Death at the Black Bull (11 page)

Rosie didn't say anything. There was a heavy look on her face.

“What's wrong?”

“Harry's never going to go hungry again,” she said, “because he's dead in that cell back there.”

Virgil sat down heavily into his chair. Suddenly, he wasn't feeling so good after all.

“W
ell, if it ain't the law. We gotta stop meeting like this, Sheriff, or people will get the wrong idea.”

“Can't speak for you, Wade, but I think that anyone who knows me knows we won't be buying furniture together anytime soon.”

Wade had just come out of his office.

“Looks like you're doing well for yourself,” Virgil said as he looked around the place. He could see men working on a variety of vehicles in the two large garages adjoining the building. There was also a construction crew working on a larger building in an empty lot next to Wade's office on the other side. “I hear you're all lined up for the racing circuit and that you're preparing to take a huge step up.”

“Yeah, well I been lucky.”

“What's that going to be?” Virgil asked, pointing to the new construction.

“Showrooms.”

“For what?”

“Cars, trucks, motorcycles . . . I got a dealership.”

“I am impressed. You truly are coming up in the world.”

“Listen, I got an appointment and based on your past visits, I don't figure you came by to hear about my good luck.”

“No, not exactly. Shame Buddy didn't have your kind of luck.” At the mention of Buddy, Virgil thought he detected a slight tightness of Wade's jaw.

“Yeah, well, like the man said . . . Life ain't fair.”

“Well, it sure wasn't for Buddy, but that brings me to the reason for my drop-by. You remember that last night . . . You know, when you said Buddy left the Black Bull. I think as you put it, he went to howl at the moon.”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“Well, you said you didn't go with him and you had no idea where he went. That's been kind of bothering me. I mean you and Buddy being so close and all. It got to bothering me a little bit more when I found out you and Buddy spent a little time arguing in his truck.”

There was no mistaking Wade's reaction this time. “Where did you hear that?”

“Well, it happened kind of accidental-like, when Harry Stanton told me how generous you'd been to him that night and gave him twenty whole dollars out of the goodness of your heart. That was mighty nice of you, Wade. I didn't realize what a friend of the less fortunate you were. So I guess I was wondering if you'd be able to tell me about that?”

“There ain't nothing to tell. That ole bum was there and he just looked kind of pathetic, so I give him a couple of bucks.”

“Well, Harry thought you and Buddy were arguing about something. This is when you were outside, which I guess you didn't remember when you first told me you hadn't gone outside with Buddy.”

Again, he saw Wade's jaw tighten.

“Yeah I guess I forgot about that, but we wasn't arguing. Just having a conversation.”

“Guess maybe I should talk to Harry some more. See if he can tell me a little bit clearer. He's sleeping it off in one of the cells.”

“He's there now?”

“Since last night. I'll probably let him go when I get back, after we have another little talk. That is, if you're sure there's nothing else you'd like to add.”

Wade looked down at his highly polished boots, stirring a little graveled dirt.

“Well, maybe we did have a little dustup now that I'm thinking about it. Weren't nothing big. Buddy was complaining about his job. Thinking about quitting. I told him he was crazy.”

“Why did you care? What difference did it make to you?”

“Well, Buddy had promised to stay down at the terminal in Redbud to coordinate the service contract I have with the Haywards, but he said he didn't want to stay there anymore.”

“Did he say why?”

“Nope. I told him he wouldn't be working for the Haywards. Even told him I'd make him a full partner once I got the dealership up and running. He'd take care of the service end, I'd be handling the showroom.”

“That was a real generous offer. But you're telling me he never said why he wanted to get away from the Haywards?”

“No. Said it wouldn't be good to talk about it.”

“What do you think he meant by that?”

“I don't know. He just said it'd be best if I didn't talk about it to anyone. That's why I didn't tell you right off. He was acting kind of nervous. Then I left him and went back inside the Black Bull. An hour or two later, I realized he must have taken off.”

“He never came back inside?”

“If he did, I didn't see him. The place was packed that night.”

*   *   *

By the time Virgil pulled into the parking lot in back of the office, the undertaker's van was already there. It was almost three.

“Howdy, Sheriff.” The greeting came as he walked through the door.

“Hello, Titus.”

“Mr. Simpson sent us over for Harry.” Virgil nodded toward the other attendant who had just come into the room.

“That's what I figured.”

“He wanted to know what you wanted for him.”

Virgil looked at Rosie.

“Any suggestions?”

“Well, I know he did some maintenance work for that Catholic Church. Saint Ann's. I could give them a call.”

“I'd appreciate that. I'd kinda like Harry to go out with a little remembrance. Tell them he's down at Simpson's funeral home and if they need anything I'll take care of it.”

“Virgil, the town should handle it.”

He sat down at his desk, took off his hat, then rubbed the bridge of his nose with his free hand.

“No. I'd rather do it. Titus, make sure you tell that to Mr. Simpson when you get back.”

“Okay, Sheriff. Anything you say. Can we go get old Harry now?”

“Sure. I'll meet you at the back door in five minutes.”

Virgil stood holding the door open while they wheeled the gurney through. Then they carefully loaded their burden into the back of their van.

“Thank you, Sheriff. Kind of sad to see old Harry end up this way. I guess none of us knows how we're gonna end up.”

“Well, Titus, I think the end for Harry was written a long time ago.”

He watched as the van pulled out of the parking lot, then closed the back door. He walked to his car, suddenly feeling very tired.

*   *   *

There was no one around when he got back to the ranch, and he was glad. He just didn't feel like interacting with anyone, even Cesar. It was a little after four, so before he went into the house, he walked down to the corral. It had been unusually hot, so he figured the horses were still in, a fact confirmed by Jack long before he reached the barn. In the heat of summer, the horses were let out late in the day and grazed through the night, then were brought in the next morning before the heat started to build. The barn was quiet as he stepped in, with just the sound of the horses moving occasionally in their stalls. A couple of hens moved up and down the aisles pecking at anything that moved, also content to stay inside out of the day's heat. He opened the door at the end of the barn, which led into a corral. As soon as he did, the wind-tunnel effect with the doors opened at either end flooded the air with barn scent. For him it was rich with the past. He had seen Jack foaled in this barn and his dam die here in a subsequent foal's birth. Virgil's mother had put him on his first horse here and spent hours showing him the way to gentle a horse so that every time he climbed aboard it wouldn't be a re-creation of a bronco-busting episode.

He lingered, wrapped in memory until Jack brought him back to the present with his call. Then one by one as he walked the length of the barn, he opened each stall door. The horses moved in hurried procession toward the corral. When they were all out, he watched them gather expectantly at the far end, waiting for the gate to be opened. Virgil looked them over as they bunched together, to see if any one of the nine showed any signs of injury or problems. They ranged from the blood red mahogany of Jack to the old piebald gelding that Cesar fancied with a mix of colors in between. He knew a couple of the mares were close, their swollen bellies evidence of Jack's potency. He carefully moved through them, talking in a soft voice. It would have been safer to slip through the fence and open the gate from the other side, but the thought never occurred to him. Every one of them knew him as he knew them, and even though they bumped and nudged him, he knew there was no danger.

“Take it easy, guys. You're almost there.” He slid the bar across between the rails, jumped on the bottom rail with one foot while pushing off with the other, and the gate swung wide. The horses burst through toward the open prairie, some of them giving exuberant bucks as they called to one another. Through the dust cloud that followed in their wake, their distinct forms morphed into one and the sound of their hoofbeats echoed as a single note.

Virgil watched them gallop toward their freedom, feeling the same exhilaration that he'd felt hundreds of times before. It never grew old. When at last they disappeared over the first low-lying hill, he stepped off the rail and headed back to the barn. For the next hour, moving from stall to stall, he cleaned them and freshened each with new bedding. The physical activity felt good. He knew it would be a pleasant surprise for Cesar. He could picture the smile on the man's face. When he finished, he walked back to the house. After pulling his boots off on the bootjack, he went into the kitchen, got a glass from the cabinet over the sink, and filled it with iced lemonade. He downed it in three gulps while standing over the sink. Ten minutes later, shower water was streaming over his body, taking with it the remnants of his exertion in the barn. When he walked into his bedroom, he couldn't resist the call of the clean sheets and he slid between them, luxuriating in the feel of smoothness against his skin. A sudden tiredness overtook him and his last, conscious memory was of the curtains at the opened window floating on an errant breeze.

*   *   *

Hours later, a flash of heat lightning illuminated the room and revealed Virgil uncovered, still lying motionless. He stirred, still wrapped in an erotic dream he was reluctant to leave. Finally, he dropped his legs over the side of the bed and came to a sitting position. He listened for signs of life in the house, but heard none. Feeling like he had just emerged from a coma, he rose to his feet and moved toward the bathroom. After he relieved himself, he threw cold water into his face to wash the last of the sleep away, then returned to the bedroom, got dressed, and headed downstairs. Darkness had begun to invade the house, so he flicked on the light in the kitchen. There was no sign of Cesar and he recalled some early-morning reference of his about being gone overnight. He knew he spent some time with a woman Virgil had never met.

He opened the refrigerator and stood looking at nothing inside that appealed to him. He grabbed a slice of cheese, pulled off the cellophane wrapper, and ate it. Still unsatisfied, he glanced at the clock on the wall and saw it was going on nine. Margie's would be closed by the time he got there, but he knew of another place that would be open late. He closed the fridge door, went and got his good boots, and went upstairs to change his shirt.

The screen door slapped loudly in back of him as he left the house. He paused for just an instant on the front porch, listening to the night, then walked across the yard and got into his truck. At the end of the driveway, instead of turning right into town, he turned left and headed toward the Black Bull.

I
t was about nine thirty when he walked through the door of the Black Bull. The restaurant area was fairly empty, but the bar side was busy. Not bad for a weekday night, he thought. He took a seat at a small table on the restaurant side. A waitress brought him a menu, but when she told him the special was ribs, he just handed it back to her and asked for the special. While he was sitting over his beer, waiting for his meal to arrive, he looked over the crowd. There was no live music. The televisions in back of the bar were featuring baseball. There were a lot of familiar faces, but nobody had acknowledged his presence. He could make out a Rangers game on one set getting a loud reaction from the bar crowd as someone connected for a home run. The Black Bull itself was standing idly, waiting for the next guy who'd drunk enough courage to give him a go. Virgil scanned the place, looking for a certain someone, but came up empty. Finally, his gaze came to rest on the plate that had been put in front of him.

Twenty minutes later, he sat back from his cleared plate. He hadn't realized how hungry he was.

“Guess you enjoyed it,” the waitress said with a smile. “Surprised you didn't eat the plate.”

“Yes, ma'am. That was as good as it looked.”

“How about some dessert?”

“A man should know his limitations. I'll pass, but some black coffee would work.”

“You got it.”

He sat over two cups, replaying the day's events in his head, the talk with Wade and Harry Stanton's exit from a world that had paid him little notice. Virgil generally took things in stride, but for some reason Harry's death had brought him to a dark place. Maybe it was the unexpectedness, or the fact that he had recently brushed up against his own mortality.

“Anything else?”

“No, thank you.”

She gave him his tab. When she returned with his card, he signed then she turned to walk away.

“Excuse me,” he said. “Is the owner here, by any chance?”

“Upstairs.” She pointed to a door next to the door that led into the kitchen. Virgil thought that as long as he was here, he might as well see if he could verify some of the things that Wade had said. He crossed the room, opened the door, and climbed a flight of stairs. There was a short hallway that angled to the right, at the end of which was a doorway. A light showed from under the door. He knocked twice, then waited. He heard footsteps on the other side. When the door opened, Ruby was standing there.

“Well hello, Sheriff. I wasn't expecting to see you. What can I do for you?”

“Actually, I was hoping I could see the owner.”

“Oh, well, come on in.”

Virgil stepped inside. When she closed the door, she lightly brushed him, and he could smell a certain fragrance. It was not an unpleasant sensation. She turned and he followed her past a desk in a small office that had a couple of filing cabinets against a wall. There was a computer on the desk and an opened folder holding a slew of what looked like delivery forms.

“I was just entering some bills into the computer,” she said.

She walked through a doorway which was opened at the other end of the office. When Virgil followed her, he stepped into a huge living area that encompassed a modern kitchen at the far end, separated from the rest of the room by a natural wooden bar that spanned almost the width of the room. At the opposite end of the room was a fireplace, which Virgil realized was a perfect match to the one downstairs and positioned in the middle of the wall, so they shared the same flue. Near the kitchen area was a large rustic harvest table, while the rest of the room was given over to comfortable-looking occasional chairs and end tables. Positioned in front of the fireplace was a large sofa covered in a Southwestern print that matched the fabric covering the chairs. Above the fireplace was the mounted head of a huge elk.

“That's some trophy,” Virgil said.

“I prefer living animals, but it wasn't my call. In any event, he is magnificent.”

Ruby gestured toward one end of the sofa. Virgil sat down and looked around the room.

“Will he be long?” he asked.

“Who?”

“The owner.”

“Sheriff, I
am
the owner.”

“But I thought you were just a waitress.”

“Just a waitress? Sheriff, I'll do you a favor. I won't repeat that comment to the waitstaff downstairs. That way when you leave, your car won't be sitting on four flat tires.”

“I'm sorry . . . I didn't mean . . .”

The smile that crossed Ruby's lips showed she was enjoying Virgil's discomfort.

“It's all right,” she said. “I was just teasing.”

“It's just that I thought when this place was redone some years back . . . I mean, I thought I'd heard that somebody from back East had bought it and then I guess he died and I figured some other fella took it over.”

“That man that did the expansion. He was my father. This was his dream. He was in love with his idea of the West. I think he overdosed on John Wayne and Randolph Scott when he was a kid. His favorite movie was
Shane
. I must have seen it a dozen times over the years. I could recite the dialogue verbatim. Anyhow, he bought the place on a whim with the idea of turning it into what it's become today. But he never lived to see it done. I was working in New York when he died. My mother wanted no part of it. It wasn't her dream. By that time I was looking for something different. I felt bad that after all he put into it, it was just going to be tossed away like he was never here, to some random buyer. So I decided to try something new. In a way, I guess I was trying to keep his dream alive. Probably doesn't make much sense to you.”

“No. It makes perfect sense. I mean, a person walks the earth. He leaves a mark. His life should mean something.” Virgil looked up at the elk. “Every time, you look at him”—he gestured toward the mounted head—“you can imagine what he must have been. The life he had, the battles he fought. You can see it in his eyes and you take note. A man, any man, should have at least that . . . that the people he leaves behind remember and take note.”

Virgil looked away for a second, the last image of Harry Stanton suddenly popping into his mind.

“Maybe that's why I talk to him when I'm here alone,” she said, smiling. “So, Sheriff, what can I do for you?”

“Well, you can start by calling me Virgil. I'm not always on duty.”

“So this is a social call?”

“Well, I did want to ask you something, but it could wait for another time if you're busy. Actually, when I came in to eat downstairs, after I'd finished I was sitting at the table and looking around for a friendly face, but the face I was looking for wasn't there.”

“Did you ever find it?”

“Yes, when I knocked on that door.”

“I'm glad, Virgil.”

She leaned across the sofa and touched his cheek. Then she turned his head slightly and traced the half-moon line of his scar from beginning to end.

“When I saw you in the hospital,” she said, “I didn't know about this. I wish you'd have told me. I would have been there, because I think I've been looking for a friendly face also.”

He looked into her eyes and saw the warmth there. He was mesmerized by her touch.

“It's been a long time for me,” he said. “I mean, I just want you to know . . .”

She moved her finger to his lips and smiled. “Once you've ridden a bike, Virgil, you don't forget.”

He reached across the sofa and drew her close. Her scent filled him, his lips found hers, and the touch of her lifted him up from that dark place.

*   *   *

He left the bathroom, heading back to the bed when the silver light streaming through the window stopped him. The moon was starting its descent in the western sky. The world was a silhouette. The rolling terrain black against the gray. He glanced at the still figure wrapped in a tangle of sheets, one smooth leg exposed, the mass of dark hair against the pillow caught in that silver light from the window. For the first time in a long time, Virgil felt a connectedness that had been missing from his life.

He glanced once more at the outline of the ridge in the distance, the same ridge that had reluctantly given up the terrible secret. He knew that deep down, as much as that had become a focus for him, it was not his whole life. Then he slipped under the sheet alongside Ruby, reached out, and felt her stir beneath his touch.

*   *   *

Virgil reached his hand out to empty space, opened one eye, and saw that he was alone. The imprint of her head on the pillow confirmed that it hadn't been a dream. Then he smelled the bacon and sat up. Before he could get his bearings, she ran into the room and leaped into the bed. She pushed him down and gave him a long, soulful kiss. When she felt him stirring beneath her, she rolled over and sat up.

“There's time for that after breakfast. Come on.”

“You know what you said about the bicycle? I haven't forgotten.”

“I was aware of that several times last night. Come on, we need to keep our strength up.”

Reluctantly, Virgil slipped on his shorts then followed her out to the kitchen. He sat at the long bar while she brought the breakfast. Then they attacked it with a ferocity that they later laughed about.

“I can't think of a better way to work up an appetite,” he said as he sat over his second cup of coffee.

She reached her hand across and covered his.

“Is that the right time?” he said, looking at her watch.

“Pretty close.”

“I better check in before they send out the bloodhounds.”

“Are you really that crucial?” she teased while he punched in the number to the office.

“Ma'am, I'm the last line of defense between survival and Armageddon.”

He winked as he waited for Rosie.

“I know what time it is,” he said into the phone. “I got hung up. And yes, I know I'm not there. That's why I'm calling. Are you okay? You know what I mean.” He paused. “Sure, I know. I just wanted to make sure . . . I mean in case you have to reach me. God! Now I know why Dave likes to stay at Redbud. Yeah, I know you and he have quality time when he's home.”

Ruby sat quietly listening to the conversation. At last, he folded the phone and put it away.

“What were you saying about the last line of defense? Armageddon? It sounds like the world is still turning without you.”

“Yeah, seems like I'm a legend only in my own mind.”

“Who was that, anyway?”

“I guess you'd call her the power behind the throne. At least that's what she thinks. Her name is Rosita. Rosie when she's acting human.”

“Sounds like you guys have a dynamic relationship.”

“Dynamic, good word. I guess that pretty well describes it.”

“By the way, what were the questions? Or was that just a ploy to get in my pants?”

“The questions . . .”

“Last night, you said you had some questions for me.”

“Oh. They were about Buddy. Buddy Hinton. I heard you went to his funeral.”

“Yes. I saw your friend from the hospital there.”

“That's Jimmy Tillman, my deputy. He saw you and I just thought it kind of odd. I mean, you being there, but that's when I thought you were a waitress.”

“I'm glad you left out the
just
.”

“I won't make that mistake again.”

“Buddy was pretty much of a regular. A real nice guy. Came in, had a good time, didn't give anybody grief. The kind of customer you wish all your customers were like in this business. Then, because of the way he died, the circumstances, well, I felt like I wanted to go. That's why I was there.”

“Do you remember anything special about that last night? When he was here?”

“Like what?”

“Anything different. An argument, any kind of a mix-up involving him or his friend Wade?”

“You mean Wade Travis? The auto repair guy that's into racing?”