13
IT WAS RAINING, a nice, straight-down summer rain. We sat on the covered front porch after supper and drank coffee and watched it. Allie and Laurel were still cleaning up inside.
“What was that we ate for supper?” Virgil said.
“Dinner,” I said. “Allie told me it’s properly called dinner.”
“Whatever we call it, it was heavy going,” Virgil said.
“I think what we ate might once have been a tough old chicken,” I said.
“Think it was,” Virgil said. “But what was in the pot with it?”
“Don’t know,” I said. “Coffee ain’t much, either.”
“Gotta put a lot of sugar in it,” Virgil said.
“Whiskey might help.”
“Suspicion it would,” Virgil said. “You got the jug over by you?”
“I do.”
Virgil held his cup out toward me.
“Whyn’t your pour a little into this coffee for me,” Virgil said.
I poured some for both of us. The rain smelled very clean, and things seemed fresh.
“Kid in the saloon today,” I said. “Was really interested in whether he could kill you.”
Virgil nodded.
“Then when he couldn’t, he was just as interested in why he couldn’t,” I said.
“Wants to be a pistolero,” Virgil said.
“He needs to get better,” I said.
“Does,” Virgil said, and sipped from his cup.
Allie and Laurel came out of the house with coffee and sat down with us.
“You drinking whiskey in that coffee?” Allie said.
“We are,” Virgil said. “Hard to drink it without some.”
“Oh, Virgil,” she said. “You know you don’t mean it.” Virgil looked at me.
“ ’Course he don’t,” I said.
“Everett,” Allie said. “You might pour a splash for me and Laurel.”
I poured some into Allie’s coffee.
“Go easy on the child,” Allie said.
“Sure,” I said.
“I met Mrs. Callico this afternoon, at a church meeting. A fine lady. Educated back east. Very good manners.”
“Like you,” Virgil said.
“Oh, Virgil, you know I don’t have an eastern education,” Allie said.
“You’re a fine lady, anyway,” Virgil said.
“Oh, Virgil,” she said. “That’s so sweet.”
Virgil smiled. The rain was making the soft noise rain can make, when it’s right.
“What are you going to do about Pony?” Allie said.
“Nothing,” Virgil said.
“I think you should tell him to move on,” Allie said.
“Thought he had four friends here,” Virgil said.
“Of course he does, Virgil. But he’s trouble,” Allie said. “For all of us. I think you should tell him.”
“Ain’t gonna do that, Allie,” Virgil said.
“It’s not him so much,” Allie said. “It’s that brother. I don’t like him. I don’t like the way he looks at me. And you know Laurel and Indians. Poor child won’t even look at him.”
“Ain’t afraid of Pony,” Virgil said.
“He ain’t all Indian,” Allie said.
Virgil stood and walked to Laurel’s chair.
“You afraid of Kha-to-nay?” Virgil said, and bent down to her.
She whispered in his ear. He nodded and whispered back to her. She whispered again. Virgil smiled.
“Says she is scared of Kha-to-nay,” he said. “But she knows Pony won’t let him hurt her.”
“Mrs. Callico invited me to have tea with her sometime,” Allie said.
“That’s nice,” Virgil said.
“We live here,” Allie said. “We own a house. It is my chance to have a regular life, Virgil.”
“Sure,” Virgil said. “I want that for you, Allie.”
“Then get rid of Pony,” she said. “And his brother.” Virgil shook his head. Laurel made a sound. All of us looked at her. It might have been the first sound she’d made since we got her. She made the sound again and shook her head violently.
Allie began to cry.
“Nobody understands,” she said. “Nobody understands me.”
“We do,” Virgil said. “All of us know you want to be a fine churchgoing lady. And all of us know that being friendly with a breed carries a knife in his moccasin don’t help that.”
Allie looked up with tears on her face.
“Then send him away,” Allie said.
Laurel made her noise again.
“Can’t,” Virgil said.
Allie stood with her hands covering her face and her shoulders shaking, and rushed into the house.
Virgil looked at me silently for a minute.
Then he said, “Know them long walks we was talking about you and Laurel taking?”
“I do,” I said.
“Don’t think there’ll be so much need for ’em right now,” Virgil said.
14
IT WAS MORNING. There was a CLOSED sign on the door to the Boston House saloon. Virgil and I sat at a big round table in the back of the saloon. With us sat Lamar Speck, Buford Posner, and five other men. The room was otherwise empty. Except for Willis McDonough, who was setting up the bar. Outside, the rain that had made things fresh yesterday was making things soggy today.
“This is a private meeting,” Speck said. “What we talk about here doesn’t leave the room. Anybody don’t understand that?”
Nobody said they didn’t.
“This here’s Virgil Cole and Everett Hitch,” Speck said.
“You all know who they are and what they do. They done it for me, and you know what happened at Buford’s place this week.
“Boys,” Speck continued, “everybody at the table owns a saloon, or similar public place. Buford, you know, owns the Golden Palace.”
He introduced us around the table, and identified each man with his business.
“All us got the same problem,” Speck said. “And we thought you boys might be able to help us.”
Speck shifted in his chair and studied the backs of his hands for a moment. Virgil and I waited.
“It’s Callico,” Speck said.
He looked around the table. No one fainted. Speck glanced at the front door of the saloon. No one came in.
“He charges something he calls a ‘safeguard fee.’ We pay him regular, and when there’s trouble the police will come at once and put things right.”
“And if you don’t pay him regular?” Virgil said.
