At these words Charlie swallowed, and his gladness from a moment earlier vanished from his face. ‘What in the hell are you talking about?’ he asked. ‘Would you explain it to me, please? Firstly, what would we tell the Commodore when we got back?’
‘We would tell him the truth, that Morris defected with Warm, their whereabouts unknown. We could never be expected to find them without any clue to lead or guide us.’
‘At the very least, the Commodore would expect us to check Warm’s claim.’
‘Yes, and we could say we did and found nothing. Or if you would rather, we could actually visit the place on our return trip. We know Warm won’t be there, after all. My point is, if it’s only the diary’s contents that impels us to continue, then let us burn the book and carry on as though we never laid eyes upon it.’
‘And what if the diary isn’t the only thing that impels us?’
‘It is the only thing that impels me.’
‘What is your actual proposition, brother?’
I said, ‘Between the Mayfield stash, and our savings back home, we have enough to quit the Commodore once and for all.’
‘And why would we do something like that?’
‘It seemed you were for it, before. You have never thought about quitting?’
‘Every man that has ever held a position has thought about quitting.’
‘We have enough to stop it, Charlie.’
‘Stop it and do what?’ He picked a piece of fat from his teeth and flung this onto his plate. ‘Are you trying to ruin my dinner?’
‘We could open the store together,’ I said.
‘What the? What store?’
‘We have had a long go of it, and we both have our health and some of our youth left. Here is our chance to get out.’
He was becoming progressively frustrated by my words, and would shortly drop his fist on the table and lash out at me, truly. But just as he was reaching the point of actual anger, some inner thought calmed him and he returned to sawing his steak. He ate with a full appetite while my food turned cold and when he was finished he called for the check and paid for both plates, despite the cost. I was prepared, then, for him to say something hurtful at the conclusion of the meal, and he did. Draining the last of his wineglass he spoke: ‘We have established, anyway, that you wish to stop. So stop.’
‘Do you mean to say I would stop but you would continue on?’
He nodded. ‘Of course, I would need a new partner. Rex has asked for work in the past, perhaps he could come along.’
‘Rex?’ I said. ‘Rex is like a talking dog.’
‘He is obedient like a dog.’
‘He has the brains of a dog.’
‘I could bring Sanchez.’
At this I coughed, and a trickle of wine flowed from my nostril. ‘Sanchez?’ I sputtered. ‘Sanchez?’
‘Sanchez is a good shot.’
I held my stomach and laughed. ‘Sanchez!’
‘I am merely thinking aloud,’ Charlie said, reddening. ‘It might take some time to find someone suitable. But you’ve made your decision, and that is fine by me. It will be welcome news to the Commodore, also.’ He lit a cigar and sat back in his chair. ‘We will continue with this job and part ways after its completion.’
‘Why do you say it like that? Part ways?’
‘I will stay on with the Commodore and you will turn clerk.’
‘But do you mean to say we won’t see each other?’
‘I’ll see you when I come through Oregon City. Whenever I need a shirt, or some underthings, I will be there.’ He stood and stepped away from the table and I thought, Does he actually want me to stop, or is he merely tricking me into continuing by goading me along? I studied his carriage for the answer to this; I received a clue when his brow unknotted and his spine went slack—he was pitying me, in all my wounded wretchedness. He said, ‘Tomorrow morning we will ride out to find Warm and Morris. Let us finish the job and see where we stand afterward.’ He turned and walked from the restaurant. The elegant waiter appeared beside me, inhaling windily as I stood to go, for my meal was all but untouched, and he was insulted that such beautiful food should go to waste. ‘Sir!’ he called after me, his tone richly indignant. ‘Sir! Sir!’ Ignoring him, I walked into the wildness of the San Francisco night: Swaying lanterns on passing carts, a whip’s constant recoil, the smell of manure and burned oil, and a ceaseless, all-around caterwauling.
I returned to the room to sleep and saw no more of Charlie until morning, when I awoke to find him fully dressed and washed, clean shaven and pink cheeked; his movements were sharp and alert and I felt a hopefulness that this change in his temperament was related somehow to our argument of the previous evening, that he had elected to remain relatively sober and to rise early so I might by association have a better time of it, and that we might view the job from the moral standpoint. But now I saw his pistol handles were gleaming in their holsters—he had cleaned and polished them, as was his habit prior to the completion of an assignment. His decision to pass a peaceful night without excessive drinking was not done to please or soothe me but so that he might be fully present for the probable murder of Warm and Morris. I rose from the bed and sat at the table across from him. I found I could not face him, and he said, ‘It will never do, your pouting like this.’
‘I’m not pouting.’
‘It’s pouting, all right. You can pick it up again just as soon as the job’s done, but for now you’re going to have to cork it.’
‘I tell you I’m not.’
‘You can’t even look at me.’
I looked. And it was as though there was nothing in the world wrong with him, his manner was perfectly at ease. I imagined what he in turn was seeing in me, hair wild, rubbery belly pushing against an unclean undershirt, eyes red and filled with hurt and mistrust. It came over me all at once, then: I was not an efficient killer. I was not and had never been and would never be. Charlie had been able to make use of my temper was all; he had manipulated me, exploited my personality, just as a man prods a rooster before a cockfight. I thought, How many times have I pulled my pistol on a stranger and fired a bullet into his body, my heart a mad drum of outrage, for the lone reason that he was firing at Charlie, and my very soul demanded I protect my own flesh and blood? And I had said Rex was a dog? Charlie and the Commodore, the two of them together, putting me to work that would see me in hell. I had a vision of them in the great man’s parlor, their heads enshrouded in smoke, laughing at me as I sat on my comical horse in the ice and rain outside. This had actually taken place; I knew it to be the truth. It had happened and would happen again, just as long as I allowed it.
I said, ‘This is the last job for me, Charlie.’
He answered without so much as a flinch: ‘Just as you say, brother.’
And the rest of the morning in that room, packing and washing and preparing for our travels—not another word exchanged between us.
Chapter 42
The hand met me at the stable door.
‘How is he?’ I asked.
‘He slept well. Not sure how he’ll ride, but he’s doing better than I figured he might.’ He handed me a bottle of alcohol. ‘Twice a day,’ he said. ‘Morning and night, till you run out. Make sure you tie him to something when you do it. Just douse him and run, is my thought.’
‘Have you doused him today?’
‘No, and I do not plan to. I did it just the once to show you the way, but from here on, it’s all yours.’