“Fuck you, Evan,” Carson said. “You are narrow-minded, self-centered, and an asshole, to boot.”
“You were first of the line,” Evan said. “Seems to me you got the lion’s share of all those things.”
Carson just looked at his younger brother, and there was a defiance in his eyes that Evan knew all too well.
What Carson would do in his absence he could not predict, and he knew that he should stay. He should stay, but he could not. Not after what had happened with Rebecca on Friday night, not to see her marry his older brother, not to see Carson manipulate and maneuver his way around everyone, tying them up, getting them convinced that whatever he was doing was for the best. No, he could not stay for that.
Evan Riggs knew he was relinquishing his responsibility for the family as a whole, and perhaps that was selfish and uncaring, but the pull to leave was far greater than any force of familial gravity. His mother and father had always taken care of themselves. His ma would see something she didn’t like long before it even happened, and she would prompt her husband to act. Together they would effortlessly subvert and derail any attempt on Carson’s part to do something with which they did not agree. And then there was the law. Sheriff he may be, but Warren Garfield, the family lawyer, would have access to any and all paperwork and documentation relating to land, leases, mortgages, ownership deeds, and suchlike, and Carson did not have the authority to act as proxy for their father. The farm was safe. Evan felt sure of that, and if he was not sure of it, then he would work on convincing himself so as to justify his departure.
Evan stayed a few more days, and then he made preparations to leave. Carson did not broach the matter with their father, and William Riggs showed no sign of anything that gave Evan cause for concern.
William and Grace were sorry to see their youngest leave once more, but they knew better than to try and stop him.
And so Evan left Calvary for Austin. Morning of Monday the fourteenth, he pulled up stakes once more and left the Riggs farm behind, Rebecca, too. Carson was stoic and mannered, evidently suppressing what he really wanted to say for the sake of their parents. He shook his younger brother’s hand, wished him well, but his tone was guarded. No doubt Grace was aware of it, but she said nothing.
What she did say unsettled Evan, and it was a mere whisper as he hugged her.
“Let’s not see you back here with anything but good news, eh, son?”
He did not reply. The implication was that he was more capable of returning with bad news than anything else, and in his very being he knew this to be true.
Perhaps he was—after all was said done—nothing but a magnet for trouble. Carson’s fall from the hayloft back in thirty-seven, the incident with Gabe Ellsworth, the death of Lilly Duvall, this most recent matter with Rebecca and his betrayal of Carson, the potential conflict about the oil people.
Was he a harbinger of trouble and bad news? Was that the kind of person he was? Someone whose passing could be proven by the wreckage he left behind?
Driving away, the farm once again disappearing in the rearview, Evan Riggs hoped he would not return with bad news, caused either by himself or his older brother.
Carson Riggs was an arrogant man, a man of fixed opinions and vested self-interest. He had not really settled, nor had he really learned a great deal from his work. Evan had tried to convince himself that Carson had mellowed, but he had not. Now Evan was not only leaving the family farm once more, but also leaving Calvary in his older brother’s hands. Those hands were more than capable of stirring up a great deal of trouble.
Evan turned a blind eye, as he was wont to do, as he had so often done before, and that was perhaps his greatest sin. The last person to admit cowardice is the coward himself.
It had been said that all it took for evil to prosper was that good men did nothing.
Carson was not evil—far from it—but he had a mind of his own, and that mind formulated intentions that perhaps did not serve everyone else as well as they served himself.
Was Evan now also painting Carson the same color as himself? Perhaps so. They were brothers, after all.
What would happen now, he could not predict; events would play out, and only time would tell.
Marriage hadn’t worked for Clarence Ames. He had a taste for liquor and cards; she had a manner of making her disapproval clear without ever saying a word. Her name was Laetitia Redmond, one of the Langley Redmonds from over the Pecos. Langley women said Calvary men were all hat and no cattle. Calvary men said that Langley women were two shovels short of a bucketload. Within a week of marrying her, Clarence Ames knew he’d picked a sour ’un, and there wasn’t no way to take her back and pick again.
Emotionally speaking, Laetitia Ames was as cold as a fish. Had a face on her like a well-worn shoe. Not the well-worn that comes from fondness, but the kind that comes from wearing them in all weathers or wading through the deepest shit. Pinch-faced is how you might call it,
like a bloodhound chewing a wasp
, Roy Sperling said, but never to Clarence’s face. There were two things you never ran down to a man: his choice of handgun and his taste in womenfolk.
When all was said and done, the marriage was over before it started. Laetitia returned to her ma and pa in Langley, thus precluding the hope of any progeny. Once bitten, twice shy, Clarence said, and never considered another marriage. The Ames line would die with Clarence, and he knew it. In truth, there was a deep and ingrained sadness in the man, and over time that had soured to a vinegarish resentment toward those in love, those married, those with children, and pretty much everyone else who wasn’t Clarence Ames. He tolerated the saloon crowd—Doc Sperling, Eakins, Mills, even Warren Garfield when he’d still been alive enough to drink with them—but that was simply borne out of a sense of responsibility for the community as a whole. Lord knows what they would have gotten up to without someone to keep an eye on them, and he had assigned himself this supervisory duty.
Henry Quinn and Evie Chandler were—additionally—a cause for civic concern. A small social environment such as Calvary possessed a natural balance, and that balance was maintained by knowing what worked, knowing who did what and when, by following tacit agreements and consents, some of which didn’t even need to be directly communicated. Some things were just
understood
, and that was enough.
Like Carson Riggs. As a result of Carson’s post and functions as sheriff, there was almost nothing in the way of crime in Calvary. Bums and hobos showed up every once in a while. They didn’t stay long. Itinerant workers came in from the east and south in the hope of farm work at harvest time. Where they were needed, they stayed. Where they were not, they were moved on quickly. If they drank too much, got troublesome, harassed the womenfolk, made trouble of any kind, they spent a night or two in Carson’s office basement, and then they were gone. First train, first bus, Carson even going so far as to drive them thirty or forty miles back the way they came and bidding them adieu personal-like. Of course, there were rumors, hearsay, some story about a hobo being found dead out near Stockton Plateau, both his arms snapped jagged and drag marks behind him for a quarter mile, but rumors and hearsay could go to hell in a handbasket. Calvary was safe and quiet and settled. Calvary was everything that it needed to be, and Evan Riggs, and everything that had taken place all those years ago, was a thing of the past. The past was full of different people, and they had no place in the here and now.
What Clarence had heard of Henry Quinn didn’t sit well with him. He had gotten drunk and shot a woman. Carson had told him so. Carson had access to prison records, police records, any kind of record he wished. He done looked the boy up, and there he was in black-and-white. Grievous assault, unlawful possession of a firearm. Probably other stuff. Drugs, no doubt. Evie Chandler was a sweet enough kid. Had a mouth on her, for sure, but nothing malicious. They flirted with her in the saloon, but then, who wouldn’t? She was a pretty girl, and even if they were old enough to be her granddaddy, they weren’t queers, were they? It was a little fun, harmless enough, and it never went beyond that. But now this boy had showed up and she’d fallen in with him. An ill-advised course of action, if Clarence had ever seen one.
Clarence was in his kitchen when Henry Quinn and Evie Chandler showed up at his door.
He saw them standing there through the screen from the end of the hallway, and though his initial feeling was one of aggravation and ire, he quickly recognized the potential for defusing what could be a volatile situation. Carson had made it very clear that he did not want this Quinn boy snooping around in Calvary business. And so it was with a calm sense of self-assurance and moral rectitude that Clarence Ames opened the screen door and greeted his visitors.
“Mr. Quinn,” he said politely. “Evie.”
“Hey, Clarence,” Evie said. “Wondered if you had some time for us.”
“Sure thing,” Clarence said, and stepped aside. “Come on in.”
Moments later they were seated at the kitchen table. Lemonade had been offered and accepted, and Clarence awaited the questions that he knew were forthcoming.
“Maybe hard to understand,” Henry began, “but I really feel a sense of obligation and duty to do this thing for Evan … to find out about his daughter, you know?”
Clarence nodded, took a sip of his lemonade. He glanced at Evie and smiled patiently.
“I did a really stupid thing, Mr. Ames, getting into trouble and winding up at Reeves an’ all, and had it not been for Evan, I might still be there. I got into some scrapes. That kind of thing can happen in places like that, and Evan sorted it out.” Henry smiled. “Might sound foolish, seein’ as how I was there an’ all, but there’s a lot of people in a place like Reeves who you wouldn’t want knowing where you live.”
“I can imagine so,” Clarence said.
“So, Evan helped me out, and then he asked me to deliver this letter to his daughter, and I thought it was just a straightforward matter of comin’ on down here and finding out where she was at. But it’s not turned out to be as simple as that.”
“No, evidently not.” Clarence raised his glass and sipped his lemonade again.
“So, I need some help, you know? Evie here has been good enough to sort of get involved, but she’s Ozona, not Calvary, and she doesn’t really know much about the Riggs family and everything that happened in the past.”
Henry paused, as if he expected Clarence to speak. Clarence remained silent.
“But you’ve been here as long as Carson, longer maybe, and I wanted to ask you about some of that history.”
Clarence set down his glass. He was calm and measured in his response.
“I have to tell you, Henry, that Carson and I have discussed this matter. Not at length, of course, but the bare bones. Carson raised a good point, and I know he raised the same point with you. Carson even understood that you and he agreed on this particular detail.”
“That the girl might not want to be found?”
“Precisely.”
“I understand that, sir, but—”
“But nothing, Henry. There is no
but
here. One thing you learn with age and experience is that there are two things you cannot take back.”
“I know, sir … everything you say and everything you do.”
“You sing the tune, son, but you don’t really
know
the words. I do know that Sheriff Riggs was certainly of the understanding that this matter was closed. Though you may have shared a cell with Evan Riggs, you are nevertheless a stranger here, Mr. Quinn, and I don’t believe you will ever be anything but a stranger.”
“This is all getting a bit heavy and serious if you ask me, Clarence,” Evie interjected.
Clarence turned toward her slowly. He didn’t crack his face with a smile. “I didn’t ask you, Evie.”
“Whoa, what the hell is this?” she asked, her tone one of indignant surprise.
“I’ll tell you what it is,” Clarence said, looking first at Evie, then turning back to Henry. “It is none of your business.”
“But—” Henry said.
“But nothing,” Clarence said. “You are from Ozona, Evie, and Mr. Quinn here is from Reeves, and before that who knows where. You are not Calvary. Never have been, never will be. Evan was once Calvary, but he killed a man in Austin, and now he will die in Reeves. That is the way it is, and there is nothing you can do to change it. Evan may very well have asked you to come on down here to deliver some letter to his daughter … a daughter he has never seen, a daughter that should never have been his in the first place. You don’t know what happened back then, and I am not going to explain it to you. All I know is that the past stays where it is, and that’s all there is to it.”
“But Evan—”
“Evan Riggs killed an innocent man. He got drunk and he beat that man to death. Evan had talent, he had a career ahead of him, and then he betrayed his brother, betrayed the Riggs name, and he became a drunk. More than likely it was the guilt of what he did that drove him down the neck of a bottle. Well, look where it got him, why don’tcha?”
“What did he do, Clarence?” Evie asked.
Clarence turned and looked at her. He was silent for a few moments, and then he said, “He didn’t mind his own business, sweetheart.”
Evie took on a look Henry had seen before. She had been pushed, and she didn’t like it.
“You threatening me, Clarence Ames?” she said.
“Nothing of the sort, my dear.”
“Sounds like a threat. You done wrapped it in pretty paper and tied me a bow, but I know what’s inside.”
“Well, if you already know what’s inside, then there’s no need to unwrap it further, is there?”
“You always have been a sour old goat, Clarence Ames.”
Clarence smiled. “I know your pa, Evie. He’s a good man. I also know that he and Alvin Lang shared a few words.”
“Do you, now?”
“Yes, I do.”
“And how is that, Clarence? How do you know that Alvin came over and talked to my daddy?”
“Very little escapes me, Evie. You should know that by now.”
“Well, if there’s very little that escapes you now, that tells me that you know exactly what the deal is with Carson and Evan Riggs, that you know exactly who the daughter is and where she lives. I bet you even know her name.”
“Not a betting man, Evie,” Clarence said. “Only betting man I know is Carson Riggs, and I wouldn’t advise wagering on anything with him.”
“I have to say that I am beginning to dislike you, Clarence Ames.”
“I have to say that I don’t much care whether you like me or not.”
“So, you’re not gonna help us?” Evie asked, almost as if she was giving him one last chance.
“I have given you all the help you need right now,” he replied.
“Mr. Ames—” Henry started.
“Leave it, Henry,” Evie said. “He’s not gonna help us. He’s on Carson’s payroll.”
Clarence Ames walked the pair of them to the front door without a further word. He let them out and watched until they reached the street. He had intended to defuse the situation, but it was obvious from the get-go that this pair were not seeing sense, likely never would.
As soon as they were beyond the bounds of his property, he turned back down the hall and went for the telephone.
He dialed a number and waited.
“Sheriff … it’s Clarence Ames … We need to meet …”
He paused, inhaled slowly and closed his eyes.
“No, Carson … all of us …”
The journey back to the Chandler place was made in silence.
Henry tried talking, but Evie said, “I’m wound tight, Henry. Let me unwind or I’m likely to snap your head off.”
Henry let her unwind, and all seemed to be settling just fine until they turned off the highway and the house came into view.
Carson Riggs stood beside his car, hat tipped back, thumbs in his Sam Browne belt, cigarette parked in the corner of his mouth. He had on sunglasses, and as Henry Quinn pulled up, Riggs took off those glasses and smiled.
“Fuck,” Evie said under her breath.
“Fuck,” Henry echoed.
Hesitant then, Henry let the engine idle for a moment before he turned it off. He got out of the truck slowly, paused for a moment, and then closed the door.
Evie reached for the handle on her side, but Henry shook his head. “Stay in the truck,” he said.
“To hell with that, Henry Quinn,” she replied, and got out.
The smile never left Sheriff Riggs’s face, even as he stood straight and said, “Heard you went on up and made a visit at Ector County Hospital.”
Henry didn’t reply.
“Maybe you’re surprised how I know so much so fast, huh?”
“Never meant to be a secret, Sheriff Riggs.”
“Is that so?”
“It is.”
“So tell me this, son … Why the hell do you go on digging around in this business? Straight up, no bullshit.”
“Like I done told you and anyone else who asked, I just made a promise, Sheriff. Gave my word, is all.”
“Okay, so we have what they call a stalemate, don’t we? I’m asking you to back off. You’re saying you’re gonna do whatever the hell you want regardless of what I say.”
“I don’t think I’m doin’ whatever the hell I want, Sheriff Riggs, I think I’m doin’ what is right.”
“Sometimes the person who’s doin’ ain’t the best judge of what’s right.”
“I can see that.”
Riggs nodded slowly. He took off his hat and scratched his head. “Say I decide to help you.”
Henry frowned. “Come again.”
“Say I give you a helping hand. Say I point you in the right direction, help you out some.”
“And why would you do that?”
“Because I am not a selfish man, Henry Quinn. Because I got to thinkin’ about my dumbass brother up there in Reeves and how he’s been there all these years. Okay, so he killed a man and screwed up his life, but I seen his daughter one time, and she was something special. Bright, you know? Pretty as a picture. If God, in his wisdom, decided to get one good thing out of Evan’s life, then it’s gonna be that girl. And you know, I ain’t so sure that she wouldn’t want to know who her father was … who her father is. Maybe she’s aware of something missing. I don’t know if her folks ever told her that she was adopted. I don’t know much of anything, to be honest. Anyway, I got to ponderin’ all of this, and I figured that maybe I was wrong to get in the way of this. Maybe this is one of those things that’s meant to be.”