Appaloosa / Resolution / Brimstone / Blue-Eyed Devil

by Robert B. Parker

  “Wolfson,” I said. “Fella named Eamon O’Malley, runs a copper mine. Probably fella runs the lumber business, Fritz Stark.”

  “Any of them interested?”

  “In a cattle operation?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Don’t know,” I said. “Ranchers say that Wolfson’s trying to run them off their land.”

  “Tell me ’bout that,” Virgil said.

  I did.

  When I was done Virgil said, “Sounds effectual.”

  I nodded. We let the horses stop for a time and eat some grass.

  “This O’Malley fella,” Virgil said. “Think he’ll let that happen?”

  I shrugged.

  “He hired Cato and Rose for something,” I said.

  “He did,” Virgil said.

  We pulled the horses back up from the grass and moved on.

  “We gonna look for Allie?” I said after a while.

  “I guess,” Virgil said.

  “When?”

  “When you get through here,” Virgil said.

  “I can get through when I want to.”

  Virgil shook his head.

  “Gonna be trouble,” he said. “You know it. I know it.”

  “Might be,” I said.

  “You ain’t going anyplace until that’s settled.”

  “Why not?” I said.

  “’Cause you ain’t,” Virgil said. “Neither would I. It ain’t how we are.”

  “You gonna hang around and wait?” I said.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “’Cause you get lonesome without me?” I said.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “And I listen when you talk,” I said.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “And you don’t want me to have to go up against Cato and Rose alone.”

  Virgil grinned at me.

  “Uh-huh,” he said.

  The sun was warm. There was a little breeze. We let the horses drink at a stream that wound down out of the high ground to the north. Then we moved on.

  “We go looking for Allie,” I said, “where we gonna look?”

  “Texas,” Virgil said. “She was always talking ’bout Texas.”

  “Texas is big,” I said.

  “It is,” Virgil said.

  “What happens when we find her?”

  “We’ll see,” Virgil said.

  “You ain’t gonna kill her?”

  “No,” Virgil said. “Can’t kill her. Why I killed him.”

  I nodded.

  “You take up with her again, Virgil,” I said, “she’ll probably do this again.”

  “Maybe,” Virgil said. “Won’t know what’s gonna happen next, ’less we find her.”

  “That would be true,” I said.

  19.

  I’m having a drink with Eamon O’Malley this afternoon, ” Wolfson said to me. “Two o’clock. I’d just as soon you were there.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  “Bring the eight-gauge,” Wolfson said.

  “Sure,” I said.

  The eight-gauge and I were in the lookout chair by quarter to two. The saloon was nearly empty. Couple of teamsters who had already unloaded and had time to kill until they were reloaded. A rancher whose wife was probably running up a bill at the Blackfoot Emporium. Three lumberjacks who weren’t working for whatever reason they had. Wolfson came in through the hotel entrance and went to a table in the front of the saloon two tables from me. He saw me and nodded slightly. There was no one else near us. Patrick brought him a bottle and two glasses.

  At two on the hour, Eamon O’Malley came in through the street entrance and walked straight to Wolfson. He didn’t have an eight-gauge. But he did have Cato and Rose walking in behind him. Eamon sat down with Wolfson. Cato and Rose leaned on the bar. Rose winked at me. Cato looked at me without expression.

  “Amos,” Eamon said.

  Wolfson nodded.

  “Eamon,” he said, and gestured toward a chair.

  O’Malley sat across from Wolfson.

  “Whiskey?” Wolfson said.

  “Don’t mind if I do,” Eamon said.

  He picked up the bottle.

  “By God,” he said, “Bushmills.”

  “In your honor,” Wolfson said.

  Eamon poured a full glass.

  “Ain’t seen whiskey like this since I was in Cheyenne,” he said.

  “Been saving it,” Wolfson said.

  He poured a splash for himself.

  It was like watching two stallions pretending they didn’t want the mares.

  Eamon drank some whiskey and smiled.

  “Long time,” he said, “long time since Ireland.”

  He looked around the saloon.

  “Nice little business you got here, Amos,” he said.

  “It’s a living,” Wolfson said.

  “Damn good one, if I’m any judge,” Eamon said.

  “Ain’t no copper mine,” Wolfson said.

  Eamon drank some more whiskey.

  “Ahh,” he said. “Mining’s all overhead until it peters out. This place . . . people keep coming. Town grows, you grow. You got the saloon, the store, the hotel, the bank. Wasn’t for me and Fritzie, you’d own the whole place.”

  “I’d own a lotta headaches,” Wolfson said.

  Eamon finished his whiskey and poured some more. Wolfson took another very small sip of his.

  “Well, you know, that’s funny,” Eamon said, “funny you should say that. ’Cause I’m here to talk with you about selling to me. You make a nice profit, you don’t have any more headaches. You’re free to go where you want, do what you want.”

  Wolfson stared at him.

  “You want to buy me out?” he said.

  “Yes,” Eamon said. “Fair offer.”

  “Everything?” Wolfson said.

  “Saloon, store, hotel, bank, cattle brokerage, everything.” Wolfson stared at him some more.

  After a while Eamon said, “Fair offer, Amos.”

  Still, Wolfson looked at him.

  Finally, Wolfson said, “And if I decline the offer?”

  Eamon drank some whiskey and glanced over at Cato and Rose.

  “Then we’d probably have to insist,” Eamon said.

  As quiet as I could, I pulled back both hammers on the eight-gauge. Cato and Rose both heard it. Rose smiled faintly.

  “We?” Wolfson said.

  Eamon rolled his head to include Cato and Rose.

  “Me and some of my friends,” he said.

  I don’t know how. He didn’t make any noise. But all of us became aware suddenly that Virgil Cole was standing in the doorway from the hotel. He was motionless, leaning his left shoulder against the doorjamb. Cato Tillson shifted slightly at the bar so as to face Virgil. Rose stayed where he was, looking at me.

  “Well, bucko,” Eamon said, “who’s this?”

  It was Cato who answered.

  “That’s Virgil Cole,” Cato said.

  The atmosphere in the room had changed. The way it does sometimes before a storm. The uninvolved bystanders in the saloon looked up nervously. Virgil neither moved nor spoke.

  Eamon was a little drunk now, which always seemed to me a bad way to do business.

  “Well, Virgil Cole be damned,” he said. “You want to hear my offer, Amos?”

  Wolfson picked up the glass of whiskey and drained it and put the glass down carefully in front of him. He looked at Eamon for a moment without speaking.

  Then he said, speaking carefully, “Fuck you, O’Malley.”

  Eamon’s hands were resting on the tabletop. He looked down at them as if they were something new and interesting.

  Without looking up, he said, “You don’t even want to hear my offer?”

  “Fuck you,” Wolfson said.

  “Onetime offer, Amos,” Eamon said.

  Wolfson didn’t say anything. O’Malley turned and looked over his shoulder at Cato and Rose. He shook his head slightly. Rose looked at me and grinned, and barely shrugged his s
houlders. Then O’Malley stood.

  “More than one way to skin a cat, Amos,” he said.

  “Fuck you,” Wolfson said.

  Eamon nodded thoughtfully for a moment, then he turned and walked out the front door of the saloon, with Cato and Rose behind him.

  20.

  I let the hammers down carefully on the eight-gauge. Wolfson picked up the whiskey bottle and came to the bar. Virgil joined us. Patrick put up three fresh glasses and we drank some of the remaining Bushmills.

  “This mean you’re willing to work for me?” Wolfson said to Virgil.

  Virgil shook his head.

  “Nope, just means I’m with Everett.”

  “Everett works for me,” Wolfson said.

  “Don’t need the money for now,” Virgil said. “But I’ll stay around, see what develops.”

  “What do you think?” Wolfson said.

  “Hired Cato and Rose for a reason,” Virgil said.

  “Everett?”

  “Agree,” I said.

  “You’ll stick?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  Wolfson looked at Virgil.

  “You?” he said.

  “I’m with Everett,” Virgil said.

  “How good are Cato and Rose?” Wolfson said.

  “Very,” I said.

  “Good as you and Cole?” Wolfson said.

  “Yet to be determined,” Virgil said.

  “You think he’ll hire some more?” Wolfson said.

  “Might,” I said.

  Wolfson looked at Virgil.

  “Might,” Virgil said.

  “You think I should hire some others?” Wolfson said.

  “Going to war, good to have troops,” Virgil said.

  “Can either of you help me with that?” Wolfson said.

  “Probably,” I said. “But you got to understand, you hire a bunch of gunmen, you are not hiring from the top of the pile.”

  “They be trouble?” Wolfson said.

  “Sure,” Virgil said.

  “Will I be able to count on them?” Wolfson said.

  “No,” Virgil said.

  “Most shooters ain’t too disciplined,” I said. “Where’s Stark stand in all this?”

  “I think Fritzie just wants to cut lumber and sell it,” Wolfson said.

  “And the ranchers?” I said.

  “They don’t count for much,” Wolfson said.

  “They might if they got together and took a side,” I said.

  “Hell,” Wolfson said, “so would the chickens if they ganged up on the rooster.”

  “Well,” I said. “First thing, I guess, would be to see if Eamon’s hiring.”

  “And if he is?” Wolfson said.

  “Maybe you start hiring, too. Virgil and I can sort of sift through them.”

  “And if you don’t like them?”

  “We’ll fire them,” I said.

  “Where do I start?” Wolfson said.

  I looked at Virgil.

  “I was you,” Virgil said, “I’d see a fella named Willy Beck in Araby.”

  “I say you sent me?” Wolfson said.

  Virgil smiled a little.

  “Sure,” he said.

  Wolfson stepped away from the bar.

  “You sure this ain’t just some kind of a business offer and that’ll be the end of it?”

  “‘More than one way to skin a cat, Amos,’” I said.

  He nodded.

  “Bottle’s yours,” he said, and walked away.

  We each added a little to our glasses.

  “Elegant whiskey,” Virgil said.

  “Why not take his money?” I said. “You’ll maybe end up fighting his battle?”

  “Don’t want it,” Virgil said.

  “Why not?” I said.

  “More comfortable if I’m helping my friend,” Virgil said.

  I sipped my whiskey.

  “’Cause you ain’t a lawman anymore,” I said.

  “Ain’t clear to me right now what I am,” Virgil said.

  “You’re good with firearms,” I said.

  Virgil nodded and drank some whiskey.

  “And you’re my friend,” I said.

  Virgil nodded again.

  “We’ll see about the rest,” he said.

  21.

  It had been hot all week, so that when the rain came on Thursday night everyone was pleased. Zorn Tully came in, shook the rain off of his round hat, and offered to buy drinks for everyone. No one declined.

  “What’s the celebration?” Patrick said when he finished putting the drinks out and Zorn had paid him.

  “Leaving town,” Zorn said. “Just wanted to say good-bye to everyone before I went.”

  “Where you going?” Patrick said.

  “Maybe Laramie,” Zorn said. “Maybe Denver. Ain’t sure yet. Never been to Denver.”

  “How come you’re going?” Patrick said.

  “Sold my saloon,” Zorn said.

  “You sold the Excelsior?”

  “Yep, Eamon O’Malley bought it.”

  "O’Malley?” Patrick said.

  “Yep.”

  “He give you a good price?” Patrick said.

  “Fair,” Zorn said. “It was a fair price.”

  The Excelsior Saloon was directly across the street from the Blackfoot.

  “How come you decided to sell,” I said.

  “Been here long enough,” Zorn said. “Fella came along, offered me a good fair price, I took it.”

  “Much negotiating?” I said.

  “No, like I say. Eamon came in, offered a good fair price.”

  “Anyone come with him?” I said.

  Zorn didn’t look at them.

  “Sure,” he said. “Couple fellas work for him.”

  I nodded.

  “Cato and Rose?” I said.

  Zorn sort of shrugged.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I believe so.”

  “Good negotiators,” I said.

  “Good fair price,” Zorn said.

  He was not just avoiding my eyes now. He was looking at something across the room. I looked, too. Just inside the saloon door, Cato and Rose stood looking at us.

  Zorn began to move away from the bar.

  “Everett,” Zorn said, “been good knowing you. I tole Patrick to give you one on me when you get off.”

  I nodded, and Zorn Tully walked rapidly away from the bar and out the side door of the saloon where it connects with the hotel. I watched him go. Then I looked over at Cato and Rose. Rose grinned at me and shrugged and walked over. Cato stayed by the door.

  “Heard Tully was buying drinks,” Rose said. “Guess we got here too late.”

  “Said he was leaving town,” I said.

  “I believe he is,” Rose said. “He tell you he sold his saloon?”

  “He mentioned it,” I said.

  “He tell you he sold it to Eamon O’Malley?”

  “He mentioned that, too,” I said.

  “Right across the street,” Rose said. “Kinda funny, ain’t it?”

  “What’s funny?” I said.

  “This little dump of a nowhere town,” Rose said. “On this side of the street, the saloon bouncers are you and Virgil Cole. On the other side of the street, the saloon bouncers gonna be me and Cato.”

  “You’re right,” I said. “Lotta talent, for a little town.”

  “More coming,” Rose said.

  22.

  Fair offer, my ass,” Wolfson said. "That cheap Irish fuck has never made anyone a fair offer in his life. You saw the way he tried to buy this place.”

  It was late. The saloon was closed. Virgil and I sat with Wolfson at a table and had a drink.

  “You think he paid him anything?” I said.

  “Cash,” Virgil said. “Show money. Not much, but all cash, so it felt like something.”

  Wolfson nodded slowly.

  “Like a reservation buck,” he said. “On a binge.”

  He poured himself another drink, offe
red the bottle toward Virgil and me. We both shook our heads.

  “It’s starting,” Wolfson said.

  “You and O’Malley?” I said.

  “Yes.”

  “Might be,” I said.

  “You’ll stay,” he said.

  “Yes,” I said.

  Virgil said, “I’m with Hitch.”

  “Think it’s time I should see that fella in Araby?”

  “Willy Beck?” Virgil said.

  “Why not?” I said.

  “You agree with me?” Wolfson said. “This is not going to stop?”

  “Not right away,” Virgil said.

  “Frank Rose hinted to me that they were hiring.”

  “God,” Wolfson said. “It’s like a damned war starting.”

  Virgil and I were quiet.

  “Why is he so crazy to take over?” Wolfson said. “A fucking war, for crissake!”

  “Remember what he said, when he made the offer? A mine is all overhead until it peters out.”

  “He wants overhead,” Wolfson said. “I’ll show him fucking overhead. He’s making big, big money up there.”

  “Until it peters out,” I said.

  Wolfson stared at me.

  “You think it’s petering out?”

  “He seems eager to get into a new business,” I said.

  “Goddamn,” Wolfson said. “Goddamn.”

  He poured more whiskey. Virgil and I declined again.

  “He’s petering out, and we can hold him off long enough he’ll run out of money,” Wolfson said. “Will Cato and Rose stick with him if there’s no money?”

  “No,” Virgil said.

  “Nobody else he hires, either,” I said.

  “So we hold him off he’ll have to quit.”

  “He knows that, too,” Virgil said.

  “Meaning?” Wolfson said.

  "Meaning he’ll push pretty hard to get it done ’fore that happens,” I said.

  23.

  Me and Virgil were sitting on the front porch of the Blackfoot Hotel. Across the street at Zorn Tully’s old saloon, there was a new sign in place that read O’Malley’s New Excelsior. There was a lot of traffic on the street. Horsemen coming in, mostly. Some of them Eamon’s. Some of them ours.

  “You ever heard about the Battle of Waterloo?” I said to Virgil.

  “In Europe?” Virgil said.

  “Uh-huh. The Duke of Wellington defeated Napoléon there.”

  “Napoléon was the Empire of France, wasn’t he?”

  “Something like that,” I said.