Blackjack

56

Prior to Black being sentenced to hang for the murder of Ruth Ann Messenger, he managed to injure Lawrence LaCroix pretty good that day. Black was quick on his attack of LaCroix. His first contact took LaCroix off his feet and slammed him so hard into the back of the courtroom the plaster caved in and fell from the wall and ceiling. By the time Chastain, Book, the bailiff, Virgil, and I could get to Black, he had broke LaCroix’s nose and jaw, knocked out some teeth, cracked ribs, and fractured both his painting arm and right leg. LaCroix ended up unconscious and had to be carried out on a stretcher and hauled off to the hospital.

Now, however, the whole dramatic event was over and gallows were already under construction. The alderman of Appaloosa did not appreciate the idea of the town having a permanent structure for hanging people. So instead of having standing gallows, there was precut lumber ready for reassembly when it was time for it to be used again, and according to Judge Callison, this was the time for it to be put to use.

The site where the gallows were erected was on the far outskirts of town, past a makeshift little saloon that was neatly christened as the Gallows Door Cantina. It was nothing more than a three-sided lean-to with a cluster of tables and chairs under a stand of hackberry and mimosa. The place was open only when it was warm or when there was a hanging about to take place, and currently the reasoning criteria of both were in effect.

Virgil and I sat in the shade, drinking beer and watching the workers putting the gallows structure together when Valentine came walking up behind us.

“Lovely day for a hanging,” he said.

Virgil looked back.

“Not yet,” Virgil said.

“Next week,” I said.

“Yeah,” Valentine said as he stopped and looked at the construction workers a moment. “I heard... Ironic, it’s the goddamn day before Independence Day. The day before he was supposed to open the damn gambling joint.”

“It is,” I said.

“Who thought of that?” Valentine said.

“That was the good judge,” I said.

“Some kind of sick joke?”

“Judge wanted to be out on the afternoon train for Yaqui so he could be home for the Fourth.”

“Isn’t that thoughtful?”

He shook his head, removed his hat, and took a seat. He pushed back his thick hair with both of his hands and smiled at Virgil.

“Not seen you around for a while,” Virgil said.

“You been looking for me?”

“No,” Virgil said.

“You need something?”

“No.”

“You miss me?” Valentine said.

“Did not,” Virgil said.

“I’ve been enjoying the good life,” Valentine said.

“That so?” Virgil said.

“Made me a short trip over to the hot springs.”

Virgil looked at him with his head tilted a bit.

“You should try it,” Valentine said. “Take Allie. Cures what ails you.”

Valentine looked to the gallows.

“’Sides,” he said. “There’s only so much of this kind of shit a fellow can tolerate.”

“It’s been expected,” Virgil said.

“Understand the good judge heard the case against Truitt Shirley?”

Virgil nodded.

“Heard there was testimony that supported some self-defense, Truitt thought Roger Messenger was pulling on him, but the good judge found him guilty.”

“Ten years for second-degree murder,” I said. “We’ll be hauling him off after the hanging.”

“The old judge is on a roll,” Valentine said.

Eloise came out from the lean-to. Eloise was a local barmaid in Appaloosa. She was in her forties and was a bit plump but pretty as a peach. She was a sprightly and spirited woman with pounds of curly red hair and was never without a sassy smile on her face.

“Beer?” she said to Valentine. “That’s all we got.”

Valentine looked her up and down.

“Well, I by God beg to differ,” he said with a smile.

She put her hands on her hips.

“Well, aren’t you a charmer,” she said.

“I have been called worse,” he said.

“I’m sure you have,” she said.

“Beer it will be, my dear,” he said.

Valentine watched her as she walked back to the lean-to, then looked back to the gallows again. After an extended moment he said, “Poor bastard.”

“Black?” I said.

“Yep,” Valentine said.

“We were just ruminating on that very thing,” I said.

“And?” he said.

“Up to the painter LaCroix’s last statement about what he saw, it could have been a different decision, is all.”

“That all is a hell of a lot,” Valentine said.

“Damn sure is,” I said.

“His life,” Valentine said. “Painter was convincing, though.”

Virgil nodded.

“He was,” he said.

“But you been edging on the speculation that Black just might have been railroaded?” Valentine said.

Virgil didn’t say anything, but his lack of response answered the question.

“He was goddamn fit to be tied, that’s for sure,” Valentine said. “He was on that goddamn painter like a riled black bear.”

“He was,” I said.

“Well, I sure as hell knew firsthand he had that kind of goddamn fury in him,” Valentine said. “I thought I had him good when I first caught him. I come up behind him there at the cactus garden just off the city square. I put my sawed-off to the back of his head and had one of my helpers, Sanchez, get the cuffs on him. I could tell the whole time this was happening Boston Bill’s temperature was climbing like a hot poker. No sooner did we get the cuffs on him and went to put him in the wagon than the sonofabitch kicked Sanchez off the side of this lil’ ol’ bridge like an empty fruit can, spun around on me, got both hands on my neck, that I realized I just might have saddled more of a horse than I could ride. I was able to pop him a few hard fucking rights, but it didn’t faze him. He picked me up off the ground and slammed me so hard up against the bars of the wagon I was seeing fireflies, and the simple fact I managed to pull my cutlass and put the tip of it to his throat is the only thing that saved me from a handmade wood box. After that I slapped him hard a few times and he showed no more effrontery... but up until then he kind of put the fear of goddamn Mohammed in me.”

Eloise came with Valentine’s beer. He leaned back as she set it on the table in front of him. He looked up at her and grinned.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Are you flirting with me?” she said.

“What gives you that impression?”

“You,” she said.

Valentine laughed.

“Well, as a matter of fact, I am,” he said.

“That’s what I thought,” she said.

She walked off and looked back over her shoulder. “Keep it up,” she said.

Valentine looked at his beer and smiled.

“I’m beginning to kind of like this town,” he said.

“Don’t get too used to it,” Virgil said.

Valentine winked at me.