by Robert Knott
She pointed to one of her bags.
“Bring that to me. The black one.”
He walked over to the bag in the corner, picked it up, and gave it to her. She stared at him as she opened the bag. She reached inside and pulled out a fancy wooden box. It had detailed carvings across the top, with a shiny brass latch and hinges.
“What’s this?”
“A gift. Here, take it . . . open it.”
“For me?”
She nodded. He took the box from her and opened the latch. He stared at what was inside, then met her eye.
“Goddamn.”
“That is for you.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Really.”
He reached in the velvet-lined box and pulled out a brand-new nickel-plated Colt, engraved with a pearl-white handle.
“You like?”
“Like? Like? Hell, yeah I like.”
He held it preciously, feeling its weight. He moved it between his hands, left, right, left, right, getting a feel for it. Then he walked to the mirror and looked at the gun in his hand.
“Looks good on you.”
He pulled back the hammer, opened the loading gate, and spun the cylinder.
“It looks right for you.”
“You think?”
“I know,” she said.
He studied the gun, looking closely at the engraving, and whistled through his teeth.
“Never seen nothing like it.”
“No more old and rusted firearms for you. You are now a man with a man’s proper weapon.”
He pointed the Colt, then twirled it forward, then backward.
“And, of course,” she said as she reached in the bag and pulled out a box of bullets, “it is worthless without these.”
She tossed them on the foot of the bed.
“Don’t know how to thank you.”
“I do.”
She slid what covers were covering her to the side and motioned for him to come to her.
“Come here,” she said.
He walked to her. She stared up at him and patted the bed for him to sit.
“Sit.”
He sat beside her.
“Let me see it.”
He handed the pistol to her.
“See this here?”
She pointed to the engraving.
“The initials?” he said.
“Yes,” she said.
“This .44-40 was the prize possession of my father. It is the only thing that I have that belonged to him.”
“And you want me to have it?”
“I do.”
He leaned in and read the initials: “WLB.”
She nodded.
“William Leviathan Brandice.”
“I know why you want me to have it,” he said.
“I know you know.”
68
Virgil and I were standing in front of Allie’s shop drinking coffee as we watched Allie putting the final touches on the stage dressings. She was ordering workers where to string up last-minute colorful banners and streamers. Seated on the wide stage was a twelve-piece band warming up for the concert that was set to begin within the hour. All the shop owners had their businesses opened up with their goods on display.
The ladies from the social were helping with the refreshment and food tables that were lined up on the boardwalks on both sides of Appaloosa Avenue. And to Allie’s dismay, townspeople were already beginning to show up, streaming in from both ends of the Avenue.
Allie came down from the stage and made her way over to us, shaking her head.
“Can you believe this? Doggone people are already coming and we are not even ready.”
She took Virgil’s coffee cup out of his hand and took a sip.
“Just let them do what they are gonna do,” Virgil said. “And you do what you need to do.”
“Well, that is what I am doing, Virgil,” she said.
“I did not say you weren’t, Allie.”
“Just flustering is all,” she said.
“You have done a hell of a job with everything, Allie,” I said. “A hell of a job. Looking great.”
“You have,” Virgil said. “That is all, there you have it. Now you have to just let things go as they go.”
“Oh goodness, Virgil.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Allie saw something else on the stage that did not meet her liking.
“Oh, shoot,” she said.
She handed Virgil his coffee cup and hurried off to make corrections.
“There she goes,” I said.
“Yep,” he said.
“Well,” I said. “She really has done a hell of a job putting this whole thing together.”
“’Bout killed the both of us.”
“Just one more day.”
“Yep.”
“And it damn sure looks like this is going to be a busy one,” I said. “That’s a fact.”
“We ought to be fishing,” Virgil said.
“You don’t fish,” I said.
“I have.”
“But you don’t.”
Lloyd came walking up past the stage, followed by a huge man wearing a stationmaster’s cap. Lloyd spotted us in front of the shop and hurried over. When he was close, he turned about, making sure no one was listening.
“Got a situation,” he said.
“What sort of situation?”
“Got us a dead man,” he said.
“What?” Virgil said.
Lloyd nodded.
“Who?” I said. “What dead man?”
“Don’t know just yet. This fella here is Clifford, the stationmaster from the depot. Tell them what you told me.”
“Ten miles up, just past the tower, my section-line men said they found a body in the ditch near the track.”
“How’d you find this out?” I said.
“They wired to the depot this morning and let me know.”
“And the dead man?” I said.
“They picked up the body and loaded him on the handcar. They are headed this way now.”
“How long do you figure it will be before they get here?” Virgil said.
Clifford pulled his watch.
“Providing they didn’t run into any snags, should be pretty soon, I figure.”
We wasted no time making our way over to the depot. When we arrived, there was no sign of the handcar, so we waited. After a short time, we could hear the band start up with a full-throated arrangement, and then, a few minutes later, we saw the handcar headed toward the depot. When it neared, Virgil, Lloyd, and I walked over, followed by Clifford. There was a tarp covering the body. I pulled it back to have a look.
“Holy hell,” I said.
Virgil turned to the two men who operated the handcar.
“You the fellas who found him?”
They nodded.
“We are,” one of them said.
“You see anybody else there? Near where you found him?”
They shook their heads.
“No,” they said.
“Any clear idea how maybe this happened?” I said.
“No idea,” the other of the two said. “We just found him like this. Roughed up like he is, we thought maybe he somehow fell off the train.”
The other fella nodded.
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” he said.
Virgil leaned in for a closer look.
“Any bullet wounds?” Virgil said.
They shook their heads.
“None that we could see.”
“That’s the other McCormick, ain’t it?” Lloyd said.
“It is,” I said.
I took a closer look. T
he way his body was roughed up it for sure appeared that he tumbled off the train. But the way his hands and neck were contorted and retracted, the same way James’s corpse had looked, let Virgil and I know right away there’d been more to it.
“McCormick?” Clifford said.
The three of us looked to Clifford.
“Another fella came looking for Daniel McCormick here this morning,” Clifford said.
“Who?” Virgil said.
“Didn’t say his name.”
Virgil shook his head.
“Big fella?” I said. “Long red beard?”
Clifford nodded.
“He was. ’Bout my size, I’d say.”
“Ed Hodge?” Lloyd said.
Virgil nodded and spoke to Clifford.
“What did he say, what did he have to allow?”
Clifford shook his head.
“That he expected him is all, that he expected Daniel McCormick on the train last night.”
“He damn sure don’t need to know about this,” I said.
“No,” Virgil said. “He don’t.”
Clifford frowned.
“Afraid it might be a little late for that,” one of the handcar men said. “Him and two others found us coming in this morning.”
Clifford nodded.
“They was here right after I got the wire,” Clifford said. “It wasn’t like I was needing to tell them, but when they asked about a missing passenger, I just told them what we found is all. Hope that ain’t a problem.”
Lloyd’s eyes moved between Virgil and me.
“This might be the beginning of the end,” Lloyd said.
“Might well be,” I said. “Might well be.”
Virgil looked off up the track, then looked to Clifford.
“Can you get me a list of all the passengers who bought a ticket on the outbound and the inbound train that this here fella, Daniel McCormick, had a ticket on?”
Clifford nodded.
“Sure thing.”
“Much obliged,” Virgil said.
69
The kid was spit-polishing his boots with a rag and making a popping sound with each lick.
“Drink your tea,” she said.
He looked to her, then at the tea she had just poured. He shook his head.
“No.”
“It will make you feel better. Make you feel good.”
“I know all about your tea.”
“It is not that.”
“I don’t want to be out of my wits today, not today. I don’t need to chase no goats . . . not today.”
“This is not that. This is different. It will help you enjoy everything. Help us both enjoy. Look. I have a cup, too.”
She took a sip.
“Trust me.”
He stopped his polishing and straightened up to look at her.
“This will make today even more special.”
“You sure?”
“More than sure,” she said, and held out the cup and saucer to him. “Trust me.”
He took the cup and saucer. She held up her tea to his and they toasted and drank.
She had one of the hotel workers press the wrinkles out of the kid’s new suit of clothes before they left the room. He was a dashing figure, she thought. She felt she, too, was well put together for the celebration. She bathed before leaving and sprayed herself with her best intoxicating gypsy perfume. She applied a dark eye shadow that made her large, dark eyes even more mysterious. She appreciated being different, unique. She was wearing her favorite daytime-to-evening outfit, a sheer, low-cut, white chiffon dress. She had a pair of heeled French shoes and carried a matching parasol. Her dark hair was piled atop her head. She wore large silver hoop earrings and her wrists were full of silver bracelets that made tinkling noises as they walked. As they strolled through the streets toward the party, she got plenty of attention, mostly from men.
“Slow down,” she said.
He turned to her and smiled.
“There is no reason to hurry.”
He stopped and she stopped.
“We will get there soon enough,” she said as she straightened his tie. “We have all day, all night.”
Her dark eyes spoke volumes that the kid instantly understood. It was hard for him to compose his enthusiasm, she could tell, but she had an effect on the kid. An effect like he’d never experienced before.
“One step at a time,” he said.
She nodded.
“One step at a time.”
The kid smiled as they moved onto the crowded Appaloosa Avenue. He did, above all things, like parties, celebrations, the sound of people talking, having fun, and laughing, and the music. The sound of musical instruments was exhilarating to him. He remembered the last party he attended down Mexico way, where he’d sharpened a spoon handle so he could get out of jail and join the festivities. He remembered eating and dancing with the señoritas, and the fireworks that night.
Then the kid started to take particular notice of the women as they walked. There were so many of them, all wearing their best clothes, it seemed, and there were all types of females, tall, short, plump, old, and young. Some were beautiful, but some were not. Most of them were under parasols, protecting themselves from the harsh afternoon sun. A sea of parasols, he thought.
“They are like a field of flowers,” he said as he laughed.
“How do you feel?”
He smiled.
“I feel like a bright-and-shiny loaded revolver. Full of powder.”
“I told you.”
“You did at that.”
“You are happy,” she said.
“I am.”
“Good.”
He turned in a circle as they walked.
“So many people,” he said.
She smiled as they moved closer into the thickening crowd. In the distance he saw the stage, where the band was playing a lively tune. He took her hand and led her through the crowd and toward the stage. He smiled at her.
“Let’s dance,” he said.
“I’m not much of a dancer.”
“It is easy.”
“I dance, but not like this.”
“Then dance like you dance.”
She held his hand and they moved toward the crowd of dancing people in front of the stage.
“Do you think they will have fireworks later?” he said.
“Oh, I do,” she said. “I do think there will be fireworks. I am certain of it.”
70
By the time we got Daniel’s body to the undertaker and made it back to Appaloosa Avenue, the Appaloosa Days celebration was in full swing, and the sun now cast a looming shadow over half of the street. There were thousands of people filling the street and boardwalks. We stopped on the high rise of the Avenue and watched the crowd.
“By God,” Virgil said.
“Last time I remember ever seeing this many people in one place,” I said, “it was war.”
“Don’t look much different now,” Virgil said.
“No,” I said. “It doesn’t.”
“Allie’s got her hands full,” he said.
“She damn sure does.”
There were people and parasols going this way and that, from one end of the Avenue to the other. And it was loud. There were makeshift cooking fires with roasting ribs and chicken and lamb. It was a feast.
We had Book, Lloyd, and all the deputies on call, watching and keeping their eyes open for any trouble to break out.
When we found Allie, she was near the stage with Bernice, and Weldon was right there by her side, as we had instructed him to be. Martha Kathryn was with them, too. I didn’t see her when we first came up, but she was smiling and planted a kiss on me before I could even say hello. And as loud as it was with all the
music and clamoring, it was hard to hear much of anything.
“I was looking for you two,” Allie shouted. “Where have you been?”
“We are right here,” Virgil said.
“Well, you weren’t here before.”
“What is it, Allie?”
“Martha Kathryn is going to sing here in a little bit, a sunset serenade, and I don’t want you to miss it.”
“Wouldn’t miss it for anything,” I said.
“Plus, we are having the raffle,” she said. “And the mayor is gonna make a speech, too, so don’t go running off.”
“We won’t, Allie,” Virgil said.
Allie was in full Appaloosa Days mode—ready to strike, giving orders in every direction. She moved off to talk to one of her organizers from the social and dragged Martha Kathryn and Bernice with her like she was corralling sheep, and Weldon tagged along. Martha Kathryn smiled at me and blew me a kiss as she was whisked off. When I turned, Virgil was looking in the direction of McCormick’s office. He glanced to me, then started walking and I followed him.
The McCormick office was closed up and there was no sign of Hodge and his gun hands, but Lawrence was present. He was serving punch to a line of thirsty people with his young gentlemen coworkers. A sign let the partiers know that the punch was provided by McCormick Enterprises.
“Look there,” I said.
Walking up the boardwalk was Irene. Lawrence greeted her. He grinned broadly, said something that made her smile, and then handed her a cup of punch. She nodded appreciatively, then moved to the edge of the boardwalk, watching the festivities. She did not appear to be drunk, but she did not seem altogether sober, either.
Virgil and I moved on a ways into the crowd and out of her line of sight.
“What do you figure?” I said.
Virgil shook his head.
“Don’t think now is the time.”
“No,” I said.
“Don’t think there will be a good time,” he said.
We moved on to the other end of the block, away from the loud music, and found Victor and his men gathered around a food table in front of Baptiste’s place. For the time being, they seemed subdued. They were lounging, eating, and drinking beer as if they had no care in the world and nothing nefarious or out of the ordinary had happened.
And just about the same time we got our eyes on them, we located Henri Baptiste and Eugene Pritchard. The two of them were sitting on the opposite side of the street on a shaded bench, talking and watching the festivities.