Brimstone - Паркер Роберт Б. - Страница 7

• Предыдущая
• 7/37
• Следующая

“You was with Basgall,” Virgil said.

“Moved on,” J.D. said.

“And Basgall?”

“Got shot by two Texas Rangers in El Paso.”

“You with Pike now?” Virgil said.

“I work here,” J.D. said. “You?”

“Me and Hitch here signed on with the sheriff,” Virgil said.

“Seen the badges,” J.D. said.

“Like to talk with Pike,” Virgil said.

J.D. nodded.

“Spec,” he said to one of the bartenders, “go tell Pike new deputy wants to see him.”

“Name’s Virgil Cole,” Virgil said.

Spec nodded and walked to a door under the back stairs. In a moment he returned, and behind him was a big man with very little hair and a short beard.

“Virgil Cole,” he said, and put his hand out.

Virgil didn’t take it.

“This here’s Everett Hitch,” Virgil said.

Pike didn’t seem to mind not shaking hands.

“Good to meet you, Everett,” he said. “You fellas care for a drink?”

“Beer’d be good,” Virgil said.

Pike nodded at the bartender and led us to an empty table.

“Bartender says you and J.D. know each other,” Pike said.

“Wickenburg,” Virgil said.

The bartender arrived with three mugs of beer and placed them carefully before us.

“Thank you, Spec,” Pike said.

He raised his mug toward us. We drank.

“J.D. is a pretty good gun hand,” Pike said.

“Was,” Virgil said.

“Still is,” Pike said.

“Likely so,” Virgil said. “I just ain’t seen him lately.”

Pike was deceptive. When you first saw him you thought he was fat. But when he moved he seemed light on his feet, and quick. And when you sat with him, up close, and could look at him you realized that he was big and barrel-shaped, but not much of it was fat. I looked around the saloon.

“Done yourself proud here, Mr. Pike,” I said.

“Aw, just Pike. Nobody calls me Mister.”

“Well, you got a nice place here,” I said.

“Yeah, lotta work, but it makes me sorta proud to see how it’s come along,” Pike said.

Virgil was quiet. I knew he was studying Pike.

“Understand you used to run a gang,” I said.

“Yep, gotta say I did,” Pike said. “Done some pretty illegal things for a while until the damn Pinkertons wore me out. Had all that railroad money behind them…” He shook his head.

“So you came here,” I said.

“Yep, ain’t broke a law in Texas,” he said. “Had some money saved, brought a few of my boys, bought a damned shack of a place with no name, and we went to work.”

“J.D. one of the boys you brought?” Virgil said.

“Yep, J.D. is a good man, and I believe in loyalty.”

Virgil nodded.

“Other lookout, Kirby Harris, was with me, too.”

Pike nodded toward the bartender who’d brought us the beer.

“Spec,” he said. “Few other boys.”

“Whadda they do?” Virgil said.

“They help me with some of my other interests,” Pike said. “I’m expanding.”

“What else you do?” Virgil said.

“Oh, this and that,” Pike said. “Lemme get you boys another beer.”

He gestured at Spec. I noticed he’d drunk only a little of his.

Virgil didn’t push his question.

“Any trouble in town?” Virgil said.

“Why do you ask?” Pike said.

“Just trying to get the lay of the land,” Virgil said. “Who’s that German guy you studied at West Point?”

“Clausewitz,” I said.

“Yeah,” Virgil said, “him.”

He looked at Pike.

“Fella says you need to be prepared for what can happen, you know, not for what might.”

Pike nodded.

“You went to West Point, Mr. Hitch?”

“Everett,” I said. “And Virgil won’t mind if you call him Virgil.”

Pike smiled and nodded.

“You go to the Academy, Everett?”

“I did.”

“When?”

I told him.

“Why we didn’t meet,” Pike said. “I was there a little earlier.”

“You in the Army?” I said.

“Yep. Soldiered for ten years. Out here mostly,” Pike said.

“Indian wars?” I said.

Pike nodded.

“Southern Cheyenne. Apache, Kiowa, Comanche. Comanches were a bitch.”

“Still are,” I said.

“Got to be a captain,” Pike said. “But…”

He shook his head.

“Rules got to be too much,” he said.

“Yep,” I said.

“You too?” Pike said.

I nodded.

“Yep.”

“How you get along with Brother Percival?” Virgil said.

Pike looked as if he’d been brought back from a reverie.

“Brother Percival,” he said, and shook his head. “Brother Percival.”

“Understand he’s opposed to sin,” Virgil said.

“Appears so,” Pike said. “Which can be identified by seeing if people enjoy it.”

“And if they do?” Virgil said.

“It’s sin,” Pike said.

“You seem to be selling a lot of it here,” Virgil said.

“Much as I can,” Pike said.

“He bother you?” Virgil said.

“So far a lotta blah, blah,” Pike said.

“You think there might be more?” Virgil said.

There was no meaning in his voice, just aimless talk. Except, if you knew Virgil, you knew there was nothing aimless about him.

“He’s got a lot of hard-looking deacons,” Pike said.

“What do you think that means?” Virgil said.

“Might just mean he needs a lot of people to make the collections,” Pike said.

“Or?” Virgil said.

“Virgil,” Pike said. “I gotta tell you, I don’t know. I don’t understand Brother Percival. I don’t know if he’s a God-fearing Christian, or a lunatic, or a rogue. He might be running a church or a flimflam. His deacons may be prayerful or they may be troops. What I know is I don’t like him.”

“And you have a few troops of your own,” Virgil said.

Pike smiled.

“Some,” he said.

“Left over from the old days.”

“Some.”

“Doing this and that,” Virgil said.

“Exactly,” Pike said.

“So you’re prepared.”

“Me and Mr. Clausewitz,” Pike said.

He grinned at both of us.

“Plus,” he said, “I know you boys’ll protect me.”

“Sure thing,” Virgil said.

WE ATE DINNER at the hotel with Allie, and then the three of us sat outside on the front porch of the hotel and watched the evening action on Arrow Street. Virgil and Allie sat on a bench. I had my own chair. A lot of towns Virgil and I had worked were whores and drunks, teamsters and drovers and thugs. Brimstone was an actual town. Women walked along the street, some with children. Men who might work in banks strolled along with them. In the street among the horses and wagons were neat carriages, one- and two-horse rigs, with leather seats and canvas canopies to keep the rain off.

“I found a house for rent,” Allie said. “Other end of Seventh Street. They’re building a whole row of them.”

Virgil nodded.

“Got a kitchen, got a front room, bedroom, got a room for Everett,” Allie said. “Be cheaper than the hotel, and Everett could chip in.”

“Sounds fine, Allie,” Virgil said.

“I can cook for both of you. I can wash and iron your clothes, and clean up. Make you breakfast in the morning.”

“That’d be nice, Allie,” Virgil said.

“Can we do it?” Allie said. “I’ll take care of everything.”

“Sure,” Virgil said.

“Oh, Virgil,” Allie said, putting her arms around Virgil and pressing her face into his neck. Virgil didn’t move.

Allie straightened up and patted her hair.

“We’ll move in tomorrow,” she said. “I’ll do it. You want me to move your stuff, Everett.”

“Ain’t much to move,” I said. “I’ll take care of it when you tell me.”

“Oh, this is grand,” Allie said. “This will be grand.”

Virgil nodded. The sun was down, the street was darkening, and the air was warm and still. There were no streetlamps yet, but a lot of the merchants hung lanterns outside their doorways, and the soft light made Arrow Street look serene as the night came down.

Allie was looking at the lights.

“I’m going to make it up to you, Virgil. To both of you,” Allie said. “You too, Everett. I’ve been awful to both of you.”

• Предыдущая
• 7/37
• Следующая