by Frank Hayes
“I don’t know,” Virgil replied. “Sounds better than unemployed.”
“I guess,” the young man answered. “Anyway, Sheriff, what can I get you?”
“Lights for a Christmas tree,” Virgil said.
“Gee, Sheriff, we’re just about out of everything for Christmas. Think all we got left are some sets of white lights and some decorated wreaths.”
“Will you be getting more in?”
“Not this late. Christmas is only a few days away.”
“This is not good,” Virgil said. “My daughter wants to see Christmas in a big way.”
“You mean Virginia?”
Virgil smiled at the revelation that the word was out. If Joe Talbot knew about Virginia, it was a safe bet most of Hayward now knew Virgil had a daughter.
“Well, thanks anyway,” Virgil said as he turned toward the door.
“Hey, Sheriff. Hold up a minute.”
Virgil turned to watch as Joe ran to the back of the store. He was surprised when he was back a couple of minutes later carrying a cardboard box.
“Hope you don’t mind slightly used,” he said, going to the window that looked out on Main Street. In a couple of minutes he stripped the lights off the tree that stood in the window. Then he wound them around his arm. After placing the last string in the box, he brought it to Virgil. “Merry Christmas, Sheriff.” He handed the box to Virgil.
“But that’s your window display. What will your father say?”
“It’s okay. Like I said, Christmas is almost here. I’ll take those white lights and string them on the tree before I close up. It’ll look fine. This way you won’t disappoint Virginia. Pop won’t mind a bit. He is always telling me the goodwill of our customers is what keeps them coming back.” Virgil smiled at the comment.
Virgil left the store feeling like he scored a coup. Joe was standing in the doorway. Virgil waved as he pulled away. It was nice to see that one of the town bullies who had ganged up on Jimmy years before had become a different person.
A little over an hour later, he was admiring his handiwork on the front porch when Cesar came out of the barn. Virgil walked down the steps to meet him. Together they stood in the darkness, not even minding the cold chill of the night while the multi-colored lights from the tree worked a kind of magic on each of them.
Chapter 7
“You want another cold one?”
Simon looked at the empty glass sitting in front of him.
“Sure . . . why not?” He pushed his glass across the bar.
“Couldn’t wait for me?” Chet Harris was standing at Simon’s shoulder. He signaled to the bartender for another beer. “Well, how’s your introduction to law enforcement going?” Simon shrugged but didn’t respond. “What’s the matter, Simon?” Chet prodded. “The job or something else?” The bartender set two glasses in front of them. Simon took a swallow from his then Chet did the same.
“You know,” Simon said, looking into the glass.
“Yeah. Guess it’s never going to go completely away. We just have to figure out a way to live with it.” Simon for the first time looked full on at Chet.
“You seem to be doing pretty good. To tell you the truth, I was amazed when I came out here to see how well you were doing.”
“I got lucky, met some good people. Doc Kincaid for one. He’s been great. You know, even in the hospital environment, a lot of administrators didn’t jump at the prospect of a one-eyed intern. Even Virgil when we first met didn’t flinch a second when he saw the eye patch, made a crack that maybe I should get a parrot. Guess he and Ark are cut from the same cloth. Then of course there’s Karen.”
“No . . . I got no problem with the sheriff or anyone, Rosie . . . Jimmy. It’s just I feel haunted. I mean, you were a medic. You were always trying to help people . . . save lives. Now you’re doing the same thing.” He paused, then took another long drink from his glass.
“And you,” Chet said. “You think you’re going to be doing the same thing . . . fighting the enemy, killing people, taking more lives. Maybe you should talk to Virgil about the way you feel.”
“Maybe. It’s just that it struck me today.” For the next few minutes, he told Chet about the trip he made with Virgil. “It hit me when I was standing outside that trailer. I didn’t want to go in there. If Virgil had asked me I couldn’t have. I didn’t need to see another blackened corpse. There were more than enough of them in Afghanistan. I see them every night when I close my eyes. They wake me up in a sweat. They haunt me.”
Chet looked at Simon. He was staring straight ahead but Chet knew he saw nothing except a deep, dark abyss.
“I know . . . I know.” It was all he could say. He knew. He had worn that same haunted look for a long time. He also had spent many sleepless nights staring into that abyss.
Chapter 8
“Well, I hate to be one of those people that says I told you so, but I detected a crack in the back of Everett Jessup’s skull. Pretty sure he wasn’t born with it.”
“That just reinforces the verbal report I got from the fire investigation. Gasoline was used to start the fire but the chemicals inside the trailer finished the job. Thanks for the call, Ark. Guess I got another mystery to solve. Looks like I’m going to be making another trip down-county. Talk to you later.” Virgil hung up the phone just as Rosita came through the door.
“Either I’m late or you’re early,” she said.
“I wanted to clean up some paperwork that I’ve been putting off. Now it looks like I’m going to have to make another trip down to Cielo. See Mr. Jessup about his son. Maybe try to get a leg up on this thing before Christmas. Everything here seems to be in good shape, but I’m going to have to leave some of this for you.”
“We run a tight ship, Virgil.” Rosita was standing at the sink by the refrigerator washing out the coffeepot. She was humming a tune that Virgil couldn’t make out.
“I don’t know if it’s my imagination or what, but it seems to me you’ve been in an unusually good mood lately.”
“Must be your imagination, Virgil. I’m the same cheerful person I’ve always been . . . happy-go-lucky and carefree.”
“You can add delusional to that list.” Before the rejoinder came, the door opened and Dif walked into the office.
“Morning, folks, or is it afternoon yet?”
“You’re about an hour early for that,” Rosie said.
“What’s going on? Edna throw you out of the house again? I didn’t expect you for another four or five hours.”
“She and her sister are going to Vegas for three days, with Edgar. Guess he got a bunch of comps from some hotel.”
“Why didn’t you go with them?” Virgil asked. “We could have worked something out, Dif.”
“No. That’s okay, Virgil. I told them I couldn’t get off because so much was going on around here. Told them about the bank robbery then the other thing down around Cielo. Tell you the truth, I can’t stand Edgar. He’s got about as much personality as road kill. I haven’t heard an intelligent word out of him in the last two years. Those first three husbands of Lola’s weren’t so bad, but this one.”
“Didn’t one of those guys empty out the bank account on Lola?” Rosie asked. Dif hesitated before answering.
“Yeah. But he just needed some getting-away money. Hell, I woulda done the same thing to get away from Lola. I liked him best of all her husbands. I asked him one time why he married her. He told me that second husband of hers that got hit by the freight car was his best friend, so he thought he should comfort her. The comforting led from one thing to another. Next thing he knew he was staring at a preacher.”
“Whatever became of him?” Rosie asked.
“Last I heard, he was managing a tiki bar on the beach in Mexico near Cozumel. He’s probably happy as a clam. Bet every day he realizes how close he came to committing a felony, if he’d stayed with Lola.”
Virgil was smiling as Dif’s narrative came to an end. The door opened again and Jimmy
and Simon came into the office.
“What’s going on?” Virgil said. “Hasn’t anybody got a life around here?”
“Simon wanted to take a ride before our shift starts. He wants to see as much of Hayward in the daylight as he can before he sets out on his own.”
“It doesn’t look any better in daylight,” Dif piped up.
“Maybe,” Simon answered. “But at least if I get lost, I’ll know where I am.” Dif was about to respond then stopped, stymied by Simon’s response. Everyone started laughing.
“Yep, Simon. I think you’re going to fit right in with this crowd,” Rosie added. They were still laughing. Virgil had gotten out of his chair, heading to the coffeepot for the third time when the door opened again and Kyle Harrison, ATF agent, stepped through. The room got momentarily quiet.
Virgil didn’t miss a beat. He threw his cup into the sink, shattering it into tiny pieces. Then he threw an ill-timed punch at Kyle, who sidestepped just far enough so that it brushed the side of his face. The momentum of Kyle’s movement caused him to trip over his own feet. He crashed into the wall on his way to the floor. Virgil stood over him, his eyes dark with anger. Kyle held up a hand.
“I’m not going to even think about trying to get up until you put that gun back in your holster, Virgil. I know you got a bone to pick with me, that’s why I’m here. But first I wanted to tell you that I’ll be happy to come to your Christmas party.”
“Well, I’m glad that’s settled,” Rosie said. “Virgil, you’re not going to treat all your guests this way, are you?” Virgil looked at Kyle then at Rosie. The fire had gone out of his eyes. “Virgil, go sit down. I’ll get you and Kyle a cup of coffee.”
Virgil extended his hand. Kyle grasped it, then Virgil pulled him to his feet.
Jimmy, Simon and Dif stood silently watching. Virgil walked to his desk and sat down. Kyle grabbed a chair, pulling it alongside. Virgil looked hard at him. There was a full minute of silence before he spoke. Rosie set a hot cup of coffee in front of each of them. When Virgil finally spoke everyone heard what he said.
“You lied to me. There never was a plane crash.” The words hung in the air.
“I had to, Virgil. The story had to be convincing to everyone, especially you. Ruby is alive and safe. She has given us a lot of information that a lot of people would have killed her in a heartbeat to prevent. You’ve got to understand it was the only way. I did it as your friend.”
• • •
“Can you tell me exactly what happened back there?” Simon asked the question shortly after he and Jimmy pulled out of the parking lot by the office. For the next couple of minutes, Jimmy brought Simon up to speed about Buddy Hinton, the Black Bull, but particularly about Virgil and a woman named Ruby.
“Bottom line is, I guess Virgil found out that the story about the plane crash in the Superstition Mountains was just that, a story. It evidently was made up to cover getting Ruby into the witness protection program. Virgil didn’t take it kindly that they didn’t let him in on it.”
“Can’t say I blame him,” Simon said.
“Yeah, well, I guess at least one federal agent agrees with you. Too bad Virgil couldn’t know that before he ended up sitting on the floor.”
Chapter 9
It was a little after three when Virgil left the office for Cielo. Whatever punch the sun had had was long gone. There was a cold wind blowing that caused him to turn up his collar. Once he got on the other side of the railroad tracks where the land was wide open and flat, he could see sand eddies, miniature twirling tornados on the prairie, along with tumbleweeds driven by that same wind. Every so often when he was alone on a landscape like this, he felt a certain sadness. It was hard to explain why. It wasn’t a new experience and he knew exactly when it had started. He didn’t know why it popped into his head just now. Maybe it was the resurrection of what might have been with Ruby, after the encounter back in the office with Kyle Harrison. Or maybe it went way back to that first time his world got turned upside down. It hurt to think on it but he couldn’t stop himself.
He had just come home after a great day with Rusty. There was a stiff wind blowing that day too. But the difference was it was warm, filled with the promise of spring. His world was just about perfect that day, too perfect. He was anxious to work with Jack, who was a young weanling. His father had bred his favorite quarter horse mare to a Texas stallion with a pedigree that went back to Pegasus. Jack was the result. His father had made a present of him on Virgil’s twenty-first birthday, even though the mare wouldn’t drop him for another six months. Virgil knew what that meant. It would be the first horse he would start and finish all by himself. He didn’t want to disappoint.
After he was foaled, Vigil worked with him almost every day, which at that stage was just a lot of hands-on touching. He had already gotten the colt to the point where he could almost put the halter on himself. He learned quickly. Virgil could pick up any hoof, curry any part of his body. That day he was going to put him on a lunge line, just to see if he could circle him so he could begin to learn his leads. He knew he was young for this, but he’d been so quick on the pickup to this point, he was curious to see how he would react.
Virgil wasn’t too surprised when he pulled into the driveway that day and saw his Aunt Clara and Uncle Clyde standing by the corral fence talking to Cesar. Only when he saw no sign of his mother or father was he slightly puzzled. He knew if Clara and Clyde were coming that his parents would be there to greet them, since they were coming all the way from just on the outskirts of El Paso. When he stepped from his vehicle and his Aunt Clara turned toward him, he knew that there was a serious reason why his parents weren’t there. He was numb for the next three days. His world had changed overnight but it didn’t impact him until he came home from the cemetery. Everything looked the same, yet somehow it was all changed. He had walked out of the house away from the noise and the people who filled the house after the funeral.
He was standing by the corral when his father’s horse came over to nibble at his sleeve. He didn’t even remember how it happened, but he soon found himself astride and headed for the high country. The horse needed little urging. He hadn’t been under a saddle in almost a week. Virgil wasn’t aware of the passage of time or the miles he rode. In a strange way, time stood still. It was only after the horse snorted a couple of times and Virgil instinctively reached forward to pat his neck, drawing his hand back covered in lather, that he came back into the moment. He slowed the horse’s gait, coming finally to a full stop.
His immediate reaction as he dismounted was how angry his father would be to see his favorite mount with sides heaving, covered in moisture, nostrils flaring as he struggled to fill his lungs. He pulled off the saddle, then started rubbing the horse down with the saddle blanket. Steam rose from the animal’s back. After the rubdown, Virgil began walking the horse, becoming truly conscious of his surroundings for the first time.
He had reached the flat land beyond the ridge way up on the mesa, an area of BLM land that his father leased and was the northern border of their grazing rights. It was the poorest part of the range. A high plateau, like the land in the eastern part of the county on the way down to Cielo. It seemed endless, stretching all the way to the end of the world. Virgil stopped, looking at the emptiness of the barren landscape. Barrel cactus, sagebrush, some bunch grass and not much more. Even the cattle deserted this land after spring rains. At least ten acres was needed to support one cow unit in the best of times here. He sat on an outcropping of rock while the horse dropped his head in a vain attempt to find something worth chewing. Virgil’s eyes roved the wasteland looking for any sign of life. Nothing, not a bird or a sidewinder. He was literally alone. An insignificance. A profound sadness settled on him that he had never experienced before and he wept. Wept for his loss, but in reality mostly for himself. This new world was not of his choosing. He realized for the first time how little control he had and how vulnerable he was. It scared him because he knew tha
t from now on whatever came at him, he would be facing it alone.
The dark mood Virgil had slipped into because of the recollection lifted a little when he saw the same rise ahead that he had pointed to when Simon had been in the car with him. At least, he thought this time hopefully, his journey would not end standing alongside the burnt-out hull of a trailer. He passed the turnoff for Everett Jessup’s place, crossed another rail crossing, then passed by what he thought was the entrance to the sand and gravel company. He was surprised when he heard how much more it had expanded since he had last seen it. But then he realized he couldn’t even remember when he had last been down this way. This was an area of the county that had been the least developed until the last couple of years. He was driving so fast he almost missed the turnoff for Roscoe Flats. He braked, did a quick U-turn, then headed away from the routed county road. About two miles down, pretty much in the middle of nowhere, there was a general store with a gas pump outside. Seven or eight houses were clustered together. There was even what passed for an eatery with what looked like a smaller scale version of the Lazy Dog next door. He could see a couple of pickups and a dump truck outside, probably belonging to somebody from the sand and gravel. To the right of the building a little further on was a driveway. The carved wooden sign at the head of it read Sundown Ranch. Beneath in smaller letters he saw E. Jessup Prop. He turned down it, followed it for a half mile or so until he saw a neat, one-story, small ranch-style house. He pulled up by a fenced pasture, stopped the car and got out. A horse on the other side of the fence raised his head, greeted him, then dropped his head to some graze. Virgil walked around the car heading for the house. He could see Mr. Jessup sitting on the front porch getting out of a chair to greet him.
“Hey, Mr. Jessup. Hope I’m not interrupting your routine today.”