If you have never said "Excuse me" to a parking meter or bashed your shins on a fireplug, you are probably wasting too much valuable reading time.
Sherri Chasin Calvo
ePub
A4Chương 18
C
hapter 181
Horace Quinn was the new deputy sheriff appointed to look after things around the King City district.
He complained that his new job took him away from his ranch too much. His wife complained even
more, but the truth of the matter was that nothing much had happened in a criminal way since Horace
had been deputy. He had seen himself making a name for himself and running for sheriff. The sheriff
was an important officer. His job was less flighty than that of district attorney, almost as permanent
and dignified as superior court judge. Horace didn’t want to stay on the ranch all his life, and his wife
had an urge to live in Salinas where she had relatives.
When the rumors, repeated by the Indian and the carpenters, that Adam Trask had been shot
reached Horace, he saddled up right away and left his wife to finish butchering the pig he had killed
that morning.
Just north of the big sycamore tree where the Hester road turns off to the left, Horace met Julius
Euskadi. Julius was trying to decide whether to go quail hunting or to King City and catch the train to
Salinas to shake some of the dust out of his britches. The Euskadis were well-to-do, handsome people
of Basque extraction.
Julius said, “If you’d come along with me, I’d go into Salinas. They tell me that right next door to
Jenny’s, two doors from the Long Green, there’s a new place called Faye’s. I heard it was pretty nice,
run like San Francisco. They’ve got a piano player.”
Horace rested his elbow on his saddle horn and stirred a fly from his horse’s shoulder with his
rawhide quirt. “Some other time,” he said. “I’ve got to look into something.”
“You wouldn’t be going to Trask’s, would you?”
“That’s right. Did you hear anything about it?”
“Not to make any sense. I heard Mr. Trask shot himself in the shoulder with a forty-four and then
fired everybody on the ranch. How do you go about shooting yourself in the shoulder with a forty-four,
Horace?”
“I don’t know. Them Easterners are pretty clever. I thought I’d go up and find out. Didn’t his wife
just have a baby?”
“Twins, I heard,” said Julius. “Maybe they shot him.”
“One hold the gun and the other pull the trigger? Hear anything else?”
“All mixed up, Horace. Want some company?”
“I’m not going to deputize you, Julius. Sheriff says the supervisors are raising hell about the
payroll. Hornby out in the Alisal deputized his great aunt and kept her in posse three weeks just before
Easter.”
“You’re fooling!”
“No, I’m not. And you get no star.”
“Hell, I don’t want to be a deputy. Just thought I’d ride along with you for company. I’m curious.”
“Me too. Glad to have you, Julius. I can always fling the oath around your neck if there’s any
trouble. What do you say the new place is called?”
“Faye’s. Sacramento woman.”
“They do things pretty nice in Sacramento,” and Horace told how they did things in Sacramento as
they rode along.
It was a nice day to be riding. As they turned into the Sanchez draw they were cursing the bad
hunting in recent years. Three things are never any good—farming, fishing, and hunting—compared to
other years, that is. Julius was saying, “Christ, I wish they hadn’t killed off all the grizzly bears. In
eighteen-eighty my grandfather killed one up by Pleyto weighed eighteen hundred pounds.”
A silence came on them as they rode in under the oaks, a silence they took from the place itself.
There was no sound, no movement.
“I wonder if he finished fixing up the old house,” Horace said.
“Hell, no. Rabbit Holman was working on it, and he told me Trask called them all in and fired
them. Told them not to come back.”
“They say Trask has got a pot of money.”
“I guess he’s well fixed, all right,” said Julius. “Sam Hamilton is sinking four wells—if he didn’t
get fired too.”
“How is Mr. Hamilton? I ought to go up to see him.”
“He’s fine. Full of hell as ever.”
“I’ll have to go up and pay him a visit,” said Horace.
Lee came out on the stoop to meet them.
Horace said, “Hello, Ching Chong. Bossy man here?”
“He sick,” said Lee.
“I’d like to see him.”
“No see. He sick.”
“That’s enough of that,” said Horace. “Tell him Deputy Sheriff Quinn wants to see him.”
Lee disappeared, and in a moment he was back. “You come,” he said, “I take horsy.”
Adam lay in the four-poster bed where the twins had been born. He was propped high with pillows,
and a mound of home-devised bandages covered his left breast and shoulder. The room reeked of
Hall’s Cream Salve.
Horace said later to his wife, “And if you ever saw death still breathing, there it was.”
Adam’s cheeks hugged the bone and pulled the skin of his nose tight and slimy. His eyes seemed
to bulge out of his head and to take up the whole upper part of his face, and they were shiny with
sickness, intense and myopic. His bony right hand kneaded a fistful of coverlet.
Horace said, “Howdy, Mr. Trask. Heard you got hurt.” He paused, waiting for an answer. He went
on, “Just thought I’d drop around and see how you were doing. How’d it happen?”
A look of transparent eagerness came over Adam’s face. He shifted slightly in the bed.
“If it hurts to talk you can whisper,” Horace added helpfully.
“Only when I breathe deep,” Adam said softly. “I was cleaning my gun and it went off.”
Horace glanced at Julius and then back. Adam saw the look and a little color of embarrassment
rose in his cheeks.
“Happens all the time,” said Horace. “Got the gun around?”
“I think Lee put it away.”
Horace stepped to the door. “Hey there, Ching Chong, bring the pistol.”
In a moment Lee poked the gun butt-first through the door. Horace looked at it, swung the cylinder
out, poked the cartridges out, and smelled the empty brass cylinder of the one empty shell. “There’s
better shooting cleaning the damn things than pointing them. I’ll have to make a report to the county,
Mr. Trask. I won’t take up much of your time. You were cleaning the barrel, maybe with a rod, and the
gun went off and hit you in the shoulder?”
“That’s right, sir,” Adam said quickly.
“And cleaning it, you hadn’t swung out the cylinder?”
“That’s right.”
“And you were poking the rod in and out with the barrel pointed toward you with the hammer
cocked?”
Adam’s breath rasped in a quick intake.
Horace went on, “And it must have blowed the rod right through you and took off your left hand
too.” Horace’s pale sun-washed eyes never left Adam’s face. He said kindly, “What happened, Mr.
Trask? Tell me what happened.”
“I tell you truly it was an accident, sir.”
“Now you wouldn’t have me write a report like I just said. The sheriff would think I was crazy.
What happened?”
“Well, I’m not very used to guns. Maybe it wasn’t just like that, but I was cleaning it and it went
off.”
There was a whistle in Horace’s nose. He had to breathe through his mouth to stop it. He moved
slowly up from the foot of the bed, nearer to Adam’s head and staring eyes. “You came from the East
not very long ago, didn’t you, Mr. Trask?”
“That’s right. Connecticut.”
“I guess people don’t use guns very much there any more.”
“Not much.”
“Little hunting?”
“Some.”
“So you’d be more used to a shotgun?”
“That’s right. But I never hunted much.”
“I guess you didn’t hardly use a pistol at all, so you didn’t know how to handle it.”
“That’s right,” Adam said eagerly. “Hardly anybody there has a pistol.”
“So when you came here you bought that forty-four because everybody out here has a pistol and
you were going to learn how to use it.”
“Well, I thought it might be a good thing to learn.”
Julius Euskadi stood tensely, his face and body receptive, listening but uncommunicative.
Horace sighed and looked away from Adam. His eyes brushed over and past Julius and came back
to his hands. He laid the gun on the bureau and carefully lined the brass and lead cartridges beside it.
“You know,” he said, “I’ve only been a deputy a little while. I thought I was going to have some fun
with it and maybe in a few years run for sheriff. I haven’t got the guts for it. It isn’t any fun to me.”
Adam watched him nervously.
“I don’t think anybody’s ever been afraid of me before—mad at me, yes—but not afraid. It’s a
mean thing, makes me feel mean.”
Julius said irritably, “Get to it. You can’t resign right this minute.”
“The hell I can’t—if I want to. All right! Mr. Trask, you served in the United States Cavalry. The
weapons of the cavalry are carbines and pistols. You—” He stopped and swallowed. “What happened,
Mr. Trask?”
Adam’s eyes seemed to grow larger, and they were moist and edged with red. “It was an accident,”
he whispered.
“Anybody see it? Was your wife with you when it happened?”
Adam did not reply, and Horace saw that his eyes were closed. “Mr. Trask,” he said, “I know
you’re a sick man. I’m trying to make it as easy on you as I can. Why don’t you rest now while I have
a talk with your wife?” He waited a moment and then turned to the doorway, where Lee still stood.
“Ching Chong, tell Missy I would admire to talk to her for a few minutes.”
Lee did not reply.
Adam spoke without opening his eyes. “My wife is away on a visit.”
“She wasn’t here when it happened?” Horace glanced at Julius and saw a curious expression on
Julius’s lips. The corners of his mouth were turned slightly up in a sardonic smile. Horace thought
quickly, He’s ahead of me. He’d make a good sheriff. “Say,” he said, “that’s kind of interesting. Your
wife had a baby—two babies—two weeks ago, and now she’s gone on a visit. Did she take the babies
with her? I thought I heard them a little while ago.” Horace leaned over the bed and touched the back
of Adam’s clenched right hand. “I hate this, but I can’t stop now. Trask!” he said loudly, “I want you
to tell me what happened. This isn’t nosiness. This is the law. Now, damn it, you open your eyes and
tell me or, by Christ, I’ll take you in to the sheriff even if you are hurt.”
Adam opened his eyes, and they were blank like a sleepwalker’s eyes. And his voice came out
without rise or fall, without emphasis, and without any emotion. It was as though he pronounced
perfectly words in a language he did not understand.
“My wife went away,” he said.
“Where did she go?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know where she went.”
Julius broke in, speaking for the first time. “Why did she go?”
“I don’t know.”
Horace said angrily, “You watch it, Trask. You’re playing pretty close to the edge and I don’t like
what I’m thinking. You must know why she went away.”
“I don’t know why she went.”
“Was she sick? Did she act strange?”
“No.”
Horace turned. “Ching Chong, do you know anything about this?”
“I go King City Satdy. Come back mebbe twelve night. Find Missy Tlask on floor.”
“So you weren’t here when it happened?”
“No, ma’am.”
“All right, Trask, I’ll have to get back to you. Open up that shade a little, Ching Chong, so I can
see. There, that’s better. Now I’m going to do it your way first until I can’t any more. Your wife went
away. Did she shoot you?”
“It was an accident.”
“All right, an accident, but was the gun in her hand?”
“It was an accident.”
“You don’t make it very easy. But let’s say she went away and we have to find her—see?—like a
kid’s game. You’re making it that way. How long have you been married?”
“Nearly a year.”
“What was her name before you married her?”
There was a long pause, and then Adam said softly, “I won’t tell. I promised.”
“Now you watch it. Where did she come from?”
“I don’t know.”
“Mr. Trask, you’re talking yourself right into the county jail. Let’s have a description. How tall
was she?”
Adam’s eyes gleamed. “Not tall—little and delicate.”
“That’s just fine. What color hair? Eyes?”
“She was beautiful.”
“Was?”
“Is.”
“Any scars?”
“Oh, God, no. Yes—a scar on her forehead.”
“You don’t know her name, where she came from, where she went, and you can’t describe her.
And you think I’m a fool.”
Adam said, “She had a secret. I promised I wouldn’t ask her. She was afraid for someone.” And
without warning Adam began to cry. His whole body shook, and his breath made little high sounds. It
was hopeless crying.
Horace felt misery rising in him. “Come on in the other room, Julius,” he said and led the way into
the living room. “All right, Julius, tell me what you think. Is he crazy?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did he kill her?”
“That’s what jumped into my mind.”
“Mine too,” said Horace. “My God!” He hurried into the bedroom and came back with the pistol
and the shells. “I forgot them,” he apologized. “I won’t last long in this job.”
Julius asked, “What are you going to do?”
“Well, I think it’s beyond me. I told you I wouldn’t put you on the payroll, but hold up your right
hand.”
“I don’t want to get sworn in, Horace. I want to go to Salinas.”
“You don’t have any choice, Julius. I’ll have to arrest you if you don’t get your goddam hand up.”
Julius reluctantly put up his hand and disgustedly repeated the oath. “And that’s what I get for
keeping you company,” he said. “My father will skin me alive. All right, what do we do now?”
Horace said, “I’m going to run to papa. I need the sheriff. I’d take Trask in but I don’t want to
move him. You’ve got to stay, Julius. I’m sorry. Have you got a gun?”
“Hell, no.”
“Well, take this one, and take my star.” He unpinned it from his shirt and held it out.
“How long do you think you’ll be gone?”
“Not any longer than I can help. Did you ever see Mrs. Trask, Julius?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Neither did I. And I’ve got to tell the sheriff that Trask doesn’t know her name or anything. And
she’s not very big and she is beautiful. That’s one hell of a description! I think I’ll resign before I tell
the sheriff, because he’s sure as hell going to fire me afterward. Do you think he killed her?”
“How the hell do I know?”
“Don’t get mad.”
Julius picked up the gun and put the cartridges back in the cylinder and balanced it in his hand.
“You want an idea, Horace?”
“Don’t it look like I need one?”
“Well, Sam Hamilton knew her—he took the babies, Rabbit says. And Mrs. Hamilton took care of
her. Why don’t you ride out there on your way and find out what she really looked like.”
“I think maybe you better keep that star,” said Horace. “That’s good. I’ll get going.”
“You want me to look around?”
“I want you just to see that he doesn’t get away—or hurt himself. Understand? Take care of
yourself.”
2
About midnight Horace got on a freight train in King City. He sat up in the cab with the engineer, and
he was in Salinas the first thing in the morning. Salinas was the county seat, and it was a fast-growing
town. Its population was due to cross the two thousand mark any time. It was the biggest town
between San Jose and San Luis Obispo, and everyone felt that a brilliant future was in store for it.
Horace walked up from the Southern Pacific Depot and stopped in the Chop House for breakfast.
He didn’t want to get the sheriff out so early and rouse ill will when it wasn’t necessary. In the Chop
House he ran into young Will Hamilton, looking pretty prosperous in a salt-and-pepper business suit.
Horace sat down at the table with him. “How are you, Will?”
“Oh, pretty good.”
“Up here on business?”
“Well, yes, I do have a little deal on.”
“You might let me in on something sometime.” Horace felt strange talking like this to such a
young man, but Will Hamilton had an aura of success about him. Everybody knew he was going to be
a very influential man in the county. Some people exude their futures, good or bad.
“I’ll do that, Horace. I thought the ranch took all your time.”
“I could be persuaded to rent it if anything turned up.”
Will leaned over the table. “You know, Horace, our part of the county has been pretty much left
out. Did you ever think of running for office?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you’re a deputy—did you ever think of running for sheriff?”
“Why, no, I didn’t.”
“Well, you think about it. Just keep it under your hat. I’ll look you up in a couple of weeks and
we’ll talk about it. But keep it under your hat.”
“I’ll certainly do that, Will. But we’ve got an awful good sheriff.”
“I know. That’s got nothing to do with it. King City hasn’t got a single county officer—you see?”
“I see. I’ll think about it. Oh, by the way, I stopped by and saw your father and mother yesterday.”
Will’s face lighted up. “You did? How were they?”
“Just fine. You know, your father is a real comical genius.”
Will chuckled. “He made us laugh all the time we were growing up.”
“But he’s a smart man too, Will. He showed me a new kind of windmill he’s invented—
goddamnedest thing you ever saw.”
“Oh, Lord,” said Will, “here come the patent attorneys again!”
“But this is good,” said Horace.
“They’re all good. And the only people who make any money are the patent lawyers. Drives my
mother crazy.”
“I guess you’ve got a point there.”
Will said, “The only way to make any money is to sell something somebody else makes.”
“You’ve got a point there, Will, but this is the goddamnedest windmill you ever saw.”
“He took you in, did he, Horace?”
“I guess he did. But you wouldn’t want him to change, would you?”
“Oh, Lord, no!” said Will. “You think about what I said.”
“All right.”
“And keep it under your hat,” said Will.
The sheriff’s job was not an easy one, and that county which, out of the grab bag of popular
elections, pulled a good sheriff was lucky. It was a complicated position. The obvious duties of the
sheriff—enforcing the law and keeping the peace—were far from the most important ones. It was true
that the sheriff represented armed force in the county, but in a community seething with individuals a
harsh or stupid sheriff did not last long. There were water rights, boundary disputes, astray arguments,
domestic relations, paternity matters—all to be settled without force of arms. Only when everything
else failed did a good sheriff make an arrest. The best sheriff was not the best fighter but the best
diplomat. And Monterey County had a good one. He had a brilliant gift for minding his own business.
Horace went into the sheriff’s office in the old county jail about ten minutes after nine. The sheriff
shook hands and discussed the weather and the crops until Horace was ready to get down to business.
“Well, sir,” Horace said finally, “I had to come up to get your advice.” And he told his story in
great detail—what everybody had said and how they looked and what time it was—everything.
After a few moments the sheriff closed his eyes and laced his fingers together. He punctuated the
account occasionally by opening his eyes, but he made no comment.
“Well, there I was on a limb,” Horace said. “I couldn’t find out what happened. I couldn’t even
find out what the woman looked like. It was Julius Euskadi got the idea I should go to see Sam
Hamilton.”
The sheriff stirred, crossed his legs, and inspected the job. “You think he killed her.”
“Well, I did. But Mr. Hamilton kind of talked me out of it. He says Trask hasn’t got it in him to
kill anybody.”
“Everybody’s got it in him,” the sheriff said. “You just find his trigger and anybody will go off.”
“Mr. Hamilton told me some funny things about her. You know, when he was taking her babies she
bit him on the hand. You ought to see that hand, like a wolf got him.”
“Did Sam give you a description?”
“He did, and his wife did.” Horace took a piece of paper from his pocket and read a detailed
description of Cathy. Between the two of them the Hamiltons knew pretty much everything physical
there was to know about Cathy.
When Horace finished the sheriff sighed. “They both agreed about the scar?”
“Yes, they did. And both of them remarked about how sometimes it was darker than other times.”
The sheriff closed his eyes again and leaned back in his chair. Suddenly he straightened up, opened
a drawer of his rolltop desk, and took out a pint of whisky. “Have a drink,” he said.
“Don’t mind if I do. Here’s looking at you.” Horace wiped his mouth and handed back the pint.
“Got any ideas?” he asked.
The sheriff took three big swallows of whisky, corked the pint, and put it back in the drawer before
he replied. “We’ve got a pretty well-run county,” he said. “I get along with the constables, give them a
hand when they need it, and they help me out when I need it. You take a town growing like Salinas,
and strangers in and out all the time—we could have trouble if we didn’t watch it pretty close. My
office gets along fine with the local people.” He looked Horace in the eye. “Don’t get restless. I’m not
making a speech. I just want to tell you how it is. We don’t drive people. We’ve got to live with
them.”
“Did I do something wrong?”
“No, you didn’t, Horace. You did just right. If you hadn’t come to town or if you had brought Mr.
Trask in, we’d of been in one hell of a mess. Now hold on. I’m going to tell you—”
“I’m listening,” said Horace.
“Over across the tracks down by Chinatown there’s a row of whorehouses.”
“I know that.”
“Everybody knows it. If we closed them up they’d just move. The people want those houses. We
keep an eye on them so not much bad happens. And the people that run those houses keep in touch
with us. I’ve picked up some wanted men from tips I got down there.”
Horace said, “Julius told me—”
“Now wait a minute. Let me get all this said so we won’t have to go back over it. About three
months ago a fine-looking woman came in to see me. She wanted to open a house here and wanted to
do it right. Came from Sacramento. Ran a place there. She had letters from some pretty important
people—straight record—never had any trouble. A pretty damn good citizen.”
“Julius told me. Name of Faye.”
“That’s right. Well, she opened a nice place, quiet, well run. It was about time old Jenny and the
Nigger had some competition. They were mad as hell about it, but I told them just what I told you. It’s
about time they had some competition.”
“There’s a piano player.”
“Yes, there is. Good one too—blind fella. Say, are you going to let me tell this?”
“I’m sorry,” said Horace.
“That’s all right. I know I’m slow but I’m thorough. Anyways, Faye turned out to be just what she
looks like, a good solid citizen. Now there’s one thing a good quiet whorehouse is more scared of than
anything else. Take a flighty randy girl runs off from home and goes in a house. Her old man finds her
and he begins to shovel up hell. Then the churches get into it, and the women, and pretty soon that
whorehouse has got a bad name and we’ve got to close it up. You understand?”
“Yeah!” Horace said softly.
“Now don’t get ahead of me. I hate to tell something you already thought out. Faye sent me a note
Sunday night. She’s got a girl and she can’t make much out of her. What puzzles Faye is that this kid
looks like a runaway girl except she’s a goddam good whore. She knows all the answers and all the
tricks. I went down and looked her over. She told me the usual bull, but I can’t find a thing wrong with
her. She’s of age and nobody’s made a complaint.” He spread his hands. “Well, there it is. What do we
do about it?”
“You’re pretty sure it’s Mrs. Trask?”
The sheriff said, “Wide-set eyes, yellow hair, and a scar on her forehead, and she came in Sunday
afternoon.”
Adam’s weeping face was in Horace’s mind. “God all mighty! Sheriff, you got to get somebody
else to tell him. I’ll quit before I do.”
The sheriff gazed into space. “You say he didn’t even know her name, where she came from. She
really bullshitted him, didn’t she?”
“The poor bastard,” Horace said. “The poor bastard is in love with her. No, by God, somebody else
has got to tell him. I won’t.”
The sheriff stood up. “Let’s go down to the Chop House and get a cup of coffee.”
They walked along the street in silence for a while. “Horace,” the sheriff said, “if I told some of
the things I know, this whole goddam county would go up in smoke.”
“I guess that’s right.”
“You said she had twins?”
“Yeah, twin boys.”
“You listen to me, Horace. There’s only three people in the world that knows—her and you and
me. I’m going to warn her that if she ever tells I’ll brush her ass out of this county so fast it’ll burn.
And, Horace—if you should ever get an itchy tongue, before you tell anybody, even your wife, why,
you think about those little boys finding out their mother is a whore.”
3
Adam sat in his chair under the big oak tree. His left arm was expertly bandaged against his side so
that he could not move his shoulder. Lee came out carrying the laundry basket. He set it on the ground
beside Adam and went back inside.
The twins were awake, and they both looked blindly and earnestly up at the wind-moved leaves of
the oak tree. A dry oak leaf came whirling down and landed in the basket. Adam leaned over and
picked it out.
He didn’t hear Samuel’s horse until it was almost upon him, but Lee had seen him coming. He
brought a chair out and led Doxology away toward the shed.
Samuel sat down quietly, and he didn’t trouble Adam by looking at him too much, and he didn’t
trouble him by not looking at him. The wind freshened in the treetops and a fringe of it ruffled
Samuel’s hair. “I thought I’d better get back to the wells,” Samuel said softly.
Adam’s voice had gone rusty from lack of use. “No,” he said, “I don’t want any wells. I’ll pay for
the work you did.”
Samuel leaned over the basket and put his finger against the small palm of one of the twins and the
fingers closed and held on. “I guess the last bad habit a man will give up is advising.”
“I don’t want advice.”
“Nobody does. It’s a giver’s present. Go through the motions, Adam.”
“What motions?”
“Act out being alive, like a play. And after a while, a long while, it will be true.”
“Why should I?” Adam asked.
Samuel was looking at the twins. “You’re going to pass something down no matter what you do or
if you do nothing. Even if you let yourself go fallow, the weeds will grow and the brambles.
Something will grow.”
Adam did not answer, and Samuel stood up. “I’ll be back,” he said. “I’ll be back again and again.
Go through the motions, Adam.”
In the back of the shed Lee held Doxology while Sam mounted. “There goes your bookstore, Lee,”
he said.
“Oh, well,” said the Chinese, “maybe I didn’t want it much anyway.”
