Appaloosa / Resolution / Brimstone / Blue-Eyed Devil

by Robert B. Parker

“Think it was,” Virgil said. “But what was in the pot with it?”

  “Don’t know,” I said. “Coffee ain’t much, either.”

  “Gotta put a lot of sugar in it,” Virgil said.

  “Whiskey might help.”

  “Suspicion it would,” Virgil said. “You got the jug over by you?”

  “I do.”

  Virgil held his cup out toward me.

  “Whyn’t your pour a little into this coffee for me,” Virgil said.

  I poured some for both of us. The rain smelled very clean, and things seemed fresh.

  “Kid in the saloon today,” I said. “Was really interested in whether he could kill you.”

  Virgil nodded.

  “Then when he couldn’t, he was just as interested in why he couldn’t,” I said.

  “Wants to be a pistolero,” Virgil said.

  “He needs to get better,” I said.

  “Does,” Virgil said, and sipped from his cup.

  Allie and Laurel came out of the house with coffee and sat down with us.

  “You drinking whiskey in that coffee?” Allie said.

  “We are,” Virgil said. “Hard to drink it without some.”

  “Oh, Virgil,” she said. “You know you don’t mean it.” Virgil looked at me.

  “ ’Course he don’t,” I said.

  “Everett,” Allie said. “You might pour a splash for me and Laurel.”

  I poured some into Allie’s coffee.

  “Go easy on the child,” Allie said.

  “Sure,” I said.

  “I met Mrs. Callico this afternoon, at a church meeting. A fine lady. Educated back east. Very good manners.”

  “Like you,” Virgil said.

  “Oh, Virgil, you know I don’t have an eastern education,” Allie said.

  “You’re a fine lady, anyway,” Virgil said.

  “Oh, Virgil,” she said. “That’s so sweet.”

  Virgil smiled. The rain was making the soft noise rain can make, when it’s right.

  “What are you going to do about Pony?” Allie said.

  “Nothing,” Virgil said.

  “I think you should tell him to move on,” Allie said.

  “Thought he had four friends here,” Virgil said.

  “Of course he does, Virgil. But he’s trouble,” Allie said. “For all of us. I think you should tell him.”

  “Ain’t gonna do that, Allie,” Virgil said.

  “It’s not him so much,” Allie said. “It’s that brother. I don’t like him. I don’t like the way he looks at me. And you know Laurel and Indians. Poor child won’t even look at him.”

  “Ain’t afraid of Pony,” Virgil said.

  “He ain’t all Indian,” Allie said.

  Virgil stood and walked to Laurel’s chair.

  “You afraid of Kha-to-nay?” Virgil said, and bent down to her.

  She whispered in his ear. He nodded and whispered back to her. She whispered again. Virgil smiled.

  “Says she is scared of Kha-to-nay,” he said. “But she knows Pony won’t let him hurt her.”

  “Mrs. Callico invited me to have tea with her sometime,” Allie said.

  “That’s nice,” Virgil said.

  “We live here,” Allie said. “We own a house. It is my chance to have a regular life, Virgil.”

  “Sure,” Virgil said. “I want that for you, Allie.”

  “Then get rid of Pony,” she said. “And his brother.” Virgil shook his head. Laurel made a sound. All of us looked at her. It might have been the first sound she’d made since we got her. She made the sound again and shook her head violently.

  Allie began to cry.

  “Nobody understands,” she said. “Nobody understands me.”

  “We do,” Virgil said. “All of us know you want to be a fine churchgoing lady. And all of us know that being friendly with a breed carries a knife in his moccasin don’t help that.”

  Allie looked up with tears on her face.

  “Then send him away,” Allie said.

  Laurel made her noise again.

  “Can’t,” Virgil said.

  Allie stood with her hands covering her face and her shoulders shaking, and rushed into the house.

  Virgil looked at me silently for a minute.

  Then he said, “Know them long walks we was talking about you and Laurel taking?”

  “I do,” I said.

  “Don’t think there’ll be so much need for ’em right now,” Virgil said.

  14

  IT WAS MORNING. There was a CLOSED sign on the door to the Boston House saloon. Virgil and I sat at a big round table in the back of the saloon. With us sat Lamar Speck, Buford Posner, and five other men. The room was otherwise empty. Except for Willis McDonough, who was setting up the bar. Outside, the rain that had made things fresh yesterday was making things soggy today.

  “This is a private meeting,” Speck said. “What we talk about here doesn’t leave the room. Anybody don’t understand that?”

  Nobody said they didn’t.

  “This here’s Virgil Cole and Everett Hitch,” Speck said.

  “You all know who they are and what they do. They done it for me, and you know what happened at Buford’s place this week.

  “Boys,” Speck continued, “everybody at the table owns a saloon, or similar public place. Buford, you know, owns the Golden Palace.”

  He introduced us around the table, and identified each man with his business.

  “All us got the same problem,” Speck said. “And we thought you boys might be able to help us.”

  Speck shifted in his chair and studied the backs of his hands for a moment. Virgil and I waited.

  “It’s Callico,” Speck said.

  He looked around the table. No one fainted. Speck glanced at the front door of the saloon. No one came in.

  “He charges something he calls a ‘safeguard fee.’ We pay him regular, and when there’s trouble the police will come at once and put things right.”

  “And if you don’t pay him regular?” Virgil said.

  “They don’t come,” Speck said.

  Virgil looked at me and smiled faintly.

  “Fee a big one?” I said.

  “Substantial,” Speck said.

  “Thinking you could get the same service for less?” I said.

  “Yes,” Speck said. “We been talking ’bout that, seein’ as you boys done it twice already.”

  “’Cause you wouldn’t pay Callico’s safeguard money,” Virgil said.

  “Yes, Buford and I agreed it was extortion, and refused to pay.”

  “Which is why you had to hire us when Nicky Laird run off your shotgun lookout.”

  “Yes. And it’s why I brought Buford to you. And it’s why all of us are here now. We all chip in. We post them rules of yours in our establishments. You’ll be here, and if there’s any trouble anyplace, they’ll send for you, and you come running. We get safety. You get money.”

  “There enough trouble?” Virgil said. “We come cheaper than Callico. But we ain’t cheap.”

  “We’ll guarantee you a year,” Speck said. “There’s enough trouble. More since you left. More since the police stopped showing up. And more as the town gets bigger. And more since General Laird took over Bragg’s place.”

  “He the Lazy L?” I said.

  “He is,” Speck said. “But Nicky mostly runs it.”

  “Couple things to think about,” Virgil said.

  “I know we can meet your price,” Speck said.

  Everybody at the table agreed.

  “Good,” Virgil said. “’Nother thing is, Everett and me do this, sooner or later we gonna have to kill somebody.”

  Nobody said anything.

  “Anybody care ’bout that?” Virgil said.

  Speck looked at the other men around the table, then at Virgil. No one appeared to care.

  “You boys should do what you need to do,” he said. Virgil nodded slowly and looked at me.

  “Everet
t?” he said.

  “Not like we got something else to do,” I said.

  Virgil kept nodding. He looked back at Speck.

  “Okay,” he said.

  Later we sat on the front porch of the Boston House admiring the rainwashed air.

  “Smells nice after it rains,” Virgil said.

  “Um-hm.”

  Virgil tilted his chair onto its back two legs and allowed it to balance there, its back resting against the hotel wall.

  “You thinking?” he said.

  “Yep.”

  “’Bout Callico?” Virgil said.

  “Yep.”

  Virgil nodded. He allowed the chair to rock slightly on its rear legs, the back tapping lightly against the wall.

  “Me, too,” he said.

  “Ain’t gonna like us taking away his safeguard business,” I said.

  “True,” Virgil said.

  “We kill somebody, be his chance to come after us.”

  “Might,” Virgil said.

  “Other hand,” I said. “If Stringer’s right, Callico’s after bigger things when statehood comes.”

  “So, he might not want to open up the fee question,” Virgil said.

  “Might not,” I said.

  “Guess we just proceed,” Virgil said. “See what comes along.”

  15

  VIRGIL AND I took to sitting out on the porch in front of the Boston House, the way we used to sit on the porch outside the jail, when we were the law in Appaloosa. Mostly we sat and watched the life on Main Street. It was handy to everybody we were supposed to be protecting. It was pleasant, especially since Appaloosa hadn’t been all that rambunctious since we signed on. And now and then, Tilda would come out of the saloon to pour us some coffee.

  “Appears to be a parade,” Virgil said.

  I looked down Main Street and saw Amos Callico coming up the street with six policemen carrying Winchesters. The policemen stopped in the street and formed a semicircle facing Virgil and me.

  “No drum,” I said to Virgil.

  “Too bad,” Virgil said.

  Callico came up the steps and sat next to Virgil on the porch.

  “You boys are costing me money,” he said softly.

  “I believe we are,” Virgil said.

  “I want it back,” Callico said.

  “I would, too,” Virgil said. “I was you.”

  “I want you boys gone by Sunday,” Callico said.

  Virgil shook his head.

  “You’re telling me no?” Callico said.

  “I am,” Virgil said.

  “You’re here after Sunday, we’ll kill you first time we see you.”

  “That sound legal to you, Everett?” Virgil said.

  “Don’t,” I said.

  “I’m the law in this town,” Callico said. “If I do it, it’s legal.”

  “Might cause you a little trouble down the line,” Virgil said. “Sheriff’s bound to look into it. Most likely it’ll be Stringer, and he don’t like you much, anyway.”

  “Fuck Stringer,” Callico said.

  “Everett,” Virgil said. “You think shooting a couple of famous lawmen would look good, if you was gonna run for sheriff, or gov’nor, or God, or something?”

  “Might not,” I said.

  Callico looked silently at both of us.

  Then he said, “You may have a point there, Virgil. Maybe there’s some way we can work this out more amicably.”

  Virgil looked at me.

  “ ‘Amicably’?” he said.

  “Friendly,” I said.

  “Not sure how amicable you and me can be, Amos,” Virgil said.

  Callico looked at the six policemen in the street. They were far enough away so that they couldn’t hear what was being quietly spoken. He took a deep breath.

  “There’s a nice life to be lived here. Pleasant, respectable, and money to be made. There’s enough for both of us. But not if we’re on opposite sides. I’ve just started to develop this arrangement, and there’s a lot more of it to come. If you just get out of the way. I’ll give you a piece of it.”

  “How big a piece?” Virgil said.

  “We can negotiate that,” Callico said. “Be a percentage, I would think. So, as I grow you get more.”

  “You’re planning on growing,” Virgil said.

  “I plan on owning this town,” Callico said. “Every goddamned citizen will be giving me money regular.”

  “Got it all planned out?” Virgil said.

  “I’m feelin’ my way along. But it can be done.”

  “’Less we get in your way.”

  “You’re right,” Callico said. “Be harder for me if I have to kill you. But if it gets even harder when I don’t kill you . . .”

  Callico spread his hands, and raised his eyebrows, and shrugged.

  “Don’t need an answer right now, Virgil,” Callico said. “Both you boys think on it.”

  “Be glad to,” Virgil said.

  “Be needing an answer by Sunday,” Callico said.

  “Surely,” Virgil said.

  We all sat for a moment. Then Callico stood, nodded to us, and headed back down Main Street. His men followed. Virgil and I sat quiet for a time, and then Virgil spoke.

  “You know,” Virgil said. “Last time we was here we was lawmen. Now we appear to be outlaws.”

  “I guess,” I said.

  “Don’t seem much different,” Virgil said.

  “Maybe it ain’t,” I said.

  “Oughta be,” Virgil said.

  I shrugged.

  “We gonna take his offer?” I said.

  “No.”

  “We leaving town?”

  “No.”

  “We gonna face it out with him?”

  “Be my plan,” Virgil said.

  I nodded.

  “Why don’t we take his offer?”

  “Don’t like the man,” Virgil said.

  “Least you got a nice, strong reason,” I said.

  “Don’t like him,” Virgil said.

  16

  PONY HAD BREAKFAST with us at Café Paris on Friday. The Chinaman who ran the café had some chickens, and they had been laying recently. So, with our beans and salt pork and biscuits, we each had an egg.

  “Sick of cooking for me and Kha-to-nay,” Pony said.

  “How is life out on the prairie,” I said.

  Pony shrugged.

  “Quiet,” he said. “But Kha-to-nay wants to go back to war with white-eyes.”

  “Ain’t gonna win that,” I said.

  “I know,” Pony said. “Try to keep him alive long as I can. Balloon go up here on Sunday?”

  Virgil shook his head.

  “No?” I said.

  Virgil shook his head again.

  “He backed off the shooting,” Virgil said. “Soon’s we brought it up.”

  “Scared?” Pony said.

  Virgil shook his head.

  “Ambitious,” he said.

  “Afraid it would spoil his plan to be governor?” I said.

  “Yep.”

  “He did shift the tone of the conversation,” I said.

  “He tell you go,” Pony said. “He tell you, you not go he kill you.”

  “True,” Virgil said. “But he won’t.”

  “Think I come in town, anyway,” Pony said. “Stay with you Sunday.”

  “ ’Preciate it,” Virgil said. “But I ain’t wrong ’bout this.”

  “Wants to be known as the man who cleaned up Appaloosa,” I said.

  “Yep,” Virgil said. “And he won’t get that reputation by shooting us.”

  “Who actually did clean up Appaloosa,” I said.

  “Maybe for a while,” Virgil said. “But Callico’s a politician. Don’t care nothing about actually.”

  “He lie?” Pony said.

  “How he knows he’s a politician,” Virgil said.

  17

  PONY WALKED with us up from Café Paris and sat with us in our spot in front of the
Boston House. Tilda brought us out some coffee.

  “This what you do every day?” Pony said.

  “When we ain’t keeping order in our saloons,” I said.

  “How much you do that?” Pony said.

  “Not so much,” Virgil said.

  “Mostly we do it from here. Anybody needs us, they send somebody.”

  “Don’t seem too dangerous here,” Pony said.

  “Don’t,” Virgil said.

  “Seem boring,” Pony said.

  “Is,” Virgil said. “Mostly.”

  “Good for ladies,” Pony said.

  “Yep.”

  “How is Chiquita?” Pony said.

  “Doin’ fine,” Virgil said. He was watching four horse-men come up the street. All four wore dusters and black Stetsons.

  “Hello,” I said.

  Virgil nodded. Pony said nothing.

  As the riders came abreast of us, they wheeled the horses and stopped in front of us.

  “Looking for the police office in town,” one of the riders said. He had very pale blue eyes and a thick mustache peppered with gray.

  I told him where it was.

  “Chief’s name is Callico,” I said.

  The man was eyeing Virgil.

  “Ain’t you Virgil Cole?” the man said.

  “I am,” Virgil said.

  “Seen you in Abilene,” he said. “You were good.”

  Virgil grinned.

  “Still am,” he said.

  “You the law here?” the man said.

  “Nope,” Virgil said. “Just a citizen.”

  “Dell Garrison,” the man said. “I’m with the Pinkerton Detective Agency. We’re chasing an Indian. Run off from the Apache reservation. Held up a train. Killed a couple railroad employees.”

  “What makes you think he’s here?” Virgil said.

  “Folks in Van Buren spotted them, couple weeks back, heading south. This is the next town.”

  Virgil nodded.

  Garrison looked at Pony.

  “He’s traveling with a breed,” Garrison said.

  “Know the breed’s name?” Virgil said.

  “Nope.”

  “How ’bout the Indian?” Virgil said.

  “Got it wrote down somewhere in my saddlebags,” Garrison said. “Indian name.”

  Garrison looked at Pony some more.

  “You a breed?” he said to Pony.

  Pony said something in Spanish.

  “He a friend of yours?” Garrison said.