Роберт Паркер - Robert B. Parker's Revelation

When I entered Meserole’s, Sheriff Chastain and Deputy Book were now with Virgil. They were sitting with Ellen and Debbie, the two women the fella with the derby had been sitting with, and Betty, the skinny gal that sat with Virgil and me for a bit. The bartender was sitting nearby, too. All of the employees looked as if they’d been crying. Virgil met my eye.

I shook my head.

“No such luck,” I said.

Chastain leaned back in his chair.

“Virgil gave us a description,” Chastain said. “I got a handful of deputies out searching.”

I nodded and looked to Virgil.

“What do we know?”

Virgil shook his head.

“What we know is their boss, Michael Meserole, the owner of this place, is dead, and the other tall man nobody knows. Well, the ladies here said he called himself Charlie and the other one, the older one with the bowler, was Dave, but that is all they know.”

“You figure the same situation was happening here that was happening at the café?”

Virgil nodded.

The bartender, noticing I was soaking wet from the ride I took without my slicker, went behind the bar, gathered up some towels, and handed them to me.

“Mr. Meserole was like a father to me,” the bartender said.

Then he looked to the three women sitting with Virgil.

“Them, too, to all of us,” he said. “He was generous and kind to us. He was tough as hell and ran a tight ship around here and put up with no shit from any of us, but he was a good man.”

The women all nodded as they held back tears.

Willoughby from the Western Union office came in and removed his hat when he saw the three young women crying.

“Um... excuse me, Marshal Cole, but Sheriff Stringer from Yaqui asked me to find you and have you come by so to let you know what was what regarding Cibola.”

We left Sheriff Chastain to deal with the situation at Meserole’s, and Virgil and I went to the Western Union office with Willoughby and Book.

Virgil had Willoughby tap out a note on the key to Stringer, letting him know we were present. Within a few minutes the sounder started clicking and Willoughby started to write. After, he sat back and read. “Start transmission: From Sheriff Stringer, Yaqui — No additional news from Cibola or from the support city Wingate — However, the doctor here in Yaqui operated on the wounded escapee, removing two bullets — According to the doctor, he is going to pull through just fine — He is weak, but we were able to talk with him and this is what we know as follows — According to the escapee, there were eight convicts who escaped. ”

“Holy hell,” Book said.

Virgil looked to me and raised his eyebrows.

“Bunch,” I said.

Virgil looked to Willoughby. Willoughby continued.

“—Escape happened in the middle of the night — far as we know none of the escapees were immediately caught — Captured escapee is a young man, twenty-one years old — wound not critical — says his name is Bernard Dobbin — claims he was not directly responsible for the deaths of the two mill workers — After some necessary handiwork dealing with Dobbin — making certain he was telling the truth, we believe him — every word he uttered.”

“Handiwork?” Book said

“Persuasion,” I said.

Willoughby continued. “—Dobbin said those escaped, separated into two groups — He believes the other convicts, in group opposite his, headed east out of Cibola — The other three that were with him, here in Yaqui, are now headed to Vadito — least that is where they had discussed going, for the obvious reasons — we’ll wait to see what you want to do, Virgil — Vadito is, of course, closer to you there in Appaloosa — Ready to put posse together to find others in the morning — but will await your instructions — One other detail, the eight men who escaped were all from compound C — According to Dobbin, compound C is Murderers Row — houses the most notorious of the Cibola inmates. All inmates in compound C are serving time for murder — including Dobbin.”

Virgil looked to me.

“Vadito,” he said.

“Whores,” I said.

“Where’s that?” Book said.

“Vadito’s a river-crossing town on the Little Colorado where cattlemen notoriously stop in to give up what money they make on gambling, whiskey, and whores, mainly whores.”

“Mexico would be closer,” Virgil said.

“It is.”

“Maybe they or one of them has some connection to the place,” Virgil said.

“Could,” I said.

“Damn,” Book said. “Minus this Dobbin, there are seven killers on the loose.”

“I suspect we’d be best to get to Vadito,” I said. “Let Stringer take the posse east?”

Virgil nodded a little.

“Two days’ ride,” he said.

“Vadito could be busy,” I said.

“Could,” Virgil said. Then he thought for a moment and pointed to the key in front of Willoughby. “Need to get some descriptions of the three and their horses.”

“Their names, too, wouldn’t hurt,” I said.

Virgil nodded.

“What about this goddamn deal here?”

Virgil shook his head.

“More to it than meets the eye,” Virgil said.

I looked to Book.

“You know anything, hear anything about guys running a racket, pressuring and threatening business owners?”

“No,” Book said.

“Wonder how many others this was happening to?” I said.

“Hard to say,” Virgil said.

“Somebody has to know about them,” I said. “Who they are, what they were doing.”

Virgil nodded some.

“Like you said,” I said. “There is more to it than meets the eye...”

“Too many goddamn people,” Virgil said.

“What now?”

“First order is these sonsabitches on the run,” Virgil said. “Can’t have a passel of murderers on the loose.”

“If they are headed to Vadito,” I said, “we very well might make this notion of their new-formed freedom a little less free-feeling.”

“That’d be my thought,” Virgil said.

The rain continued through the night but stopped a few hours before daybreak. I had tossed and turned throughout and eventually gave up trying to sleep. I got myself up and dressed. Then got the horses fed and saddled for the trip Virgil and I were preparing to take over to Vadito, in search of the three convicts who had killed two men in the shootout at the sawmill in Yaqui. It was early morning and still dark, but the eastern horizon was brightening some with a faint hint of gold, and the sun would be up and showing full within the hour.

When I walked the horses toward the sheriff’s office, Book was loading panniers on a tall mule tied to the office’s hitch rail. Book turned quick and looked to me as I came up in the dark behind him.

“Everett.”

“Morning, Book,” I said.

“Gave me a start coming up like that,” he said.

“Just me.”

He shook his head. “Glad of it.”

“How goes it?” I said as I led the horses to the hitch and tied them next to the mule.

“Okay, I guess,” Book said. “Been thinking about that shooting over at Meserole’s last night.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Hell of a deal.”

“Been a long time since something like that has happened around here,” Book said. “Last gunplay I remember around here was when Truitt Shirley shot that Denver policeman in front of the gambling parlor.”

“Yep,” I said. “Sounds right.”

“I knew Old Man Meserole,” Book said. “I been in his place a few times, played some cards with the guys after work and looked at the girls. One of the few good places where the gals working aren’t selling their goods, too. Wonder if the place will close down?”