“That his name?”
“Yes. His employer came and spoke to me about it.”
“I been to visit him.” I said.
“Mr. Gillis?”
“Yes.”
“How is he?”
“Lotta swelling,” I said. “He’ll recover.”
“My God. Is he going to sue us?”
“Us?”
“The town. Mr. Cole is a town employee. Mr. Gillis’s employer said he was going to advise him to sue the town.”
“I’m not so sure he can do that,” I said. “When Judge Callison comes around, you oughta ask him.”
“Well, whether he can or not,” Olson said, “we can’t have our law officers beating people half to death for no good reason.”
I leaned back in my chair and shifted my hips a little so my gun wouldn’t dig into my side, and put my feet up on the desk and looked up at the tan-painted pressed-tin ceiling for a time without saying anything while I collected my thoughts.
“Thing is,” I said, “you got to see Virgil from all sides, so to speak. Takes a certain kind of man to be Virgil Cole. You hire him to do your gun work for you because you ain’t that kind of man. No need feelin’ bad about it. Most people ain’t that kind of man. But Virgil is, and what makes him that kind of man can’t always just be lit up and blowed out like a candle.”
“What he did was crazy,” Olson said.
“Virgil is crazy. You think a man ain’t crazy will make his living as a gun hand? You ever been in a gunfight?”
Olson didn’t say anything.
“You ever?” I said again.
“No.”
“Gun’s right there looking at you, hammer’s back. You see the snouts of the bullets peeking out of the cylinder like reptiles in a hole. Most people can’t stand up to that. Most people start to feel their intestines loosen. Virgil don’t. Virgil been doing that for years, and he ain’t never backed down, and he ain’t never run, and he ain’t never lost,” I said. “Because he’s a little crazy. And crazy is what it takes.”
“Don’t give him the right to go around busting up innocent people,” Olson said.
“No,” I said. “It don’t. And mostly, innocent people don’t get busted up. And if they do, every once in a while, it’s because of who Virgil Cole is, and what he is, and you hired him to be Virgil Cole. You hired the craziness.”
Olson was silent for a time, thinking about what I said. I kept looking at the tin ceiling.
“You’re not crazy,” Olson said finally.
“Maybe, maybe not,” I said. “But whatever I am, I ain’t Virgil Cole.”
“But you been working with him for years. I saw you shoot that man, Bragg’s man, in the bar.”
“I ain’t Virgil,” I said. “I’m his helper.”
“And that makes a difference?” Olson said.
“All the difference,” I said.
“But,” Olson said. “Cole works for us. I feel we have the right to tell him when he’s done something wrong.”
“You got the right,” I said.
“But you think we shouldn’t.”
“I think you shouldn’t.”
“What would happen?” Olson said.
He wasn’t combative. He seemed more curious than anything.
“Make Virgil peevish,” I said.
“What would he do.”
“Hard to be sure,” I said. “But making Virgil peevish is never good.”
“But I can talk to you about it.”
“I tole you. I ain’t Virgil.”
“You’re his helper.”
“I am.”
“I’m not sure I understand,” Olson said.
“No,” I said. “I’m not sure you do, either.”
Since Virgil had taken up with Allie French, they liked to sleep in. And I usually had breakfast alone at Café Paris, or, if I wanted something better than fried salt pork and refried pinto beans, at the Boston House. I was at the Boston House, smoking a cigar and drinking coffee after breakfast, when Allie and Virgil came down the hotel stairs and into the dining room. Allie came over and gave me a kiss on the top of my head and sat down at the table. Virgil sat beside her.
“Morning,” he said.
I said good morning. Tilda came over and poured coffee. They consulted on the menu and decided on pancakes.
“I went over and seen that teamster,” I said to Virgil.
“He all right?” Virgil said.
“He will be, soon’s the swelling goes down.”
“Good.”
That was as close as Virgil could come to admitting anything about his assault on Mr. Gillis. I knew it, and knew it was heartfelt.
“He might not be all right if Everett hadn’t pulled you off him,” Allie said.
“I know,” Virgil said.
Which was as close as he was ever going to get to admitting that he was glad I’d done it.
“I gave him some money,” I said. “Help him out while he can’t work.”
Virgil nodded. It would never occur to him that he should reimburse me, and it would never occur to me that I should ask. It was part of being Virgil’s helper. Allie was watching both of us. She took a delicate sip of her coffee and made a delicate shudder to show us that she was a lady and not made for strong brew.
“I swear,” she said. “Sometimes I sit here and watch you two grunt at each other, and have the feeling that there’s a whole conversation going on that I don’t even hear.”
I grinned at her.
“No,” I said. “We’re just grunting, Allie.”
“Well,” she said, “whatever it is, I just always feel left out.”
“For God’s sake, Allie,” Cole said. “We ain’t talking about nothing. We don’t have that much to talk about.”
A tall cowboy with a big hat came into the dining room and waited for his eyes to adjust, and looked around the room. He saw us and studied us for a minute. I saw Cole shift a little in his chair so that his gun hand was loose and free.
“You know him,” Cole said.
“No.”
“Know who?” Allie said.
“He heeled?” Cole said.
“Right-hand pants pocket,” I said.
