“Why the heavy ordnance, Virgil,” Pike said.
“Oh, Everett’s forgetful,” Virgil said. “Afraid if he lays that thing down, he’ll forget where he put it.”
“Beer?” Pike said.
“Sure thing,” Virgil said.
Pike looked at me. I shook my head. The bartender set a beer in front of Virgil, and one for Pike.
“This a social call?” Pike said.
Virgil sipped his beer and put it down.
“Chance for a free beer, mostly,” Virgil said.
“Anytime, Virgil,” Pike said.
He was wearing a dark suit and a red tie, and carried a Colt.
“Who’s the new lookout,” Virgil said.
“Abner Noonan,” Pike said. “Was with me in the Army.”
“Hearda him,” Virgil said. “Was in Laredo for a while.”
“Good memory,” Pike said. “Yep, that’s Abner.”
“Replacing Kirby and J.D.,” Virgil said.
“Yes,” Pike said.
Virgil looked absently around the room.
“Got some other new faces,” Virgil said.
Pike grinned.
“Just keeping the staff up to level,” he said.
“Too bad ’bout Kirby and J.D.,” Virgil said.
“Was,” Pike said.
“You know, Pike,” Virgil said. “I was thinking ’bout that Indian killed them.”
I smiled to myself. Virgil could be as direct as anyone alive, or he could, for his own reasons, go around the Gulf of Mexico and come in the back way when he felt like it. This was going to be the back way.
“What were you thinking?” Pike said.
“What was that boy’s name,” Virgil said. “Buffalo Calf.”
“They all got names,” Pike said.
“Well, you know, it don’t matter,” Virgil said. “But there musta been something between you two.”
“Me and the Indian?” Pike said. “Why do you care?”
“Just a curious fella,” Virgil said. “Hate to know half a thing. I know it don’t matter, and it ain’t official or anything, and Buffalo Calf been disposed of. But . . . I keep thinking on it.”
Pike grinned.
“Like an itch you can’t scratch,” Pike said.
“That’s what it’s like,” Virgil said.
He sipped some more beer.
“Oh, hell, Virgil,” Pike said. “I was a lieutenant trying to make captain. Everett over there probably knows what that’s like.”
“I do,” I said. “One reason I quit.”
“I had a patrol out, me, a sergeant, and twelve troopers. Caught some Apaches out in the open. They were moving camp, had stuff on travois, mostly women and children, a few bucks, and we cleaned them out. We were still using the breech loaders, and it was slow, so I told the troopers to use their sabers. It was a bloody mess, but it went faster and we killed them all.”
Pike drank some beer.
“So I’m surveying the mess.” Pike grinned. “And thinking about my second bar, and something hits me on the shoulder and falls to the ground. I look and it’s a toy arrow, and another one hits me, and I see this little Indian kid, maybe nine, ten, covered with blood, kneeling behind some dead squaw, shooting at me with his toy bow and arrow. One of the troopers goes and grabs him and is gonna cut his throat, and the little bastard was so mean and so brave, I say, ‘Don’t kill him.’ Sergeant looks at me like I’m crazy, but we drag him along with us back to Tucson, and I put him into the Indian school there. All the ride back to Tucson, he looks at me, and when I checked on him every once in a while at the school, he don’t say nothing, just looks at me. Does good at the school. Speaks English good, read, write, all that shit. And the day he’s eighteen he’s gone and no one sees him again. Then ten years later, that steer shows up dead with the toy arrow.”
“That why you gave us Pony to track?”
“Felt bad ’bout them women,” Pike said. “Sorta felt a little responsible, I suppose.”
“Sure,” Virgil said.
“Last break I ever gave anybody,” Pike said. “And that was one too many.”
“Thank you, Pike,” Virgil said. “I’ll sleep better.”
“Sure thing,” Pike said.
“You expecting trouble with Percival?” Virgil said.
“Nothing we can’t handle,” Pike said.
“But you’re expecting some.”
“Percival’s crazy,” Pike said. “I won’t let him close me down.”
“Hey, Everett,” Virgil said. “What’s that thing where you attack first to stop somebody from attacking you.”
“Preemptive strike,” I said.
“You ain’t thinking ’bout any preemptive strikes,” Virgil said.
“He tries to close me down,” Pike said. “And I’ll do what’s needed.”
“Probably can’t prevent the trouble,” Virgil said. “But I’d like to contain it.”
“How you gonna contain it?” Pike said.
“Just don’t do more than is needed,” Virgil said.
“Who’s going to decide that?” Pike said.
“That would be me,” Virgil said. “And Everett.”
58
“WORKED A TOWN in Oklahoma once,” Virgil said as we walked along Arrow Street toward The Church of the Brotherhood. “Had one of them Indian schools. Everybody working their ass off to teach these kids to be what they weren’t.”
“Buffalo Calf wasn’t a quitter,” I said. “Musta taken him ten years to find Pike.”
“Yep.”
“Then he wanted to stretch it out,” I said. “So it wouldn’t be over too quick.”
“All he had,” Virgil said.
He paused and looked at a dress hanging in the window of a shop.
“You a pretty smart fella, Everett.”
“Sure,” I said.
“Went to the Academy and all.”
“Yep.”
“Think she’ll ever change?” he said.
I knew he meant Allie.
“Folks generally don’t,” I said.
“No,” Virgil said.
He kept looking at the dress.
“You?” I said.
“Change?” he said. “ ’Bout Allie?”
“Yep.”
“Maybe,” he said. “This time I think I could haze her off.”
“But,” I said.
“Got that girl to take care of.”
“There’s other women in the world,” I said.
“Not right at the moment,” Virgil said.
“You love Allie?” I said.
“I might.”
“And maybe Laurel’s a good excuse,” I said.
“Maybe,” Virgil said.
He turned from the window and looked at me. “And maybe I’m glad I got an excuse,” he said. “Either way, we gonna keep her for now.”
“Take care of Laurel,” I said.
“Yes.”
I nodded.
“Wasn’t planning on no daughter,” I said.
“Nope.”
We walked on toward the church. It was a warm day, with some wind that kicked up the dust in the street in little swirls and bothered the parasols that some of the ladies carried.
“Laurel might change her,” Virgil said.
“Maybe,” I said.
“I think she will,” Virgil said.
I didn’t say anything.
“I’ll only say this to you, Everett,” Virgil said. “ ’Cause I don’t mind so much looking like a fool to you. But I believe her this time.”
“And them other men?” I said.
“Got nothing to do with me,” Virgil said.
I nodded. We walked on. We could see The Church of the Brotherhood ahead of us. There were several deacons standing around outside wearing Colts.
“ ’ Less it keeps happening,” Virgil said. “Can’t take that no more.”
“Good,” I said.
Virgil nodded and stopped outside th
e church.
“Howdy, boys,” he said. “We come to see Brother Percival.”
59
WE SAT WITH PERCIVAL IN A PEW near the back of the church.
“I’ve not seen Allie lately,” Percival said. “Is she well?”
“She’s busy with Laurel Ostermueller,” Virgil said.
“Ah, yes, how tragic, the abduction, then her mother killing herself.”
“You fucking them,” Virgil said.
“If you came to be abusive,” Percival said, “then this conversation is over.”
“Believe you fucked Allie some, too.”
Percival rose to his feet.
“You’re appalling,” he said to Virgil.
“I am, for a fact,” Virgil said. “You got any plans to close Pike down?”
It was moving a little fast for Brother Percival. He shook his head slightly as if to clear it.
“Pike?” he said.
“Yeah. You planning on running him out like you done all the other saloon owners?” Virgil said.
“ ‘ Saloon owners,’ ” Percival said. “You say it as if it were ordinary. Every one of the sins that accumulated in those hell-holes that I closed has re-formed and erupted in Pike’s Palace. It is the ultimate cesspool of corruption, and it is poisoning the town.”
“That sound like yes to you, Everett?” Virgil said.
“Seems so to me,” I said.
“You think Pike gonna let you close him down?” Virgil said.
“An armed and muscular Christianity cannot be defeated,” Percival answered.
He always sounded to me like he was recycling his own sermons, which he probably was.
“I wouldn’t count too much on Choctaw,” Virgil said.
“I rely on my Father in heaven,” Percival said.
“Probably better than Choctaw,” Virgil said.
Percival looked down at us with contempt, dirtied as we were with mortality.
“Is there a purpose to this visit?” Percival said.
“Ain’t planning to prevent you doing what you going to do,” Virgil said. “Nor Pike from answering you back. You both got the right. But these things have a way of spillin’ over, and I don’t want that to happen.”
“What you want, Deputy,” Percival said, “what either of you wants, doesn’t matter, I am not governed by you and your laws. My allegiance is to a far greater power, and what He and I will do is not open to debate.”
“Well, Brother P.,” Virgil said. “What me and Everett want matters to us, and when it matters enough, we are pretty good at making it matter to other people. I want you to keep this thing between you and Pike between you and Pike.”
Percival stared down at Virgil without speaking.
“And,” Virgil said, “if things get outta hand, I’m gonna shoot you. Everett might shoot you, too.”
Percival continued to stare down at us. Then without a word he turned and stormed away down the center aisle of the church. Virgil and I watched him go.
“Think we scared him?” I said.
“ ’Fraid not,” Virgil said.
“Him or the Heavenly Father,” I said.
“Neither,” Virgil said.
60
IT WAS LIKE A SUMMER STORM approaching. The atmosphere tightened; I could feel the tension crackling. There was no thunder yet, or lightning, but I could feel it lurking. I knew it was coming. So did everyone else. There were more men with guns standing around. There were fewer people on the streets. The people who were on the streets walked faster. The dogs seemed to slink a little. The horses seemed edgy. Everyone seemed somehow wound a little tighter. Except Virgil. As always, he remained entirely Virgil Cole, regardless of what was going on around him.
“Gonna be one hell a deluge,” I said, as we walked in the evening back to Allie’s house.
“Deluge?” Virgil said. “Like rain?”
“Just thinking out loud,” I said.
Virgil shook his head.
“You’re kinda strange sometimes, Everett,” Virgil said.
“Yeah,” I said. “I know.”
Pony was sitting in a rocker on Allie’s front porch with a Winchester in his lap. Laurel sat on a straight chair next to him.
“Where’s Allie?” Virgil said.
“Cook supper,” Pony said.
“Uh-oh,” Virgil said.
Pony shrugged.
“We’ll be here for a while,” I said to Pony, “you want to go up to Pike’s or whatever.”
“Good,” Pony said. “Maybe eat.”
I grinned.
“Better hurry,” I said. “I think she’s coming.”
Pony stood and leaned the Winchester against the doorjamb.
“Watch the rifle for me,” he said.
Virgil nodded.
“Don’t go too far,” Virgil said.
Pony nodded and walked off toward Arrow Street. Virgil sat next to Laurel.
“You know something?” I said to Virgil.
“Just a feeling,” Virgil said. “Air’s kinda tight.”
I didn’t say anything. Allie came out in an apron. It wasn’t much of an apron, as far as keeping gravy off your dress. But it was cute-looking, and she looked cute in it.
“Supper’s ready,” she said.
She was making progress. The food wasn’t good. But nothing was burned, and we ate as much of it as we could so as not to hurt her feelings. We were back on the porch letting it digest when Pony came silently out of the darkness. Virgil had heard him, I could tell, because he had shifted forward slightly in his chair to clear his gun hand.
“Percival,” he said. “At Pike’s. All lined up. Singing church music.”
“Sounds like it’s gonna start,” I said.
Virgil nodded. He looked at Pony and jerked his head at the women. Pony nodded and picked up his Winchester and sat down beside Laurel. Virgil stood and went into the house. In a moment he came out with another Colt. One with a shorter barrel. A banker’s gun. He gave it to Allie.
“Showed you how to shoot,” Virgil said. “You need to, shoot.”
Allie didn’t say anything. But she nodded and took the gun. Virgil picked up his Winchester. I picked up the eight-gauge.
Virgil looked at the women.
“Be back soon,” he said.
They both nodded. And we started up toward Arrow Street.
61
THERE WAS LOW CLOUD COVER preventing the moon and stars from being visible. On Arrow Street there were some coal-oil lamps. But the clouds made the side streets very black. I could barely see Virgil beside me. We could hear singing ahead, and when we reached Arrow Street, we could see the singers, Percival and his people, lined up opposite Pike’s Palace, holding torches, singing “The Battle Hymn of the Republic.”
Mine eyes have seen the glory . . .
“Jesus,” Virgil said.
. . . of the coming of the Lord . . .
At the center of the line and a little forward was Brother Percival, with Choctaw Brown beside him. Brother Percival was singing at full throat. Choctaw was silent.
. . . trampling out the vintage . . .
On the front porch of Pike’s Palace stood maybe a dozen men, all armed. Pike was there, and Abner Noonan, the new shotgun lookout, was beside Pike. I recognized most of the rest from seeing them in the Palace. There were people I didn’t see. I knew Pike had at least twenty.
. . . where the grapes of wrath are stored . . .
“Where’s the rest of Pike’s people,” I said.
Virgil nodded at the photographer’s shop across the way. There was an alley on each side of the shop, leading to Market Street. In both alley mouths I could see men.
“If the ball goes up,” I said, “Pike’ll cut them to pieces.”
“Yep.”
“We gonna do anything ’bout that?” I said.
“Nope.”
“Why not.”
“What we gain ain’t commensurate with what we might lose,” Virgil said.
/>
He’d waited all this time to use his new word.
“So we lie back here in the weeds and watch,” I said.
“We do,” Virgil said.
“And if they start shooting, when it’s over, we’ll have that many fewer people to deal with.”
“Exactly right,” Virgil said.
. . . loosed the fateful lightning of His terrible swift sword . . .
Percival’s people plodded on through the “Battle Hymn,” with the torches dancing in the night air, and Pike and his men motionless and silent on the porch before them.
. . . glory, glory, hallelujah . . .
When they finished, everything was quiet. I could hear the torches burning. Then Percival stepped forward and up onto the porch. He stood directly in front of Pike.
“I am here to do my Father’s will,” he said. “I am here to close this pestilence and drive you from this town.”
“I’m not going to fuck with this, Percival,” Pike said. “You people bother me and a lot of you will get hurt.”
“You think we fear you?” Percival said.
“I think you should,” Pike said.
“Because we are godly does not mean we are weak,” Percival said.
He raised his fists in some sort of boxing stance. Pike looked at him in mock amazement.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he said.
Percival punched him on the chin. It took Pike by surprise and made him rock back on his heels for a moment. Then he exploded. He lunged his mass into Percival’s, and half turned and clubbed Percival across the side of the head. It turned Percival and sent him staggering backward and off the porch, where he landed facedown in the dirt. A low sound came from the assembled torchbearers. Percival rolled around in the dirt for a moment in some sort of frenzy, then turned and, sitting in the street, faced Pike. He was covered with dirt. He leveled his arm at Pike, pointing with his forefinger.
“Choctaw,” he screamed. “Kill him.”
Choctaw looked down at Percival for a minute with a half-smile and shook his head. Then he stepped up onto the porch and stood beside Pike and Abner. Percival was on his hands and knees in the street now, staring up at the men on the porch.
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