Appaloosa / Resolution / Brimstone / Blue-Eyed Devil

by Robert B. Parker

  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 that 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.

  “That’s getting to seem harder than it used to,” Virgil said.

  5

  THE PAY was regular at the Boston House, and the work was easy. Most people in Appaloosa had heard of Virgil Cole.

  When things were slow, Virgil and I would drink coffee with the whores in the back of the room, or lean on the bar and talk with the bartenders. When the place was busy we’d move through the room, making sure nobody was heeled and, occasionally, soothing a belligerent.

  I was up front one evening, talking with Willis, when one of the whores yelled for Virgil. I looked. A man in a fancy frock coat had hold of the whore’s arm and was trying to drag her out of her chair. Virgil walked over. I picked up my eight-gauge and strolled up to where I could watch Virgil’s back.

  The whore’s name was Emma Scarlet. She was a pleasant whore, and I liked her.

  “I’m not going with you,” she said.

  “You’re selling your ass,” he said, “and my money’s as good as anybody’s.”

  “You don’t like to fuck,” Emma said to the man in the frock coat. “You like to hurt people.”

  “You can let her arm be,” Virgil said to the man in the frock coat.

  “Who the fuck are you?” the man said.

  He was tall and slim with long, blond hair and a white shirt buttoned to the neck. I didn’t see a gun.

  “Virgil Cole,” Virgil said.

  “What makes this your business,” the man said.

  “I’m not going to fuck with this,” Virgil said. “You let her go, or I’ll kill you.”

  The man let go of the whore’s arm and took a step back, as if Virgil had pushed him.

  “Kill me?”

  “That’s better,” Virgil said.

  “Kill me?” the man said. “Over a fucking whore in a saloon?”

  “Got trouble with this whore, find another one,” Virgil said.

  “Some other place,” Emma said. “Nobody here’s gonna let him do anything.”

  Virgil nodded.

  “Any of you ladies care to do business with this gentleman?” Virgil said.

  No one said anything. Several of the who
res shook their heads.

  “Guess not,” Virgil said to the man. “Try down the street.”

  “You’re kicking me out?” the man said. “Because the whores don’t like me?”

  “I am,” Virgil said, and stepped aside to let him pass.

  “You got no idea who I am, do you?”

  “I don’t,” Virgil said, and nodded toward the door.

  “My name’s Nicholas Laird,” he said. “That mean anything to you?”

  “Means none of these ladies want your business,” Virgil said.

  He took hold of Laird’s right arm with his left hand. Laird tried to shake it off and couldn’t.

  “We’ll walk to the door,” Virgil said.

  “You’re heeled,” Laird said. “And I’m not. And you got the shotgun over there.”

  “Bad odds,” Virgil said.

  “Next time you see me,” Laird said, “odds are gonna be different.”

  Virgil’s face changed slightly. No one else probably could tell. But I knew he was smiling.

  “Maybe not,” Virgil said.

  6

  WE WERE DRINKING coffee at the bar with Willis

  McDonough.

  “Would you really have shot him?” Willis asked.

  “Certain,” Virgil said.

  “She’s a whore,” Willis said.

  “She is,” Virgil said. “But she ain’t a slave.”

  Willis nodded and looked like he didn’t get it, but he didn’t need to.

  “Well, you bit a pretty big end off the plug,” Willis said. “His old man is General Horatio Laird. Took over Bragg’s place after”—Willis looked at me—“after he, ah, died. Bought that Scots bull, too.”

  “Black angus,” I said.

  “Yeah,” Willis said. “Them, and the cows, and made a killing with ’em. People back east was eatin’ them fast as Laird could slaughter the steers.”

  “Rich man?” I said.

  “Damn straight,” Willis said.

  “What’s the ‘general’ for.”

  “Confederate army.”

  “Still hanging on to it,” I said.

  “Proud of it,” Willis said. “Proud of a lot of things. But the kid ain’t one of them.”

  “Nicholas,” Virgil said.

  “The general must have done some bad stuff in his life, ’cause Nicholas is a big punishment,” Willis said.

  Virgil didn’t seem to be listening. He scanned the room aimlessly. But I knew he heard everything. Just like he saw everything.

  “Wild?” I said.

  “Thinks he’s a gun hand,” Willis said. “Tell me he practices an hour every day with a Colt.”

  “Ever shoot at live targets?” Virgil said.

  “Heard he might,” Willis said. “ ’Specially he got some folks behind him.”

  “Folks,” Virgil said.

  “General’s getting on,” Willis said. “He’s tryin’ to let the kid run things, so he’ll be ready when the general steps off the train. Kid has hired himself some second-rate riffraff up there worse than Bragg had.”

  “Be some bad riffraff,” Virgil said. “They shooters?”

  “Most of ’em couldn’t hit a bull in the ass with a shovel,” Willis said.

  “Useless, too,” Virgil said.

  7

  IT WAS A DARK gray day, when Amos Callico came into the saloon, with four of his policemen. The four policemen all carried Winchesters.

  “Like to sit with you boys for a minute,” Callico said.

  We sat at a table up front near the bar. The four policemen ranged along the walls near us. The tables around us were empty. One of the bartenders brought a bottle and three glasses.

  “Understand you hired on here,” Callico said.

  He poured himself some whiskey and offered the bottle toward us. Virgil and I declined.

  “That right?” Callico said.

  “It is,” Virgil said.

  “Bouncers,” Callico said.

  “Correct,” Virgil said.

  “Got you a big list of rules,” Callico said, and nodded without looking at the rules posted on the wall.

  “We do,” Virgil said.

  “Pretty much same rules you had for the town when you was marshal,” Callico said.

  “Pretty much,” Virgil said.

  “Just want to be sure you remember that you ain’t marshal now,” Callico said.

  “I remember,” Virgil said.

  Callico looked at me for the first time.

  “You?” he said.

  “I remember, too,” I said.

  He looked at the eight-gauge leaning against the edge of the table.

  “You haul that fucking blunderbuss around with you everywhere?” he said.

  “I do,” I said.

  “For God’s sake, why?” Callico said.

  “Same reason you have your boys carry Winchesters in a saloon,” I said. “Folks get the idea you’re serious.”

  Callico looked at me without expression for a moment. Then he turned back to Virgil.

  “Why do you suppose Speck hired you?” Callico said.

  “Keep order,” Virgil said.

  “I’m the one keeps order in Appaloosa,” Callico said.

  “Well, that’s by-God comforting,” Virgil said. “We run into trouble we’ll be sure to holler for you.”

  “You should have hollered for me already,” Callico said. Virgil looked at me.

  “You know any reason we should have hollered for the police?” Virgil said.

  “Nope.”

  “You threw Nicky Laird out of here, couple days ago, for a damn whore.”

  “Several damn whores,” Virgil said.

  “He’s a highly regarded citizen of this town, and his father is a close personal friend of mine.”

  “Nice,” Virgil said.

  “You embarrassed him in public,” Callico said.

  “Man embarrassed himself,” Virgil said.

  “Boys,” Callico said, and poured himself more whiskey. “This is exactly why I don’t want no vigilante law enforcing going on. There’s a distinguished citizen being insulted by some whores and you side with the whores.”

  He stopped, drank some of his whiskey, and shook his head slowly.

  “You boys know the county sheriff’s chief deputy,” Callico said.

  “Stringer,” Virgil said.

  Callico nodded.

  “He was in town picking up a prisoner. Got a lot of regard for you boys.”

  “Stringer’s a good man,” Virgil said.

  “And I got a high regard for you both. I know your reputation,” Callico said. “But you can’t run a town with two different sets of law.”

  “Welcome to borrow ours,” Virgil said.

  Callico slammed his hand loudly on the table. Virgil didn’t appear to notice.

  “Goddamn it,” he said. “I don’t want either one of you working here. That put it plain enough?”

  “I’d say it was,” he answered. “You say so, Everett?”

  “I do,” I said.

  “Then you’ll quit,” Callico said.

  “No,” Virgil said.

  “No?” Callico said. “I won’t take no.”

  “Everett,” Virgil said, “I think Chief Callico is trying to intimate us. . . .”

  Virgil paused and frowned and shook his head.

  “No,” he said. “That ain’t right. What am I trying to say, Everett?”

  “Intimidate?” I said.

  “That’s it,” Virgil said. “I think the chief is trying to intimidate us.”

  As quietly as I could, I cocked both hammers on the eight-gauge.

  “Goddamn it, I’m telling you plain what I want,” Callico said.

  “Amos,” Virgil said. “Me ’n Everett don’t much care what you want.”

  “You defying me?” Callico said.

  “By God,” Virgil said. “I believe we are.”

  “There’s five armed men here,” Callico said.

&nb
sp; Virgil said nothing.

  “You’re willing to die rather than let me run you off ?” Callico said.

  Virgil shook his head.

  “Don’t expect to die,” he said.

  “Against five men?” Callico said.

  “Expect me and Everett can kill you all,” Virgil said.

  Everyone was still, except Callico. I could hear him breathing in and out, his chest heaving slowly. Then he, too, quieted. Very slowly he put both hands flat on the tabletop.

  “Don’t get ahead shooting people up in a saloon,” he said, and looked at us.

  Then he stood and jerked his head at the officers along the wall.

  “We’ll talk again,” he said to Virgil.

  And they filed out.

  “Be my guess it ain’t over,” I said.

  “When he finds an excuse,” Virgil said.

  8

  IF WE STAYED around the house in the morning until Allie got up, she set right in cooking us breakfast. So we tried to get out, before she woke up, and went to eat at Café Paris. Since I wasn’t a lawman these days, and I didn’t expect to shoot anybody, I left the eight-gauge in the house.

  “We got to eat supper with her sometimes, so’s not to hurt her feelin’s,” Virgil said. “But I can’t face her cooking in the morning.”

  “How’s the rest of it going,” I said.

  “She don’t seem so crazy,” Virgil said.

  “Maybe ’cause she got Laurel to take care of,” I said.

  “Maybe,” Virgil said.

  “Makes her feel important,” I said.

  “She’s important to me,” Virgil said.

  “I know,” I said.

  “Sex life be better, though,” Virgil said, “Allie wasn’t sleepin’ with Laurel.”

  “Maybe I could arrange for Laurel and me to take long walks in the evening,” I said.

  “Might help,” Virgil said.

  “And,” I said, “soon as we settle in, I’ll get a place of my own.”

  “I know,” Virgil said. “But I ain’t sure Laurel can sleep by herself.”

  “No,” I said. “Probably can’t.”

  Virgil paid for breakfast.

  “So we’re back to the long walks,” I said.

  We stood.

  “Thing is,” Virgil said as we left Café Paris, “Allie says she feels funny doing it now that there’s a child in the house.”

  “Even if the child is out for walk?” I said. “With me?”

  Virgil shrugged. We strolled along Main Street to the Boston House and sat on the front porch and looked at the town.