Resolution - Паркер Роберт Б. - Страница 11

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“Why not take his money?” I said. “You’ll maybe end up fighting his battle?”

“Don’t want it,” Virgil said.

“Why not?” I said.

“More comfortable if I’m helping my friend,” Virgil said.

I sipped my whiskey.

“’Cause you ain’t a lawman anymore,” I said.

“Ain’t clear to me right now what I am,” Virgil said.

“You’re good with firearms,” I said.

Virgil nodded and drank some whiskey.

“And you’re my friend,” I said.

Virgil nodded again.

“We’ll see about the rest,” he said.

It had been hot all week, so that when the rain came on Thursday night everyone was pleased. Zorn Tully came in, shook the rain off of his round hat, and offered to buy drinks for everyone. No one declined.

“What’s the celebration?” Patrick said when he finished putting the drinks out and Zorn had paid him.

“Leaving town,” Zorn said. “Just wanted to say good-bye to everyone before I went.”

“Where you going?” Patrick said.

“Maybe Laramie,” Zorn said. “Maybe Denver. Ain’t sure yet. Never been to Denver.”

“How come you’re going?” Patrick said.

“Sold my saloon,” Zorn said.

“You sold the Excelsior?”

“Yep, Eamon O’Malley bought it.”

"O’Malley?” Patrick said.

“Yep.”

“He give you a good price?” Patrick said.

“Fair,” Zorn said. “It was a fair price.”

The Excelsior Saloon was directly across the street from the Blackfoot.

“How come you decided to sell,” I said.

“Been here long enough,” Zorn said. “Fella came along, offered me a good fair price, I took it.”

“Much negotiating?” I said.

“No, like I say. Eamon came in, offered a good fair price.”

“Anyone come with him?” I said.

Zorn didn’t look at them.

“Sure,” he said. “Couple fellas work for him.”

I nodded.

“Cato and Rose?” I said.

Zorn sort of shrugged.

“Yeah,” he said. “I believe so.”

“Good negotiators,” I said.

“Good fair price,” Zorn said.

He was not just avoiding my eyes now. He was looking at something across the room. I looked, too. Just inside the saloon door, Cato and Rose stood looking at us.

Zorn began to move away from the bar.

“Everett,” Zorn said, “been good knowing you. I tole Patrick to give you one on me when you get off.”

I nodded, and Zorn Tully walked rapidly away from the bar and out the side door of the saloon where it connects with the hotel. I watched him go. Then I looked over at Cato and Rose. Rose grinned at me and shrugged and walked over. Cato stayed by the door.

“Heard Tully was buying drinks,” Rose said. “Guess we got here too late.”

“Said he was leaving town,” I said.

“I believe he is,” Rose said. “He tell you he sold his saloon?”

“He mentioned it,” I said.

“He tell you he sold it to Eamon O’Malley?”

“He mentioned that, too,” I said.

“Right across the street,” Rose said. “Kinda funny, ain’t it?”

“What’s funny?” I said.

“This little dump of a nowhere town,” Rose said. “On this side of the street, the saloon bouncers are you and Virgil Cole. On the other side of the street, the saloon bouncers gonna be me and Cato.”

“You’re right,” I said. “Lotta talent, for a little town.”

“More coming,” Rose said.

Fair offer, my ass,” Wolfson said. "That cheap Irish fuck has never made anyone a fair offer in his life. You saw the way he tried to buy this place.”

It was late. The saloon was closed. Virgil and I sat with Wolfson at a table and had a drink.

“You think he paid him anything?” I said.

“Cash,” Virgil said. “Show money. Not much, but all cash, so it felt like something.”

Wolfson nodded slowly.

“Like a reservation buck,” he said. “On a binge.”

He poured himself another drink, offered the bottle toward Virgil and me. We both shook our heads.

“It’s starting,” Wolfson said.

“You and O’Malley?” I said.

“Yes.”

“Might be,” I said.

“You’ll stay,” he said.

“Yes,” I said.

Virgil said, “I’m with Hitch.”

“Think it’s time I should see that fella in Araby?”

“Willy Beck?” Virgil said.

“Why not?” I said.

“You agree with me?” Wolfson said. “This is not going to stop?”

“Not right away,” Virgil said.

“Frank Rose hinted to me that they were hiring.”

“God,” Wolfson said. “It’s like a damned war starting.”

Virgil and I were quiet.

“Why is he so crazy to take over?” Wolfson said. “A fucking war, for crissake!”

“Remember what he said, when he made the offer? A mine is all overhead until it peters out.”

“He wants overhead,” Wolfson said. “I’ll show him fucking overhead. He’s making big, big money up there.”

“Until it peters out,” I said.

Wolfson stared at me.

“You think it’s petering out?”

“He seems eager to get into a new business,” I said.

“Goddamn,” Wolfson said. “Goddamn.”

He poured more whiskey. Virgil and I declined again.

“He’s petering out, and we can hold him off long enough he’ll run out of money,” Wolfson said. “Will Cato and Rose stick with him if there’s no money?”

“No,” Virgil said.

“Nobody else he hires, either,” I said.

“So we hold him off he’ll have to quit.”

“He knows that, too,” Virgil said.

“Meaning?” Wolfson said.

"Meaning he’ll push pretty hard to get it done ’fore that happens,” I said.

Me and Virgil were sitting on the front porch of the Blackfoot Hotel. Across the street at Zorn Tully’s old saloon, there was a new sign in place that read O’Malley’s New Excelsior. There was a lot of traffic on the street. Horsemen coming in, mostly. Some of them Eamon’s. Some of them ours.

“You ever heard about the Battle of Waterloo?” I said to Virgil.

“In Europe?” Virgil said.

“Uh-huh. The Duke of Wellington defeated Napoleon there.”

“Napoleon was the Empire of France, wasn’t he?”

“Something like that,” I said.

I knew he meant emperor.

“When I was at the Academy,” I said, “we had to read about it. The Duke’s army was full of riffraff, a lot of them had been grabbed off the street by press gangs, a lot of them been let out of prison to fight.”

Virgil nodded, watching the horsemen.

“So,” I said. “Somebody asks the Duke before the battle how he feels about his army. And he says, ‘I don’t know if they will scare the French, but they scare the hell out of me.’”

Virgil smiled and nodded as he watched the horsemen. Three riders pulled up in front of where we were sitting. The one closest to us was a kid with his hat brim turned up in front, and a feeble-looking little beard starting on his face. He had a Winchester in the saddle boot, and a big showy Colt with a white handle on his hip.

“You Virgil Cole?” he said.

“I am,” Virgil said.

“I heard you was the best,” the kid said.

Virgil shrugged.

“So far,” he said.

“My name’s Henry Boyle,” the kid said.

Virgil nodded.

“Lotta people claim I’m as good as anybody,” the kid said.

“Nice to know,” Virgil said.

“You working for Wolfson?” the kid said.

“I’m with Hitch,” Virgil said.

“Hitch working for Wolfson?”

“I am,” I said.

“Well, we’re on the same side, I guess,” the kid said.

Virgil said nothing.

The kid looked at Virgil. Virgil looked back. The kid glanced at the other two riders. They didn’t have anything to say. The kid looked back at Virgil, then at me. Nobody had anything to say.

“Well, nice talking to you,” the kid said.

Virgil nodded. The three riders moved on toward the livery.

“What the fuck is Willy Beck sending us?” I said.

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