52
VIRGIL AND I were having coffee and dried-apricot pie at Café Paris. Through the front window we could see the opening ceremonies for the new Laird bank that the general was opening in Appaloosa.
There was red, white, and blue bunting. There were some speeches. Two guys played banjo. The general was there, of course, in a dark gray suit and some ribbons and an officer’s dress sword on a sash. Teagarden was beside him, wearing his ivory-handled Colt. Chauncey was a bear for ceremony.
“Lotta money kicking around Appaloosa these days,” I said.
“Callico and the general,” Virgil said.
“Yeah,” I said. “They’ve brought in a lot.”
“That much money coming and going,” Virgil said. “Trouble comes with it.”
“Bad element collecting in town?” I said.
“Seems so,” Virgil said.
“Anyone special?” I said.
“Well,” Virgil said. “There’s you and me.”
“We cleaned it up the first time, Virgil.”
“Might have to again,” Virgil said.
“And who’ll pay us to do it?”
“Whoever got the most to lose, I expect,” Virgil said.
“So, we got some preliminary skirmishes to observe,” I said. “’Fore we know.”
Virgil nodded. We both ate some pie, and Virgil drank some coffee. He shook his head.
“Chinaman makes the second-worst coffee in Appaloosa,” he said.
“Allie being the worst,” I said.
“Yes.”
I nodded toward the bank festivities.
“Allie’s in attendance,” I said.
“I know,” Virgil said. “Since Laurel went off, Allie’s got a lot of free time.”
He drank some more coffee.
“I don’t encourage her to spend it cooking,” he said.
“I wouldn’t,” I said.
“She’s working her way up in Appaloosa society,” he said.
“Which would be, at the moment, Callico,” I said. “And the general.”
“Callico is through Mrs. Callico,” Virgil said.
“The belle of New Orleans,” I said.
“Whole damned South,” Virgil said.
The Chinaman came out and poured us more coffee. We both drank some and looked across the bright street. Allie was talking to Chauncey Teagarden.
“General’s kinda long in the tooth,” I said. “But Chauncey ain’t.”
Virgil nodded and stared across the street at Allie over the top of his coffee cup.
“You and me know Allie, I’d guess,” Virgil said, “better’n anybody.”
“You know her best,” I said.
Virgil shook his head.
“No,” Virgil said. “I fucked her and you ain’t. But you know her well as I do.”
I didn’t say anything.
“And she knows that Chauncey is here sooner or later to kill me,” Virgil said.
I nodded.
“And she knows that he might succeed.”
“Always possible,” I said.
“And so you know she’s thinking ahead,” Virgil said.
I was quiet for a moment, looking across the street. Then I took in some air and blew it out slowly.
“And lining up replacements,” I said.
“In case,” Virgil said.
“Something happened to you, I’d look out for her,” I said.
“She knows that,” he said. “She also knows I go down, you’ll probably go, too.”
“Probably,” I said.
“And even if you don’t go down, she knows you won’t . . .”
Virgil wobbled his hand a little.
“No,” I said. “That’s right. I’d look out for her, but I wouldn’t, ah, be with her.”
“You don’t love her,” Virgil said.
“No.”
Virgil gazed across the street silently.
“I do,” he said.
“I know.”
“Don’t make any sense, does it?” Virgil said.
I exhaled again.
“No,” I said. “But maybe it ain’t supposed to.”
“I want her to feel safe,” Virgil said.
“I’ll see that she does,” I said.
“No,” Virgil said. “You can’t. ’Cause you won’t fuck her and she can’t feel safe with no one ’less she’s fucking him.”
“I know,” I said.
“So, let her find somebody to fuck, if I go,” Virgil said. “And don’t kill him for fucking her.”
I nodded again.
“Work out better all around,” I said, “you don’t die.”
“Would,” Virgil said. “Wouldn’t it.”