Robert B. Parker's Blackjack

by Robert Knott

  “Marshal, Deputy,” Pritchard said. “I just heard—”

  “Why, Mr. Pritchard,” the woman said, interrupting him as she moved up beside him like an assured chess move and looked at Virgil, then at me.

  “Please don’t forget your manners, sir,” she said.

  She was not as young as I thought when I saw her on the street, but now, seeing her close up, she was even prettier. She had sharp, high cheekbones and large, brown knowing and soulful eyes.

  I removed my hat. Virgil tipped his.

  Pritchard looked to her and introduced her to us as a courtesy, but it was obvious he was not completely accommodating to the gesture.

  “This is . . . Miss Angel,” Pritchard said, “our company . . . bookkeeper.”

  She moved a little closer and curtseyed a little. Her skin had a porcelain depth to it, unblemished of freckles, and her lips were full. Her neck was long and slender and the satin dress she wore was open and revealed just a hint of her collarbones.

  “It is a pleasure to meet you,” she said.

  Virgil grinned a little.

  “Likewise,” I said.

  “I have heard about the two of you.”

  “All good, I imagine?” I said.

  She smiled, and it was a warm smile full of confidence and assurance.

  “And it’s Daphne,” she said, glancing back to Pritchard. “Daphne Angel.”

  “Daphne,” Virgil said with a bashful-like smile.

  “Daphne,” I said.

  I nodded to Pritchard.

  “The name of your new establishment.”

  “And I’m flattered,” she said.

  “Yes, saw the sign,” I said. “I believe I saw you as well the other day out on the boardwalk.”

  “I believe you most certainly did,” she said. “It was a hot one that day.”

  “It was,” I said. “I think I lost ten pounds from all the sweat that day.”

  She laughed, and it pricked Pritchard’s impatience.

  “Welcome to Appaloosa,” I said.

  Pritchard was clearly annoyed and anxious, but she didn’t seem to care and neither did Virgil or me, especially me.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “So I just heard,” Pritchard said, interrupting in a huff. “Tell me, is it true?”

  “What’s that?” Virgil said.

  “I understand Bill Black has been arrested?”

  Virgil glanced to me.

  “Where’d you get that understanding?” Virgil said.

  “Charles told me. He said he overheard two Western Union operators talking about it. Is it true?”

  “No.”

  “But why would Charles overhear such a thing?”

  “Bill Black has been apprehended,” Virgil said. “Not arrested.”

  “Arrested, apprehended, my God,” Pritchard said. “Where is he, for God’s sake?”

  “Mr. Pritchard would like to see him,” Daphne said.

  Virgil looked to her.

  “He’s not here,” Virgil said.

  “Where?” Pritchard asked.

  “He’s en route.”

  “We’d like to help,” she said. “I know Mr. Pritchard is seriously concerned for him and, well, me, too. I know him very well. We know him as a good man. I have worked with him for some time . . . he’s our friend and we’d like to do what we can . . . Do you have any idea when he will arrive?”

  “We are expecting him anytime now,” Virgil said. “Providing there are no hiccups.”

  “Hiccups?” Daphne said. “Is he all right?”

  “I believe he is,” Virgil said.

  “What will happen now?” Pritchard said.

  “Well, he’ll be arrested.”

  “Then what?” Daphne said.

  “Then there will be a preliminary hearing . . . He’ll face the judge for the charges the warrant was issued for,” Virgil said. “And, providing the judge feels the evidence is substantial enough, he will stand trial for the charges of the murder.”

  Pritchard shook his head.

  “What can we do to help him?” Daphne said.

  “Don’t know there is anything you can do,” Virgil said.

  “He’s going to need an attorney,” Daphne said. “Correct?”

  Virgil nodded.

  “That be a good idea,” Virgil said. “Not mandatory, but a good idea.”

  “When will his hearing to face the judge take place?”

  Virgil said, “The judge is here now, so like I said, providing there are no hiccups, it will take place as soon as he arrives.”

  “Who is the best attorney in Appaloosa?” she said.

  Virgil looked to me.

  “Dickie Simmons?” Virgil said. “Or Juniper?”

  “Juniper Jones,” I said. “When he’s sober.”

  “Where would we find them?” Pritchard said.

  “They are not hard to find,” Virgil said.

  “They both have offices here in town,” I said. “Like Virgil said, this will happen quick, so you might want to find that lawyer right away.”

  Pritchard nodded.

  “Good,” he said, then looked to Daphne.

  “Shall we?” Pritchard said. “I’m starving.”

  Daphne smiled at Virgil and me.

  “Thank you,” she said. “And it was certainly nice to meet the two of you.”

  “Same,” we said.

  They moved on and Virgil walked out the front door. I turned, watching her as she walked with Pritchard to the dining room. Just before she got through the dining room door she looked back at me and smiled.

  36.

  She doesn’t look like any bookkeeper I ever saw,” I said as I walked down the steps and caught up with Virgil.

  “You questioning her skills?” Virgil said.

  “No, she just doesn’t seem like the adding and subtracting type.”

  “You saying a fella might think of something else?” Virgil said.

  “No might to it,” I said.

  Virgil and I rounded the corner just as Chastain came riding up and reined to a stop when he saw us.

  “By God,” Chastain said.

  “Black?” Virgil said.

  “Yep,” Chastain said. “Been looking for you for an hour.”

  “Locked up?” Virgil said.

  “He is.”

  “I’ll be damn,” Virgil said.

  “What kind of shape is he in?” I said.

  “Looks pretty exhausted. I think he’s thinner, and he’s got a few cuts and bruises, but he’s here, and he’s locked up.”

  “Anything said?”

  “Nope, not to me,” Chastain said. “Book gave him some food. He was hungry. Don’t think the bounty hunter cared too well for him while he was getting him over here. He was locked in a prison wagon.”

  “Where is the bounty hunter?”

  “Think he went for some grub and such. I didn’t see him at all. I was at the house when they got to the office. Book came and got me after he got him locked up.”

  Virgil and I went to the office to see for ourselves that Boston Bill Black was in fact behind bars. When we got there Book opened the door to the cells, but Boston Bill was dead asleep, lying facedown on the bunk. Truitt was in the cell next to him. He looked up when we entered. We stood there for a moment, but Black didn’t stir, and we didn’t wake him. Fact was we really had nothing to say to him other than welcome back to Appaloosa.

  Truitt stood looking at us dejectedly, but we walked out before he could let us know how bad it was being locked up. Book closed and locked the metal door and put the key in the desk drawer and locked the desk drawer.

  “Bounty hunter say where or how he found Black?” I said.

  “No,” Book
said. “I posed to him that very question, but he didn’t say much, really, other than he was hungry and thirsty.”

  “Where is he?” Virgil said.

  “Think at the Boston House,” Book said. “He did say he was wanting to see you. Said he was an old friend of yours. Said he was looking forward to seeing you.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “He didn’t say. Not from around here, though, never seen him before, that’s for sure. He was nice, friendly like, but was . . . I don’t know, unusual, I guess you could say. He just asked me where he could get a steak, some good wine, maybe play some tall dollar cards. I told him at the Boston House he could do all three and that it’d be busy with some good gambling because tonight was faro night and such. He thought that was funny.”

  “What?” I said.

  “Said Appaloosa was lousy with Bostons. Boston this and Boston that, a place called the Boston House and a missing man that was now caught named Boston Bill. He laughed as he walked out the door.”

  Virgil stubbed out what was left of his cigar in the ashtray and looked at Book for a long moment.

  “What’d he look like?” Virgil said.

  “A real colorful character, that’s for sure. Big, strong-looking, older, along in his fifties, I’d say, short-cropped hair on the sides, thick, full beard. Wore a brim with a flipped-back front.”

  Book pinched his earlobe.

  “He had one of those silver loops in one of his ears.”

  Virgil squinted his eyes a little, looking at Book.

  “Flashy dresser?” Virgil said.

  Book nodded.

  “As a matter of fact, he was,” Book said. “Long frock coat, striped trousers tucked inside tall fancy boots and Mex silver spurs with huge rowels.”

  Virgil shook his head.

  “Cutlass on his hip?” Virgil said.

  Book looked to me, then Virgil, then nodded.

  “Damn sure did,” Book said. “That’s him.”

  Virgil looked at me.

  “Guess you know who that is,” I said.

  He nodded.

  “By all accounts I do.”

  Virgil walked to the door and looked out to the street as if the man in question might be in sight. He stood quiet for a moment, looking off. He nodded to himself, then shook his head a little as if he did not believe what he believed.

  “Been a long damn time,” Virgil said. “But that sounds like Valentine Pell.”

  “I think I heard about him,” Book said.

  Chastain nodded.

  “Pell,” he said. “Was he a marshal at one point in time, too?”

  Virgil looked at Chastain and nodded a little.

  “Among other things,” Virgil said.

  37.

  The streets were crowded with people moving about and enjoying the pleasant evening air as Virgil and I made our way up the block and a half to the Boston House. Virgil did not say anything as we walked, but I could tell there was something on his mind, there was something about Valentine Pell that bothered him.

  “He really a friend of yours?”

  Virgil walked a bit before he answered.

  “I wouldn’t say that,” he said.

  “If it is him, if it is Valentine Pell,” I said, “you think he’s gonna be a problem of some sorts?”

  “If it is him,” Virgil said, “he already is a problem.”

  “Boston Bill Black has caused quite the stir.”

  “Has.”

  We got to the porch of the Boston House and started up the steps.

  “Valentine a gun hand?” I said.

  “He is.”

  “Can he shoot?”

  “He’s deadly,” Virgil said as he opened the door to the hotel.

  There were three significant hotels now in Appaloosa, the Windsor being the quietest, the Colcord the plushest, and the Boston House the liveliest. It was the oldest hotel, too, and though it had changed hands a few times it still remained the most popular. The back room off the bar was still the only place in town where high-stakes gamblers of Appaloosa plied their trade, and with the growing city industry, the place was always full.

  It was also the very reason Hollis Pritchard and Company had decided to build a gambling hall in Appaloosa. Pritchard was not shortsighted when it came to making money, and with the number of businesses cropping up in Appaloosa and the people needed to operate them, he knew a good bet when it presented itself and how to profit from investment.

  The back room of the Boston House still consisted of ten poker tables, a billiard table, and a three-sided table used for throwing dice, and when Virgil and I walked in every table was in use and the cigar smoke was so thick the far wall was just slightly visible.

  We stood looking around the room until Virgil spotted at the far corner table the big fella with the beard and wide hat with the flipped-back brim that Book described.

  “That him?” I said.

  Virgil nodded.

  “By God,” he said.

  Virgil started walking toward the table and I followed. When we got close, Valentine looked up, seeing Virgil. He leaned back in his chair and smiled wide. His flashy blue eyes had that flair of being friendly and menacing at the same time.

  “Well, Lord have mercy, as I live and breathe, if it’s not Virgil,” he said. “Virgil, Virgil, Virgil.”

  “It is,” Virgil said.

  Valentine was a handsome man, and like Book had said, he was strong-looking, especially for his age. He was rugged but well groomed, and his beard revealed only a small hint of gray.

  “Yes, it is,” Valentine said. “Yes, it goddamn sure is. Look at you, you have not changed a bit, not aged a day since I last saw you. I’ll be goddamn. Been what, twenty years?”

  “You looking for me, Valentine?”

  “Inadvertently,” he said. “Inadvertently.”

  Valentine looked to the six men sitting around the table. A few of them Virgil and I were acquaintances of, but the rest were strangers.

  “Gentlemen,” Valentine said. “I’m going to have to remove myself from this game of chance, and I know because of my good fortune, none of you will mind my self styled elimination thereof.”

  Valentine held up his cards.

  “Would you mind, Virgil,” he said. “Soon as I pocket this last go-around, I’ll be right with you.”

  Virgil nodded.

  “We’ll be at the bar.”

  Virgil and I walked back into the main barroom. We sat at the far end of the bar and ordered two beers from Wallis.

  “Coming right up,” Wallis said.

  “Well?” I said.

  Virgil shook his head a little.

  “Something tells me Valentine’s jovial demeanor is just a show,” I said.

  “Something’s telling you right,” Virgil said.

  “What’s his story?”

  Virgil leaned with his elbows resting on the bar and looked to the back room where Valentine sat at the poker table.

  “Crooked as a dog’s hind leg,” Virgil said.

  I followed Virgil’s look into the back room.

  “What do you know about him?”

  Virgil shook his head.

  “A thief, turned snake-oil salesman, turned liquor peddler to Indians, turned Navy deserter, turned preacher, turned lawman, turned safe cracking outlaw, turned goddamn bounty hunter. He’s . . . He’s a liar, a thief, a coward . . . but he can be a brave sonofabitch, too.”

  “And by his looks . . . a pirate,” I said.

  “He is at that.”

  I looked back to Virgil, who was no longer looking at Valentine but staring at the mug of beer resting on the bar in front of him.

  “I never heard you mention him before, but it sounds like you know him pretty well,” I said.


  “I do,” Virgil said.

  “How so?”

  “He’s my brother,” Virgil said.

  38.

  Virgil sat up straight with his shoulders back. He took a big pull of his beer, then rested the mug on the bar in front of him. I leaned forward a little to catch his eye.

  “What?” I said.

  Virgil nodded.

  “Bullshit,” I said.

  Virgil shifted his eyes to me and shook his head.

  “No bullshit.”

  “Goddamn, Virgil.”

  “What?”

  “What?”

  Virgil sipped his beer but didn’t look at me.

  “Well . . . hell, Virgil, I never knew you had a brother, you never said a damn thing.”

  I looked back to Valentine, who was conversing with his poker partners.

  “All these years I’ve ridden with you and you never mentioned you even had a brother.”

  “No,” he said. “I did not.”

  “Can I ask why?”

  “No reason.”

  “No reason?”

  “Long time ago, Everett,” Virgil said. “Past. Past is past.”

  “Well, hell.”

  “Some things are best forgotten.”

  “Until now,” I said.

  “That’s right,” Virgil said.

  I shook my head and looked at Virgil for a long bit.

  “Pell?” I said. “He a half-brother?”

  Virgil glanced back to Valentine at the poker table and nodded slightly.

  “He is.”

  “I’ll be damn.”

  I looked back at Pell, then looked back to Virgil.

  “You want to tell me about it?”

  “Not really.”

  “But you will.”

  Virgil sat quiet for a moment.

  “Blood brothers?” I said.

  Virgil nodded, then looked over at him again for a moment.

  “Complicated,” Virgil said.

  “How so?”

  “His pa ran off, left my mom, she remarried, had me.”

  “So you grew up together?”

  Virgil nodded.

  “For a while. He was five years older. He was gone by sixteen.”

  “I’ll be damn . . .” I said. “Valentine Pell.”