“Isn’t there some other way to do this?”
“Look to the east, señor. It is there where all life begins. No, do not look back at me. Concentrate on the horizon and the dust and the rain blowing in the sky. That is where you are going. It is not bad.” The general moved his right hand from his crutch and lifted a heavy revolver from his holster. His eyes were recessed deep in his face, like marbles pressed inside tallow, a drop of spittle or snuff on his lip.
“You dealt it for both of us, General. Sorry, there’s some people you just cain’t cure of their rowdy ways,” Hackberry said. “I guess that says it all for both of us.” He pulled the derringer from his back pocket and fired the first barrel into the general’s chest and the second barrel through the junior officer’s neck. Before the enlisted men could react, Hackberry took the revolver from the general’s hand. It was a Merwin Hulbert double-action .44. Both of the enlisted men were dark-skinned and sloe-eyed and had the dull-witted resentful expressions of men for whom life had always been a trap, no matter whose interests they served.
“¡Bejan las armas!” Hackberry said.
They stared at him, their lips parted, their teeth exposed, generations of anger sealed in their faces.
“Suben los brazos,” he said.
“No entiendo,” one said, and smiled sardonically.
Hackberry shot and killed them both, the two reports as hard as a slap on his right ear, his palm stinging with the recoil.
HE WALKED TO the front of the house, the pistol hanging from his hand. There was no movement inside. Someone had released the white horses from their harnesses, and they were eating from a trough hollowed out of a log not far away. He crossed the veranda and opened the door. Beatrice DeMolay was standing with her girls in the parlor. The girls’ faces contained the empty look of people who believe the revelation of their thoughts can bring catastrophe upon them. He pushed the revolver down in his belt. “Why are y’all so afraid of me?” he said.
None of them would speak.
“Answer me,” he said.
“You killed them all?” the woman said.
“My selections were limited.”
“The general, too?”
“I’d say he’s pretty dead. Tell these girls I won’t hurt them.”
“You tell them.”
“They won’t believe me. They’ll believe you. That’s the way they’ve been taught to think. That’s not of my doing.”
“You’ve interfered in the Austrian’s business affairs. You’ve made a mistake.”
“What time is the Austrian due here?”
“He comes when he comes,” she replied.
“Does the hearse contain firearms?”
“Of course.”
“I cain’t figure you. How long have you been running a hot-pillow joint?”
“Don’t refer to me in that fashion.”
“Excuse me.”
“The general stole the weapons and ammunition from Villa. He was going to sell them to the Austrian. The Austrian’s name is Arnold Beckman. He will probably sell the guns back to Villa. Do not be here when he arrives.”
“I wouldn’t challenge your estimation of your clientele, Miz DeMolay. Give me food and let me take a bath. I’ll leave.”
“You have ears that do not hear and eyes that do not see.”
“I know I have my shortcomings, but I’ll be damned if I can explain how I wandered into an asylum that masquerades as a cathouse run by a crazy woman. Maybe I’m being punished for my misdeeds in a previous life, something on a level with original sin.”
“You’re as irreverent as you are arrogant. You need to shut your mouth, Mr. Holland.”