Robert B. Parker's Blackjack (20 page)

I
had yet to speak with Daphne after the verdict. I stopped by the hotel a few times and tried to visit with her, but I was told she was not accepting any visitors.

After the sentencing she was visibly upset and had hurried from the courtroom with Pritchard, who was also in shock and disbelief. This was an obvious blow to them, as they had previously believed Black was not guilty of killing Ruth Ann Messenger.

Two days later and four days before Black’s hanging I was inside the round corral behind the livery, working Ajax, when I saw Valentine walking from the livery pulling two big bay mules.

“Fine looking animal you got there, Everett.”

“When he’s asleep,” I said.

“This here is Magellan and Columbus,” he said, nodding to the mules.

“Going someplace?” I said.

“I am,” he said, then pointed to his prison wagon parked behind the corral.

It was a standard sturdily built prisoner transport wagon with bars on four sides and lantern headlamps for night travel.

“Duty calls,” he said.

“You got somebody you’re going after?”

He laughed.

“Oh, there is always somebody in particular to be going after.”

“You don’t have to worry about me, Valentine.”

“Now, why would I worry about you, Everett?”

I smiled and walked toward the corral rail.

“I’m not your competition, Valentine,” I said. “Besides, I receive my regular government salary that precludes me from such monetary pursuits.”

Valentine came close to the corral and put a boot on the rail.

“Fact is,” he said, “time to move on.”

I nodded.

“’Sides, I don’t need to stick around for no by-God hanging, Everett.”

“Not so interested in that myself,” I said.

He shook his head a little.

“You headed back to El Paso?”

He looked off with a contemplative thought.

“Nope,” he said. “I’ve had plenty enough of that goddamn dusty place . . .”

“Figure you will try someplace new?”

He nodded.

“Where you thinking?” I said.

“Oh, I will stay on the border somewhere. I can’t move out of my honey hole, and I do like the sonorities . . .”

“Whole border is dusty,” I said.

“That it is,” he said. “But different dust, I’m thinking, is a good idea . . . Nuevo Laredo, maybe, Piedras Negras perhaps . . . I’m kind of undecided at this point, maybe even Corpus . . . Always been fond of the water.”

“When you riding out?”

“No reason to dally.”

“You talk to Virgil?”

“Have not.”

“You gonna?”

He looked off again and smiled, then shook his head.

“No.”

“No?”

“No,” he said with a smile.

“You want me to tell him anything?”

He shook his head.

“Nothing else to say, Everett.”

“Think he’d might want you to say something,” I said.

“Like what?”

“Hell, I don’t know, he’s not my brother.”

“Oh, you’re a brother to Virgil, Everett,” he said. “No doubt about that.”

“In some ways,” I said.

“Besides, as Virgil likes to point out, he’s my half-brother,” he said with a smile.

“Allie would appreciate it,” I said.

“Do me a favor,” Valentine said.

“What’s that?”

“Tell the both of them that I enjoyed their company and hospitality immensely.”

“Anything else?”

He shook his head and said, “Nope.”

“Well,” I said. “Think you might be missed.”

“That’s a nice thought, Everett,” he said. “I appreciate it.”

I pulled off my glove and reached over the fence.

“Safe travels,” I said.

T
hat evening I ate a steak at Hal’s Café before I paid Virgil and Allie a visit. As I approached the dark house I could see Allie through the window, playing her piano, and for the first time I actually thought she was playing pretty well. When I entered through the front gate I noticed Virgil sitting on the porch in the dark. There was a small amount of light coming through the window that provided a slight outline on one side of Virgil’s face. He was leaning back in a corner with his boots on the rail, smoking a cigar.

“Evening,” Virgil said.

“Evening,” I said.

“How goes it?”

“Goes,” I said.

“Nudge of Kentucky?” he said.

He held up his glass and I could see the amber liquid glow a little as it caught the spilling light from the window.

“Why not,” I said.

As I walked up the steps, Allie stopped playing the piano and in a moment poked her head out the door.

“Why, Everett Hitch,” she said.

“Why, Allie French,” I said.

“How are you?”

“Fine . . . fine . . . nice night,” I said.

“Oh, it is,” she said.

“Don’t stop on my account, Allie. I was enjoying that.”

“Me, too,” Virgil said.

“Oh,” she said. “You two.”

“No,” I said. “Really.”

“Y’all just tolerate my playing,” she said. “I’m done for the evening. Besides, my hands are getting tired.”

“Get Everett a glass,” he said. “Would you please, Allie?”

“Indeed I will,” she said.

Allie turned and walked back inside as I moved over on the porch by Virgil.

“What ya doing out here alone in the dark?”

“Sitting.”

“Contemplating?”

“Am.”

“Black?” I said.

Virgil nodded.

“Keeps turning in me.”

“What can we do?”

“Don’t know there is anything we can do, Everett.”

“Nothing?”

I sat on the rail opposite Virgil and thought for a brief moment about what I was getting ready to say.

“Saw your brother earlier,” I said.

“Half-brother,” Virgil said.

Allie came out with two glasses.

“One for you and one for me,” she said.

She held them out and Virgil poured us each a glass of Kentucky whiskey.

“He left,” I said.

“Who left?” Allie said as she handed me one of the glasses in her hand.

“Valentine.”

Allie put both of her hands to her sides before she said anything.

“What?” she said.

“Yep.”

“What do you mean ‘he left’?”

“Just that.”

“Well . . .” she said, and then stammered her next words with a hint of growing agitation, “is . . . he coming back?”

“Don’t think so.”

“Well . . . where for Heaven’s sakes?”

“Don’t know.”

Virgil sat back in his chair and didn’t say anything.

“Did he say where he was going?” she said.

“Wasn’t sure.”

“He left without so much as a good-bye?”

“He did.”

“Well . . . I just can’t believe that.”

“He named a few places he might end up.”

Allie shook her head.

“End up?”

“He told me to tell you both how much he appreciated your company and hospitality.”

Allie shook her head in disbelief and walked over by the rail near me and looked out.

“This is just awful,” she said.

I looked at Virgil. His half-lit face showed no real reaction, but he did not meet my eye. He was looking at Allie, who was looking away.

“Why?” Virgil said. “Why is it so awful?”

“Why?” she said, without turning to look at Virgil. “Why . . .”

“A man has to do what a man has to do, Allie,” Virgil said.

Allie turned and looked at Virgil.

“Oh . . . don’t say that. A man? A man . . . Virgil . . .”

“You got to meet him,” he said. “Visit with him. Hear stories about me as a kid.”

“I know, Virgil . . . I know.”

Virgil looked to me.

“I just wish . . .”

“What, Allie?”

“I don’t know,” she said as tears began to well up in her eyes.

“He did what he had to do,” Virgil said.

“That does not mean he can’t show us a little respect and common decency,” Allie said. “Of at least coming by here and giving us a proper good-bye.”

“I think it might have been hard for him,” I said.

“Hard?” Allie said. “Why?”

“Oh,” I said. “You know, Allie, how it is with family.”

“Well, no, Everett,” she said with a quiver in her voice. “Actually, I don’t know . . . I don’t know anyone in my family. I never have and I never will.”

“Well, I’m sorry,” I said.

“Not your fault, Everett,” she said. “They just left, most of them I never, ever even knew, they all just sort of petered out of my life, nobody wanted me and I was left all alone.”

“Well,” Virgil said. “You’re not alone anymore.”

“First all this horrible trial stuff . . . and now this . . .”

Allie shook her head a little and walked away to the other side of the porch and stared out into the darkness. After a moment she lowered her head and started to sob.

I
t was a full moon out as I climbed the stairs to my room above the survey office. It was hot and the two windows to my small room were open, but there was little breeze.

I took off my clothes and lay back on the bed. I thought about the last few days and how it was all coming together. About the Denver contingent, as Valentine referred to them. I thought about Black and how adamant he was, how demanding he was about the fact he was not the killer.

How Juniper was upset that he did not have a chance to fully cross-examine LaCroix. Juniper pleaded with the judge, but his request was denied. I agreed with Juniper’s appeal, but it would be hard to fulfill his demand, given the fact that LaCroix’s jaw was broken and he was not able to even open his mouth to speak.

Juniper appealed with the judge, insisting, saying LaCroix could respond with written word, but the judge would hear no more, not after Black’s outburst, and Black was headed for the gallows.

I kept wondering about all of it, the trial, about the Denver men, about Roger and Ruth Ann Messenger and Boston Bill Black, about
Daphne actually being engaged to Black in the past, and I thought about the painter, Lawrence LaCroix, and what he testified he saw that day.

I sat up, wondered if sleep was going to happen. At half midnight I got tired of lying there so I got up. I put on my trousers, poured a whiskey, then opened the door and stepped out on the balcony. From somewhere in the evening I heard some music from one of the saloons on 5th Street. Then I looked down at the bottom of the steps and saw a figure in the dark.

“Everett?” she said. “It’s me . . .”

“Daphne?”

“Yes. May I come up?”

“Sure.”

I thought for a moment how she found me, then I remembered we walked by and I pointed the place out to her the night we were out on our walk. When she got to the top of the steps she practically fell into my arms.

“Oh, Everett.”

“Come in.”

I closed the door behind her and she reached up and pulled my head down and kissed me.

She kissed me hard. Then she kissed me on my cheeks and neck as if she were starving. I was without my shirt and she kissed my chest over and over, then looked up to me.

“I was sorry not to take you in when you came,” she said.

“That’s all right,” I said.

“For the most part,” she said, “I have been consoling Mr. Pritchard.”

“I understand.”

“Oh my God, Everett,” she said.

“I know this is difficult,” I said.

“What is so alarming for us is to learn that he . . . he . . . actually
did this,” she said. “That he in fact actually murdered that woman, that he is a murderer.”

“I know.”

“Is there anything we can do for him?” she said.

“Not that I can see,” I said. “No.”

She shook her head and turned away from me.

“It’s like . . . like this is just a bad dream,” she said. “But it is not, it’s just a living nightmare.”

She turned back to me.

“Do you have anything to drink?” she said. “Any alcohol, whiskey or something?”

“I do.”

“Please, thank you,” she said. “I have been nothing but a ball of nerves.”

I poured her some whiskey and she drank it down in one gulp. She held out her glass and I poured her another one.

“Easy,” I said.

She sipped the whiskey a little, then looked to my bed.

“May I sit, please?”

“Yes, of course.”

I removed my shirt from the bed and she sat. She looked down at the glass clutched in her hand, then she drank the whiskey as if she were trying to kill something inside.

I started to put on my shirt, but she reached out and stopped me.

“No,” she said. “Please . . .”

She removed the shirt from my grip, tossed it on the floor, and pulled me close to her. She kissed my stomach gently, from one side to the other. Then she looked up to me and undid the buttons on my trousers.

I
rode Ajax by the Gallows Door Cantina and Eloise stepped out from the shadows of the three-sided lean-to and waved to me as I passed. I continued on toward the gallows where the crowd was gathered to watch the hanging of Boston Bill Black. I did not see Virgil, Valentine, or Allie, or Chastain or Book, but the Denver contingent was there: Detective Lieutenant Banes, Detective Sergeant King, Captain McPherson, District Attorney Payne, and Roger Messenger’s father, Chief Brady. They were all present, expectant, and waiting.

Everyone watched me as I rode up, dismounted, tied off Ajax, and climbed the gallows steps. The executioner was atop the structure, wearing a black hood along with two local ministers. Both I recognized, but I didn’t know either one’s name. We all said our how-do-you-dos and I stepped up to the noose and gave it a tug. I looked up to the rope draped over the gallows’ top beam and turned to the executioner.

“Let’s get this over with,” I said.

The executioner nodded his head slowly, walked over to me, and put the noose around my neck. I looked into his eyes; all I could see
were his eyes. He slipped the noose around my neck, then walked to the lever and pulled it. But it did not work. He kept working the lever back and forth, then . . . the rhythm of the lever was replaced by a knock on my door . . . followed by . . .

“Everett?”

I sat up in my bed . . .

“Everett?”

I looked around and could tell by the light it was the earliest part of daybreak. Daphne was sound asleep under my arm, and I eased myself out of the bed so as not to wake her and opened the door.

It was Deputy Book. He saw Daphne behind me in the bed and kind of lowered his head and took a step back.

“Sorry,” he said with a whisper.

“Give me a sec,” I said.

I put on my trousers, then stepped out the door.

“What is it?” I said, closing the door behind me.

“Bill Black,” he said. “He escaped and took Truitt Shirley with him.”

“Are you . . . what?”

“They are out, Everett,” Book said.

“Anybody hurt?”

“No,” Book said.

“How the hell did this happen?” I said.

“Looks like Black pried the bars from the window,” Book said.

“What?”

Book nodded sharply.

“The strong sonofabitch pulled up the iron railings of his bunk that were bolted to the floor.”

“You sure he didn’t have help?” I said.

“Don’t know for a fact, but it does not seem like it, Everett,” Book said. “You just have to see for yourself.”

“I’ll be goddamn.”

“I know,” Book said. “I could not believe it. Just up and gone like that.”

“Chastain and Virgil know?” I said.

“I came to get you first,” Book said.

“When was this?”

“Well, I just this minute found out, so I’m not sure, no idea, really,” Book said. “When I got in they were gone.”

“How the hell did Truitt get out?”

“Looks like the bars were bent out on the backside of Truitt’s, Black helping him, after he was free . . . Did the same thing but from the backside. Both are gone.”

“What about the damn night watch?” I said. “Can’t tell me they didn’t hear anything.”

Book shook his head.

“They did not hear a damn thing. We even had four guards on last night,” Book said. “Two outside on the porch just in case of any shenanigans, someone trying to break Bill out, and two deputies inside. With the thickness of the door separating the office from the cells, they . . . well, apparently, they did not hear anything.”

“Apparently,” I said.

“Secure the outsides of this town. Get a man on each trail and road out of town, tell them to stay out of sight and to only try and stop them if they know for certain they can get the drop on them. Last thing we need is to lose one or some more of ours.”

“What about Marshal Cole and Sheriff Chastain?”

“Send someone to get Chastain, I’ll get Virgil, but get the deputies out now . . . right now, and get Virgil’s horse and my horse saddled and ready. Get supplies, too, in case we are on the chase again, just need to be prepared.”

Book nodded and turned to go.

“And Book,” I said stopping him to look back at me, “just make sure nobody is on their heels.”

“You got it,” Book said, then descended the stairs.

I stepped back in the room and Daphne was still sound asleep. She looked like her namesake, an angel.

I sat on the bed next to her.

“Daphne,” I said. “Daphne?”

I put a hand to each side of her shoulders.

“Daphne.”

Her eyes snapped open, wide, full of fear. She reached up with both hands around my neck and choked me, staring at me in terror, as if she had no clue who I was.