Death at the Black Bull (10 page)

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“Do you miss Hayward?” Virgil asked the question the next morning after breakfast, as he was preparing to leave.

Clara hesitated a few seconds. “Yes. Yes I do. Clyde and I made a life here in El Paso because of his auctioneering business, and it was good. I know I'll die here, but Hayward was my beginning and I think of it often. I'm reminded of it every time I see one of those Hayward trucks heading for the bridge.”

“The bridge?”

“To Juárez,” Clara said. “They cross from the highway pretty often.”

“I wonder why they're going to Juárez . . .”

“Couldn't tell you, Virgil. But they remind me of Hayward, every time I see one.”

Twenty minutes later, as Virgil was heading back to Hayward, his mind was crowded with all he had learned. It struck him that even when he'd decided to take a break, he could never really get away from his past or even his present. For now, though, he was left wondering if Buddy Hinton had driven one of those trucks to Juárez.

And if so, why?

R
osie didn't look surprised when Virgil walked through the door.

“I didn't figure you'd have enough common sense to stay down for another week.”

“I think Sam said when they cut into my brain they removed my common sense.”

“I'm surprised they found any. I suppose you want to know what's going on.”

“I've been keeping tabs. Sounds like I haven't even been missed.”

Rosie nodded toward the closed door that led to the holding cells. They were used for temporary transfer prisoners or the occasional few-day holdovers.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, Harry Stanton's been asking for you.”

“How long has he been back there?”

“Two days.”

“What'd he do this time?”

“Threw a rock through Margie's window 'cause she wouldn't let him in the restaurant. Claims his civil rights have been violated.”

“I'll go talk to him later.”

For the next hour Virgil went over some reports, including some from the substation down in Redbud, and was happy with everything he read. “Maybe I should stay out of here more often,” he said. “I'm feeling kind of superfluous.”

“Been telling you that all along,” Rosie said. “Well, as long as you're here, I guess I can get out for a regular lunch.” Rosie stood up from her desk and headed toward the door. “You sure you can handle this?”

“You don't give a guy an inch, do you?”

“An inch, huh? I always did think size was your problem.”

Virgil crumpled a sheet of paper and threw the wadded-up ball at her. Rosie opened the door, then turned toward him, a wicked grin on her face.

“Don't forget about Harry. Tell him I'll bring his lunch back from Margie's. If you don't screw up, I might even bring something for you.”

Virgil finished with the paperwork a few minutes after she left, then stood up and headed toward the closed door at the end of the room. There were a couple of these guys in every town, he thought, and Harry Stanton was one of Hayward's. Again he fell into that same category of one of those people for whom life was too much. Not a mean bone in his body, but like so many others like him, he never had a chance. Life was never on their side from the get-go. In Harry's case, he'd spent most of his early life in foster care, no family to speak of, and when he aged out, worked at odd jobs and day labor, then drank any money he made. Once in a while, he'd get in some trouble and spend a couple of days inside. In the winter, Virgil usually let him clean up, shovel snow, and then gave him a bed so he wouldn't freeze to death on the streets. He used to do the same for Harry's partner in crime, Squint. He got the nickname because of a facial tic and how he was always blinking. Squint had died six months before after being kicked in the head by a horse down at the livestock auction in Redbud. He and Harry had been working mucking out stalls and doing general cleanup. Luther, who owns the auction, said Squint blinked at the wrong time. In any event, Harry had been a sad figure ever since.

“Okay, Harry, what have you been up to?”

Harry stumbled to his feet, steadying himself by holding on to the upper bunk. Virgil realized for the first time that Harry was an old man. It came as kind of an epiphany. He'd been part of the landscape, like Cesar, for almost as long as Virgil could remember, but Virgil never really looked at him. He was bent in a kind of permanent way. His wrist bones stood out at the end of his shirtsleeves, looking like they could pop out of the shiny thin skin that covered them. His cheeks were sunken under eyes that seemed clouded and he wore an almost perpetual squint. The stubble on his face was gray and his lips were almost blue.

“Hey, Virgil. Heared you was in the hospital. Was worried about you.” Harry took a few slow steps until he was face-to-face with Virgil through the bars that separated them. “You all right now? Was surely worried. Someone said you might die. Was really worried. Don't know what I would do if that was to happen. You 'bout the only friend I got left.”

Virgil started to respond but a sudden catch in his throat stopped him. He swung open the door to the cell. It was never locked when Harry was inside.

“I'm fine, Harry. Don't worry. I'm not going anywhere just yet.” He had stepped inside Harry's cell and grabbed the solitary chair that stood in the corner. “Here, Harry, but what about you? How come you ended up in here in this nice warm weather?”

Virgil could see Harry working his mostly toothless gums between his thin lips, trying for an answer.

“I remember, Virgil. I remember. It was Margie. She wouldn't let me in. Wanted some food and Margie wouldn't let me in. I was mad, Virgil.”

“Now hold on, Harry. Margie wouldn't give you food? Doesn't sound like Margie. She's been feeding you for years.”

Harry's eyes widened. Virgil could see a spark amid the yellow-tinted pupils. Harry waved one hand and accidentally hit the bars of the cell.

“No, no. Wouldn't let me in the front door like the other people.”

“But, Harry, Margie always gives you food around back.” An image of Harry sitting on the bottom step at the back of Margie's restaurant popped into Virgil's head. “Those people going in the front door, Harry . . . they're Margie's paying customers.” Virgil could see Harry was getting more agitated. “Take it easy, Harry, you're getting yourself all worked up.”

“But, Virgil, I had money.”

“What do you mean?”

Harry stood up from the chair unsteadily and started fishing through his pockets.

“See?” He held up a twenty-dollar bill in front of Virgil. “I had money just like those other people. Wanted to give it to Margie, for all them other times, but that kid that works there wouldn't let me in. He pushed me down the stairs, Virgil. Wouldn't listen. Tried to tell him, but he wouldn't listen. I got mad . . . Picked up a stone.”

“Okay, Harry. It just sounds like a misunderstanding.”

“Sorry, Virgil. I like Margie, almost as much as you. Didn't mean to cause trouble.”

“I'll explain it to Margie. It'll be okay.”

Virgil could see Harry's breathing was labored.

“Come on, Harry. Sit back down.” He walked him to his cot, feeling his thinness through his shirt as he held him. Harry sat down heavily. “I think you should rest now.”

“I am a little tired, Virgil.”

“Sure you are, old-timer. Why don't you just lay back and think how you're going to spend that twenty dollars.”

“Yeah, that's what I'll do. It was nice of Wade to give it to me.”

“Wade . . . Are you sure Wade gave it to you? Wade don't seem like the generous type to me. At least not twenty dollars' worth.”

“No, it was Wade, Virgil. He give it to me that night outside that nice restaurant when I saw him with Buddy.”

“You saw him with Buddy? Buddy Hinton?”

“Yeah. It was Buddy. It was kinda dark but it was Buddy.”

“Do you remember what they were doing?”

“Well, they weren't doing much of anything. Jist sitting in that white truck. I noticed them 'cause they was kinda loud. Maybe they was arguing. Wade saw me and he got out and come over to me. I thought I was in trouble . . . And Wade . . . Well, he wasn't always friendly to me, but this time he give me that twenty-dollar bill. Whaddya think of that, Virgil? Ain't that something? Just outta the goodness of his heart. Imagine that.”

“That's what I'm trying to do, Harry. Imagine Wade giving out a twenty-dollar bill from the goodness of his heart.”

*   *   *

“Rosie, I'm going over to Margie's, maybe make one more stop, then I'll be back. Just for the record, you guys did a great job while I was gone.”

“We aim to please, Virgil. Why don't you head home and put your feet up? Call it a day.”

“This isn't heavy duty, just a couple of calls. Don't worry.” He picked up his hat from the chair next to his desk. “Be back soon.” Before she could make another attempt to dissuade him, he was out the door.

Virgil stood next to the opened car door as the heat rushed out, then changed his mind and shut it. Margie's was only a ten-minute walk and he figured the exercise wouldn't hurt. It had to be close to a hundred, he thought. He wasn't surprised when he walked around to the front of the building to see Main Street deserted. It was like one of those movies where a last survivor wanders a desolated landscape looking for another human being. He turned left on Main and headed for Margie's. By the time he was halfway there, he was sorry he hadn't taken the car. Every time he inhaled, he felt like he was in a blast furnace. Margie's sat at the end of the next block and he quickened his pace. When at last he stepped through the front door and the coolness hit him, he actually felt weak in his legs and he grabbed the first seat he could. Before a minute went by, Margie herself had put a glass of water in front of him.

“Virgil, drink this.”

He didn't argue, but put the glass to his lips and swallowed.

“You look like you're about to explode. I saw you coming down the street. Where's your car?”

“I thought I'd walk.”

“Virgil, it's one hundred and nine degrees out there! Are you crazy? You just got out of the hospital a week or so ago. When they cut open your skull, did they take out your common sense?”

“That's the second time someone's asked that same question.”

“Did you see all the other pedestrians out there? Wait'll Rosie hears this.”

Virgil held up his hand. “You tell her, my life won't be worth spit. I'll never eat another meal in this place.”

“Okay, calm down. What do you want to eat?”

Virgil told her and she left him, after filling his glass again. By the time she returned, he was feeling almost normal.

“Thanks, Margie. I wanted to speak to you about Harry.”

“No need.” She sat down opposite him as he started eating. She gave a quick look around to make sure everyone else in the place was being taken care of, then turned to look at Virgil. “I spoke to the busboy. He should have just walked Harry around back, but he didn't know, and for some reason Harry seemed adamant about coming in the front door.”

Virgil explained the reason to Margie.

“I'll be damned. Harry wanted to give me his twenty dollars. Well, that old man doesn't know it, but he just bought himself a meal a day for the rest of his life.”

Virgil smiled. “You're a good woman, Margie.”

“Not so bad yourself, Virgil. Hell, you been taking in strays for years, beginning with Jimmy.”

“What about the window Harry broke?”

“No big deal. I already traded a free meal to Silas over at the hardware store and he fixed it. I must say the one thing in this whole story that shocks me is Wade giving Harry twenty dollars. I might have to reevaluate my opinion of him.”

After Margie left, Virgil finished the last of his lunch. When he stood up, he was feeling a lot better. As he got ready to leave, Viola Hinton came up to him.

“I hear you need a ride, Sheriff.”

Virgil looked over at Margie, who just smiled.

“Why thank you, Viola, that would be nice.”

He followed her out the door to her car. She asked how he was feeling and commented on the heat.

“Sorry, I didn't get a chance to say good-bye to Buddy,” he said. “How you all doing?”

“We're good.” They had just pulled into the parking lot. “By the way, Virgil, I wanted to tell you before that Buddy was seeing one of the workers up at Hayward Ranch. I couldn't tell you in front of Buddy's dad. He didn't know and wouldn't have liked it. He has a problem with . . . Well, he's a good man, but he has a problem with illegals.”

“I understand. Thanks for telling me.” Virgil got out of the car and waved as Viola pulled away. Then he walked into the office. He was starting to feel good again.

“I have a few questions for Harry,” he said to Rosie, “but at least I took care of Harry's problem. Margie even promised to make sure Harry never goes hungry again.”