Текст книги "Robert B. Parker's The Bridge"

Автор книги: Robert Knott

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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

— 44 —

It did not surprise me to find Séraphine was gone when I woke up in the morning. What else? I thought.

My head was heavy and I felt far less alive and aware than I had felt in the evening. I felt as though I had been drunk, but the fact was I’d had nothing, nothing but Séraphine.

I looked around the room, and with the exception of her smell and the cooled water in the tub, there was no sign she had even been there.

I looked out the window and the landscape was just as it was the day before, a blanket of snow.

I could see the depot and smoke rising up from its chimney. The tracks were completely covered as far as I could see and there was no sign of sun.

I got dressed and made my way downstairs. The lobby was empty, but the young British fella was behind the counter. He smiled at me.

I started for the door and he said, “One moment, Mr. Hitch. I’ve got something here for you.”

He retrieved a small envelope from the key box behind the desk and handed it to me. “Here you go.”

I took the envelope.

“Appreciate it,” I said.

Written across the envelope was one word. Everett.

I looked at it, and instead of opening it right away I put it in my pocket and left the hotel.

I walked by the depot and made my way back toward Virgil’s place.

I knocked on the door and Allie answered.

“Everett,” she said. “Why, good cold and snow-covered morning. Come on in.”

I stomped the snow off my boots and stepped inside.

“Lands,” Allie said. “That you?”

“Me what?”

She nuzzled her nose into my neck.

“It is,” she said. “You sure do smell pretty.”

“I took a bath,” I said.

“Well, I should say so,” Allie said.

She closed the door.

“You don’t look so good, though. You look like you seen a ghost,” she said.

“No ghost,” I said. “Not this morning, anyway. Virgil in?”

“He’ll be back in a minute,” she said. “I sent him to the grocery to fetch me some baking soda. You feeling all right?”

“I feel fine, Allie,” I said.

“Well, you smell fine.”

“Could use a cup of coffee,” I said.

“You bet,” she said. “Sit yourself down right there and make yourself comfortable, Everett.”

Allie walked to the kitchen and I took a seat at the table.

“Can you believe this weather?” Allie said.

“I can,” I said.

“Think it will ever let up?” Allie said.

“It will.”

Allie brought me a cup of coffee in a proper sipping cup with a saucer underneath.

“Fresh,” she said.

I took a sip. It was thick and had a jolt to it, but I didn’t do nothing but drink it.

Allie took a seat next to me.

“I thought about what you said last night, Everett,” Allie said. “And you are right. I was being insensitive and self-centered.”

I didn’t say anything.

“What you and Virgil have been dealing with, Everett, is far more important and critical than my pettiness and blinded shame over what has happened with Virgil’s inability to understand the arts and the man who brings them to us.”

I almost spit my coffee. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t need to. I knew Allie well enough to know she was just getting started, so I just drank my coal-black coffee.

“This poor man, Beauregard, is misunderstood and good-hearted, but that is no reason to give his unfortunate circumstances more attention, more credence than the serious circumstances that you and Virgil are facing. Not to mention my quarrel with Virgil is petty of me to even consider in times like these.”

Allie put her hand on my hand.

“So. I want to thank you for setting me straight, Everett,” Allie said.

I nodded.

“You know, Everett,” Allie said. “I just have to stop thinking about myself. So I’ve decided I will do what I can do to give, instead of constantly needing to receive.”

“What are you thinking about giving?” I said.

“Well,” Allie said. “I’m glad you ask. For starters, I thought about poor Mrs. Beauchamp.”

“What have you thought about her?” I said.

“Well, what with this weather like it is and with her being secluded,” Allie said. “I feel it is my civic duty to see to it she doesn’t get herself in the way of Beauregard and his creative needs, so I’m going to invite her over for tea.”

Allie smiled, big.

I just looked at her.

“Who knows,” Allie said. “Perhaps we will become good friends.”

“Who knows?” I said.

“Yes,” she said. “Who knows?”

“You think that is a good idea?” I said.

“I do,” Allie said.

Virgil came through the front door and looked over, seeing me.

“Hey, Everett,” Virgil said.

Virgil had a small box of groceries.

“I picked you up a few other things I thought you might need, Allie,” Virgil said.

“Thank you, Virgil,” she said.

Allie got up and took the box from Virgil.

“Oh, good, chocolate. Why, Virgil, you are so thoughtful.”

Virgil looked at me. He sniffed the air a little.

“That you?” he said.

“Is,” I said.

— 45 —

I unlocked Bolger’s cell and brought him into the main office and sat him down in a chair next to the potbellied stove.

“There ya go, Bolger,” I said. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Virgil was sitting behind the desk, leaning back in the squeaky banker’s chair. He had his boots crossed on top of the corner of the desk and a cup of coffee in his hand. Chastain was sitting in a chair that backed up to the front window of the office.

“How you feeing, Bolger?” Virgil said.

Bolger didn’t say anything.

Virgil nodded.

“Want some coffee?”

Bolger nodded.

I poured him some coffee and handed it to him.

“Tell me about the dynamite,” Virgil said.

Bolger snapped his chin to his chest and furrowed his brow as he shook his head.

“Dynamite?” he said.

“Yep,” Virgil said.

“Don’t know nothing about no dynamite.”

“You don’t?”

“No,” Bolger said. “Don’t.”

“So, the judge will be here sometime soon,” Virgil said. “The choice is yours.”

“Well,” Bolger said. “Don’t know nothing about no dynamite.”

“What do you want to tell us?” Virgil said.

Bolger looked at Virgil and shook his head a little.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?” Virgil said.

“I don’t got nothing to say.”

Virgil nodded a little, took a sip of his coffee and set it on the desk.

“If I did have something to say,” Bolger said. “I don’t, but let’s say I did. How is that gonna help me?”

“Like Everett offered,” Virgil said. “We’ll let the judge know you provided us with important information. The good judge will consider your good deed when you stand before him, facing him, on attempted robbery and murder charges.”

“I didn’t rob or murder no one,” Bolger said.

Virgil nodded.

“Like I said,” Virgil said. “Attempted robbery and murder.”

“Need to be goddamn clear on that,” Bolger said.

“We’re real clear on that,” I said. “And we’re also clear on the fact you tried to kill me, a United States territorial deputy marshal, which you will serve a minimum of five years for, just for that. The attempted robbery and murder charges on the other two fellas, Grant and Elliott, will be separate.”

“Shit,” Bolger said with a point out to the street. “Them two silly fellers, it was all their fault.”

“How’s that?” Virgil said.

“I was working for them,” Bolger said. “Hell, it was a job I was okay with. I like driving a rig.”

“That right?” Virgil said.

Bolger nodded.

“But they didn’t pay me like they said they was gonna do. Hell, I’m a good worker,” Bolger said defensively.

Virgil knew who Bolger was. We’d seen men like Bolger a hundred times over the years. The west was full of them, men who came from a bad place, and as life carried on, things only got worse for them. Hardship and heartache were at the core of who they were. Bolger was a man of a simple way, with simple means, simple ambition, and simple instincts. A good enough worker until payday, then he’d drink and gamble and whore his money away. Guys like Bolger were always in and out of jail, drunks mostly, drunks who are just one bad shot away from Hell.

“I don’t got time for your bullshit about you working, Bolger,” Virgil said. “You boys hired on to sneak dynamite up there to the river bridge.”

Bolger shook his head.

“Did not,” he said.

“Bullshit,” Virgil said.

Bolger shook his head.

“You did it,” Virgil said.

“No,” Bolger said with conviction. “I did not.”

“Don’t you lie to me.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

Bolger was flustered. He shook his head hard.

“You did it,” Virgil said.

“No, I didn’t.”

“Bullshit.”

“I had nothing to do with that.”

“Bullshit!”

“I didn’t,” he said. “Ballard did!”

— 46 —

Bolger sat up knowing he’d mouthed off. He wasn’t too flustered about it because he knew, deep down, he was headed toward that decision, and so did Virgil.

“You both were in on this from the beginning,” Virgil said. “Weren’t you?”

Bolger shook his head.

Virgil, now, didn’t believe Bolger was part of the plan, but he knew the more he included Bolger the more Bolger would defend himself and reveal the truth.

“Bullshit,” Virgil said. “And if you keep on with your bullshit, we’ll move on. Right now, though, we are offering you a way to get your ass outta this sling it’s in.”

“It was Ballard,” Bolger said.

Virgil looked at Chastain, then at me, then at Bolger.

“Where is he?” Virgil said.

“That I do not know,” Bolger said.

“Stop with the bullshit,” Virgil said.

“I done told you he was the one that took up the dynamite,” Bolger said. “I’d tell you where he was if I knew.”

“Who was it that hired him to do this?” Virgil said.

“I don’t know,” Bolger said.

“What do you know?” Virgil said.

Bolger just looked at Virgil for a long moment.

“Tell me about the men he’s involved with,” Virgil said. “Tell me all you know. The more you tell me, the better your chances are. The more you lie, the better your chances are we will see to it your prison stay will be a good one.”

Bolger looked at Virgil again for a long bit.

Virgil nodded for Bolger to talk.

“Well, shit,” Bolger said. “I don’t know who he’s involved with. I don’t. I been in Appaloosa for a while. Doing pretty okay. I had a few jobs here and there, but nothing really stuck. Then I got this here job with them boys. Like I told you, I was okay with it. Then my brother, he come to town.”

“From where?” Virgil said.

“Wyoming.”

“What was he doing in Wyoming?”

Bolger shrugged.

“He was up there chasing some pussy.”

“What pussy?”

“Oh, some woman he got himself buggered up with,” Bolger said. “I don’t know.”

“What kind of buggered up with?”

“He got his ass throwed in jail over her,” Bolger said.

“For?” Virgil said.

“I guess she belong to someone else, some lawman,” Bolger said. “Ballard and this lawman got into a fight, and I guess Ballard messed him up real good. Not a good idea to get into it with Ballard, lawman or no lawman. Ballard did, though, manage to get thrown in jail there. Spent sixty days, and when he got out he came here to see me.”

“Go on,” Virgil said.

Bolger looked to the floor, shaking his head.

“Tell us what went down,” Virgil said.

“He started working with me,” Bolger said. “I told him I was doing okay. Keeping outta trouble and that I didn’t want no trouble. Things was going okay for a little while, but things don’t go okay for too long when Ballard gets involved. He got put out, started doing other stuff.”

“What other stuff?”

“Whores,” Bolger said. “Said it paid better and smelled better.”

“Pimpin’,” I said.

“I guess you could call it that,” Bolger said. “He made sure customers’ payments were made in full.”

“Where?”

“A place called the Back Door.”

Virgil looked to me.

I nodded.

“Know it,” I said. “That’s the house we saw them redoing last summer.”

“North of town?” Virgil said.

I nodded.

“A high-end whorin’ establishment,” Chastain said. “A good stock place. Caters to the big-money men in town.”

“Who runs the place?” Virgil said.

“Owned by two mine owners,” Chastain said. “Operated by some whore they brought in from Cincinnati named Belle.”

Virgil looked back to Bolger.

“I never been over there,” Bolger said. “Ballard was working there, though. He’s got a way with women. Until they really know him, that is. Then they scare. Always some dealing with Ballard and women.”

“He spell out the deal to you?”

“Some.”

“What do you know?” Virgil said.

“A whore there introduced Ballard to a one of her clients,” Bolger said.

Bolger shook his head a little.

“The client had learned from the whore that Ballard had been making delivery runs up to the bridge camp before he did what he did at the whorehouse,” Bolger said.

“What else?” Virgil said.

“All I know is this fella,” Bolger said. “This client met with Ballard a few times and Ballard told me this guy hired him to make a special delivery for him.”

“You know who this client is?” I said.

“I don’t,” Bolger said.

“Know the whore?” Virgil said.

“No,” Bolger said. “Never met her.”

“But Ballard told you this?” I said.

“He did,” Bolger said. “He come to me, said he needed to use the team and the buckboard.”

Virgil looked to me, then back to Bolger.

“How’d you know the special delivery was dynamite?” Virgil said.

“Ballard told me,” Bolger said. “At first he was gonna cut me in on the deal.”

“At first?” Virgil said.

“Then he changed his mind,” Bolger said.

“Why?”

“That’s Ballard,” Bolger said.

“Tell us about that,” Virgil said.

“I told him he’d have to pay me good, ’cause it was my buckboard and I haven’t been even paid,” Bolger said. “I was out of money.”

“Then what?” Virgil said.

Bolger shook his head. “Ballard told me he wasn’t paying me shit. Said he’s taking the team and trailer, no matter.”

“What happened?” Virgil said.

Bolger shook his head, thinking.

“We goddamn got into it, mixed it up right there in front of them boys’ office,” Bolger said with a crack in his voice. “But Ballard . . . Ballard and me, we been into it enough in the past I knew when to back down. Once he gets going he don’t got no throttle.”

“He took the team and buckboard?” I said.

“He did,” Bolger said.

“What’d you do?” I said.

Bolger looked at me. His lip quivered a little.

“I stole some whiskey and got drunk,” he said.

“What else he tell you about the deal?” Virgil said.

“Nothing,” Bolger said, looking at the floor. “Nothing.”

Bolger shook his head a little. He looked up to Virgil, then me, then looked back to the floor and started crying.

Virgil looked at me.

“You’re doing good, Bolger,” I said.

“Sure,” Bolger said.

— 47 —

Book walked in the door just as we got Bolger back behind bars and closed the door between the office and the cells.

“Think he’s telling the truth?” Chastain said.

“Do,” Virgil said quietly. “He don’t got the necessary resources to conjure up something like this.”

“Poor bastard,” Chastain said.

Virgil nodded a little.

“What now?” Chastain said.

“Me and Everett need to make a trip to the Back Door, pay this Belle a visit. Figure out what we can about Ballard, the whore, and who the fella was that hired him.”

“You still think this Swickey is the man behind all this?” Chastain said.

“Could damn well be,” I said.

“I haven’t had any luck locating him yet,” Chastain said.

“Keep looking,” Virgil said.

“Maybe this Belle knows where he is,” I said.

“Maybe,” Virgil said. “If he does run cattle and has a big spread, he can’t be that hard to find.”

“We’ve contacted every census and court and scoured records but have come up empty, but we ain’t done. We’ll keep after it,” Chastain said.

“Good,” Virgil said.

Virgil and I left the office and walked up the street, headed for the north side of town.

The Back Door brothel was a newly reconstructed Victorian two-story house atop a tall foundation at the end of Reed Street.

Virgil and I climbed the long steps and knocked on the door. After a moment a distinguished-looking black man with a feather duster in his hand opened the door.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Won’t be open for business until later this afternoon, gentlemen.”

I showed him my badge.

“Not here for no business,” I said. “Need to see Belle.”

He leaned forward, looking at my badge, and nodded.

“I’ll let her know you are here,” he said, as he stepped back and let us in. “And you are?”

“Marshal Virgil Cole and Deputy Marshal Everett Hitch,” I said.

“Sure,” he said. “Please have a seat.”

Virgil and I sat in the parlor as he walked off down the hall.

We sat there and waited, and after a moment longer than we needed to wait, Belle entered.

We stood.

She was short and round, with a wide smile. It looked like in her day she was a pretty lady, but like most women of her trade, the years had caught up with her.

“You need to see me?” she said in a husky voice seasoned from years of smoke and whiskey.

“We do,” I said.

We introduced ourselves.

“I know you two,” she said with a smile. “Well, at least I know who you are. Sit.”

We sat.

“I’m sorry I’m not more put together,” Belle said, “but you caught me before I went about the three-hour process of making myself up, so it goes without saying you must come back so you can experience the amazing transformation.”

“Sure,” I said, in an effort to be polite.

“Just need to ask you a few questions,” Virgil said.

“I’ll answer what I can,” Belle said.

Virgil nodded.

“Swickey?” Virgil said.

“What about him?” Belle said.

“So you know him?” I said.

“I do,” she said. “Not real well, however.”

“When was he here last?”

“Oh, well, it’s been a few months, I think,” she said.

“He got a certain gal?” Virgil said.

“He did,” Belle said. “Kim.”

“Where can we find Kim?” I said.

“You can’t,” she said. “Not here, anyway. She moved on.”

“Know where she moved on to?”

“Yep,” Belle said. “She married one of her regulars and they moved back to Wichita Falls.”

“Swickey been back since?” Virgil said.

“No,” she said.

“What can you tell us about him?” I said.

“Well,” she said. “He’s a single man, he enjoys himself when he is here, and he spends a lot of money, but he’s been here only a few times. Like I said, he liked Kim, but she’s long gone.”

“You know where Swickey lives?” Virgil said.

“No, I’m afraid I don’t,” she said.

“You hired a man here named Ballard?” Virgil said.

We could tell she didn’t like the sound of the question.

“He’s no longer working here,” she said.

Virgil nodded.

“We know that,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m not surprised he’s someone you are looking for.”

“Why?” I said.

“He’s a . . . how should I put this,” Belle said. “Ballard’s rough company.”

“Why’d you hire him?” I said.

“He had the credentials I was looking for,” Belle said.

“Which are?” I said.

“He’s intimidating,” Belle said. “He was what I was looking for. He collected for me.”

“You have any idea where he might be?” I said.

She shook her head.

“Not at all,” she said.

“Fair enough,” Virgil said.

“More importantly,” I said, “we are looking for one of your girls who introduced Ballard to one of your clients, maybe Swickey.”

Belle shook her head.

“I don’t know anything about that,” she said.

“This Kim,” I said. “Was she friendly with Ballard?”

“No,” Belle said. “Kim was intelligent and cautious, and she was not close to him that I know. Reason being she was close to me.”

“Was Ballard friendly with one woman in particular here?” I said.

“Don’t think so,” she said. “The girls liked him. Well, they liked to look at him.”

“What do you mean,” I said.

“Good-looking, got that thing about him women want. Silent, strong, but he’s a buck in the rut,” Belle said. “Full on, with the horns and all.”

“Describe him,” Virgil said.

“Well,” Belle said. “Like I say, he’s strong. He’s handsome as hell, a little over six foot, dark hair, full twist longhorn mustache. He sports a bowler with a white feather. He’s kind of flashy, has a pretty flashy smile. But like I tell ya, don’t be fooled, he’s rough company.”

“He just up and left here?” Virgil said.

“No, I told him to leave,” she said.

“Why?” Virgil said.

“He went too far,” she said.

“In what way?” Virgil said.

“He’s one mean sadistic son-of-a-crazy-bitch,” Belle said, nodding.

“What’d he do?” Virgil said.

“The last fella I had him collect for,” Belle said, “he beat him up bad, tied him up, naked, and ransacked his place.”

Virgil thought about that. He looked around the room at nothing and everything.

“How can we find out,” I said, “who this woman is?”

“Be hard?” she said.

“But not impossible,” Virgil said.

“Not impossible, no,” she said. “But you fellas know whores, and getting something outta them won’t be like twisting water out of a wet rag. They like the men they fuck because they pay them well, and they like to keep it that way. Whores are whores because they are whores.”

Virgil looked to me.

“So, like I say, not impossible,” Belle said. “But my girls don’t live here. But you can of course talk to each and every one of them . . .”

I slid my hand into the pocket of my coat as she was talking and I felt the envelope Séraphine had left for me at the hotel desk. I pulled it out and looked at it.

“Plus,” Belle continued, “since Ballard, I’ve had turnover, too. Whoring ain’t like it used to be. There is no loyalty . . .”

As Belle went on jabbering, I opened the envelope and read what Séraphine had written.

I looked up to Virgil and he was looking at me.

I looked back to the note. It had but one word written on it. Slaughterhouse.