“I see what you mean.”
Tolan limped over and sat down in a chair. “What I need, Mr. Fargo, is for somebody to get on that island and tell me if my girls are dead or alive.”
“What makes you so sure they’re there?”
“A woman from my church saw them talking to Burgade the evening they disappeared. That’s all the evidence I need.”
“Could they have run away?”
“No.”
“You sound awful sure of that.”
“I am, Mr. Fargo. The girls and I—we have a special bond. With their mother dead, I had to be both father and mother to them. They know what kind of heartbreak their running away would cause me. They’d never do that to me.”
Fargo set the photos on the arm of the chair. “What makes you think I’d have any more luck getting on the island than you?”
“C’mon, Mr. Fargo. Don’t be overly modest. I know who you are and what you’ve done with your life. If anybody could get on that island, it’s you.”
Fargo thought a moment. “Is there much river traffic in that area?”
“Some. Not what you’d call a lot.”
“But people who know that part of the river?”
“Sure. Cap’n Billy is one of them. His real name is Harold Perkins. But he prefers Cap’n Billy.”’
Fargo smiled. “I can see why. And he does what?”
“Hauls things up and down the river for anybody who’ll pay him. He even runs a kind of taxi service. There’s a boat that comes three times a week. But if you’re in a hurry and can’t wait for the boat, you see Cap’n Billy. He’s got an old tug boat. He works on it and lives on it. If you wanted to talk to him, you head two miles northeast of here. There’s a long curve in the river and that’s where you’ll find Cap’n Billy.”
“Well, since I’m beginning to get a feeling that I’m headed for Skeleton Key myself, I might as well look for your daughters while I’m there.”
“Oh, thank you, Mr. Fargo. Now you take this money.”
Fargo shook his head. “A young woman got killed earlier today. I owe it to her to find out what’s going on here. This isn’t for money.”
“Will you at least have one more glass of wine?”
“I need a clear head. I’m going to pass.” He stood up. “When and if I find anything, I’ll let you know.”
“You want to take one of those photos of my daughters?”
“I’m not likely to forget two gals who look like that, Mr. Tolan.”
When he got downstairs, he found Queeg sitting in a chair under the overhang of a hotel. Old Noah sure kept Larson and Queeg busy, following people. He could see Queeg’s eyes peering at him over the top of the newspaper he was pretending to read.
“Hot sitting on that porch, isn’t it, Queeg?”
Queeg put down his paper, studied Fargo’s face. “Larson told you, huh?” His cheeks gleamed with sweat. Fargo knew the feeling. His back, armpits, crotch, and feet were drenched in sweat, too.
“About you being on Noah’s payroll just like him?” Fargo said.
“Yeah.”
“You take turns, do you? He follows me a while and then you follow me a while?”
“I haven’t given Noah anything for two days. Larson agreed to let me take it from here so I could have something for Noah. He likes you to tell him at least two things a day about the town. He always sends Manuel, his personal servant in, to get the information. Sometimes I have to make things up just to satisfy him.”
“Well, how about this? I’m sure you’ve got more important things to do at the sheriff’s office, so I’ll just give you my plans for the next few hours. I plan to talk to Liz Turner over at the newspaper. And then I plan to go visit somebody named Cap’n Billy.”
“If you go any place other than those two, will you tell me?”
“Does that include like buying myself a beer or taking a piss?”
“C’mon, Fargo, you know what I mean. I’m tryin’ to set aside enough money so I can buy me and my family a little farm and get out of this business. It’s just a matter of time before somebody shoots me. My wife has terrible dreams about it. Some gunny comes to town and I have to try and arrest him and he kills me. She always has the same dream. That’s why I’m tryin’ to set aside money. Noah’s the only hope I’ve got.”
Fargo laughed. “You tell Tom everything, too, the way Larson does?”
“Yeah.”
“What’ll Noah do if he ever finds out that you and Larson are playin’ him like this?”
Queeg put a finger like a gun barrel to his head. His thumb was the trigger. “Then my wife won’t have to worry about some gunny coming to town and killing me. I’ll do it myself before Noah does it for me.”
“Well, I hate to tell you this, Queeg, but I’m not sure yet where I’m going past this Cap’n Billy’s place and even if I knew, I’m not sure I’d tell you.”
“You wanna see a photograph of my sweet little kids, Fargo? That might change your mind.”
“Seen enough pictures for one day.”
“I could tell you about the farm I’m hopin’ to buy.”
“No, thanks. I already gave you your two things for the day. That’s my part of the bargain. Now I want you to keep your end of it.”
“I didn’t know I
“You sure do,” Fargo said, his face showing sudden anger, his body suddenly taut. “You quit followin’ me here and now or I push your face in for you. You understand me, Queeg?”
The anger was not for show. Fargo was sick of being tailed everywhere.
“Yeah, sure, Fargo,” Queeg said, licking his lips, nervous now. The easy-going, amiable Fargo had been replaced by the Trailsman of legend. And the Trailsman, to be sure, was nobody to get riled up. “I won’t be followin’ you anymore, I promise.”
The main street was so packed with day-before revelers that Fargo decided to get to the newspaper by walking the alleys.
He was halfway down the first alley, a friendly brown mutt bouncing along next to him, when the rifle shot came.
Fargo pitched himself away from the trajectory of the bullet, rolling quickly behind a line of small metal containers that held garbage. On this hot day, the stench was many times worse than it would normally be. Fargo didn’t have any choice, though. There was somebody on the roof two doors down. The building sat between smaller buildings with lower roofs. Somebody who’d been keeping a close watch on Fargo. This was one hell of a town for people tailing you. He must have been near Fargo, seen that Fargo was going to turn into the alley, and quickly made his way to the store roof he was using.
Two more shots.
Fargo returned fire but realized that shooting back was useless. A man with a rifle on a roof had the clear advantage.
Fargo decided that the best thing he could do was work his way back to the head of the alley, get on the boardwalk, run through the building the shooter was using, and confront him on the roof. Find out who the hell he was and what the hell he wanted.
But Fargo would have to move fast. Once the shooter saw that Fargo meant to come at him, he was likely to take off.
Fargo had to duck half a dozen more bullets, a couple of which came whistlingly close to hitting him, before he reached the head of the alley.
The shots had attracted a crowd and when he jumped to his feet, several men in Fourth of July duds said, “You all right, mister?”
But there was no time for reassurances.
