The Bridge

52

Virgil looked to the sofa.

“Kind of small, isn’t it?” Virgil said.

“I can stay on the sofa,” Nell said.

“No,” Allie said. “Virgil will be perfectly fine sleeping right there. Won’t you, Virgil.”

I nodded a little.

“Beats sleeping in the barn,” I said.

“Well,” Allie said with a clap of her hands. “I’m sure you boys are hungry.”

Virgil just looked to me, then back to the sofa.

Allie clasped her hands in front of her chest and looked to Nell.

“Well,” Allie said. “Time to beat the daylights out of those pots and pans.”

“I’m not much of a cook, I’m afraid,” Nell said.

“Nonsense,” Allie said, holding her hand out. “Come with me, it will be fun.”

Nell took Allie’s hand and rose up from her position on the sofa dramatically, like she was a queen. She looked to me and smiled as she walked off.

We watched the women walk to the kitchen.

Virgil shook his head a little.

“Timing has a way of being goddamn untimely, don’t it?” Virgil said.

“Does,” I said.

Virgil got a log from a pile of logs near the hearth and set it in the burning flames. He picked up the poker and poked around in the fire a bit, giving it some air.

“You gonna say anything?” I said.

“Not at the moment, I ain’t,” Virgil said.

Virgil set the poker aside. He walked over to the dining room breakfront. He got two glasses, came back to the table in front of the fireplace, and poured us each a decent nudge of Kentucky.

“She seems happy,” Virgil said. “Want to let her stay that way. Talking about what happened today, about brutal murder, ain’t light fare.”

“No,” I said. “It’s not.”

“People are gonna know soon enough about them,” I said.

“If they don’t already,” Virgil said.

I nodded.

“Still, need to let the mayor know in the morning,” I said. “Post notice, let him make the formal statement.”

“Goddamn,” Virgil said, shaking his head. “Goddamn.”

“I know,” I said.

“Good boys,” Virgil said.

“They were,” I said.

Virgil and I sat across from each other. He looked at his whiskey for a moment, then threw it back.

I drank mine, too, and Virgil poured us two more.

“I been thinking about Ballard,” Virgil said.

“’Bout?”

“He would have been hanging next to the others in the slaughterhouse if he wasn’t interested in fucking them up, too,” Virgil said.

I nodded.

“Belle said he was a buck in the rut,” I said. “Horns and all.”

“Ballard is older, too,” Virgil said. “He most likely took over as the lead of this bunch.”

“A gun to a knife fight,” I said.

Virgil nodded.

“What we know about him is he’s a hard-case badass,” Virgil said. “Snaps on women.”

“And men,” I said. “His brother included.”

Virgil nodded.

“He beat up that fella Belle told us about, left him tied up, naked,” Virgil said.

“A collector,” I said. “An attractor and intimidator.”

We drank a bit more as we looked to the fire.

“A killer,” Virgil said.

“He’s settled in,” I said.

“He’s by God right at home,” Virgil said.

I sat back with the glass in my hand. I looked to the fire, watching it.

Virgil did the same.

We watched the fire for a long moment, then Virgil spoke without looking at me.

“Last thing we do, Everett,” Virgil said, as he stayed looking in the fire. “Is bring them goddamn down like wolves on lamb.”