The Bridge (16 page)

It was five in the afternoon when we entered the office. Chastain was behind the desk and sitting in a cell next to Bolger was Beauregard Beauchamp. Beauregard looked up at us when we entered.

“There you are, gentlemen,” Beauregard said in his big voice as he got to his feet. “I was trying to explain to your illustrious deputy here we are friends and that there was no need to lock me up. No need whatsoever.”

Virgil looked to Chastain.

“He was drunk,” Chastain said.

Beauregard laughed, shaking his head dramatically from side to side.

“No, no, no,” Beauregard said.

“Goddamn were, too,” Bolger said from the next cell.

“A simple misunderstanding,” Beauregard said. “It was nothing more than a misunderstanding.”

“Bullshit,” Bolger said.

“One of the show people,” Chastain said, “came over, said they heard Mr. Beauchamp yelling at Mrs. Beauchamp in their trailer. Was scared for her. Book and me went over there. We knocked on the door and Mr. Beauchamp here came out with his fists up like he was a boxer and started swinging at me. I had no choice but to lock him up.”

“It was just a misunderstanding,” Beauregard said. “My wife and I were rehearsing, you see, nothing more.”

“You were drunk. Mrs. Beauchamp was frightened. And you, Mr. Beauchamp, were doing your best to hit me,” Chastain said.

“Mrs. Beauchamp okay?” Virgil said.

“She is,” Chastain said.

“He sober now?” Virgil said.

Chastain nodded.

“Should be.”

Virgil got the keys and walked toward Beauregard’s cell.

“See,” Beauregard said to Chastain, “Marshal Cole and Deputy Marshal Hitch know all too well I am like them. I am a man of substance. A man of quick resolve.”

Virgil unlocked the cell door.

Beauregard put on his fancy gambler’s frock coat and meticulously placed his wide-brimmed hat on his head with a stylish sideways tilt to it.

Virgil pulled open the cell door.

“Why, thank you, Marshal,” Beauregard said with a bow.

“I find you mistreating your wife or anybody else,” Virgil said, “I will personally put a knot in your ass.”

Beauregard gulped.

“Why, Marshal?”

“Get,” Virgil said.

Beauregard was stymied for a brief moment.

Chastain stood up and opened the door to the street for him to leave.

Beauregard was unsure just how to regain some pride, some dignity. He pulled back his shoulders, pointed his nose in the air, and walked out the door with one shoulder leading the other like the seasoned thespian he was.

“Goddamn clown,” Chastain said, closing the door behind him.

Chastain looked over us for a bit.

“Look like you been through it,” Chastain said.

“Any word from Driskill?” Virgil said.

Chastain shook his head.

“Nothing,” he said. “I was hoping he’d be with you or you’d know something.”

Virgil shook his head.

“We don’t,” Virgil said.

“Not seen ’em,” I said.

“Goddamn,” Chastain said.

Chastain walked over and shut the door between the office and the cells.

“I was here, got your wire,” Chastain said, “from the bridge camp way station.”

Virgil nodded.

“What do we do?” Chastain said.

“Not much we can do with the weather like it is,” Virgil said.
“Rough and slow going out there with this snow. Be like birds looking for seeds. Soon as it gives way we need to mount a posse.”

Chastain nodded.

“And the bridge?” Chastain said.

“Gone,” I said.

Chastain shook his head slowly.

“My God,” he said. “Who done it?”

“Know some of who done it,” Virgil said. “Just don’t know who had them do it.”

“Who is the some of the who done it?” Chastain said.

“The soldier fellas that come through town,” Virgil said.

“Soldiers?”

“They weren’t soldiers,” Virgil said.

I nodded.

“Who were they?” Chastain said, as he poured Virgil and me a cup of coffee.

“We don’t know,” I said. “Know two names, most likely aliases. Brothers, or claimed to be brothers, last name Cotter.”

“Never heard of them,” Chastain said, as he handed Virgil and me each a cup of coffee.

“You ever hear of Walton Wayne Swickey?” Virgil said.

Chastain squinted a little.

“Name’s familiar,” he said. “Who is he?”

“Big cattleman. Got a spread across Rio Blanco someplace,” I said. “He was the one that bid against G. W. Cox for the bridge contract.”

Chastain nodded a little.

“You think he’s behind this?” Chastain said.

“Could be,” Virgil said. “We need to find out his whereabouts and then find him.”

“Being a cattleman, he can’t be that hard to find,” Chastain said. “I’ll poke around.”

“Do,” Virgil said.

Virgil walked over to the window. He looked out for a moment as he sipped his coffee.

“Money,” Virgil said.

Chastain looked at me.

Virgil continued staring out the window for a bit, then he said, “Swickey or not . . . It’s all about the money.”

“Ain’t that always the case,” Chastain said.

“Need to find out about this contract,” Virgil said, looking back to Chastain and me. “The bridge foreman said Cox was late on paying. Them boys that had Bolger and his brother delivering goods said the pay chain was broke.”

“What are you thinking?” Chastain said.

“Just need to figure out what’s at stake here,” Virgil said. “Maybe Cox was in trouble with money. Maybe he has been doing something else with the money. Need to know how and when he was paid. Maybe there’s a policy he’s collecting on or something. Maybe he’s broke. Maybe Cox and Swickey are in on this together.”

“Together?” Chastain said.

Virgil nodded a little.

“Gotta be something else. Everett, let’s work up a letter, have Chastain send it, notifying the governor’s office, let them know what happened and find out all we can.”

—
40
—

O
h, my goodness,” Allie said. “I can’t believe Beauregard was arrested. Here in Appaloosa. How embarrassing.”

“He didn’t seem all that embarrassed,” Virgil said. “Did he, Everett?”

“Didn’t,” I said.

“I’m not talking about
him
being embarrassed,” Allie said. “I’m talking about
me
, about
Appaloosa
.”

“What are
you
embarrassed about?” Virgil said.

“This man, this renowned performer, has come here to Appaloosa to give us some culture, some entertainment, and he gets arrested?” Allie said.

“He did,” Virgil said.

“It’s just awful,” Allie said.

“Not sure I’d call scaring the daylights out of his wife culture or entertainment,” Virgil said.

“If he said he was practicing, he was practicing,” Allie said. “You don’t understand entertainment. You know nothing about practicing theatrical performance, Virgil Cole.”

“Sure I do,” Virgil said. “It ain’t practicing, it’s got its own special name, don’t it, Everett?”

“Rehearsing,” I said.

“That’s right,” Virgil said. “Rehearsing.”

“Well,” Allie said. “I’m downright embarrassed over this, Virgil. Appaloosa is embarrassed.”

“Pretty sure Appaloosa don’t give a shit,” Virgil said.

“They do,” she said.

Allie turned sideways in her chair with her right elbow on the dining table and her shoulders slumped. She looked like she was gonna cry.

“Well, Allie,” I said, as I got out of my chair and gathered plates off the table. “If it’s any comfort to you, I really enjoyed this dinner you fixed tonight.”

Allie wobbled her head a little and offered a slight smile.

“Why, thank you, Everett,” Allie said. “At least one of you is grateful of me.”

“Oh, goddamn, Allie,” Virgil said. “I’m grateful of you, Allie.”

“Are not,” she said.

“I am, Allie,” Virgil said. “I wasn’t the one that arrested him. Hell, I was the one that let him out.”

“He was, Allie,” I said from the kitchen.

“Really?” Allie said.

“He was,” I said, coming back from the kitchen to gather more plates.

Allie smiled a little. I think that made her feel better.

“Well,” she said. “I know it has to be hard for them with this weather, the whole troupe cooped up in those trailers, going on days now.”

Virgil nodded. He reached over and grabbed Allie’s hand and gave it a squeeze.

“I love you, Allie,” he said.

She smiled at Virgil.

“I love you, too, Virgil.”

Virgil got up from the table. He walked to the mantel and got a cigar from his cigar box.

“You’re not gonna smoke that in here, are you, Virgil?” Allie said.

“Wouldn’t think of it,” Virgil said.

Virgil put on his coat and stepped out the front door.

Allie got out of her chair and helped me finish cleaning off the table.

“I don’t think Virgil really has a real bone to pick with Beauregard,” I said.

“I’m not so sure,” Allie said. “I think he’s jealous.”

“Virgil don’t get jealous,” I said. “You know that, Allie. Fact is, if there’s one thing he personally don’t know nothing about, it’s jealousy.”

“Oh,” Allie said. “I suppose you’re right, Everett. Maybe that’s wishful thinking, what I miss.”

“What you miss?”

“A woman likes to know her man is so interested in her he don’t like to think about her having any other interest.”

“You got other interest?” I said.

“Of course not,” Allie said. “I’m speaking theoretically.”

“Theoretically?”

“Yes,” she said, then leaned her hip on the counter. “You know, a woman needs attention, Everett.”

I poured some hot water that was heating on the stovetop in the dirty dishes into the washbasin.

“Virgil just don’t like to see a woman, any woman, treated with disrespect. Whether she’s practicing or rehearsing or what,” I said.

Allie was just looking at me. Watching me.

“Most important, though,” I said. “Right now, we got bad dealings. A no-good bunch of business we’re dealing with, Allie, far more
important business than Beauregard getting himself locked up and you needing attention. We got a two-hundred-foot bridge, no telling how many tons of iron that spanned the Rio Blanco River, blown up by somebody, somebody that is out there on the loose, and we got three Appaloosa law officials, good men, out there somewhere, missing.”

—
41
—

I
walked the streets of Appaloosa. The city was quiet. The evening was cold, and most every business, even the saloons, was shut down. The snow had stopped, but it was deep and I couldn’t see where the boardwalks stopped and the streets began.

The newly installed street lamps were not lit and there was no traffic moving about on the boardwalks or streets. It was cold, dead still, and silent out.

I stopped in at the sheriff’s office and paid Chastain, Book, and Skinny Jack a visit.

The three men were sitting around the warmth of the potbellied stove, playing blackjack on a crate, when I opened the door.

“Howdy, boys,” I said.

I kicked the doorjamb, freeing my trousers and boots of snow before I entered.

The three of them looked at me with somber expressions.

“You get some word?” I said.

They shook their heads.

“No,” Chastain said. “We just keep thinking they’ll walk through the door any minute.”

I nodded.

“Just me,” I said, and closed the door behind me.

I walked over to the men and looked down at the card game.

“Who’s winning?” I said.

“I am, of course,” Book said.

“Chubby shit’s a card counter,” Chastain said.

“I can’t help it if I’m a good thinker,” Book said.

“Shit,” Skinny Jack said. “Just luck.”

I put my eight-gauge in the gun rack behind the desk. And hung my shell belt next to it on a hook.

“Find out any news of Walton Wayne Swickey’s whereabouts?” I said to Chastain.

Chastain sat back and shook his head.

“Not as of yet,” Chastain said. “Got a number of wires out. The office said they’d let me know first response.”

“Need to find him,” I said.

“I will,” Chastain said.

“Like Cole asked, I contacted the governor’s office with his wire,” Chastain said. “I let them know about the bridge. ’Spect they will know something shortly.”

“’Spect they will,” I said.

I walked back over near the desk. I could see Bolger through the open door between the cells and office. He was looking at me. I looked back at him.

I nodded to him and he looked to the floor. I continued to look at him sitting there on the bunk and then something occurred to me, something that I’d not thought about.

Could by God be . . .
I thought, as I walked over to the door and looked in on him.

“Bolger?” I said.

He looked up.

“Hum?”

“Let me ask you a question,” I said.

“You can ask,” Bolger said. “Can’t guarantee you any answers, though.”

“Tell me about the buckboard,” I said.

“What buckboard?” he said.

“The one you used to take the goods up to the bridge camp,” I said. “That buckboard.”

“What about it?”

“It yours?” I said.

Bolger just looked at me.

“Is it?”

“Is,” he said. “Why?”

“Where is it?”

“Got stoled.”

“Somebody took it?”

“Yep.”

“Your brother?” I said.

Bolger looked away from my eyes.

“He the one who took it?”

“Now, why would my brother steal my buckboard?”

“You tell me?” I said.

“He didn’t,” Bolger said.

“You and him got into it?” I said.

“He’s gonna find you,” Bolger said.

“Didn’t you?” I said.

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Bolger said.

“You and your brother?” I said. “When you traveled back and forth to the bridge camp, did you use the shortcut?”