Wilde West (18 page)

“No suh,” Henry said. “Mistuh Vail.”

Grigsby nodded. “You get along okay with Mr. Vail?”

“Yes suh.”

“You ever notice anything strange about Mr. Vail?”

“No suh.”

“What about the others? The newspaper reporter. O'Conner. Anything strange?”

“No suh.”

“And the German? This colonel fella.”

“No suh.”

“And who's the other one? The poet?”

“Mistuh Ruddick. No suh.”

“Everybody's one hundred percent normal and okay.”

“Yes suh.”

Grigsby took another puff. “Well, Henry, I don't think so. I think one of these fellas is crazy. Evil-crazy. I think he's killin' hookers. I know he is. So I want you to do me a favor. You don't mind doing me a favor, do you?”

“No suh.”

Grigsby nodded. “You do me a favor, maybe I can do you a favor. You come through for me, maybe I can slip you a few dollars. How would that be?”

Henry nodded, still expressionless. “Be fine,” he said.

“We can all use a few extra dollars, right?”

“Yes suh.”

“Okay, so what I want you to do, I want you to keep your eyes open. You see anything strange, you let me know. Anything at all, okay?”

Henry nodded. “Yes suh.”

Grigsby stood. “Good. We got a deal then?”

“Yes suh.”

“Just between us, now. You and me. No point in lettin' any body else know.”

“No suh.”

Glancing around the room, for the first time Grigsby noticed the book lying atop the pinewood dresser. “That yours, Henry? The book? You can read?”

“Yes suh.”

“Hey, that's great. Here in Denver, not many of the coloreds can read. You ought to be proud.”

“Yes suh.”

“What's the book?”

“The Red and the Black.”

“Yeah? Any good?”

“Yes suh.”

“Well, that's great, Henry. Great. You keep it up.”

“Yes suh.”

“And you let me know, you see anything strange.”

“Yes suh.”

Back downstairs in the bar, Grigsby sipped at his bourbon. All in all, he thought he'd handled Henry pretty well. Patient and friendly, no strong-arm stuff, no threats. Straight from the shoulder, one regular fellow to another. Even complimented him on his reading.
(The Red and the Black
? What was that? Some kind of history about Indians and coloreds?) Anyway, he figured that he and Henry were real solid now. And maybe, to get the money Grigsby had offered, Henry would come through with something new.

Probably not, though. Henry wasn't exactly the smartest colored that Grigsby had ever met.

He took another sip of bourbon. Who's next?

“Wait a minute,” said Jack Vail, suddenly sitting back in his chair. “Let me get this straight. You're saying someone's been killing off hookers in the cities where Oscar's been giving lectures?”

Grigsby, sitting opposite the business manager, said, “Yeah.”

Vail's room was three times the size of Henry's, and bigger even than Wilde's. Being a business manager paid pretty well, it looked like.

“On the same days he was there?” Vail asked.

“You got it.”

“Jeez. Don't tell O'Conner.”

“How come?”

Vail raised thick eyebrows almost to the rim of one of the worst wigs that Grigsby had ever seen. Gray and shiny, smoothed down flat at the top, it looked like some kind of dead fish curling up in the sun. “How come?” Vail said. “He's a reporter, that's how come. Soon as he knows, he'll try to get it in every newspaper in the country. It'll kill the tour.”

“Uh-huh. Tell you the truth, I got a bigger problem here with the hookers gettin' killed.”

“Hey. Sure. Naturally. I can understand that. But you got to understand my position also, Marshal. I got to make sure everything goes smooth on the tour. This gets out, I'm gonna lose bookings like crazy, all over the place.”

He was a typical Easterner, talking mile-a-minute from the corner of his mouth. Maybe forty-five years old, he wore a suit of brown and mustard yellow plaid that reminded Grigsby of the tablecloths in cheap restaurants. He was round and tubby, with two or three shiny chins.

“So where were you last night, Mr. Vail?” Grigsby was getting a headache. From staring at Vail's suit, probably. He needed a drink.

Vail sat back in his chair and pointed a plump forefinger at the center of his chest. “
Me
? You talking about
me
?”

“You're the one I'm lookin' at.”

“Hey now, Marshal. Hold on there. You don't think that any of
us
knocked off these hookers?”

“You got a better idea?”

“Sure I do. It's obvious. There's some bastard out there trying to sabotage the tour.”

Grigsby smiled at the notion. “Yeah? Who'd do a thing like that?”

“How do I know? I got a lot of rivals. And I'll tell you this. It's a rough business, Marshal. Ferocious. You wouldn't believe it if I told you. I know a guy—I'm not mentioning names now—but I know a guy, an actor, he burned down a theater in Buffalo because another actor got the part he wanted. Burned it to the ground. In
Buffalo.
Like Buffalo really
counted
, right? Can you believe it?”

“Never been there,” Grigsby said. “So where were you last night, exactly?”

“Here. I was here. But listen, Marshal—”

“All night?”

Vail shook his head. “Jeez. You don't give up. I went over to the Opera House at nine, to check the receipts. Got back here around nine-thirty, quarter to ten.”

“You see anybody? The desk clerk?”

“I had a drink downstairs. Talked to the bartender for a while. Came up to my room about ten-thirty.”

“And stayed here?”

“Yeah. Went to sleep around eleven.”

Grigsby nodded. “Tell me about the other folks on this tour of yours.”

“Hey. Really, Marshal. You're barking up the wrong tree. Couldn't of been any of them.”

“Let's start off with O'Conner,” Grigsby said.

“Jeeze,” Vail said, and shook his head again.

“What kind of a fella is O'Conner?” Grigsby asked.

Vail shrugged. “He's a reporter. He drinks. So what else is new.”

“He ever disappear at night?”

“How would I know? I'm in bed by ten-thirty, usually. But lookit, Marshal. O'Conner's not your man. I'm telling you, it's somebody trying to screw up the tour.”

“What about the German? Von Hesse?”

Vail leaned forward. “Lookit, Marshal, you gonna have to talk to O'Conner about all this?”

Grigsby nodded.

“I just had a thought, see. Follow me on this, okay? If O'Conner puts this in the paper, it's gonna kill the tour, am I right?”

“That's not my problem.”

“Yeah, but see, maybe it is. 'Cause if it gets out in the newspapers, then this guy of yours, the guy who's killing all the hookers, he's gonna know you're wise to him, am I right? And he's gonna hide out, right? He's gonna lie low. And you're never gonna find him.”

“I'm talkin' to all the people on this here tour. The sonovabitch I want is one of 'em. He's gonna know, straight off, that I'm wise to him.” And for all I know, Grigsby thought, you're the sonovabitch.

“Right, sure,” said Vail, without missing a beat, “but if the tour gets canceled, everyone's gonna take off on their own. They'll be all over the place. See what I mean? He'll be gone, he'll be in New York or Chicago or Philadelphia. Wherever. Somewhere you can't get hold of him. But if the tour stays together, see, he stays with it. He's got to, 'cause if he leaves now, he's gonna draw attention to himself. Am I right?”

“You figure I should let him kill off another hooker?”

Vail's eyebrows soared up his forehead. “Jeez, no, o' course not. I look like Attila the Hun to you?” The eyebrows lowered. “No, see, what I was thinking, you keep digging around for him, see? And I cooperate, you know? I mean, I help you out any way I can. Maybe you're right, maybe it's one of these guys on the tour. Now I think about it, it makes sense to me. Sure it does. It's obvious, right? So I keep an eye peeled, I watch these guys like a hawk. And I let you know if I pick up anything. But the thing is, we keep the whole business under wraps, see? So the papers don't catch on.”

“And how'm I gonna stop O'Conner from writing it up? Shoot him?”

Vail was leaning forward now, enthusiastic. “You do a deal with him. He'll love it. You tell him you're gonna give him an exclusive, see. You tell him that once you find the guy—and I got a lot of confidence in you, Marshal, I know you're gonna find the guy, you and me together—and once we find him, you're gonna give O'Conner everything you got. All the facts, see? All the background stuff.” Vail sat back. “He'll love it, Marshal. Trust me.”

Grigsby had learned over the years that it was generally a pretty good idea not to trust anybody who said “Trust me.” He said, “He'll still be writing it up afterward.”

“Yeah, but see, by then it'll all be over. You follow me? I mean, you'll
have
the guy. It's not like the women who come to the lectures—and, see, the women, they're three quarters of the audience, probably—it's not like they're gonna be afraid to come. Which they would be, see, if they knew he was out there, running around loose. But
afterwards
, after you catch the guy, well, jeez …” Vail sat back and looked off thoughtfully. “You know,” he said, “publicity like that, it'd send the receipts right through the roof, probably. You couldn't
buy
publicity like that.” He looked back at Grigsby. “So whatta you say, Marshal? We got a deal?”

Vail didn't know it—if he had, most likely he wouldn't have been so eager—but what he'd just offered was a solution to a problem that, somewhere behind Grigsby's dull headache, had begun to nag at him. If Greaves learned about the other killings, he'd weasel his way into the investigation. He'd try to edge Grigsby out, he'd try to gouge a few bucks out of this for himself.

But if Grigsby could keep everything under wraps, Greaves would never know.

He nodded to the business manager. “I reckon. Long as you do your part. Long as you cooperate.”

“Hey,” said Vail, holding out his hands, palms upward. “Didn't I say I would? And you ask anybody in the business. Jack Vail says he's gonna do something, that thing is as good as done.”

Grigsby nodded. “So why don't you tell me about this von Hesse fella.”

Vail grinned and pointed his finger at Grigsby. “See? That's what I like. You just don't give up. You got that incredible persistence. Jeez. It's amazing.” He sat back, shook his head in admiration. “You know, I got to feel almost sorry for this guy you're looking for. I mean, with you after him, he's as good as dead already.”

“Uh-huh,” said Grigsby. “And von Hesse?”

Vail waved his hand lightly, dismissively. “Nah. Not a chance. No way could he be your guy. I mean, he's an officer and a gentleman, you know? Besides, he's also like deeply religious. He's reading these religious books of his, all the time.”

“If he was a soldier,” Grigsby said, “he'd know how to use a knife.”

“Yeah, well, sure. But a soldier, wouldn't he use a gun instead?”

“Depends.”

Vail shook his head. “Nah. Not von Hesse. All you got to do is talk to the guy and you'll see what I mean.”

“What about this fella Ruddick?”

Vail hesitated. For an instant, his eyes went shrewd—and then, all at once, they became innocent and open. It was the same swift change of expression that Grigsby had seen in bad poker players when they picked up a pat hand.

“Well now, Marshal,” said Vail. “You ask me about Ruddick. Now naturally I don't think he could of done these terrible things you're talking about. And naturally I don't want to say anything bad about the guy. I mean, live and let live, that's my motto. But I got to admit that Ruddick, he's a strange one.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Just between you and me, I think he's kind of a swish. A nance.”