The Bridge

by Robert Knott

  “You’re not a very good liar,” I said.

  “I’m not lying, Everett,” she said. “I don’t know how.”

  “Everybody knows how to lie,” I said.

  She shook her head.

  “Not me,” she said.

  “Then tell me something,” I said.

  “What?”

  “If you are going no place,” I said, “and you haven’t seen my inevitable demise, my Earth’s exit, why are you saying you will remember me?”

  “I, too, live in uncertainty, Everett.”

  “So you are going?”

  She just looked at me.

  “Are you?”

  “I don’t know what will happen,” she said. “It is just something I feel.”

  I laid back and put my hand behind my head and looked up to the ceiling.

  “Some of what you told me the other night,” I said. “Some of that came to be.”

  She didn’t say anything.

  “How did you know?” I said. “Can you tell me?”

  “I told you,” she said. “Your guides.”

  I smiled.

  “How did you know the name Cotter?”

  She sat up on one elbow, looking at me.

  “You don’t believe me, Everett,” she said. “You don’t believe in who I am and what I say.”

  “I just said what you told me. Cotter is the name or alias of someone we’re after.”

  “Oui,” she said, “but you think I know that because I know something, something I learned in the doing universe.”

  “In the doing universe?”

  “Oui.”

  “What do you know about the whereabouts of Sheriff Sledge Driskill and his deputies Karl and Chip?”

  She shook her head.

  “Nothing,” she said.

  “What do you know about Walton Wayne Swickey and G. W. Cox?”

  “I don’t,” Séraphine said.

  “The soldiers?”

  “Nothing.”

  “What else ain’t you telling me?” I said.

  She shook her head and lay back.

  “I don’t know anything,” she said dejectedly.

  We just rested there. A long silence settled between us.

  As unusual and peculiar as this union was between us, I felt more alive and somehow more aware of my surroundings.

  I reached for her and I turned her face to me. She was warm. And seemed vulnerable for the first time.

  “I believe you,” I said.

  “You do?”

  “Yes.”

  She smiled at me.

  “I’m glad,” she said.

  “I do. I believe you when you tell me you will remember me, that you will do just that, remember me.”

  She smiled warmly and I kissed her. She kissed me back, tenderly at first, then hard and passionately.

  Lord . . .

  —44—

  It did not surprise me to find Séraphine was gone when I woke up in the morning. What else? I thought.

  My head was heavy and I felt far less alive and aware than I had felt in the evening. I felt as though I had been drunk, but the fact was I’d had nothing, nothing but Séraphine.

  I looked around the room, and with the exception of her smell and the cooled water in the tub, there was no sign she had even been there.

  I looked out the window and the landscape was just as it was the day before, a blanket of snow.

  I could see the depot and smoke rising up from its chimney. The tracks were completely covered as far as I could see and there was no sign of sun.

  I got dressed and made my way downstairs. The lobby was empty, but the young British fella was behind the counter. He smiled at me.

  I started for the door and he said, “One moment, Mr. Hitch. I’ve got something here for you.”

  He retrieved a small envelope from the key box behind the desk and handed it to me. “Here you go.”

  I took the envelope.

  “Appreciate it,” I said.

  Written across the envelope was one word. Everett.

  I looked at it, and instead of opening it right away I put it in my pocket and left the hotel.

  I walked by the depot and made my way back toward Virgil’s place.

  I knocked on the door and Allie answered.

  “Everett,” she said. “Why, good cold and snow-covered morning. Come on in.”

  I stomped the snow off my boots and stepped inside.

  “Lands,” Allie said. “That you?”

  “Me what?”

  She nuzzled her nose into my neck.

  “It is,” she said. “You sure do smell pretty.”

  “I took a bath,” I said.

  “Well, I should say so,” Allie said.

  She closed the door.

  “You don’t look so good, though. You look like you seen a ghost,” she said.

  “No ghost,” I said. “Not this morning, anyway. Virgil in?”

  “He’ll be back in a minute,” she said. “I sent him to the grocery to fetch me some baking soda. You feeling all right?”

  “I feel fine, Allie,” I said.

  “Well, you smell fine.”

  “Could use a cup of coffee,” I said.

  “You bet,” she said. “Sit yourself down right there and make yourself comfortable, Everett.”

  Allie walked to the kitchen and I took a seat at the table.

  “Can you believe this weather?” Allie said.

  “I can,” I said.

  “Think it will ever let up?” Allie said.

  “It will.”

  Allie brought me a cup of coffee in a proper sipping cup with a saucer underneath.

  “Fresh,” she said.

  I took a sip. It was thick and had a jolt to it, but I didn’t do nothing but drink it.

  Allie took a seat next to me.

  “I thought about what you said last night, Everett,” Allie said. “And you are right. I was being insensitive and self-centered.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “What you and Virgil have been dealing with, Everett, is far more important and critical than my pettiness and blinded shame over what has happened with Virgil’s inability to understand the arts and the man who brings them to us.”

  I almost spit my coffee. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t need to. I knew Allie well enough to know she was just getting started, so I just drank my coal-black coffee.

  “This poor man, Beauregard, is misunderstood and good-hearted, but that is no reason to give his unfortunate circumstances more attention, more credence than the serious circumstances that you and Virgil are facing. Not to mention my quarrel with Virgil is petty of me to even consider in times like these.”

  Allie put her hand on my hand.

  “So. I want to thank you for setting me straight, Everett,” Allie said.

  I nodded.

  “You know, Everett,” Allie said. “I just have to stop thinking about myself. So I’ve decided I will do what I can do to give, instead of constantly needing to receive.”

  “What are you thinking about giving?” I said.

  “Well,” Allie said. “I’m glad you ask. For starters, I thought about poor Mrs. Beauchamp.”

  “What have you thought about her?” I said.

  “Well, what with this weather like it is and with her being secluded,” Allie said. “I feel it is my civic duty to see to it she doesn’t get herself in the way of Beauregard and his creative needs, so I’m going to invite her over for tea.”

  Allie smiled, big.

  I just looked at her.

  “Who knows,” Allie said. “Perhaps we will become good friends.”

  “Who knows?” I said.

  “Yes,” she said. “Who knows?”

  “You think that is a good idea?” I said.

  “I do,” Allie said.

  Virgil came through the front door and looked over, seeing me.

  “Hey, Everett,” Virgil said.

  Virgil had a small
box of groceries.

  “I picked you up a few other things I thought you might need, Allie,” Virgil said.

  “Thank you, Virgil,” she said.

  Allie got up and took the box from Virgil.

  “Oh, good, chocolate. Why, Virgil, you are so thoughtful.”

  Virgil looked at me. He sniffed the air a little.

  “That you?” he said.

  “Is,” I said.

  —45—

  I unlocked Bolger’s cell and brought him into the main office and sat him down in a chair next to the potbellied stove.

  “There ya go, Bolger,” I said. “Make yourself comfortable.”

  Virgil was sitting behind the desk, leaning back in the squeaky banker’s chair. He had his boots crossed on top of the corner of the desk and a cup of coffee in his hand. Chastain was sitting in a chair that backed up to the front window of the office.

  “How you feeing, Bolger?” Virgil said.

  Bolger didn’t say anything.

  Virgil nodded.

  “Want some coffee?”

  Bolger nodded.

  I poured him some coffee and handed it to him.

  “Tell me about the dynamite,” Virgil said.

  Bolger snapped his chin to his chest and furrowed his brow as he shook his head.

  “Dynamite?” he said.

  “Yep,” Virgil said.

  “Don’t know nothing about no dynamite.”

  “You don’t?”

  “No,” Bolger said. “Don’t.”

  “So, the judge will be here sometime soon,” Virgil said. “The choice is yours.”

  “Well,” Bolger said. “Don’t know nothing about no dynamite.”

  “What do you want to tell us?” Virgil said.

  Bolger looked at Virgil and shook his head a little.

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?” Virgil said.

  “I don’t got nothing to say.”

  Virgil nodded a little, took a sip of his coffee and set it on the desk.

  “If I did have something to say,” Bolger said. “I don’t, but let’s say I did. How is that gonna help me?”

  “Like Everett offered,” Virgil said. “We’ll let the judge know you provided us with important information. The good judge will consider your good deed when you stand before him, facing him, on attempted robbery and murder charges.”

  “I didn’t rob or murder no one,” Bolger said.

  Virgil nodded.

  “Like I said,” Virgil said. “Attempted robbery and murder.”

  “Need to be goddamn clear on that,” Bolger said.

  “We’re real clear on that,” I said. “And we’re also clear on the fact you tried to kill me, a United States territorial deputy marshal, which you will serve a minimum of five years for, just for that. The attempted robbery and murder charges on the other two fellas, Grant and Elliott, will be separate.”

  “Shit,” Bolger said with a point out to the street. “Them two silly fellers, it was all their fault.”

  “How’s that?” Virgil said.

  “I was working for them,” Bolger said. “Hell, it was a job I was okay with. I like driving a rig.”

  “That right?” Virgil said.

  Bolger nodded.

  “But they didn’t pay me like they said they was gonna do. Hell, I’m a good worker,” Bolger said defensively.

  Virgil knew who Bolger was. We’d seen men like Bolger a hundred times over the years. The west was full of them, men who came from a bad place, and as life carried on, things only got worse for them. Hardship and heartache were at the core of who they were. Bolger was a man of a simple way, with simple means, simple ambition, and simple instincts. A good enough worker until payday, then he’d drink and gamble and whore his money away. Guys like Bolger were always in and out of jail, drunks mostly, drunks who are just one bad shot away from Hell.

  “I don’t got time for your bullshit about you working, Bolger,” Virgil said. “You boys hired on to sneak dynamite up there to the river bridge.”

  Bolger shook his head.

  “Did not,” he said.

  “Bullshit,” Virgil said.

  Bolger shook his head.

  “You did it,” Virgil said.

  “No,” Bolger said with conviction. “I did not.”

  “Don’t you lie to me.”

  “I’m not.”

  “You are.”

  Bolger was flustered. He shook his head hard.

  “You did it,” Virgil said.

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “I had nothing to do with that.”

  “Bullshit!”

  “I didn’t,” he said. “Ballard did!”

  —46—

  Bolger sat up knowing he’d mouthed off. He wasn’t too flustered about it because he knew, deep down, he was headed toward that decision, and so did Virgil.

  “You both were in on this from the beginning,” Virgil said. “Weren’t you?”

  Bolger shook his head.

  Virgil, now, didn’t believe Bolger was part of the plan, but he knew the more he included Bolger the more Bolger would defend himself and reveal the truth.

  “Bullshit,” Virgil said. “And if you keep on with your bullshit, we’ll move on. Right now, though, we are offering you a way to get your ass outta this sling it’s in.”

  “It was Ballard,” Bolger said.

  Virgil looked at Chastain, then at me, then at Bolger.

  “Where is he?” Virgil said.

  “That I do not know,” Bolger said.

  “Stop with the bullshit,” Virgil said.

  “I done told you he was the one that took up the dynamite,” Bolger said. “I’d tell you where he was if I knew.”

  “Who was it that hired him to do this?” Virgil said.

  “I don’t know,” Bolger said.

  “What do you know?” Virgil said.

  Bolger just looked at Virgil for a long moment.

  “Tell me about the men he’s involved with,” Virgil said. “Tell me all you know. The more you tell me, the better your chances are. The more you lie, the better your chances are we will see to it your prison stay will be a good one.”

  Bolger looked at Virgil again for a long bit.

  Virgil nodded for Bolger to talk.

  “Well, shit,” Bolger said. “I don’t know who he’s involved with. I don’t. I been in Appaloosa for a while. Doing pretty okay. I had a few jobs here and there, but nothing really stuck. Then I got this here job with them boys. Like I told you, I was okay with it. Then my brother, he come to town.”

  “From where?” Virgil said.

  “Wyoming.”

  “What was he doing in Wyoming?”

  Bolger shrugged.

  “He was up there chasing some pussy.”

  “What pussy?”

  “Oh, some woman he got himself buggered up with,” Bolger said. “I don’t know.”

  “What kind of buggered up with?”

  “He got his ass throwed in jail over her,” Bolger said.

  “For?” Virgil said.

  “I guess she belong to someone else, some lawman,” Bolger said. “Ballard and this lawman got into a fight, and I guess Ballard messed him up real good. Not a good idea to get into it with Ballard, lawman or no lawman. Ballard did, though, manage to get thrown in jail there. Spent sixty days, and when he got out he came here to see me.”

  “Go on,” Virgil said.

  Bolger looked to the floor, shaking his head.

  “Tell us what went down,” Virgil said.

  “He started working with me,” Bolger said. “I told him I was doing okay. Keeping outta trouble and that I didn’t want no trouble. Things was going okay for a little while, but things don’t go okay for too long when Ballard gets involved. He got put out, started doing other stuff.”

  “What other stuff?”

  “Whores,” Bolger said. “Said it paid better and smelled better.”

 
“Pimpin’,” I said.

  “I guess you could call it that,” Bolger said. “He made sure customers’ payments were made in full.”

  “Where?”

  “A place called the Back Door.”

  Virgil looked to me.

  I nodded.

  “Know it,” I said. “That’s the house we saw them redoing last summer.”

  “North of town?” Virgil said.

  I nodded.

  “A high-end whorin’ establishment,” Chastain said. “A good stock place. Caters to the big-money men in town.”

  “Who runs the place?” Virgil said.

  “Owned by two mine owners,” Chastain said. “Operated by some whore they brought in from Cincinnati named Belle.”

  Virgil looked back to Bolger.

  “I never been over there,” Bolger said. “Ballard was working there, though. He’s got a way with women. Until they really know him, that is. Then they scare. Always some dealing with Ballard and women.”

  “He spell out the deal to you?”

  “Some.”

  “What do you know?” Virgil said.

  “A whore there introduced Ballard to a one of her clients,” Bolger said.

  Bolger shook his head a little.

  “The client had learned from the whore that Ballard had been making delivery runs up to the bridge camp before he did what he did at the whorehouse,” Bolger said.

  “What else?” Virgil said.

  “All I know is this fella,” Bolger said. “This client met with Ballard a few times and Ballard told me this guy hired him to make a special delivery for him.”

  “You know who this client is?” I said.

  “I don’t,” Bolger said.

  “Know the whore?” Virgil said.

  “No,” Bolger said. “Never met her.”

  “But Ballard told you this?” I said.

  “He did,” Bolger said. “He come to me, said he needed to use the team and the buckboard.”

  Virgil looked to me, then back to Bolger.

  “How’d you know the special delivery was dynamite?” Virgil said.

  “Ballard told me,” Bolger said. “At first he was gonna cut me in on the deal.”

  “At first?” Virgil said.

  “Then he changed his mind,” Bolger said.

  “Why?”

  “That’s Ballard,” Bolger said.

  “Tell us about that,” Virgil said.

  “I told him he’d have to pay me good, ’cause it was my buckboard and I haven’t been even paid,” Bolger said. “I was out of money.”