Donald Pollock - The Heavenly Table

It took him a minute, but all of the sudden, Cob sensed that something was about to happen that had never happened before. “Hold on now,” he said to Cane. “You mean you ain’t goin’ with us?”

“No, we’re gonna have to split up for a while,” Cane tried to explain. “Even if we could get to the horses, with your leg like it is, it’d be—”

“But we ain’t never been apart before. Never.”

“I wish there was some other way, but I can’t think of one. Look, all you got to do is stay at the Fiddlers and wait on me. I swear, as soon as I can, I’ll come back for ye.”

“Yeah, but…what about…”

“It won’t be for long,” Cane said. “I promise.” Then he reached into the bag for Cob’s pistol. “Here, take this with ye.”

“No,” Cob said. “I don’t want no more to do with them things.”

“But what if the law—”

“No,” Cob repeated.

“All right then,” said Cane, putting the gun back in the money bag. Then he looked at Jasper. “There’s some clothes in that bag and some stuff to dress his leg. Cob will forget, so you’ll have to keep on him about it. And the way I see it, it’d be best to keep him hid here in the house a couple days before you try to move him out there. But don’t try walkin’ it. It’s a long ways.”

“Maybe I could rent a horse and wagon, cover him up with something.”

Cane nodded with approval. “That should work. Just don’t rush it. Wait till things have cooled down a little.”

“We ought to be okay,” Jasper said. “Ain’t nobody ever comes around here.”

Wiping some sweat from his forehead, Cane continued, “Now, when you get there, you give Cob’s half to Mr. Fiddler, and go ahead and explain what happened. No sense lying to him. Tell him I’ll be comin’ as soon as I can. And as far as your share of the money goes, I wouldn’t go spendin’ it all at once. People will start wondering where it came from. You got all that?”

“I think so,” Jasper said.

They all stood up then and Cane stepped over to Cob. He could see his eyes watering up. “Have Jasper buy you a big ol’ ham and a bottle of whiskey for Ellsworth to take with ye. He’ll like that.” He grabbed hold of his brother and hugged him tightly, felt his fear, smelled the lobster on his breath. As close as they’d lived together all their lives, this was the first time he’d ever had his arms around him. Damn, he hated to do this. “Don’t worry,” he said, “everything’s gonna work out fine.” His voice came close to breaking as he remembered the promise he’d made his mother all those years ago. He’d let her down, but maybe this would help right things. And if they were lucky, maybe they’d both get out of this alive. Turning loose of Cob, he picked up his pistol and the saddlebag with the money. He shook Jasper’s hand and started toward the door, then stopped and looked back at him. “Don’t let me come back here and find out ye fucked us over. Understand?”

“I won’t,” Jasper said. “If’n something bad does happen, we’ll go down together. I give you my solemn word as a sanitation inspector.”

THEY PULLED THE Ford up to the infirmary door and one of the soldiers ran to get a stretcher. As they unloaded Bovard from the backseat and carried him in, Malone yelled at the nurse to call a doctor. Then he and two privates escorted Chimney over to the brig and took his manacles off, locked him in a cell. “Anything I can get you?” the sergeant said.

“Yeah,” Chimney said, tossing his derby onto the iron bunk. “I want to see my girlfriend.” Back at the Blind Owl, he’d held firm until a second or two before he sensed they were going to fill him full of holes, and then he’d held his hands up high. To look at Matilda one more time, he had decided in the end, would be worth any number of trips to the gallows.

“What?”

“My girlfriend. Her name’s Matilda. She works out at the Whore Barn.”

Malone shook his head. “If I was you, Mr. Jewett, I’d be worried about other things right now.”

“Why should I be worried? I done told ye a dozen fuckin’ times, my name’s Hollis Stubbs. Shit, you should be pinnin’ a medal on me instead of puttin’ me in jail. I saved your buddy’s ass.”

“Bullshit,” Malone said, “you’re Chimney Jewett.” He held up a wanted poster. “I’ll eat my hat if this ain’t you. Now where’s the other two?”

Chimney sat down on the bunk and leaned his back against the brick wall. He had seen Cane out of the corner of his eye as the soldiers were pulling him and the Ford through town like trophies, and he was wondering that himself. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to fantasize that somehow his brother might save him, could almost see him slipping up behind this fucker and putting one through his brainpan. But before he let it go any further, he shook it off. There was no sense in hoping for a fucking miracle; even Bloody Bill would have had a hard time busting someone out of an army base. Still, he’d be goddamned if he was going to admit to anything. He looked over at the sergeant. “Like I said, I want to see my girlfriend.”

“You fess up to who you really are, and I’ll see what I can do,” Malone replied. Then he walked back to the hospital and had a couple of soldiers pull the car off to the side and unhitch the horses, take them to the stables. After waiting until Bovard was wheeled into the operating room, he sent another private to fetch Captain Fisher. He was standing outside drinking a lukewarm cup of coffee when the man bounded around the corner of the building. Though it was the middle of October and the night air had a nip to it, the captain was dressed in nothing but house slippers and a pair of brown jodhpurs. A set of binoculars hung from a cord around his neck. He glanced over at the car. “So you found Bovard?”

“Yes, sir,” Malone said. “He’s inside gettin’ patched up.”

“What the hell happened?”

After the sergeant related the details of how they came upon the lieutenant mutilated in the back room of the Blind Owl, Fisher said, “A jar of teeth? Did ye bring ’em with ye?”

“No, sir, I didn’t think of that.”

“Shame,” Fisher said. “I would have liked to have seen ’em. Was the bartender a Mex?”

“Uh, no, sir. He was a white man.”

Digging a wad of tobacco out of his pouch, Fisher smiled contentedly. It had become a habit with him, ever since returning to the States, to spend time with the moon on clear nights, partly because its craters and barren plains reminded him of the Mexican landscape, but mostly because it seemed to be the most honest thing he could find to confide in anymore; and tonight he’d had a long talk with that white orb and decided that he would move to the Sierra Madre after his current commission was over with. No matter how much he cursed and ridiculed Mexico, he’d realized over the last few days that he’d never been as happy as he had been there. He’d give his wife the house in Connecticut and his pension. What did it matter? He could live on beans and frijoles and whatever he could kill. “So you think the one you hauled in is one of those Jewetts?”

“Yes, sir. Though he won’t admit. Keeps sayin’ he’s someone else, but he’s the spittin’ image of one of ’em on the poster.”

“Have ye tried to beat it out of him?”

“Sir?”

“The truth. I don’t care how tough he thinks he is, get you a pair of brass knuckles and work him over for a while. He’ll talk.”

“Well, I don’t think—”

“Of course, there’s other ways to make a man squeal, too. If you don’t like blood, take him over to that goddamn Majestic Theater and make him sit through an hour of that goddamn Lewis Family and their monkey. He’d probably rat out the whole goddamn bunch of them then.”