Роберт Паркер - Robert B. Parker's Revelation

“Rummy,” Virgil said.

“That’s them, all right,” I said.

“None other.”

Virgil and I stayed inside the bunk, watching as they slowly rode into town single file. Leading the way was Wythe, the older small man. He was followed by Skillman, who was described as he appeared, thirty-something, average-looking, and following him was the large black fella, Boyd Dekalb.

“Same horses, too,” I said.

“Yep.”

“I’ll be damned,” I said.

“They are.”

“They’re heeled,” I said.

“They are at that, too.”

“Don’t imagine they’re gonna be the type that will throw their hands up.”

“No,” Virgil said. “I don’t, either.”

“We can ask,” I said.

“We can,” he said. “Don’t think it will do any good, but we can damn sure ask.”

“How you want to go about it?”

Virgil thought for a moment, as we remained looking out from inside the bunk tent, watching them.

“I’d say let’s get the saddles back on our horses in case there is a need to make haste for some unforeseen reason, before we do anything else.”

We did just that. We got ourselves ready and we let the three of them get settled into the destination of their choice before we worked out the necessary details prior to letting our presence be known.

The place they chose was called Lavern’s. According to the German fella that rented us the bunk, Lavern’s was the main whoring establishment in Vadito. It was also the only two-story structure in town.

“They didn’t waste any time,” I said.

“No,” Virgil said.

“They know their priorities.”

“They do at that.”

We watched the place from across the street for a good half-hour before we made a move.

“I’m gonna go around back and have a look-see,” I said.

Virgil kept watch on the front while I went around the rear to get some idea of the paths in and the paths out. Even though the temperature was fairly cool, the evening was comfortable and the rear door of Lavern’s was wide open. I could see there was a hall that led to the main room, and inside I could hear the muffled sound of women and men talking.

Behind me was a well-worn path to a piss hut that was surrounded by some supply shacks. I walked back to the hut and made sure there was no one inside. Then I walked back between the buildings and met Virgil at the front of the narrow passage between Lavern’s and the building next to it.

“Can walk right in the back,” I said. “It’s wide open.”

Virgil nodded, and then we eased from the side toward the porch to have a look in the window. The windows were covered with lace curtains, but they were thin enough and half open in places for us to see inside.

The bottom floor of Lavern’s was a wide single room without divisions and had a stairway toward the rear. For a shit-hole town the place was decent, with good wood floors, nice tables, upholstered furniture, and walls with framed photographs and paintings. There was a bar with a mirror behind it, and standing at the bar there were a number of customers, including the older fella, Wythe. He was talking to a heavyset whore that was a good foot taller than he was. The other two escapees were nowhere in sight.

“Other two are obviously going about what they came here for.”

Virgil nodded.

I thought about that, about what they were doing.

“Likely might be the last time for them to be with a woman,” I said.

“More than likely,” Virgil said.

“I can think of worst last times,” I said.

“Best we wait until they’re done with what they are doing up there, don’t you think.”

“Do,” Virgil said.

We watched Wythe for a moment. He was just drinking and talking to the big woman next to him as if he had no care in the world. Then we backed up, moved off a ways, and crossed the street, where we had a full view of Lavern’s.

From where we stood we had an angle so to see into Lavern’s, where Wythe sat talking to the woman. After some time passed, the black fellow, Dekalb, came down the stairs. Then the big woman, Wythe, and Dekalb sat at a table near the entrance.

“Two present and accounted for,” I said.

Virgil nodded a bit.

“One to go.”

The crisp night in Vadito had a lively feel. Up and down the street there were cowhands moving out of one place and going into another. There was laughter and some hoots and hollers echoing through the street. It was the typical glee that went hand in hand with men that spent most of their time covered with dirt and sitting in the saddle. Somewhere in the distance a piano started up, followed by some off-key singing.

Virgil lit a cigar and sat on a bench in front of an eatery that was closed or out of business. We waited and waited and after about a half an hour, Skillman came down the stairs and the three men sat at the table with the big woman.

“Guess this is it,” I said.

Virgil got slowly to his feet.

“Guess it is.”

I stared at the men, watching them talk to one another. Their conversation was lively, not unlike the cowboys. They were free and, for the moment, full of life.

“You want me to come in the back?”

Virgil thought for a moment and nodded.

“Be good if they’d not put up a fight,” Virgil said with a remorseful tone to his voice.

“I know,” I said.

As Virgil and I walked across the street, we saw two cowboys exit out a few doors down from the saloon where the piano was playing but no one else close by, and the two cowboys turned and walked in the opposite direction.

When we got to the alley between the buildings, Virgil pulled out his watch and said, “Let’s enter in thirty.”

I pulled out my watch, looked at the time, nodded, and started walking the narrow alley toward the rear of the building. I entered through the back door of Lavern’s and moved silently up the narrow hall but stopped before moving into the main room.

I put my back to the wall and stood still for a moment. When my watch got to twenty I put it in my pocket, counted ten more seconds, then took a peek around the corner. Shit!

Virgil was nowhere in sight and Skillman was no longer seated with Wythe and Dekalb. Then I heard a gunshot coming from outside the front door, followed by another shot. The big woman quickly got up from the table and moved to the bar as Dekalb and Wythe got to their feet.

They both had their guns in their hands as they looked toward the street, and they had no idea that there was someone behind them with an eight-gauge shotgun. They both held their pistols up and ready to shoot as they stood with their backs to me, looking out the front door. That was the direction where they thought the danger was, or where they figured the succession of trouble would be coming from, but they were wrong.

“Don’t turn,” I said.

But that is exactly what they did; they turned quickly. Wythe fired his short-barrel pistol, but like most anxious gunmen, the bullet was off too fast and off target. It hit the floor, splintering wood three feet in front of me just as I pulled the trigger of my double-barrel. The shot hit him square in the chest.

“Goddamn!” Dekalb yelled as he, too, fired, but I stepped back fast. His shot was close, hitting the corner of the hall wall just in front of me.

“Goddamn it, goddamn it,” he continued to spew as he charged toward me, firing, cussing, and kicking chairs out of his path. I raised the barrel of my big gun, ready to fire.

“Fucking, goddamn it, son of a bitch, asshole, fucking shit...”

It was as if he thought he were invincible and just as soon as I saw his body I squeezed the second trigger of my double-barrel stopping him and his rant mid-word—