Brimstone

11

WE HEADED NORTH ALONG the Paiute at sunrise, and by the middle of the afternoon we were in a hotel in Brimstone, Allie and Virgil in one room, me next door.

“Heard you was out of the law business,” Dave Morrissey said when we went to see him.

“Was,” Virgil said.

“What changed your mind?” Morrissey said.

Virgil was silent for a moment.

“Well, some things bothered me,” Virgil said. “But Everett and I talked some, and now they don’t bother me so much.”

I was startled. First time he’d ever admitted that I had any influence on him.

“Anything else?” Morrissey said.

Virgil grinned.

“Need the money,” he said.

Morrissey nodded.

“Ain’t quite commensurate with the risk,” he said. “But only a fool would do it for free.”

“How ’bout you, Hitch?” Morrissey said.

He looked like he might have been a cowboy once, sort of bowlegged and smallish. He had a big drooping mustache, and wore a long duster.

“Well,” I said, “I done law and not law for a long time. Don’t make a lot of difference to me. I’m not too scared, and I’m decent with the eight-gauge.”

“That’s what that thing is,” Morrissey said. “Thought it might be a cannon.”

“Two barrels,” I said.

Morrissey grinned.

“God’s truth,” he said. “I heard about you boys, and when Sheehan telegrammed me I was interested. I’m told you’ll stand, and your word is good.”

“It is,” Virgil said.

“And I hire you, you won’t sell me out for a higher offer.”

“We don’t promise to work for you forever,” Virgil said. “But we won’t work against you, ’less you force it.”

“Fair enough,” Morrissey said. “What I told Sheehan was true, we’re booming. Cattle mostly. Railroad’s expanding, bigger herds coming in. I come down from Del Rio every once in a while, and a Ranger comes by every month or so. But right now there ain’t no permanent law here, and the place is growing like a damn weed.”

“Town grows too fast,” Virgil said, “leaves an empty space; people fight to fill it.”

“You’ve worked a lot of towns,” Morrissey said.

“We have,” Virgil said.

“The situation in this one is a little peculiar,” Morrissey said. “We have a fella named Pike. I don’t even know his first name. Everyone calls him Pike… Hell, maybe Pike is his first name.”

Virgil shrugged.

“Anyway,” Morrissey said, “he showed up here a few years ago with the remains of a gang that the Pinkertons chased into exhaustion.”

“They’ll do that,” I said.

“Sometimes,” Morrissey said. “He had a few of his boys with him and some money they probably stole from a railroad, and they bought a saloon at the north end of town. Never broke no law here. And they run a first-class operation. Booze is good, games are honest, girls are clean. They police themselves. No trouble. We’ve never even had to go up there since they been in town.”

“Model citizens,” I said.

“And then, ’bout a year ago, here come Brother Percival.”

“Percival,” Virgil murmured.

“What he calls himself,” Morrissey said. “Brother Percival.”

“Preacher?” I said.

“Yep,” Morrissey said. “Come to town with a tent show, preaching against sin like he was the first man to discover it. Nobody paid him much attention for a time. But he kept collecting people to his whatever it is, and then he built himself a church, brought in a damned organ from Kansas City. And him and some of the people come with him when he arrived, they decide to make a target of the biggest and best saloon in town.”

“Pike’s,” Virgil said.

“What’s Brother Percival want?” I said.

“Damned if I know. Maybe he is acting on behalf of the Kingdom of Heaven. Maybe he wants to take over Texas.”

“And Pike?” I said.

Morrissey smiled a little.

“He wants to take over Texas,” Morrissey said.

“Potential there for conflict,” Virgil said.

Morrissey nodded.

“You want the job?” he said.

“Sure,” Virgil said.