Robert Parker - Resolution

“Excellent,” Wolfson said. “You bring the books into town soon as you can, go over them with Hensdale, my chief clerk, at the emporium.”

“I know Hensdale,” Faison said.

“Good.” Wolfson raised his coffee cup. “Here’s to bigger and better paydays.”

Faison nodded and raised his cup. Virgil and I did nothing. Wolfson might have glanced at us. It was always hard to tell because of the random eye.

“One favor,” Wolfson said after he’d put his cup back down. “I’d like a new sign that says Wolfson Mining. ”

“Sure,” Faison said.

He and Wolfson shook hands, and we left. It was still raining steady, and the horses were not happy to leave the shelter of the tarpaulin.

“We going to talk with Stark?” I said.

“Wolfson said we were.”

“I wouldn’t expect much from Stark,” I said.

“Fritzie is smart,” Wolfson said. “He’s a businessman. He sees how the landscape has changed.”

I glanced at Virgil. He shrugged. The rain slanted in on us riding east. Virgil rode the same way as he did when it was sunny or cold or windy or not. Things didn’t make much impression on Virgil Cole. He just went on being Virgil Cole… except about Allie. We rode across the face of the hill for an hour to Stark’s lumber operation. The rain didn’t encourage talking. We left the horses under cover in a lumber shed and went to the office. Stark let us in.

“What the hell do you want, Wolfson?” Stark said.

“Just stopping by, say hello, talk about how things have changed.”

“I got no interest in talking with you,” Stark said. “And I don’t care what’s changed and what hasn’t.”

“I thought maybe we should talk about partnering up.”

“Partnering up?” Stark said. “With you?”

“Fritzie, look around,” Wolfson said. “I got this whole town, hell, the whole west slope, tied up pretty tight. It’s to your fucking benefit, you know? To partner with me.”

“Wolfson,” Stark said, “you are a greedy, slimy, pig-fucking sonovabitch. I wouldn’t partner with you in Paradise. You’re a thief. You’re a back shooter. You’re a fucking coward hiding behind vermin like these two.”

“You better think about what you’re saying,” Wolfson said.

“I’ve thought all I want to about it, you walleyed cock-sucker, ” Stark said. “I ain’t afraid of you or your two gunners, neither.”

“Maybe you’ll learn to be,” Wolfson said.

“And maybe I won’t,” Stark said.

He picked up an ax handle that lay on his desk.

“So unless you’re ready to fucking shoot me now,” he said, “get out of my office and off my land.”

Wolfson stared at him. Stark took a step toward him with the ax handle raised. Wolfson took a quick back step.

“No,” he said. “We won’t shoot you today.”

“Then get your ass out of here,” Stark said.

“But there’s no guarantees about another day,” Wolfson said. “Think on it.”

“Fuck you,” Stark said.

An argument like that doesn’t leave you with much to say. Wolfson turned and strode out of the lumber office. Virgil grinned at Stark for a moment, then we went after Wolfson. When we were on our mounts and heading back toward town, nobody said anything.

Finally, Virgil looked at me with the same grin he’d given Stark.

“Vermin,” he said.

We were having a drink before work with Cato and Rose in the Blackfoot. A good-looking woman came in from the hotel lobby. She was wearing a blue gingham dress and a ribbon in her hair. She saw the four of us at the bar and walked over.

“I need help,” she said.

“Ladies don’t usually come in here,” I said.

“I don’t care,” she said. “It’s worse out there.”

She had a purple bruise on her left cheekbone that had begun to turn yellow, which meant she’d had it for a while. She’d probably made the dress herself, but it fit pretty well. Her dark hair looked as if she brushed it a lot. She seemed well-scrubbed.

“What do you need,” I said.

“My husband just hit me in the stomach and knocked me down.”

“Doesn’t look like the first time,” I said.

“No.”

“What’s different about this time,” I said.

“He was kicking me.”

“Where’d this happen,” I said.

“In the emporium.”

“And you got away from him and ran in here?”

“Yes,” she said. “But he’ll be in here after me.”

“What’s holding him up?” I said.

“He’s got to get the children into the wagon,” she said.

We all looked at her, even Cato.

“The children,” I said.

“He beats me up in front of them all the time,” she said.

Her voice was steady. But I could see that her hands were shaking.

“What’s your name,” I said.

“Beth,” she said. “Beth Redmond.”

“Bob Redmond’s wife?” I said.

“Yes.”

The saloon doors on the street side swung open and Redmond pushed in.

“Speak of the devil,” I said.

“Beth,” Redmond said when he saw her standing with us. “What are you, a goddamned whore? Get out of this place.”

She didn’t move.

“You hear me, woman?” Redmond said. “Out! Now!”

Cato Tillson looked at Mrs. Redmond and said, “You want me to kill him?”

“Kill him?” Mrs. Redmond said.

“Yes.”

“I… no,” she said. “God, no.”

“Okay,” Cato said.

He picked up his drink and leaned back in his chair to watch. For the first time, I think, it registered to Redmond who we were. He didn’t like it. But he had to be forceful. His wife was watching.

“This is none of your business,” he said. “Any of you.”

None of us said anything.

“I don’t know what she told you; she’s a lying bitch anyway. But I can’t have my wife flaunting herself like a floozy in a saloon.”

None of us said anything.

“So you either come right now, bitch,” he said to his wife, “or I’ll come over and drag you out by the hair of your head.”

None of us said anything. But Virgil stepped away from the bar and moved over to stand in front of Mrs. Redmond.

Redmond paused.

“This is family business,” he said.

Virgil said nothing.

Redmond looked at the rest of us.

“It is, you know,” he said. “Nobody got the right to interfere between a man and his wife.”

None of us said anything. Redmond looked at his wife again.

“What kind of whore are you, hiding from your husband behind this… this fucking… fucking gun shooter?”

Behind Virgil, Mrs. Redmond shook her head but didn’t say anything. Nobody else said anything. Nobody moved. Redmond didn’t have a gun. His good luck. If he’d had one he might have tried to use it. Bad luck, though, for Mrs. Redmond. If he tried to shoot with Virgil, he’d be dead and she’d be free of him.

“Okay,” he said. “Okay. That’s how it is, whore. Just don’t think you can come home after this.”

“I can’t come with you, Bob,” Mrs. Redmond said. “I can’t anymore.”

“Just stay away from me and my children,” he said.

She opened her mouth and took a short breath, and didn’t speak. He looked at her and turned his head and spit on the floor. He was careful, I noticed, not to spit on Virgil. Then he turned stiffly and marched out.

“Oh my God,” Mrs. Redmond said. “Oh my God!”

She began to cry.

We got her to a table, and she sat down.

"Do you drink whiskey?” Virgil said.

She nodded as she cried. I gestured to Patrick and he brought us a good-sized glass of whiskey.

“Wolfson’s,” Patrick said as he put the glass down.