Appaloosa / Resolution / Brimstone / Blue-Eyed Devil

by Robert B. Parker

  “Think she was planning on some fine eastern gentleman,” I said.

  “For crissake, Everett, Laurel didn’t even talk.”

  “’Cept to Virgil,” I said. “And ’fore she left she said Pony’s name out loud.”

  “Golly,” Emma said.

  “She might have been losing her baby, but she’d only had a baby for a couple years.”

  “And maybe she didn’t mind,” Emma said.

  “No?” I said.

  “Maybe she didn’t like the competition,” Emma said.

  “Competition with who?” I said.

  “Laurel,” Emma said.

  “For?”

  “Virgil,” Emma said.

  “Virgil wouldn’t lay a hand on Laurel,” I said.

  “Don’t matter what Virgil would do,” Emma said. “It’s what Allie fears that matters.”

  “You think Allie was afraid Virgil would run off with Laurel?” I said.

  “’Course she was,” Emma said.

  “I don’t see that,” I said. “I known them since they been together. Virgil never run off on her.”

  “She ever run out on him?” Emma said.

  “She did,” I said.

  Emma was still naked from our time of business, and as she talked she leaned back and looked at her extended leg.

  “Where’d she end up?”

  “Pig wallow in Placido,” I said. “On the Rio Grande.”

  “How’d she get out of there?”

  “Me and Virgil found her, took her out,” I said.

  “And if you hadn’t?”

  “She’d a died,” I said.

  “So, he owes her leavin’,” Emma said.

  “More than one,” I said.

  “And if it weren’t for him she’d be fucking her life away in some dump down by Mexico.”

  “So, she’d be worried about anybody,” I said.

  “Especially a young girl starting to come of age that speaks only to Virgil?”

  I nodded and drank some coffee.

  “Hadn’t thought of it that way,” I said.

  “’Course you hadn’t,” Emma said. “She’s a woman.” She waved her naked leg around. “You only think of her this way.”

  “You don’t seem to mind,” I said.

  She shrugged and pointed her toes.

  “Not with you,” she said.

  50

  SOMEONE HAD SET UP a steam saw at the corner of Main and Second Street, and you could hear it eighteen hours a day, every day, all over town. It was like the base melody for an orchestra of hand tools: hammers, chisels, mallets, and handsaws hovering in lighter cadence. The raucous language of the laborers formed a vocalization.

  Several saloons had set up tents with plank-and-barrel bars, and enough people got drunk to keep me and Virgil in business from our headquarters on what was left of the Boston House’s front porch.

  Virgil was looking at it all.

  “We had this many government folks before,” Virgil said, “Kah-to-nay wouldn’t have attacked.”

  “And Callico has kissed the ass of every one of them since,” I said.

  “The hero of the recovery,” Virgil said.

  “Lot people will remember him for it, and be grateful,” I said. “He knows a lot of people. He’s brought in lot of money for rebuilding.”

  “The savior of Appaloosa,” Virgil said.

  “Been better if he never lost it in the first place,” I said.

  “Would,” Virgil said.

  A big lumber wagon pulled by eight oxen drudged up Main Street past us toward the steam saw with a load of logs.

  “When they get that cut up,” I said, “think they’ll cure it proper?”

  “Nope.”

  I smiled.

  “Be good not to buy a new building in town for a few years,” I said. “Let it dry out.”

  A handsome two-bench buggy went by in the other direction, pulled by two gray horses. A driver sat on the front seat, and in back was General Laird, with Chauncey Teagarden beside him. Chauncey was wearing a black jacket with conchos, and his ivory handle gleamed in contrast.

  “Chauncey’s looking good,” I said.

  “He is good,” Virgil said.

  “He still here for you, you think?”

  “Be my guess,” Virgil said.

  “Because of the son,” I said.

  “Yep.”

  “What are they waiting for?” I said.

  “Chauncey likes to play the fish for a rime, ’fore he catches him,” Virgil said. “And during the recent Indian thing we was kinda useful.”

  “I got another theory,” I said.

  “Figured you would,” Virgil said. “Bein’ as how you went to West Point and all.”

  “Things are in a state of some flux,” I said.

  “ ‘Flux’?” Virgil said.

  “Like flow,” I said. “Things are moving and changing.”

  “Does a river flux?”

  “No, it flows,” I said.

  “Don’t it mean the same thing?” Virgil said.

  “Pretty much,” I said. “Except people just say it the way they say it.”

  “So, things are fluxing,” Virgil said.

  I nodded.

  “So, Laird may be thinking it’s a good idea to have a first-rate gun hand available until things shake out.”

  “That would be Chauncey,” Virgil said.

  “And if Chauncey kills you,” I said, “he probably would need to go away.”

  “Not, I’m betting, because of Amos Callico,” Virgil said.

  “Maybe, maybe not. Depends how things are when he has to decide. But Stringer might come down from the sheriff’s office. Hell, I might even get sort of bothersome ’bout it.”

  “It would make sense for Chauncey to flux on out of Appaloosa after he killed me,” Virgil said.

  “Which,” I said, “would leave Laird without the gun hand that he might need if, say, he finds it too hard to get along with Callico.”

  “Nicky probably done that work for him before,” Virgil said.

  “Or wanted to,” I said.

  Virgil shook his head sadly.

  “Wasn’t good enough,” he said.

  “But Chauncey is,” I said.

  “Maybe,” Virgil said.

  “And if you kill him . . .” I said.

  “Laird’s gotta find somebody else.”

  “Ain’t too many in Chauncey’s class,” I said.

  “Nope.”

  “So, we wait and watch,” I said.

  “Yep.”

  “Least he won’t back-shoot you,” I said. “He’ll come at you straight on.”

  Virgil nodded.

  “Be too bad if I have to kill him,” Virgil said. “He’s been pretty useful so far.”

  “So have you,” I said.

  “I have,” Virgil said. “Haven’t I?”

  51

  THE FRONT of the Golden Palace where it faced the street was still open. And carpenters were bringing in lumber and millwork. But the back of the room was enclosed and there were a few odd tables set up near a bar made from a couple of tailgates.

  Buford Posner brought a bottle of whiskey and four glasses to the table where Virgil and I were sitting with Lamar Speck. He poured some whiskey for each of us. Speck raised his glass.

  “Almost back,” he said, and drank. We joined him.

  “Get that front closed in,” Speck said. “And you can get started on the finish.”

  “Got a new bar,” Posner said, “coming in from Denver. Amos got them to ship it to me on credit through the Reclamation Commission.”

  “And got a little finder’s fee,” Speck said.

  “Sure,” Posner said. “Amos always gets a little finder’s fee.”

  “Didn’t know we had a Reclamation Commission,” I said.

  “What Amos calls it,” Posner said. “Calls himself commissioner, too.”

  “He would,” I said.

  “Not a bad id
ea, though,” Speck said. “Town was originally thrown up building at a time with no oversight. So Amos got together with some of the better-off business interests in town, and he says we got a second chance, let’s do it right. And he brings the general aboard, first off, and when people see that, they’re interested. Me ’n Buford came aboard.”

  Virgil seemed interested in the framing work going on in the front of the saloon. But I knew he heard what was being said. Virgil, as far as I know, always heard everything that mattered. And saw everything, and knew what to do.

  “How’s it work?” I said.

  “We all chip in some money, to make a little credit pool, and use it to support loans for people rebuilding. In return they give the commission a say in what they’re doing,” Speck said.

  “Nice position of power,” I said.

  “Amos put in money,” Virgil said.

  He was still watching the framers. It was the kind of thing Virgil liked to watch. Men with a skill practicing it well.

  “Mostly the general put up the money at first,” Posner said. “Him and Amos is pretty tight. Amos is the commissioner, does most of the legwork.”

  “You boys get to say much?” I said.

  “We have regular meetings,” Speck said.

  “Truth of the matter,” Posner said, “we’re in ’cause we can’t afford to be out.”

  I nodded.

  “But do you have any say?”

  “Not much,” Speck said. “Callico and the general are very tight. They pretty much decide everything.”

  “And it’s not just the money,” Posner said. “Callico is the law here, and he always has some policemen with him.”

  “And the general?” Virgil said.

  “Teagarden is always beside him,” Posner said.

  “Any threats?” Virgil said.

  “Not direct, but they can back up what they think should happen,” Posner said.

  “And you boys can’t,” Virgil said.

  “No.”

  “And you want us to help you.”

  They said yes at the same time.

  Virgil looked at me.

  “You want to have the first say, Everett?” he said.

  I nodded.

  “I don’t like it,” I said.

  Virgil nodded slowly.

  “No,” he said. “I don’t, either.”

  “We can pay you well,” Speck said.

  Virgil shook his head.

  “Ain’t that,” he said.

  “Are you afraid?” Posner said.

  Virgil smiled.

  “Long as Everett and me been doing this?” he said. “Nope, we ain’t scared.”

  “You want to end up on the right side of things,” Speck said. “When this is all over with and Callico’s got the town.”

  “Everett,” Virgil said to me. “Would you explain to these two gentlemen why we ain’t gonna do this?”

  “What we do,” I said to Speck and Posner, “is we kill men. We been doing it for a while and we are better at it than anyone we’ve come up against so far. Being good at killing men is different than being good at bulldogging a steer or shooting holes in silver dollars. It’s serious, and it needs to be done right.”

  Speck and Posner stared at me and said nothing.

  “You’re a lawman and right is pretty easy. You do what the law requires. And you’re pretty much sure you’re on the right side of things. Until now and then you find that you’re not. And you have to kill someone on your own terms.”

  Virgil nodded. He had always worried about stuff like this more than I did.

  “This would be like that,” I said. “And we don’t want to kill a man on your terms.”

  “Well,” Speck said. “Pretty goddamned fancy for a couple of fucking gunmen.”

  “Fancy,” Virgil said.

  52

  VIRGIL AND I were having coffee and dried-apricot pie at Café Paris. Through the front window we could see the opening ceremonies for the new Laird bank that the general was opening in Appaloosa.

  There was red, white, and blue bunting. There were some speeches. Two guys played banjo. The general was there, of course, in a dark gray suit and some ribbons and an officer’s dress sword on a sash. Teagarden was beside him, wearing his ivory-handled Colt. Chauncey was a bear for ceremony.

  “Lotta money kicking around Appaloosa these days,” I said.

  “Callico and the general,” Virgil said.

  “Yeah,” I said. “They’ve brought in a lot.”

  “That much money coming and going,” Virgil said. “Trouble comes with it.”

  “Bad element collecting in town?” I said.

  “Seems so,” Virgil said.

  “Anyone special?” I said.

  “Well,” Virgil said. “There’s you and me.”

  “We cleaned it up the first time, Virgil.”

  “Might have to again,” Virgil said.

  “And who’ll pay us to do it?”

  “Whoever got the most to lose, I expect,” Virgil said.

  “So, we got some preliminary skirmishes to observe,” I said. “’Fore we know.”

  Virgil nodded. We both ate some pie, and Virgil drank some coffee. He shook his head.

  “Chinaman makes the second-worst coffee in Appaloosa,” he said.

  “Allie being the worst,” I said.

  “Yes.”

  I nodded toward the bank festivities.

  “Allie’s in attendance,” I said.

  “I know,” Virgil said. “Since Laurel went off, Allie’s got a lot of free time.”

  He drank some more coffee.

  “I don’t encourage her to spend it cooking,” he said.

  “I wouldn’t,” I said.

  “She’s working her way up in Appaloosa society,” he said.

  “Which would be, at the moment, Callico,” I said. “And the general.”

  “Callico is through Mrs. Callico,” Virgil said.

  “The belle of New Orleans,” I said.

  “Whole damned South,” Virgil said.

  The Chinaman came out and poured us more coffee. We both drank some and looked across the bright street. Allie was talking to Chauncey Teagarden.

  “General’s kinda long in the tooth,” I said. “But Chauncey ain’t.”

  Virgil nodded and stared across the street at Allie over the top of his coffee cup.

  “You and me know Allie, I’d guess,” Virgil said, “better’n anybody.”

  “You know her best,” I said.

  Virgil shook his head.

  “No,” Virgil said. “I fucked her and you ain’t. But you know her well as I do.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “And she knows that Chauncey is here sooner or later to kill me,” Virgil said.

  I nodded.

  “And she knows that he might succeed.”

  “Always possible,” I said.

  “And so you know she’s thinking ahead,” Virgil said.

  I was quiet for a moment, looking across the street. Then I took in some air and blew it out slowly.

  “And lining up replacements,” I said.

  “In case,” Virgil said.

  “Something happened to you, I’d look out for her,” I said.

  “She knows that,” he said. “She also knows I go down, you’ll probably go, too.”

  “Probably,” I said.

  “And even if you don’t go down, she knows you won’t . . .”

  Virgil wobbled his hand a little.

  “No,” I said. “That’s right. I’d look out for her, but I wouldn’t, ah, be with her.”

  “You don’t love her,” Virgil said.

  “No.”

  Virgil gazed across the street silently.

  “I do,” he said.

  “I know.”

  “Don’t make any sense, does it?” Virgil said.

  I exhaled again.

  “No,” I said. “But maybe it ain’t supposed to.”

  “I want
her to feel safe,” Virgil said.

  “I’ll see that she does,” I said.

  “No,” Virgil said. “You can’t. ’Cause you won’t fuck her and she can’t feel safe with no one ’less she’s fucking him.”

  “I know,” I said.

  “So, let her find somebody to fuck, if I go,” Virgil said. “And don’t kill him for fucking her.”

  I nodded again.

  “Work out better all around,” I said, “you don’t die.”

  “Would,” Virgil said. “Wouldn’t it.”

  53

  AS THE TOWN BLOOMED, the Reclamation Commission bloomed along with it and, in time, was effectively running Appaloosa. Most of the running was done by Laird and Callico, who had come to seem to be almost a single entity. They built a big hall with offices for town government and a big meeting hall on the second floor. They called it Reclamation Hall. Callico moved his offices there from the jail. He and Laird set up offices for the Reclamation Commission there. At the end of a grand mahogany corridor on the first floor, they built a lavish office for the mayor. There was the Reclamation Commission. There was Callico and Laird. The rest of the offices were empty. There was no town government. There was no mayor.

  “Bad mistake,” Virgil said, walking through the still-virgin offices.

  “Building the office first?” I said.

  “Longer it sits here,” Virgil said, “more pressure to have an election and elect a mayor.”

  “Which will be either Callico or the general,” I said.

  “Running against each other,” Virgil said.

  I nodded slowly without saying anything.

  “Ain’t ready for that yet,” Virgil said.

  “Laird might be,” I said.

  “Maybe he is,” Virgil said. “Maybe he ain’t. Callico ain’t.”

  “Wants it too bad,” I said.

  We walked out of the gleaming new office and down the broad corridor.

  “Wants everything too bad,” Virgil said.

  “Wants to be more than he is,” I said.

  “Not the key to happiness, I’m thinking,” Virgil said.

  “You’d settle for being what you are,” I said to Virgil.

  “I have,” Virgil said.

  “Would you settle for being Callico?” I said.

  We opened the heavy front door and went out of the soap-smelling hall and down the stairs. The smell of the town was thick with sawdust and raw wood, horse droppings, and the smell of scorched wood from the steam saw. All drifted across Appaloosa on the easy breeze from the prairie, to which a vestige of sage smell still clung.