Robert B. Parker's Blackjack (21 page)

D
aphne.”

I pulled her hands from my neck, but she remained tense and continued to fight with me.

“Daphne,” I said, struggling with her tense arms. “Daphne, it’s okay, it’s me.”

She stared at me for a moment, then slowly relaxed, letting go. The fearful expression on her face slowly softened when she realized she was not in danger.

“It’s okay,” I said. “It’s me, Everett. You’re just having a bad dream.”

She remained staring at me then she softened some more and recessed back into the bed.

“Everett . . .”

“I’m here,” I said.

She looked around and shook her head a little.

“My gosh,” she said. “I’m sorry . . .”

“It’s okay,” I said. “You were obviously having a nightmare.”

She nodded.

“You all right?” I said.

“Yes,” she said. “Oh my God . . . Ugh . . . someone was after me, I don’t know who . . . It was Bill, I think. I was being chased through the woods . . . and . . . I don’t, can’t remember everything, but . . . so awful . . . I was running, but I could not move quickly, you know, and I could not get away, then I was caught, he caught me, Bill caught me, and then you woke me up, thank God.”

“I was right there with you,” I said. “I woke in a bit of a fret myself.”

She held her head.

“I drank your whiskey,” she said. “I . . . I’m afraid I am not much of a drinker.”

“Probably need some water?”

She sat up some and nodded, and I poured her a glass of water.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Your dream,” I said, “was not without some kind of foreshadowing, it seems.”

“How so, Everett?”

I put on my shirt and buttoned it as she waited for me to answer her.

“It’s Bill Black,” I said.

“Yes?”

“He escaped last night.”

She blinked at me a few times.

“What?”

I nodded.

“My God,” she said, sitting up with a shocked look on her face. “What? How on earth . . . my God.”

I sat in the corner chair and slipped on my boots.

“He’s out and on the loose,” I said. “Got out with Truitt Shirley.”

“The man he was on the run with before?”

“Yep.”

“My gosh. I just can’t believe it.”

“It happened,” I said.

“How do you— How did you find out?”

“Deputy was by here just now.”

“My God . . . what now?”

“Catch him.”

Daphne’s eyes were wide.

“I . . . what should I do?”

“You?” I said. “You don’t do anything.”

“But . . . I . . . I’m frightened.”

“Nothing for you to be frightened about.”

“But . . . I am, I . . .”

Her eyes darted around the room, as if she was thinking intently about something or imagining how he might get in or where she might hide.

“You need not be,” I said.

She looked down and stared at the floor, shaking her head.

“This is not good,” she said.

“No,” I said. “It’s not.”

“It all seems so cruel,” she said, almost as if she were talking to herself.

“Murder is cruel,” I said.

She pulled her knees up to her chest and looked at me as I continued to dress.

“How did he escape?”

“Not real sure,” I said.

“My God . . .” she said.

“We have some kind of idea . . . but the fact is, however he got out, whenever he got out, he’s out.”

She gathered the sheet and sat to the edge of the bed holding the fabric in front of her nakedness.

“Everett . . . I’m . . .”

“What?”

“Just scared is all.”

“Why should you be scared?”

“I . . . I don’t know.”

“This has nothing to do with you, Daphne,” I said. “He’s out and he’s running.”

She stared at the floor long and hard, then looked up to me. Her eyes were wet.

“You must be careful,” she said.

She looked like a spooked child holding the sheet in front of her.

“You don’t need to worry about anything.”

“But I do . . .”

“Don’t. Besides, I always am careful,” I said. “Part of my job description.”

Like every morning, out of habit and correctness, I checked the cylinder of my Colt, then put it back in my holster and strapped the belt around my hip.

“You saw what he did to that man that witnessed him murdering that poor woman,” she said. “He almost killed him right before our eyes.”

“I did.”

“He’s an animal,” she said.

“This is what I do, Daphne,” I said. “What I have to do. It’s my job to enforce the law. And it is against the law for a criminal to break out of jail where they have been incarcerated for a crime they have been charged and convicted of.”

“But he’s different, Everett,” she said. “Very different.”

“I thought you and Pritchard were on his side. Thought he was an innocent man?”

“We were . . . until this witness came forward and described what he did. Now my insecurities about what I thought might be real,
could be real, are very real . . . I am scared to know the man I was once engaged to be married to is a cold-blooded vicious murderer. How could I have been so blind?”

“Not about being blind,” I said. “People have good in them and people have bad in them, and in some people the bad . . . takes over and wins out.”

“You believe that?”

“I do,” I said.

I tied my bandanna around my neck, then picked up my eight-gauge.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t know why, but I’m just so fearful.”

“No reason to be sorry,” I said. “But there is nothing for you to be concerned with, just go back and stay put in your room.”

“No,” she said. “I don’t want to go back there, not right now.”

“Stay here, then.”

“I . . . I don’t want to be alone,” she said. “He’s a dangerous man.”

I broke open the double barrel, confirmed there was a shell in each cylinder as I left them, then snapped it shut.

“So am I,” I said.

She got to her feet and let the sheet fall to the floor and stood naked in front of me. Then she moved to me and put her arms around my neck and kissed me.

“I like that,” she said.

W
hen I knocked on the door Virgil was already up and dressed. He answered the door in his stocking feet and holding a cup of coffee as he looked back and forth between Daphne and me.

“Bill Black is on the loose,” I said. “Truitt, too.”

Virgil reacted almost as if he had expected the news, but Allie came up behind him, throwing open the door wider, with a shocked look on her face.

“What?” she said. “Are you serious?”

“I am, Allie,” I said.

“Be right with you, Everett,” Virgil said, then drifted back into the house, leaving Allie standing in her sleeping gown with a look of complete disbelief on her face.

“Be all right for Daphne to stay here with you, Allie, until we get this settled, until she feels safe.”

“Why, of course,” Allie said.

“I’m so sorry, Allie,” Daphne said. “I hope this is not an inconvenience.”

“My God, are you serious? Come in this house this instant,” Allie said as she practically jerked Daphne over the threshold. “Of course it’s no inconvenience. What kind of silly comment is that? You poor, poor dear.”

When I followed Allie and Daphne into the house, Virgil was coming back up the hall, carrying his gun belt and boots.

I quickly explained to Virgil all I knew about the escape, which prompted Allie to expound.

“This is just awful,” she said. “How could Sheriff Chastain and his deputies let something like this happen?”

“They did nothing,” Virgil said.

“Letting the killers go is not nothing.”

“They got out, Allie, they escaped, you heard Everett,” Virgil said as he sat on the piano bench and put on one of his boots. “They were not let out.”

“It’s lackadaisical and unprofessional, to say the least.”

“Before you go accusing the sheriff’s department, Allie,” Virgil said as he pulled on his second boot, “why not let us sort this out and do our job.”

“Yes, Virgil,” she said politely. “I am not insensitive, I know you will protect us.”

Allie turned to Daphne.

“He will,” she said. “Everett, too. That’s what they do.”

Daphne smiled a weak smile and nodded a little.

“Regardless, it’s awful,” Allie said with a twist of her brow as if she had the need to snuff out her previous admonishments. “And now the whole town is unsafe.”

“Before, you were sure as all hell Boston Bill Black was innocent,” Virgil said as he got to his feet.

“That was before,” Allie said.

Virgil picked up his gun belt.

“Now you’re condemning the law enforcement as being just awful and leaving citizens unsafe.”

Virgil strapped on his gun belt.

“Well, that was before he was proven guilty, Virgil,” she said. “Now all I can think about is that there are murderers on the loose.”

“Well,” Virgil said as he pulled his Colt from his belt, checked the rounds, then snapped closed the loading gate. “Try not to think about it, Allie.”

Daphne lowered her head, stifling tears.

“Oh, you poor thing,” Allie said, pushing Daphne’s hair from her eyes. “I know how you feel.”

Allie sat her down on the sofa and held her hand, then looked up to Virgil.

“I feel just like Ms. Daphne here, Virgil,” Allie said, then looked back to Virgil. “And . . . thank you, Virgil.”

“For what?”

“Well . . . I think at times the unrest of my constitution adds up and sorts its way out as being ungrateful, but you need to know that is simply just not the case. This is just unnerving.”

“I know, Allie,” Virgil said as he put on his hat.

Allie looked to Daphne and smiled as she rubbed her hand between hers.

“It is going to be okay, Virgil and Everett know how to handle this.”

“Thank you,” Daphne said.

“We will do what we can,” Virgil said.

He kissed Allie on the cheek and walked out the door. I turned to follow . . .

“Everett?” Daphne said as she got to her feet and came close to me
by the door. “I would feel just mortified if something were to happen to you.”

“Don’t think I would feel good about that proposition, either,” I said.

She reached up and pulled my head down to meet hers and kissed me.

“Oh, my,” Allie said softly, and almost to herself.

T
he early morning was quiet and the sun was slanting in through the openings of the buildings on 3rd Street as we walked to the sheriff’s office. The shafts of yellow light reflected off the storefront glass enough to make us keep our brims down. It was still early, not much was open, and the streets were sparse of folks moving about.

“Maybe it’s justice,” I said.

“Maybe not,” Virgil said.

We walked by in front of the hotel where the Coloradoans were staying. At the moment all was quiet and there was no one going in or coming out.

“Don’t imagine the Denver contingent will be too happy,” I said as we passed the hotel.

“No,” Virgil said glancing at the hotel’s front door. “I don’t, either.”

When we passed, Virgil looked back a little.

“Saw them earlier,” Virgil said with a shake of his head.

“Like they’re waiting around for rut or harvest,” I said.

“’Fraid the yield’s not so good,” Virgil said.

“Currently,” I said.

“I had a brief visit with the chief,” Virgil said.

“And?”

“He’s an unfriendly hombre,” Virgil said. “Remembered him, too.”

“Did?”

“Yep.”

“Where?”

“Long time ago. He was a young Otero County sheriff. I remembered him for certain. He was with a group of others up on the Purgatoire River, up by Bent’s last place,” Virgil said. “Forever ago now. I was passing through when brouhaha happened there. Him and the others found a young black kid they’d been chasing.”

When we came to the end of the street we saw one of Chastain’s deputies. Luce, a stout-looking fellow with a thick mustache that draped down to the bottom of his chin. He was standing back off the street, holding his rifle across his beer gut and smoking a cigarette. He dropped it and crushed it under his foot when he saw us crossing the street.

“Seen anything, Luce?” I said.

“No, sir,” he said. “Nothing. I been right here so I can see both directions leading off.”

“Okay,” I said. “Just stay alert and alive.”

“Yes, sir,” he said.

We walked on a ways and Virgil continued.

“They strung up the black kid, they claimed he had stolen a horse. He was just a boy. Messenger was . . . hell, real young then, that’s why I didn’t recognize him, really. Don’t think he recognized me, either, but I remember the name, ’cause the kid was begging not to die, pleading, Mr. Messenger, please, I didn’t do it . . . That I remember.”

“Well, hell,” I said. “Guess he’s got a soft spot in his heart for hanging.”

Virgil didn’t say anything.

When we got to the sheriff’s office, Chastain and Book led us into the cell room to have a look at Black’s escape wreckage as they informed us on what was taking place.

“We got everybody out looking,” Chastain said.

“When I got here and found out they were gone,” Book said. “I got everybody moving right away.”

“Like you told Book, we got someone on lookout at every road trail leading out of town,” Chastain said.

“What time was that?” Virgil said.

“’Bout five or so,” Book said.

“If the sumbitches ain’t already gone from Appaloosa, they won’t get gone,” Chastain said. “Not this time.”

“We even sent four men down to the ford,” Book said. “In case they had that on their mind again.”

Chastain walked into Black’s cell.

“Can’t believe this shit?” Chastain said, shaking his head and looking at Black’s cell window that was missing its bars. “That’s what we goddamn get for having strong damn bedrails.”

He picked up one of the bars that had been removed from the window.

“Look at this shit,” Chastain said. “He’s a big strong sumbitch, I will give him that. He managed to work those bed railings free that were bolted to the goddamn floor. Then he used them to pry the bars inside the window.”

“That opening was tight for him, too,” Book said. “Hard to see how he got his big frame through there.”

“Well, he damn sure did. Then he got goddamn Truitt out,” Chastain said, pointing to the window in Truitt’s cell. “He got out and then he pried those damn bars there from the outside.”

“I found these outside on the ground under Truitt’s window,” Book said, pointing to the rails leaning against the wall. “Been a lot
of big, tough, strong men locked in these cells and, well, this is certainly a first.”

“When did somebody last have eyes on them?” Virgil said.

“Neil and Matt were on night duty,” Book said. “Neil said he shut the door here a little past ten o’clock.”

Book looked over and picked up a Bible and set it on the small table in Black’s cell.

“Neil said Black asked for this Bible,” Book said as he fanned the pages. “Neil said he gave it to him and then shut the door. That was the last anyone saw of them.”

Virgil looked at me.

“Black got started right away on getting this frame out of the floor,” Virgil said.

“Took a while, too, I suspect,” I said.

Virgil nodded.

“Don’t figure they been out all that long,” Virgil said.

Melvin and Luis, two of Chastain’s young deputies, came quickly into the office. Melvin was a big strapping kid covered with a constellation of freckles and Luis was a small Mexican fella with deep-set eyes and a scruffy goatee.

They were both out of breath as they poked their heads in the door.

“We got something,” Luis said, leaning over and breathing hard.

“What?” Chastain said.

“Found two horses and two saddles that were stolen early this morning,” Melvin said.

“Where?” Virgil said as he moved toward Melvin and Luis.

The two deputies backed into the front office with Virgil. Chastain, Book, and I followed.

“They were taken from the corral behind Mankin’s Mining outfit at the end of Fourth,” Melvin said with a point in that direction.

“Anybody see Black or Truitt?” Chastain said.

“No, sir,” Luis said. “Mr. Mankin said he found one of his three horses standing outside of his bedroom window this morning.”

Melvin quickly nodded in agreement.

“Said it woke him up,” Melvin said. “‘Chewing on the damn sill of the window. Said he didn’t think too much about it, thought the other two horses were just out, wandering around grazing someplace, then he saw the shed door was open, too, looked inside and found that two of his saddles were missing.”

“What time was this?” Virgil said.

Luis looked to Melvin.

“About four this morning,” Melvin said.

“You boys get back out there and check with the others,” Virgil said to Melvin and Luis, “see if anybody’s seen anything.”

Virgil followed them out onto the boardwalk and we followed Virgil.

“Everybody,” Virgil said to Melvin and Luis as they mounted up, “needs to keep their eyes open.”

Melvin and Luis swung up in a hurry and rode off.

Chastain looked at his watch.

“Almost seven now,” he said.

“They most likely got out and got those horses pretty close to when Mankin found them gone,” I said.

“Still kind of early,” Book said. “Not too many folks up and moving about just yet.”

“What now?” Chastain said.

Virgil thought for a moment, then said, “Where’s the painter?”