Gunman's Rhapsody

Forty-six

Wyatt and Josie shared pigeon pie at Maison Dorée in the Cosmopolitan. Both picked at the food, without much appetite. Josie drank wine. Wyatt drank coffee.

“Virgil says he thought he might have seen Frank Stilwell scoot into the Huachuca building,” Wyatt said.

“Just before he got shot.”

“He’s with the cowboys?”

“Sure.”

“You think he shot Virgil?”

“Maybe. Virgil couldn’t be sure it was him.”

“But you found Ike’s hat,” she said.

“We’ll talk to Ike about that. Crawley Dake’s appointed me a U.S. marshal. Means I can appoint some deputies.”

“But what are you going to do?” Josie said.

The wine was making her impatient.

“It’s what I’m trying to do,” Wyatt said. “I’m trying to still be a lawman. I’m trying to find out who did what they did, and then I’m going to try and arrest them.”

“And if they try to kill you again?”

“They’ll try,” Wyatt said.

“Kill them first,” Josie said.

Wyatt put his hand over hers.

“Aren’t you fierce,” he said.

“I don’t care anymore about anything else. Kill everyone. I don’t want you hurt.”

“What I need from you is to go visit your father,” Wyatt said.

“I told you before, I won’t leave you.”

“You’re not leaving me,” Wyatt said. “You’re leaving me free to do what I need to do without worrying about you.”

“Johnny wouldn’t hurt me,” Josie said.

“I don’t think he would,” Wyatt said. “But Johnny’s got something rolling downhill that he can’t stop. I want you safe.”

“And where do you think it will end?” Josie said.

“People got to go to jail,” Wyatt said. “And some got to be shot, I expect.”

“And it’s harder for you if I’m here?”

“I love you,” Wyatt said. “I will always love you. But, yes, it will be easier if I know you’re safe.”

“Then I’ll go. I’ll pack tonight and go tomorrow.”

They were silent, most of the pigeon pie uneaten on their plates.

“How’s Virgil?” Josie said finally.

“He’ll be all right,” Wyatt said. “He’s full of morphine now. Virgil’s tough. And Allie’s with him.”

“Allie doesn’t like me,” Josie said.

“No,” Wyatt said. “She doesn’t like me much either. But she likes Virgil.”

Josie drank a little more claret.

“And how are you?” Josie said.

“Nobody shot me,” Wyatt said.

“I know that Virgil was as much like a father as he was a brother.”

“He’s not that much older than me,” Wyatt said.

“I know.”

“But you’re right,” Wyatt said. “He’s always been the one. Maybe I’m closer to Morgan, for just playing cards and talking. But it’s always been Virgil. He’s the one counted. We always cared what Virgil thought. Always wanted to do things the way Virgil did them. It’s probably why me and Morg are gunhands, ’cause Virgil was a gunhand. Hell, now Warren’s a gunhand.”

“And Virgil?”

“Now he’s not a gunhand anymore. I mean he can still shoot. He’s got his right hand. But a man can only use one arm isn’t the same in a fight. Hell, he’d have trouble reloading, according to Goodfellow.”

“So he can’t take care of things anymore.”

“No.”

“And now you are the one,” Josie said.

“I guess.”

Wyatt drank the rest of his coffee. Josie finished her wine.

“You want to come to my place?” Josie said. “And help me pack?”

“Yes,” Wyatt said. “But you can pack later.”

Josie smiled at him.

“Of course I can,” she said.