“Hold up, Virgil,” I shouted. “Look alive!”
“What do you got?” Virgil called out from the front.
“Got one dead for sure,” I said. “Take her easy.”
“The big one or little one,” Virgil said.
“The big one,” I said.
“That’d be Betty Jean,” Berkeley called out.
I heard Virgil ask Berkeley what was the name of the other whore. Berkeley answered him and Virgil called out.
“Laskowski,” Virgil said. “You in there?”
We listened for a moment, but there was no answer.
“Bob?” Virgil said. “You in there?”
106
Virgil waited, but there was no response from the whore Laskowski or Bloody Bob Brandice.
“If you are in there Bob, now’s the time see what you’re really made of.”
Virgil stopped and we listened, but there were no sounds.
“I know living and dying you don’t think much about, Bob, both are pretty much the same to you, but on the living side of things I know you’d like to bring me down. Here is your chance. If you are in there, why don’t you not act like the no-good coward you are and let me know.”
After a moment we heard a woman’s voice. “I don’t see him,” the voice said.
“Laskowski?” Virgil said.
“Yes,” she said from somewhere in the dark.
“Where is he?” Virgil called out.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I think he left.”
“Single,” Virgil shouted.
“What?” Laskowski asked.
Single was our word for a five-count. I started counting, and I entered the back door on five. The church was small, a one-room situation with a partition creating two sections where the whores took care of business. I moved to see both sides, and there was no Bob. I saw Virgil and Berkeley but no sign of Bloody Bob or Laskowski.
“No Bob,” I said.
“Laskowski!” Virgil called out.
“Yes,” she said.
We all looked up and saw her. She was naked, straddling a rafter about twelve feet off the floor.
“You okay?” Virgil said.
“No. I’m scared and I ain’t no damn monkey,” Laskowski said. “Somebody help me, catch me.”
She threw one of her legs back over the beam, slipped down, and hung from the beam.
“I got you,” I said.
I stood under her. Laskowski dropped, and I caught her in a sitting position like it was a practiced circus act.
“You hurt?” Virgil said.
“He didn’t touch me,” she said. “But he tried.”
“When did this happen?” Virgil asked.
Laskowski grabbed a blanket to put over Betty Jean. She turned back to us with no thought of covering herself.
“’Bout thirty minutes ago,” Laskowski said. “I just finished a customer, and when he left I heard some slappin’, things sounded kind of tough. I called out to Betty Jean, then I peeked around the separation here, and the mean bastard reached for me. He had me cornered. I couldn’t make it to neither of the doors so I crawdadded my ass away from him and climbed this wall like a blistered barn cat. All the time, he was just a-reachin’ an’ grabbin’ for me. He caught my foot a bit, but I kicked the hell outta him and he let go.”
“And then he left?”
“He cut Betty Jean and then he left. It was like he just forgot about me. He cut her, then he walked out the door. I thought maybe he was just actin’ like he was gone, so I just stayed up there.”
We got Laskowski settled in with the working gals at Sleepwalkin’ Cindy’s place, rustled up the city undertaker to take care of Betty Jean, and started looking for Bloody Bob again. We looked everywhere. For hours we looked. We checked all the places we previously looked and we found some more places to look, but we found nothing.
107
Lightning flashed as we entered Hotel Ark, and for a brief moment the animals on the walls looked eerily alive.
Berkeley’s two hands, Gabriel and Jesse, were leaning on the counter, playing blackjack with the front desk clerk, Burns, when we entered.
“No commotion?” Berkeley said to his men.
“Nothing,” Burns said.
Gabriel and Jesse shook their heads.
Berkeley nodded, turned to Virgil, and unbuttoned his slicker.
“Maybe the son of a bitch moved on,” Berkeley said.
Berkeley removed his hat and slicker and hung them on an antler coat rack next to the doors.
“Might be,” Virgil said.
“Murder and move,” I said. “Not unlike him.”
“Is,” Virgil said. “Gives him a sense of purpose.”
“Nobody has reported they’ve had a horse stolen,” Berkeley said.
I leaned my eight-gauge next to the door and took off my slicker.
“He might have had a horse already,” I said.
I shook rain from my slicker and hung it up on the antler rack next to Berkeley’s.
“Bloody Bob don’t really need a horse, though,” I said.
“Don’t,” Virgil said.
“Be more inclined to kill a horse before stealing one,” I said.
Virgil nodded. “Kill anything, anybody,” he said, kind of sad-like as he took off his slicker.
Virgil shook his head and hung his slicker on the rack. His hand remained on the slicker for a bit of time as he looked at the floor.
“Whiskey?” Berkeley said.
Virgil nodded slowly and looked to Berkeley.
“That sounds right,” Virgil said.
“Does,” Berkeley said.
I could tell Virgil was downhearted about the death of Betty Jean. What Bob really wanted was to kill Virgil. Killing Betty Jean was just Bob’s way of satisfying his bloodthirsty nature. If he couldn’t kill Virgil, he’d kill someone else, and Virgil was feeling the unpleasantness of that notion.
Berkeley opened up his bar. It was musky and stuffy when we walked in. Berkeley lit up a lamp and opened a set of French-style doors that looked onto the street, letting in some fresh air. The rain was coming down steady and a solid waterfall fell from the hotel eaves.
“We’ve been through this town pretty thorough,” Berkeley said.
“Have,” I said.
Berkeley went behind the bar. He got some glasses and a bottle of whiskey and set them on the bar in front of Virgil and me and poured.
“I’m good to get back out,” Berkeley said, “keep looking; just say the word, Virgil.”
Virgil did not say anything. He just looked at the glass of whiskey in front of him and threw it back. Berkeley poured another.
“He could have made it out to one of the mining camps,” Berkeley said.
“Hard to say where the son of a bitch is,” Virgil said.
Virgil sipped on his second shot. Berkeley poured me a second, and then he poured one for himself.
“You want to go back out?” Berkeley said. “Keep looking?”
“Not at the moment I don’t,” Virgil said. “Right now I’m gonna drink a bit of whiskey and smoke one of them Romeo and Julieta cigars.”