Роберт Паркер - The Bridge

The three backed on down the road and disappeared into the darkness they came from.

“Who’s behind all this?” Virgil said to Dmitry.

“Goddamn you,” Dee said.

I pressed my eight-gauge on Dee’s bloody mouth.

“Behind what?”

“Don’t fuck with me,” Virgil said.

“I’m not,” Dmitry said.

“Who paid you to blow up the bridge, Dmitry?” Virgil said.

“I don’t know,” Dmitry said nervously, looking between Dee and Virgil.

“Bullshit,” Virgil said. “You got paid, you killed the Appaloosa lawmen, and you came to town to get paid. By who?”

“I don’t know. Honest, I don’t, I’m just a hand. That was all his big brother’s plan,” Dmitry said. “It was Dirk and that Ballard who was in charge. I didn’t kill nobody.”

“You boys came into Appaloosa,” Virgil said. “To get paid, by who?”

“I swear to you, mister, I don’t know,” Dmitry said, then looked to Dee. “It was all his brother’s plan.”

“Shut up,” Dee said.

“It was just his brother,” Dmitry continued hurriedly. “His brother, Dirk, that got the money, him and Ballard. I don’t know from who or where. They did it. I just did what they told me to do.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Dee said. “Shut...”

I pushed my eight-gauge under Dee’s nose, shoving his head back.

“I was just promised money,” Dmitry said, shaking with fear. “His brother, Dirk, he got me to help ’cause me and Big Billy know about dynamite. I ain’t lying.”

Dmitry pointed to the heavy fella on the ground.

“Me and Big Billy there,” Dmitry said. “We worked in the mines. Ask Billy. He was the one who knowed Dirk and Dee, not me. I swear to you.”

“You’re lying,” Virgil said.

Dmitry shook his head hard.

“I’m not. Billy and me don’t know who paid and we didn’t kill nobody,” Dmitry said, looking at Billy tied up on the ground. “Ask Big Billy.”

“Who killed the lawmen?” Virgil said.

Dmitry just looked to Dee.

Virgil pressed his Colt hard into Dmitry’s head.

“Talk or die now,” Virgil said.

“Them three,” Dmitry said. “They done it. They, they scared the hell outta Big Billy and me, they made us watch and, and...”

“Ballard, Dee and Dirk killed the lawmen?” Virgil said.

Dmitry nodded.

“They did,” Dmitry said. “I never seen no men like them.”

“Fuck you,” Dee said. “You lying piece of shit.”

“Dirk, Ballard, the others are in the whore shack,” Virgil said. “Which tent?”

“Big tent just there with the wood sides,” Dmitry said.

“Besides Dirk and Ballard,” Virgil said. “How many others in there?”

“Just Leonard,” Dmitry said, “and Ray.”

“Goddamn you,” Dee said to Dmitry.

I pressed Dee hard in the throat with my boot again and stuck the eight-gauge even harder under his nose, shutting him up.

“Ray, Leonard,” Dmitry said quickly, “Dirk, and Ballard, I swear.”

Virgil wasted no more time with dumbass Dmitry. He grabbed Dmitry and jerked him to his feet.

“Eddie, Chastain,” Virgil said, as he shoved Dmitry toward the tent near Chastain, “do the same with this one, tie him up.”

Eddie nodded and commenced to cut more rope from the tent.

I reached down and grabbed Dee hard by the collar and yanked him to his feet.

Like we’d been told, Dee was a strong, good-sized fella, but at the moment he felt like a limp rag doll to me as I hoisted him upright.

Eddie and Chastain quickly got Dmitry tied up in the same fashion as the heavy fella.

“Drag them inside that tent,” Virgil said.

Eddie and Chastain dragged the hefty man and Dmitry into the tent.

“Him, too?” Eddie said, looking at Dee.

“No,” Virgil said. “Dee has a few things he’d like to talk about first. Don’t you, Dee?”

Dee didn’t say anything.

Virgil looked back to Eddie.

“Cut the rest of the tent ropes,” Virgil said. “Drop that tent on them.”

Eddie cut the remaining ropes and the tent collapsed on the two men that were bound and gagged under the weight of the canvas.

“Good,” Virgil said, then turned to Dee.

I had Dee by the back of his singed hair and had my eight-gauge tucked tightly under his bloody chin.

“Dee,” Virgil said. “Let’s walk over to this tent where your brother and the others are and see what might be their evenin’ interests.”

Chastain, Eddie, Virgil, and I left the two men tied up under the dilapidated tent and walked down the trash-cluttered road toward the wood-sided tent with hurting and hunched-over Dee in tow.

“Who’s behind this, Dee?” Virgil said, as we walked.

Dee’s mouth was bleeding heavily from being smashed into the eight-gauge. He just shook his head.

“Talk, Dee,” Virgil said.

Dee didn’t respond.

In the short walk, we were at the tent on the opposite side of the creek with women’s garments hanging on the stake ropes. We passed a few small tents and shacks as we got closer but didn’t see any other of the holdouts milling about.

Like we’d figured, with it being winter, the Yaqui Brakes weren’t at their full capacity.

When we stopped in front of the big wall-sided tent, a new guitar and fiddle tune started up from inside.

“This it, Dee?” Virgil said.

Dee didn’t answer, but we could tell this was where we needed to be. In fact, looking down the pathway of the camp road, there were no lights and no fires burning.

“Good, Dee, appreciate it,” Virgil said, as he looked around. “Do me a favor and have a sit right here.”

Virgil pointed to a crude chair made from green branches. The chair was sitting in front of an expired fire pit on the opposite side of the narrow road just across from the wood-sided tent.

Dee dropped in the chair and looked to the ground.

“Eddie,” Virgil said, without looking at Dee. “You stay out here with your Winchester at the back of his head.”

Virgil nodded to Chastain and me.

“The three of us are going inside here and pay these other fellas a proper visit,” Virgil said. “If this one here has any intentions of doing anything other than staying in this chair, kill him.”

Eddie nodded.

Dee remained looking at the ground, watching the blood drip from his mouth.

Virgil looked off down the path toward the men at the far end, but they were gone. Then Virgil looked to the big tent, then to Chastain and me. He nodded.

“Let’s go,” Virgil said.

We started toward the tent, but just before we got to the opening, Dee sprang out of the chair, shouting and running toward the tent, “Dirk! Fucking law, Dirk! Law! LAW... DIRK!”

The report of Eddie’s Winchester echoed loudly through the brakes. The bullet hit Dee in the back of the head and he fell face-first in the dirt. Without a moment of hesitation I was through the entrance of the tent, with Virgil and Chastain right behind me.

Inside was chaos. The guitar player and the fiddler, two older fellas, cowered and dropped to the ground. Two half-naked women screamed loudly. A man next to them raised his arms above his head, but the man next to him came up quickly with a sawed-off.

I let go with one barrel of the side-by-side. The sound was deafening, as the eight-gauge double-ought buck blasted out of the barrel. The man’s head exploded and splattered over the wall behind him.

Another naked man came out of the back of the tent with a pistol in each hand and my second shot detonated with a blast of fire that knocked him back the way he came.

We heard two shots fired outside the tent, followed by Eddie shouting, “Two, out here.”