Blackjack

3

Virgil bought Allie a new Chickering and Sons piano for Christmas, and she played it most every evening after dinner and sometimes after lunch, as she was doing this particular afternoon. Virgil and I both thought it curious that she wasn’t getting any better, but she was trying and practicing and we were always offering our appreciation, encouragement, and support.

Currently Allie was playing a waltz and it was fairly smooth, but it wasn’t helping Virgil’s concentration. We were sitting on the back porch playing a game of chess, and Virgil had been taking his sweet time contemplating his next move.

It was a beautiful day in Appaloosa and there was not a cloud in the sky. The air was warm and there was just enough of a gentle breeze coming out of the north to keep the temperature from climbing up to discomfort. When Allie finished the tune, Virgil moved his rook and then sat back with some relief and a hint of strategic pride.

I studied the board and was waiting for another selection from Allie, but there was a knock at the front door instead.

“Oh, hey, there, Skinny Jack,” we heard Allie say.

I leaned back in my chair and could see through the open rear door to the open front door, where Deputy Skinny Jack stood with his well-worn derby in his hand.

“Afternoon, Mrs. French. Sorry to interrupt. I’m looking for Marshal Cole and—”

“Not at all, come in, come in, they’re out back.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Good to see you,” she said.

Allie put her hand on his shoulder and they walked down the hall toward the back porch.

“You have been on my mind,” she said. “I think about your mother often... How have you been getting by?”

“Doing pretty okay,” he said. “Coming up on the one-year anniversary of Mom’s passing.”

“My God, really?” Allie said. “Seems like yesterday. I sure miss her.”

“Thank you, Mrs. French,” he said. “Me, too... I appreciate your thoughts.”

“Company,” Allie said as they arrived at the back door.

Allie normally wore her long auburn hair up, but at the moment it was down. It was parted in the middle and fell well past her breasts and was pulled back behind one ear. She had on a light blue cotton dress that was loose and open around her neck, and her walnut tan skin made her blue eyes seem even bluer. She stood to the side, next to the doorjamb, with her shoulders back so Skinny Jack could step out onto the porch.

“Howdy, Marshal,” he said. “Everett.”

“Hey, Skinny Jack,” I said.

Then I moved my bishop. Virgil met my eye with a tinge of dislike regarding my strategy. I smiled and leaned back, looking up at the young deputy.

“What is it, Jack?” I said.

He glanced at Allie, then back to me.

“Sheriff wanted me to fetch y’all.”

Virgil looked from the board to Skinny Jack.

“For?” I said.

Skinny Jack pulled at the whiskers of his scruffy goatee as he smiled at Allie a little.

“Oh,” she said, smiling back at Skinny Jack. “Excuse me, I’ve got dishes to wash anyway.”

Virgil grinned at Allie.

“What?” Allie said.

“Nothing, Allie.”

“Oh, Virgil,” she said.

Skinny Jack watched as Allie walked off down the hall, then looked to Virgil.

“Been a shooting,” Skinny Jack said.

“Who?” Virgil said.

“A policeman.”

“Policeman?” I said.

“None of us,” Skinny Jack said. “Thank God.”

“What policeman?” Virgil said.

“He’s from Denver.”

“A Denver policeman shot here in Appaloosa?” I said.

“Seems so.”

“Dead?” Virgil said.

“Not at the moment. Don’t know if he’ll make it, though.”

“Who did it?” Virgil said.

“Truitt Shirley.”

Virgil’s eyes narrowed.

“You remember him?” I said.

Virgil held his squint a bit.

“Do,” he said. “Bad seed.”

I nodded.

“We had a run-in with him and some of his toughs,” Virgil said.

“We did. You convinced him, the lot of ’em, to sleep it off.”

“How do you know it was Truitt that did the shooting?” Virgil said.

“Witnesses,” Skinny Jack said.

“Truitt been arrested?” I said.

“No.”

“What’s a Denver policeman doing here?” I said. “And why has he been shot by Truitt?”

“We don’t know all the particulars,” Skinny Jack said. “Know his name is Roger Messenger.”

“Messenger?” Virgil said.

“You know him?” I said.

Virgil thought for a moment, then shook his head.

“Name is familiar,” he said.

“He had a knapsack with a ticket receipt of travel from Denver and we found his name in his pocketbook. He showed up here in Appaloosa on the morning train. That’s what we know about him.”

“Have you wired the Denver authorities?” I said.

“No, sir. Sheriff wanted y’all to know.”

“When was this?”

“’Bout an hour ago,” Skinny Jack said.

“Where is the Denver fella now?” I said.

“Hospital. Doc said besides his condition being not so good, said he was drunk as hell, too. He had an empty bottle of rye in his knapsack.”

“Where was this?” Virgil said

“In front of the new gambling-parlor building. But that’s not all. This here is the reason Sheriff especially wanted me to find you two.”

Skinny Jack pulled a rolled-up paper from his coat pocket and laid it on the table in front of us.

“This Roger fella had this here warrant for the gambling man, Boston Bill Black, in his possession. Matter of detail, he had it in his hand when he was shot.”

I read it and then handed it to Virgil.

Virgil read it. Stared at it some.

“I’ll be damn,” he said.

“You called it,” I said.

“Suspected it,” he said.

“I was not far off your mark, Virgil.”

Virgil nodded a little.

“Boston Bill Black wanted for murder,” I said. “Ever since he showed up, acting special... you damn sure called it.”

“Where is Sheriff Chastain?” Virgil said.

“Book, the sheriff, and the other deputies are out looking for Truitt and Bill Black.”

Virgil turned to the open, curtain-covered window to his left.

“You hear everything okay, Allie?” he said.

Allie spoke from behind the curtains.

“Don’t mean it’s true.”

“No, Allie, it don’t, but there is this warrant here.”

“Just a piece of paper,” she said.

“No,” Virgil said. “It’s not just a piece of paper. A warrant is issued when there is proof and evidence.”

Allie pulled back the curtains.

“Well, I don’t believe it, Virgil.”

Virgil turned to me then back to Allie.

“What?” he said with a shake of his head. “Why?”

“Not one word of it.”

“Well, why would you not, Allie?”

“He’s a fine upstanding gentleman.”

Virgil rested both of his hands on the table, cocked his head, looking at Allie, then narrowed his brow.

“How would you know?”

“I just do,” she said. “Call it woman’s intuition.”

Virgil smiled at me and shook his head a little, then looked back to Allie.

“Woman’s intuition?” he said.

“Yes.”

Virgil shook his head again.

“The man has been in town here for a short while and you’re vouching for him.”

“I’m not vouching for him, Virgil. I just heard from some of the ladies that he was a good fella.”

“That so?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Some of the ladies?”

“Yes,” she said. “I even said hello to him at the town hall, and he was perfectly nice and upstanding.”

“Well, hell,” Virgil said. “That’d be for the judge to decide.”