Ride With the Devil (11 page)

“And, unarmed, you went up against a man who was wielding a knife?”

“Yes.”

“Sheriff—” Flaire started, but Cumbie held up his hand.

“I’m a deputy, ma’am.”

“Deputy, Mr. Hawke is telling the truth,” Flaire said. “When I returned to my room, Mister…Vargas, is it? Mr. Vargas was in my room, going through my things. When I accosted him, he pulled a knife and threatened to kill me. It wasn’t until then that Mr. Hawke came in. They struggled and, somehow, Mr. Vargas went through the window.”

Deputy Cumbie stroked his jaw for a moment as he studied both Hawke and Flaire. In their formal evening attire, a discussion involving a struggle with a knife-wielding assailant seemed incongruous, but Hawke did not back away from his story.

“Well,” the deputy finally said. “The thing is, Eduardo Vargas is one of the lowest-life polecats in all of San Antonio. If he had a dozen priests backing him up, I wouldn’t believe him. I’ll accept your side of the story, ma’am. You came back to your room and found him rifling through your things.

“And you,” he continued, looking squarely at Hawke. “I suppose, under the circumstances, you reacted as most anyone would.” He chuckled. “Though many would not have had the success that you did. But—and here is what makes me leery of you—when you threw him out that window, you were on the second floor. Were you aware of that at the time?”

“Yes.”

“Do you realize that if he had hit on his head, the fall could have killed him?”

“Yes.”

“Did you bother to check on his condition?

“No.”

“He broke both legs and an arm.”

Hawke made no reply at all.

“Didn’t you even think to inform the sheriff’s office?”

“No.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“There was no need for any assistance from the sheriff’s office,” Hawke replied. “Miss Delaney was no longer in danger.”

“That poor man lay out there in excruciating pain for well over an hour before someone found him.”

Again Hawke didn’t reply.

“I’ll say this for you, Mr. Hawke. You are certainly one cold-blooded son of a bitch,” Deputy Cumbie said. Again he tipped his hat to Flaire. “Ma’am, I hope you two have a good evening.”

“The nerve of that man,” Flaire said under her breath once the deputy was gone. “He practically accuses us of lying and assault, then he asks us to have a good evening.”

Hawke laughed out loud. “It’s his job,” he said.

“I must say, you sure seemed to take his accusations easily.”

“No sense in getting hostile about it.”

“I agree,” Flaire said. “But I will never be able to take such accusations lightly.”

It wasn’t that Hawke took the accusations lightly. That wasn’t what bothered Flaire. Once again, what disturbed her was how cold he was about the whole thing.

The concert hall was filled to overflowing as men in formal attire and women in butterfly-bright dresses stood in little conversational clusters out in the lobby, waiting for the show to begin.

“Curtain call! Curtain call!” a young man was shouting as he passed through the lobby, alerting everyone of the imminent beginning of the show. “Curtain call!”

“We’d better take our seats,” Hawke said.

Flaire started toward the door that led down into the audi
torium, but Hawke called out to her. “No, we go this way,” he said.

Flaire was confused as to why he seemed to be walking away from the auditorium, but she followed him without question. When they reached a flight of stairs, their passage was barred by a velvet rope that stretched across the entrance, as well as a uniformed usher.

“I’m sorry sir,” the usher said, holding out his hand. “This is reserved.”

“I have a letter authorizing me entry,” Hawke said, showing it to the usher.

The usher read the letter, then shook his head and clucked his tongue.

“Very impressive,” he said. “But I have instructions that no one is to be allowed upstairs.”

“Read the letter again,” Hawke said.

“I assure you sir that—”

“Read the letter again,” Hawke ordered, this time with a hint of danger in his voice.

Flaire thought of what had happened back in the hotel, and she looked around quickly, hoping something similar wouldn’t happen here. She wanted to tell the usher that if he valued his health, he would let them through. Evidently, the usher reached the same conclusion, for the challenge left his voice and an acquiescent smile crossed his face.

“Yes, sir, Mr. Hawke. You’ll find your box at the top, and the far end of the hallway.”

“Thank you,” Hawke said.

Flaire had never been in any part of a theater but the mezzanine and she wondered why Hawke had pushed the usher so hard to let them come up the stairs.

“Here we are,” Hawke said as he opened a door.

And then her curiosity increased even more, for this was a
completely private box, furnished by a single, overstuffed sofa. The view of the stage could not have been better.

“Oh, my, what this must have cost you,” she said as they took their seat.

Hawke chuckled. “I hope you don’t think I can afford this on what I make playing piano in a saloon,” he said. “This was free.”

“Free?”

Reaching into his inside jacket pocket, Hawke pulled out the same letter he had shown the usher and handed it to Flaire.

“When did you get that?” Flaire asked.

“He is staying in the same hotel we are,” Hawke said. “I met with him this afternoon.”

“I hope you didn’t threaten to throw him through a window to get it,” Flaire said, then quickly put her hand to her lips. “Oh! I don’t know why I said that!”

To Flaire’s surprise and relief, Hawke laughed. “I didn’t have to,” he said. “But now that you remind me, it was an option.”

The lights in the house were dimmed then, and the stage lights grew brighter.

The audience began applauding as a man came out onto the stage, then stepped to the front. He bowed once to acknowledge the applause then looked up toward the box occupied by Hawke and Flaire. Flaire saw that he had a receding hairline, dark, brooding eyes, and a sweeping moustache. He dipped his head slightly toward Hawke, and Hawke dipped his toward Gottschalk.

Gottschalk then walked over to the piano, flipped the tails of his coat back, and sat down to play.

“Oh,” Flaire said quietly. “I know that song! You played it one morning.”

“It’s ‘Gestern Abend War Vetter Michael da,’” Hawke said. “By Beethoven.”

Flaire laughed. “What does that mean?”

“Yesterday evening my nephew Michael was there,” Hawke said.

By the end of the concert, Flaire was pleased to notice that she recognized several of his pieces, not by name, but by familiarity as the result of Hawke’s early morning concerts. Afterward, as the crowd was leaving, an usher appeared at the door of their private box.

“Mr. Hawke. Mr. Gottschalk has invited you to his dressing room.”

“Thank you,” Hawke said.

The usher led them through the upstairs hallway, then down a flight of stairs that brought them out behind the stage. He pointed to a closed door.

“There is his dressing room.”

“Thank you.”

Gottschalk opened the door on the first light tap.

“Hawke!” he said, reaching out to grab Hawke’s hand. “It is so good to see you again. And who is this lovely creature?” he asked, smiling at Flaire.

“This is my friend, Flaire Delaney,” Hawke said.

“Mr. Gottschalk, I very much enjoyed the concert tonight.”

“Thank you, my dear. Come in, come in, I’ve ordered wine.”

For the next several minutes Flaire sat spellbound as Gottschalk and Hawke exchanged stories. How easily
Hawke spoke of such people as Franz Liszt, Victor Hugo, and even Queen Victoria.

“You know, my dear,” Gottschalk said to Flaire, “Mason Hawke is much too modest to say anything about it, but there was a time when he was one of the two or three best pianists in the world. Myself included in that top three, of course,” he added quickly.

“Oh, I think that’s a slight exaggeration,” Hawke said. “Not about you, you certainly do belong there. But I never have.”

“
Au contraire,
my dear fellow,” Gottschalk said, wagging his finger. “Why, the maestro himself, Franz Liszt, is the one who put you there. He told me himself that of all the students he had over the many years, you were his most talented.”

Finally, after the exchange of several more entertaining stories, Hawke bade his old friend good-bye, and he and Flaire left the theater for a nearby restaurant, for a late dinner.

They sat at a table in the back corner, a single candle lighting the distance between them.

For the first part of the meal, they discussed the concert, then Hawke expanded on some of the stories he and Gottschalk had told.

Flaire confessed that this was the most elegant thing she had ever done.

“I made this dress just for an occasion like this,” she said. “Though, to be honest with you, I never really expected to be able to use it.”

“The dress is beautiful,” Hawke said. “And you are beautiful in it.” He smiled. “Gottschalk may have thought all eyes were on him tonight…” Hawke chuckled. “In fact, I’m sure he thought all eyes were on him. But in fact, all eyes were on you.”

Flaire smiled and ducked her head. “You mustn’t tease like that, Hawke. You will turn my head with your flattery.”

“Indeed, that is my intention,” Hawke said.

They continued their conversation throughout the meal, and not until dessert and coffee were served did Flaire ask the question that had been on her mind all night.

“Hawke, why?” she asked.

Hawke had just cut a piece of his pie, and he held it poised on his fork for a moment while he considered Flaire’s question. The fact that he didn’t ask “Why what?” indicated to Flaire that this was, undoubtedly, a question he had asked himself many, many times.

“I don’t belong in that world anymore,” he finally said.

“But you do. Mr. Gottschalk spoke so glowingly of you. And he said that Franz Liszt said you were the most gifted pianist he had ever taught. God gave you that talent, and I know that you still have the desire…no, the
need
, to play. Tonight, an adoring crowd applauded Mr. Gottschalk’s music.”

“He earned the applause.”

“And he was, no doubt, paid very well to perform.”

“I’m sure he was.”

“Here is what I can’t understand, Hawke. You do the same thing, without the award of applause or money. You will sit at that piano at four o’clock in the morning for no other reason than your love of music.”

“I play for myself now.”

“You will excuse me for saying this, but that is a very selfish attitude. You should be playing for the world. You could have everything Gottschalk has, including the money and the recognition. Instead, you wander through the country like tumbleweed.”

“It’s not there for me anymore,” Hawke said.

“What do you mean it’s not there anymore? I know it is. Don’t forget, I’ve heard you play.”

“You’ve heard me play on a cigar-burned, beer-stained, upright piano. And most of what you have heard is music I played for the first time, when I was ten years old.” He paused for a moment. “And if I were being honest with you, I probably played it better then than I play it now.”

“That just means you are out of practice. You could get it back.”

Hawke shook his head. “No,” he said. “You don’t understand. Music—real music, like we heard tonight—has to come from the soul.” He took a sip of his wine before he continued in a pensive voice. “I no longer have a soul.”

Flaire was about to challenge his statement, but on second thought, withheld her comment. When he said he had no soul, she could understand, more than anyone, just what that meant. She had left her own soul lying in the dirt of her father’s farm, illuminated by the fires of hell.

BACK IN SALCEDO, AT THE GOLDEN CALF SALOON, Pete, Kendall, and Dusty were still celebrating their rare hours away from the herd. All three were drinking steadily, though Pete had switched to whiskey.

“You better go easy on that stuff,” Dusty cautioned. “You ought to stick with beer, like me ’n’ Kendall.

“Ah, the whiskey here is green, so it don’t cost no more’n a beer. Sure tastes awful, though.”

“Then why are you drinking it?”

“Because you can get drunk faster on cheap whiskey than you can on good beer,” Pete explained.

“Well, I don’t want to get too drunk,” Dusty said.

“Sure you do. How the hell are you going to have any fun unless you get drunk?” Pete asked.

“Yeah, but what if you get so drunk that, come tomorrow, you won’t remember the fun you had tonight?” Dusty asked.

Kendall laughed. “Dusty’s got a point there,” he said.

“I tell you what,” Pete said. “You boys drink beer, I’ll drink whiskey. Then, tomorrow you two can tell me what a good time I had tonight.”

“Yeah,” Dusty said. “Only, I thought part of having a
good time tonight was, we was going to all get us a whore. Where at’s all them whores you been talkin’ about?”

“Don’t look like they got a lot of whores in here,” Pete said, looking around the saloon. “’Ceptin’ maybe that one over there.”

He nodded toward Darci, who had been going from table to table, serving drinks. She had been to their table a few times already, and had smiled prettily at them each time.

“I’ll go find out if we can afford her.”

“Not her,” Kendall said.

“What do you mean, not her? What’s wrong with her?” Pete asked.

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with her,” Kendall said. “But I don’t think she’s a whore.”

“Of course she’s a whore. What makes you think she ain’t?”

“Well, just look at her,” Kendall said. “She’s about the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

“Have you seen how she is dressed?” Pete asked. “I mean, you ain’t goin’ to see clothes like that at a church social or a town picnic. No, sir. She’s a whore all right.”

Kendall shook his head slowly, as if trying to make sense of what Pete was telling him. “Why would a woman that beautiful be a whore?”

“Well, what else can she be?” Pete asked. “She’s got a touch of the brush.”

“She’s got what?”

“She’s part colored,” Pete explained. “Can’t you tell that by lookin’ at her?”

Through the smoke-filled room, Kendall studied Darci as she worked the tables. At one of the tables, Darci paused, then laughed at something and reached out to touch the side of the man’s face. Kendall could see by the expression in the customer’s eyes that, for one brief moment, there was nobody else
in the saloon but the two of them. It was a small, insignificant, yet intimate gesture, and Kendall put his hand to his own cheek, wishing she had touched him there in the same way.

“Well?” Pete asked when Kendall didn’t respond.

“Well what?” Kendall continued to stare at Darci.

“Can’t you tell that she is colored?”

“Oh, well, I don’t know if she is colored or not. And I don’t care. She is about the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“I agree with Kendall,” Dusty said. “I think this here bar girl is about the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen.”

Pete smiled, then tossed down the rest of his whiskey, set the glass down, and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “Wait here,” he said.

“Where you goin’?”

“I got some business to attend to.”

Pete got up then and sauntered over to the end of the bar where Darci was now talking to another customer. Pete stood by, politely, patiently, until the customer left. Darci turned to him with a smile.

“Is there something I can do for you, cowboy?” she asked.

“That depends on what you do,” Pete replied. “I mean, uh, besides carrying drinks to the tables.”

“Are you asking if I can be bedded?” Darci asked. Despite the frankness of her question, the sweet, innocent smile never left her face.

Pete nodded. “Yes, ma’am, I reckon that is what I’m asking.”

Darci looked up at the clock. “I can,” she said. “But not until after nine o’clock. I have to serve drinks until nine.”

“Are you the only whore?”

“Yes.”

“Uh, well, there’s three of us,” he said.

“Don’t worry, cowboy, you won’t wear me out,” she said with a lilting laugh.

“There’s one I want you to be particular good to. He’s a young’un, you see, and he ain’t never been with no woman before.”

“I’ll do my best,” Darci promised.

Pete led Darci back over to the table to meet Kendall and Dusty. Dusty was very gregarious, but Kendall stared at the table in embarrassment.

“This here is the young’un I was tellin’ you about,” Pete said, pointing to Kendall. “He ain’t never had him no woman before.”

“Oh, what a sweet boy you are,” Darci said. She reached out and touched him, just as Kendall had seen her touch a customer earlier. “You and I are going to have a really good time.”

Kendall felt a rush of sexual excitation, but because he had never experienced a feeling exactly like it before, he wasn’t sure what it was. And, because his unexpected reaction embarrassed him, he blushed even more.

Vox, Hooper, and Bates came into the saloon then and found a table near the three cowboys.

“Paddy, a bottle and three glasses,” Vox called.

Nodding at them, Paddy started toward the table with a bottle.

“Hell no, don’t you be a’bringin’ it,” Vox said. He pointed to Darci. “That’s her job, ain’t it?”

Paddy nodded. “Yes, it is. But as you can see, she’s busy right now.”

Darci was still talking to the three young cowboys.

“I want the girl to bring us the bottle,” Vox said.

Paddy sighed, shrugged his shoulders, then held the bottle out toward Darci. “Would you come get this and take it over to the deputies?” he asked.

“Hey, hold on there!” Pete shouted. “Wait your turn, mister. She’s a’talkin’ to us!”

“Sit down and cool off, cowboy,” Vox suggested.

“Cool off, my ass. Who are you to tell me to cool off?” Pete replied. Noticing Vox’s black eyes and nose, he laughed. “What happened to your face, mister? Looks to me like you done stood up when you should’ve sat down.”

“It ain’t none of your business what happened to my face,” Vox replied.

“The piano player gave him that face,” Darci said as she walked over to the bar.

“The piano player?” Pete replied. He laughed. “Are you sayin’ a piano player beat you up like that?”

Dusty and Kendall laughed as well.

“Where at is this piano player?” Pete asked. “I’d like to buy him a drink.”

“I’d like to know where he is too,” Vox said. “I’ve got a score to settle with him.”

“Ha! The only reason you came in here tonight is because you knew he wasn’t here,” Darci said as she started back toward the table with the bottle.

“Why you black bitch! I’m going to slap that grin right off your face!” Vox growled, and he started toward her.

“No, you ain’t!” Paddy shouted, and when Vox looked at the bartender, he saw that Paddy was holding a double-barreled, twelve-gauge shotgun leveled at him. “You come one more step this way and I’m going to open you up like gutting a fish.”

“By damn, you can’t talk to me like that,” Vox said. “I’m an officer of the law!”

“Right now you’re not,” Paddy said. “Right now you are nothing but an unruly customer who is threatening one of my employees.”

“Vox, come on, let’s go,” Bates said. “We don’t need to be stirring up any more trouble in here.”

Vox stared at Darci, who was standing halfway between his table and the bar.

“Give me the bottle,” he said, less threatening this time.

Cautiously, Darci extended the bottle, and he took it. She started to hand him the glasses, but he waved them away.

“We won’t be needin’ no glasses,” he said. Pulling the cork from the bottle with his teeth, he spit it out on the floor. “Come on,” he said to the others. “Let’s go.”

Paddy, remembering that Vox had suddenly burst back into the saloon the other night after Hawke ran him off, was ready for him this time. Not more than fifteen seconds after the three deputies left, Vox stuck his head back into the saloon.

Paddy was still holding the shotgun.

Vox saw it, glared at Paddy for a moment, then left again.

For the second time in less than a week, Vox had made an ignominious exit from the saloon. And for the second time in a week, the patrons in the saloon enjoyed a big laugh at his expense.

Neither Vox nor any of the other deputies came back. Within half an hour after the incident, it was almost as if nothing had happened. Cordial drinking and friendly conversations resumed, and the ongoing chess game between Cyrus Green and Doc Urban continued.

Sometime later Darci walked over to the table where the three cowboys were and reached out her hand. “It’s after nine,” she said. “Who wants to be first?”

“Let the boy go first,” Pete suggested.

“No!” Kendall said quickly. “I…uh, would rather not be first.”

“All right by me,” Pete said. “I was just bein’ nice to you.” He stood up. “I’ll be first.”

Smiling, Darci took him by the hand and led him through the saloon and out the back door.

“Where they goin’?” Kendall asked.

“I imagine she’s got herself a crib back there,” Dusty said.

“A crib?”

“It’s like a little one-room house,” Dusty explained. “It’s where whores live. And it’s where they take their customers.”

“Oh.”

Half an hour later Darci and Pete returned. Pete had a satisfied smile on his face.

“That didn’t take very long,” Dusty said.

“It don’t take long when you know what you’re doin’,” Pete said, grabbing himself suggestively. “Ain’t that right?” he asked Darci.

“That’s right, honey,” Darci replied with a barely suppressed chuckle.

Dusty looked across the table at Kendall. “You want to go now?” he asked.

“No, no!” Kendall said. “You can go now. I’m not in a big hurry.”

“Okay, but don’t say I didn’t give you the chance to go next.” He stood up and smiled at Darci. “Darlin’, if you think ol’ Pete here was fast, you wait until you see how I operate.”

Darci chuckled. “I can hardly wait,” she said.

True to his word, Dusty and Darci were back within less than twenty minutes. Hitching up his trousers, Dusty looked at his two friends. Pete looked back at him, but his eyes were having trouble focusing.

“Damn, boy, you’re damn near drunk already,” Dusty said.

“Yep,” Pete said. He giggled. “Good thing I went first, else I wouldn’t have been able to do it at all.”

So far, Kendall had made no effort to move, and Dusty looked over at him.

“Well, it’s nut-cuttin’ time, boy,” he said. “You goin’ to do it or not?”

“I’m goin’ to do it, I’m goin’ to do it,” Kendall said. “Just don’t rush me, is all.”

Hesitantly, Kendall stood up, and looking around the room, saw that several of the customers were looking at him. He sat back down.

“What’s wrong?” Dusty asked.

“Everyone is looking at me,” Kendall said. “They’ll all know what I’m doing.”

“Well, hell yes they all know what you’re doing,” Pete said. “And ever’ damn one of them will be wishin’ it was them instead of you. Now, go on out there. Lookie there, she’s over there at the bar, waitin’ on you.”

Darci came over to the table to get him. “Come on,” she said, taking his hand in hers. “I don’t bite. It will be all right, I promise you.”

The touch of Darci’s hand sent jolts of pleasure through Kendall and emboldened him to the point that he didn’t care what the others might be thinking. He stood up.

“Just don’t forget about the snapping turtle,” Pete called out to him as he walked away from the table with her.

Kendall followed Darci through the back door of the saloon, across the alley, and into the small, one-room house.

“Is this here what they call a crib?” Kendall asked.

“Some folks might call it that, I reckon,” Darci said. “But I call it my home.”

Although the house was small, Darci had gone to great lengths to make it comfortable and homey. Frilly curtains hung on the windows, a crocheted doily was on the armoire, and her bed, turned down now because of previous use, proudly displayed a quilt with a wedding-ring pattern. Bright red pillows completed the decoration scheme of the bed.

Darci turned her back to Kendall and started undressing.

Kendall had never seen a nude woman before, and he watched, entranced. Darci knew exactly what she was doing, and she knew the effect she was having on him. Her measured, sensual disrobing slowly exposed her smooth, almost golden skin, until not one subtle curve or fold of her young, nubile body remained hidden. Kendall felt a fluttering in his stomach and he found it difficult to breathe.

Not until Darci was completely nude did she turn to face him. She was surprised to see that he had not taken off his clothes.

“Aren’t you going to get undressed?” she asked.

The expression on Kendall’s face was one of complete awe.

“Cowboy?” Darci asked again.

“You are the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen,” Kendall said in awe.

Darci smiled at him. “Thank you,” she said. “But aren’t you going to get undressed?”

“Oh. Uh, yes ma’am,” Kendall said. “Yes, ma’am, I’m going to get undressed.” But he made no move to do so.

“Well?” Darci asked.

“Well?” Kendall repeated.

“When are you going to get undressed?”

“Oh. Uh, right now. But you have to turn around and not look.”

Darci laughed. “Why not? You looked at me.”

“Yes, ma’am, well, like I said, you’re real pretty to look at. And I ain’t never seen me a naked woman before. But I’d rather you turn around and not look at me.”

“All right,” Darci said.

Suppressing her laughter, Darci stared at the curtains until she heard him get in the bed behind him.

“All right, you can turn around now,” Kendall said.

Darci turned toward the bed and saw that he was under the quilt.

“Are you going to let me get under there with you?” Darci asked. “Because if you don’t, we aren’t going to be able to do anything.”