Роберт Паркер - Robert B. Parker's Revelation

Driggs heard someone, somewhere, call out with a mournful moan, “God help me!” And from someplace else within the dungeon another prisoner laughed, a loud, mad, and raspy bone-chilling laugh that was as cold as the chilly April air: “God? There is no God here, you pitiful fool.” Driggs smiled to himself a little and thought about God. God... Jesus... God the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. One and the same, so the Bible says.

He picked up the Bible lying next to the lamp and thumbed through the pages as he thought about the warden’s wife. He was glad she provided the Good Book, and Driggs did not mind reading the scriptures. On the contrary, he actually got some enjoyment out of the stories. He liked the Old Testament. The stories of Noah and Moses especially, but he liked some of the new parts, too, the New Testament. He particularly appreciated one part. In fact, it was the only part he read anymore. He was drawn to the otherworldliness of it, the strangeness of it, its wildness, and he liked the way the words were put together. He understood it completely. It reminded him of the battlefield. It was as if it was written for him. He even memorized parts of it.

“‘I am the Alpha and Omega,’” Driggs said out loud.

He watched the dancing vapors twisting up out of the chimney of the lamp. He put his hand over it, feeling the heat as he quietly continued reciting.

“‘I heard behind me a great voice like a trumpet. And when I turned to see the voice that spoke to me I saw seven golden candlesticks. And in the midst of the seven candlesticks one was like the Son of man, clothed with a garment down to his feet, with a golden sash across his chest. His eyes were as a flame of fire and his feet were like brass as if they burned in a furnace, and his voice was the sound of raging water. In his right hand he had seven stars and coming out of his mouth was a razor sharp double-edged sword.’”

Driggs was stimulated by the words. They made him feel even more powerful than he physically was. When he read about the winds and the stars, and the horses and the dragon, he always thought of her... of what she smelled like, of how she might taste. The warden’s wife was not just the only woman within one hundred miles in every direction, but she was also fucking attractive, Driggs thought. It was said, though she wore dresses made from the best fabrics, that she was the one who wore the breeches in the family. Driggs could tell that just by looking at her and he liked that, that she possessed power. He had seen her numerous times and he knew it was just a matter of time until he would have her. One way or the other he would take away her power. He was certain that women like that needed him to undo the need to control. He could tell by the way she looked at him from across the yard every time he was escorted to the Tomb. But Driggs was used to that, most women wanted him to do that. He had that quality, that way about him. Driggs rested the Bible on his chest, and as he thought more about the warden’s wife he heard a key slip into the lock of his door. He sat up some, thinking it odd to be pulled out of the Tomb at night; that had never happened before. Then the door very slowly opened but no one came in. Driggs reached over and turned out the lamp, then moved to the foot of his bunk, closer to the door, and sat quietly. He stayed there until his eyes adjusted completely to the dark. After a moment he could see the deep blue of the night, visible above the dark silhouette of the compound walls, but he did not move, not yet. Driggs was a cautious man, he had instincts, and his instincts for the moment told him to wait. He waited and listened but heard nothing, then he moved to the door and looked out but did not step out. He stood in the doorway for a long moment, listening, but all he could hear was the wind. Then he crept out slightly. He stopped just a step past the door and looked about. He looked to his left and then to his right. He looked behind him. There was no one in sight and there were no lamps burning. All was silent and then Driggs said quietly to himself, “Fear not, I am the first and the last. I am he that lives. I was dead but behold I am alive for evermore. And I hold the keys of hell and death. I saw heaven open and I behold a white horse and he who sat upon him was called faithful and true. And in righteousness he doth judge and make war. This is the second death. And the great dragon was cast out, that old serpent called the Devil and Satan who deceived the world was cast down to earth.”

“Three thousand people living here now in Appaloosa,” I said.

“Two thousand nine hundred and something too many,” Virgil said.

“Well, it’s a good thing for Allie,” I said.

Virgil nodded.

“Hope she can make money,” I said.

“Goddamn do, too, Everett.”

“Cost you a cent or two to put this together.”

“Two and then some,” Virgil said.

“Well, it’s good, even though you can’t throw a rock without hitting a human being, she don’t got that much competition that she has to contend with.”

“For the time being,” Virgil said.

“Gives her some independence.”

“Her?”

“You, too,” I said.

Virgil said nothing for a moment.

“Times are changing, it seems.”

I laughed out loud.

“Goddamn right about that,” I said.

“Surprises are far and few between.”

“Well, she’s happy,” I said.

“She is,” Virgil said.

“Guess it could be Mrs. Cole’s?”

Virgil looked to me.

“If you and Allie were married she could have called it Mrs. Cole’s?” I said.

“Could have,” Virgil said.

“But you’re not.”

“I’m well aware of that, Everett.”

“It don’t bother you?”

“That we aren’t married?”

“That she’s using her dead-and-gone husband’s name for her new business?”

“It’s her name, Everett. Mrs. French.”

“’Course it is.”

Virgil and I were across the street from Allie’s new dress shop, watching a sign man painting Mrs. French’s Fine Dresses in fancy cursive style. We were standing on the wide covered front porch of the newly constructed Vandervoort Town Hall. It was an impressive building that was at least two hundred feet long, with tall double doors every twenty-five or so feet that opened out onto the porch. Inside, there were a few workers putting finishing touches on thirty-foot-tall draperies that were hung at one end of the room, separating the glossy wood floors from the stage.

Virgil shook his head.

“I guess you call this expansion,” I said.

“That’s one way of putting it,” Virgil said.

We looked back to Allie’s shop. The letters being painted were at least a foot tall and in colors of lavender and lilac bordered with gold. The shop was not yet open to the public, but Allie was getting ready for the grand opening.

“Fancy-looking,” I said.

“Is.”

The month previous, Virgil and I had experienced limited marshaling duties, so we’d been helping Allie put the shop together. It wasn’t until a few days prior to today that she had even decided on just what she was going to name the shop.

“I just always think of her as Allie, and fact is, until she come up with the name for the shop, I hadn’t really thought much of the name Mrs. French in a while.”

“Just a name,” Virgil said.

“Well, I think it’s a good one.”

“You think?”

“Do,” I said. “Fact that it’s European gives Allie’s new sophisticated establishment sort of a sophisticated quality.”

Virgil looked at me and cocked his head a little, like I was speaking a language he didn’t understand.