We both said we were pleased. Mrs. Callico tipped her head slightly and made the faint hint of a curtsy, and we sat. She looked around.
“How charming,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am,” Virgil said.
“Do many women come in here?” she said.
“Mostly men,” Virgil said.
“We ladies lead such sheltered lives,” Amelia said. “Unless the men take us, we never go anywhere.”
“Lady can’t be too careful,” I said.
“Virgil and I met here,” Allie said. “I was alone and they wouldn’t give me biscuits, and he stepped in.”
“How gallant,” Amelia said, stressing the second syllable.
“Virgil was the marshal here then,” Allie said.
“I understand that he was,” Amelia said. “And what do you do now for work?”
“Odd jobs,” Virgil said.
“For some of the local saloons,” I said.
“How nice,” she said.
“Covers the cost of breakfast,” Virgil said.
“I’m sure,” Amelia said.
“That’s a beautiful dress, Amelia,” Allie said.
“Yes, thank you. I had it made for me in New Orleans.”
“You from New Orleans?” Virgil said.
“Yes,” she said. “I am. What’s good here.”
“I’d stick with the biscuits,” Virgil said.
“That’s all?” Allie said. “Why do you come here when all you eat is biscuits? I can make biscuits for you.”
Virgil’s face didn’t change expression, but something in the set of his shoulders shifted, and I stepped in.
“We eat food that ladies wouldn’t like,” I said. “Sow belly. Fried pinto beans.”
“So, for lady food,” Amelia said, “biscuits is what they offer.”
“’Tis,” I said.
“Then that’s what I’ll have,” she said.
The Chinaman took our order and went to get it.
“I never understand why they are so silent,” Amelia said.
“It’s as if they hate us.”
“Mostly don’t speak much English,” Virgil said.
“Well, they should,” Amelia said. “They’re going to come here and live and take our money.”
“Sure,” Virgil said.
“I wanted to meet you, of course, because of my friendship with Allie,” Amelia said. “But also I wanted to suggest an opportunity for you and your friend to make money, and do yourselves some good.”
“Open a lady-food café?” Virgil said.
Amelia smiled. She had a very convincing smile.
“Perhaps,” she said.
She was a good-looking, full-bodied woman with a mass of reddish-brown hair piled on her head.
“As you know,” she said, “my husband, Amos Callico, is running for mayor of Appaloosa. I am convinced that it is only a first step. Indeed, I am utterly convinced that it is the first step on a path that will lead him, ultimately, to become the President of the United States.”
I could see that Virgil was trying to look impressed, and I could see that it wasn’t working.
“You will certainly make a grand first lady,” I said.
“Thank you, kind sir,” she said. “I am hoping that you both would wish to join us.”
“How would we do that?” Virgil said.
“Help us get the truth out,” Amelia said. “There are facts about our opponent that need to be known.”
“He ran in combat?” Virgil said. “He slaughtered women and children?”
“Yes, that and more,” Amelia said. “There is much in General Laird’s past that is shameful.”
“And you want us to tell people?”
“The truth must be the basis of any election,” she said.
“Beggin’ your pardon, ma’am,” Virgil said. “But how do we know it’s the truth?”
“No pardon needed,” she said. “You have my word that anything we tell you is the truth.”
“Fellas that fronted up to the general outside Reclamation Hall yesterday?” Virgil said. “They get their information from you.”
“Yes, and it is good information. But Laird has a man working for him…”
“Chauncey Teagarden,” Virgil said.
“Yes. He is quite intimidating.”
Virgil nodded.
“From New Orleans, too, you know that?” Virgil said.
“I did not,” she said.
“Small world,” I said.
Allie smiled at me nervously. No one else paid any attention.
“You figure Teagarden won’t intimidate me ’n Everett,” Virgil said.
“I’m told that nothing does,” Amelia said.
“And if you helped them now, think what it would mean to us,” Allie said. “As Mr. Callico moved on up the ladder.”
Virgil looked at me. I shook my head. He nodded.
“Nope,” he said.
“We will pay you well,” Amelia said.
“Nope.”
“Why not?” Amelia said.
“Me ’n Everett don’t like your husband,” Virgil said.
She sat silently for a minute. The she stood.
“He will be disappointed to hear that,” she said, and stalked out of the café.
Allie looked as if she might cry.
57
I HAD A BEER with Chauncey Teagarden in a small saloon called Rabbit’s, near the new red-light section of town.
“You’re from New Orleans,” I said.
“Ah surely am,” he said, broadening the accent.
“Did you know that Callico’s wife is from New Orleans?”
Chauncey grinned.
“Amelia,” he said.
“You do know her,” I said.
“Know her,” Chauncey said. “She don’t know me.”
“Tell me ’bout her,” I said.
“Queen of Storyville,” Chauncey said. “Worked three, four cribs there, ’fore she met Callico and gave up honest labor.”
“Ever go to one of her establishments?”
“Hell, when she was first starting out she used to work the bedrooms herself,” Chauncey said. “I been to her.”
“Callico know that?” I said.
“No, she don’t even know that. She was a busy girl when I was going to her. And I didn’t shave yet.”
“But he knew she was a whore?”
“Oh, sure,” Chauncey said. “He went to her, too. Called herself the Countess. That was her trick, always wore a fancy dress. Nothing under it.”
“How’d she meet Callico?”
“Don’t know,” Chauncey said. “Don’t know too much about Callico. For a while, I know, he was a trick shooter at a carnival, used to play around New Orleans. Saw him once. Man, could he shoot.”
“Clay pigeons?” I said.
“Yep. Fancy ones sometimes. Made of glass.”
“Pigeons ever shoot back?”
“Nope.”
“Unlikely to,” I said.
“God, he was fast, though. And accurate.”
“She work the carnival?” I said.
“Doubt it,” Teagarden said. “Mighta been a bouncer in one’a her joints and then something clicked and they went off together. ’Cept I heard she took up with a fella by that name, I never thought anything about either one of them until I got here. I recognized her. And when I seen him, I remember him shooting. Ain’t all so many fellas named Callico you’re gonna run into.”
The doors to the saloon were open, and outside the sky was low and dark and there was a sense of something coming. Most people were off the street.
“Something coming,” Chauncey said, looking out at the dark street.
“A lot of it,” I said.
We carried our beer glasses to the doorway and stood, looking out at the empty street where the wind was beginning to kick a little trash around.
“This thing between Callico and the general is going to turn into something bad,” Chauncey said.
“If it does, you’re with the general,” I said.
“I am,” he said.
“You and the general against Callico and his policemen,” I said. “He’s got a fair number of hands.”
“Yeah, but mostly cowhands,” Chauncey said.
“You’re not a cowhand,” I said.
“No,” Chauncey said. “I am not.”