Blackjack

7

“What?” Pritchard said.

Virgil did not say anything.

“My God,” Charles said.

“Murder of who?” Pritchard said.

“What do you know about that, Mr. Pritchard?” Virgil said.

“Well, I am shocked,” he said.

I looked to Charles.

“That it, Mr. Pritchard?” Virgil said.

“Well, yes,” Pritchard said. “This comes as a complete shock.”

“And you?” Virgil said to Charles.

“Had no idea,” he said.

“How long have Truitt and the other man been around here with Black?” I said.

“They showed up here about a week ago,” Charles said.

“And what do you speculate is the nature of their relationship?” I said.

“I can’t really say,” Charles said.

“Hands?” Virgil said. “Or friends?”

“Well, what I saw of them, they were not overly friendly or really communicative with Bill... they were, I don’t know, subordinate, it seemed. But I don’t know. I was not around them that much, and, well, Bill was not around a great deal, either.”

“Where was he?” Virgil said.

“Not sure, really.”

“Leave town?” Virgil said.

“Could have,” Charles said. “I have no idea.”

“How long gone?” I said.

“I can’t say, really. I mean, he would be here and then he’d be gone. I have my job to do here and he had his. Mine is the construction side and his is to oversee, and with me doing the work there is not much to oversee, frankly.”

“He your boss?”

Charles looked to Pritchard, then back to me.

“To some degree he is,” Charles said. “Though there was not much for him to do.”

“Charles has been working with the same workers for a long time and they know what they are doing,” Pritchard said.

“Bill basically stayed out of my way,” Charles said. “And I stayed out of his.”

“So I guess you’d say you guys aren’t friends?” I said.

“We’re not enemies.”

“You build the hall in Denver?” Virgil said.

Charles glanced at Pritchard again.

“He did,” Pritchard said.

“One thing I can say about Bill of late,” Charles said, “is he’s been, I don’t know, on edge might be the right words. Not pleasant, I don’t know. Normally he was always kind of pretty even-tempered, but there were a few occasions where he was angry.”

“Like when you asked him what Truitt and the other man with him were doing?” I said.

“Yes,” Charles said.

“What about them, Truitt and the other fella, you know where they reside?” I said.

“I don’t know,” Charles said.

“No idea?”

“Not at all.”

“You did not see the shooting?” I said.

Charles shook his head.

“No, I was inside, upstairs in the back above us here, and didn’t see what happened. By the time I was out, the owners, the man and wife of the upholstery shop there across the street, were tending to him, there was a crowd of people around, but there was no sign of Mr. Black or Truitt or the other sonofabitch that pulled a gun on me.”

“And you never learned that other fella’s name?” I said.

Charles shook his head.

“Was not introduced.”

Virgil turned, surveying the big open room a moment, then leveled a look at Mr. Pritchard.

“Tell me about Bill Black, Mr. Pritchard,” Virgil said.

“What do you want to know?”

“He works for you?”

“He does.”

“What does he do?”

“Well, he handles my gambling operations.”

“Doing what, exactly?” Virgil said.

Pritchard’s eyes narrowed a little.

“Everything,” he said.

“You want to tell me what you know about the murder?” Virgil said.