05 Ironhorse (29 page)

“They got a jump on that Northern,” Berkeley said.

“Did,” Virgil said.

We watched for a while as the geese got closer. Nobody said anything else as we watched. After a bit we could hear their honking getting louder as they neared. The flock was large and they were not traveling very high. We watched a little longer and the honking got noisy as they got closer. After a few moments the formation passed over our head and was gone from our sight.

We sat silently, drinking our whiskey. Then Berkeley spoke up.

“Hell of a deal,” he said.

Virgil nodded.

“Was,” Virgil said. “Good of you to throw in like you did.”

Berkeley nodded some and took a drink.

“So you boys will be heading out in the morning?”

“Will,” Virgil said, “after the Southbound Express shuffles off the governor and his family, we will.”

Across the street Doc Meyer walked up the boardwalk. He was wearing his shabby dentist coat and his hair was sticking out in every direction. He turned the corner and just before he entered an establishment called Sleepwalkin’ Cindy’s, he looked up and saw us sitting on the porch. He stepped into the street and was almost run over by a team passing by. The teamster and Doc Meyer exchanged a few harsh words with each other before Doc made his way over to us. He started talking before he was close.

“You have the best pussy in town, I’ll give you that! But I’ve never really valued you for your skills as a constable, Mr. Berkeley, and of course when you are needed, you are not to be found. I was looking for you! You leave this godforsaken hellhole without so much an ounce of authority left to deal with the misbegotten disregards!”

By the time Doc Meyer was close to us he was out of breath and his face was as red as an apple.

“What is it, Doc?” Berkeley said.

Doc Meyer held up a single finger, providing him with some space, before saying his next words, and us listening to his next words. He put a hand on the porch post, took a few good pulls of air, and said, “I was looking for you, and you, too, Mr. Cole, I was looking for you, too!”

“When?” Virgil said.

“Yesterday!”

“I was not here yesterday,” Virgil said.

“That I goddamn know!”

“Why were you looking for me?” Virgil said.

Doc Meyer was still laboring to collect air as he talked.

“You got company, Mr. Cole.”

“Company?”

“Bad company.”

“Who?” Virgil said.

“I don’t know.”

“What are you getting at,” I said.

“I was lucky I was not murdered!”

“Murdered?” Berkeley said.

“Goddamn right,” Doc Meyer said. “By the animal that came to see me.”

“What animal?” Berkeley said. “Who?”

“Goddamn it, I don’t know his name!”

“What he come to see you about?” Virgil said.

“Wanted medical supplies.”

I looked at Virgil. “What kind of medical supplies?” I asked.

“He’d been shot, twice,” Doc Meyer said.

“Where is he?” Virgil said.

“Now? I do not know, I have no idea,” Doc Meyer said. “Before, he was in my goddamn office.”

“When was this?” Virgil said.

“Yesterday, an hour past dark,” Doc Meyer said. “I was about to leave my office and there he was, standing in the door. Scared the hell out of me. An unpleasant reptile of a man. He took the bullets out of himself, he said. With a knife. His wounds were infected, and he wanted me to clean and dress them. Goddamn disgusting.”

“He told you he was looking for me?”

“He did. I was just trying to keep the reprobate distracted, keep his heinous thoughts from drifting into the territory of having the passing notion to gut me or what have you. So I filled the unpleasant passage of time with vague niceties. I was rambling about the price of grain, or mung beans or some shit when he asked me if I knew where to find Virgil Cole.”

“What did you say?” I said.

“I simply told him I had no earthly idea where you were but that if you were still in town you would not be too hard to find because you stuck out like a sore thumb,” Doc Meyer said. “I ascertained he had some particular deep-seated disdain for you Mr. Cole, and that was my feeble attempt to create some kind of kinship with him—however awkward, mind you—some simpatico if you will.”

“What did he say?” I asked.

“Nothing,” Doc Meyer said. “He just growled.”

The Northern was slowly closing in on Half Moon Junction, and darkness was most definitely looming.

105

BLOODY BOB WAS
alive and as far as we knew the mean, murderous son of a bitch was still in Half Moon Junction. Berkeley rounded up all of his hands. We left Deputy Larson and two other of Berkeley’s men to keep watch on our prisoners and went in search for Bloody Bob. We first went to the Hotel Ark. We went through every room in the whole place including the kitchen, bathrooms, and broom closets before we got the place secure. The only rear door to the establishment was in the kitchen, and it was secured with a heavy oak beam. Berkeley positioned two of his hands, a couple of brothers, Gabriel and Jesse, to guard the hotel. The brothers were big, strapping fellows with surly dispositions.

Virgil told Hobbs to make sure the governor and his family did not step foot out of their rooms.

“Under no circumstances,” Virgil said. “Make sure they do not so much as pee.”

It was raining hard by the time Berkeley, Virgil, and I were out looking for Bloody Bob. Virgil figured since we were dealing with a monster who has proved hard to put down, it’d be best for us to stay together as we searched for him.

The three of us wore our slickers as we worked our way slowly around town in the pouring rain, looking for any sign of Bloody Bob. Each bar and whore establishment we searched with a plan. Virgil gave one of us time to get positioned by the back door before two of us came through the front. We did this in all the bars and brothels and found nothing. We walked through the livery stables, looking thoroughly through each loft and stall. We rooted through every tent and shed. We checked the depot and every train car in the yard. High and low we scoured the whole of Half Moon Junction looking for Bloody Bob or anyone who might have seen him, and by ten o’clock we came up empty-handed. After we looked through the Chinese laundry we stopped by the whore church. Virgil pointed me around the back, and him and Berkeley positioned themselves in the front. When I got to the back of the church I found the door open. Inside was dark but there was a single lamp burning, and I could see Betty Jean lying bloody and naked on the floor. I pointed my eight-gauge into the darkness.

“Hold up, Virgil,” I shouted. “Look alive!”

“What do you got?” Virgil called out from the front.

“Got one dead for sure,” I said. “Take her easy.”

“The big one or little one,” Virgil said.

“The big one,” I said.

“That’d be Betty Jean,” Berkeley called out.

I heard Virgil ask Berkeley what was the name of the other whore. Berkeley answered him and Virgil called out.

“Laskowski,” Virgil said. “You in there?”

We listened for a moment, but there was no answer.

“Bob?” Virgil said. “You in there?”

106

VIRGIL WAITED, BUT
there was no response from the whore Laskowski or Bloody Bob Brandice.

“If you are in there Bob, now’s the time see what you’re really made of.”

Virgil stopped and we listened, but there were no sounds.

“I know living and dying you don’t think much about, Bob, both are pretty much the same to you, but on the living side of things I know you’d like to bring me down. Here is your chance. If you are in there, why don’t you not act like the no-good coward you are and let me know.”

After a moment we heard a woman’s voice. “I don’t see him,” the voice said.

“Laskowski?” Virgil said.

“Yes,” she said from somewhere in the dark.

“Where is he?” Virgil called out.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I think he left.”

“Single,” Virgil shouted.

“What?” Laskowski asked.

Single was our word for a five-count. I started counting, and I entered the back door on five. The church was small, a one-room situation with a partition creating two sections where the whores took care of business. I moved to see both sides, and there was no Bob. I saw Virgil and Berkeley but no sign of Bloody Bob or Laskowski.

“No Bob,” I said.

“Laskowski!” Virgil called out.

“Yes,” she said.

We all looked up and saw her. She was naked, straddling a rafter about twelve feet off the floor.

“You okay?” Virgil said.

“No. I’m scared and I ain’t no damn monkey,” Laskowski said. “Somebody help me, catch me.”

She threw one of her legs back over the beam, slipped down, and hung from the beam.

“I got you,” I said.

I stood under her. Laskowski dropped, and I caught her in a sitting position like it was a practiced circus act.

“You hurt?” Virgil said.

“He didn’t touch me,” she said. “But he tried.”

“When did this happen?” Virgil asked.

Laskowski grabbed a blanket to put over Betty Jean. She turned back to us with no thought of covering herself.

“’Bout thirty minutes ago,” Laskowski said. “I just finished a customer, and when he left I heard some slappin’, things sounded kind of tough. I called out to Betty Jean, then I peeked around the separation here, and the mean bastard reached for me. He had me cornered. I couldn’t make it to neither of the doors so I crawdadded my ass away from him and climbed this wall like a blistered barn cat. All the time, he was just a-reachin’ an’ grabbin’ for me. He caught my foot a bit, but I kicked the hell outta him and he let go.”

“And then he left?”

“He cut Betty Jean and then he left. It was like he just forgot about me. He cut her, then he walked out the door. I thought maybe he was just actin’ like he was gone, so I just stayed up there.”

We got Laskowski settled in with the working gals at Sleepwalkin’ Cindy’s place, rustled up the city undertaker to take care of Betty Jean, and started looking for Bloody Bob again. We looked everywhere. For hours we looked. We checked all the places we previously looked and we found some more places to look, but we found nothing.

107

LIGHTNING FLASHED AS
we entered Hotel Ark, and for a brief moment the animals on the walls looked eerily alive.

Berkeley’s two hands, Gabriel and Jesse, were leaning on the counter, playing blackjack with the front desk clerk, Burns, when we entered.

“No commotion?” Berkeley said to his men.

“Nothing,” Burns said.

Gabriel and Jesse shook their heads.

Berkeley nodded, turned to Virgil, and unbuttoned his slicker.

“Maybe the son of a bitch moved on,” Berkeley said.

Berkeley removed his hat and slicker and hung them on an antler coat rack next to the doors.

“Might be,” Virgil said.

“Murder and move,” I said. “Not unlike him.”

“Is,” Virgil said. “Gives him a sense of purpose.”

“Nobody has reported they’ve had a horse stolen,” Berkeley said.

I leaned my eight-gauge next to the door and took off my slicker.

“He might have had a horse already,” I said.

I shook rain from my slicker and hung it up on the antler rack next to Berkeley’s.

“Bloody Bob don’t really need a horse, though,” I said.

“Don’t,” Virgil said.

“Be more inclined to kill a horse before stealing one,” I said.

Virgil nodded. “Kill anything, anybody,” he said, kind of sad-like as he took off his slicker.

Virgil shook his head and hung his slicker on the rack. His hand remained on the slicker for a bit of time as he looked at the floor.

“Whiskey?” Berkeley said.

Virgil nodded slowly and looked to Berkeley.

“That sounds right,” Virgil said.

“Does,” Berkeley said.

I could tell Virgil was downhearted about the death of Betty Jean. What Bob really wanted was to kill Virgil. Killing Betty Jean was just Bob’s way of satisfying his bloodthirsty nature. If he couldn’t kill Virgil, he’d kill someone else, and Virgil was feeling the unpleasantness of that notion.

Berkeley opened up his bar. It was musky and stuffy when we walked in. Berkeley lit up a lamp and opened a set of French-style doors that looked onto the street, letting in some fresh air. The rain was coming down steady and a solid waterfall fell from the hotel eaves.

“We’ve been through this town pretty thorough,” Berkeley said.

“Have,” I said.

Berkeley went behind the bar. He got some glasses and a bottle of whiskey and set them on the bar in front of Virgil and me and poured.

“I’m good to get back out,” Berkeley said, “keep looking; just say the word, Virgil.”

Virgil did not say anything. He just looked at the glass of whiskey in front of him and threw it back. Berkeley poured another.

“He could have made it out to one of the mining camps,” Berkeley said.

“Hard to say where the son of a bitch is,” Virgil said.

Virgil sipped on his second shot. Berkeley poured me a second, and then he poured one for himself.

“You want to go back out?” Berkeley said. “Keep looking?”

“Not at the moment I don’t,” Virgil said. “Right now I’m gonna drink a bit of whiskey and smoke one of them Romeo and Julieta cigars.”

Virgil pointed to a box of cigars behind Berkeley.

“That is,” Virgil said, “if you don’t mind.”

“By all means,” Berkeley said.

108

BERKELEY RAPPED HIS
knuckles on the bar like an amenable barkeep and got a cigar from the box and clipped the tip. He handed the cigar to Virgil, dragged a match under the bar, and cupped the flame. When Virgil got the cigar flaming, Berkeley waved away the match fire. Virgil worked on the cigar, securing its ride, before he spoke.

“I’ve shot Bob four times.”

Virgil took a pull of the cigar and blew out a roll of smoke.

“Not all at once,” Virgil said. “Four times altogether.”