Robert B. Parker's Revelation

by Robert Knott

  “Wolves are carnivores,” he said.

  “So are you.”

  “You want me to eat you up?”

  “You already have.”

  He shook his head.

  “Not yet.”

  “No?”

  “No,” he said.

  Tilda walked by the table and Driggs stopped her, then looked to the princess.

  “Anything else, dear?”

  She smiled and shook her head.

  “I’m fine.”

  Driggs looked back to Tilda.

  “I’ll have one more brandy, and could you bring me an envelope, paper, and pen from the front desk.”

  “Most certainly,” Tilda said, then moved off.

  “Are you writing a letter?” the princess said.

  “A short one,” he said.

  “What will it say?” she said with a smile.

  “Just a few words,” he said.

  “Pray tell?”

  He paused before he spoke.

  “I am the first and the last. I am the one that lives. I was dead but behold I am alive for evermore . . .”

  She stared at him for a long moment, then smiled.

  “Yes, you are.”

  Driggs looked to the clock. It was eight and the chimes started.

  “In fact, dear,” he said. “Once I make certain the note is delivered, I will see you back upstairs.”

  “If I’m asleep,” she said, “wake me up.”

  “You know I will.”

  Tilda came back to the table with the pen, paper, and envelope. The princess started to move out of her chair, but Driggs, like the gentleman he was, quickly got out of his chair to assist her.

  She looked up to him and he kissed her.

  “I won’t be long,” he said.

  He watched her as she walked up the stairs. When she got to the landing she turned and blew him a kiss, then continued up. Driggs wrote the note, sealed it in an envelope, and delivered it to the front desk.

  He dinged the bell. After a moment a chubby night manager came through the small door behind the counter.

  “Do you have someone that could deliver a message for me?”

  “Why, yes,” the night manager said. “Where to?”

  “The depot,” Driggs said. “The incoming westbound train. It arrives at eight-thirty and this note needs to be delivered to one of the passengers. They won’t be hard to find. They’ll be coming off the first-class Pullman.”

  Driggs wrote the name on the front of the envelope and handed it to the night manager. The night manager looked at the name on the envelope and nodded.

  “Indeed,” he said, then called into the room behind the counter, “William.”

  A freckle-faced young man poked his head out.

  “Take this note to the depot,” the night manager said. “Make certain you get it there. He’ll be coming off the first-class car. Can’t miss him.”

  William took the note and read it out loud as he put on his slicker.

  “Mr. Vandervoort,” he said with a chuckle. “No, he’d be hard to miss.”

  70

  Virgil and I hunted all of Red Rock for Degraw and the girl but came up empty handed. We rested in a dry barn behind the bunkhouse on the north end of town and in the morning just prior to sunup we checked on Gracie. He was asleep, but Claude was up drinking coffee when we stopped in.

  “Morning,” Claude said.

  “Morning,” we said.

  “You find who you was looking for?” Claude said.

  “Did not,” I said.

  “Sorry to hear,” he said.

  Virgil nodded to Gracie.

  “How is he?”

  Claude looked at Gracie.

  “He’s gonna be okay,” Claude said.

  “He has nobody left,” I said. “Least where we found him he don’t.”

  “Y’all moving on?”

  “We are,” I said.

  “Know where to go to look for who you’re looking for?”

  “Don’t,” I said.

  “I don’t know how you do the work you do, but I’m glad you are doing it.”

  Claude shook his head a little.

  “Once he’s healed up good,” Claude said, “I’ll figure out what makes the best sense for him. If he doesn’t have anybody else, I’ll take care of him myself.”

  Virgil looked to me and nodded a little.

  “Good,” he said.

  “My wife died this year,” he said. “We never had any children of our own, and seeing how it’s just me at the house now, there is no reason he can’t stay there with me. Long as he don’t mind the fact I can be a crabby ol’ man now and again.”

  With that, Virgil and I said our thanks and good-byes and rode north toward the railway depot. The weather had cleared, leaving only mountains of white billowy clouds above and across the horizon.

  As we approached the small depot we could see that the door was wide open. A few young section hands wearing greasy overalls were sitting on the porch. There were two long flatbeds parked around the depot hitched to mule teams that were loaded with railroad ties, rail sections, and tools. One of the fellas leaned his head in the door and said something to someone inside the depot and within a few seconds a heavyset man filled the doorframe. He stood watching us as we rode up and when we were close he moved out onto the porch to greet us. The hands were lounging for lunch, eating jerky and hardtack and drinking coffee.

  “Howdy,” the heavyset man said.

  Virgil raised his hand friendly-like.

  “Morning,” I said.

  “Y’all here to catch the train,” he said.

  “Well,” I said, “that depends.”

  He stepped out a bit more as we stopped shy of the porch.

  “Next train is northbound,” he said. “It will be here in about three and a half hours.”

  Virgil pulled back his jacket, showed his badge, and introduced us.

  “We been hunting a man,” Virgil said. “Escaped convict out of Cibola.”

  The workers on the porch all kind of looked at each other, then to us.

  “He may and may not have a young girl with him,” Virgil said. “White child, fifteen or so.”

  “He’s a big, broad-shouldered man,” I said. “He’s ’bout forty. Frizzy head of hair; wide, flat nose; pockmarked face.”

  “Nobody has caught a train outta here,” the heavyset man said. “About two weeks back a man and woman come from Red Rock. But the man looked nothing like the man you described and the female was no girl.”

  “This man would have been through here like yesterday,” I said.

  The heavyset man shook his head, then looked to the young hands on the porch.

  “Boys?” he said.

  They all looked to us and said they’d not seen anybody matching the description of Degraw or a girl.

  “There was a northbound that come through last night but I was not awake to see them, normally don’t see the late-night and early-morning ones unless there is some maintenance scheduled or a passenger bought a ticket and is waiting. ’Pose there could have been a jump-on then. It does happen now and again. A southbound came through at seven this morning, but nobody for sure boarded, ticket or no ticket.”

  “Boss,” a small young hand with a mop of blond hair that covered his eyes said. “I did find this this morning.”

  He pulled a pink ribbon from his overalls and held it up for us to see.

  71

  The night previous Driggs followed the freckle-faced William to the depot to make certain the note was delivered. He stood in the shadows across the way where he had a good view of William waiting on the platform. When the train arrived, at almost eight thirty on the minute, Driggs watched as the passengers disembarked. He waited for what seemed an eternity but no one stepped off the Pullman. Then, as if he were a ghost, Vandervoort stepped off the train and out through the thick steam where he was met by William. William did as he was instructed; he delivered the sealed e
nvelope with the note to Vernon Vandervoort. Then William hurried off.

  Driggs watched expectantly but Vandervoort just put the letter in his pocket. Driggs was not necessarily pleased he did that but knew Vandervoort would get to it soon enough. Driggs watched Vandervoort as he spoke to the porter who was collecting his luggage and as he waited, he retrieved the envelope from his pocket, opened it, and stared at it. After a moment Vandervoort looked about with a curious expression on his face, then he stared back at the note.

  Driggs knew that it would be just a matter of time before he would be seeing Mr. Vandervoort up close and personal.

  —

  Now Driggs was content this beautiful afternoon reading the Appaloosa Star Statesman in the Boston House Saloon as he waited on the princess to come down for an early dinner. The feature article was about Thane Rutledge’s celebration that was taking place the following night at the Vandervoort Town Hall. The event promised all of Appaloosa an evening of excitement and festivities that included lively entertainment, hors d’oeuvres, champagne, dancing, and a speech from Vandervoort himself.

  He was sitting in his favorite spot, next to the wall that separated the saloon from its gambling room. He was sipping fine whiskey, a new brand that Wallis had recommended. He was captivated by the lavish details of the party. He learned about the orchestra and the prominent speakers that would be in attendance including the guest of honor, Vandervoort himself. He was miffed to read about the ticket price for the event, more money than the average person of Appaloosa made in a day, but he knew better than most that that was the point of the event. Then, just to his right, he heard the saloon doors open.

  “Hey, Wallis.”

  “Hey, Book,” Wallis said.

  “You seen Sheriff Chastain?”

  “No, Book,” Wallis said. “Have not.”

  Driggs did not turn immediately. He remained reading the article in the Statesman, then after a moment he turned the page and casually looked over to Wallis and Book. The first thing he noticed was the shiny deputy badge pinned on Book’s vest.

  “Been looking all over for him,” Book said.

  “Well, he’s not been in here.”

  Book nodded and looked around the room. He made eye contact with Driggs. Driggs smiled and touched his brim. Book smiled, then looked back to Wallis.

  “Well, if you do happen to see him, tell him Virgil has been trying to wire him.”

  “You check with the Cherokee gal?” Wallis said with a chuckle.

  “First place I looked,” Book said.

  “He still seeing her?”

  “Says he’s not,” Book said.

  Wallis laughed.

  “We believe that,” he said.

  “Sure we do,” Book said.

  Wallis and Book shared a laugh.

  “If you happen to see him, tell him that we’re looking for him, will ya?”

  “You bet,” Wallis said.

  Driggs finished the last sip of his whiskey as Book walked out the door, then got up and walked to the bar.

  “That was damn good,” Driggs said as he set his glass in front of Wallis. “Believe I’ll have another.”

  “You got it,” Wallis said, then uncorked the bottle and poured.

  Driggs laid his newspaper on the bar as he fished a few coins from his pocket and tossed them on the bar.

  Wallis looked at the cover article.

  “Big to-do tomorrow night?”

  Driggs looked to the paper.

  “You going?”

  “Me?” Wallis said, scoffing. “Heck no. Too rich for my blood.”

  “Kind of the point, isn’t it?”

  “What’s that?”

  “That’s the intention,” Driggs said. “Throwing a party like that separates the rich from the poor. Puts folks in their place.”

  Driggs laughed and held up his hands.

  “Hey, I don’t by any means mean a damn thing by that comment, not saying you, me, or any other swinging dick does or does not belong, but I’ve seen enough of that sort of do-gooder bullshit in my time.”

  “You going?” Wallis said.

  Driggs laughed.

  “Why, of course.”

  72

  Virgil and I sat our horses in front of the depot, looking at the blond fella holding the pink ribbon that was blowing sideways as it danced and twisted gently with the breeze. The young hand got up off the porch and walked over to Virgil and me. He handed the ribbon to Virgil.

  “Where’d you find this?” Virgil said.

  “Just right up the way here,” he said, pointing north.

  Virgil handed me the ribbon.

  “How far up the way?” Virgil said.

  “Oh, ’bout a quarter-mile.”

  “Just so you know, though,” the heavyset boss said. “This line is like every other line across this country, it’s littered with damn trash. Half the time that is what we are doing, picking up trash. Not saying one way or the other but we find all kinds of shit up and down these damn tracks.”

  Virgil nodded, thinking. He looked to the ribbon in my hand, then he looked up to the telegraph lines running next to the track.

  “Telegraph working?” he said.

  “It is,” the heavyset man said.

  “Like to send a wire,” Virgil said.

  “You bet,” he said, then looked to one of the young fellas on the porch. “Fletcher?”

  “Yes, sir,” he said.

  “Hump to,” he said.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Fletcher was a thin-faced young man, not more than sixteen. He wiped off his hands as he got to his feet.

  “Come on in. Fletcher here is our operator. He’ll tap out whatever you need . . . I’m Louis, by the way.”

  “Thank you, Louis,” Virgil said.

  “Hell, anything we can do, just say.”

  We sent a wire to Sheriff Chastain in Appaloosa and waited for a reply. We got a wire back in about fifteen minutes letting us know they were looking for Chastain and would have him wire back just as soon as he was located.

  After an hour the sounder clicked and the message came in letting us know Chastain was nowhere to be found.

  “Don’t think he’s shacked up again with that Cherokee he promised he was swore off, do you?” I said.

  “Might,” Virgil said. “I think he likes the fact that she don’t talk much.”

  “What’s not to like about that?” heavyset Louis said with a chuckle, then looked to Virgil and me as he moved to the door. “I’ll be in the shed with the hands out behind us here, loading up for the afternoon fixes. Holler if you need me.”

  Virgil nodded and Louis stepped out the door.

  “What do you figure?” I said.

  Virgil thought for a moment as he looked to the rail map that was tacked to the wall.

  “No telling where Degraw is,” he said.

  Virgil nodded to the map.

  “Lot of land out there,” he said.

  “Is,” I said.

  “We could go this way and well, hell,” Virgil said. “He could be that way.”

  “Could have jumped the night train,” I said.

  “Yep.”

  “Then again, he might not have,” I said.

  “Sure don’t like the idea of this.”

  “The girl?”

  “None of it,” he said. “Especially the girl.”

  “No,” I said. “Unless we find something that can tell us where to point no telling what to do or where to go from here . . . I don’t want to give up, Virgil, but I don’t think we have much choice at this point and time.”

  I got out of the corner chair I’d been sitting in and moved next to Virgil and looked at the map. After some time of looking and thinking, I turned to Virgil.

  “’Spect we should get on that train when it comes through,” I said.

  “I suspect so,” he said.

  With the exception of Fletcher and Louis, all the young hands loaded up in the flatbeds and headed ba
ck out to work on the rails as we waited for the train.

  When the train arrived at the depot there was still no word back from Chastain but we let the Western Union office know that we would be back to Appaloosa by tomorrow night.

  At four in the afternoon Virgil and I loaded our animals in the stock car, boarded the northbound train, and headed back to Appaloosa.

  At the first water drop ten miles out we saw one of the section-line flatbeds near the water tank. As the train slowed, a handful of the hands moved toward the train. The blond fella that found the ribbon was in front of the pack.

  Virgil and I were standing on the third car porch as the engine slowed to a stop under the water drop. When the blond hand saw us he rushed over.

  “I think we found the young girl you was looking for. She’s over there in the flatbed,” he said with a point. “She’s dead. Looks like she was tossed off the train. Not sure if it was the fall that killed her or what. But she’s naked and purty mangled up.”

  73

  Driggs awoke the day of the party like he did every morning. He stood looking out the window watching the folks of Appaloosa going this way and that as he sipped some whiskey and lit a cigarette. Coming up the block was the man in the buggy being towed by the wide dun horse. Driggs watched as the man turned the corner in front of the hotel and moved on up the road.

  Driggs turned back to the princess and watched her sleeping and thought about having her just get up and get dressed, pack up, and leave town. Go elsewhere, Frisco, Chicago, or Denver, but he had a job to do first, then they would go. He did not come all this way for nothing. He had some pertinent business to take care of and of course there was the party. He was looking forward to the party and dancing with the princess.

  Driggs moved to the bureau, poured some water in the basin, and splashed his face. As he looked at himself in the mirror he thought it time for a haircut and shave. He wanted to look good for the party and for the princess.

  Driggs dressed, kissed the sleeping princess, and left the room. He checked with the front desk for the best place to get a haircut and shave.

  “That would be Mr. Blake,” the desk clerk said. “Just two blocks up Main Street here.”

  Driggs tipped his hat and set out to Blake’s Barber Shop. When he arrived he was surprised to see there wasn’t a wait and Mr. Blake got him in the chair right away.