Роберт Паркер - Robert B. Parker’s Blackjack

“Anything said?”

“Nope, not to me,” Chastain said. “Book gave him some food. He was hungry. Don’t think the bounty hunter cared too well for him while he was getting him over here. He was locked in a prison wagon.”

“Where is the bounty hunter?”

“Think he went for some grub and such. I didn’t see him at all. I was at the house when they got to the office. Book came and got me after he got him locked up.”

Virgil and I went to the office to see for ourselves that Boston Bill Black was in fact behind bars. When we got there Book opened the door to the cells, but Boston Bill was dead asleep, lying facedown on the bunk. Truitt was in the cell next to him. He looked up when we entered. We stood there for a moment, but Black didn’t stir, and we didn’t wake him. Fact was we really had nothing to say to him other than welcome back to Appaloosa.

Truitt stood looking at us dejectedly, but we walked out before he could let us know how bad it was being locked up. Book closed and locked the metal door and put the key in the desk drawer and locked the desk drawer.

“Bounty hunter say where or how he found Black?” I said.

“No,” Book said. “I posed to him that very question, but he didn’t say much, really, other than he was hungry and thirsty.”

“Where is he?” Virgil said.

“Think at the Boston House,” Book said. “He did say he was wanting to see you. Said he was an old friend of yours. Said he was looking forward to seeing you.”

“What’s his name?”

“He didn’t say. Not from around here, though, never seen him before, that’s for sure. He was nice, friendly like, but was... I don’t know, unusual, I guess you could say. He just asked me where he could get a steak, some good wine, maybe play some tall dollar cards. I told him at the Boston House he could do all three and that it’d be busy with some good gambling because tonight was faro night and such. He thought that was funny.”

“What?” I said.

“Said Appaloosa was lousy with Bostons. Boston this and Boston that, a place called the Boston House and a missing man that was now caught named Boston Bill. He laughed as he walked out the door.”

Virgil stubbed out what was left of his cigar in the ashtray and looked at Book for a long moment.

“What’d he look like?” Virgil said.

“A real colorful character, that’s for sure. Big, strong-looking, older, along in his fifties, I’d say, short-cropped hair on the sides, thick, full beard. Wore a brim with a flipped-back front.”

Book pinched his earlobe.

“He had one of those silver loops in one of his ears.”

Virgil squinted his eyes a little, looking at Book.

“Flashy dresser?” Virgil said.

Book nodded.

“As a matter of fact, he was,” Book said. “Long frock coat, striped trousers tucked inside tall fancy boots and Mex silver spurs with huge rowels.”

Virgil shook his head.

“Cutlass on his hip?” Virgil said.

Book looked to me, then Virgil, then nodded.

“Damn sure did,” Book said. “That’s him.”

Virgil looked at me.

“Guess you know who that is,” I said.

He nodded.

“By all accounts I do.”

Virgil walked to the door and looked out to the street as if the man in question might be in sight. He stood quiet for a moment, looking off. He nodded to himself, then shook his head a little as if he did not believe what he believed.

“Been a long damn time,” Virgil said. “But that sounds like Valentine Pell.”

“I think I heard about him,” Book said.

Chastain nodded.

“Pell,” he said. “Was he a marshal at one point in time, too?”

Virgil looked at Chastain and nodded a little.

“Among other things,” Virgil said.

The streets were crowded with people moving about and enjoying the pleasant evening air as Virgil and I made our way up the block and a half to the Boston House. Virgil did not say anything as we walked, but I could tell there was something on his mind, there was something about Valentine Pell that bothered him.

“He really a friend of yours?”

Virgil walked a bit before he answered.

“I wouldn’t say that,” he said.

“If it is him, if it is Valentine Pell,” I said, “you think he’s gonna be a problem of some sorts?”

“If it is him,” Virgil said, “he already is a problem.”

“Boston Bill Black has caused quite the stir.”

“Has.”

We got to the porch of the Boston House and started up the steps.

“Valentine a gun hand?” I said.

“He is.”

“Can he shoot?”

“He’s deadly,” Virgil said as he opened the door to the hotel.

There were three significant hotels now in Appaloosa, the Windsor being the quietest, the Colcord the plushest, and the Boston House the liveliest. It was the oldest hotel, too, and though it had changed hands a few times it still remained the most popular. The back room off the bar was still the only place in town where high-stakes gamblers of Appaloosa plied their trade, and with the growing city industry, the place was always full.

It was also the very reason Hollis Pritchard and Company had decided to build a gambling hall in Appaloosa. Pritchard was not shortsighted when it came to making money, and with the number of businesses cropping up in Appaloosa and the people needed to operate them, he knew a good bet when it presented itself and how to profit from investment.

The back room of the Boston House still consisted of ten poker tables, a billiard table, and a three-sided table used for throwing dice, and when Virgil and I walked in every table was in use and the cigar smoke was so thick the far wall was just slightly visible.

We stood looking around the room until Virgil spotted at the far corner table the big fella with the beard and wide hat with the flipped-back brim that Book described.

“That him?” I said.

Virgil nodded.

“By God,” he said.

Virgil started walking toward the table and I followed. When we got close, Valentine looked up, seeing Virgil. He leaned back in his chair and smiled wide. His flashy blue eyes had that flair of being friendly and menacing at the same time.

“Well, Lord have mercy, as I live and breathe, if it’s not Virgil,” he said. “Virgil, Virgil, Virgil.”

“It is,” Virgil said.

Valentine was a handsome man, and like Book had said, he was strong-looking, especially for his age. He was rugged but well groomed, and his beard revealed only a small hint of gray.

“Yes, it is,” Valentine said. “Yes, it goddamn sure is. Look at you, you have not changed a bit, not aged a day since I last saw you. I’ll be goddamn. Been what, twenty years?”

“You looking for me, Valentine?”

“Inadvertently,” he said. “Inadvertently.”

Valentine looked to the six men sitting around the table. A few of them Virgil and I were acquaintances of, but the rest were strangers.

“Gentlemen,” Valentine said. “I’m going to have to remove myself from this game of chance, and I know because of my good fortune, none of you will mind my self styled elimination thereof.”

Valentine held up his cards.

“Would you mind, Virgil,” he said. “Soon as I pocket this last go-around, I’ll be right with you.”

Virgil nodded.

“We’ll be at the bar.”

Virgil and I walked back into the main barroom. We sat at the far end of the bar and ordered two beers from Wallis.

“Coming right up,” Wallis said.

“Well?” I said.

Virgil shook his head a little.

“Something tells me Valentine’s jovial demeanor is just a show,” I said.

“Something’s telling you right,” Virgil said.

“What’s his story?”