Robert B. Parker's Revelation

by Robert Knott

  “What the hell, now is as good a time as any.” He knew she was away so he entered the boardinghouse. He stood still for a moment just inside the front door, thinking someone might come through a door that was just off the small lobby, but no one came. He walked up the steps to the second floor. Margie’s door was locked. There were two other rooms on the floor. Just to be safe, he knocked on both of the doors to see if anyone was in, but no one came to either door.

  He pulled his knife, working it between the door and jamb, and made his way easily into Margie’s room. Inside Margie’s room, he began to search. What exactly he was searching for he did not know, but for something that would hopefully tell him who Margie really was.

  He suspected just who she might be, but he had to find out for certain. He could not just speculate. He’d read about women like her, but he needed to know for sure. He needed to know just why she lied about Lincoln, Nebraska, and what she was doing there in Appaloosa. That lie she told meant only one thing to Driggs: she was hiding something, and Driggs was determined to find out just what that was.

  What a gloriously strange day, Driggs thought, as he looked through Margie’s personal items. Everything had changed, and it would be only a matter of time before Driggs could get to the bottom of his business.

  And there was nothing short of death that would keep him from doling out his vengeance. “If thine enemy hunger,” Driggs thought, “feed him. If he’s thirsty, give him drink, for in so doing thou shall heap coals of fire on his head. Dearly beloved, avenge not yourselves but rather give place for God’s wrath. For it is written, vengeance is mine. I will repay, saith the Lord.”

  Driggs’s excitement grew as he looked through Margie’s personal belongings. Then Driggs found something that made him realize he was indeed keen, perceptive, and all-knowing. What he discovered in the bottom drawer under Margie’s underclothes made his loins grow perfectly rigid.

  67

  The dark weather came upon us as Virgil and I loaded up young Gracie in a buckboard that we hitched up to two of Gibson’s mules. Gracie was alive and hanging on but was very weak and going in and out of consciousness. We covered the bed of the buckboard with tarps, then tied our animals to the back and headed out for Red Rock.

  “Good chance we could happen upon the sonofabitch Degraw up here in Red Rock,” I said.

  “Hope so,” Virgil said.

  “He damn sure didn’t go back the way we came,” I said.

  “No . . .”

  Virgil hawed the mules and popped the reins.

  “He’ll bed down someplace,” Virgil said. “Likely Red Rock or thereabouts.”

  “He goddamn sure shows up wherever he wants and does whatever he wants.”

  “He does at that.”

  I turned and lifted the tarp to look at Gracie.

  “Gracie?” I said.

  He tilted his head a little and looked to me.

  “You doing okay back there?” I said.

  Gracie nodded a little. I watched him a moment then I turned back in my seat.

  “Poor kid,” I said.

  Virgil looked to me as he worked the mules.

  “We’ve come across some evil hombres in our time,” I said. “But this one we are chasing now is as lowdown as any sonofabitch we’ve ever had to hunt.”

  “Sure he was beyond no good when he got to prison and being locked up just made him worse.”

  “Does that, don’t it?”

  “Does.”

  Virgil popped the reins and encouraged the mules to move on.

  “Mad at it all,” Virgil said. “Starts there . . . ends up real fucking close to hell.”

  “And now he’s got some young girl,” I said.

  Virgil shook his head at the thought.

  “Look forward to his demise,” he said.

  We checked on Gracie every few miles as we traveled. The first part of the trip was without rain, but eventually the dark clouds cracked and the rain fell. It was not coming down hard at first, but by the time we arrived in Red Rock it was coming down solid.

  It was about two hours after dark when we came through the small but well-established lumber-mill village built up on the edge of Rio Blanco.

  The only business open in Red Rock was an eatery saloon that was built near one of the mills on stilts close to the water’s edge.

  Before we entered we looked in the window, thinking there was a chance we just might see Degraw, but he was not there. We’d never laid eyes on him, but the descriptions we got gave us a very clear picture of the convict who had killed so many innocent people since his escape.

  Inside we found the place kind of lively for a rainy night. In the corner there were some older lumbermen listening to fiddle music played by two old-timers.

  Though we were standing there dripping wet, no one paid Virgil and me much attention when we entered. A short, round, red-faced woman wearing a checkered apron who came out of the kitchen drying her hands on a towel was the first person to greet us.

  “Evening, fellas,” she said.

  Virgil showed his badge.

  “I’m Marshal Virgil Cole. This is Marshal Everett Hitch.”

  “I’m Lucy.”

  “Need a few things,” Virgil said.

  She looked back and forth between us.

  “Okay,” she said.

  “We are looking for a man that might have come in here sometime earlier,” Virgil said. “With a young woman . . . a girl.”

  She shook her head.

  “No,” she said. “I’ve not seen any man with a girl . . . Sorry.”

  I glanced at Virgil.

  “How about without a girl,” I said.

  Virgil nodded.

  “Have you seen any strangers come through?” Virgil said. “Anyone at all?”

  “Not in the last few days,” Lucy said.

  Virgil nodded.

  “That being that,” he said, “we could use some doctor help outside here. Pronto.”

  “We have a young man with us in a buckboard,” I said. “He’s in pretty bad shape and in need of medical attention.”

  “You are in luck there,” Lucy said as she looked to the men watching the fiddle players. “That’s the most qualified man here in Red Rock right there. He’s an ol’ dentist who’s a better vet, and even better doctor. Retired now for the most part, but he works on most anybody with whatever.”

  She moved toward him.

  “Claude,” she said.

  Claude was a skinny, older fella wearing overalls. He turned and looked to us.

  “Come here,” she said.

  Claude got up and ambled over to us.

  “These men are lawmen and they need help.”

  The fiddlers stopped fiddling and the handful of fellas that’d been watching them fiddle turned and looked to us.

  Then the woman barked orders at a few of the other men to help and we got Gracie moved inside. We laid him out on the most comfortable spot we could find. Then Claude looked to Virgil and shook his head some.

  “I ain’t never worked on no Niggra before,” Claude said.

  “Good news,” Virgil said.

  “What’s that?” Claude said.

  “Things have changed for you, Claude,” Virgil said.

  68

  The fiddle players and their small audience cleared out of the eatery as Claude got to work on Gracie. He took immediate charge of the situation. He had Lucy put some water on to boil, then cleaned out the wounds in Gracie’s back with soap and hot water. Gracie was already numb from the pain and barely made a sound as Claude scrubbed, then stitched up the openings. When Claude was done, Gracie fell instantly asleep.

  “That is it for now,” Claude said.

  Claude watched the kid breathing for a moment. He put his hand to Gracie’s head and left it there feeling his pulse at his temples. He touched his cheeks and the back of the boy’s neck, then looked to us and nodded a little.

  “He’s very lucky,” Claude said. “If eithe
r one of those wounds ended up a half-inch one way or another . . .”

  Claude just shook his head, then looked to Virgil and me.

  “He’s gonna be okay,” he said.

  Virgil nodded.

  Claude looked at Lucy.

  “I’ll stay here through the night,” he said.

  Virgil looked to me, then to Claude.

  “Much appreciated.”

  “The fact me saying I never worked on no Niggra before had nothing to do with me not willing,” Claude said. “I just never had the opportunity. In all my years, this here boy is my first.”

  Claude turned back to Gracie and rested his hand on his shoulder as he nodded a little.

  “He’s a strong boy,” Claude said, then turned to Lucy. “How about a whiskey, Lucy?”

  “You bet, Claude. Coming right up,” she said, then looked to us. “Marshals?”

  “Sure,” we said.

  Lucy poured us each a healthy glass of whiskey.

  “Been a while since me and Everett have been through here,” Virgil said. “Where would a man find a room ’round here, what’s available?”

  “You fellas are welcome to bunk down here if you like.”

  “More interested in where we might find the man we was looking for,” Virgil said. “Where he might have ended up.”

  “Oh,” Lucy said. “Well, there are no official hotels . . . Not yet, anyways. Growing every day and there’s talk of one a’coming. For now there’s just a few rooming houses up the street.”

  Virgil nodded but didn’t say anything.

  “There is a boardinghouse at the north end of town, but that stays pretty full with lumbermen. Each one of those places will have vacancy signs up if they got space.”

  “Saloons?”

  “There’s two small ones, Jim’s and the other just says Bar. Both of those are at the end just where the road goes back north.”

  “They open?” I said.

  She nodded.

  “Never closed.”

  Virgil nodded a little, thinking.

  “Wire service here?” I said.

  She shook her head.

  “No, but the Transcontinental’s not but eight miles up and the water-drop depot is right there where the road crosses the tracks. The section line operator is there, takes care of everything on the tracks and runs the section team and such. If he’s not in when you get there, just wait awhile and he’ll show up.”

  We took our whiskeys and stepped out onto the back porch of the eatery that looked out over the river.

  “Ol’ Claude at first seemed like someone you’d rather not have work on you under dire conditions,” I said.

  “Is.”

  Virgil glanced back to Claude sitting with Gracie, then moved to the rail and looked out toward the dark. We could hear the water moving over the rocks. The sound of the rushing water and the rain falling on the covered porch was loud.

  “Still coming,” Virgil said.

  “Damn sure is,” I said as I moved near the rail next to him.

  “Been thinking ’bout that young girl he took,” I said.

  Virgil nodded but did not look at me.

  “Me, too.”

  “I’d like to think some kind of good could exist for her,” I said, “but . . .”

  “I know,” Virgil said.

  “And that boy in there,” I said, looking inside.

  Virgil glanced back and shook his head.

  “He’ll not likely forget this . . . He’ll carry those scars inside for all his born days,” he said.

  We stood there for a moment just listening to the rain and river as we sipped our whiskey.

  “Something don’t seem right,” Virgil said.

  “What are you thinking about?”

  “Don’t know.”

  He shook his head a little and looked to me but said nothing.

  “Driggs?” I said.

  Virgil thought, then nodded.

  “No doubt we been after some real shits that got loose,” he said. “And we got some kind of monster right here, right now, with this goddamn Degraw . . . but Driggs.”

  “We were talking there at the table when Rutledge came up, talked about his big party and mentioned the prison break,” I said. “And Allie was concerned about the convicts ending up in Appaloosa.”

  “I know.”

  “That was a far notion from our minds at the time,” I said.

  “At the time,” Virgil said.

  “Not from Allie’s,” I said.

  “Nope,” he said.

  “Rutledge said he heard about the break from a wire that came from his business partner in Yaqui,” I said. “When he was ordering parts or some shit.”

  I could tell Virgil was thinking back on that night.

  “I thought back on him, Rutledge,” I said. “Saying that shit to us at the table . . . Don’t think he was fishing, do you, about what we did and didn’t know?”

  “What do you think?”

  “Don’t know,” I said. “Rutledge seems like a harmless blowhard, but hell if I know.”

  “He does,” Virgil said.

  We were silent for a moment as we thought about possibilities. “Wonder what else we ain’t figured on?”

  “Been thinking that, too,” Virgil said. “Like Appaloosa.”

  I nodded.

  “Why Appaloosa?” I said.

  “Hard to say.”

  “It is,” I said. “Appaloosa is not necessarily a place you’d pick on the map unless you had some business there.”

  “Or visiting someone,” Virgil said.

  “Who?” I said.

  Virgil shook his head.

  “Rutledge?” I said.

  “Might well be,” Virgil said.

  “Got to be someone or some damn reason.”

  “There is,” Virgil said.

  “Or Driggs and the woman could be just passing through,” I said.

  Virgil shook his head.

  “That don’t seem right, though,” he said. “Giving the fact him and the warden’s wife is on the run.”

  “Course they’re acting like they ain’t.”

  “They are,” Virgil said. “Or so it seems.”

  “Goddamn twisting past, present, and unclear future that has got Driggs to here,” I said.

  “That’s a fact,” Virgil said.

  “Right from the beginning. The things Driggs did on the battlefield, the killing, the unnecessary killing . . . Who the hell knows, maybe he was responsible for the demise of our CO’s wife way back when? Or better to the point, with all we know now, he damn sure most likely was. Hard to know what he did from that time on, when we were barely old enough to shave, up to the time he robs a fucking Spanish ship with a cache of money, gold, and jewelry. Gets himself shot up in the process. The other robbers get away. No one knows a damn thing about the money, gold, and jewelry. Gets locked up in Mexico, using the name Lonnigan, a fellow soldier who was lost in battle. For all I know Driggs maybe killed Lonnigan himself. Then he moved north to Cibola. Starts up spinning a web around the pretty warden’s wife. Then lets out a band of murderers, breaks down the communications, makes off with the warden’s money, guns, horses, and wife . . . Then . . . catches a goddamn train right back to the comforts of civilization.”

  Virgil and I thought about all that as we listened to the sounds of the rain and the rushing river. Then Virgil spoke slowly and precisely as he stared off in the dark.

  “Driggs is on some kind of a hell-bent jamboree, Everett.”

  69

  The last time Driggs had seen Uncle Dave was when they boarded the ship down in Mexico, and he was thankful he’d never have to see him again. And now, after killing Uncle Dave and Chastain, and then coming across the discovery in Margie’s room, he felt rage running through his veins. It’d been a while since he had the feeling like he wanted to kill more. He’d not felt that back at the prison when he killed the two guards before he released the other inmates. But now he felt dif
ferent as he stood in the shadows of the Town Hall and watched Allie and Margie.

  It was hard for him to tell exactly what they were doing. It appeared to him they were perhaps sewing and cutting fabric. He could not make out exactly what it was, but he didn’t really care. He was patient as he watched them. They were standing on opposite sides of a table toward the back of the shop, talking and laughing as they worked.

  One thing Driggs could not understand but would get to the bottom of, one way or the other, was why Margie was working with Allie. Surely there was a better way to perform her duties than to cut and sew with Allie. Regardless, he was not about to let Margie or anyone else fuck up what he needed to do.

  But as Driggs watched and waited it occurred to him that maybe, just maybe, Margie might be able to help him in some way. Maybe for the time being he could let her live. Not that he wanted to let her live. Not really. He was actually energized thinking about what he could do with her on her way out. Allie, too. Though Allie was outside of his bailiwick, of where he needed to focus his attention, he didn’t really care. The simple fact that he titillated her made him want to work her into even more of a frenzy. But Driggs let that notion go. He let it go and moved on.

  The rain continued through the day and into the evening. The whole of the afternoon Driggs spent with the princess. She had never experienced anything like what he delivered up on this stormy day. She had no idea where it came from, but she appreciated it, very much.

  After, they came down and enjoyed an early dinner. Then they sat in the hotel parlor watching the rain out the window as they drank some brandy. Driggs had been quiet during the afternoon of sex and throughout dinner.

  “I feel like I’ve died and gone to heaven,” she said.

  Driggs looked from the window to her and smiled.

  “You do?”

  “I do,” she said.

  “What makes you say that?”

  “What do you think?”

  “Tell me.”

  “You’re an animal,” she said as she pointed her toe and stroked his foot with her foot under the table.

  “What kind of animal am I?”

  “A wolf,” she said with a smile.