Роберт Паркер - Robert B. Parker’s Blackjack

He looked over to us and waited a moment before he said anything.

“You did all you could do, fellas,” he said. “You are both good lawmen.”

We looked to him but didn’t say anything. There was really nothing to say.

“What we do is never easy,” he said.

Again, we said nothing.

“I been at this for almost fifty years now...”

He puffed on his cigar for a moment, looking at the gallows.

“Tried my first murder case when I was just twenty-one. I defended a man I knew was innocent. I would have bet my life on it. He convinced me of it but not the jury. I lost the case and he was sentenced to hang. I was sure heartbroken, thought I had really let him and his family down. I damn near quit right then and there. When he walked to the gallows he looked to the parents of the fellow he was accused of murdering and said, ‘I would do it again if I had the chance’... That was my first hanging...”

Someone in the crowd shouted, “Here he comes.”

The massive crowd turned to see him and everyone started to chatter.

Coming up the Street was Boston Bill Black. He wore shackles on his hands and feet and was being escorted by Book on one side and Chastain on the other, and for extra precaution, every deputy that Appaloosa employed flanked them.

Black stood a full foot and a half taller than Chastain, Book, and the deputies. Looking at him like this reminded me of the story of Hercules as they approached. He was walking with his head up and was looking about, making sure everyone got a good look at him.

The chatter got louder as the crowd parted, making way for them, and when they got to the gallows steps the boisterous group began to jeer.

“Here we go,” I said.

Virgil nodded.

We watched as Black climbed the steps. When he got to the top, the ministers held up their hands to quiet the crowd. After a bit, the crowd simmered. The Baptist minister moved forward a bit.

“Anything you wish to impart,” he said. “Any last words?”

Black looked at the people, then looked to the executioner.

“Let’s get this over with,” he said.

The crowd erupted with excitement as the executioner moved forward and guided Black toward the gallows door. He positioned Black where he wanted and started to put a hood over Black’s head.

“No hood,” Black said. “I want to see the faces.”

The crowd erupted loudly and began shouting, “Hang him, hang him...”

The executioner tossed the hood to the side, then reached up, grabbed the noose, and placed it over Black’s head. He tightened it around Black’s neck, then walked over to the lever. He put his hand on the lever.

“Fuck,” I said. “Look!”

Sliding recklessly around the corner came Valentine’s prison wagon being pulled by his sweat-soaked mules, Magellan and Columbus.

Valentine was on his feet with the reins in one hand and a bullwhip in the other. He was swinging the whip around and popping above the heads of his mules.

“Haw!” Valentine shouted, “HAW!”

“Hold up!” Virgil called out loudly. “Hold up!”

The executioner took his hand off the lever, and within a moment Magellan and Columbus parted the crowd and Valentine pulled back on the reins, stopping the prison wagon directly in front of the gallows in a cloud of dust.

Virgil and I moved forward, and when the dust settled we saw sitting in the back of the prison wagon Lawrence LaCroix.

The remainder of July 3 was spent in the judge’s chambers with Lawrence LaCroix.

LaCroix was still hurting from the beating he received from Black. His arm was in a sling and his leg was in a splint. His eyes were dark from having a broken nose and busted jaw, and it was painful for him to speak, but he was talking fairly clearly out of the corner of his mouth.

“Let me get this straight,” the judge said. “You are not British?”

“No,” he said. “I’m not...”

Callison shook his head and looked over to Virgil, Valentine, and me.

“Where are you from, Mr. LaCroix?”

“I was born and raised in Milwaukee, Wisconsin.”

“Actually, let me ask you first before we get into more insanity, what is your real name?”

“Ben Salter.”

Callison nodded.

“Ben Salter?”

“Yes.”

“We can believe that?”

He nodded.

“We can assume you have no reason to lie about that?”

“No reason.”

Callison shook his head.

“And, according to Mr. Pell here,” Callison said with a glance to Valentine, “you have no idea who paid you to lie?”

“No,” he said.

Callison looked at him for a moment, then sat back in his chair.

“You are a worthless piece of shit,” the judge said. “You do realize that, don’t you?”

He looked at the judge and lowered his head.

“I have been a judge longer than well water, and in that time I have never come across anything as despicable and atrocious as you.”

Ben Salter’s chin was on his chest.

“I needed the money,” he said quietly.

“Come again?”

Ben looked up, making eye contact with Callison.

“I needed the money.”

The judge shook his head in disbelief.

“You testified in that room out there,” the judge said with a point toward the courtroom, “to send an innocent man to hang.”

Ben Salter looked to the three of us, then back to the judge.

“It was him or me,” he said.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I was over my head in debt,” he said.

“Go on.”

“Gambling debt, to some very unsavory men that were going to kill me. They’d killed others. I knew this, but I... had no choice.”

“Where was this?”

“Saint Louis.”

“You did not come here from Denver?”

“No, I did come in from Denver, I made the trip to Denver before I came here. I went to the police in Denver and told them I was an eyewitness, that was part of what I was supposed to do and then I came here, but I’m from Saint Louis.”

“Why did you not just leave Saint Louis and get away from these men instead of doing what you did?”

He shook his head and started to cry.

“I have a wife and kids.”

Callison shook his head.

“How was it this... anonymous... opportunity came about for you?” Callison said.

“I received an envelope with half the money that I owed,” he said.

“How much money?”

“Twelve hundred dollars.”

“Continue,” Callison said with a roll of his finger.

“In the envelope was a letter with instructions on how and when, if I performed convincingly, as I had performed in... in the play, I would receive the other half.”

“An additional twelve hundred?”

“Yes.”

“And what made you think that there would be the money waiting for you?”

“There was the promise of a five-hundred-dollar bonus.”

“And you believed this?”

“Yes, the fact there was twelve hundred was good enough for me.”

Callison looked to us and shook his head dramatically.

“For the life of another man?”

He nodded.

“I fucked up.”

“Oh, yes, you did,” Callison said.

Callison glared at him for a moment.

Callison turned in his chair and pointed to the painting.

“This is not yours, I presume?”

Ben looked at the painting and shook his head.

“And you are not a painter?”

He shook his head.

“No.”

“So how was it you acquired the... this Bloom Where You Are Planted painting you showed here as evidence?”

“The note had instructions for me and what I was to do.”

“Which was what, exactly?”

“Arrive here,” he said. “Check into the hotel and I would find further instruction. If I performed convincingly, I would get the rest of the money and the bonus.”