Blackjack

36

“She doesn’t look like any bookkeeper I ever saw,” I said as I walked down the steps and caught up with Virgil.

“You questioning her skills?” Virgil said.

“No, she just doesn’t seem like the adding and subtracting type.”

“You saying a fella might think of something else?” Virgil said.

“No might to it,” I said.

Virgil and I rounded the corner just as Chastain came riding up and reined to a stop when he saw us.

“By God,” Chastain said.

“Black?” Virgil said.

“Yep,” Chastain said. “Been looking for you for an hour.”

“Locked up?” Virgil said.

“He is.”

“I’ll be damn,” Virgil said.

“What kind of shape is he in?” I said.

“Looks pretty exhausted. I think he’s thinner, and he’s got a few cuts and bruises, but he’s here, and he’s locked up.”

“Anything said?”

“Nope, not to me,” Chastain said. “Book gave him some food. He was hungry. Don’t think the bounty hunter cared too well for him while he was getting him over here. He was locked in a prison wagon.”

“Where is the bounty hunter?”

“Think he went for some grub and such. I didn’t see him at all. I was at the house when they got to the office. Book came and got me after he got him locked up.”

Virgil and I went to the office to see for ourselves that Boston Bill Black was in fact behind bars. When we got there Book opened the door to the cells, but Boston Bill was dead asleep, lying facedown on the bunk. Truitt was in the cell next to him. He looked up when we entered. We stood there for a moment, but Black didn’t stir, and we didn’t wake him. Fact was we really had nothing to say to him other than welcome back to Appaloosa.

Truitt stood looking at us dejectedly, but we walked out before he could let us know how bad it was being locked up. Book closed and locked the metal door and put the key in the desk drawer and locked the desk drawer.

“Bounty hunter say where or how he found Black?” I said.

“No,” Book said. “I posed to him that very question, but he didn’t say much, really, other than he was hungry and thirsty.”

“Where is he?” Virgil said.

“Think at the Boston House,” Book said. “He did say he was wanting to see you. Said he was an old friend of yours. Said he was looking forward to seeing you.”

“What’s his name?”

“He didn’t say. Not from around here, though, never seen him before, that’s for sure. He was nice, friendly like, but was... I don’t know, unusual, I guess you could say. He just asked me where he could get a steak, some good wine, maybe play some tall dollar cards. I told him at the Boston House he could do all three and that it’d be busy with some good gambling because tonight was faro night and such. He thought that was funny.”

“What?” I said.

“Said Appaloosa was lousy with Bostons. Boston this and Boston that, a place called the Boston House and a missing man that was now caught named Boston Bill. He laughed as he walked out the door.”

Virgil stubbed out what was left of his cigar in the ashtray and looked at Book for a long moment.

“What’d he look like?” Virgil said.

“A real colorful character, that’s for sure. Big, strong-looking, older, along in his fifties, I’d say, short-cropped hair on the sides, thick, full beard. Wore a brim with a flipped-back front.”

Book pinched his earlobe.

“He had one of those silver loops in one of his ears.”

Virgil squinted his eyes a little, looking at Book.

“Flashy dresser?” Virgil said.

Book nodded.

“As a matter of fact, he was,” Book said. “Long frock coat, striped trousers tucked inside tall fancy boots and Mex silver spurs with huge rowels.”

Virgil shook his head.

“Cutlass on his hip?” Virgil said.

Book looked to me, then Virgil, then nodded.

“Damn sure did,” Book said. “That’s him.”

Virgil looked at me.

“Guess you know who that is,” I said.

He nodded.

“By all accounts I do.”

Virgil walked to the door and looked out to the street as if the man in question might be in sight. He stood quiet for a moment, looking off. He nodded to himself, then shook his head a little as if he did not believe what he believed.

“Been a long damn time,” Virgil said. “But that sounds like Valentine Pell.”

“I think I heard about him,” Book said.

Chastain nodded.

“Pell,” he said. “Was he a marshal at one point in time, too?”

Virgil looked at Chastain and nodded a little.

“Among other things,” Virgil said.