Dutch Uncle Page 5

  To his left was a stair leading up. Paco and Urraca dawdled on it, running their inky fingers up and down the white banister spindles, Jake remained standing in the middle of the hall with the patience of his trade, listening to the silence and watching the door at the back of the parlor.

  After five minutes a woman opened it and sauntered across the game room toward him. She was tall and plump, with a milky skin and still-uncombed carroty hair. She was dressed in a purple-and-gold silk Chinese robe of appalling gorgeousness, and she sucked vigorously on an orange that was only a shade or two lighter than her hair. She drained it of the last of its sweetness, her cheeks hollow with the effort, skinned out a strip of pulp with her teeth, and tossed the rest into an ash tray, wiping her fingers delicately on her hips.

  ‘Good morning, or afternoon — whatever it is. What’s the joke?’ she asked pleasantly enough, while her eyes gave him a thoroughly professional examination.

  ‘No joke, Mrs—’

  ‘Moon. Delia Moon. What’s yours?’

  ‘Hollander,’

  ‘Pleased to meet you. I don’t get many calls from such devoted family men.’ She was looking at the two children now. Paco smiled at her toothlessly when she winked at him.

  ‘That’s the whole point of my visit, Mrs Moon. They’re not mine.’

  ‘No? Well, they’re real cute, anyway. Whose are they?’

  ‘Yours.’

  She spat three orange seeds into her palm with deliberation and cast them away.

  ‘Take that bone to another dog, honey, like the greasers say around here. I never saw them before in my life.’

  ‘No? Well, according to them, they’re your niece and nephew. And according to the sheriff in Tucson their mother was headed for your place when she died suddenly. I was delegated to bring them along to you.’

  She ran one hand through last night’s coiffure, yawning. ‘I know this is some kind of flimflam, mister, but I’m still too sleepy to figure it out. Why don’t you just tell me the catch and save us both some time?’

  ‘The mother’s name was Robles. A new employee, maybe?’ She sucked orange pulp out of a tooth, her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. ‘Robles? I nev— Wait, now. Gringo Rosie? Is that who you mean? Rosie, uh — Rosita — Rosana Robles?’ She gave a peculiar little coughing laugh. ‘Sure, I knew her. I just never thought about her having a last name.’

  ‘She had a letter from you, addressed to her as Robles.’ She bridled at that. ‘Not from me, she didn’t. I haven’t seen her or thought about her for years. I never even knew she had a couple of kids, if that gives you any idea. You say she’s dead? That’s a shame. What’d she die from?’ Jake shrugged. Medical details bored him. The woman ruminated for another moment. ‘Look, mister, you want some coffee? I haven’t had mine yet, and I’m a dummy without it. Angelma!’ She bawled over her shoulder. ‘Bring some coffee, in here.’ She waved him to a chair.

  Jake shook his head. ‘Thanks, but I don’t have the time. I’m just passing through town on the way south. I brought them to you, like the sheriff asked me. Whatever money their mother might have had I guess he took, to bury her. I’ve got her bag and purse, but there’s nothing in them. The kids ran up a little bill on the way, if you’d like to settle it now.’ He reached into his vest pocket for the scrap of paper on which he had made a list of their share of his travel expenses.

  She was staring at him as he unfolded the paper. Suddenly she laughed, a genuine lilting sound, though a bit loud. She put her hands on her hips and threw back her head, pealing out like a rather pretty fishwife.

  ‘You really think you can waltz in here and palm those little scuts off on me, don’t you, Highpockets? You must think I just got off the boat. Who are you, anyway, Rosie’s new easy man? Well, if you want to get rid of her kids, take them down the street to that big mud hut and sell them to Sánchez. He’ll buy anything! Then tell your brass-assed girl friend I said she’s as dumb as she ever was. Trying to play dead, and thinking I could be sucked into taking her brats after what she and her—’ She brayed again, angrily now.

  Jake didn’t laugh.

  ‘The Robles woman is dead and buried in Tucson. Her kids had a ticket to come here, and I brought them. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a stage to catch.’ He dropped the paper on the floor and turned to go. Behind him the Irish laughter died.

  ‘Wait just a minute, mister. Don’t think you can walk out of here and leave those brown brats on my step — you can’t! They’re nothing to me.’

  He grinned back at her. ‘Or to me either, sweetheart. Looks like you’re stuck with them. Unless you can get me arrested.’ He glanced at the stairs as he approached, but the children were gone.

  A scream of outrage from upstairs told him where they were. There was a second scream, followed by a chorus of curses in two languages and a crash of crockery. Feet trampled the floor above. Delia Moon pushed past him and took three jumps up the stairs before an enraged female face was thrust over the upper railing at her.

  ‘What’s the matter up there, Chica?’

  ‘What’s the matter is that I got two goddamn chicos runnin’ into my room while I got a customer, and he don’ like it so much to have company come and watch him while he’s trying to—’ She made a wry face. ‘It’s old man Patterson,’ she confided in an earsplitting whisper. ‘You know he likes to come in while there am’ nobody else around.’

  ‘What got broke?’

  ‘Oh, I threw that ugly vase that Jimmy gave me at them, and it hit the door. Chipped the paint a little, siento.’

  ‘Where’d they go?’

  ‘I don’t know. Down the back stairs, I guess. If they run into Angelina, tell her I like her to bust their heads together, just for me.’ She retreated to soothe her flustered client.

  ‘Angelina!’ Delia roared again. ‘Hold on there, High-pockets, now I got a bit of a, bill for you. Let’s see. One imported vase — from Nogales, that is — at maybe two bits. One busted paint job on my new door — two dollars. That’s one for the paint and one for the painter. One embarrassed customer who’s probably lost the calling card he came in with, and at his age won’t be able to find another one like it for a month. I don’t know what to charge for him, because that sort of thing is priceless.’ She started to laugh again, leaning on the newel post. Jake smiled back at her reluctantly, his hand on the doorknob.

  ‘What are you, really? Some kind of dealer?’ she asked. He gave a bare nod. ‘That’s what I thought. Did I insult you when I called you Rosie’s easy man? Well, maybe I’m going to insult you again. You couldn’t be. You’re not her taste. Is she really dead?’ He gave assent to that. ‘Well, that’s too bad. And you say she died broke?’ Her chocolate eyes studied him. ‘She was a real good-looking girl the last time I saw her, but she had a weakness for big blond Americanos. That’s how she got her name, Gringo Rosie. She was all india, that girl. You really didn’t know her?’ He shook his head and turned the knob a little. ‘Tch. There really is one born every minute, like the man used to say.

  ‘Listen, what’s-your-name — Hollander. If you’re a dealer, and a good one, I’ve got a spot for you right here. The man I’ve got now has been tipping up his glass more than I like to see. I don’t have anything against drinking in the proper place, which is the customer’s side of the table, but a drunk dealer is like a whore with the hiccups — it spoils the action. You drink?’

  ‘Only when I’m sober.’

  ‘I could get along with you, Highpockets. You want the job? It beats peddling kids.’

  He shook his head again gently. ‘This is my day to turn down good jobs. I worked in a parlor house once. I think I’d rather pass out temperance tracts at an Irish wake.’

  She was laughing at that as he went out the door. His own laugh was silent but more satisfying, since it was the last one, he thought. He had rid himself of the brats. She had them somewhere in that house, hiding in a closet, maybe. And she had forgotten them for a moment while she tried out her fi
ne brown Irish eyes on him.

  He wondered if she still worked at her trade, or just played the lady madam. Dressed in something less garish than that sleazy wrapper, she would be a good-looking woman. He also wotidered where she’d got the money to build such a place. She looked a little young to have earned it all herself.

  A heavy rumble in the street ahead of him made him glance up, then start forward with a yell. But he was too late. The damned stage had left on time, without him.

  5

  He sat in Hernando Sánchez’s place, with his back to the wall out of old habit, smoking one of the late Señora Robles’s little black cigars. He had fastidiously moved the chair away from the wall because of the random parade of cockroaches that galloped up and down the mellow clay.

  Paco and Urraca slept with their heads on the table, behind an array of ravaged bowls and beer mugs. Paco’s lip was swollen and wine colored where it had met the back of Jake’s hand. For this Jake’s conscience smote him and added to the bleakness of his mood.

  He had never considered himself to be a potential child beater or dog kicker, but the timely arrival of the two little whelps at his heels just as he was absorbing his defeat by the departed stage had been too much for him. He had stopped Paco’s cheerful mouth with a hand that moved faster than his brain at that moment. That worried him, too.

  The whorehouse cook had caught them, put tacos in their hands, and turned them out the back door in time to run after him. To make amends for the blow he had fed them, and fed them again. They had raced through the streets all afternoon with a cannibalistic-looking brood of brats from behind the cantina, and now they slept. Their presence beside him had helped to fend off Sánchez’s laundresses, and the scowl on his face had discouraged even Sánchez. He had been sitting there for hours sipping tequila and smoking up Gringo Rosie’s last cigars.

  When Clement Hand swung through the door Jake gave him no sign of recognition until he had pulled up a chair beside him.

  ‘Sit down,’ Jake said belatedly.

  Clem was looking pleased. ‘I’ve been searching for you, Dutch. I heard you missed your stage.’

  Suspicion began to form in Jake’s mind. ‘Yeah. The driver took off like somebody turpentined him.’

  ‘They have very strict schedules to keep to, or they lose their contract for the mails. It’s too bad. For you, I mean. But otherwise, I was wondering if you’ve had time to think over what we talked about earlier?’ He wore thick-lensed spectacles that magnified his pale blue eyes.

  ‘About me becoming the town bearkeeper? What is there to think over?’

  ‘Does Deel’s offer suit you better? It might not be impossible to combine the two, I suppose.’

  Jake looked at him with interest for the first time. ‘How did you hear about that? Don’t tell me that Carrie lets you be buddies with the head whore?’

  Clem looked evasive. ‘Delia Moon is a member of the Citizens’ League.’ He let Jake laugh at that, his own eyes shifting away to the bar. Sánchez caught the look and sent one of his drabs to the table with a bottle and a glass. For some reason Jake was surprised.

  ‘You’re a regular customer down here, too, aren’t you?’

  ‘I come in sometimes. Sánchez hears everything that happens for miles around. He’s as good as a straight wire for a newspaperman.’ He poured and swallowed quickly. ‘I came in tonight because I was looking for you. I wanted you to know that I called a meeting of the Citizens’ League this afternoon and told them about you. I know — you’re not interested in a permanent job — but I told them, anyway. I thought that since you missed the stage, you might like to know they would all be dead pleased to get you for town marshal, even temporarily. I even got them to raise the salary quite a bit, on the strength of your experience and reputation.’

  ‘Reputation!’

  ‘That’s fifty dollars a month and a dollar a day for any prisoners: twice what the last man got. And there’s a little room in the jail where you could sleep rent free. You could be on to a good thing here, Dutch. Especially if Delia—’

  ‘The only good thing I want to be on to here is the next stage out,’ muttered Jake, thinking of that woman’s laughter.

  Clem sighed, his fingers beginning to tap out some meditative code on the tabletop. He looked at the sleeping children. ‘What are you going to do about them?’

  ‘Nothing.’ This wasn’t enough for Clem. ‘I go. They stay,’ Jake told him. ‘Simple. Maybe your Citizens’ League would like to take over for me. It’d give them something else to have meetings about.’

  ‘You could do that? Just go off and leave them here?’

  ‘They’re not my kids. They’re up for grabs and that’s too bad, but it isn’t my fault. Do you want them? Madam Moon doesn’t. Take them home to Carrie. I remember how she used to get worked up over worn-out horses and stray dogs. If she still does, this is her meat.’

  ‘Oh, Dutch.’ Clem sighed as if in shame for him. Then, ‘We don’t have the room.’

  ‘Ah!’

  Clem chose to ignore the irony in that one syllable. ‘Well, I’m sorry if I’ve intruded on your privacy, Dutch, but I just couldn’t let the right man for our job go without trying one more time.’ He seemed to be on the point of leaving the table, then changed his mind and leaned back again. ‘You sure do stir up my curiosity, though. You know how it is with newspapermen.’ There was a look of amusement on his face that faded as he studied Jake.

  ‘What bothers you?’

  ‘Oh — why you left Willow Bend without a word to anyone. Why you left a profession you were born for, to gamble for a living, when you had the respect and admiration of a whole county—’

  ‘And a salary of twenty dollars a month.’

  ‘That wasn’t bad money for a young man in sixty-two.’

  ‘It depends on what you had to do for it.’

  ‘What do you mean? You did what you had to do, well enough. The way you could use a gun was the reason you had the job.’

  ‘Oh, it wasn’t that I minded shooting people, Hand,’ Jake said sarcastically. ‘There just wasn’t enough sport in killing crippled kids that were sicked on me by you and your damned paper.’

  Clem turned red and began to blink his weak eyes in a nervous way that Jake remembered and detested. ‘Sicked on you? The Yaeger kid was a mean-tempered little punk who used that leg of his as an excuse for everything. He tried to kill you just to make himself a reputation.’

  ‘And who gave him the idea it would? You did!’

  ‘Dutch, I didn’t—’

  ‘Don’t call me, Dutch, damn it! That was another one of your inventions. “How Dutch Hollander Tamed the McNaughton Gang”! There was no McNaughton gang. There was a bunch of red-necked farmers in a personal fight with a ragged-assed jayhawker named Benson who ran off their stock and put buckshot into their prize bull. You made him look like the victim; you made a little back-forty fight look like the Mexican War; and you tried to make me look like Tom Smith cleaning up Abilene singlehanded. “Killed Six of Them Without Reloading”! For Christ’s sake, no wonder that little bastard couldn’t resist me. He’d been picking off prairie dogs with a Walker Colt since he was twelve years old.’

  ‘He wouldn’t have thought any more of picking you off the same way! And you did kill six of the McNaughtons. I didn’t exaggerate that.’

  ‘And Jesus walked on the water!’

  Clem blinked and tapped for a few seconds, then poured himself another drink. Jake was beginning to feel embarrassed for allowing himself to feel so much resentment against an ancient abuse. In fact, his own outburst had surprised him. Clem was watching him closely. After a moment the amused look returned to his eyes. His mouth quirked.

  ‘Dutch—’

  ‘Jake!’

  ‘Jake, then. I must say, I imagined a lot of reasons why you left Willow Bend so suddenly, but I never thought of outraged modesty. Is it too late for me to print a retraction?’

  Jake’s snort of amusement blew all
the tension out of the atmosphere. They drank together, and Jake, at least, did not notice the rapt attention being paid to their conversation by several people in the cantina, including Sánchez.

  ‘So you’ll be off on the next stage,’ Clem mused. ‘Where are you going, if you don’t mind saying?’

  ‘Down to El Paso to buy half interest in a saloon, if I like it. Someplace else, if I don’t,’ Jake answered without rancor. ‘Put it in your paper if you like. “Famous Former Second Deputy Sheriff Passes Through Arredondo. Stops Long Enough to Abandon Orphans and Disappoint Do-Gooders. Hopes Dashed He Would Stay and Die Here.” How’s that?’

  ‘A three-line banner? Not bad, for an amateur. Maybe I’ll run it. So you’re going to become a saloonkeeper? That takes quite a bit of money, doesn’t it? Do you have that kind of money on you, Jake? I guess you must have. You don’t look like a man who’d write checks. You must be walking pretty heavy. Better be careful while you’re here. You know we don’t have any law around here.’ He smiled blandly. ‘Sorry. None of my business, is it? Let’s change the subject again. Where are you going to stay while you wait for that stage? There’s no hotel here, either, though Ezra French keeps talking about building one.’

  Jake looked around with distaste. ‘Anyplace would be better than here, I guess. But I can manage for tonight.’

  ‘Tonight? What will you do the rest of the time?’

  ‘What rest of the time?’

  ‘Why, you don’t think that stages run through here like carriages on the streets of San Francisco?’

  ‘When’s the next one come in?’

  ‘Didn’t Sánchez tell you? We get four a month. Two going west and north, two going east and south. The next two are due in a couple of weeks, but they’re going back the way you came. You won’t see another one for El Paso for a month.’