Death on the High Lonesome (19 page)

“Good start,” Cesar said as he handed Virgil a small halter and a brush.

Virgil stepped inside the stall, then spent the next ten minutes brushing the mare while incidentally stroking the colt. Finally, after rubbing the halter over the mare's body to pick up her scent, he began rubbing it on the colt, letting him smell it,
even at one point nibble at it until he no longer showed interest in it. At last, Virgil slipped it over his head. The colt balked a little so Virgil continued talking to him in a soothing voice. The colt settled after a couple of minutes. By the time Virgil left the stall, he had haltered the colt numerous times. Cesar smiled as he stepped out.

“Bueno.”

Virgil nodded.

“Next time, I'll halter him in the corral. Maybe try a lead rope, drop a come-along over his rear end, then get a little more serious.”

On the way into Hayward a little later, Virgil reflected on how much he had enjoyed the experience with the colt. In a way he knew that part of his life offered a balance that down deep sustained him. His stomach was growling, but before he headed to Margie's there was something he had to know. Rosita and Dif were in the office.

“Didn't expect to see you today,” Rosie said. “Figured, after all that time on horseback, you'd be sitting in a bucket of Sloan's Liniment.”

“Hell, that was just a light jaunt,” Virgil lied as he sat down behind his desk.

“So, I guess that wince when you sat down was just for show,” Rosie said.

Virgil glanced around the room, choosing not to engage.

“Yeah, well, it's nice to see this place didn't go to wrack and ruin while I was gone. Sure is a comfort.”

“There you go, thinking you're indispensable,” Rosie said. “This place runs like a well-oiled clock whether you're here or not.”

Dif gave a snort. “Guess you ain't going to tell him about that mix-up at the Lazy Dog or about that Travis woman shooting her husband when she found him in the wrong bed or . . .”

“A well-oiled clock,” Virgil interrupted as Rosie glared at Dif. “So, what's the body count?” Virgil nodded in the direction of the holding cells on the other side of the closed door on the far wall.

“We are full up,” Dif said.

“Full up?”

“Yep, we're stacking them up in there like cordwood. We even got them in transit.”

Rosita never said a word.

“We sent two lightweight offenders down to Redbud with Dave to work off some time and to make some space for any new arrivals.”

Virgil couldn't resist a smile. “So, it's nice to know you got everything under control.”

Suddenly, the door opened and Deputy Jimmy Tillman came in. When he saw Virgil, he stopped in his tracks.

“Well now, it looks like we got the whole Hayward police force on duty,” Virgil said. “Guess things got a little busy around here over Thanksgiving weekend. Hello, Jimmy.”

“Sheriff.”

Jimmy didn't add to his one-word response.

“Okay, Virgil,” Rosie said. “So, maybe we're glad you're back. Virgil, we need another deputy. Things got crazy here last night. Dave had to come up from Redbud.”

“I guess,” Virgil said. “Looks like I'm going to have to make a case. In a way, this looks like pretty good justification. I might even bring the council in here to see this place full up.”

Jimmy started for the door.

“Where are you going, Jimmy?”

“Oh, I just got to see someone, Sheriff.”

Before Virgil could respond, he was out the door.

“Kinda closemouthed today,” Virgil said. Rosie and Dif looked at each other, but said nothing. “Well, I'm going over to Margie's, but before I go, did Kyle Harrison call with any news?”

“Nothing, Virgil. They haven't found any trace of the plane. He said it could be at the bottom of one of those canyons in the Superstitions. If the weather holds they are going in there to do a ground search. He said maybe they'd try to enlist some volunteers from the reservation to help in the search. Virgil, I think you got to accept the real possibility that they won't find anything.” After Rosie's plea Virgil looked out the window from his desk for a long time. Then he stood up.

“I'll stop back later.”

“Virgil?” Rosie said.

He glanced again out the window. “Yes. There's a lot of country out there to get lost in.”

W
hen Virgil walked through the door at Margie's he was surprised to see Marian Thompson sitting at one of the tables.

“Hey, Marian.”

“Sit with me, Virgil. Don't like to eat alone. Too many stares when you're a woman eating by yourself in a restaurant.”

“Didn't need the invite, Marian. Not a big fan of eating by myself, either. Do it too much. But for me the stares come from a different place. Maybe I've had a negative interaction with them or someone in their family. Sheriffs aren't universally well liked. That's why I'm here in disguise, hoping no one will notice me.”

“I noticed. Not even carrying a gun. If I didn't know better, I'd think you were just another working cowhand. I almost think I can smell the barn on you.”

“There's no almost about it.” Virgil explained how he'd spent the last hour on his ranch.

“Working with a new colt. I'd like that. That was one job Pop always gave me, like Ringo. Pop always said a lot of women had a natural intimacy with horses. I always gentled the babies.”

Margie came over to their table. “That tapeworm acting up again, Virgil?”

“Big-time, Margie. My stomach feels like my throat's been cut. Was going to try to rustle up something at home, but like the old lady said, the cupboard was bare. So I figured I'd come in here to stimulate the local economy.”

“Thanks for thinking of us, Virgil. Need all the help we can get. So what'll it be?”

“I'm thinking that rib eye sitting on Marian's plate looks good for starters.”

“You got it. I'll get it working.”

A minute or two after Margie left, another waitress came over with a cup of chili and a tall glass of lemonade.

“Margie said, while you're waiting.”

“Thank you,” Virgil responded as he reached for a spoon. “So, Marian, why are you in town?”

“I came in to bring some flowers from Mom's garden over to Simpson's. Going to be a wake tomorrow, then a funeral on Tuesday.”

“How's your dad?”

“He's stable as far as his vitals are concerned, but he's pretty much out of it. Doctor says it will probably be another day before he's fully conscious. Doc says they got him just in time. But we've got to go ahead with Mom's funeral without him.”

“Good thing we were able to get that helicopter,” Virgil said.

“Yes. You know an interesting thing about that. I mentioned to the pilot about how he was able to find us at night. I mean,
obviously the fire helped, but still there's a lot of country up there. He told me that he was pretty familiar with the general area because he's made a few trips up there in the last six months.”

“I must be missing something. Don't get it. Why would he be going up there?” Virgil asked.

“That's the way I felt, but I didn't get the chance to follow up, because we were getting ready to set down at the hospital. Anyway, just thought it kind of strange, which is why I mentioned it.” As Marian finished, Margie set a steak down in front of Virgil that overflowed the plate, then she set down a couple of sides in separate dishes.

“You look like you need a little nourishment, Virgil.”

“If I manage to get through this, I won't need any more for the rest of the week. I'll give it my best effort, Margie.”

She smiled as she stepped away from the table. “I'm sure you will, Virgil.”

“So, Virgil, do you think that's odd or strange about the helicopter making those trips up to that ridge?”

Virgil stopped cutting his steak, looked around the room, then at Marian.

“Strange? Yeah, I'd say so. But the way things have been going in my life lately, I'm beginning to think strange is the new normal.”

V
irgil had planned to head back to the ranch after eating, but instead chose to walk Marian over to Simpson's.

“Do you want to come in with me?” she asked on the sidewalk outside the funeral home.

“No. I'll wait here if you don't mind, unless you feel the need for a little support.”

“No, I'm fine. I won't be long, but if you want to take off I'm okay with that.”

“I've got no plans. I'll wait for you. By the way, those flowers look nice. I'm sure your mom would like them.”

Marian looked down at the flowers she had taken from the car after they left the restaurant. “I was afraid they'd seem a little skimpy. Not much more than a bouquet.”

“But they'll mean more than any other flower arrangement in there. Her flowers picked by her daughter.”

“You know, Virgil, you are developing a knack for saying just the right thing at just the right time.”

Virgil watched as Marian walked to the front door, then disappeared inside. While he waited for her return a few cars passed, then after a couple of minutes he saw Jimmy in the patrol car, probably going out for his first run of the night. Virgil stepped off the curb, then waved, but the car never slowed and Jimmy gave no indication that he even saw Virgil. Virgil stepped back on the sidewalk, shaking his head.

“What's the matter?” Marian asked when she came up to him.

Virgil didn't respond right away. “Probably nothing,” he finally said. “Everything okay with you?”

“I guess. It's just . . .” She didn't have to say anything else.

“Listen, I was going to head back to the ranch, but it's still early. How about we walk down to the Lazy Dog, listen to some music over a beer or two?”

“Oh, I don't know. I should get back, get ready for tomorrow.”

“C'mon. You need it. We both need it—a little diversion. We'll go chug a few, listen to some music. If we really get lucky, maybe Florence will whack some out-of-line customer with that hockey stick of hers.”

“She's still doing that? My God, she must be close to eighty.”

“Yep, and her aim is still pretty good. No one complains. Guess they don't want to admit to being toasted by a senior citizen.”

Virgil and Marian walked through the door of the Lazy Dog ten minutes later. The décor was strictly saloon. One of those places that could have been found in most cow towns throughout the Southwest, fifty, sixty years earlier, but were becoming an endangered species. On the left was a bar that went on to eternity while the space to the right of it was taken up by a mixed assortment of tables and chairs. Any thought of some uniform decorating theme was given up long ago. Some of the chairs that had met their end in disturbances over the years
were replaced by new ones. The rest looked like they had been there since the Flood. Along the right wall was a line of booths that seemed to have escaped most of the carnage over the years. They stretched almost all the way to the back. The place in the way back where maybe another table or booth could have filled the space was instead given over to a raised platform. This was for entertainers who could range from paid to amateurs. Most of them had lost their inhibitions after a couple of hours and more than a few drinks. Some had become convinced that they had something to offer in the vast area of the performing arts. This could encompass anything from rope tricks to rap. The Lazy Dog had evolved through the years from what in an earlier time might have been described as a bucket of blood to a place that now seemed intimidating to no one and open to all comers. The change was not lost on Marian.

“My God, I never realized there was an end to this place. Last time I was here there was a cloud of smoke so dense you couldn't see the rear. It was weird. I kinda got the feeling that if you walked through it, you'd drop off the end of the earth.” She made her reflection as they slid into the first unoccupied booth they came to, which was about halfway down the room.

“Yeah, well, a lot of places have become gentrified since ‘no smoking' became the eleventh commandment. You can actually breathe now.”

“You know, Virgil, I remember there was a singer I'd heard of who was called the Velvet Fog. I often wondered if he got his start here because you could never see the singer so the music and lyrics seemed to be coming out of the fog which hung in the center of the room. It was kind of cool.”

Virgil could see that coming here had been a good call. Marian was obviously enjoying the step back into her past.

“Well, Virgil, what'll it be?”

He looked up at Florence standing next to the booth. “Maybe you thought I wouldn't recognize you in your disguise. I look beyond the uniform.”

“Most people don't, Florence.”

“Yeah, well, they're the same people life passes by and they don't even realize it.”

“A little too much philosophy for me this late in the day. All I can think of is a kick back and a cold one. How about a Coors and a slice of lime?”

“And the lady . . . Wait, I know you. You're . . . you're Charlie and Velma's girl. You look a lot like your mom, God rest her.”

“I can't believe you recognized me after all these years.”

Next thing they both knew, Florence was sitting in the booth with them. She waved to a barman. For the next half hour they talked. At one point they were laughing so hard at one of Florence's stories, the tears came.

“Your father and yours,” she said, pointing to Virgil. “They were a pair. I remember that story of your father and Charlie going over the pass, pulling that horse trailer, when it come loose on the downhill, then tried passing them by, because one of them had forgot to snap it on the ball of the hitch. Only thing keeping it attached was the umbilical chain. Your father looked at Charlie when that trailer come alongside. ‘What are we gonna do, Charlie?' he says. Charlie looks at him and says, ‘Don't rightly know. I ain't never been in this situation before, but I know one thing, Sam. When we get to the bottom of this here grade, we better be in front.' They was something, those two. Matter of fact, if I remember correctly, they was each on top, in the first go-round in their events at that rodeo they was
going to. Charlie come in here the next day, told that story. I said to him that was amazing that you could sit that bull till you heard that buzzer after that. He looked me dead in the eye and he said, ‘Florence, that bull was nothing. Hell, I'd already had the shit scared out of me coming down that mountain.'”

By the time Florence left the booth each of them was nursing their third beer.

“That was fun,” Marian said. “Even if most of it was fiction.”

“Don't know that I'd go there, Marian. Found out a lot about my father that I didn't know from other people. Guess it has to do with not wanting their kids to learn from their horrible example. Maybe, since your father's a little more vulnerable in the hospital right now, you might ask him about some of those old lies. Tell him it would be a good way to test his memory. Bet you'll be surprised.”

She didn't respond, but Virgil could see a kind of faraway look come into her eyes. Then the sound of a guitar infiltrated the silence, followed by the low voice of a woman who joined in, then strengthened, filling the room. They sat there in the lull of conversation, sipping their beers while they listened.

“It's a heartache, nothing but a heartache . . .”

A song from another time. The singer's voice took on a decidedly Kim Carnes kind of raspy, throaty sound. The room noise noticeably subsided. At the conclusion of the song there was a burst of applause.

“‘Nothing but a heartache, nothing but a heartache.' Kind of fits the scenario,” Marian said.

“Yeah, well, if you look around this room, right now there's probably more than one or two people having that thought.”

“You're right, Virgil. I'm starting to wallow.”

“Wallow?”

“Feeling sorry for myself. It's something Dad used to say whenever I'd go to the dark side over something that went wrong in my teenage life. Can't stand people feeling sorry for themselves, wallowing in their grief, most of the time over nothing. Everybody's got problems. Put your head down, plow through.”

“You know, I really didn't know your father that well except from occasional tales, but I'm liking him more and more. When he gets out of the hospital, I'd like to sit with him a stretch, get to know him better.”

“I'm sure he would like that, Virgil.”

“Hey, Sheriff, didn't know you got out in the world.”

Virgil looked up into the smiling face of one-eyed Chet Harris.

“Shh,” Virgil said, raising his finger to his lips. “I'm undercover, trying to see if I can blend in like a regular person.”

“Well, why don't you and the lady come on over and join us? See if the disguise works.”

Virgil looked over at Marian. She nodded slightly.

“Sure, why not, but only if you call me Virgil.”

“You got it,” Chet said.

They got out of the booth, then followed Chet back to the rear of the bar to the last table by the upraised platform. Sitting at the table were a man and a woman. The man stood up as they approached.

“Virgil, you know Karen. And this is a really good friend, Simon Levine. Simon and I, you could say, shared a foxhole once upon a time. We were both in the same unit.” Virgil extended his hand.

“Thank you for your service,” he said.

“Hope you're not put off by a back hand. Lots of people get a little shaky when I extend the claw right off the bat.”

He held up his right hand, showing his prosthesis. “I think it would take a little more than that to throw Virgil off his game, Simon.”

“Oh, you a vet?” Simon asked.

“In a different kind of war,” Virgil responded. “Maybe I'll tell you about that sometime. Right now, we just want to hear some more of that good entertainment and sit over a beer. This is Marian Thompson, a really good friend, by the way. Guess you could say we shared the same foxhole, too. Now where's that singer?”

“What about it, Karen?” Chet asked. “You up for more?”

“Maybe, after we visit awhile.”

Marian picked up on the cue. “Was that you singing?”

“Guilty as charged,” Karen replied.

“Wait a second, you're a nurse,” Virgil said. “Never sang to me once, the whole time I was in the hospital.”

“What can I say? I'm a woman of many talents and you weren't a paying customer. My mother told me never give it away for nothing.”

Virgil laughed out loud. “I'll be damned,” he said. “Your mother. There's another person I'd like to meet.”

For the next hour or so they sat talking. Light banter going back and forth like a Ping-Pong ball. Virgil kept drinking beer with the boys long after Marian had switched to soda. He was over his limit and he knew it. Finally, after Karen's last set of the night, the place was starting to empty. Florence came over one last time.

“You did good, Karen. See you Friday night?”

“I might have to work, Flo. I'll find out tomorrow.”

“Well, you let me know. If not Friday, we'll set another date. Looks like you had a good time, Virgil.”

“I did, Florence, I really did. First time in a long time.”

“You got to get out more, Virgil.”

Virgil regarded her comment with a silly smile on his face. “Florence, you're right, but I didn't get to see you whack anyone with that stick of yours.”

“Well, I'm trying to save my arm for special occasions. You know, Virgil, I'm on the yonder side of seventy.”

“Yeah, well, if I'm any judge, you'll still be swinging it on the yonder side of eighty, if someone doesn't sue you first.”

“That'll never happen,” Karen piped up.

“How so?” Virgil asked.

“There are guys who act up just so they can say they've been whacked by Flo. Some of them come here from out of town. All this time I thought it was for my singing, but no, just to get whacked by Flo.”