I nodded.

“It is,” I said.

“So I’m gonna sit lookout until we know that Allie ain’t here. Then we gonna move on.”

“I know,” I said.

Virgil picked up his coffee cup and drank some.

“Coffee ain’t very good,” he said.

“Better than no coffee,” I said.

***

Los Lobos was regularly jammed with Virgil-watchers at the beginning of the evening. On the third night we were there, Cates came in and walked over to my table. I noticed that people made room for him quite carefully as he walked through the crowd. He seemed to be the most pleasant man in the room. But people were careful around him.

“Evenin’, Everett,” he said.

“Cates,” I said.

“Mind if I sit with you?”

“Have a seat,” I said.

Cates sat; the bartender brought him whiskey and two glasses. He poured himself a glass and offered some to me.

I shook my head.

“I’ll drink a little beer,” I said.

“Backing up Cole?” Cates said.

“Something like that.”

“That why you got the shotgun?”

“Didn’t know what else to do with it,” I said. “Leave it someplace and somebody’ll steal it.”

Cates looked at the shotgun for a moment.

“That’s some big load,” he said.

“Eight-gauge,” I said. “Brought it along with me when I left Wells Fargo.”

“Blow a big hole,” Cates said.

“Does,” I said.

“Shotgun messenger?” Cates said.

“Yep.”

“When’d you do that?”

“After I got out of the Army, I did a little of this, a little of that, ’fore I met Virgil.”

“You enlisted?”

“Nope.”

“West Point?” Cates said.

“Yep.”

“I’ll be damned,” Cates said. “You never got along too well with the Army, I’m guessing.”

“Lotta rules,” I said. “How about you. How’d you end up here?”