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

Автор книги: Robert Knott

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Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

— 4 —

Boudreaux?” Virgil said, looking at me.

“A tiger?” I said.

“Yes,” Allie said. “Isn’t that the awfulest thing? He was the tamer, and the tiger got mad or hungry or something and attacked him, chewed him up.”

Allie focused on the lead horseman and smiled.

“That must be Beauregard,” Allie said, as she worked pieces of her hair back into place.

At that moment somebody scurried from one of the wagons and handed the rider a long megaphone.

He moved his horse on into town. The band followed, playing as they marched behind him. He called out into the megaphone.

“Hello, Appaloosa. My name is Beauregard Beauchamp.”

“You were right, Allie,” Virgil said.

“We are the Beauchamp Brothers Theatrical Extravaganza and we will be in your fair city of Appaloosa for a full week. Offering you nightly entertainment. A new and exciting show every night. The whole family is invited, young and old alike will find something that will make them laugh, warm their hearts, and tickle their innards.”

Beauregard’s mount was a spirited white horse with black socks, mane, and tail. Beauregard himself was handsome. He sat upright in his shiny black saddle, wearing a sharp blue striped suit, gray shirt, red tie, and a wide-brim white hat that turned skyward at its edges. He sported a full black mustache and long, shiny hair.

More people came out to see the theatrical parade as it made its way into town.

“Oh, my,” Allie said. “Oh, my, oh, my.”

A few young children scurried out to walk along with the members of the troupe as Beauregard carried on with his ballyhoo.

“Aaaappaloosa,” he shouted, as the group continued into town. “We are pleased to announce we will be bringing you the finest entertainment this side of the Mississippi to your splendid township. We have a large tent we will pitch, and starting tomorrow evening, there will be a seat inside that tent for everyone to enjoy the Beauchamp Brothers Theatrical Extravaganza. So come one, come all. We have special prices for our opening night tomorrow night, so don’t miss out.”

He rode directly by our front porch and smiled at us, tipping his hat. Allie turned, looking to Virgil and me, and beamed like a little girl.

“Isn’t he just the most glorious?” Allie said, as she looked back to Beauregard riding by. “Just glorious.”

Virgil looked at me and nodded a little.

“He sure is, Allie,” Virgil said.

“Glorious,” I said.

The band members followed Beauregard as they moved through town. We watched as each of the brightly colored wood-topped wagon trailers passed by. Painted across the side of each trailer, colorful lettering boasted the variety of acts: Exciting Dramatic Plays!—The Darndest Dancing!—Heavenly Singing!—Sharpshooting!—Majestic Music!—Dr. Longfellow’s Magic Show! (The doctor will gladly cut you in half!)

A few of the show’s players waved from the wagon windows as they passed by.

“Only thing missing in this outfit is one of those Indian flute-blowing snake charmers,” Virgil said.

Last in line came a red-painted trailer with fancy gold lettering: Peek-a-Boo Madame Leroux ~ Fortune-Teller. (Futures Told & Your Legendary Afterlife Adventures Revealed!)

I noticed a very attractive lady with ivory skin and black hair looking out from a window. Her gaze was off in the distance, but suddenly her focus shifted directly toward me. She didn’t smile or wave, but I was certain she was looking at me.

There was something mysterious and haunting about her gaze.

Must be Madame Leroux, I thought. She remained looking at me and I looked at her until her trailer passed.

“Beauregard ought to put his brother to rest,” Virgil said. “Change the troupe’s name.”

“Change the troupe’s name?” Allie said.

Virgil nodded.

“Beauchamp’s Theatrical Extravaganza,” Virgil said. “Less of a mouthful.”

“Oh, Virgil, don’t be silly,” Allie said. “Clearly you don’t know the first thing about showmanship and advertising. You don’t go and spoil a name brand just because a brother got gobbled up by a tiger, for land’s sake. There’s a business to advertising. Mrs. Winslow’s Soothing Syrup, for instance . . . Ol’ Mrs. Winslow’s been dead and gone forever and a day, and it’s a good thing they haven’t changed the name to . . . to deceased and six-feet-under Mrs. Winslow’s Syrup. They wouldn’t sell nothing.”

Allie uncocked her scorn as quickly as she’d cocked it, then turned her attention back on the passing troupe as if Virgil had said nothing.

Virgil looked at me and smiled a little, then glanced up to the dark clouds in the far distance that were slowly rolling in behind the Beauchamp Brothers Theatrical Extravaganza, headed for Appaloosa.

“Regardless of what it’s called,” Virgil said, “I don’t suspect the weather’s gonna be too favorable for opening night.”

— 5 —

Allie said the dinner we ate was just like the food they make overseas in Europe. Virgil told her it tasted more like the food they make south of the border in Mexico. That incited a minor disagreement between the two of them that was working its way toward an argument when I interrupted.

“Something burning?” I said.

“Oh,” Allie said. “My pie.”

Allie got up from the dinner table and hurried into the kitchen. She opened the oven and waved at the escaping heat with a towel.

“Thank goodness, it’s fine,” Allie said. “Perfectly fine. The filling under the pecans just oozed out is all. It’ll be delicious.”

“Oh, hell, Allie,” Virgil said. “I don’t think I could eat another bite.”

“Me, neither,” I said.

“Oh, nonsense,” Allie said, as she placed the pie on the trivet between Virgil and me. “Doesn’t that look good and crispy?”

Allie fanned it a little with her towel.

“It does, Allie,” I said.

“You got a good scald on it,” Virgil said. “I’ll give you that.”

“Oh,” Allie said, returning to the kitchen. “I churned up some cream to go with it.”

She returned with the bowl of cream. She whipped the substance with a wooden spoon before putting the bowl on the table.

“I’m sorry, it was fluffier before,” Allie said. “It’ll be good, though, just spoon a little across the top.”

“Smells good,” I said.

Allie left the dining room and walked off down the hall.

I cut a piece of pie, put some cream on top, and slid the bowl over to Virgil.

Virgil cut a piece and put it on his plate when Allie returned to the dining room, putting on a silk bonnet.

“Would you be so kind as to clean up for me, Virgil?” Allie said, as she tied the bonnet under her chin.

“Where you going?” Virgil said.

“Well, I’m off to gather the ladies of our social and pay Mr. Beauchamp and company a proper welcoming visit.”

Virgil looked to me, then to Allie.

“You think that’s necessary?”

“I do,” Allie said. “It’s not every day Appaloosa has someone as renowned as Beauregard Beauchamp visit us. And, as the new spokesperson of the ladies’ social, I thought it would be kind to make certain we do not let this occasion of ceremony slip by like it’s just any ol’ day like yesterday or the day before. Everett can help you with the dishes. Can’t you, Everett?”

“Sure,” I said.

“Wonderful, thank you,” Allie said, and then leaned down, kissing Virgil on top of his head. “Maybe we can play some cards when I get back.”

“Sure,” I said.

“Might want to take your umbrella,” Virgil said.

After Allie left, Virgil pulled a cigar from his pocket and I took a bite of the pecan pie.

“Tell you what,” I said. “That’s good.”

Virgil looked me, then looked to the pie.

“Is,” I said.

Virgil slid the cigar back in his pocket and took a bite. He nodded and took another bite.

“Damn sure is.”

After we finished a second piece of pie, Virgil and I cleaned up the kitchen and went back out on the front porch with the bottle of Kentucky.

It was almost dark out now when we settled in with the whiskey. The storm clouds we had been watching previously were close to being upon us and a light cool breeze preceded the looming darkness. It was quiet out and not many people were about. We could hear the evening train on the other side of town. It let out one long blast of its whistle as it neared the station.

“Beauregard Beauchamp,” Virgil said, as he pulled the cigar from his pocket.

I looked to Virgil but didn’t say anything.

“He look familiar to you?” Virgil said.

“No,” I said. “Look familiar to you?”

“Something about him seemed kind of familiar.”

“Always something about everybody, isn’t there?”

“’Spect there is, Everett,” Virgil said, then bit the cigar tip and spit it over the porch rail. “’Spect there is.”

He fished a match from his pocket, dragged the tip across the grain on the porch post, and lit the cigar. He puffed on the cigar and got it going good.

“Allie sure seems to think he’s special,” Virgil said.

“Does.”

“Thinks he’s talented,” Virgil said.

“And renowned,” I said.

Virgil looked at me and discharged a sliver of tobacco from his lips with a spit.

“And glorious,” he said.

“That, too,” I said.

— 6 —

I played some lengthy games of Dark Lady with Allie and Virgil, and the three of us drank more of the Kentucky than we should have. Allie went on and on about Beauregard and how special he was. She said he held court in the town hall that night and how wonderful it was for her and the ladies’ social to welcome him and the troupe to Appaloosa.

Allie told us Beauregard introduced some of the Beauchamp players and his wife of three years. She was a blond actress, the leading lady, named Nell from San Francisco. Allie went on and on about how smart and beautiful she was and how in love they were and what a splendid couple they made.

I left Virgil and Allie’s place at about half past midnight. There was a light rain falling over Appaloosa and the temperature had dropped significantly.

I crossed Main Street by the Boston House Hotel saloon and saw Fat Wallis McDonough through the open saloon doors. He was closing up, putting chairs on the tables. When I stepped onto the boardwalk, Wallis looked up and saw me. He stood upright and put his large hands out wide like a welcoming kinfolk.

“Well, Everett Hitch,” he said warmly.

“Evening, Wallis.”

“How goes it?” Wallis said.

“Goes and goes.”

“Whiskey?” he said.

“Looks like you’re closing up.”

“Always open for you, Everett,” Wallis said. “Always open for you.”

He removed two upside-down chairs from a table and set them upright on the floor.

“Sit yourself down,” Wallis said.

“All right,” I said. “Just a smidgen, though.”

Wallis moved his big body behind the bar. He didn’t glide as swift and easy as he used to when Virgil and I first met him.

“I got some special stuff,” Wallis said.

Wallis was the time-honored chief barman at the Boston House Hotel saloon. Virgil and I had plenty of history with the Boston House, some good and some not so good.

I looked about the room. It hadn’t changed too much. I walked between the tables. I looked through the doors into the lobby and thought about the day Virgil and I first arrived in Appaloosa and signed up as peacekeepers on the landing by the front windows. I turned back, remembering how within minutes of assuming our roles we had walked into this room and Virgil shot two of Randall Bragg’s hands right where I was standing.

Bragg, I thought. That sonofabitch. I hadn’t thought about Randall Bragg in a long while. I turned and looked to the piano in the corner. I walked over to it and pressed a key.

Bragg. I slapped him down right here, called him out after the no-good sonofabitch lured Allie and had his way with her. Good riddance. I gave the sonofabitch a chance. I gave him a gun, told him to come out and face me or I’d come back in there and kill him. I gave the sonofabitch an opening. At least that’s how I summed it up, anyway, how I tallied it, how I put it together.

For whatever reason the Boston House Hotel saloon seemed to have a dark cloud hanging over it.

“Not seen much of you since you and Virgil have been back in town,” Wallis said, carrying a tray with two glasses and a bottle of whiskey with a fancy label. “Where you been keeping yourself?”

“Virgil’s had me busy working on his new house.”

“I’ve not seen him in here since you been back this time.”

“He’s had his hands full.”

“I’ll leave it at that,” Wallis said. “I saw the house. It’s looking good.”

“It is,” I said.

I took a seat. Wallis set the two glasses on the table and poured us each a few fingers and took a seat next to me.

“Lot of building going on everywhere these days,” Wallis said. “That train keeps a’comin’ and more people keep getting off of it, and as far as I can tell nobody’s getting on. Town’s getting bigger every goddamn day.”

“Damn sure is,” I said.

“Hell, in the last few years you and Virgil have been away doing your territory marshaling, this place has grown from a small chickenshit town to a burgeoning goddamn city.”

“Little too big for my liking, Wallis,” I said. “I kind of liked it the way it was.”

Wallis nodded.

“Business is good, though,” he said. “Hell, it’s tripled with all the mining expansion north of town and the upstart of cow-calf outfits. Place is six square blocks now, can you believe that?”

“I don’t have a choice,” I said.

“Street lamps, boardinghouses, support businesses on every damn street,” Wallis said. “Mining, construction, cattle. Means employment, though. City’s now chock-full of goddamn cowboys, miners, and migrants from every damn where seeking goddamn promise. Damn near two thousand people now, two thousand. Can you believe that?”

Silently, almost ghostlike, a lovely woman appeared in the doorway.

“Excuse me,” she said.

Her accent was foreign. French, maybe.

Wallis looked at me, then back to the woman.

“Yes?” Wallis said.

She was strikingly beautiful. I knew this must be Madame Leroux, the woman with the ivory complexion I saw looking out the window of the fortune-teller’s trailer when the troupe rode into town.

She stood still with her shoulders relaxed and her chin held high. She glanced around, looking at the room some. She took a sure step forward. Her movement was graceful and self-assured, like that of a poised dancer.

She was willowy and her eyes were bright blue. Her dark hair was wavy, parted in the middle and so long it likely had never been cut. She wore bohemian jewelry and clothing. Long strands of colorful beads and shells draped around her slender neck and large gold hoops dangled from her ears. Her dress was black velvet with lace, and hanging on the edge of her sharp bare shoulders was a long tasseled shawl that glimmered in the dim saloon light.

“I need something strong,” she said.

— 7 —

Wallis looked to me, then back to her.

“I’m sorry?” Wallis said.

“Something intoxicating?” she said.

Wallis glanced at me with a slight frown, then got his heavy body up from the chair and moved to her. He looked out the door past her to the boardwalk as if he were looking for someone else.

“Are you by yourself, ma’am?” Wallis said.

She followed his look behind her.

“As is everyone.”

I don’t think Wallis understood her philosophy, and if he did he didn’t particularly appreciate it.

“Well, it’s late and women moving around this time of night by themselves ain’t normal.”

“Well, I don’t suppose I am particularly normal,” she said coyly as she took a step forward past Wallis and looked about the saloon. “At least as is what has been divulged to me on occasion.”

She had not looked at me, not directly. I watched her and she knew I watched her. She was an assured performer, doing what she did best, and she was good. Aside from the fact she was eccentric and beautiful there was something else arresting about her presence. She possessed a strong self-sureness unseen in most women.

“History,” she said, glancing back to Wallis.

“What?” Wallis said.

“Your saloon,” she said, “has history.”

“Yes, well,” Wallis said, “the saloon is kind of closed up here at the moment.”

“I see. Am I interrupting?”

“Just having a nightcap with my old pal,” Wallis said, nodding to me.

She turned her head slowly and leveled her dancing blue eyes on me for the first time. Her look was penetrating. She was looking into me as if she was seeing inside me three long blocks and to the left.

“Bon ami du soir,” she said.

“Give the lady a drink, Wallis,” I said.

“Oh,” Wallis said. “Certainly. What can I get for you?”

“Would you have anything perhaps curative or therapeutic?”

Wallis put his big fists on his hips.

“Therapeutic?” Wallis said. “Well, I don’t have anything to cure what ails ya and I got no absinthe, if that’s what you’re looking for. I’ve got rum, rye, whiskey, beer, brandy, and—”

“Brandy,” she said.

Wallis looked at me. He nodded and moved off to the bar.

I removed a chair from atop the table and placed it upright.

“Here ya go.”

“Merci,” she said.

I caught a drift of her sweet scent as I held out her chair.

She sat and I sat next to her.

She remained looking in my eyes. Her dark eyelashes were thick and long and her eyes were penetrating. They were lively, mysterious, haunting, and extremely curious.

“You’re with the troupe,” I said.

“No.”

“I saw you.”

“I saw you, too,” she said.

Her eyes stayed aimed directly at me like she was trying to shoot her thoughts through me. She placed her hands shoulder length apart on the table.

“I’m not with them,” she said.

“You’re new?”

She nodded, smiling wryly.

“I’m temporary,” she said.

“Seems like the wrong time of year to be traipsing around putting on a show.”

She didn’t say anything.

I just looked at her.

She was staring at me.

I stared back at her and I think she smiled.

“Deputy Marshal Everett Hitch,” I said.

“Oui,” she said. “I know who you are, Deputy Marshal.”

“You do?”

“We’ve met.”

I shook my head.

“We’ve not met,” I said.

“On the contrary,” she said.

“Don’t believe so.”

“Now that I’m seeing you close and clearly, I’m certain,” she said. “It was a long time ago.”

“Where, a long time ago?”

“Bien,” she said with a shrug. “Perhaps I am mistaken.”

“Madame Leroux?” I said.

“You must have read that somewhere,” she said with a smile.

“Hard to miss,” I said.

She smiled, nodding slightly.

“Futures told,” I said. “Legendary afterlife adventures revealed.”

“Not all are so lucky,” she said. “I’m afraid.”

“Hocus-pocus,” I said.

“Ah,” she said. “A naysayer?”

“Just my perspective,” I said.

“Oui,” she said. “Something everyone is entitled to.”

Wallis came back from the bar with the brandy.

“On the house,” he said.

She tossed one side of her long hair behind her shoulder.

“Merci,” she said to Wallis, but remained looking directly at me.

Wallis looked back and forth between us, and like the amenable barkeep he was, he excused himself.

“I’m going to just finish up with a few things,” Wallis said.

He rapped his knuckles on the table.

“Enjoy,” he said.

She watched Wallis as he walked off into the back room, then looked at me.

“I needed to speak to you, Deputy.”

“Everett,” I said.

“Oui, Everett.”

“Why didn’t you say so?” I said.

“I needed to be sure,” she said.

“About what?”

“About . . . something I saw.”

“And now you’re sure?”

“Oui.”

“What?”

“It’s rather private.”

I looked to the back room. Wallis was nowhere in sight.

“Just you, me, and the narrow space between us.”

“You are in danger,” she said.

— 8 —

I smiled. I don’t think she was accepting or appreciative of my smile, but I couldn’t help it. Maybe it was the whiskey I drank while playing cards with Virgil and Allie. Maybe it was her strange beauty. Regardless, the thought of her telling me I was in danger made me smile.

“Well, no offense,” I said. “But in my line of work, danger is always present.”

“No offense taken,” she said. “I understand your skepticism, but in my line of work danger never lies.”

I smiled.

“What kind of danger are we talking about here?”

“I’m not sure,” she said.

“You’re not sure?”

She shook her head.

“Not completely, and what I see, what I know, can only provide you awareness, I’m afraid . . . Fait accompli.”

“So, what did you see? What do you know?”

“No need to be patronizing,” she said.

“I’m not. I’m listening.”

She looked around the room for a moment.

“Can we walk?”

“Don’t you want to finish that brandy?”

“Not much of a drinker, I’m afraid,” she said. “Perhaps you could walk me.”

“Sure,” I said.

“Merci,” she said.

I let Wallis know we were leaving. He stepped out from the back room, drying his big hands with a small towel.

“Good night,” he said.

“Au revoir,” Madame Leroux said, and I escorted her out of the Boston House saloon.

The rain seemed to be coming down harder now. They weren’t big drops, but the rain was massive and solid, like it was falling from thick, dense clouds.

We walked for a ways under the awnings of the boardwalk before she spoke.

“When I saw you, I saw something,” she said. “Something not good.”

“What’s that?” I said.

“Normally, I keep others’ événements, um . . . visions of misfortune to myself,” she said. “I remove myself. It is a code of ethics in my line of business.”

“But you feel an ethical need to share something not good with me?”

“Oui,” she said. “You see, you being an officer of the law as you are, I felt it was my obligation, my responsabilité, to share this information with you.”

“By all means,” I said. “Go right ahead.”

“I saw men,” she said. “Young men, running.”

I laughed.

She stopped.

I stopped and looked back to her.

“You must believe me,” she said.

“Men?” I said. “Running?”

She nodded and we continued walking.

“What men?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “They were scared . . . I saw them again, tonight. That’s why I needed to see you. They’ve returned.”

“Where did you see these men?”

“I do not know exactly who they were or where they are,” she said. “That is why I needed to see you. To see if I might have something clearer, stronger.”

I began to feel unusually comfortable with this odd woman I’d just met and this strange unfolding she was sharing with me. Not for a minute did I take to heart her nonsensical bullshit or her vocation, for that matter, but I obliged.

“What makes you think I’m in danger?”

“I understand your doubt,” she said, picking up on my skepticism. “But I know what I see, what I feel.”

She pulled her shawl up to cover her head and we walked past a storefront without an overhang. We felt the steady rain until we were back under an awning over the boardwalk.

“How did you know where to find me?” I said.

“Hocus-pocus, Everett.”

“Because you’ve seen these men and how they felt to you,” I said. “You feel I’m in danger?”

“Yes,” she said.

She lowered her shawl.

“What do your friends call you?” I said.

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t tell me,” I said. “You have none?”

“Oh,” she said, “on the contrary, I most certainly do.”

She tapped her temple and said, “I have plenty of friends with me, at all times.”

“What do they call you?” I said. “What is your given name?”

“Séraphine,” she said. “My name is Séraphine.”

We stayed under the awnings as we walked and were exposed to the rain only when there was a break overhead between structures. We turned and walked past a few boardinghouses.

Beneath a canvas cover on the opposite side of the street, three skinny young fellas sat under a lamp, playing cards on a whiskey barrel. They watched us as we passed.

We walked on for a ways, then Séraphine stopped.

“There it is,” she said.

I stopped and turned back to her.

“What?”

She was looking down like she was looking for something on the ground. She turned and looked back to the men playing cards.

“Something has happened,” she said.

I looked back to the men. They weren’t looking in our direction. They were doing just what they were doing, playing cards. One of them laughed. I looked back to her. She looked at me with a troubled look on her face.

“What?” I said.

She looked downward again.

“You okay?”

She shook her head.

“What is it?” I said.

“It’s not good,” she said.

“Your friends talking to you?”

“No,” she said. “Your friends.”

We were standing partially in the rain. I took her by her arm and led her under an overhang of the last structure by the pole lamp at the end of the street.

“My friends?”

“Yes,” she said. “Your guides.”

She sat on a bench in front of the building.

“What about them?”

“Codder,” she said.

“Codder?” I said.

“Yes,” she said. “Do you know of something or someone named Codder or perhaps Cotter?”

“No.”

She shook her head violently, as if she were trying to get the vision to formulate clearly.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I wish I could tell you what to look out for, but I don’t know. Not now, anyway, but you must believe me.”

“Well,” I said. “It’s kind of like Mother Nature. Not much can be done about the forces of nature.”

“I’m trying to help you,” she said.

“You’ve readily allowed there are men running, scared. Something or someone named Codder or Cotter, but it doesn’t mean anything to me.”

“Just be aware,” she said. “Keep those thoughts with you.”

She stood and took a step closer to me.

“Now I must go. I’m just here,” she said, pointing toward the vacant lot where the troupe was camped. “I will scurry through this rain to the dryness. I will see you again.”

She moved a little closer. She leaned in and kissed me, but as I worked to kiss her back she pulled away.

“Be careful, Everett.”

With that she took off running in the rain toward the troupe’s encampment.

I watched her until she faded away into the dark of the rainy night.

“Hocus-pocus,” I said.