Resolution

12.

It was payday at Fort Rucker, and the Blackfoot had a lot more soldiers than usual. They were noisy but peaceful, except for one fight, which I convinced the fighters to take outside. I watched them for a little while as they flailed away drunkenly until one of them threw up and the other walked away in disgust.

I was back in my chair when two men came into the Blackfoot who were not soldiers, or ranch hands, or miners, or lumberjacks, or drummers, or wandering preachers. They had on town clothes and smallish town hats, and they wore guns. In fact, one of them wore two. I always thought two guns were for show. And the fact that his were adorned with bright pearl handles didn’t cause me to reconsider. He was as tall as I was, but not as thick, and he wore a big mustache. His partner was shorter and smaller. Kind of scrawny-looking, he was shaved clean, and carried one walnut-handled Colt.

They took a table near the bar and ordered coffee.

We looked at one another.

After a while I said, “You gents new in town?”

The tall one said, “Yes.”

We looked at one another some more.

“Passing through?” I said. “Or you planning to stay?”

“We came to do some work for Eamon O’Malley,” the tall one said.

“That so,” I said. “What kind of work you fellas do?”

The tall one looked at the small one and smiled.

“Hear that, Cato,” he said. “Gentleman wants to know what kind of work we do.”

The little guy nodded.

“A little of this,” he said, “a little of that.”

I nodded back, friendly.

“Cato,” I said. “Cato Tillson?”

The little guy nodded again. His eyes were sort of narrow, and the upper lids drooped so that the eyes seemed hooded.

“And you’d be Frank Rose?” I said to the tall one.

“You heard of us,” he said.

“Cato and Rose,” I said.

Rose seemed pleased.

“That’s what they call us,” he said. “His first name, my last. Kind of funny, huh? How that worked out? Guess people just like the way it sounds.”

He sipped some coffee.

“Cato and Rose,” he said, enjoying the phrase.

“What’s your name?” Cato said.

“Hitch,” I said. “Everett Hitch.”

“With Virgil Cole awhile, wasn’t you?” Cato said.

“I was.”

“Never had a chance to go against Cole,” Rose said.

“Why you’re still here,” I said.

Rose laughed.

“I heard he was pretty good,” Rose said.

“Best,” I said.

“’Course you ain’t seen me and Cato work,” Rose said.

“Nope.”

“Well,” Rose said, “maybe you’ll get the chance.”

“Maybe,” I said.

“Either way, we’re grateful to you, I guess, for helping us get this job with Eamon.”

“By shooting Koy Wickman?”

“Opened up a nice slot for us,” Rose said.

“Two of you to replace Koy Wickman?” I said.

Rose grinned some more.

“We’re a matched pair,” he said. “Both or neither.”

He stretched his legs out in front of him and leaned back a little in his chair. The boots were pretty fancy. Like him. He took a cigar from his vest pocket and bit off the tip and lit it, turning it in the flame until it was burning even.

“You know,” I said, “I could never figure out why O’Malley needed a gun hand at all, let alone two, let alone two like you.”

Rose took a long pull on the cigar and let out the smoke slowly.

“Maybe he figured since Wolfson had you, maybe he should get us,” Rose said.

“I’m just a saloon bouncer,” I said. “Why’s he worried about me?”

“He didn’t say.”

“Don’t make any sense,” I said.

“Not much does,” Rose said.

I looked at Cato. He appeared to have no view on the matter.

“Ever hear from Cole?” Rose said.

“No.”

“Heard he killed a man a little while ago,” Rose said.

“Virgil does that sometimes,” I said.

“Heard it was over a woman,” Rose said.

“In Appaloosa?” I said.

“Yep,” Rose said. “Heard he left town right after.”

“So he’s not marshaling there no more?” I said.

“Don’t know,” Rose said. “All I heard.”

I nodded. Rose and Cato finished their coffee and stood.

“Nice meeting you boys,” I said.

“Same here,” Rose said.

Cato didn’t speak, but he nodded. And the two of them left the saloon. Allie, I thought. Goddamned Allie.