Blue-Eyed Devil by Robert B. Parker Page A

anything.
    “God help me,” the general said.
    His big-boned gray was a stallion, with a black mane and tail. I wondered if he was the one that had been after the Appaloosa’s mares. He was so big a horse that the general was high above us, the reins slack over the saddle horn, hands folded on top of them, the knuckles white with effort. He didn’t seem to be carrying a weapon.
    “He thought he was faster than he was, sir,” Virgil said.
    The general was shaking his head slowly left, right, left, right.
    “Wasn’t me,” Virgil said. “It was gonna be somebody.”
    “He died standing up,” I said. “Facing the man who killed him.”
    “You . . . think . . . that matters . . . to . . . me?” the general said.
    “No, sir,” Virgil said. “Probably don’t. But there ain’t much else to say.”
    He shook his head some more. Left, right. Left, right.
    “My son’s dead, Cole, and you’re not,” the general said.
    “That ain’t right.”
    He seemed to be having trouble with his breath.
    “I could, I’d kill you where you’re sitting. But you’re too fast.”
    His breath was harsh.
    “But I’ll make it happen,” he rasped, “if I have to shoot you in the back.”
    Nobody spoke. The general struggled with his breath for moment, and then wheeled the stallion and rode off down the street.
    “Think he means it?” I said.
    “Not about shooting me in the back,” Virgil said. “I expect he can’t. Man like him. Be against the rules.”
    “Those rules again,” I said.
    “He pretty surely got more than I do,” Virgil said. “He’ll find another way.”
    “Hire somebody?” I said.
    “S’pect he might,” Virgil said.

24
    C HIEF CALLICO stopped by our place of business, outside the Boston House, where Virgil and I were looking at the town and drinking coffee. He sat with us. He was neighborly Amos today.
    “By God, Virgil,” he said. “You’ve put me in a bind.”
    “Weren’t my intention,” Virgil said.
    He sipped his coffee and looked over the rim of the mug past the rooftops of the town, at the higher country to the west. The land was mostly brown, with some moments of green, where there was water.
    “Horatio Laird is the most important man in this part of the country,” Callico said.
    “I believe he is,” Virgil said.
    “Did you have to kill his only son?” Callico said.
    “I did,” Virgil said.
    “He’s pressing me real hard about it,” Callico said.
    “Wants me arrested,” Virgil said.
    “He wants that very bad,” Callico said.
    “Can’t say I blame him,” Virgil said.
    Tilda came out with a pot of coffee and poured some for us.
    “Tilda,” Virgil said. “Why don’t you get a cup for our friend Amos here.”
    “Yessir, Mr. Cole,” Tilda said.
    “But we both know I can’t arrest you,” Callico said.
    He took the cup from Tilda and held it while she poured.
    “You got fifty eyewitnesses that it was self-defense,” Callico said.
    “Didn’t know it was that many,” Virgil said. “You know that, Everett?”
    “Knew there were enough,” I said.
    “I got plans,” Callico said. “I’m trying to enforce the law in this town, and do it in a way will help me with those plans, you understand?”
    “Heard you was aiming for president,” Virgil said.
    “And, by God, I’d be a good one, Virgil,” Callico said.
    “But there’s some stops ’fore we get there. And I got to make them.”
    “And you don’t get to make them,” I said, “arresting people and having to turn them loose.”
    “Correct. And I don’t make them unless I enforce the law right,” Callico said. “And I don’t make them unless I got support from important people, like General Laird.”
    “And right now you’re in a squeeze,” I said.
    “You see that,” Callico said.
    Virgil drank some more coffee.
    “Everett went to West Point,” he said.
    “Smart fella,” Callico said. “Both of you are smart fellas. You give me any support you can, I’ll appreciate it, and I’ll