Later that day, the party of five—Isaac, Jacob, Jede-diah, Obadiah Silver and Sister Mary Boniface—had settled into master suite 212. They unpacked only what they needed that night. Sister Mary Boniface had very little to unpack.
“Sister,” Ike said, “what are your plans for staying somewhere after tonight? You know, we’re all going to have to move out in the morning.”
“Yes, I heard what Mister Peevy said.”
“And I heard him mention a mission a few miles away. Is that where you’re going to stay until a stage—”
“Mister Silver, ‘Give us this day . . .’ ”
“That’s very optimistic, Sister.”
“And very true.”
“Speaking of daily bread, would you care to supper with us at one of the restaurants?”
“No, thank you. I have provisions in my traveling bag.”
“You can’t have many provisions,” Jake said, “in that little—”
“I’ll be fine.” Sister Mary Boniface looked toward the boys. “Jedediah, Obadiah, it was nice to meet you—and both Mister Silvers, I thank you for your kindness and hospitality and bid you good night, you’ll be in my prayers.”
She walked toward her room, opened the door, entered and locked the door behind her.
After supper, Jake and the boys retired to master suite 212. Ike stopped by the livery to see how things were progressing. Under the direction of Ben Brown, things seemed to be progressing satisfactorily. It also seemed that Ben Brown was damn good at his profession.
Ike decided to have a quiet drink before turning in. There was a plethora of saloons to choose from in La Paz. He passed several until he found one that seemed the least noisy, the Appaloosa, and entered.
A curling haze of smoke from cigarettes, pipes and cigars settled against anything it could find—the bar, the tables, the posts that held the place together and the people who stood at the counter or sat at the tables playing cards.
The floor had not been swept from the night before, nor the week before. The customary piano player played the customary songs while nobody seemed to be paying much attention to the musical entertainment.
Ike found a space at the bar and ordered a bourbon. The bartender poured and before Ike could lift the glass someone elbowed his way next to him and spoke in a stentorian tone.
“I beg your pardon, kind sir.”
Ike Silver turned and looked at the someone. Though not tall, he was imposing, if a bit bleary-eyed, wearing a once proud suit that had gone to seed, as had the man’s face, a face topped by a cocked vintage bowler. Still, there were the remnants of regal bearing and dignity in his mien.
“I am Basil Binkham.”
“Ike Silver. Pleased to meet you.”
“I hope so, kind sir, I sincerely hope so . . . and if so . . .”—Basil Binkham glanced at the glass of bourbon on the bar—“. . . I wonder if I might cadge a drink in exchange for a recitation of any of your favorite quotations . . . since you appear to be, unlike . . .”—Binkham motioned around the room—“the other patrons of this benighted parlor, a gentleman of refinement and appreciation of the arts, I—”
“That’s quite all right, Mister Binkham, I’d be pleased to buy you a drink.” Ike smiled and nodded to the bartender. “And the recitation is not necessary.”
The bartender poured, Binkham swallowed the bourbon, set the glass on the bar and looked from Ike back at the empty glass.
“Oh, no! I insist! Quid pro quo! Just one more libation for ballast and we’ll sally forth into the libretto.”
Ike motioned to the bartender, who poured again and Binkham forthwith swallowed the libation.
“Now then, kind sir, what is your pleasure? Shakespeare? Yes, there is a Shakespearean aspect about you . . . . Hamlet, yes, Hamlet it shall be!”
Basil Binkham peered at the empty glass.
“And perhaps one more . . . after the curtain goes up. Yes, Hamlet, Act Two, Scene Two . . .
’Oh what a rogue and peasant slave am I!
Is it not monstrous, that this player here,
But in a fiction, in a dream of passion,
Could force his soul so to his own conceit,
That from her working, all his visage wann’d;
Tears his eyes, distraction in’s aspect . . .’ ”
Basil Binkham paused and starred at the empty glass. Ike nodded and the bartender poured. Binkham drank and continued even louder.
“ ‘. . . A broken voice and his whole function suiting—’ ”
“Hey, Binky! Shut up, goddammit! I’m trying to play poker!”
One of the poker players, a sizable man in a red flannel shirt sitting at the nearest table, pointed at Basil Binkham.
“I can’t concentrate with all that bullshit going on!”
Binkham lowered his voice somewhat and continued.”
“ ‘. . . With forms to his conceit?’. . . and, and . . . I’m sorry, sir. . . .” Binkham lowered his head “I can’t seem to—”
“ ‘And all for nothing.’ ” Ike smiled and picked up the speech. “ ‘For Hecuba! What’s Hecuba to him and he to Hecuba, that he should weep for her? What would he do . . .”
“Ah, yes!” Binkham nodded. “I’ll, I’ll carry on—
“ ’Had he the motive and the cue for passion that I have?
He would drown the stage—’”
“Dammit!” The poker player rose, kicked the chair away and rushed at Binkham. “I’m losing money here and I don’t intend to . . .”—he grabbed Binkham by the shirt with one hand and slapped him hard twice with the other—“listen to your bullshit!”
Ike spun the poker player by the shoulder and slapped him twice, hard.
The poker player swung a heavy right fist. Ike took the blow on his left forearm and countered with a stiff smash to the poker player’s jaw that sent him sprawling first onto the card table, then onto the dirty floor.
Once again, Marshal Jonas Trapp appeared out of nowhere, this time without a shotgun, but still with plenty of authority.
“Mister,”—Trapp squinted at Ike Silver—“you seem to gravitate toward trouble.”
“Marshal, I—”
“Never mind. I saw it.” Trapp looked at the unconscious poker player on the floor. “Schultz is a mean sonofabitch and had it comin’, but when are you leavin’ La Paz?”
“Tomorrow, Marshal.”
“Adios . . . and,”—he pointed at Basil Binkham—“why don’t you take Binky with you?”
Marshal Jonas Trapp walked toward the door.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Binkham said. “I didn’t intend to cause trouble.”
“No trouble.” Ike smiled.
“Nevertheless. Thank you and . . . good night, sweet prince.”