue-eyed and devilish, in exactly the right proportion
1
LAW ENFORCEMENT in Appaloosa had once been Virgil Cole and me. Now there were a chief of police and twelve policemen. Our third day back in town, the chief invited us to the office for a talk.
He was tall and very fat in a derby hat and a dark suit, with a star on his vest, and big black-handled Colt in a Huckleberry inside his coat. Standing silently around the room were four of his police officers, dressed in white shirts and dark pants, each with a Colt on his hip.
The chief gestured for us to sit. Virgil sat. I leaned my shotgun on the wall by the door and sat beside him.
“Heard ’bout both of you,” he said. “Heard ’bout that thing, too. What’s it fire, grapeshot?”
“It’s an eight-gauge,” I said. “Good for grouse.”
“Or fucking hippopotamuses,” the chief said.
“Them, too,” I said.
“Name’s Amos Callico,” he said. “Thought we should have a chitchat.”
Virgil nodded.
“You’re Virgil Cole,” Callico said.
“I am,” Virgil said. “Big fella here with the eight-gauge is Everett Hitch.”
“I know who he is,” Callico said.
Virgil nodded again.
“What I hear ’bout you is mostly good,” Callico said.
Virgil looked at me.
“Mostly,” he said.
“Probably meant ‘all,’ ” I said.
Callico paid no attention. He took a cigar from a box on his desk, didn’t offer us one, trimmed it and lit it, and got it burning right. The four policemen stood silently, watching us.
“I know your reputation, Cole,” he said. “And I know that you ran the town, ’fore I got here. And I want you both to understand that you don’t run it now.”
“That would be you,” Virgil said.
“And I’ve got a dozen officers to back me,” Callico said.
Virgil didn’t say anything.
“On the other hand, none of them are like you,” Callico said. “I could use couple of gun hands like you.”
Virgil shook his head slowly.
“Pay you fifty a month,” Callico said.
“Nope,” Virgil said.
“Make you a sergeant,” Callico said.
“Nope.”
“You speakin’ for Hitch, too?” Callico said.
“Yep.”
“Why the hell not?” Callico said.
Virgil looked at me.
“You think you’re important,” I said to Callico. “Virgil don’t think anybody’s important. Bad match.”
Virgil nodded.
“That right, Cole?” Callico said.
“ ’ Tis,” Virgil said.
Callico puffed on his cigar and blew some smoke past the lit end. He studied it for a moment.
“So, what are you going to do in town?” Callico said.
“Sit on my porch,” Virgil said. “Drink a little whiskey. Play some cards.”
“That’s all?” Callico said.
“See what develops,” Virgil said.
Callico smoked his cigar some more. Then he looked at me.
“You boys done a nice job when you was in this office,” Callico said. “Bragg and the Shelton brothers and all.”
Virgil nodded. Callico looked at me.
“Heard you killed Randall Bragg ’fore you left town,” Callico said.
“I did,” I said.
“Why?”
“Self-defense,” I said.
“Heard it was over a woman,” Callico said.
“I got nothing to do,” I said, “with what you hear.”
“Was it over a woman?”
I shook my head.
“You know why he killed Bragg?” Callico said to Virgil.
“Bragg come at him with a gun,” Virgil said.
“Why?”
“Have to ask Bragg,” Virgil said.
“Bragg’s dead,” Callico said.
“So he is,” Virgil said.
We all sat and thought about that. Callico nodded slowly.
“Don’t want no trouble from you boys,” he said.
“Don’t plan to give you none,” Virgil said.
Callico looked at me.
“Me, either,” I said.
“I’ll hold you to that,” Callico said.
Virgil stood.
“Nice meeting you,” he said.
He looked around the room at the four policemen.
“And you fellas,” Virgil said.
He turned and left, and I followed him.
On the street, I said to Virgil, “We’re gonna have trouble with him.”
“I believe we are,” Virgil said.
2
VIRGIL’S HOUSE hadn’t changed much in the time we’d been away. Allie and Laurel cleaned it up as soon as we arrived back in Appaloosa, and we moved right in. I bunked with Virgil in one bedroom, and Allie slept with Laurel in the second.
All four of us were sitting on the front porch sipping whiskey in the early evening while it was still light, when a tall, thin man with a big mustache walked up the front path. It was Stringer, the chief sheriff’s deputy.
“Ev’nin,” he said.
“Stringer,” Virgil said.
“I’m down to pick up a prisoner, heard you folks was back in town. Thought you might be drinking whiskey.”
“Sit,” I said. “Have some.”
Stringer adjusted his gun belt a little and sat.
“Allie,” Virgil said. “You remember Deputy Stringer.”
“I don’t recall us meeting,” Allie said.
“You was with the Shelton brothers,” Virgil said. “Probably thinking ’bout other things.”
Allie nodded.
“At the train,” she said.
“That’s me,” Stringer said.
“How do you do,” she said to Stringer, and made a small curtsy.
“Glad you’re well,” Stringer said. “Who’s this young lady?”
“Her name’s Laurel,” Virgil said. “She don’t say much. Laurel, this here is Deputy Stringer.”
Laurel looked at Stringer and nodded slowly and made her small curtsy. Then she went to Virgil and whispered to him. He whispered back. She whispered again.
“Well, sure, sort of like Pony Flores,” Virgil said.
“She shy?” Stringer said.
“Indian took her,” Virgil said. “She had a pretty bad time till we got her back.”
“Her folks are dead,” Allie said. “I’m loo
king out for her.”
“Since we got her back,” I said, “won’t talk to nobody ’cept Virgil.”
Stringer sipped some whiskey.
“Who’s Pony Flores?” Stringer said.
“Tracker,” Virgil said. “Helped us get her back.”
Laurel whispered again to Virgil. He listened and nodded.
“He gave her a gun,” Virgil said. “She wants to show it to you.”
Stringer nodded. Laurel took the derringer out of the pocket of her pinafore and held it out in the palm of her hand. Stringer looked at it carefully.
“That’s a very fine derringer,” he said.
He looked at Virgil.
“Loaded,” he said.
“She knows how to use it,” Virgil said. “Makes her feel safer.”
Stringer nodded.
“What are you boys gonna do here?” Stringer said.
“We’re posturing that,” Virgil said.
“Or pondering,” I said.
“Pondering,” Virgil said. “That’s what we’re doing. Everett went to the Military Academy.”
“Could speak to the sheriff for you,” Stringer said.
“Foraged up some money in Brimstone,” Virgil said. “We figure to take some time and look around.”
“You boys good at anything but gun work?” Stringer said.
“Might be,” Virgil said.
“Like what?” Stringer said.
“We’re ponderin’ that, too,” Virgil said.
“Meet the new chief of police?” Stringer said.
His voice was neutral, but there was something in the way he said “chief of police.”
“Yep,” Virgil said.
“And?” Stringer said.
“Offered us a job,” Virgil said.
“Which you turned down,” Stringer said.
“Everett and me don’t like him,” Virgil said.
Stringer studied the surface of his whiskey for a moment and then drank some.
“How come?” Stringer said.
Virgil looked at me.
“He annoyed Virgil,” I said. “Kinda full of himself.”
Stringer nodded.
“Don’t make no mistake with him,” Stringer said. “He’s a horse’s ass, okay, but he knows what he wants. He’ll do what he needs to get it. He can shoot, and he will. Got some people working for him can shoot.”
“Twelve people working for him,” I said.
“Town got big fast,” Stringer said.
“Virgil and me ran it with two,” I said. “It get six times bigger?”
“More people work for you, more power you got,” Stringer said. “Callico’s ambitious.”
“He want to be sheriff?” I said.
“It’s the next step,” Stringer said.
“To what?” Virgil said.
“Governor.”
“Why’s he want to be governor,” Virgil said.
“Probably ’cause it’s the next step to senator,” Stringer said. “I don’t know what Callico wants.”
“What kind of lawman is he?” Virgil said.
“Tough, strict, fair enough, I think,” Stringer said. “But he got no heart.”
“Heart don’t do you much good,” Virgil said.
Stringer smiled.
“ ’ Course it doesn’t,” he said. “Makes you soft.”
“Get you killed,” Virgil said.
Stringer said, “You think Virgil Cole got heart, Laurel.”
Laurel was sitting next to Virgil with Allie on her other side. She showed no sign of having heard Stringer’s question.
“She hear me?” Stringer said.
“She don’t much talk with anybody but Virgil,” I said.
“Hell,” Stringer said.
Laurel leaned in close to Virgil and whispered to him. Virgil smiled. He looked at me for a moment, then at Stringer.
“Laurel claims I got the most heart in the world,” he said.
3
THE BOSTON HOUSE had changed hands twice since I had killed Randall Bragg. But Willis McDonough in his starched white shirt was still the head bartender. And he bought us each a drink when Virgil and I went in to say hello.
“New owner’s a fella from Chicago named Lamar Speck,” Willis said. “Nice enough fella, I guess. You boys looking for work?”
“Might be,” Virgil said.
“No peace-officer work, I guess,” Willis said.
“I guess,” Virgil said.
As always, Virgil was looking at the room, paying no attention, seeing everything. I didn’t bother. Virgil would do it anyway, and he saw more than I did.
“Got more peace officers than you can shake a stick at,” Willis said.
“Need ’em all?” Virgil said.
Willis shrugged.
“You boys kept things pretty well buttoned up with just two of you.”
“So why so many?” I said.
Willis looked around at the near-empty bar, then leaned forward and lowered his voice.
“Might be another plan,” he said.
“What?” Virgil said.
“I’m just a bartender,” Willis said, “but…”
Virgil waited.
Willis looked around again and leaned in toward us even closer.
“Not much happens around here anymore without Chief Callico having something to do with it,” he said softly.
“Payoffs?” Virgil said.
“I’m just the bartender.”
“But you hear things,” Virgil said.
“I think Mr. Speck gives him money.”
“What happens if he don’t?” Virgil said.
“There’s trouble, police are too busy, ya know? Too busy to get here.”
“And you got nobody to keep order?” I said.
Willis shook his head.
“Was a fella named Hector Barnes,” Willis said. “Worked the lookout chair with his brother, Chico. But they quit.”
“Why?” Virgil said.
Willis shrugged.
“I think the police was bothering them about things.”
“They run ’em off?” Virgil said.
Willis shrugged.
“Ain’t here no more,” he said.
“And Speck is making his payments,” Virgil said.
“Might be,” Willis said.
“Anybody say anything to the sheriff?” I said.
“He’s a day’s ride from here,” Willis said.
“So?”
“Something might happen to you or your place, by the time the sheriff got to sending a deputy down.”
“So, how come you’re telling us,” I said.
“Figured it might be a job opening for you boys,” Willis said.
“Keepin’ the peace in the Boston House?” I said.
“I tole Mr. Speck I’d speak to you, first time you come in,” Willis said.
“Should we talk to Mr. Speck,” I said.
“I can arrange it,” Willis said.
I looked at Virgil. He nodded slowly. I nodded with him.
“Why don’t you,” Virgil said to Willis.
4
LAMAR SPECK was a little skinny guy with a big Adam’s apple and a prominent nose. He dressed like a dandy. Black coat with velvet lapels, a red-and-gold vest, striped trousers. He sat at a big rolltop desk in the back office of the saloon, and swiveled around in his chair and stood when Willis showed us in.
“Mr. Cole,” he said. “Mr. Hitch. A pleasure.”
We agreed that it was a pleasure.
“I understand that you gentlemen are looking for work,” Speck said.
“Might be,” Virgil said.
“Sit,” Speck said. “Please.”
We sat. McDonough was looking at Virgil as he talked. Everybody always talked to Virgil.
“I have of course heard of you gentlemen, especially, Mr. Cole. And of course I know you used to be the lawmen in town.”
“We were,” Virgil said.
“And I know t
hat most of our citizens respect you both,” Speck said.
“They surely do,” Virgil said.
He didn’t show it. But I knew Virgil was getting restless. It drove him crazy when people rambled on, except when it was him.
“So, I thought to myself, Lamar, here’s a chance to get some first-rate help. If you boys will agree, I’ll hire you, and if there’s trouble, you’ll take care of it.”
“How much?” Virgil said.
Speck told him.
“You don’t have anybody sitting lookout?” Virgil said.
“The police arrested my last one,” Speck said. “Turns out he was wanted in Kansas.”
“Kansas,” Virgil said, and looked at me.
“The police keep a sharp eye in Appaloosa,” I said.
“We run our own show,” Virgil said. “Post a list of rules, people obey them or they leave. People give us trouble, we shoot them.”
“Shoot?”
“You think people gonna obey the rules ’cause they like us?” Virgil said.
“Well, ah, no, of course not, I guess.”
“They obey the rules ’cause they know we’ll shoot,” Virgil says. “Which means maybe, now and then, we’ll have to.”
“Well, I… certainly. You know this work best.”
“Police gonna be helpful?” I said.
“I’m sure they will be pleased to have help,” Speck said.
“They been helpful in the past?” I said.
“They are often very busy,” Speck said.
“Ain’t had any trouble with Callico?” Virgil said.
“Certainly not,” Speck said. “Except for my lookout.”
Virgil nodded.
“We’ll come by in the morning,” Virgil said. “Give a list of our rules. You agree to post them. We’ll start work.”
Speck stood and put out his hand. Virgil ignored it.
“Virgil don’t shake hands,” I said. “Nothing personal.”
“Oh,” Speck said. “Oh, well, very good. I’ll look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”
As we stood on the porch outside the Boston House, Virgil said, “You ain’t wanted in Kansas, are you?”
“No,” I said. “You?”
“Nope.”
“Maybe Callico’s just enforcing the law,” I said.
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