Death at the Black Bull (7 page)

“Ruby it is,” she said. “But I don't take my love to town. Excuse me.”

He watched her walk down the bar to another customer, leaving him to mull over her song reference. Virgil sat there in the dull light, listening to the music and remembering. He ran his hands over the bar, feeling the slight indentations. Then he started looking more closely. Sure enough, there it was, and he was back to a long-ago night in an instant. When the bar had been installed some twenty years before, the owner had invited the patrons to carve their names, initials, or a comment on its surface. At the end of the month he had the carvings sealed over, shellacked, and laminated. He said it'd be a record for posterity and he hoped it might cut down on the writings on the bathroom walls.

In the right-angle corner of the bar, as fresh as the day he carved them, were the names Rusty and Virgil set like an equation, numerator over denominator, an equals sign and the number one. He ran his hand over the carvings again and again, remembering until it hurt.

Time slipped away. The music and the beer took its toll. Then he heard the signal. He hadn't noticed the woman behind the bar watching him.

“Last call, folks.”

Ruby put a last beer in front of Virgil, which he knew he would not finish. It had been a long time since he was buzzed. He tipped his hat and made his way toward the door. The night air was fragrant. Even the distant perfume from a striped visitor smelled good. He leaned against his truck, looking at a night sky that couldn't hold another star. He was drowning in remembrance. It was so real he felt like he could reach out in the dark and draw Rusty close like he had on so many long-ago nights like this. A memory so strong it hurt.

He did not know how long he'd been standing there when he heard the voice. He glanced toward the building, dark now except for the light from the bull on his perch. A few last cars were pulling out of the lot. Then he saw Ruby walking toward one of the remaining cars. A man was pulling at her. She stopped and Virgil heard the “No” in a strong voice. The he saw the man grab her by her shoulders. Virgil quickly made his way across the lot. He reached out and put his hand on one of the man's forearms.

“Hey, fella, take it easy. The lady just wants to get in her car and go home. She's had a long night.”

Virgil never saw the man's other hand until it was an inch from his jaw, tightened into a fist. The stars vanished from the sky. Everything went black.

V
irgil had trouble reconciling the brightness with the night sky. His focus was off, his vision blurred, and the pain in his head was searing.

“Oh, you're back with us.” The voice sounded far away, but in the midst of the brightness there was a shadow dividing the light. It leaned over and touched him. He tried to speak, but the words wouldn't come.

“Here, drink this.” He felt the straw between his lips. The cool liquid felt so good. He greedily worked the straw.

“Take it easy. It's not going away.”

When he finally stopped, he heard the word “thanks” escape his lips. He then felt a cool cloth on his face, which felt almost as satisfying as the cool drink. When that was taken away, his vision started to clear.

“Where . . . ?”

“You're in Hayward Memorial. Now that you're awake, the doctor will be in shortly. Just take a few minutes to get oriented. By the way, I'm Karen.”

The woman left him trying to piece together the events that caused him to end up here. It actually hurt to think. He felt as if the pounding in his head would cause it to explode. A moment later, Karen was back with a needle in her hand.

“A little something for the pain.”

Virgil barely felt the needle in his arm.

“This will work pretty quickly,” she said as she rubbed the site of the injection again with a sterile swab.

“Thanks.” Within moments, he felt the ebbing relief that the needle had offered. By the time the doctor walked in, he felt almost euphoric. A soft wave had smothered the pain and he felt like he was drifting in a languid sea.

“Hello, Virgil.” The voice was irritating, calling him away from a place that he was reluctant to leave. “Are you feeling better?”

Virgil nodded. The doctor leaned over and Virgil felt cold metal on his chest.

“Heart's nice and regular.” He took the stethoscope off. “I'm just going to check your eyes.” He bent down closer this time and Virgil saw the probe coming closer. The doctor looked in both eyes and then asked Virgil to close one while he looked in the other. He reversed the process. Then he asked Virgil to follow his finger while he moved it from one side to the other. When he was finished, he asked Virgil to tell him how many fingers he held up. He repeated this exercise a few times, then sat back on the bed.

“Good. Who am I, Virgil?”

“If you don't know who you are, maybe I should get a different doctor, Sam.”

The man smiled. “Glad that blow didn't knock out your sense of humor. Do you know what happened that brought you here?”

“Yeah. I forgot to duck.”

The doctor smiled again.

“That's about it. So you remember everything that happened last night?”

“Last night . . . last night.” He looked toward the window and saw the sunlit day outside. “Wow, that must have been some punch.”

“I'm sure you've taken harder, but this one was special.”

“I guess I owe some guy a little payback.”

“Actually, the next time you see him, instead of payback you might want to buy him a drink. He probably saved your life.” The doctor paused. “How long have you been getting the headaches, Virgil?”

“Awhile.”

“When was the last?”

“Driving out to Redbud the other day. Thought it was from staring into the sun.”

“That could trigger it. Bright light, eye strain, a number of things. Are they coming with more frequency?”

“Maybe. Want to tell me what you are fishing for, Sam?”

“Well, Virgil, the tests we've run indicate you have a brain aneurysm. You know what that is?”

“I've got a good idea, but I'm pretty sure you'll tell me anyway.”

“Basically, it's a weakness in the membrane covering a blood vessel at a certain point. It starts to balloon out from the pressure of blood flow. Untreated, eventually it will burst, quite often resulting in death.”

“Nice of you to sugarcoat it, Sam.”

“I know you, Virgil. Remember, I was in the locker room that Friday night, a hundred years ago, when you told Coach Fraser if he showed up drunk one more time you were walking off the field. I'm giving it to you as straight as you gave it to him.”

“How long have I had it?”

“You were probably born with the weakness. It just took this long to manifest itself.”

“We're talking operation here.”

“As soon as possible. It's oozing now. We don't want to wait. If it bursts, the curtain comes down.”

“Nice metaphor, Sam.”

They talked a little while longer. Sam told Virgil that he had called the sheriff's office and that he'd spoken with Cesar at the ranch.

“I appreciate that,” Virgil said as Sam stood to leave. “By the way, when do you want to operate?”

“I was thinking in about three hours.”

“Three hours?”

“Virgil, I told you this thing is leaking. We can't afford to waste any time. I'm just waiting to hear back from Dr. Patel.”

“Who is he?”

“He's the guy who will do the job.”

“I thought you would, Sam.”

“No, Virgil. I'll assist but I'm not a neurosurgeon. Dr. Patel is very highly qualified. Without a doubt, if it was me lying there in that bed, he's the man I would want.”

“Okay, if you say so. Don't give a guy hardly any time to catch his breath.”

“Quit complaining. You got two or three hours.” Sam gave a half wave as he left the room.

Virgil lay quietly looking at the sunlight streaming through the window. His mind drifted back inevitably to the night his parents left his life and how his world had changed in an instant. He closed his eyes. He put his hand to his forehead and squeezed, as if to stop the thoughts.

When he opened his eyes again, standing at the foot of the bed was Cesar, the same man who had been at his side the last time he had felt so alone.

“When I said you should get out more, this wasn't what I had in mind.” While the weathered face creased into a smile, the fixed clear eyes told another story.

Virgil regarded the man standing at the foot of the bed. He wore a clean, light blue chambray shirt. The slicked-back hair still showing no hint of gray despite his years holding a Stetson that had never seen a sweat stain and was only brought out on special occasions.

“Boy, you clean up real good. You going to a wake or something?”

Cesar didn't answer right away. “I'm not planning to but then I guess that's up to you.”

“Well forget about it, old man. You might as well put all that effort you spent in another direction. I'm walking out of this place.”

“I kinda figured that, so I reckon I'll stop by Margie's place for some supper after I leave here and then see if I can get lucky.”

“Tell Margie that dinner's on me.”

“I was planning to.”

It was Virgil's turn to smile. He reached out his free hand. Cesar came alongside the bed and gripped it firmly.

“Do what they tell you, boy, and I'll see you tomorrow.” As if reading Virgil's mind, he added, “Remember, a lot of people are thinking about you. You're not alone.” He squeezed Virgil's hand then headed toward the door. He heard Virgil clearing his throat and turned to look back at the doorway.

“About the rest of that plan of yours at Margie's,” Virgil said. “Don't bite off more than you can chew.”

Cesar nodded and left the room.

“I'm kinda hungry,” Virgil said to the nurse. “What's for supper?”

“For you, glucose and water. Your next meal will be sometime tomorrow, so you'll probably be a lot hungrier by then.”

She checked his vital signs and the tube running into his arm, then entered the data into a PC on a cart.

“Welcome to the twenty-first century, hospital style,” she said as she saw him watching her. Then she left.

His headache was gone now, but he was left with that slight buzz that gave him the feeling of being removed from the world around him. He closed his eyes for a minute or an hour. He couldn't tell. When at last he opened his eyes again, for a moment or two he wasn't quite sure whether he was awake or dreaming. There was a woman standing by the foot of his bed. She was wearing a brightly flowered light summer dress with a wide scooped neck, revealing her shoulders. Her dark hair fell casually against their whiteness.

“Hey, cowboy. How are you doing? I didn't think you'd still be here, but since I pass the hospital on my way to the restaurant I thought I'd check. I figured it was the least I could do for someone defending my honor. Or at least attempting.”

“Ruby. Your name is Ruby.”

“That's what it says on my driver's license. My father thought I was a gem.”

“Well, sorry my attempt to defend your honor failed. Guess my reaction time was off.”

“Yeah. Well it's the thought that counts. I just wanted you to know I appreciated the effort.”

She hadn't moved from the foot of the bed. “Well, I . . .”

“Did he give you any more trouble?”

“No. He was just the usual pickup cowboy. A little juiced and he wanted a big ending to his night.”

“A pickup cowboy?”

“Yeah, that's what one of the girls started calling them. They come in their pickups, wearing their boots and Stetsons. She says the only time most of them were on a horse they were holding on to a pole for dear life.”

Virgil couldn't help but laugh.

“What about you?”

“Me?”

“You ever been on a horse?”

“Oh, once or twice.”

Jimmy poked his head inside the doorway. “Hey, Sheriff. How are you doing? I got word that you wanted to see me.”

“Give me a minute, Jimmy.”

Jimmy stepped back into the hallway, out of sight.

“Sheriff,” she said. “He called you Sheriff.”

“A lot of people in this county do, but you can call me Virgil. I think that would sound better from you.”

“Well, I gotta get going . . . to work.” She moved toward the doorway.

“I guess. They say it's the curse of the drinking class. But then I guess you know about that.”

“You got that right. Thanks again, Virgil.”

The doorway was vacant. For a moment, Virgil wondered if being sheriff was a good thing.

“Okay, Jimmy,” he said. “Come on in.”

He talked to Jimmy for the next few minutes, reassuring him that he would only be out of the picture for a short time. He gave Jimmy some basic information about keeping the office up to speed. He warned Jimmy to stay focused.

“Alex and Dave want to know if they should both man the substation over to Redbud,” Jimmy said.

“For the time being tell them yes. If I get hung up here longer than planned, maybe one of them will have to come to the main office. For now, I want the whole county to feel they're covered. Business as usual. If you need extra help in an emergency, call Dif Taylor. He's always looking for some part-time since he retired. Anything extra becomes casino money for him and Edna.”

The nurse came into the room, followed by an attendant. “It's time,” she said. “We've got to get you ready.”

“Just one more thing, Jimmy. Tomorrow, I want you to pay close attention when you go to Buddy's funeral. I'm going to want to know who was there, and anything at all interesting that you can pick up. You're not just a mourner. Keep your eyes and ears open.”

“Do I have to go to the cemetery, Virgil? I don't like graveyards.”

“Yes. They're not my favorite place, either. But at least, unlike Buddy, you get to walk away.”