Роберт Паркер - Robert B. Parker’s Blackjack

Virgil looked at Charles a long bit. Then cut his eyes to Pritchard.

“Did you know Black was wanted for murder?” Virgil said.

“What?” Pritchard said.

Virgil did not say anything.

“My God,” Charles said.

“Murder of who?” Pritchard said.

“What do you know about that, Mr. Pritchard?” Virgil said.

“Well, I am shocked,” he said.

I looked to Charles.

“That it, Mr. Pritchard?” Virgil said.

“Well, yes,” Pritchard said. “This comes as a complete shock.”

“And you?” Virgil said to Charles.

“Had no idea,” he said.

“How long have Truitt and the other man been around here with Black?” I said.

“They showed up here about a week ago,” Charles said.

“And what do you speculate is the nature of their relationship?” I said.

“I can’t really say,” Charles said.

“Hands?” Virgil said. “Or friends?”

“Well, what I saw of them, they were not overly friendly or really communicative with Bill... they were, I don’t know, subordinate, it seemed. But I don’t know. I was not around them that much, and, well, Bill was not around a great deal, either.”

“Where was he?” Virgil said.

“Not sure, really.”

“Leave town?” Virgil said.

“Could have,” Charles said. “I have no idea.”

“How long gone?” I said.

“I can’t say, really. I mean, he would be here and then he’d be gone. I have my job to do here and he had his. Mine is the construction side and his is to oversee, and with me doing the work there is not much to oversee, frankly.”

“He your boss?”

Charles looked to Pritchard, then back to me.

“To some degree he is,” Charles said. “Though there was not much for him to do.”

“Charles has been working with the same workers for a long time and they know what they are doing,” Pritchard said.

“Bill basically stayed out of my way,” Charles said. “And I stayed out of his.”

“So I guess you’d say you guys aren’t friends?” I said.

“We’re not enemies.”

“You build the hall in Denver?” Virgil said.

Charles glanced at Pritchard again.

“He did,” Pritchard said.

“One thing I can say about Bill of late,” Charles said, “is he’s been, I don’t know, on edge might be the right words. Not pleasant, I don’t know. Normally he was always kind of pretty even-tempered, but there were a few occasions where he was angry.”

“Like when you asked him what Truitt and the other man with him were doing?” I said.

“Yes,” Charles said.

“What about them, Truitt and the other fella, you know where they reside?” I said.

“I don’t know,” Charles said.

“No idea?”

“Not at all.”

“You did not see the shooting?” I said.

Charles shook his head.

“No, I was inside, upstairs in the back above us here, and didn’t see what happened. By the time I was out, the owners, the man and wife of the upholstery shop there across the street, were tending to him, there was a crowd of people around, but there was no sign of Mr. Black or Truitt or the other sonofabitch that pulled a gun on me.”

“And you never learned that other fella’s name?” I said.

Charles shook his head.

“Was not introduced.”

Virgil turned, surveying the big open room a moment, then leveled a look at Mr. Pritchard.

“Tell me about Bill Black, Mr. Pritchard,” Virgil said.

“What do you want to know?”

“He works for you?”

“He does.”

“What does he do?”

“Well, he handles my gambling operations.”

“Doing what, exactly?” Virgil said.

Pritchard’s eyes narrowed a little.

“Everything,” he said.

“You want to tell me what you know about the murder?” Virgil said.

“What?” Pritchard said with a perturbed expression on his face.

“The murder,” Virgil said.

“I goddamn do not know anything about anyone being murdered,” he said. “Listen, this is a shock to me. Bill works for me, same as Charles. I have many employees, many enterprises, Marshal. All sorts: cotton, coal, a hotel here and there, Western Union offices, banks, and I hire individuals, experts in their particular fields, to help me run my enterprises. I have over a hundred people working for me. Bill Black is just one of them. He’s an expert in the business of gambling. He knows gambling inside and out and he has worked for me for nearly three years. Ever since I got into the business of the gambling trade, but I goddamn know nothing of this business of murder and who was murdered.”

“How does Black knowing gambling inside and out help you, exactly?” Virgil said.

“Just like you knowing law work, Marshal,” he said. “You’ve clearly had many occasions to hone your craft. Same as Charles, same as me, same as Bill.”

“How did you meet him?” Virgil said.

Pritchard focused his look to the floor as he twirled the lion head of his cane around and around.

“He operated a fine gambling parlor in San Francisco, that’s where I met him, there. I bought out the owner of that operation, and with that purchase I got Mr. Black. Much to my liking, I might add.”

“You own him?” Virgil said.

“Own?” he said. “No, of course not. He has helped me build two other halls besides this one, one in Saint Louis and one in Denver.”

“Denver?”

“Yes, Denver,” Pritchard said. “He’s been a loyal and trusted employee and I do not own him.”

“You said you just got here this morning,” I said. “You just come in from Denver, on the morning train?”

“Why, yes,” he said.

“And you didn’t know about this?” I said.

“What do you mean?” he said. “Know about what?”

“The man that was shot arrived on the same train with you this morning.”

“With me?”

Mr. Pritchard leaned back in his chair, looking up at us.

“What are you saying?”

“Just that,” Virgil said.

“Marshal, you would think as old and beat-up as I am that I’d be familiar with all kinds of subterfuge, including when someone doesn’t hear or chooses not to believe what I say.”

“Tell us what you know,” Virgil said.

“I told you,” he said.

Pritchard’s face flushed red.

“I did not know the man,” he said. “But by the nature of this inquiry, I can only assume you are suggesting that I am in some way connected to this altercation and that I must be propagating deceitfulness.”

“We are not suggesting anything,” I said.

“Goddamn sure sounds like it,” he said.

“Just trying to put together the comings and goings of all this, Mr. Pritchard,” I said.

“You might not know,” Virgil said, “but at this point in time you know more than we do, and until we know more than you do we will keep asking questions of you or anybody else until we get to the bottom of this.”

“It’s what we do,” I said.

“I was not in Denver,” Pritchard said.

His face flushed even more and his eyes were now bulging.

“I was through Denver on my way to here. I subsequently changed trains there, passing through there is all, but did not stay over. I was planning on actually stopping by, spend a few days there at my gambling establishment on my return.”

“To?” Virgil said.

“Saint Louis,” he said. “Where I live.”

“When were you last in Denver?”

“A few months ago, Marshal Cole.”

“What about Bill Black?” Virgil said. “When was he last in Denver?”

“He was there with me,” he said. “Same time.”

Pritchard pulled his watch from his vest pocket, checked the time. Then, with the support of his glossy brass-topped lion-head cane he slowly lifted himself from his chair.